South of Sunshine (14 page)

She cups my cheeks. “You’re so sweet and beautiful,” she says, as if she’s read my thoughts. My heart pounds in my throat. “You have an amazing spirit for life. I love how you see nature as cupid, dropping hints of heart shapes everywhere. You have this cute habit of bouncing on your heels when you’re excited and rocking back and forth when you’re nervous. You’ve got the sexiest little twang I’ve ever heard. I could listen to you talk for hours with that little accent of yours. I love how you draw out my name.” She closes her eyes as if recalling the memory. She opens her eyes again and swallows. “There’s nothing about you I don’t love.”

My heart skips a beat. Her last words echo in my head, tattooing themselves to my memory. It’s how I feel and then some. That raging need that I’ve quieted for so many years has taken on a voice of its own. It screams, “Feed me.” It’s not enough to have her arms around me. I want to be closer, nearer, to crawl inside her skin and be one with her. Love her.

I don’t want to go home and say our good-byes at the door, only to hold my breath until the next time I get to see her. This night—or the part where I’m here in her arms—I don’t want it to end. Not yet.

“Sleep over?” The words whisper out of my lips. I’m not sure she’s even heard me. Or worse, I’m worried she will deny me. She has so much trust with her parents; I can’t imagine she’d ever break that confidence. The fact that I’ve asked her makes me regret the position I have put her in.

The silence kills me. I can see the wheels turning in Bren’s head—how she’s trying to figure out how to tell me
no
without crushing me. Just when I’m about to tell her I take it back and exclaim that it’s a stupid idea … she bends and kisses me.

Her lips are firm and wet and just as hungry as mine. I feel her hand move down my side and stop dangerously low on my hip. Her thumb caresses the crook where my leg joins, and she squeezes. Like an invitation, I push my body up against hers, wanting more. She grips tighter in approval.

I’m not sure if she’s agreeing to sleep over or distracting me. I don’t care.

Bren pulls away, leaving me hanging in the air, openmouthed. She raises her thumb and gingerly grazes it back and forth over my lips. “My, my, what a sweet thing,” she says.

Instantly, my body stands to attention.

“Of course I’ll stay. How can I say no to you?” The knowingness and wickedness in her eyes reminds me she’s been firmly in her shoes for some time. I’ve only recently put on my shoes, much less broken them in.

I haven’t really played out the particulars for when we get to my house, or what I will say to my mother. She’ll be asleep when we get home. In the morning, she’ll probably freak and then—
Do not think about Mother right now
. What will Bren wear? What will I wear? Where in the heck will we sleep?

Bren’s mouth is hot on mine again. Our tongues circle and prod, and it’s all I can do to inhale her in. All the tedious details seem to fade away. My hands slide themselves into the sides of her open shirt, pulling her against me. Her hand creeps lower to more responsive places, and she presses herself right up against—

Bang! Bang! Bang! Van pounds the roof of the BMW, scaring the wits out of me. Bren doesn’t even flinch.

Van comes around to our side. “Let’s hit it, kids. Pumpkin time is in forty-five, and we’ve got an hour drive. Are you ready?”

“Yeah, Kaycee. Are you ready?” Bren grins. Her brows pop up twice, full of suggestion. My stomach flip-flops, a mix of anticipation and something that might resemble doubt, but I won’t know for sure unless we decide to—yeah, not going there.

Chapter 15

What I’m
not
going to do is panic … or chicken out. I creep up the stairs to my mother’s room and take in a deep breath. The attic air is stagnant. The low-ceiling loft takes up the entire space, but it spans the width of our house, making it the largest of the bedrooms. Red digits on her clock peep at me through the crack in her door, well past midnight.

I face the numbers away from her bed, just in case she wakes up enough to think about checking the time. “Mother.” I nudge her.

“Hmmm,” she says in a sleepy haze.

“I’m home.”

She grunts an uh-huh back to me and snuggles into her pillow more.

“I’m having a friend sleep over. Is that cool?” I cross my fingers, hoping she’s too out of it to put two and two together.

