Homecoming

11

My hair was plastered against my damp forehead, and a bead of sweat rolled down my lower back. The combination of Kohl's mint aftershave and chlorine made my head swim, and I saw the world through blurry lenses. Every time I broke away for air, my body retreated on instinct which drove the plastic sword drilling deeper into my ribs.

The list of reasons why I should stop Kohl surpassed its counterpart, but my brain couldn't process much of anything other than staying aground.

Kohl's fingers tightened on my hips before he pulled me flushed against his body. The rough and unexpected friction drew out a carnal groan from within and broke my self-control. Letting the putter I was holding drop, I took an aggressive role and grabbed the sides of his face with both hands, keen on keeping his lips attached to mine. I tugged on his hair to give me access below his jaw, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses up his neck beneath the earlobe, and it was then Kohl's turn to groan.

An audio of a pirate screaming 'Arrgh Matey!' blared from a speaker above us, and I jumped away from Kohl. Another plastic sword dug into my ribs—the pain was an instant boner kill. Only the steady stream of water and our panting could be heard until Kohl started to laugh. I was mortified for allowing myself to follow along with his antics in a public place where anyone could have walked in on us. Barrels of Funs' The Pirate's Cave miniature indoor golf course was always popular with the crowd.

He was still laughing as he bent down to pick up the putters, and then he fixed me a smirk. "How about we call it a tie and have a playoff* in my bedroom?"

"You're so dumb sometimes!" I snatched my putter out of his hands and stomped out trying my best not to laugh along with him.

The group of high schoolers playing four holes behind us were walking up just as we made our way to the concession window. Our little make-out session must have been longer than it seemed. Kohl trailed behind me chuckling and I even caught him adjusting himself once.

What were we thinking? Two grown-ass men making out in a man-made cave meant to entertain children. If there were any passersby, I prayed that Barrels of Funs' dismal attempt of a waterfall by the entrance of the cave was enough to drown out everything.

Kohl continued to his dirty teasing remarks about extra holes and ass pirates.

"Shh! Think about where you are!" I said through gritted teeth while looking around.

"No one can hear me. Relax."

We both put the putters on the counters, and stood off to the side observing the expanse of the indoor recreation center. Both of us were silently willing the other to ask the inevitable.

"So … what now?" Kohl asked.

"Home, I guess?"

As soon as we were veiled under the night's shadow in the parking lot, Kohl reached for my hand, and I had to look down to hide the creeping smile on face. I hadn't recovered from our time in the cave, and not even the biting wind of November could chill the warmth settling in the pit of my belly.

Somehow, we had gotten into this routine—an unspoken understanding—I couldn't quite pinpoint since that night. To say there wasn't an ounce of reluctance on my part with the way things were progressing would be a lie.

I was scared.

Apart from fearing how fast everything seemed to fall into place, I also feared disrupting it. I was content in light of whatever relationship we had going, and I never questioned it despite the way I put up a front of disinterest.

Kohl drove with one hand on the wheel, and his other hand jumped in and out of the clutches of my left hand. There was something amusing about the way his face broke into a grin when he untangled his hand from mine to change the song, adjust the heat or fiddle his the brights. Then just as quickly, he would grab my hand again and would continue to prattle. Both the handholding and the endless chatter were traits he hadn't outgrown after all these years. It had always made the drive back to Handen from our dates seemed shorter in the past, and it was no different now.