JANUARY | Tarot: IX. The Lovers
Annie held my hand back to the car. Side by side, our longboards tucked under our outside arms.
“We had quite the southern California date, didn’t we? Look at us now,” Annie said, gesturing to our boards.
“It really could go on a postcard,” I said. “Though they usually don’t show bloodied people at the tourism board. It’s bad for business.”
Annie giggled. “You mean bloodied skater girl walking down the boardwalk isn’t going to draw in tourists? Why ever not?”
We were back at the truck, sliding our boards and helmets into the backseat. I spotted her volleyball. “We never played volleyball.”
“Yeah, well, bloody wrists and all,” she said, presenting the wrist in question. “I’ll have to teach you another time. After this heals up.”
She leaned against the car door. I reached to pull down her beanie a little and played with the hair around her face. “I’ll take that rain check.”
We stood, staring into each other’s eyes. My stomach felt like it was on fire, burning up with nerves, with everything I wanted to tell her.
“Wanna come to my house and take some Tylenol?”
She gave a low laugh. “Yeah. Do I get to stay?”
“I think you have to,” I said. “Greg wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She shook her head. “It’s always a joke about what your dog wants. But what do you want, Nick?”
I rolled my lips, swallowing hard. The feelings were real, but what if she didn’t feel the same way? What would it look like for us to cross from friends with benefits to something more? Could we even?
“You,” I croaked out.
I glanced up to find her staring, waiting for me to say more.
I sucked in a breath and went on. “I want you, Annie. It’s always you that I want. It’s you when you’re being a little rebellious to get under my skin. It’s you when you’re covered in a road rash. It’s you when you flip your hair in my face when we’re sleeping, or when you’re being all cute and roasting me a chicken or laughing at some stupid joke I made.” I touched a finger to the little line between her brows. “It’s you when you’re worried and this shows up. It’s always going to be you, Annabelle, because I don’t know any other way to be than completely captivated by you.”
With her good hand, she tugged my neck to bring her face to mine, kissing me so hard it almost hurt. She was everything. The light, the dark, the air, the ground. Tomorrow or Monday or bills or taxes or vacuum cleaners or any other monotonous thing didn’t matter because Annie was right now. She was everything and everywhere and everyone I’d ever wanted.
My Annie.
We held hands driving home, again quiet but somehow so full. Comfortable.
She was mine, and I was hers.
We took Greg out together, still joined at the hand. And when we got back, I didn’t feel like I needed candles, or music, or flowers.
I just needed her.
Our clothes were on the floor, and there were no nerves. There was our breath, and her skin dotted with freckles where the sun kisses it, and the beauty of uninterrupted Annie.
She asked if I was nervous, and I wasn’t. Because it was her.And me. She understood me, and I made her free.
My hands moved everywhere, and so did hers. Languid, fervent, gentle, bruising.
Because I think we both knew it was bigger than what we set out for it to be. This wasn’t an arrangement anymore.
My mouth, my tongue, anywhere I could go to make her feel as much as she made me feel. Her back, arching off the bed. My name, loud and warbled. Her thighs, warm and trembling against my ears.
Her hand, confidently stroking me. She tried to shift down to use her mouth on me, but I stopped her.
“I’m saving it all for you, Annabelle.”
