10.

The sun is high up in the sky, its welcomed warmth enveloping us unlike the last few cool and windy days.

I kiss my way down her belly, enjoying the taste of her skin and the sounds she makes. Dipping my tongue in and around her belly button earns a soft giggle. I smile against her skin. "Ahh, you're ticklish," I state, and do it again while catching her gaze.

Her eyes are soft and her fingers scratch against my skull. "Yeah, I guess I am."

She sighs and I see a look - something - cross her features. Like she's sad, yet hiding. I don't like it. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She shrugs but I can tell she's not in the mood to fool around and I don't want to be that guy. I'm enough of an asshole as it is.
I bring her shirt down and cover up her belly, and take her hands in mine. "Come on." I stand and tug on her arm until she rolls her eyes and follows me.

"Where are we going?"

Slipping on my Ray-Bans, I twine our fingers together. "Ice cream."

Mom always made me an ice cream sundae every time I wasn't feeling up to par. I was bullied a lot as a little kid and it often left me in a bad place, but mom always knew how to make me feel better.

Then in the summer between the ages of twelve and thirteen, I grew about six inches taller than all the other boys and they left me alone. Well, most of them anyway.

Fun times.

I still love a good sundae though.

She's quiet, more so than usual as we walk down the beach toward the little shop near the more touristy part of town. "You want to tell me what's wrong?"

"I can't. We don't do that, remember?"

I frown. Yeah, I remember, but I don't like it. "Maybe I can help?"

"Probably not. It's nothing you can fix in, what, the next three, four days. Trust me, you're better off not knowing." She gives me a sad smile as we saddle up to the counter and order a couple of butterscotch sundaes, extra peanuts and cherries. My kinda girl.

As if I didn't know already.

We eat quietly. She smiles a little bit as she eats and I make faces at her. It's childish, but before long, I have her giggling and happy.

When we're done, I pull her into my arms and hold her close. "I wish things were different."

It's a confession for so many things. More than she'll ever know.

She sighs and presses her cheek against my chest. "So do I."

…

He makes me feel too much.

...

Wednesday?

Your response for this little story is overwhelming. Thank you. :o)

xox

Missy