I imagine those old proper biddies waking up in the dead of night to this gorgeous drunk maniac lighting their orchard on accidental fire, and I can't help laughing, and she laughs behind her hands, and then she drops them and looks over at me, and we're both laughing like two idiots. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard.
We pull into the driveway of her grandparents' beach house, and I'm still laughing when I get to her door. She jumps out and half falls into my arms.
I love the feel of her against me, the long line of her back and the soft curve of her ass.
Suddenly we're not laughing anymore.
"Your eyes are like blueberries," she says and brushes her fingers over my eyebrow.
"Do you write sonnets?" I test pulling her closer, and she moves my way, standing in her bare feet on the toes of my boots.
"I'll write one for you. And come to your window. And read it underneath. Where do you live?"
Her voice is a hushed whisper, tugging at something wild in me that I've been keeping on a tight leash up til now.
"I...it's complicated," I fumble.
She pushes her mouth close to mine and runs her hands up and down my back, first on top of my shirt, then underneath. My skin jumps under her hands and my breath holds fast in my lungs.
"What isn't complicated with you, Winchester Youngblood?"
Her mouth reaches up to mine, and the taste of her kiss is as slow and hot as a long swig of grappa. My hands are at her waist, a safe place to stay while her tongue twines with mine in a rhythm that makes me want to grind against her.
It's safe, but I start to hate safe when there's so much of her I want to know, need to touch. The burnt sugar smell of her makes my head spin and my entire body freak into overdrive. I try to keep it calm, but I'm powerless against the pull of her.
I move my hands up slowly, matching the sweet slide of her tongue on mine, and my fingers dip in at the small of her back, climb along the indent of her spine, press through all her unbelievably soft hair, and rest on the twin juts of her shoulder blades, pulling her closer.
She licks and sucks at my lips, and I back her to the outside wall of the house, pull her up into my arms, let her wrap her legs around my waist, and balance her with my hands spread under the curve of her ass.
She pops her mouth away from mine and rubs her lips on my neck, drags them along my jaw, and brushes them against my ear, where she whispers, "Winch."
Her voice is a plead, a command, an invitation.
I press my forehead to her shoulder and squeeze her tight, about to answer every single one of her needs and all of mine, too, when I hear the one sound I loathe.
"Fuck me," I mutter.
"What is it?" Evan asks, her voice ragged from panting, and so sexy it's a blitzkrieg on my nerves.
The tone plays again. The Animals, "House of the Rising Sun." Remington's ringtone.
"It's my brother." I can hear how flat and harsh my words sound, and I see Evan's eyes widen in surprise.
"You should answer," she suggests, unhooking her legs from my waist and stepping out of the circumference of my arms.
I bite my tongue, because fuck my brother. Fuck my phone. Fuck the fact that I have to call him back. She doesn't realize that tonight's over. This is over. She doesn't realize how much I want her, and how impossible it is for me to choose her.
It's been a long time since I contemplated choosing anything over Remington, and there's a bitter taste in my mouth over that fact.
I stare at the phone in my hand until it goes quiet, then grit my teeth and say, "I'm so fucking sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. But I have to take you home now."
She eyes the phone with a frown.
"Okay. But maybe you should call him back. Maybe it's no big deal? We're all the way out here."
She gestures to the house with her hand, and I imagine what it would be like to throw my fucking phone into the waves and take her hand, go into that house, talk her into skipping curfew, peel her clothes off, make her moan and yell my name, stay with her all night, wake up with her in my arms.
Maybe my plan for the night is nothing but a long-shot and an overall pretty bad idea, but now that I know this date is irrevocably over, I let myself imagine the night the way it would have gone in my perfect world.
Except my world is never close to perfect. Ever.
I run my hands through my hair and try to explain, but there's too much to say. "It's com--"
"--plicated," she finishes for me. Her lips curve up in a smile, but her eyes are disappointed. "Can you drop me at my car?"
"Shit. Your car is all the way back at the site."
I stare at the phone in my hand. As if it's taunting me, it rings again.
"Sorry. You could drop me at my grandparents' house. It's closer."
She crosses her arms over her stomach and shifts anxiously on her feet.
"It's not that. I just...this is our first date, and I'm not even gonna drop you at your door? Sorry. Can't happen. C'mon. Get in. I'll drop you at your car and follow you back."
She leans her head back and laughs, not an entirely happy sound.
"Winch, are you serious? I've driven home by myself a million times. I appreciate it, but this date has been kind of fucked up. Let's just let it end that way. And, seriously, it's not that big a deal. Okay?" Before I can answer, my phone rings again.
