Touch football quickly turns into nothing more than a mud fight, full of lots of cheap shots and laughing. At one point, I just sit back and watch Travis and Tommi smear each other with thick globs of the stuff, aiming for each other’s mouth and hair and ears.
When there are literally no clean surfaces visible on their faces and arms, they turn to me, panting and exhausted. “Now what?”
“I think you’ve both had enough, but I’ll leave it up to you. More football or hot shower?”
Travis and Tommi look at each other and grin. “Hot shower,” they say simultaneously.
Tommi eyes her brother, shaking her head. “You’re filthy! You should probably change back into your other clothes so that at least we won’t get the back seat dirty,” Tommi tells him. When he starts off, nodding in acknowledgement, she calls after him, “And take those shoes off before you get in.”
Her lips are still curved when she turns her attention back to me. Something about the moment hits me like a punch to the gut. I think for a second that I could stand here and stare at her, just enjoy her smile and her happiness for hours. Days, maybe. But I can’t. We can’t. So, instead, I brush a clump of mud from the end of her nose. “Have fun?”
“I did. Thank you. This was so good for him.”
“And you.”
“And me,” she concedes.
“You can be the real you around me anytime. I won’t tell a soul.”
“So you prefer this?”
“Oh, hell yeah! I don’t need glamorous. Or proper.”
“I’m not proper.”
“You forget that I heard your…expressiveness that day on the side of the road. And it didn’t consist of ‘darn’ or ‘golly gee’. But I haven’t heard anything like that come out of your mouth since then.”
“Ladies aren’t supposed to talk that way, according to Lance.”
“I don’t want a lady. I want a woman. One who knows her own mind. One who wears what she’s comfortable in, one who says what she’s thinking.” I take a step closer. I can’t help myself. Her scent draws me in. Even covered in mud, she smells like sexy sunshine. “I want the woman who kisses like she’s on fire and makes me feel like I’m the only one who can put her out.”
“Sig,” she begins.
I break in to cut her off. I know her objections. And I know how much I don’t want to hear them. “I’m just being honest. I’m not even touching you.”
Her eyes are glued to mine, a damn near irresistible gravity pulling us together. “It’s not like you can anyway. I mean, we’re in public. With my little brother. What could you possibly touch?”
I reach down and smear my hand in mud. With her eyes locked on mine, I reach between us and flatten my palm on her chest, right over her heart. “This. I’d touch this.”
Her eyes search mine for a couple of heartbeats, looking for my meaning. I know when she finds it. Clear green crystal melts into liquid. I see it just before she closes her eyes. She squeezes them shut, like it hurts to look at me. Rather than touching her anywhere else, like I want to, or saying anything else, like I want to, I just press my palm flush against her, feeling the steady, rapid beat of her heart.
After nearly a minute, I lower my hand, reaching for hers. “Come on. I’ve got towels in the truck,” I say, tugging her along behind me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE- TOMMI
After he drops us off at my house, my eyes follow Sig’s truck until it disappears around the corner. I don’t want him to go. But he can’t stay.
I try to smother my sigh as I turn toward the front door. I let us in and Travis goes immediately for a quick shower and then into his room, where he’ll undoubtedly stay until dinner and then, afterward, until morning. I can’t decide how much is typical teenager or typical Asperger’s and how much is something I should worry about. At the root of the problem is that Travis is hardly typical in any way, so I’m a continuous ball of worrying yet trying not to worry. And probably making a load of mistakes along the way.
“How about pizza for supper?” I call down the hall. “I didn’t really plan anything.”
I was too busy lying to Lance to plan dinner.
And I had to lie because I can’t get Sig out of my head. Or out of my blood. He seems to have stormed the carefully guarded castle of my mind and taken over. And if that’s not bad enough, I’m starting to feel things other than just desire for him. And that is trouble that I don’t need.
That’s what my brain tells me. But my body and my heart have different arguments. Like the fact that I’ve never really felt this way about someone before. Like the fact that everyone needs some pleasure, some comfort, some…substance to their lives. Things other than obligation and responsibility. Right?
I never really craved the touch of another person before. Every hand that’s ever been on my body has been there for a specific reason, not because I’ve wanted it there. Until Sig.
I never really craved the company of another person before either. At sixteen, my life changed forever and I haven’t had time for simple pleasures like laughing or being frivolous or falling in love. Even though I don’t really have time now, I’m beginning to feel like I need it. Like I need Sig. Not his help or his protection, just his presence. I like being with him. A lot. And there’s a big part of me that says he’s worth the risk.
But I can’t. I shouldn’t. It could go so very, very wrong.
Or it could go right, my other half argues. So very, very right.
And then what? Where do we go from there?
There’s nowhere to go. It can never be anything more than just a fling, no matter how much I wish it otherwise. Our paths are too different.
But maybe that’s enough–an amazing fling. It would have to be.
A one-time indulgence. Just to get it out of our system. To slake this undeniable hunger. Just one time, one night and no more. All things return to normal after that. Hands off, strictly professional.
But we’d get the one time.
One perfect time.
As I call in the pizza and empty the dishwasher while I wait for it, I give myself over to the back-and-forth of my internal arguments. But in the end, after all is said and done, one side wins. One thought continually flutters to the surface. Just once.
We’re both adults. We can handle what will amount to a one-night stand. We’ve both had them before. I mean, I have. Many years ago, but still… And I’m sure Sig has. I mean, a guy like that…who looks like he does…and flirts like he does… He’s probably had several.