My Brother's Best Man

Alex walks across the garden, navigating between the groups, then into the house.

As I watch, a woman steps out.

My heart starts immediately beating quicker.

My thoughts flood with conflicting images, some of them primal and hot and steamy, others loving.

I see her on her back, staring up at me as I grind inside, as I pump deeper and hotter and take her so savagely she can’t help but whimper as she melts for me.

And then she’s sitting in a garden, our garden, with the sun shining down on her. There’s a baby in her arms…our baby.

I try to stop the crazed flow of thoughts, but it only gets more difficult as she steps onto the patio.

She’s wearing a flowing summer dress; the material is like mist as it settles against her curvy body. She’s short, her breasts large and tempting, perfect for massaging and feeding our future children. Her hips are wide and make my fingers twitch, eager to grab them, to move her into position.

And her face…

She turns, smiling at somebody, her eyes lighting up.

Her cheeks are full and flushed. Her wavy brown hair frames her curved lips with so much vivaciousness, so much enthusiasm.

There isn’t just one thing.

It’s everything. It’s all of her.

My heart drums even harder, making it difficult to think clearly.

Suddenly, I’m moving across the garden, heading straight for the woman. She’s moving toward the drinks table.

I change course, roaring in my mind, telling myself to slow down before I say or do something foolish.

I can’t just shout, Hey, stranger, I saw you across the garden, and now you belong to me.

Even if it’s the truth.

She does belong to me.

The party is quieter at the refreshment station, the garden partitioned by a latticed archway interwoven with plants. The voices get dimmer as I walk through the archway, spotting the woman at the end, pouring herself some non-alcoholic punch.

Up closer, I can see how young she looks, her innocent eyes as she turns to me…and then they widen as she lets out a short whimper.

“I’m sorry,” I growl, my voice trembling far more than I mean it to. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She stares for a moment longer, then smiles tightly. It doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s like she’s angry, or concerned, or something.

“It’s fine,” she says. “Are you getting a drink?”

She looks down at my hand, at the nearly full beer.

“A sandwich,” I tell her.

The conversation pauses. I realize, far too late, that I have no idea what to say.

All I can think about is grabbing her shoulders and pulling her close, kissing this stranger until she moans and rubs her body against me.

All I can think about is years into this impossible future when her body will grow even curvier with our children when her cheeks will flush with family and happiness and not with whatever touches them now.

Nerves? Fear?