Girls Playing With Fire 1 Read online

  The water dripped from his face, down his neck and soaked into his t-shirt. I had a flashback to that moment, but the reality in front of me was even more striking because now he was looking at me.

  Danny ran away and Diane was running after him. They were both heading for our beds, and a corner of my mind remembered that there was a stash of water in the small fridge between them. Really, really cold water.

  The thought flew away when Mr. Sinclair raised the water gun and squirted me point blank. I raised my arms to protect my face, but he wasn’t aiming for it. Jet after jet of water hit my breasts. The thin fabric clung to my flesh, and my nipples hardened, swelled, pulsed. I dropped the water bottle and cupped my breasts, squeezing them in my hands to soothe the aching.

  He froze, watching me with his mouth open. My gaze roamed over his body, as hungrily as he was staring at mine. I caught a glimpse of the tent forming at the front of his shorts.

  The moment ended as abruptly as it started. Danny and Diane, armed with cold mineral water attacked us, and everything devolved in a loud, laughing melee in which we all ended up completely soaked.

  Chapter 4 – That Moment

  Five days later, I felt like climbing the walls. Not being able to tell Diane what had me so edgy made it even worse.

  Mr. Sinclair jogged on the beach every morning, and it was killing me. It was like living that moment every day.

  That moment was the morning when my crush on Mr. Sinclair burst out from my subconscious to the forefront of my brain.

  I was sixteen and up until that moment I knew that Mr. Sinclair was my favorite grown-up in the world. I used to envy Diane for having such a cool dad. It hadn’t yet clicked into place.

  And then that moment happened.

  Diane and I were in their kitchen, the morning after one of our sleepovers. Mr. Sinclair came from his jog and bid us good morning between shallow breaths. He was wearing fitted running shorts and his grey t-shirt was pasted to his chest and his back with sweat. My jaw dropped and my mouth dried. I couldn’t take my eyes off the beads of sweat glistening down the side of his face. He made a beeline for the fridge, and took out a water bottle. He drank greedily, not bothered by the water that spilled out around his mouth, down his neck, seeping into his already damp t-shirt.

  That had been the first time I had the impulse to run my tongue down the side of his neck, to trace that strong sinewy muscle, from his jaw to his collarbone. The first, but certainly not the last time.

  And now I got that every damn morning. No matter how late I went to bed the night before, I woke up early, rushed through my morning routine, zoomed into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of orange juice and I perched on a strategically placed chair on the deck. I kept my eyes on him as much as I could. He took pretty much the same path every day. He never went too far, as if he didn’t like to be away from us, but he did about a dozen laps.

  I never got up early enough to see him leave, but I was always there when he came back. If I timed everything perfectly, I’d be in the living room, pretending to watch something on TV, but my spot on the couch had the perfect view of the fridge. He always stopped there, took out a cold bottle and drank it all in one go. In five days, I became an expert in looking without appearing to look. If Danny or Diane were around, I could even make conversation with them while the true focus of my attention was standing by the fridge, as hot and sweaty as he was in my dreams.

  The first time I flashed him was by accident. He was supposed to be out, running, for at least another fifteen minutes. Diane had taken Danny to the waterpark and I thought I’d finally have the opportunity to do something creative with the showerhead. After five days in the same house as him, I couldn’t think straight.

  I took a long shower, and got myself off as many times as I could. I pulled aside the shower curtain, and saw that the room was filled with steam. I wiped the condensation off the mirror and the face staring back at me had huge pupils and blood red lips. My other lips were probably just as puffy and flushed.

  My legs were shaking like I’d been the one running for an hour. My whole body was a quivering mess, wrecked with aftershocks. It took me a whole minute to pull up my panties. I tried to wrap a towel around myself, but it kept falling. I gave up and left the bathroom as I was.

  When I opened the door, I found myself face to face with Mr. Sinclair. All those tiny orgasms didn’t do me any good when I saw him in his running gear. He was in the process of pulling off his t-shirt when he saw me. That gave me the chance to see his midriff.

  Not what people would call a dad bod. There wasn’t bodybuilder definition, but it was a flat stomach with something of a v-line.

  He stood in the middle of the hallway, staring at me. At my breasts to be precise. It wasn’t lust. I saw that in guys often enough. It was surprise. Like he couldn’t believe I had breasts.

  I was growing wet just at the sight of him. The awareness that he saw me like a woman was intoxicating.

  “Sorry,” he said, not turning his head away. “I thought you’d gone with Diane and Danny.”

  I couldn’t speak. I nodded and walked past him, into the bedroom I shared with Diane. I climbed in bed and wrapped myself in the cool white cotton sheet. I pressed my hand on my pussy, on top of the sheet, trying to contain the molten desire surging inside me.

  Paul.

  I only mouthed the name. If I said it aloud, it would come out as a desperate cry, not a careful whisper.

  After that morning, I played with fire every day. His running itinerary took him past our window. Every morning, I tried to find a moment when Diane wasn’t in the room during his laps and I’d be there, with my boobs on display. Sometimes it worked, other times I couldn’t time everything perfectly.