“What?” she asks, lifting her head off the pillow, bleary-eyed.

It takes me a second to gather my courage to ask again. “I said I’m having a friend sleep over. Is that cool?”

“Okay, honey. Lock the front door.” She rolls over into her covers.

As I creep back down the stairs, I am very well aware of the fact that she has no idea what she’s agreed to. Asleep or not, I will maintain my defense in the morning that she said it was okay.

Back in my room, Bren leans over my Civil War scrap metal collection, sifting through the findings. Her legs look ridiculously long—and off-the-charts sexy—in the gym shorts I gave her to sleep in.

“What? No snow angel in my sheets? I’m so offended,” I say. It gets a chuckle out of her. I join her next to the box.

“These are awesome.” She holds up a half-eroded uniform button. “Did you collect them all?”

“Mostly.” I admire the button myself. “Some of them my nana gave me after my grandpa passed away.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago, back when I was in eighth grade. We used to hit different farms near all the big Civil War battle grounds and search for metal with his detector. We’d come up with barbed wire and old soda cans, but every now and then we’d hit a treasure trove. The really good stuff we donated to the Shiloh museum.” I pass her back the button. She nestles it among the other trinkets and gently closes the lid.

Every molecule in my body hums with awareness from her closeness. This is a two-bedroom house, no guest room. The not-as-big-as-you-think-it-is queen bed looms behind us. Bren will be sleeping inches away from me … in my bed. I clear my throat and grab a nightshirt and shorts. “I’m … just gonna change.” I stumble as I back out of my room.

After I change in the hall bathroom, I brush my teeth twice, rinse with mouthwash, and tousle my declassified hair. It does nothing to change the wavy wildness of it.

In the mirror I look myself dead in the eyes.

“It’s a sleepover. This means nothing,” I say quietly to myself.

Or it can mean everything.

“Shut up. You only do what you want to do. Take it slow.”

Or jump right in feet-first. That’s fine too.

“Shut. Up.”

“Kaycee?” Bren calls from the other side of the door.

Great, now she hears me talking to myself. I pull the door open. “Yeah,” I say, trying to hush the voices in my head.

“Do you have an extra toothbrush?”

“Yep.” I open the smaller cubby drawer and hand her one of the many dental office samples we have stocked. “It’s adult size. Sorry, no Dora.” I pucker my lips.

“Funny.” She takes the brush as I slither past her.

In my room, I stare at my bed. Not ready to cozy up under the covers just yet, I lean against my dresser as if it’s a casual, comfortable space on which to lounge. The edge of the furniture digs into my tailbone. I shift to the foot of my bed, sit on one corner, then move to the other. I’m not even sure which side of the bed I should take. I usually just hog the middle.

All my furniture crowds the tiny space. Walls shrink in around me. The collar of my T-shirt chokes my neck. Air refuses to fill my lungs.

“You okay?”

I leap to my feet, startled by Bren’s voice. “I was just … trying to …” My hands go for my nonexistent back pockets—palms slip off my shorts, and I bounce on my heels. I rub my hands over my thighs and shift into a very relaxed pose of arms locked tightly across my chest.

“Yep. All good,” I say.

A soft, knowing smile curls up the edges of Bren’s mouth. Heat rips across my cheeks, tinting my face. She watches me bob up and down. Remembering what she said at the club, I force myself to still. It’s like trying to stop an earthquake.

Bren pulls back the covers on the right side of the bed, and eases in with grace as if this is her bed, not mine. Long arms tuck behind her head, her large watch
chinks
loudly on her wrist. She removes the bulky piece of jewelry and lays it on the nightstand, returning her arms to the relaxed position. Her pearly whites gleam like a tiger’s grin.

This is
nothing
like having Sarabeth stay the night.

I swallow. The lump in my throat gets stuck like a pill. How do I act when Sarabeth is here? Be casual … and don’t just stand at the foot of the bed, bouncing on your heels and gawking at her like she’s an apple pie. I stroll over to the other side of the bed. Bren’s eyes trail me, and I trip on the nothing on the floor. A nervous chuckle escapes me—it sounds more like the grunting of an ape.

