Free Johnston - I Promise by Joan Johnston Page B

not most people.”
    He stared at her suspiciously for a moment longer. “You really want a friend?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “All right.” He held out his hand for her to shake. “You got one.”
    She smiled and tentatively laid her hand in his. Sparks flew. Her gaze shot to his, and she discovered he was equally affected by the simple clasp of hands. She looked down at their joined hands and back up at him. Slowly, carefully, she eased her hand from his and threaded her fingers together to avoid reaching out to him again.
    “Can I be perfectly honest with you?” she said.
    “I wish you would.”
    “The truth is . . . I like it when you touch me. I mean, when you kiss me and hold me. Isn’t there some way we could do that without . . . without the other?”
    “You mean, just neck and pet and not go all the way.”
    That was plain speaking. She felt her cheeks heat. “Yes, that’s it exactly.”
    He stood with his hip cocked, his hands stuck in his back pockets in an imitation of her earlier stance. “I guess so. It’s hard . . . Sometimes, if things go too far, it’s hard to stop.”
    “But you would stop if I asked, wouldn’t you?”
    “I’ll do anything you want, if you’ll keep on seeing me.”
    Her smile broadened. “Then we’re agreed?”
    “Agreed. Shake on it?”
    He held out his hand, and she put hers in it. He pumped it up and down twice. There was an awkward moment before they let go of each other, followed by a longing to connect again. Delia resisted it. She needed more time to get used to him, for the electricity to wear off between them, for them to become more comfortable with each other.
    “I think we should take that horseback ride now,” she said.
    “You’re probably right,” he said. “Would you rather ride on Circle Crown or North property?”
    “It might be better if we rode on your land.”
    “All right. I’ll open the gate, and you can come on over.”
    They rode for the better part of the afternoon, and Marsh showed her the borders of his father’s property. He didn’t take her anywhere near his house, because his father was there.
    “My dad could turn out to be as big a nuisance as your father if he saw us together,” Marsh told her.
    “In what way?” she asked.
    “He’s . . . I’d rather not talk about him.”
    “All right,” Delia said. “No more talk about fathers.”
    “You’ve got a deal,” Marsh replied.
     
    Delia managed any number of clandestine meetings with Marsh over the summer. They talked a blue streak when they were together about anything and everything. Except their fathers. By mutual agreement, their fathers were off-limits as a topic of conversation.
    And they kissed and touched, learning each other’s bodies, learning what felt good and what felt better. She knew it was hard for Marsh, but he always stopped before the critical moment.
    “Lord have mercy, Delia, that was close,” Marsh said one afternoon as they lay panting in the grass beneath the live oak that had become their trysting place.
    Delia’s head was on Marsh’s shoulder, and her hand lay across his naked belly. Her sleeveless pink blouse was unbuttoned, and her bra was scrunched up around her throat. Her nipples were damp from his mouth. The sensible white cotton panties she wore had been shoved down by Marsh’s hand inside them, so only flesh showed in the V created by her unzipped jeans.
    They were too exhausted to rearrange their clothing, their bodies still shivering from orgasmic tremors. A wet spot stained the front of Marsh’s jeans.
    “I want to be inside you so bad . . .” Marsh groaned against her throat. “I can’t stand it, Delia. I . . . I love you. I want us to belong to each other.”
    Delia stiffened, and Marsh put a hand beneath her chin to force her face up to his. She resisted.
    “Look at me.”
    She glanced up at him, then hid beneath lowered lashes.
    “I want you to marry me when you graduate from high school next year. I want us