Falling Under (Falling 3)
Page 65I spread out the blanket and lie back on it, drowsing in the warm sunlight until I hear the quiet purr of Kylie’s car. I hear her door close, listen as her footsteps get closer. I tilt my head to one side, see her legs approaching. I stand up, face her.
“Holy—holy shit, Oz!” She covers her mouth with her hand, hiding a stunned grin. “You look—holy shit! Is that even you?”
I scrub my hand through my hair, still amazed at the way it feels. “You like it?”
She moves closer, brushes her palm over the close-cropped hair at the back of my head, giggling. “Like it? I love it. I mean, I loved the way you looked before, but this…you look so f**king hot I can’t stand it.” She steps back and takes in my outfit. “Even your clothes? God, Oz, what got into you?”
I shrug. “I dunno. It just felt like it was time for a change. I got the haircut, and then figured I might as well do it right, you know? So here I am. I feel weird, though. I can’t get over the way my head feels.”
She laughs and runs her hand across my neck. “I bet. I got my hair cut really short once. It was in junior high, I think. I got, like, six inches cut off, and it felt like my head was going to float away.”
I nod. “That’s pretty much it.”
“You didn’t do this for me, did you? Like, you didn’t feel like I wanted you to—to change for me, did you?”
I frown. “No, not at all. It’s not about changing myself. I’m still me. I just don’t need the metal shirts and black jeans and long hair to be me. I’m me regardless of my appearance.”
“So wise, yet so young,” Kylie teases.
“Not by much.”
“Still older.”
She smirks at me, then slips her hand up under the hem of my shirt, touches the skin on my back. “Why are we still standing up?”
We sink to the blanket together, and she leans back on her elbows. Her lips part in expectation, her eyes closing as I lean in for a kiss. She’s wearing a loose white button-down blouse and a pair of skin-tight blue jeans, and I rest my hand on her hip, touch her lips with mine, taste her vanilla lip balm, smell soap and lilac something and faint perfume. Her hand slides up my back, clutching the back of my head. The kiss deepens, and I can’t help but free the top button of her blouse, and then the second. In moments, both of our shirts are open, her hands roaming my side and my palms cupping her tits.
We lose ourselves in the kiss, in the exchange of heat and passion, and though we won’t let it go any further than kissing, it’s intense and overwhelming.
She pulls away, bites at my lower lip. “God, if we don’t stop now I’m going to jump you right here, in broad daylight.”
“That would be bad….right?”
“Yeah. I mean, I do hear kids.” She smiles at me. “Let’s go home.”
“Home?” I ask. “Where’s home, for us?”
FOURTEEN: Creekside Wisdom
Colt
I’m tinkering with the Triumph, putting the finishing touches on it. It just needs some fine-tuning on the brakes, some polish all over, and then she’s done. I’m already planning my next project. I want to try something a little different. I’ve got my eye on a 1935 Studebaker President Eight. It’s little more than the shell, but I know a guy who can get me parts for Studebakers.
I catch a glance of Ben across the street, hand-washing his truck. He’s scrubbing hard with the round yellow sponge, a little too hard, I think. He’s turning his head every once in a while and glaring in this direction, and the pain and anger in his eyes is rife and hot. I realize Oz and Kylie are sitting on our porch, watching Netflix.
Man, Ben’s got it bad. I thought maybe after the accident he’d back off a bit, but it doesn’t seem as if he has. Months have passed, and he’s still pining away. Still hoping, maybe, watching and waiting. I sigh, and sit back on my heels. This has got to end. I know Jason’s talked to him about it, but what kid Ben’s age ever wants to hear what his dad has to say? Especially about matters of the heart.
As I watch, Ben throws the sponge down onto the ground, splattering soapy water everywhere. I can almost hear him cursing as he grabs the hose and sprays his truck. I put my tools back in the box and make my way over to Ben. I glance back, and I see that Oz and Kylie are doing that almost-kissing-while-they-whisper thing, prompting Ben’s tantrum.
I stop at the bottom step of the porch. “Hey, you two. I got no problem with any of this,” I say, gesturing at them. “And I know you can’t tiptoe around Ben’s feelings all the time, but don’t be cruel about it, huh? Just…at least try to be a little considerate.”
Kylie sighs. “Ugh. You’re right. I hate it, but you’re right. I just…I hate this whole situation with him, Daddy. I don’t know what to do. It’s like he’s not even trying to move on.” She stares across the street, meeting Ben’s gaze. “I’ll go talk to him.”
“What are you gonna say?” Oz asks.
I wave her down. “I don’t think there’s anything you can say, Ky. I’ll talk to him. Might be nothing I say will make any difference either, but…it’s worth a shot.”
I duck inside the house, let Nell know where I’m going, grab my keys, and head across the street. Ben is drying his truck with a rag, and I wait until he’s done. He ignores me until he’s dried the last quarter-panel.
“Yeah?” He tosses the rag into the now-empty bucket, along with the sponge, and then sets the bucket in the garage.
“Come on,” I say. “You and me gotta talk, kid.” I head back across the street, not waiting to see if he’s following. He will, if he knows what’s good for him.
I climb into the driver’s side of my truck, close the door, start the engine, and wait. After a minute, Ben slides in, closing the door with a slam. I back out, and it doesn’t escape my notice that he stares at Kylie and Oz as long as he can, until they’re out of sight, at which point he continues to stare out the window, chin in his hand, brows furrowed, visibly brooding. The radio stays off, and I’m silent. I pull into the parking lot of a convenience store.
“Sit tight,” I say, and head inside.