  If it did anything for him or not, I had no idea. He never mentioned it, so I didn’t stop. At least I was doing something to express my desire. It helped me release part of the tension, but it kept building up again, stronger and stronger until I felt like screaming.

  #

  On evening ten of fourteen, Diane and I stayed home for family movie night. Since the two-drink rule was only for the nights we were on our own, we managed to talk Mr. Sinclair into a drinking game.

  Danny pouted at first, because he had to drink Dr. Pepper and not beer like us, but he got to choose what to watch and soon he was laughing with us.

  I had never particularly liked the X-Men movies, but I was having a lot of fun watching the original trilogy with the Sinclairs.

  Between X-Men and X-Men United I switched to light beer between, but the buzzing in my head was getting louder.

  We took a bathroom and pizza break before the Last Stand. The splash of cold water on my face didn’t help. I took a slice of pizza and snuck out onto the terrace. Two bites into it, I felt my stomach protest, and dropped it on the table.

  The door opened, and to my surprise, I saw Mr. Sinclair walk out with a couple of bottles of water.

  “Staying hydrated helps,” he said, putting one of the bottles next to my abandoned pizza slice.

  “They should do PSAs about that,” I said rubbing my temples. I hadn’t meant it as an insult, but I suddenly worried he might take it the wrong way. “I mean thank you,” I added, sitting straighter.

  He let out a silken chuckle that did worse things to me than all the beer I drank that night. I took his advice and took a gulp of water. I got goosebumps when he sat down across the table from me. For all my obsession, I took care to never be alone with him. I wasn’t in full possession of my common sense when he was around.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he started with an unusually hesitant tone.

  The hair at the back of my neck began to prickle. Had it finally happened? He noticed my crush and he was getting ready to lecture me. Maybe to scold me for parading naked in front of him.

  “Is Diane ok?” he asked. “With the divorce,” he elaborated. “She hasn’t said anything to me, but… I don’t know… I
…”

  His voice trailed off. I tried to make out his outline in the light coming from the house through the large windows. His athletic shoulders had drooped. He ran his hands through his hair, but the soft breeze laughed at his efforts. He had let it grow too long to look good. His scraggly beard was also getting longer than it was fashionable. The high-powered attorney looked like an action star who was taking a break between two movies. He was taking care of his body, staying in shape tenaciously, but I could tell he didn’t feel like grooming himself.

  My heart melted at the sight.

  “She’s ok,” I said reassuringly. “She and Danny know that you both love them. She misses you, though.”

  His sharp intake of breath warned me that I touched on a sore point. He had asked because he wanted to know the truth, and I, with one exception, would always tell him the truth.

  “But she will have to live without anyway when she’s at Harvard.”

  He nodded, and the cloud of sadness around him seemed to grow deeper. A knot came undone inside me, and my own sad thoughts burst out of my mind.

  “I feel like I’m abandoning her, too,” I said. “I could have gone to Harvard with her. They have an arts department but…”

  “Hey, it’s ok,” he said, and reached across the table to hold my hand.

  I didn’t want him to be back in parent mode. Not with me. But I couldn’t pull my hand away. He never touched me on purpose before. I treasured the contact.

  “You gave me strength,” I confessed. “You and Mrs. Sinclair still care about each other, but you made the choice to go your own way. I’m so afraid to go to Chicago on my own.”

  He squeezed my hand and I realized that I had been crushing his. Embarrassed, I tried to pull my hand away, but he didn’t allow it. He rubbed his thumb over my hand soothingly.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  There was no trace of mockery in his voice. When I dared to look at him again, I saw that his shoulders were straight, as if a weight had been lifted.

  “So, hydration is your secret, huh?” I said, trying to change the serious mood of our conversation. “That’s why you’re not getting drunk?”

  He let go of my hand, but he leaned toward me. He crooked his fingers, beckoning me closer. I obeyed without thinking. His breath caressed my cheek when he spoke.

  “I’ve been cheating,” he said. “I only pretended to drink tonight.”

  “Oh!” I exclaimed, outrage widening my eyes. “You-”

  I stopped before I let any kind of insult slip out.

  He stood up, and looked into the starry sky.

  “Alcohol is a trickster,” he said. “I don’t want to forget anything about this vacation.”

  Tendrils of emotion reached out through his voice. The bittersweet tone snuffed out any hopes I might have he talked about me. His next words confirmed my guess.

  “This is probably the last family vacation we’ll ever have. You’ve all grown up so fast. You’ll have your own adventures from now on.”

  It was kind of him to say “you” but I knew he meant Diane. I was just the kid next door. He wouldn’t even notice when I left.

  “Maybe, the last family vacation,” I said, “but that doesn’t make you any less of a family.”

  He turned around to face me, and the warm smile reached his eyes.

  “When did you get to be so wise?” he asked, and there was no trace of irony or condescension in his voice.

  “Nah,” I said, in another desperate attempt to lighten the mood. “I just want to get you drunk.”

  This time he laughed. The years flew from his face and for a moment, he looked like he must have looked when he was my age, before he took on the burdens of adulthood.

  “Let’s go inside. I promise I’ll get drunk with you.”