Once I’m under the covers, Bren faces me, leaning on her elbow. There’s a heaviness to her eyes that makes my insides explode. Needs my body has never known awaken. The thrill of fear and excitement creeps around my neck and forces me to shiver.

“We don’t have to do anything.” Bren stretches a hand out and smoothes the wild waves of my hair behind my ear.

The thought of doing nothing is not what I had in mind either. A little sigh slips out of me.

“Or we can just … play it by ear.” Her brown eyes gaze upon me, turning my skin hot.

“Yeah.” I nod. Let’s go with that.

Bren scoots closer, and I feel her legs touch mine, zinging electricity up the length of my body. She slips her hand under the covers and pulls me closer for a kiss. The scorching heat of her hand on my hip is a stark contrast to the coolness of the sheets. Our mouths melt into each other. Our tongues find a pleasing rhythm. I ease back, pulling her over me.

Every touch, every movement, every deep kiss thickens the air with want. Just when I think I can’t breathe, her mouth trickles off mine. She goes to work kissing my neck, burning my skin with the touch of her mouth. The puff of her warm breath tingles my insides. She kisses my ear, drowning me in a haze of ocean and spice. Bren slides her hand to rest on the hollow of my belly, just under the edge of my shirt. My body purrs at the feel of her skin on such a sensitive area. Bren moans a reply against my neck. The tips of her fingers glide over my rib cage until her thumb grazes the bottom of my breast.

I freeze.

Her mouth returns to mine. I’m not sure if she’s distracting me or if the closeness of where her hand rests is igniting her own building desire. Soft lips are replaced by an urgent, starving mouth. My mind begins to dissect what is first base versus third. How far is going too far with her? I am a virgin. I never wanted to have sex with a boy, for obvious reasons, but I’m not sure how far I’m willing to go here with Bren either. Technically, she is my first girlfriend. And at what point in what we’re doing does it mean I’m no longer a virgin?

Her thumb lightly strokes back and forth, and the touch is oh so light, but glorious nonetheless. It’s not that my body doesn’t want this. No doubt it’s the first time my body actually knows what it wants. It’s nothing like the time Greg Nettle asked to touch my boob our freshman year, and after a good squeeze, he laughed all goofy and said, “Squishy.”

Seriously, I’m thinking of the time Greg Nettle groped my boob while I’m macking down with Bren? God, help me.
Oh no. Don’t think of God
. Don’t need to think of Him while all this is happening.

Too late.

The flames that consume me feel a little more like the fires of hell. Whatever Bren has been kindling starts to fizzle and smolder out. I don’t mean for the shutdown to occur, but this train is barreling down the track fast, and I’m not ready for the ride. The scenery is going by a bit too fast and it’s blurring for me.

As if sensing my distance, Bren pulls away with a gasp. “Everything … okay?” she pants. Her leg rubs up against mine, soothing, wanting.

“I—” I’m not sure what to say. The last thing I want her to think is that I’m some kind of tease. When I invited her here, my mind was there, but now that we are actually here, well, I don’t want to go there yet. Just because I’ve decided to accept myself being a lesbian, and I’ve opened up myself to her, doesn’t mean I’m ready to give up everything.

Not that I won’t ever explore this path again, but here, now, in the small space of my bed, it’s just too real. I want to be in love. Be loved back … for a while, and not just in the thirty seconds after I think she’s telling me she loves me in the parking lot of a nightclub.

Heck, I might even be in love with her, but if I have to guess and calculate whether or not I am in love, then I surely don’t need to be chugging full steam ahead.

“I’m not ready.” It comes out in a rush. I feel stupid for saying it out loud. Maybe it was only going to be a touchy-feely session. Maybe I was the only one whose mind was veering down that path of getting naked and doing everything.

Bren shakes her head and looks away from me.

“Don’t hate me. I just … I mean, we’ve never talked about … you know—” I stall.

“Hate you? This is all my fault. I’m sorry.” Bren runs her fingers through her hair and breathes an exasperated breath.

