Billy
Iwas utterly silent. Shellshocked. Standing there like a mute idiot. For the last ten years, I’d laid awake in bed at night thinking of all the things I’d say to Kat Bennett if I ever saw her, and now she was standing in front of me and I couldn’t even make my tongue say, Hey.
It was like my mouth was full of cotton balls, all fuzzy and dry. I should have been yelling or kissing or apologizing. Something. At the very least talking about the weather. But nada. I was just staring, like a creepy ass mofo. I couldn’t stop staring. Looking at her, my whole body screamed yes. That girl, right there is yours. Go to her. Take her. She has always been yours. She will always be yours. But my mind knew better. Even if I still wanted her, she wasn’t mine. A long time ago I was young, broken and stupid and I watched her walk away. What we had couldn’t be revived.
While my mouth was paralyzed, my dick was not. One glance had me all riled up in an instant. I knew she wasn’t mine to want anymore, but in some ways, she still looked like the girl I loved all those years ago—auburn hair cascading down her back, inquisitive hazel eyes, long lean curves for days. Sure, her jeans were ripped without any other wear, and for some unknown reason, the bottoms of her shoes were painted red, but she was still damn sexy. And her eyes still revved my engine.
She was watching me. Of course, she was still making words. She was poised, elegant. Like only a public figure could, she held it together, laughing and talking like nothing even vaguely amiss was taking place. But I could feel her watching me. Her eyes would drift in my direction, and I could see the clouds there. There was a time when I knew Kat better than I knew myself, and if I didn’t know better, I would tell you she was hurting.
That was the thing about Kat, what we had wasn’t only about getting hard and getting off. We were best friends. We caught frogs together. We shared cotton candy at the county fair. When I was twelve, I carried her from the creek to my house when she sprained her ankle. I could sit for hours with her in her room listening to her music, cracking jokes and shooting the shit long before she let me kiss her.
The first time I kissed her, she was sitting on the same stool she was sitting on now. I was sixteen and Kat was almost sixteen. I’d known she was more than my best friend since we’d gone through puberty, but crossing a friendship line that deep took a certain kind of bravery. It was a school night. Kat was closing for Hazel. She closed up for Hazel a lot. I hated the idea of her riding her bike home late at night. So, as soon as I got my license, I started picking her up and driving her home. I liked the closeness of having her in the cab of my truck, the heat of her thigh just inches from mine, the aching need to reach my hand out and caress her flesh.
When I got to the cafe that night, Kat hadn’t quite finished her work, so she unlocked the door and let me in. The music was on and she was mopping. She warmed up a slice of pie for me and it was sitting on the counter. I took a seat and ate, watching her mop. She danced and sang as she worked, and the gyrations of her hips had me pressing against the zipper in my jeans. There wasn’t a day that went by when I wasn’t wishing I could pull those hips to me and press her hard against my need. Back then I wasn’t experienced enough to know what I wanted to do to Kat, but I considered it. I imagined her every which way, beneath me, on top of me, on her knees in front of me, bent over that counter with my cock buried deep inside her. However, until that night, anything even vaguely sexual between us was just in my fantasies.
When she finished mopping, Kat ditched the bucket in the kitchen and came to sit on the stool next to me. We were facing each other, and I couldn’t tell you for certain why that was the moment. I don’t know if it was because she was so beautiful, her hair all mussed and her skin flushed from hard work, or if I was just so damn in love with her that it burst out of me, but I looked at her and said, “Kat, I’m gonna kiss you now.”
She smiled, a ‘light up yer whole damn face’ smile. And then my mouth was on hers. I was nervous for like a split second. I worried that I didn’t know what I was doing, but her lips parted, and it was like a dam broke. She was soft and wet, and I wanted to devour her. Kat was giving as good as she got. I almost felt like she was trying to climb into my lap, pushing her whole body at me, but being trapped by the space between the two stools.
