Catching Jordan

Catching Jordan - Section 7

Ty pulls off his shirt and kicks off his f  lip-f  lops. His body is perfect, chiseled like a statue. He begins to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans, and I twirl around in the water. I gaze across the lake at the distant shore, trying to focus on the trees, the sand, the rocks, anything.

I hear a splash. The water moves toward me.

Suddenly I feel his hands wrap around me from behind. He rests his forehead on my back. “God, it’s cold,” he says. “Warm me up.”

“I’m cold too.”

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

Trembling, I take a rattled breath. “Ty, I need to stay focused.”

“Am I causing you to lose focus?” He laughs.

“Maybe.”

“What if I told you I’ve already lost all focus because of you?” He rests his chin on my shoulder and glances at my face.

“I’d say you’re screwing with me.”

“It’s true. Being around you is like drinking a shot of whiskey.”

“You feel drunk when you’re around me?”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Ditto.”

He drags his hands across my stomach, dipping a fingertip into my belly button, and I feel his mouth on my shoulder. My brain tells me to run—to forget about this. But my body tells my brain to shut the hell up.

“Jordan,” he mumbles.

“Yeah?”

He turns me around, causing ripples in the water, and then his mouth is on mine. Our first kiss explodes like mixing soda and pop rocks. His soft lips feel better than I ever imagined. I don’t know what I’m doing with my lips or my tongue, so I try to follow his lead and let him do the work. I hope my lips don’t feel like limp spaghetti.

Soon, I’m figuring out how to kiss—he runs his tongue along my lips, so I bite his lower lip in response. He laughs. I inch my fingertips across his shoulders and elbows as I move my mouth to his throat.

He whispers, “You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I’m not so scared anymore. If he likes me for who I am, it doesn’t matter what kind of underwear I’m wearing. Or that I’m not wearing makeup. Or that I’m over six feet tall. “You’re really cute too,” I say, giving him another kiss on the lips, digging my fingertips into his abs.

“I’ve never wanted anyone so much in my life.”

I moan softly as he kisses my neck, right beneath my ear, in return. “You want me?”

“Every bit of you,” he mumbles. Taking my hands in his, his eyes find mine. He caresses the tops of my hands with his thumbs. He says, “Race me across the lake?”

All I want is to feel his body against mine, but I can’t resist a challenge. “You’re on.” I take off swimming, having done this a hundred times in my life. I know I can swim the length of the lake in about two minutes. I easily beat him, pull myself onto the banks, and lie down on a soft mossy patch, so green it’s almost like lying on Astroturf, only without the rug burns.

“You could’ve told me you’re a female Michael Phelps before I made an ass of myself,” he says, smiling as he drags himself out of the lake. He shakes the water out of his hair.

He lies down next to me, leaning on an elbow, his eyes scanning my body. He doesn’t seem to have a problem with my soggy underwear. Has a teenage girl ever felt less sexy than I do now?