“Sorry?” I’m totally confused as to why she feels the need to apologize. Especially after I grinded against her on the dance floor, practically jumped her in the parking lot, and then invited her to stay the night. “I’m the one who should apologize.”

She laughs at that. I’m not sure why it’s so funny, but I muster up something like a laugh too.

She caresses a thumb over my lips, biting her own. “I shouldn’t have pushed myself on you. I shouldn’t have been so … aggressive, especially if you’ve never done something like this before.”

My mouth feels cotton dry. “You’ve … done this before?” I blurt out before my brain can stop it. And we both know I’m not talking about kissing.

“Um.” She shifts her glance away from me. “There have been girls.”

The plural does not escape my notice. I feel like a total loser. I cover my face. Questions like
How many? Did you love them?
and
Did you like being with them more than me?
fly through my head.

Bren pulls my hands off my face. “Hey. Look at me. I’m crazy about you.” She laces her fingers with mine. “More than crazy.” Her eyes drink me in, saying what her lips don’t.

A long space of silence fills the air, and I wait for her say more. To say
it
.

After she chews on her lip a bit, she finally says, “How about you set the pace, and I will follow. If it happens, it happens.”

“If it doesn’t?” I scrunch up my face.

“Then—” Bren takes a breath. Her eyes focus on our clasped hands. “We’ll take up bingo.”

“Bingo.” I laugh. “That’s your solution?”

“Yep. Bingo.” Bren’s laughing at her own ridiculous suggestion. “I hear it’s all the rage at the Sunshine Nursing Home.” She settles back on the pillows and pulls me to her.

“Okay, bingo it is.” I bury my face in her neck, grateful there’s no pressure. Even more grateful that if I do decide to do this, it will be with someone like her.

The familiar creek of floorboards above my head penetrates my subconscious. I know this has a meaning, but the fog of sleep keeps it at bay. Where I am, I want to stay forever. It’s peaceful and warm. It’s not until I hear the shuffling steps of Mother’s slipper feet in the kitchen that my eyes bolt open. I’m wrapped up in Bren’s arms, snuggled in the crook of her neck. Our hands are laced together in a sweaty tangle.

“Oh, crap.” I shove myself away from Bren as the handle on my door clicks open.

“Kaycee, time to get up. We are not going to be late for church—”

Awkwardness thickens the air and freezes my mother in the doorway. Bren and I are safely on opposite sides of the bed, but the hand-in-the-cookie-jar look of guilt is all over my face. Mother stumbles over her words about getting ready for church and closes the door in a rush.

“Oh shit,” I say.

“I should go.” Bren gets up to leave.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.
So
sorry.” I say while scrambling around to get dressed, like I’m the one who needs to get out of here. Bren is all calm, cool, and collected like a cucumber. I pull my shirt over my head and turn around. There’s a brief pause where I realize we’ve just changed clothes in the same room.

Bren breaks the moment, saying, “You’re going to be okay, right?”

“Yeah. I think it’s fine. We’re cool.” We are
so
not cool, but that’s my bad, and I don’t want it to scare Bren away. Dang it, I’m fairly certain my mother didn’t see anything, but there was this total moment of what-the-heck-is-going-on-here look on her face. Maybe that was just her look of surprise because she forgot that in her deepest moment of sleep, she said yes to the sleepover. Something I will most definitely remind her of.

“Call me later, babe.” Bren pulls me to her and pecks a quick kiss on my forehead. Our hug is just as clipped.

We manage to make it to the front door without a Mother sighting. As soon as I close the glass door and turn around, Mother’s standing there, gripping her coffee mug something fierce. I’m all deer-in-the-headlights frozen still.

“You know my rules in this house. I expect you to ask for permission before you invite just anybody into my home.”

I can’t remember when the last time I actually had to
ask
for permission for Sarabeth to come over was, but now’s not a good time to point that out. “Yes, ma’am. That’s why I asked you last night when I got home. And you said it was fine.” I weasel past her through the kitchen toward my bedroom. Out of the corner of my eye as I pass her, I can see the memory of me waking her up last night registering.