Rumble

  That’s what we’ve shared in the past

  three days. Yes, we’ve talked, about

  weekend plans, and the game tonight—

  it’s moot, but Dad has to finish out

  the season—and even about her campus

  youth ministry meeting today. Looks like

  I’m giving up Friday lunches to Judah.

  Oh, as they say, fucking well. But as far

  as commentary, I didn’t even say that much

  to her about my real feelings. Martha

  would be so disappointed. I totally flaked

  in the open communication department.

  But now, walking her to the library,

  where she’ll turn her attention away from

  me and toward her way-too-good-looking,

  way-too-interested-in-her young minister,

  thoughts churn in my head, turning my brain

  into sour butter. I still have hold of her hand

  when I say, “Here’s something to ask Judah.

  Is the reason he thinks I’m probably gay

  because I don’t believe in God? All atheists

  aren’t queer, you know. And conversely,

  a strong sense of morality isn’t exclusive

  to those who dress up in their religion.”

  Now, That Was Communication

  Succinct. Well-spoken.

  But apparently Hayden

  isn’t much impressed.

  Our fingers come unwoven.

  Believe it or not, we have

  more important topics

  of discussion than you.

  “Since when?” I turn and

  stride away before way

  too much communication

  vomits from my mouth.

  I’m halfway to the lunch-

  room when it hits me. What

  could they be discussing

  that’s so damn important?

  Every shred of bravado

  disintegrates. For maybe

  the hundredth time I wonder

  if Hayden and I are destined

  to cut loose from each other,

  go separate ways. But this

  time I also wonder if I care.

  Skipping Tonight’s Game

  Is a given. That Hayden

  and her minions will attend

  without me is also obvious.

  The question becomes what

  will I do with my Friday night?

  I find the answer three paces

  behind me, when I turn, sensing

  eyes on my back. “Hey, Alexa.”

  I pause to let her catch up.

  “I don’t suppose you witnessed

  that little scene with Hayden?”

  A pretty smile paints tiny lines

  at the corners of her eyes. Dark

  blue eyes. Almost violet.

  I might have. Don’t suppose

  you want to give me details?

  She falls into step beside me,

  close enough so every now

  and again the curve of her hip

  bumps my thigh. Nice. Wait.

  I’m mad at Hayden, but not

  enough to be thinking what

  I think I’m thinking. “It’s probably

  not PC to divulge our secrets.”

  Just as the words escape my lips,

  Jocelyn scurries past. Her rabid bitch

  glare catches me and her smirk

  declares she has seen too much,

  assumes even more. Suddenly,

  I want to confide everything,

  and dare to ask Alexa, “So,

  what are you doing tonight?”

  I Spend Most of the Afternoon

  Thinking up excuses.

  But Hayden doesn’t even ask

  if I’m going to the game,

  so there’s no need

  to explain why I’m not.

  In fact, the only thing

  she bothers to say

  at the end of the day is,

  Call me later.

  She does give me

  a whipped-cream kiss,

  sweet and light and lickable,

  but definitely not

  the “I want to turn you on”

  kind, let alone the “stick

  your tongue down my throat

  so I can bite it off

  and spit it out” kind.

  Then she floats away

  like a wispy cloud,

  to be swallowed up

  by the chatter tornado.

  I think about my plans

  for tonight and guilt churns

  as I watch the twister

  spin toward the door,

  nothing but hot wind

  and the tiniest bits

  of substance, but a force

  to be reckoned with.

  Hayden does not look

  back, doesn’t wave goodbye.

  “Love you, too,”

  I whisper into

  the cyclone’s wake.

  The words fall,

  autumn-crisped

  leaves, scattering

  across the floor.

  The Guilt

  Has pretty much dissipated

  by the time I pick up Alexa.

  We left our plans for the evening

  fluid. After all, this isn’t a real

  date. More like hanging out.

  That’s my story and I’m sticking

  to it, at least if I can convince

  myself that this intense attraction

  I find myself feeling can’t possibly

  lead to more than great conversation.

  But damn, this girl is hot. If Hayden

  is a nymph, Alexa is a siren,

  a temptress in black leather.

  When she gets into the truck, she scents

  it with some rich, earthy perfume.

  Not sweet, and for that I’m grateful.

  Hey, she says. Where are we going?

  I shrug. “Depends on what you want

  to do, but there’s no one at my house.

  We could go there. If you want, I mean.”

  She grins. Might be dangerous.

  “Scared?”

  Of you? Hardly.

  “Okay, then.”

  Decision made, I steer the truck

  toward home. Anxiety tremors

  suddenly, cartwheels in my gut.

