When my parents are gone, I tug Ember’s hand.
She gives me a look, and I notice her pink cheeks. “Yes, now we can go,” she says.
“Why are you flushed,” I ask, stopping at our table. Ember grabs her purse and waits, watching as I hook my suit jacket from the back of my seat with one finger and sling it over my shoulder.
“This dress is incredibly tight.” She looks uncomfortable even as she says it, running her hands over the flatness of her stomach.
Together we head for the parking lot. “Take it off.”
She throws me a derisive look. “Um, okay, yeah. Sure.”
“I dare you to drive home without that dress on.”
Her eyes widen, but her tongue darts out to lick her top lip, exhilaration rippling across her face. “A dare? How old are you?”
I wiggle my eyebrows and say nothing.
She stares at me, her lips twisting as she considers it. “It would be nice to breathe again.”
I take a deep breath and exhale loudly. “Feels good. Bet you’d like to feel that good.”
“Okay, okay.” She flicks out a hand and smacks my chest. “You’re overselling it.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“If I did it I would keep my underwear on. Wouldn’t want to show off my hiney.”
Laughter tumbles from my chest. “Am I still ass-y?”
“Oh, yes.” Her expression is solemn. “Ass-y still defines you.” She looks pleased as she stops and digs through her purse. Producing her keys, she points them into the night and presses the button. A few rows away a car beeps and lights flash.
Relief flits across her face. “I forgot where I parked.” She starts for her car.
“Do you do that often?” I ask, falling in step beside her.
Her gaze briefly meets mine before returning to the sidewalk. “Only when I’m meeting the ghost from love life past and it makes me feel weird things.”
We get to her car and I pull open her door. “Get in and disrobe. Then you won’t be nervous anymore. Like picturing people naked when you’re nervous, but the opposite.”
She steps into the open space between her door and her car. “I’m not nervous.” Defiance makes her chin jut out.
“I am.” The admittance flies out, dodging my filter and shooting into the thick, uncertain space between our bodies.
She lowers herself into the seat without responding. She’s thinking. I haven’t moved. I feel stuck, hovering in some weird haze, and I’m not sure how to move forward. I need Ember to take the reins now. She needs to tell me how this will go. She stares up at me, studying my eyes. She’s always been able to pierce my defenses, pin me with her gaze, and strip away the layers until I’m left bare.
“Follow me home, Noah.”
So I do.
This time, she lets me into her house without hesitation. My hand in hers, she pulls me through the place, into her room, and shuts the door.
Like last night, she takes charge. Her hands are on me first, pulling at my tie and lifting it over my head. Fingers nimbly open buttons, skim my torso, reach down and unzip me. She works her dress over her head, and then I take over.
I’m slow with her, savoring the curve of her backside, the way her belly dips low and her hip bones jut out when she’s on her back. This is the way last night would’ve gone if carnal need hadn’t engulfed us.
She falls asleep quickly when it’s over. I’m exhausted too, but the wheels in my mind are turning, excited by the prospect of Ember being mine again.
It’s easy to see that happening, as long as my phone doesn’t ring. If I get a call from the recruiter, I don’t know what I’ll do. Soccer is like a drug. Playing is like a drug. Like any other addiction, the hit of dopamine is strong and powerful. The reality is, I’m only as good as my last shot. And so, I chase the dream, the possibility that every shot can be better than the last, every hit of dopamine can feel just as good as the one before it.
