Belle looks at my crotch then cocks an eyebrow, so I play along, hold my thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. Her laugh bubbles out of her and it only makes me want her more.
Finally, Mom waves me over to the table where she’s arranging side dishes in some sense of order. I can’t decide if I should bring Belle along and introduce her or if Mom’s going to pull a Winnie right off the bat.
“Hey, Win, we’re going to go chat with Mom. I want to introduce Belle.”
Instead of walking away, Winnie walks with us, past Aunt Sal who already has “Big Grape” out. She’s showing it to conservative Aunt Jean who has the good grace not to look appalled. “I call it Sean Connery and turn on Scottish bagpipe music…”
I don’t need to hear more of that conversation. “So, Win, how’s Cam?”
She shakes her head. “Rat bastard left me for some checkout girl at the Shop and Sack.” She gives a shoulder shimmy and glances at Belle. “You know how men are. First big boob he sees, he’s hooked until the next one comes along.”
Belle smiles up at me. All that hotness and she’s playing along, too. Fuck. I’m screwed.
“Mom, hey.” I kiss her cheek because she’s turned it up, and I always do when I see her. She’s my mom.
“Hi, baby.” And then she looks at Belle, and her face lights up. She glances at Belle quickly then back at me. Mouths, “Cute,” then extends her hand. “HI. I’m Walker’s momma, but you can call me, Claire.”
“Hello. I’m Belle. It’s nice to meet you.” Her smile at my Mom is everything I didn’t know would make me feel warm inside. I don’t even know for sure if it’s the smile or the way she’s aiming at Mom.
And like she’s been summoned from whatever part of the yard from whence she came, Maggie sidles up to the near end of the table and hands Mom another dish and serving spoon. “This is Aunt Jean’s Macaroni salad.”
She turns to Belle. “I’m Maggie. You must be Belle.” It isn’t that I’m embarrassed that I talked to my sister about Belle, it’s that I don’t want Belle to know that I talked to my sister about her. “Walker hasn’t stopped talking about you, which as I’m sure you know, makes you… significant.”
Belle looks up at me and she’s sparkling. Or maybe I’m imagining it. It could even be the sunlight reflecting off the pool’s surface. But the effect makes my gut tighten in a way that makes me want her even more.
“Walker, what kind of date are you?” Oh, Lord. Maggie is staring at me like I’ve ruined the whole day. “She doesn’t have a drink.” Then she glances at Belle. “We have 9 kinds of beer, because this is a beer drinking family. My friend Alice is inside making frozen daiquiris and margaritas because she is a woman who likes her booze with little umbrellas. And we have wine, soda, the sweetest iced tea in all the land, and rootbeer floats.”
“Rootbeer floats?” Belle’s excitement makes her voice squeak. “I haven’t had one of those since…” She shakes her head. “I think since carbs became a thing.”
When we’re all seated at the backyard tables, Maggie brings her plate over and sits across from Belle. Oh God. This is why I don’t bring women to meet them. I shoot her a glare.
“So, Belle, tell me how you met my big brother.” Maggie stares at me like she’s waiting to hear how I kidnapped Belle and she’s suffering from Stockholm syndrome.
“Saw him at a bar. Walked over and kissed him.” Belle’s answer is straightforward. I like it. Kind of makes me sound like a stud.
I shoot my sister a glare. “Mags, stop.”
But my sister is not one who is easily deterred. “You were alone at a bar?” She nods at her mom. “I told you she had to be drunk.”
“No. I was at a bachelorette party for a friend, and I don’t drink.” She looks at me. “Ican’tdrink, actually. I’m on some anxiety medication that reacts badly with alcohol.” It isn’t a bombshell or a reason for the uncertainty in her eyes. “I had a boyfriend who I found in bed with one of my friends.”
Oh shit. I had no idea. I kind of want to kill my sister right now. I don’t ask Belle about this new information that she so casually mentioned because the mention was casual but the words were anything but. This is a conversation for another time.
“I’m so sorry, Belle.” At least Maggie has the good sense to look remorseful. It deflates some of my need to sew her lips together.
“It’s okay. You didn’t know.” Belle pats Maggie’s hand then pulls her hand back to my side of the table, drops her hand to her lap and it’s a few seconds before I curl my finger under her chin and tilt her head up and to the side so I can drop a quick kiss on her mouth. Just one because more would make us a spectacle and I don’t want to embarrass her.
But by the end of dinner when she’s licked sauce from her fingers more times than I can count–not because I can’t count that high but because I don’t have blood left in my brain to operate it enough to form thoughts–I’m on fire for her.
I just need to kiss her. Once. Twice. Ten times out of the sight of my nosy family.
When I come back from tossing our plates, I wait until my sister is distracted and hold out my hand. “Come with me.”
The beautiful thing about Maggie’s remodeled house is that the basement has about ten new nooks and crannies built in and I know how to get to each and every single one. I take her hand and lead her inside, through the kitchen and a couple wayward aunts who barely look at me as we pass, across the living room where Uncle Ray and Uncle Dover are watching baseball, to the basement door.
When we’re alone, inside with the door shut, I push her against the wall and kiss her like a dying man who’s getting his last kiss. “Belle…” And when she kisses me back, grinds against my leg, moans and drags her hands down my chest to squeeze my dick through my pants, I need her.
“Can we…” She pulls back, panting, her hand already pulling my zipper down. “Please?”
