She yelps, throwing a hand to her chest as she whips around. “Story, you know I hate when you do that.” She's breathing heavy as her eyes move from me to Wyatt, and she does a double take. “Wyatt? Is that you?”
He holds his arms out and grins. “Mrs. Brooks, look at you. You haven't aged a day since the last time I saw you.”
She bashfully smiles, brushing his compliment away with a single hand. “Wyatt Saint you might be good with the ladies, but a real woman can smell bullshit.” They both start to laugh as she waves him in for a hug. “It's good to see you,” my mother says as she pats his back.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Ben comes around the corner, the question quick and snappy before he asks Wyatt directly. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Ben, come on,” I say, stepping in between them. “I invited him.”
“Benjamin Brooks, not here, not now, and not today,” my mother sternly cuts him down with a harsh tone and serious look.
He grunts, not even looking at me, but keeping his eyes on Wyatt. Flaring his nostrils, he jerks his shoulders and walks away.
“At least he doesn't hate me,” Wyatt says, whispering it into my ear.
Giggling, I smack his chest and nod my head. “Come on, let's go grab a drink.”
The cookout is actually fun. Wyatt is smiling, laughing, and messing with a few of my cousins. And for a moment I almost forget that there's five years of missing time between us.
I'm sitting on the tree swing, rocking back and forth. I'm in a daze, thinking about how much I loved him when I was a kid, and how that feeling is still there, like a faint flicker of light.
It's like a smoldering fire. Fire burns hot, and it can burn for awhile, and as long as it has plenty of oxygen, it can keep living. But, remove the oxygen and it dies. Under all the ashes, deep in the belly of those flames, the sparks are hot, waiting for more fuel to ignite.
Wyatt is my oxygen, and that fire is coming back to life. I can feel him everywhere. In my chest, in my lungs, in every muscle, right down to the bone. He's always been there, that's why no one else has ever gotten in.
“Hey,” he says softly in my ear, sneaking up from behind me. “What are you doing all the way over here alone?” Wyatt pulls back on the rope, and starts to push my easily.
“Nothing, just watching.”
“Watching what? Me?”
I nod, and look back over my shoulder. “It's nice to have you here, I missed this, Wyatt.”
He smiles, grabbing both ropes to stop me from moving. “I missed this too,” he says. Walking to stand in front of me, he holds out his hand. “Come on, lets go for a walk.”
I take his hand, and we head down to the beach front at the lake. We follow the sand, until we reach a little broken dock that's tucked in some thick brush.
“You remember this place,” I ask with a smirk.
“Of course I do, how could I forget.”
Wyatt helps me up onto the dock, and we sit on the edge, letting our feet dangle off. This is our dock, the one Wyatt and I had our first kiss on when we first started dating.
“It's been seven years since that kiss, Wyatt.” Leaning into his shoulder, I bump him softly.
“That long already, that's crazy.”
“Right,” I say, my voice suddenly crackly and dry. It makes me sad. That kiss, that kiss has been the kiss I've compared all other kisses to. “Wyatt,” I say, lifting my face to his. “I—”
I'm cut off, my voice forced back into my throat as Wyatt kisses me out of nowhere, fast and hard. His lips lock on mine, and his hand sweeps up across my face, digging into the base of my neck.
My mind goes blank, my body suddenly numb as my lips part naturally and make room for his tongue. His tongue thrusts into my mouth, licking and tasting as it swirls around my mouth.
Moaning, his hand clutches the back of my head holding me in place. With strong fingers, he maneuvers my head, pulling it in, and deepening our kiss.
My heart thuds in my chest, and I kiss him back. I kiss him like I've wanted to kiss him every day since he left. I kiss him because he's the only man I've ever wanted to kiss.
Wyatt grabs me around the waist and he holds me against his side. Our breathing is heavy, labored, full of wanton need. My hands move up his arms, wrapping around his neck. I feel feverish as desire pool between my legs.