  Chapter 5 – The Goodbye Party

  Day thirteen of fourteen was drawing to an end. Tomorrow we would leave the Bahamas and things would never be the same again.

  I tried to enjoy the party. The atmosphere was amazing. Dozens of garlands were draped on the bamboo fences the corded-off area of the private beach. The perfume wafting from the hundreds of flowers layered over the salty scent from the sea.

  The lively music covered the relentless thunder as waves were breaking against the rocks in the distance. It also covered the sloshing of waves dying on the sand a few feet away, in the darkness beyond the lights of the party.

  The resort had spared no expenses to make sure this night would be memorable. They wanted us to forge memories that would draw us back here, in paradise. They shouldn’t have bothered on my account. I would never forget anything about this holiday. No matter how beautiful everything was, I’d always remember this was the last place where Diane and I were as close as sisters.

  We kept reassuring each other we’d keep in touch. That we’d go on spring break together. Always spend Thanksgiving together. In our hearts, we both knew that once we left the Bahamas, our friendship would change.

  Diane was going to Harvard to study law and I was going to Chicago to study arts. We were putting a thousand miles between us after living all our lives in our little Connecticut town, population 20,000 and some change.

  I kept these brooding thoughts buried deep in my soul, painting a smile on my face. My body obeyed the rhythm of the music, and I bounced, jumped and swayed, appearing as happy and carefree as everyone else.

  “Alcohol, woohoo!” Diane rejoiced, downing a shot of an amber-colored liquid.

  “You’ve already had three,” Mr. Sinclair said, and looked from his daughter to me. “Remember, you’re only allowed five each.”

  From the slight slur in his voice and the vaguely glazed look in his eyes, I could tell he was half-drunk. Diane could also tell. When he turned to face me, she waved her hands in the air holding up eight fingers, then mimicking downing a shot. I had only had one drink, about an hour earlier, and was in no mood for more. She could drink my share if she wanted.

  The melody changed, and Mr. Sinclair’s hips followed the new rhythm. I heard that you could tell how a man makes love by the way he danced. What I was seeing made me want him even more. He would put those sweet moves to such good use horizontally.

  It was good to see him relax. He was always calm, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that underneath that apparent peace brewed something wild. It was the first time in as long as I had known him that he let himself go with the flow like this.

  We rarely got to see him tipsy. Maybe twice in ten years. Both times after he and Mrs. Sinclair had come home from some party. Never since their divorce.

  It hadn’t been anything spectacular before. He had seemed a tad more relaxed. He hummed under his breath when he moved through the house, his gestures slightly less precise. That tightness around his eyes had faded just a little.

  Now, he was more than a little tipsy. His eyes were blearier, but also happier than ever. I would have never imagined him like this. But there he was, on a dancefloor improvised on the beach, doing some pelvic thrusts that made me drool. I danced my way to where he and Diane were.

  Mr. Sinclair’s attention shifted on me. His strikingly beautiful features were lit from the inside with an exuberance I hadn’t seen before. His green eyes had grown sadder with each year I had known him. Now, when he looked into my eyes, there was no trace of that melancholy that made my heart bleed for him.

  To my relief, Diane got distracted by a hot guy who brought her another drink, and I dared to dance for him. I felt naked in my obvious attempt to capture his attention completely. I expected the music to stop and everyone to look at me with harsh judgmental eyes.

  No one else noticed. Only his eyes were on me. Could I dare to hope that there was a sparkle of interest in them? If it was there, I did my damnedest to fan it into a flame. I flicked my hair, undulated my hips and did that thing with my breasts that made every guy I ever dated get a tent in his pants.

  He wasn’t looking a
way and he wasn’t telling me to stop.

  Then the song changed into something more melodic, with a beat that invited dancing in pairs. He raised his hand and I took it without hesitation. He guided my movements just by holding my hand and my gaze. He controlled me as surely as if I was a puppet on a string.

  He spun me around and the motion finished with my back against his chest and his arm wrapped around my waist. Only for a moment. Then he spun me away from him, never letting go of my hand, until we faced each other at arms’ length. We stood like that for a beat, and next thing I knew, he had pulled me to him, into the classic ballroom dance pose.

  Maybe not all that classic, because his hands slid on my hips, my arms linked behind his neck, his leg was between my thighs and my leg between his. Our movements synched like we’d been practicing for years.

  When the song ended, my blood sang and my knees seemed made of jelly. He took my hand again and executed a jaunty half-bow. The spark in his eyes was brighter than before, despite him trying to treat in jest what had just happened. He almost touched his lips to the back of my hand before straightening up.

  “Wow, that was exhausting,” he announced, with exaggerated panting. “I’m going to take a break.”

  He made his way off the dance floor without looking back. I kept my eyes glued to his ass until he got lost in the crowd, then headed the other way. I stopped at the bar with the intention to knock back my allowance of alcohol.

  “What will it be?” the bartender asked.

  “Sex on the beach,” I blurted, and blushed. “Umm, without alcohol?” I added, with an interrogative lilt at the end.

  I had no idea what the cocktail contained, let alone if it had a non-alcoholic option. The name had come to my lips for all the wrong reasons.