Amalia couldn't come back on Sunday. Her little sister came down with a temperature and her Dad was out for the evening so he couldn't watch her.
Instead of sitting at home and moping about it, I asked her for the address and hopped the last train to Philadelphia.
It was about five when I tapped on the dark blue door of their home.
The neighbour hood was quaint. Wide footpaths, the front doors right there on the pavement. No front lawns or fences.
But some houses had little garden boxes running along the front of them.
When Amalia opened the door, she was wearing a big hoodie, the sleeves covered her hands, her hair was cascading in waves around her face and I couldn't tell if she was wearing pants but she did have long socks on. They matched.
"Hey," she smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I didn't know if you would actually come."
She waved me in.
"Yeah I thought I could keep you company. I hope that's alright?"
She nodded, her gaze swept me over, admiration in her smile as she looked at my sweat pants, fitted long sleeve and beanie. "You look good."
My heart sped up at her compliment and I leaned in, pressing a soft closed mouth kiss on her lips. "So do you."
She ran her hands through her hair, throwing it back over her shoulder with a tousle. "Not as good as last night though, huh?"
She winked and turned around, leaving me with the reminder of her lingerie as she slipped around the corner.
She had so much confidence. But she wasn't arrogant or full of herself. When I looked at her, I thought of soft and shy. Her face was full of innocence.
I loved that she could say things that were sexy as hell without even flinching. It was so alluring. She knew what she wanted.
I toed off my chucks and followed her to find that she was standing in a small kitchen.
The window looked out on to the street. It had sheer blinds for privacy. There was a small wooden island that had enough room for a plate and some breakfast spreads.
The cupboard doors were painted different colours. Green, blue, green, blue. There was so much colour in what would otherwise be a regular little kitchen.
"I'm just making some pollo a la riojana," she said, slicing chicken breasts into halves. Ingredients scattered the small bench top. Onions, garlics, peppers, wine. "Or chicken and chorizo stew. It's so good. It'll help Berne's with her flu. I'm hoping."
"Need some help?" I stood beside her. I loved the smell of her hair.
She smiled, still watching what she was doing as she cut and threw chicken into a bowl. She nodded. "If you want. Do you cook much? I don't do it a lot unless it's Spanish recipes. It's just one of the ways I keep in touch with my roots."
"I like that," I pushed my sleeves up to the elbows. She kept her head down but I caught her gaze move towards my arms for a moment. "I love food from other cultures. American food is sort of bland in comparison."
She nodded and then we both turned around to the sound of footsteps dragging into the kitchen.
I assumed that Berne's was the one staring at us with half closed lids and a bright red nose.
She was small with an over bite and black hair to her shoulders. She was wrapped in a robe with a box of tissues under her arm.
"Hey Berne's," Amalia ran her hands under the faucet. "You feeling alright?"
Bernie didn't answer. She watched me with her lips parted and a narrow tired stare.
Amalia lightly sighed with amusement. "Me sorprende que no hayas perdido la cabeza. Estas en la presencia de un Lahey."
Bernie answered with a nasally voice. "Aprendí mi lección. Lucas me falló. Pisoteó mi corazón y nunca volveré a amar."
Amalia scoffed. "No seas dramática. Regresa a la cama. Te llamaré cuando esté lista la cena."
While I didn't understand much of their conversation, I did hear Lucas' name.
Bernie wandered off, her feet dragging and her nose sniffling. "She thought I was him?"
"Oh, na," she laughed, shaking her head. "She just took it kind of hard when your brother stopped hanging around. She was a super fan and felt like she needed to stop loving him for my sake. It's ridiculous. There's no bad blood. She just likes to be extra."
"Fair enough," I palmed the lip of the bench and leaned on it. "A fangirl's heart is fragile."
She burst into laughter and I watched, heart clenching. "How poetic. But true. They really can not stand it when their hero lets them down."
She pushed the bowl of chicken to the side and started cleaning up the cutting board with disinfectant and hot water.
"What can I help with?" I asked.
"Um," she pointed at a pile of ingredients. "The onions and garlic need peeling and chopping."
"I can manage that."
She found another board and knife and we stood beside each other, prepping and talking for about ten minutes.
It didn't take long to get it all in a pot where it would simmer and cook for the next hour.
We cleaned up the surfaces and put things away and then I followed Amalia out of the kitchen and down the corridor.
Pictures hung and art hung in the corridor, the wallpaper was dated but it was well hidden behind the personal touches.
Amalia stopped at the second door and tapped on it before she swung it open.