So, I did what any sex-crazed hormonal teenager with ranch-trained biceps would do. I picked her up and tossed her on the counter in front of me. We broke apart when I moved her, and Kat giggled. When I looked into her eyes, she bit her lower lip.
“This okay?” I asked, knowing full well that it was.
She nodded.
I bowed my head and kissed her neck, the spot between her jawline and her ear. It was a flutter of a kiss, a simple graze of my lips, but Kat dropped her head back and let out a slow moan. I’d never heard her make that sound before, but I immediately wanted to hear it again. I swept my fingertips up from her waist, slowly. I wanted to feel the weight of her breasts in my hands, but I wasn’t sure she’d let me. Kat didn’t rebuke me. Instead, she took my hand in hers and moved it so that I was cradling her breast. Kat’s tits were better than I imagined. Beneath the fabric of her uniform, they were plush and firm at the same time, and I could feel the hard little peak of her nipple, begging for my caress. I gently pinched the tight little nub and there was that sound again.
Instinctually, I pulled her hips flush against my hard length like I’d imagine doing twenty minutes before. And then she was saying words, breathy, disconnected words.
“Oh God, Billy… Billy, is that your… Holy shit. It’s so big.”
Talk about a good night.
I had loved Kat Bennett as a friend and a partner. We were in diapers together. Kat stood next to me in every Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas photo for the first nineteen years of my life. I thought we were forever. I thought I knew her. But it was a long time ago. The girl giggling and moaning as I kissed her on that stool didn’t leave me behind. This Kat, the one in front of me sitting tall, tight, and elegant, chose fame and fortune over me and never looked back. She didn’t care that my mom died a couple of years before she left me or that my brothers were too young to really help my dad. She didn’t give a shit about my responsibilities.
So, to hell with sweet sixteen-year-old Kat who got me all riled up. The only Kat in the room was the famous one, and I’d never met her before. Honestly, I didn’t care to.
If Wyatt would’ve just shut up, we could’ve grabbed our cherry pie and left by now. He’d already told three embarrassing stories about Kat. I was thankful he was keeping my name out of the muck. But, honestly, I didn’t have faith that his discretion would hold out.
The guy who Kat introduced as Marcus took a step back to take a phone call, and I used that moment to elbow Wyatt, a not so subtle signal that it was time for us to go. Wyatt made no move to say anything, so I took it upon myself to get the show on the road, “Hazel, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, can we get that cherry pie? Gotta be home by six for dinner.”
Hazel pursed her lips at me, obviously not feeling my failure to talk to Kat, but still she obliged my request. I turned my attention to the circle of people Wyatt was talking to, tipped my hat, and said, “Lovely meeting y’all.”
Wyatt seemed to take my lead, saying, “Well, guess we gotta go. My brother, Captain Organization, calls. It was good seeing ya, Kat. Welcome ‘round anytime.” He took the pie from Hazel, and I turned toward the door. I could feel Wyatt step behind me, but then he stopped. “Ya know, Casey, I bet you’d get a kick out of seeing Kat’s old house.”
“Yes, I so would.”
Instantly, I hated Wyatt. He was a no good, very bad, terrible brother.
I was pretty sure Kat hated him too. She narrowed her eyes in his direction. She didn’t want that reporter in our house any more than I did. Kat had shattered me. Hurt me almost irreparably, but she never prostituted what we had, even though her first album was all about us. She never told a single reporter about our love, never. In a sort of sweet way, I was her dirty little secret.
Kat’s shoulders were tight and even if no one else could tell, I knew the saccharine tone in her voice when she said, “That’s awfully sweet of you, Wyatt. We would, but we’re on a schedule and I’ve got to get back to New York tonight.”
Perfect cover, Kat. Take that, Wyatt, you meddling idiot.
And then, that Marcus guy reappeared. He seemed almost skittish when he said, “Actually, it looks like that flight out tonight is going to be delayed.”