She pressed her chest to mine as her fingers found their way to the nape of my neck, carding through my hair. She kissed me deeper, fiercer, like kindling caught fire in a dry field, ready to burn down every last inch.
But just as I could feel the flames licking the swell of her lips, she pulled away, leaving me gasping and moving toward her like a sunflower toward the sun.
"I didn't want to have to do that," she said, grinning mischievously and biting her raspberry lips. "But you forced me to."
She was a sorceress. She learned some ancient, wild magic amongst the yuca and the saguaro and desert flowers, beneath domes of brilliant blue skies and a trillion stars, around the calls of hawks and screaming of sandstorms. Her kiss left me parched, yearning for another precious drop of water.
Damn her.
"So you'll stay?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest, still in her black vest and white button-down.
I hesitated.
"One drink," I finally said, holding up a single finger both to convince her and to convince myself. "One."
She just stared at me, silent.
"And absolutely no dancing." This was non-negotiable.
The girl just grinned before she turned back around toward the festival. I watched the subtle sway of her hips, the casual, easy stride of her long, lanky legs, the swish of her braid, the colour of the first rays of morning sun.
Goddammit, goddammit. Goddammit.
I wanted to run away from her, far, far away. I wanted to run to her, sweep her up into my arms and hear her laughter travel across the dazzling lake. I wanted to forget all about her. I wanted to tattoo her name onto my ass. I wanted to close my eyes and not remember the colour of her eyes, not feel the heat of those flames burning within them. I wanted to know every inch of her, learn everything about—
I frowned.
"Wait," I cupped my hands over my mouth to call after her, "what's your name again?"
Abbi
After another shot of Poitín, “absolutely no dancing” turned into “just a quick spin”. His hands hesitated on my waist, not yet willing to do what I wanted him to do: grab me, hold me, pull me tight. The band played and our “just a quick spin” was filled with awkwardly avoided eye contact, nervous throat clearing, and at the end of the song Michael darted off the dance floor as if it were on fire.
But two beers later and “just a quick spin” became “another dance wouldn't be terrible, I guess”. The sunlight dazzled off the lake and the music soared to the bright blue sky and Michael's hand slipped to the small of my back. I tripped over his toes and laughed. He smiled before realising this travesty and quickly drawing his lips back into a straight line.
"That was silly," he said as he stomped petulantly off the dance floor toward the kegs of beer. "Dancing is a complete waste of time."
Well, we just had to have a drink with our lunch feast of traditional lamb stew, potato pancakes, and black pudding, so much black pudding. And what better for dessert than another shot of Poitín?
I grinned across the long beer hall-style tables at Michael. His tie was loosened and top three buttons of his wrinkled white shirt were unbuttoned; he was not so slyly glancing over my shoulder at the crowded dance floor.
"You want to dance, don't you?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Absolutely not."
I quickly ducked my head under the table—just as I suspected. "Your toe is tapping."
Michael glowered at me, threw back the last of his shot, and stood, pointing a stern finger at me. "Follow me and don't say a word."
I bit my lip to hide a smile. He reached a hand back for me and our fingers interlaced, his skin hot against mine. The feet of the crowd stomped to the frantic, wild music of the banjos and guitars, the rhythm coursing through my body as Michael held my chest close to his, his proximity mixing with the buzz of the alcohol.
"That was the last one," he told me, releasing me from his arms when the song ended.
But he didn't leave the dance floor.
"That was the last one," he repeated as the band struck up the next upbeat, infectious tune.
I stood there, watching the struggle on his face. I felt like I was treading water, squinting up at the sun at Michael, who was still hesitating at the rocky edge. I'd already taken the plunge. All I needed was for him to do the same.
Michael glanced down at me and sighed. "This is the last one."
He swept me into his arms and there was no longer any distance between us. Our bodies, hot from the sun, hot from the movement, hot from something within us, pressed against one another and moved as one. My hair spilled from my braid, falling across my pink cheeks. I smiled up at him, only to stop when I saw the look on his face.
He'd gone deeper. I'd waited for him below and he'd jumped, but he hadn't stopped at the surface. He'd plunged deeper, deeper, deeper down into the unknown twilight depths.
It was he who was now waiting for me, waiting for me to follow, daring me to follow.
The wind swept my hair across my face. I tucked my hair behind my ear as I looked up at his dark-green eyes. He didn’t look away. I liked the surface. I liked where I could see the shore. I liked the shallows where my
