Page 43 of Small Town Swoo
“That does sound good.” He finished off his beer and set the bottle on the tray table, next to his empty plate. I was still thinking about carnival food when he spoke again. “So tell me something. Have you ever faked it with anyone?”
Surprised, I shrugged. “Sure.”
“Because the guy didn’t know what he was doing?”
“Right, but he thought he did, and it was obvious he was waiting for it to happen and just getting more frustrated by the minute—like it was my fault.”
Dash cringed. “That does not sound like a good time.”
“What, having sex with me?”
“No!” He thumped my shoulder. “Being with that dumbass you had to fake it with.”
“You already rejected me once, Dash. You can stop doing it now,” I teased.
“Listen, I rejected you for your own good.”
“Jerk!” I leaned over to give him a shove, and the next thing I knew, he tackled me, throwing me onto my back and pinning my arms above my head, his body sprawled over mine.
“You’re the one who brought it up,” he said, his voice deep and playful. “I thought we were never allowed to talk about it.”
“We’re not.” I squirmed beneath him, although I loved the heaviness of his weight on me. It was every bit as thrilling as sixteen-year-old me had imagined. “We’re supposed to forget it happened.”
“Impossible. I’ll never forget it.”
I stopped moving. His mouth hovered above mine in the semi-darkness, the silvery light of the TV screen illuminating one side of his face, leaving the other in shadow. “You won’t?”
“No.” He’d dipped his head, and his mouth was on my neck now. He waskissing my neck. “I still think about it.”
“Me too.” I tried to swallow, but the touch of his lips on my throat seemed to have disabled the mechanism.
“Maybe we need a do-over.” He left a trail of searing-hot kisses on my skin, clavicle to jaw. “We could give it a better ending.”
“Dash,” I whispered. Before I could say another word, his mouth was on mine. Warm and firm and salty from the French fries. His lips opened, and his tongue stole into my mouth. My heart thumped hard enough for him to feel it, like it wanted to escape my body and jump into his before I could snatch it back again. Was this really happening? I arched my back and struggled to free my hands so I could touch him, make sure he was real.
But he must have thought I was struggling to push him away, because he sprang back and popped to his feet as if someone had yanked him off me. “Sorry. Jesus. Did I hurt your hand?”
“No.” I sat up, my pulse a jackhammer in my head, my body yearning for his weight again.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I tried to smile. An invitation. “I’m fine.”
He looked away and ran a hand over his hair. “My brothers.”
“Your brothers?” I frowned. “What about them?”
“They basically told me to behave around you.”
“They did?”
He laughed, but it sounded forced. “Yeah. They don’t trust me with you. Apparently for good reason.”
“Dash, that’s ridiculous.”
“Anyway, I should get going.” He grabbed his emptyplate and beer bottle from the nearby tray table and made a beeline for the kitchen.
I sat there for a minute in the dark, seeing the kitchen light come on, hearing the faucet run.Damn you, Buckley brothers. I’m not a kid.