I figured that Bernie must have been in there somewhere. But it was hard to tell because the room was covered in material.
All kinds of material. All sorts of colours, shapes, sizes. It was draped over the desk chair where the sewing machine was. It was covering the bed, the floor and the hanging from the open closet door. Sketches covered the walls of different designs.
"Bernie!" Amalia clipped and the young girl sat up in bed so abrupt and fast that I got a fright.
She just emerged from the mess. I wasn't sure what was bedding and what was project material.
"Are you okay? Need anything?"
Bernie shook her head, wincing as she laid back down. Amalia sighed with amusement and closed the door.
"It's kind of funny that you met her today of all days. This is not an accurate impression of her true self. She's a nutcase to be honest."
I laughed. "Well, then I look forward to seeing her when she's better."
We walked into her bedroom and it was a lot tidier but still full of character.
Again, sketches on the wall. They weren't designs for clothing but more doodles of all sorts of different things.
There was a window seat with cushions and blankets. A double bed in the middle of the room. The colour of the curtains was pale pink.
The same pink as the sheets and rug on the hardwood floor.
"You like pink, huh?" I swallowed, remembering her lingerie, again.
She could tell. She knew what I was thinking because she sat on her bed, grinning with her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. "Yeah. Not hot pink. Not bright. Pale, powder pink."
I nodded and stood at the end of the bed, looking around at the dresser covered in products, the mirror had little notes on it, drawn with a sharpie.
A canvas - presumably one her dad painted - hung above her bed. It was an ocean view but the colours of the sun were fuchsia and soft pinks and oranges. It suited the room.
She cleared her throat and gestured at my hand. "So, what should we do?"
A few ideas came to mind.
"Uh," I felt hot and stared at a candle sitting on her bedside. "I don't mind. What do you want to do?"
"We can't, ya know, do anything vigorous. My sister is on the other side of that wall."
I palmed my jaw and exhaled.
She jolted forward and the bed rocked, banging into the wall with a thud. "This bed isn't made for it."
I felt hot all over. "That's not why I came," I went to run a hand through my hair but stopped when I felt my beanie. "I hope you don't think that's why I came."
She narrowed her stare wearing a mischievous grin. "Really?"
"I came to keep you company while you look after your sister," I assured her.
Of course I think about having sex with her. It'd be hard not to.
But that wasn't what encouraged me to get on the train and come over from New York. Simply being around her was the motivation.
Her fingers fiddled in her lap as she stared down and smiled. "So," she stretched out her legs and laid back. Which answered an earlier question. She was not wearing shorts. "What should we do while dinner cooks? Oh actually. I have an idea. Come on."
Five minutes later, she was wearing a pair of leggings, a beanie with a poof on the top and we were standing in a fenced baseball cage.
It was deserted. Just the two of us. She pulled a softball out of her hoodie pocket and threw it up in the air.
"Bat or ball?" She asked, grabbing one of the worn out bats beside the fence.
"Ball," I opened my hand so she could throw it.
The sun was setting through the gaps in the buildings around us. Cars drove past, buildings and homes surrounded the batting cage.
She stood at the other end, it wasn't far. A decent distance with for throwing but close enough that we could still talk.
I threw her the ball and she hit it straight back, the thwack sound echoed.
"I miss this sport sometimes," she said, getting into position for another hit. "I never planned to go pro but I didn't think about the fact that I wouldn't play as much after school."
"Why don't you coach a little kids team or something?"
She shrugged. "I don't think I'd have the time to commit right now. And I wouldn't want to do it unless I could."
I understood that. She had a lot on her plate. A full time job. Helping her Dad. As well as her sister.
"You'll just have to come over more often. So I can use you to get some cage time in."
"Anytime," I said, we smiled at each other.
"So," I picked the ball up after she'd batted it for the fifth time and admired her stance. So beautiful. "I have to go to California next weekend."
I threw, she hit.
"How come?"
"I think Abby's sick. Lucas is pretty sure she's got an eating disorder."
She lowered the bat, her lips parted and I could see the sorrow in her gaze. "Really?"
I nodded, twisting the ball in my hand. "Yeah. I haven't seen her. But I need to go and try to talk to her. Everyone is getting worried. I didn't want to believe it. But. . ."
She flung the bat back to the fence line and walked towards me.
I watched, helpless to look elsewhere and felt my heart race when she threw her arms around my neck. "Do you need me to come with you? Do you need support?"
My arms tightened around her middle and I nuzzled into her shoulder, her feet were almost coming off the ground.
Hugging her felt unreal. The way she moulded to me. It was exquisite.
