Page 80 of Fade into You
“Have you thought any more about that Boston road trip?” I ask her.
“No,” she murmurs, and I see the flames reflected in her eyes as she stares at them.
“Okay,” I say, and wrap my arms around her. We hold each other quietly for some time. I love these moments. We don’t need anything, not even words. We’re just there with each other, not waiting to transition to the next thing, just being, until the next thing happens. Liminal people.
But my stomach growls loudly and she breaks out of it, and I take her to the table, where there’s a selection of my mom’s cookies (thank you, church social), chips, apples, Swiss Rolls, bottles of Barq’s, and some slices of Domino’s that I foil-wrapped and figured could manage the trip. Also a big-ass bag of Halloween candy I swiped from Dad’s stash.
“Dinner is prepared!” I call out, doing my best Magenta impression fromRocky Horror, which, judging from her expression, she didn’t get.
“Wow, it’s… it’s perfect,” she says, and reaches for some chips. I crack a root beer and hand it to her.
“Your beverage, madame.”
She smiles and takes it, but before she can get it to her lips, a crack of thunder rips out through the air, startling us both. Then she smiles even bigger.
“Ooooh, nice,” she says, and runs to the opening where the door used to be and looks out, as rain suddenly starts sheeting down. The smells of lightning and loam fill the place as the unpredictable fall weather sheets the town with water, turning everything into mud.
“Oh shit,” I say, realizing this night might disappear into a downpour.
“No, it’s awesome,” she says. “Just look at that.” She guides me to the door and steps behind me, her arms wrapped around my waist, her body against mine, head on my shoulder. “I love storms.”
I shudder as lightning streams across the sky, thunder following loudly.
“It’s beautiful,” she says.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, and I turn and kiss her hard, hungry for her lips, for her soft touch and the way she looks into my eyes when we part. We can only stay away for a second before we’re back together, hands exploring above our clothes, bodies pressed into one another, tongues tasting each other as we both catch fire like spark to tinder to kindle.
Bird pulls away and her eyes flick to the sleeping bag I rolled out close to the stove.
I nod and she takes my hand and leads me over. We sit down together, kissing again until I break off, remembering.
“Is this? Are you?” She can’t get the words out. I couldn’t either.
“Yes, but…” I lean over and turn on the boom box, the CD I burned for tonight already inside. But she hits pause before we can even get to the second chord.
“Jessa, are you okay with this?”
“Yes, are you?”
“Yes.”
I touch my hand to her face, run it through her curls, look her in the eyes, and see my fire reflected in hers. “If anything changes, you tell me, okay? We only do what we want to do.”
“Same for you,” she says.
I smile in agreement and she pulls me in for a kiss, and my finger hits the play button before I reach for her body, tugging at her shirt as the guitar seeps in and Mazzy Star soundtracks the most important moment of my life.
“I love this song,” Bird whispers.
“Me too,” I breathe.
She gasps as my hands travel up her shirt, palms brushing over her bra, feeling her nipples hard against the fabric, the need in me so strong I have to calm myself not to experience this all too fast.
“I wanna hold the hand inside you…”
“Fade into You” fills the room with its eerily romantic crooning.
Bird has her hands on my shirt and is pulling it over my head in one smooth movement, and I’m helping her with hers. It’s picture-perfect until we get to the bras.