  Alexa’s right, this just might be

  dangerous. But I’m pretty damn

  weary of playing it safe. I do have

  to wonder, though, what her motives

  are. Then again, what are mine?

  Too Late to Worry

  About piddling things like motives

  now. Alexa is sitting on the sofa,

  legs curled up under her, waiting

  for me to bring her a drink. I pour

  two bourbons and Coke, hers as strong

  as mine. Maybe even stronger.

  By the time I return from the kitchen,

  she has shed her jacket, and the shiny

  pewter shirt she’s wearing fits like

  a seal’s skin, clinging to muscular flesh

  in quite a provocative way. I hand her

  the slick, sweating glass, take a seat

  at the far end of the couch, where

  I can admire the view, but be less

  tempted to touch her. She takes a healthy

  swallow, and then another, deciding

  what to say. Finally, So, tell me. Why

  did you ask me here? Revenge?

  Straightforward, and I imagine

  she expects nothing less from me.

  Good. The truth isn’t always pretty,

  but it’s easier than deception. “Maybe

  a little. But mostly I needed a neutral

  someone to talk to. You can be that, right?”

  I Expect Her to Say

  Of course. But Alexa prefers

  to
surprise me. She lifts her eyes

  level with mine. I don’t know.

  But I’ll give it my best shot.

  How do I begin this conversation?

  What do I really want to talk about?

  My hesitation makes her ask,

  Is this about Hayden? Or me?

  “Both, I guess. I can’t quite figure

  her out, and I thought you could offer

  a little insight.” Her steady gaze falls

  away, and I attempt to draw it back.

  “You two were friends for a long time.

  What happened?” A swelling hum

  at the hinges of my jaw tells me

  the alcohol is kicking in. Not sure

  if that’s good or bad. Especially when

  she says, Come on. You have to know.

  Now I’m not exactly sure I want

  to know. Distraction may be called

  for. I drain my tumbler. “Need a refill?

  I kind of think I might.” She hands me

  her glass, follows me into the kitchen,

  and watches me pour two more,

  slightly weaker than the last.

  What if your parents come home?

  “Mom’s at her sister’s for the weekend

  and Dad drinks to closing on Friday nights,

  so we’ve got the place all to ourselves.

  Cheers! Here’s to rotten parenting.”

  We clink-and-drink. Unexpectedly,

  she pushes very close, and looks up

  into my eyes, flushing me with heat.

  You are what came between Hayden

  and me, Matt. She knew how I feel

  about you. I’d never do that to a friend.

  And Just in Case

  I’m not sure what she’s saying,

  she rises up on her tiptoes, puts

  one arm around my neck to bring

  my face right into hers, and I know

  she won’t take no for an answer,

  and the truth is I don’t want to say no.

  This time, we kiss, and it is not sweet

  nor kind nor gentle. Our mouths mesh,

  fevered and flavored with bourbon, and

  there will be no turning away from what

  must come next. “Finish your drink.”

  The words fall away from my lips

  and into the hollow of her throat. We

  both take a final gulp, leave our empty

  glasses on the counter. I boost her up,

  and she wraps her legs around my waist,

  and this time when we kiss I can feel

  a rush of heat at the V of her jeans, right

  above my belly button. I don’t think

  I’ve ever been quite this hard, and it

  didn’t take pills or porn to accomplish

  it, let alone a guy’s physique. Gay?

  Don’t think so, Mr. All-Knowing

  Pseudo Minister. I’ll show you gay.

  Alexa and I Kiss Again

  Then she moves her mouth

  to my neck, and her anxious

  sucking at the pulse beneath

  my ear leaves zero doubt.

  “Come on.” It’s a hoarse croak,

  someone else’s voice. I’ve been

  body-snatched, and I can’t help

  but feel grateful for that pitiful

  excuse as I carry Alexa down

  the hall toward my bedroom,

  no second-guessing, full speed

  ahead. But now I stop, put her down,

  back against the door, pin her

  there, hands above her head, palms

  to palms. “I want you more than

  I’ve wanted anything in my life

  right now. But I can’t promise

  this means anything more.”

  Her heart thumps against my chest

  and the blood coursing beneath

  her skin lifts the heady scent

  of her musky perfume mixed

  with white-hot feminine lust. I’d

  take her right here, but I need

  to hear her confess. I understand.

  This is already more than I expected,

  or even could have hoped for.

  But just so you know, I’m going

  to do everything in my power

  to make you fall in love with me.

  Because I love you, Matt Turner.

  I have since the eighth grade.

