Free Where the Stars Still Shine by Trish Doller

warm as he grins at my stammering. “No, I don’t mind.”
    He takes his beer with him into the bathroom and less than a minute later I hear the shower running. I look around the cabin while I wait. The berth opposite me is made up for sleeping with blue-striped sheets and a navy comforter. On the floor, the zipper-edged mouth of a duffel bag gapes open, exposing a jumble of T-shirts, shorts, and plaid boxer shorts. An open box of brown-sugar Pop-Tarts sits on the counter. And beside me, the sink is filled with books—Burroughs, Kerouac, Bukowski, Hemingway, Thoreau, and a bunch of brightly colored Carl Hiaasen paperback mysteries—which makes me smile.
    I’m paging through a Hiaasen when Alex comes out of the bathroom. His curls are wet and I watch a drop of water fall onto his bare chest and slide south until it disappears into the waistband of his shorts.
    “My library,” he says, and I remember I’m holding a book.
    It takes him only a couple of steps to reach me. His mouth touches mine and
Stormy Weather
crashes to the cabin floor, my arms sliding up around his neck. I twine my fingers in his hair as he catches the back of my dress in his fists. Kissing him holds the same sweet relief as inhaling after holding a breath too long. I lose track of how long we stand there, our bodies pressed together. You could tell me that the sun went down and rose again the next day, and I would believe it.
    Alex’s mouth pulls away from mine and wanders down my neck to my collarbone. Heat pools between my thighs and my nerve endings explode in tiny fireworks as his lips brush my skin. His grip on my dress loosens, but only to lift it up over my head. His shorts come off. My bra. His boxers. My underwear. He eases me onto the striped sheets, as cool against my back as his skin is warm against the front of me.
    His hand skims down between my legs, and reality gets wrapped around memory. I feel Frank’s sour breath against my face and Frank’s rough fingers probing where they don’t belong. I grab his wrist. “Don’t.”
    “What did I do wrong?” The voice in my ear isn’t Frank. It’s Alex.
    “Just—don’t. Please.”
    Confusion flickers in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. He moves his hand away, cupping my face and kissing me until the memories melt away. Kissing me until I want him again. It doesn’t take long.
    “Do you have protection?” Not sure why I’m whispering.
    “Oh, shit. Yes. Hang on.” Alex scrambles off me and rummages through his duffel, swearing, apologizing, scattering half the contents, and his butt is so white compared with the tan of his skin it makes me laugh. “Found one.” He holds up the foil packet. “You know, in my head this goes much smoother.”
    “You’ve thought about this?”
    “I’ve been in a boat in the Gulf of Mexico for five days with another dude.” He returns to the bed. “I’ve thought about this a
lot
.”
    “With me?”
    “Yes. With you.”
    Sex is so different with Alex. On a purely physical level, there’s more kissing and less grunting, more touching and less groping. And when it’s over I feel as if I’m shining bright enough to light a room.
    “I should probably go.” Right now I don’t feel like I’m trash waiting to be discarded, but I want to leave instead of being asked to go.
    Except Alex is tangled around me, his face againstmy neck, and he makes no move to let go. “Is there somewhere you need to be?” His voice is sleepy and content.
    Greg and Phoebe are probably wondering where I am, and I may have offended my grandmother by walking out of her welcome-home party, but I have no intention of returning. “I guess not.”
    “Hungry?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good.” His lips brush against my neck, making me squirm. “When I get feeling in my legs again we’ll go get food.”
    This wanting me to stay—and me not wanting to leave—is new and unexpected. “Yeah, okay.”

Chapter 7
     
    Alex and I don’t speak as we walk up Dodecanese