Marney in the Middle

Chapter 16: Pre-Party for Two

I'm in the kitchen again with Malcolm when Reese comes back. I straighten up out of my relaxed slouch and set my bare feet onto the cool wood floor, smiling at him as he makes his way to the kitchen. He doesn't return it; instead, his eyes are lanced out his brother in this self-assured, victorious way. Leaning against the outside of the divider between the kitchen and diningroom, he crosses his arms and smirks,

"All done."

"For the record," Malcolm says as he stares at a pot of steaming water, "This is a really stupid idea."

I roll my eyes at the back of his head as Reese shrugs.

All I've heard since I got back to the kitchen was 'my brother is an idiot' and 'his party is going to blow up in his face, and I'll have to come up with a plan to fix it.' Malcolm is a lot more like Herkabe than I initially realized; egotistical and self-centered.

Reese's smirk fades into a frown when Malcolm reaches for the salt shaker on the back of the stove, "Don't do that."

Malcolm stops mid-action, "Why not? I need the water to boil faster."

"Still a bad idea. While salt water does boil faster than fresh, the amount it actually takes is far more than just a dash and it'll leave your food extra salty. It'll be disgusting."

The two brothers have a momentary stare off. Reese's face is deadpan while Malcolm's is set into a glare. I shift in my seat, glancing at the clock (7:23 pm) and back. After a second, Malcolm sets the salt shaker down and picks up the spaghetti noodle box – either to read or just pretend to.

Reese pushes himself off the counter and heads toward the back hall. He stops at the entrance to finally look at me, "You coming?"

A flip.

"Sure."

Once we're in their room, he stops in front of his dresser and takes off his shirt. A sharp intake of breath catches in my throat. It's not like I've never seen a guy shirtless before. I have. Just not a guy I'm attracted to and, well, not in person. I turn my face away, feigning interest in some junk on the closest desk, but can't help a quick peak.

He looks better than I imagined. A lot better. His abs are modest but defined – like his waist. They're subtle, but the muscles there stand out, too, as they drop below the waistline of his pants. Little wings flab about my abdomen as I trace and retrace them with my gaze.

Reese catches me peaking. His smirk returns. I bite my lower lip and force myself to actually look somewhere else. Anywhere else. The junk on the desk is part of some sort of model – likely Dewey's. It's only partially done, so I can't tell what it's supposed to be right now. Not that I'm trying.

Reese drops the grey t-shirt he grabbed and takes a step toward me, "You ok?"

I nod instead of further making an ass of myself and bring my gaze to his face. He has an unreadable expression, one I've never seen before. It makes my bare skin tingle. Taking my hand, he pulls me to him. Against his bare chest. I put up my hand to stop us from colliding and it grazes his right pec.

A major flip.

His hands are on my waist as his lips find mine before I can react. I wrap my arm around his shoulder and knit my fingers through the hair on the back of his head, hoping and praying I seem like I know what I'm doing

Our lips move effortlessly together. My hand, still against his chest, trails over it. Feels better than it looks; his skin is smooth against my fingertips. He pulls me closer to him until our hips are pressed together. My heart is hammering against my ribcage, in my ears and behind my eyes. I'm lost in the moment. His tongue trails my lower lip, his hot breath pooling across my lips and chin.

My gut reaction is to pull away. A mental kick as Reese gives me a confused look, eyebrows knit together and eyes slightly squinted. I don't want to explain that I'm nervous, that I've never done it before, that he makes my knees weak and my heart dash. And I don't have to as he slowly brings my lips to his. He's tentative, movements light and sweet.

A few seconds pass before he does it again. This time I part my lips for him. My breath recatches in my throat. French kissing is weird. At least at first. It's wet and hot and . . .

A tendril of tension I've never felt before whips across my lower abdomen. Our tongues move together, alongside each other in a way I had no clue how to do five seconds ago. Dropping my palm and fingers lower, I trace along his abs. He shivers. Tingles dance between us as I trail my fingertips along the path my gaze followed earlier. His lower stomach flexes as I reach the top of his jeans.

"Reese, get out here!"

He moves his lips away and rests his forehead against mine. I peek at him. His eyes are closed and he's taking short, frequent breaths. I smile and twirl my fingers in his hair. His lips twitch, but his eyes remain shut.

"Reese," Malcolm shouts again.

Dropping his hands away from my waist and stepping back, he pulls on his shirt, "Guess we'll have to pick this up later."

I smile and nod, "I hope so."

It's supposed to be cute or coy or something along those guidelines, but it comes out a squeak. Kind of a pitiful puff of noise.

Reese doesn't mention it as he leaves the room.

Giving into my wobbly knees, I leans back against the dresser.

Holy wow. My stomach is a knot of flutters and swirls. Takes me nearly two minutes to regain my faux composure. Utilizing the restroom, I go into their parents' room and rescue my heels from their tan armchair. My feet aren't happy about it. However, walking around the party barefoot might not be such a grand idea. There's the whole image-thing to worry about.

Back in the bathroom, I check my reflection. My cheeks have a bit of extra color like I'm wearing blush. Oh sheesh, this bad boy will be the death of Makeover Marney. A small smile plays across my lips as I think about him. About the way he feels and tastes, the way he looks at me and watches me.

I really like this bad boy.