When The Words Are Spoken

Chapter 3-2

Kissing is pure poetry, Michael thought. Shelley couldn't have done it better. Hmm, maybe Shelley's appropriate under the circumstances. Pulling back, he whispered in her ear, “‘Nothing in the world is single;/ All things by a law divine/ In one another's being mingle;—/Why not I with thine?’”

“Ooooh, Shelley in the morning,” she cooed, her eyes lighting up with a combination of laughter and arousal. “You know, though, he was asking for a bit more than a kiss when he wrote that.”

“One thing at a time. I'm enjoying this part,” he said. It's the truth. I'm not ready to consider more, just yet. An ache in the vicinity of his zipper informed him he'd not have that luxury for long.

“Me too.” She finished the quote. “‘And the sunlight clasps the earth, /And the moonbeams kiss the sea;—/ What are all these kissings worth,/ If thou kiss not me?’”

“I do kiss you,” he breathed against her skin. “I do kiss you, Sheridan.” He demonstrated. The second kiss was just as delicious as the first.

They lingered, lips clinging in tender passion. Every sensation imprinted itself on his memory: the minty softness of her mouth, the scent of peaches that hung around her, the curves of her body compressed against him. Though he tried not to think about what was next, tried to live in this perfect moment, the fullness in the front of his pants told him the time for lingering in innocence would be short. The ache of arousal did nothing to dissuade him from claiming her lips in a thousand different ways, and she matched him kiss for kiss, her hands tangled in his hair to hold him close.

Eventually, children began to show up to play on the swings and slide, and they reluctantly released each other, just as Davontay drove up in his black SUV. He vaulted out of the vehicle and drew up short at the sight of the couple, their hands clinging. Casting one longing glance at the beautiful blond, Davontay sighed, shoulders sagging, and shook his head.

Michael pretended not to see. He felt no embarrassment about his burgeoning romance with Sheridan, but he didn't want to make his friend uncomfortable. I know what it is to desire this amazing woman without hope of reciprocation.

The moment passed, and the friends settled into a normal pattern, conversing as they enjoyed the beauty of the day. The river gurgled cheerfully, and the wind sighed through the branches.

The three of them, always aware that soon everything would be buried under a blanket of snow for months, set about enjoying the end of summer, trying to burn the images of sun, grass and leaves into their souls. After a long, leisurely walk, they sprawled on a red plaid blanket under a spreading oak and shared lunch.

“I brought back something I wanted to share with you guys,” Davontay said, setting his sandwich aside. “Be right back.” He rose to his feet and ambled away.

Sheridan glanced his direction and then returned her eyes to Michael's face, scrutinizing him as though she'd never seen him before.

He pushed a stringy strand of black hair out of his eyes. What the hell does she see in me?

Davontay returned with a pale green bottle. “Sauvignon Blanc?” he suggested. “I brought this back from France. It's been chilling in a cooler in my car all morning.”

“Sure thing,” Sheridan agreed with a huge grin.

“I'll take a little,” Michael agreed.

“I didn't bring glasses,” Davontay admitted sheepishly. “I was thinking about ice, and I forgot.”

“No worries,” Sheridan reassured him, rising to her knees on the blanket and digging in the basket, bringing red plastic cups to light.

“How classy,” Davontay commented. “Clearly, I'm the most cultured one in the group.”

“Of course, you are.” Sheridan laughed, then she glanced at Michael. His amused tolerance hardened to something uncomfortable.

“Then we're in business,” Davontay said, pulling out a pocketknife and opening the corkscrew to wrestle out the cork. The wine gurgled cheerfully into the three cups.

“To the summer,” Davontay proposed. “She was a glorious lady this year.”

“To summer.” Sheridan lifted her cup.

“‘Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?'” Michael murmured. “‘Thou art more lovely and more temperate.'”

“Ooooh, first Shelley and now Shakespeare. Keep going, Michael,” she urged.

“Yeah, I'll concede a tie for most cultured,” Davontay agreed.

Michael looked from one friend to the other, and his already warm skin turned hotter. Then he sat up from his reclining position and took Sheridan's hand in his. “'So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee.’”

Sheridan bit her lip. Then her eyes slid to Davontay, whose white-toothed grin had turned to a frown.

“It's been fun,” he said, “but I should be going.”

“Don't leave yet,” Sheridan pleaded.

“No, it's okay.” Their friend waved his hand, pasting a bright, false smile on his face. “I promised my brothers I'd play basketball with them this afternoon. Dashiell is trying out for the varsity squad this year and he wants me to practice with him.”

“Davontay,” Sheridan started to protest again.

“Okay, we'll see you Monday,” Michael interrupted, cutting off her objections.

Davontay corked his wine and saluted them with the bottle, before heading slowly back to his car. He vaulted into the high seat of the black SUV and left the parking lot, turning left and disappearing into the trees.

“Why did you do that?” Sheridan demanded. “You ran him off.”

“I want to be alone with you,” Michael explained, “and he doesn't need to see any more of what we're doing. I think he wanted you and by choosing me, you rejected him.”

Sheridan took a deep breath, her frown deepening. “I like Davontay very much, but not in that way. He reminds me of my brother, Sean. All fun and good humor.”

“And you, you perverse creature, choose the grumpy, unlikeable professor instead,” Michael quipped.

Sheridan stared at him, open-mouthed. “Did you just make a joke?”

Michael chuckled, and it sounded dry and rusty. “I guess you're a bad influence, sunshine woman,” he said, one corner of his mouth turning upward. He scooted over to her and cupped the back of her head in one hand.

She leaned up on one elbow and met him halfway. Their lips brushed in a brief, tender smudge.

Behind them, someone cleared a throat.

Suddenly aware that children surrounded them, Sheridan drew back. “Let's go somewhere. Somewhere dark. With no kids.”

“A movie?” Michael suggested. “You said that was something you wanted to do.”

“I could see a movie,” she agreed, “but let's drive together. My car only has so many starts left in it, and besides, it wouldn't be much of a date if we didn't ride together.”

Michael hoisted himself to his towering height and extended a hand to Sheridan, helping her to rise.