darkness, a cabin or shack.
“You sure nobody lives there?”
“Want to go up and find out?”
“Not especially.”
She stared at Charlie. She wished there were more light so she could see his face. His deep-set eyes were lost in shadow, his lips a blur. For a terrible instant, he was a stranger. Then she touched his face, and he was Charlie again. Her trembling fingers wandered down his cheeks, his jaw. As they settled on his shoulders, Leigh stepped against him, drew him closer, and kissed his mouth.
His lips felt rigid. She slid her tongue along them, and they parted slightly. The tip of his tongue met hers. She flicked at it, then sucked it into her mouth. Moaning, Charlie put his arms around her. He squeezed her tightly and opened his mouth wide, lips pressing, tongue filling her mouth.
Leigh squirmed, caressing his smooth back from shoulder to waist, then clutching him closer. He was tight against her, chest hard against her breasts, flat belly pushing hers as they breathed, the button of his jeans digging into her skin.
Charlie’s hands felt enormous on her back. But they didn’t move. They stayed up, just below her shoulder blades. Leigh wanted them moving, exploring. She wanted them under the shirt, on her skin.
It’s all right, she told herself. He’s new at this. He’s never been with a girl before, doesn’t know what to do, or knows but is frightened.
She slid a hand down Charlie’s back and pushed her fingers under the waistband of his jeans. He didn’t have underwear on. His buttocks were smooth, firm mounds.
“How about if we… take a swim?” he asked.
“Great.” Leigh pulled her hand out. “I didn’t bring my swimming suit. Neither did you.”
“That’s okay,” Charlie said.
“What will I wear?”
“You can wear my shirt if you want.”
“I don’t want to get it wet for you.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. He let go of Leigh. She eased away from him. She put her hands on his sides. “Do you want to help me with the buttons?”
He unfastened the two buttons, spread the shirt open, and stared at her. Leigh closed her eyes. She felt the shirt slip off her shoulders, its sleeves glide down her arms. She stood before Charlie, naked, trembling, waiting for his touch.
“I sure wish it was light out,” he said in a husky voice, “so I could see you better.”
“There’s always Braille,” Leigh whispered. Charlie just stood there. Opening her eyes, she reached for the button of his jeans.
He pushed her hands away. “Go on and get in the lake,” he told her. He didn’t sound annoyed, just nervous.
“You don’t have to be shy,” Leigh said.
“I’ll be right in.”
“Okay.” Turning away, Leigh walked down the sand. The water washed over her feet. She remembered its chill when she dove from the pier. It didn’t seem that way now. It felt as warm as the night air.
“Now, don’t look,” Charlie said.
“Okay, bashful.” The water rose around Leigh with mild caresses. She caught her breath when it lapped the joining of her legs. Then she leaned in, left her feet, and glided forward. When she sought the bottom again, the water was neck high. She let her arms drift to the surface. She stared out at the line of trees ahead, the narrow moonlit mouth of the inlet.
Soft splashing sounds came from behind. She waited for Charlie’s arms to encircle her, his hands to find her breasts. She waited for the feel of his body against her back.
He swam past her, only his head above the surface, then turned to face her six feet away. “This sure feels good,” he said. “Nothing like a night swim.”
“Come here, Charlie Payne.”
He laughed softly. “Betcha can’t catch me.”
Leigh didn’t feel like playing games. “What are you scared of?”
“Not it! You’re it!” His head turned away and he started to swim.
“Damn it, Charlie.”
“You ca-an’t catch me,” he chanted over his shoulder.
“Don’t think so, huh?” Muttering, “Shit,” she lunged forward, dropped beneath the surface, and swam underwater. She passed through a chilly current. She went deeper. Her lungs hurt, but she kept going.
She pictured Charlie treading water. His long legs. His penis.
She should almost be to him.
The water stirred against her. She heard the muffled sounds of splashes. He was making a getaway.
Seems like he’s
Leigh surfaced, gasping, her face splashed by Charlie’s kicks. She darted out a hand. Grabbed one of his ankles, pulled. “Gotcha!” Tugging the ankle, she reached higher and clutched his leg. She expected to find skin. Instead, there was denim. “Hey!” She hooked fingers into a rear pocket and yanked. Charlie slipped backward. He twisted around, freeing himself. “What’s the big idea?” Leigh demanded.
“Huh?”
“You’ve got your jeans on.”
“So?”
“Well… for one thing… what makes you think they’ll be dry by morning?”
“Guess they won’t be.”
“You gonna tell your mother… how they got wet?”
Charlie didn’t answer. Obviously, he hadn’t thought about that. Leigh eased herself backward until her feet found the rocky bottom. Charlie moved closer. He stood, the water just lower than his shoulders. “It takes a long time for jeans to dry,” she said. “If you give them to me right now, I’ll wring them out for you and hang them up. Maybe the breeze…”
“I wouldn’t have nothing on.”
“That’d make two of us.”
“You think they’ll dry out in time if they’re hung out?”
“Maybe.”
“All right, but…” He didn’t finish. His shoulders moved slightly, then he ducked beneath the surface. His movements under the water sent currents brushing against Leigh. He was below for a long time. His head finally popped up with a burst of water. He thrust the jeans toward Leigh.
“Don’t go away,” she said, taking them and wading for shore.
That little ploy sure did the trick, she thought. She still felt a little annoyed that he’d kept his jeans on in the first place. It was cheating. It was also pretty damned peculiar. How many guys, in his place, would’ve stayed in their pants with a naked girl waiting in the water? Zip, that’s how many.
So what’s new? He’s been peculiar from the start.
Never been with a girl.
His mother’s got him so screwed up… Well, this time it backfired on her. If Charlie wasn’t so frightened that the wet pants would give him away, he might’ve never taken them off.
Leigh waded out and stood on the beach, her back to the inlet. The breeze made her shiver. She gritted her teeth at the feel of cold droplets trickling down her skin. As quickly as possible, she twisted each leg of the jeans. She wrung the jeans with all her strength. When she shook them open, the fabric was still wet but no longer dripping.
To reach the nearest trees, she had to leave the beach. Twigs hurt her feet. Undergrowth snagged her ankles. She looked up at the dark shape of the cabin, wondering if it really was deserted.
What if somebody…?
Don’t start.
He might be hiding among the trees, watching. A hand inside his overalls…