"Trust me, I would love that. But I think I should talk to her alone. She's gonna feel cornered as it is."
I felt her lips move on my neck as she spoke. "I meant come to California to be there as support. Not come with you to speak to her. Reaching out can be mentally exhausting. I just thought you might need someone there afterwards. But I don't have to."
My heart squeezed. "I would love that."
"I'll buy a ticket for the same flight as you," she kissed my neck this time. On purpose. It sent electric currents right through me.
"We're taking the jet," I told her, attempting to keep a stable voice.
"Then I'll pay for a room."
"No, Amal—"
"Don't," she warned. It was gentle but firm. "Don't tell me no. That's not how I roll."
She leaned back, her arms still around my neck and I studied her soft gaze. "You're beautiful. All of you is beautiful."
"So are you, Max."
We ate dinner in her living room on the sofa. Bernie took a bowl, blanket over her head and retreated back to her bedroom.
It was good. Better than good. A flavour burst. I couldn't stop complimenting Amalia.
After we'd cleaned up the dinner dishes, we went back to the living room, which was scattered with art easels and paint and more colour, and put on a movie.
We sat on the couch with a throw. Amalia snuggled into my side, I put an arm around her shoulder.
"I talk during movies," she said as the opening credits began. "I'm just warning you, it's a horrible habit. I narrate. I can't help it."
She wasn't lying either. She did narrate but it was adorable. Charming.
"I hate him. He's such a pig. He doesn't even apologise for being a pig but she still melts at his feet."
"I mean, I get it, he's had a rough time, but still. He's a pig."
"I love her. She's so weird."
"Aw, he's such a sweet bean. It's so weird when he swears."
I didn't tell her to be quiet once. I didn't want to her to be quiet.
I loved her voice. The way she'd point at the screen and gesture with frustration. Or clutch her chest and awww.
Or her laugh. Her laugh was music.
After the movie was done, we sat there, neither of us wanting to move. My fingers caressed her waist and she rested her palm on my chest.
She lifted her head and I stared down at her precious freckles. I couldn't help it when I leaned down and kissed her smile.
She didn't hesitate, her entire body arched up into the kiss and it was her that deepened it.
Our tongues met and my heart raced. I was a goner for her. She made me feel a million different things and not one of them did I recognise.
But I revelled in it all the same.
It started to heat up. She twisted so she wasn't upside down and her hands ran up my neck and into my hair, knocking my beanie off.
Her touch left a trail of fire and her mouth fanned the flames.
Without warning, I wrapped an arm right around her back and pulled her on top of me so she was straddling my lap.
Her little moan of approval made me twitch and she rolled her hips against me, her hands felt wild as they moved and tugged and gripped and pulled.
My hands moved up and down her spine, twisting in her hair, cupping her butt and pushing it harder against me as she rolled and rubbed.
Her little whimper when I wrapped a hand around her neck, made me groan. My thumb caressed the ridges of her throat and I lightly squeezed.
As my thumb moved up from her throat and onto her lips, she turned her head and sucked my thumb between her lips. I thought I was going to cum right then and there.
She leaned back in and moved her mouth down my jaw and neck, licking my throat.
My hands rested on her hips, squeezing them so hard that I worried I was going to hurt her, but she moaned and tugged my hair.
(a/n. Mom. 👉🏻🚪)
"Fuck," I panted. "I wanna touch you. Can I touch you?"
"Please," she blew out a breath and her mouth found mine again.
With her permission, I dipped my hand into the band of her pants and rubbed her centre.
She was wet. Even through her underwear. I dipped into those as well and felt her slick centre.
I didn't waste time. Without being alone in the house, we might not have much of it. I rubbed while my other hand held on to her hair.
She buckled and her head fell to my chest. Her fists clutched my shirt as she squirmed and tried to muffle her cries.
"Ssh baby," I groaned as her body spasmed.
"Max," she whimpered.
"Fuck, that sounds good," I was breathless.
She was dripping, still straddling me as I rubbed her into a frenzied state.
Her head rested on my shoulder, her entire body rolled like she wanted to get away but she wanted to stay more. "Don't stop," she pleaded with a whisper. "Don't— don't stop."
I sped up and her entire body arched upwards as her moans became silent and stretched out and then she quivered and her frame jolted.
She sagged against my chest and I withdrew my hand, licking my fingers as she peered up at me with a tired smile but a glowing gaze.
"I like you so much," she murmured. "You're perfect."
I held her tight against me and felt the strain in my pants. It didn't matter though. It felt so good to know what I could do for her.