Nineteen. That was young, and she seemed very innocent . . . yet somehow very wise, too. I was six years older than her. But in that moment it didn't seem to make any difference at all.
I smiled, my eyes moving over her beautiful features again and lingering on her full lips for a moment. I wondered if they'd be as warm as the rest of her, or if they'd feel cool against my own. "Tell me something about your past," she murmured. Tit for tat. I searched my mind for something to give her about my own childhood.
"I was a Boy Scout. I earned all kinds of awards, actually. I was the pride of troop one sixty-one." Confusion made my head throb for a moment. Yes, yes I had been a Boy Scout. I'd forgotten that.
Lily laughed, falling back, and bringing me back to the moment. "I'll build a rock shrine in your honor once you leave these woods."
I laughed. "If I leave these woods. I've obviously required some assistance in the recent past."
"Your secret is safe with me. Troop one sixty-one will never be the wiser." She leaned up again and grinned over at me, and my heart picked up speed.
"Did you like it? Being a Boy Scout?"
I tried to remember, but my memory was so foggy these days. I had such a hard time grasping specific events. But I could . . . feel it. Being a Boy Scout. I closed my eyes for a moment. Yes, yes I'd liked it very much. "Yes," I answered finally.
"What else? What else do you like?"
A lock of hair fell over my eye, and Lily brought her hand up and brushed it away and then froze as if she'd caught herself doing something she hadn't meant to do. She blinked as her eyes met mine. "I'm sorry," she said, pulling her hand back.
I reached out and took her hand in mine, swallowing. "No, please, that felt nice. I don't mind if you touch my hair." Truthfully, I wanted her to touch me anywhere and everywhere. I wanted to feel the warm touch of her fingers on my skin, I wanted her to move closer and lie beside me so I could feel the length of her body next to my own. This moment suddenly seemed more intimate than any I'd ever experienced before, and we hadn't even removed one item of clothing. We hadn't even kissed.
Lily brought her hand tentatively back to my hair and wove her fingers into it. I moaned and lay back, closing my eyes. God, it felt good. It'd been so long since someone just . . . touched me. Forever . . . She continued to thread her fingers through it with obvious curiosity as if she'd never touched a man's hair before. Was it possible she hadn't?
Feeling relaxed and half in a trance, I said, "I like sports, especially football, Star Wars, and jazz music. Not together, necessarily." I quirked my lip up and raised one brow before closing my eyes again. "And I like the old jazz, you know, like Miles Davis or Coltrane." Lily's hands kept moving in my hair, causing me to sigh.
"What else?" she whispered.
"I like, uh, comic books . . . I like museums, fireworks . . . travel. I like breakfast for dinner, and . . . movie theaters. I like movie theaters. And I especially like going when there's no one else in the theater but me." I felt like I could fall asleep. "I like Tuesdays."
"Why Tuesdays?"
"Because no one else likes Tuesdays. I get it all to myself. Tuesday is all mine."
I somehow heard Lily's lips move into a smile, but didn't open my eyes.
"And snowstorms. I love winter and snowstorms." I paused. "Why do I feel like I'm writing a personal ad?"
Lily laughed softly, her fingernails raking lightly across my scalp. I was half asleep and half turned on, and it felt so damned good. "What about you? What do you like, Lily?" I felt like my voice might be slurring a little.
"Hmm," she said, pausing for a moment. "I like to read. And I like history."
"What else?"
She paused again. "I don't know." She sounded sad.
I opened my eyes half-mast and gazed at her sleepily. "What kind of music do you like?"
She tilted her head, watching her hand in my hair. "My mom used to play these love songs from the forties. I haven't heard them in a long time, but I used to love them."
"What did you mean yesterday when you said you thought you might be a ghost?" I asked, my eyes falling closed once again as I enjoyed the delicious feeling of her warm hand running through my hair and across my scalp. I resisted the urge to moan out loud, thinking any sound like that might scare her away and stop her from touching me.
She was quiet for a long moment, and I got lost in the comfort of being touched gently. Nothing in my recent past had felt gentle. And that's what Lily was: gentle and pure. Being with her made me starkly aware of how harsh and dirty my own life felt. "I just mean that sometimes I don't feel like I'm part of the world. I don't feel like my life is . . . real," she finally answered softly.
I opened my eyes, gazing at her lovely face. Yes. "I know what you mean," I said. "I feel the same way. I feel the exact same way. But this, this feels real. Does it feel real to you, too?"
She nodded down at me, her expression very serious. "Yes," she whispered. I closed my eyes again.
I could feel the familiar clawing inside me needing a fix, and I knew I should probably leave, though I didn't want to. But I was so tired. I hadn't slept more than a few hours in the last couple days, and Lily's hand in my hair was heavenly. If I just closed my eyes for a few minutes . . .
I woke up dazed and alone, the first light of dawn appearing in the eastern sky. I sat up abruptly, the sweatshirt Lily must have laid over me falling aside. A sharp pain sliced through my head and I groaned.