Reminders of Him

I think Kenna and I needed today. Kenna especially needed today. She always looks like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, but today she looks like she’s floating. She makes gravity seem powerless against her.

She’s smiled and laughed more in the last few hours than she has since the day I met her. It makes me wonder if I’ve been a huge chunk of the weight she’s been carrying.

Kenna locks the piece of wood in place on her end and then reaches for a bottle of water. She catches me staring at her chest, and she laughs. “You sure do have a hard time looking me in the eye now.”

“I think I have an obsession with your shirt.” She usually wears T-shirts, but this particular shirt is made out of a slinky material that dips down in the front, and now that she’s been working for three hours, it’s starting to stick to her in all the places where she’s sweating. “That shirt is fucking lovely.”

She laughs, and I want to kiss her again. I crawl over to her, and when I reach her, I press my mouth to hers so hard she falls backward against the floor. I kiss her through her laughter, until I’m on top of her.

I hate that I have no furniture. We just keep ending up on the hardwood floor we’ve been installing, and it’s nice, but I’d give anything to kiss her on something more comfortable. Something as soft as her mouth.

“You’ll never finish these floors,” she whispers.

“Fuck the floors.” We kiss for a few minutes, and we just keep getting better at it. There’s a lot of pulling and tugging and tasting, and it gets a little chaotic, and her shirt that I love so fucking much ends up somewhere on the floor next to us.

I’m admiring her bra now, kissing her skin right above it, when she whispers, “I’m scared.” Her hands are in my hair, and she keeps them there when I lift up just enough to look down at her. “What if they find out about us before you have a chance to tell them? We’re being reckless.”

I don’t want her to think about this today because today is good, and they’re out of town, so there’s no point in dwelling on it until they return. I press a comforting kiss against her forehead. “Worrying won’t make the situation any better,” I say. “They’re out of town. Whatever happens is going to happen whether we make out right now or not.”

She smiles when I say that. “Good point.” She wraps her hand around my neck and pulls me back to her mouth.

I lower myself on top of her, but then whisper, “What’s the worst that could happen if I have to hide you forever? You’ve seen my closet, Kenna. It’s huge. You’ll love it in there.”

She laughs against my mouth.

“I could install a minifridge and a television for you. When they come to visit, you can just go to your closet and pretend you’re on vacation.”

“You’re terrible for joking about this,” she says, but she’s laughing. I kiss her until we aren’t laughing anymore, and then I slide off her until I’m lying next to her, leaning over her.

It’s the first time we’ve really looked at each other without feeling like we have to look away. She’s so goddamn flawless.

I don’t say that out loud, though, because I don’t want to diminish any of the other wonderful things about her by giving her a superficial compliment about her face. It would take away from how smart I think she is, and how compassionate, resilient, and spirited she is.

I look away from her impeccable face and slowly trace the center of her cleavage until she has chills running across her skin. “I have to finish my floors.” I slide my hand over to her breast and gently squeeze. “Stop distracting me with these things. Put your shirt back on.”

She laughs at the same time someone clears their throat from across the room.

I quickly sit up, immediately scrambling to block the view of Kenna from whoever the fuck is in my house.

I look up to find my parents standing in the doorway, looking at the ceiling. Kenna immediately scrambles away from me and reaches for her shirt.

“Oh, my God,” she whispers. “Who are they?”

“My parents,” I mutter. I swear, embarrassing me is their favorite hobby. I raise my voice so they can hear me. “Nice of you to warn me you were showing up today!” I help Kenna to her feet, and my parents are still looking at everything but us as I help her back into her shirt.

My father says, “I cleared my throat when we walked in. How much warning do you need?”

I’m not as mortified as I probably should be right now. Maybe I’m growing immune to their shenanigans. But Kenna isn’t immune.