“Hello, Mrs. Jefferson,” Sami says. “The wedding is off.”
Mrs. Jefferson studies us for a moment, her gaze again going to our entwined hands. When she looks up at me, she purses her lips. “You could do worse, young man.”
I squeeze Sami’s hand, well aware that we’re still in the friend zone even if we’ve added benefits. But as Sami smiles up at me, for one of the first times, I wish she were up for a new agreement. “I’m well aware.”
“You two aren’t getting any younger,” Mrs. Jefferson says. “I remember when the pair of you were running around this neighborhood. I always knew you were up to no good.” She winks. “That may have been a bad thing when you were ten. But now I bet the two of you have some better ideas on how to cause trouble.” She smiles. “The good kind.” Her painted-on eyebrows wiggle.
Sami shakes her head, and I see a hint of pink fill her cheeks.
Letting go of my hand, she tries to change the subject. In a second, she’s down on her knees. My mind goes to a totally inappropriate place, imagining her on her knees, her sexy tits showing as she takes my dick between her lips. As I work to concentrate on the present, Sami offers her hand to the small brown puppy.
“What’s his name?” she asks.
“LS,” Mrs. Jefferson answers.
“LS?”
“Little shit,” Mrs. Jefferson replies matter-of-factly. “The little shit shits all over the kitchen floor.”
Sami grins as she stands. “He sure is cute.”
“That’s why he’s still here,” she says, eyeing me and then Sami. “Cute and dependable. I can count on him to leave me his gifts. Cute and dependable. Two very good qualities.”
“See you later, Mrs. Jefferson,” I say, reaching again for Sami’s hand and tugging her back toward the sidewalk.
Once we’re out of earshot, I affirm Mrs. Jefferson’s advice. “I like cute and dependable, but when you add gorgeous tits and a great lay, I’m even more intrigued.”
Sami’s tits rise and fall with my words. I can’t help but wonder if she would be willing to make a new agreement. But before I can find the right way to bring it up, she says, “It's a good thing neither of us shit on the kitchen floor. Now where are we going? Or are we just giving my parents some time to realize what happened?”
“I’m confident that your dad fully comprehends. Besides, by now he's lost in Dawn of the Zombie Apocalypse. He watches those episodes on demand.”
“Or he could be rewatching an old episode of The Walking Dead.”
“Hasn’t he seen every episode nearly fifty times?”
She shrugs. “Can’t say for sure, but I’d guess the answer is yes.”
“Do you remember the old boathouse at the park?” I ask.
Her cheeks rise at the memories. “I do. I remember sneaking in there and smoking your dad’s cigarettes. I also remember being scared to death my mom would smell the smoke.”
“Do you think they still leave it unlocked?”
Her green eyes widen. “Why? What do you have in mind?”
“Mrs. Jefferson said we were always up to no good. If that boathouse is unlocked, I can be up in no time.” He brushes his arm against mine. “And this time it will definitely be good. But if things go as I’m thinking, it won’t be smoke your mom can smell. It’ll be honey.”
Her breathing shallows.
“You know,” Sami says, “Jane always told me there were monsters in the boathouse, and I needed to stay away.”
“Your sister is partially right,” I say, leaning closer to her ear though there’s no one around as I scan the park. “My monster cock will be there in your tight pussy. But I also disagree. You shouldn’t stay away.”
Sami giggles as we sneak past the closed gate and run through the shadows, just as we did when we were kids. The difference now is that unlike when we were kids, this time my blood is finding a different route of circulation. I’m growing harder with each step and each stealth move behind a rock, bush, or tree.
“Do you think there’s anyone in there this late at night?” she asks.
“Probably some kids smoking cigarettes.”
“Great, so we’ll smell like smoke and…”
“Sex and honey,” I say. “Definitely more like sex.”
Sami
We descend the old stone stairs. They’re steep and partially covered with overgrown grass and vines. For a moment I wonder if the city has demolished the old boathouse. There’s no doubt that it wouldn’t make the cut with today’s building codes. My sandals slip and Marshal turns and steadies me.
His strong hand secures my waist. “Are you okay?”
In the darkness, I can’t see the blue of his eyes, but in his familiar concerned tone I hear both my friend and a new additional protectiveness.
“Yes. I’m good.”
We reach the top of the boathouse. It’s concrete and built into the hill near the river’s edge. Together we tiptoe down the stairs to the front. Pebbles on the shore shift under my shoes. The old metal door is slightly ajar.
“Hello?” Marshal says in a deep whisper.
My heartbeat quickens as we await a response.
What if there are kids?
What about a homeless person?
What about someone more dangerous?
Why does this suddenly seem like a stupid move?
We’re adults.
Marshal has an apartment.
I have my condo.
It doesn’t make sense that we both have our own homes, and we’re sneaking into a seventy-year-old abandoned building to have sex.
Marshal pushes the door. It barely moves, but the squeak of the metal on the concrete is deafening. Using his broad shoulder, he pushes harder. The loud scraping noise sounds like an alarm alerting anyone within a mile of our whereabouts.
With a flashlight app on his phone, Marshal shines a light inside the old building. It appears as abandoned as it was when we were young. Cobwebs drape from the metal beams, in the corners, and over the painted windows. My pulse is thumping like it would at the fair in one of those fake haunted houses.
I cling to his hand. “Do you think there are animals?”
His flashlight scans the floor. “Nothing bigger than a mouse or a squirrel.”
“A mouse?”
He pulls me through the partially open doorway. With his phone flashlight off and only moonlight for illumination, the room comes into focus. On the one wall is a tool bench or at least I think it used to be. It’s a wooden shelf, about three feet wide, attached to one of the walls. Behind it is a board peppered with holes, similar to one my father has that contains hooks and tools. Marshal brushes the surface and confirms that there’s nothing on the bench that breathes.
Then in one quick move, he grasps my waist and lifts me to the bench. My feet dangle as I stop worrying more about mice and bugs and focus on his deliberate movements.
“You were so strong, Sami, facing that asshole.” One by one, he removes my sandals.
His words encourage me as he lifts my tank top over my head.
“I wanted to take you right then and there.”
He unlatches my bra, laying it on top of my shirt.