Stoner

When I open the door, she is waiting on the stairs still looking as angelic as last night. She beams when she sees me, and my body lights up in response. I immediately grab her up for a kiss right there in the foyer.

It’s not a short kiss. I have no idea how long it is before we come up for air.

“Just making sure last night wasn’t a dream,” I say.

“It wasn’t,” she says. “But I’ve been dreaming about it.”

I make an involuntary sound like a grunt and go in for another kiss, but we are interrupted by a man clearing his throat. I turn and see her dad watching us from the hallway.

I sheepishly re-introduce myself, and he shakes my hand. We make small talk and pretty soon her mom and sister make an appearance in the foyer.

I can see that this is going to be a difficult extraction, so I say, “Well, my mom is expecting us for brunch at any minute, so we’d better get going.”

Just then Max’s mom interjects. “What are you and your mother doing tomorrow for Thanksgiving dinner?”

I’m surprised that she wants to know, but I answer. “Uh, it’s just us. Me and mom. We usually get Chinese food and watch her favorite old movies.”

“Why don’t the two of you come to Thanksgiving dinner here tomorrow?” Mrs. Novak says.

I start to protest, but she interrupts, “We eat at one p.m. Hope to see the both of you then.”

We say our goodbyes, and I’m sincerely touched at her family’s generosity. But there seems to be something else going on behind Max’s blue eyes.

On the way back to my mom’s house, I ask her what’s up.

“It’s my sister. I love her, but nothing is ever easy,” she says.

“Why not?” I ask.

“Well, she’s a recovering drug addict. Heroin. I mean, thank god she’s definitely done with all of that and I’m grateful every day she’s still here with us. On top of that she has a personality disorder which requires medication. When she’s doing well and feels good, she goes off her medication. When there’s too much attention being focused on me—which there rarely is, by the way—she will decide to have a crisis or an emotional breakdown and draw the limelight back to her. It’s been like that since childhood, since way before she started drugs. But maybe I’m the selfish one. Maybe she’s just more relaxed when I’m here because she’s giving herself a break and letting me pick up the slack.”

I listen as she talks and am genuinely intrigued by her family dynamics. It occurs to me that when—not if—I marry Max, I will be marrying into some drama and family difficulties. And honestly, it doesn’t flap me one bit.

In fact, it makes me feel all the more protective of Max.

In a weird way, it is nice to know she has an area of her life that is not perfect.

“Max, I’ve been in therapy since I was about 20, for all the crap from school. And I can tell you that sitting around doing nothing is not the same thing as self-care. Everybody needs one day to be a vegetable. But not getting a job because you need to take care of yourself? That’s up for debate.”

She breathes out a sigh of relief. “God, thank you for saying that. Everyone walks on eggshells around Sam and I’m so sick of it.”

I park the car in front of my mom’s three-flat walk up and hold the front door open for Max. I say, “Well, you’re not going to like this, but you’re going to have to talk this out with your sister eventually. You know that, right?”

Max sighs again, this time with resignation. “Yeah. I know.”

I shut the front door and instead of getting out of the way, I crowd into her, right there in the community hallway. I wanted to wait until we got inside the flat, but I just have to have my lips on her again.

I lean in and our lips find each other like we’ve been starving for a taste since last night. Or, was it just this morning since we’d seen each other? Does it matter? She’s sweet and pillowy and perfect, and the rest of the world and its timelines are meaningless to me now.

“Let’s go inside.”

I grab Max’s hand and lead her upstairs, into my mom’s place. We remove our shoes by the kitchen door and make our way down the hall.

“Everything’s dark. Where’s your mom?”

Wordlessly, I pull Max into the small guest room and lock the door.

“My mom’s at the store picking up food. I lied about the time. I just wanted to get you here early to do something I’ve always wanted to do.”

“And what’s that?” Max says with a naughty smirk.

I smile down at her. She fits so nice in my arms, I have to control myself from tearing off her clothes. “I just want to have one official makeout session in my teenage bedroom, just to bring everything full circle.”

She looks at me like I’m nuts for a moment, and then her face softens. She takes off her camel coat and tosses it on a chair.

“So let’s do this,” she says.

Our lips are the perfect fit. She is warm and sweet and her little sighs … shit. I’m throbbing with a need that can’t be satisfied in the time we have before my mom comes home.

I can’t believe I’m making out in my teenage bedroom with Maxine “Pumpkin” Novak.

Her skin is baby soft. On top of her beachy scent and coconut taste, I smell something fresh and clean, like cucumber water. Whatever expensive skincare regimen she has, it’s working for me.

She has the fullest, softest lips. She lets me drift my tongue inside to taste her, and my arms slip around her waist to pull her in closer.

As I do this, her breasts press against me through her sweater. I’m certain she can feel Stoner’s boner right now, which is pressing against her abdomen.

“Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” I say huskily when we come up for air.

She looks hurt. “Sorry, am I not a good kisser?”

“Oh shit, no, that’s not what I meant. I’m getting a little worked up and my mom will be home soon.”

Her face reddens and she whispers, “Yeah, I can tell.” She goes in for another kiss and I’m powerless to resist. Every touch, every scent, every sound, every taste of her drowns out everything else in my world.

I’m already falling for this woman.

My hands slide down lower to hold her ass and pull her in even tighter. She allows her pelvis to grind up against my cock as our tongues continue exploring. Her hands are all over me, caressing my back, my shoulders, my stomach, my chest. Every inch of my skin crackles when she touches me, and we’ve still got all our clothes on.

“I shouldn’t urge you on like this, but I really like kissing you,” Max says.

“That’s the thing about shouldn’ts,” I reply. “They really ruin the party.” I dive back in for more. I never want her to stop kissing me.

Our tongues tangle. Our hands squeeze each other’s asses, our groins are locked together in a yearning, rhythmic grind. Eventually, one of my hands lets go of her ass and slowly inches its way up, caressing along her hip, up her side. She lets out a tiny gasp when my thumb grazes the side of her breast. Her kissing becomes more urgent.

I slide my hand to her front and caress her abundant mound over the top of her sweater. She emits a noise somewhere between a little squeak and a moan. I squeeze, and through the many layers of fabric I can feel her little nipple hardening up in response to me.

And in return, the hard rod in my pants is demanding to come out and play. I want to bend her over the bed right now and drill until I find my sweet relief in her warmth.

As if acting on its own, my other hand smooths its way under the hem of her sweater. She’s wearing a tee shirt underneath.

“Dammit, why are we wearing so many layers?” I say roughly into her neck.

I soon have both hands inside her sweater, having their way with her peaks, making hard pebbles out of her nipples through her bra and tee shirt.

She moans when I squeeze again. And again. I let my lips part from hers and kiss my way down her jawline, across to her ear, and down her neck. She’s breathing heavy and so am I.

I’m not sure what’s going to happen next, and then I hear the key in the lock at the kitchen door.