So unfair, how much I wanted her. I kissed her and peeled the covers to her waist. Men are visual, as are artists, so I doubled-down on the desire to see her bare skin. Goddamn, she was so very beautiful. ‘I want to sketch you like this,’ I said, struggling not to laugh when she asked, jokingly, if it would go on the wall. I would never get to sleep if I did that. I’d either have her in my bed, repeating what we’d just done, or I’d be using my very vivid imagination to imagine her there.
‘I’ve done several sketches of you that aren’t on the wall,’ I said. Oops.
She wanted to see them, of course. I ran the tips of my fingers over her breast before pressing her closer. ‘Now?’ I asked. Please, not now.
She relented, curious, I think, and I moved over her and disappeared under the covers.
I pressed kisses from her sternum straight down, progressing slowly. Her breath caught and her fingers sank into my hair and tightened when I passed her navel and kept going. I veered to the side, sucking kisses on her upper, inner thigh, inhaling her sweet scent, blowing gently as if showing her the path my tongue intended to take. In her small hands, my long, dark hair transformed into something it had never been – reins.
Lead me, Jacqueline. Show me where you want me to go.
She did.
I pulled on my boxer briefs before letting Francis in and feeding him so he’d leave us alone. I poured a glass of milk and put a few brownie squares on a plate, handing them to Jacqueline when I came back into the dimly lit room.
She held the sheet over her br**sts, which was both humorous and enticing, considering the last few hours. After switching on the desk lamp, I grabbed my sketchbook and got into bed behind her, urging her to lean back against my chest. Her bare hips were pressed against what would be, in the not-too-distant future, a solid, demanding erection. For the moment, I wanted to purr with contentment, or growl, or whatever guys did when every possible need has been met.
She nibbled at a brownie as I flipped through the sketches I’d done this semester – campus buildings with noteworthy architecture, mechanical sketches, landscapes and people I found interesting. By the time we turned to the sketch I’d done of her on the rainy day, she’d finished two brownies and was starting on a third.
I glanced towards my ceiling. Score, Grandpa. Now avert your eyes.
I asked if it bothered her that I was watching her before she knew me, but she seemed to think she was just another of the interesting strangers I’d drawn.
‘I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse,’ I said.
She leaned back against my arm. ‘I’m not mad any more that you didn’t tell me you were Landon. The only reason I was angry was because I thought you were playing me, but it was the opposite of that.’ She touched my face as the sheet drifted lower. ‘I could never be afraid of you,’ she whispered.
I transferred the brownie plate to the night table and turned her to face me, straddling my lap. As I touched, kissed and sucked her br**sts, and she ran her magic fingers through my hair and over my skin, my body woke fully.
‘Should I get, um …’ she whispered, and I nodded. She leaned to the nightstand drawer and came back with a cellophane square. ‘Can I … or is that too –?’
‘God, yes – please.’ I’d never had a girl roll a condom on to me before. I assumed, as her cool little fingers pressed it on and down, expertly, that I was the inexperienced one in this moment. And oh, my God, I was okay with that.
23
Landon
Landing a part-time job was more problematic than I’d assumed it would be. In a small town, with a known probated assault in my none-too-distant past, managers weren’t jumping at the chance to have me on the payroll.
Plumbing the depths, I asked for an application at the very last fast-food place I would ever want to work, and still heard: ‘You can fill this out, but we’re not really hiring right now.’ It was almost summer – the busiest time of year for every business in this beach town. Not hiring my ass. I stared at the manager’s short-sleeved dress shirt and polyester tie as I took the sheet from his hand, which would take fifteen minutes to fill out. For nothing.
‘Ain’t you Ray’s boy? Edmond’s grandson?’
I turned to find one of the town’s crotchety-looking old guys peering up at me. They weren’t scarce around here. This one was shorter and wider than me, sporting a pair of red canvas coveralls that resembled prison threads too closely, with exception of Hendrickson Electric & AC monogrammed on the chest. He tipped his tray of wadded wrappers and cartons into the trash and turned back.
‘Yes, sir.’ I stuck a hand out. ‘Landon Maxfield.’
He shook my hand in a remarkably bone-crunching grip. ‘W. W. Hendrickson,’ he said, his local drawl shortening his initials to dubyah dubyah. ‘Needin’ a job, are ya? You don’t wanna work in this crap place.’ He shot a look at the manager, who reddened. ‘No offence, Billy.’
I got the feeling that Bill Zuckerman hadn’t gone by Billy in at least twenty years. He cleared his throat and struggled not to scowl, failing. ‘Uh, none taken, Mr Hendrickson.’
‘Hmph,’ Hendrickson said. ‘Come outside a minute, Landon. Talk to me.’ He motioned and I followed. ‘You work on the boat with your dad, I thought?’ We walked up to his truck and he leaned an elbow on the bed’s side.
I nodded. ‘Yes, sir. But I plan to go to college in a little over a year, and I’ll need work experience with a reference.’