Playing with Fire

West flicked on the light and turned on the grill while I cut vegetables. I prepared soft tacos, stuck the birthday candles on them, and lit them up. Since the truck had come back from the shop, we were a few ingredients short, like sour cream and guac, but we were too drunk to care.

I butchered the song “Happy Birthday,” somehow missing all the notes, and let West blow out the candles.

“What did you ask for?” I rubbed his arm, placing my chin on his shoulder as we both watched the thin trail of smoke curling up from the candles.

“If I tell you, you promise not to dig into the subject?”

“Sure.”

“I mean it, Tex. I don’t want you going girly on my ass. The only reason we’re here is because you’re not that person.”

“Spill it out, boy.” I laughed.

“I asked to never want to die again.”

My throat clogged up, and it got all quiet, but I kept my word, not pressing the issue. “Then I’ll wish for that, too,” I said softly.

We sat on the floor and ate broken, distressed tacos while I asked him this or that nineties questions. I decided not to dig into why West befriended me anymore. Instead, I’d run with what we had going and see where it took us.

I hadn’t been this happy in years, and that had to count for something.

West was in the midst of explaining to me why fanny packs were boner killers when someone rapped the window outside the truck.

“Hello? Anybody there?”

We both fell silent, staring at each other with wide eyes, mid-bites. I clasped my lips together, stifling a laugh. I rarely got drunk anymore, and I forgot how giggly I turn once I get tipsy.

“Hey, the lights are on,” the man outside the truck said. Gravel crunched beneath his shoes as he rounded the truck. He was probably trying to peek inside through the window cracks. “Open up, y’all.”

I slapped a hand over my mouth, trying to contain my laughter, but a small horrifying snort escaped my nose. West’s eyes broadened, and he grinned big.

I covered my face, mortified that he’d heard, my whole body shaking with silent laughter.

“Look at the truck,” one of the two people outside said, muffled. “It’s shaking. Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“I’m thinking if what you’re thinking is true, they’re definitely not going to open up for us, Rick, and I ain’t eatin’ no food from there either.”

They thought we were having sex! Oh, Lord. I let out a second, uncontrolled snort, unable to hold it back, tipping backwards. West pounced on me, pinning me flat across the floor, straddling my waist and pressing his hand over my mouth to silence me.

Our tacos were discarded around us, and all the air left my lungs as I watched him on top of me, his groin pushed against my belly. Nothing about what he did was meant to be sexual. He just wanted me to shut the hell up so we wouldn’t get in trouble. We weren’t supposed to be here, and if Mrs. Contreras found out, she’d probably fire us both, her affection toward me be damned.

Still, my whole body came alive, and a small moan escaped me as his delicious weight pushed against me. I felt my nipples puckering against my bra. The friction against its fabric every time I moved made my mouth water. His thighs were so strong and muscular, I wanted him to hike up, unzip himself, and put his penis in my mouth.

West curled his fingers around my lips. I resisted the urge to lick his palm. I could feel his skin, rough and salty, against my mouth. He leaned deeper into me, engulfing me everywhere, so heavy I could barely breathe. His eyes were dead-set on mine. I wasn’t laughing anymore. The people outside kept trying to look into the truck, flashing their phone’s flashlights inside, decorating West’s face with soft slivers of light.

Both our hearts thudded wildly, so fast I could hear them, almost see their imprints through our shirts.

The crunching became quieter, and the sound of crickets outside the truck enhanced. They were leaving.

West leaned all the way down, propping my ball cap sideways, resting his forehead over mine. Our chests bumped into one another with each violent breath. He closed his eyes. The tips of our noses touched. A heady, strange feeling overcame me. Something told me I was going to replay this moment in my head for years to come.

He removed his hand from my mouth and tugged on an electric cord next to us, turning the lights off.

Pound, pound, pound, went my heart.

“Texas.” His whisper blanketed me, making me feel fuzzy and warm.

“Maine.” My voice was thick, strange. Not mine.

The truck was so dark I couldn’t see anything. My eyes were glued to what I imagined was the curve of his lips, and even though my brain told me a kiss was the worst possible thing that could happen to our friendship, the rest of me rebelled, desperate to feel his mouth on mine.