  I can think of no proper

  rejoinder, other than to open

  the door, pick her up and carry

  her to my bed, lay her carefully

  on top of the quilt. She starts

  to get undressed and I move to

  turn off the light. No. Leave it on.

  I want to see you, want you to see me.

  I’ve Only Been With

  Two other girls, one older (and my instructor),

  one younger. (I was the one who schooled

  her.) Neither cared about pleasing me,

  only about my bringing them to orgasm.

  Both had body image problems and insisted

  we play in the dark. This is something new.

  I watch Alexa unsheath a near-perfect body.

  Where Hayden is all soft curves, Lex

  maintains the taut angles of the distance

  runner she is. The whole time she keeps

  those spectacular eyes on me. Finally

  she says, Well? Don’t just stand there.

  She doesn’t have to invite twice.

  I’m naked. We’re skin against skin.

  I’m in her mouth. My tongue’s in her.

  I’ll finish too soon. She won’t let me.

  We tarry. Accelerate. Move into slow

  motion, lights on, eyes open, and for

  the first time, I experience a woman’s

  ascension and ultimate, ecstatic release,

  punctuated by a heart-shattering,

  I love you! Oh God, Matt, I love you.

  Heart Shattering

  Because as she brings me all the way

  there I can’t echo her exclamation.

  Afterward, we lie knotted together,

  neither of us wanting to move, and

  both a little afraid of what the other

  might say. But eventually one of us

  has to rile the silence, and this is

  heavily on my mind. “I’m not sure

  Hayden and I can make it. But I don’t

  know how to stop loving her, and even

  if we do break up, I’m afraid a ghost

  of that love will haunt me forever.”

  Is that such a bad thing? Her fingers

  work through my hair, brush my scalp,

  and it just feels so good. I mean, love

  is energy, right? So it doesn’t die.

  It just changes forms. Evolves,

  I imagine, then burrows into memory.

  Real love, anyway. I think it’s easy

  to confuse love with other things.

  Lust, for one. Need, for another.

  Am I Confused?

  No. I love Hayden. But then,

  why am I here? Can you love

  one girl with all you are, from

  the depths of your soul,

  but still share this kind

  of intimacy with another?

  My feelings for Hayden

  didn’t start with lust. Desire,

  yes, but not just for her body.

  I fell for her spirit—her humor.

  Her innocence. Her loyalty.

  Need? Well, that is a much

  more difficult call. And

  this is not the time to make

  it. I kiss Alexa softly. “Who

  knew you were a philosopher?

  Who knew I liked intelligent

  women?” We kiss again, but

  I stop long enough to ask,

  “Do you think lust can evolve

>   into something deeper?”

  God, I hope so.

  An hour later, I almost do, too.

  I Am Pulled from Sleep

  Into darkness, disoriented from

  dreams, and by the steady breathing

  beside me in the bed I share with

  no one. I inhale the scent of woman.

  Alexa. Snoozing beneath my quilt.

  I nudge her. “Hey. We fell asleep.”

  She chuffs like wind through leafy

  boughs. I know. I turned off the light.

  “I should take you home. Your mom . . .”

  She backs up into the curl of my body.

  It’s okay. I told her I was staying

  at Lainie’s. I’m prepared like that.

  Maybe so, but I was definitely

  not prepared for anything like this.

  What about my dad? What about

  Hayden? Wasn’t I supposed to call?

  If she texted me and I didn’t respond,

  I’ll catch hell when I talk to her. And

  what if she somehow finds out

  about this? Alexa wouldn’t bust me,

  would she? But now I remember

  what we shared last night, and the slip

  of her hot silk against my skin brings

  me full-on erect in three seconds flat.

  She is, indeed, a siren. “What are

  you doing to me?” I’m helpless

  here in the dark. At least, until

  morning. At least until I can

  consider just what the fuck

  I’ve done. To Hayden. To Alexa.

  Most of all, to me.

  Uncharacteristically

  I wake early, without an alarm.

  Must have something to do

  with the movements and sounds

  of the girl sleeping next to me.

  I lie very still watching her tread

  her dreams, wonder if I’m sharing

  those with her, too, as well as my bed.

  Was this how Dad felt waking up

  next to Mom that first time—

  awash in guilt, yet fulfilled in

  a whole new way, and wondering

  if he could ever find such overwhelming

  satisfaction with the girl he loved?

  Something I never before thought

  about—were he and his Lorelei

  having problems, issues impossible

  to wade through? Was their relationship

  doomed before Mom managed to

  obliterate it? Or would it somehow

  have survived, if not for a baby. . . .

  Wait. Baby? Shit! We never . . .

  I never. Oh man. I was drunk.

  We were drunk, and she never said