Reckless Point (5 page)

There were some lights on at the end of the block, toward the Cortez house and the Gilliams’.  I wasn’t in the mood for talk though. I thought it might be a while before I could manage a normal conversation.  I crossed the street, avoiding a glance at Marco’s dark house. 

“Hey,” said a low
voice in the dark. 

I jumped and then swore.  “Damn
, you’ve got to stop sneaking up on me.”

“I didn’t sneak up on you.  I’m sitting on my own front porch.” 

“Shouldn’t you be at The Cave serving up shots?”

“Renovating this week.” 

Marco waited for me to speak but I was at a loss, folding my hands behind my back and looking at the sky.  Sharp female laughter echoed from down the street.  It sounded a bit like Krista. 

“Are you going to come over here and sit down?”

“No.”

“You’re just going to stand there in the middle of the street?”

“I’m going for a walk.”

“Well, walk on over here.”

“No.”

He let out a hiss of exasperation.  “Why
in the hell are you pissed?”

I bit my lip.  I didn’t want to
risk having a public confrontation with nosy Mrs. Kilbourne and who knew how many other ears possibly listening.  I stalked across Marco’s front lawn.

“Here.”  I heard him shift in the darkness. 

I squinted, barely able to make out his hulking shape casually perched on the edge of the narrow porch.  The glare of a streetlight bounced off the six pack of beer beside him. 

Reluctantly I
climbed the two short steps and sat down on the cracked concrete.  There was a mild chill in the air but I could feel the warmth of his body nearby. 

“Marco,” I said quietly, “I don’t do things like that.”

He played dumb.  “Like what?”

Like zipless fucks in my parents’ house. 

I shook my head.  Who was I kidding?  I’d been all eager to throw my careful past away and screw without mercy or a second thought.  But maybe that sex siren I fancied was just a fantasy.  That would never be me. 

I sniffed. 
“I don’t even know you.”

“What are you talkin
g about?  We’ve known each other since we learned how to walk, Angela.  I’m sure we peed in the same play pools together.” 

I buried my head in my arms and didn’t answer. 

“Angie,” Marco’s thick arm circled me and he pulled me roughly to his side. 

Beer and smoke.  Smoke and beer. 

A fatal combination for any girl’s underpants.  God, I wanted him. 

He nuzzled my neck
.  “It was fucking amazing.”

“It was just fucking.”

Marco’s hand found my leg.  I locked my knees together but he resolutely pried them apart.

“Tell me you didn’t love it,” he said softly, moving his hand higher. 

“I didn’t-“ I started to talk but his insistent fingers began stroking with more pressure and I couldn’t have even said what day it was. 

“Tell me,” he said more firmly, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling the zipper down. 

I didn’t answer. I willingly allowed him to push me onto my back. 

A set of boxy hedges lined the front path just beyond the porch, obscuring us from the street.  But there were still people idling around and if anyone ventured too close…

I helped him roll my jeans down as he pulled up my shirt, unhooking my bra.  My large breasts welcomed the feel of his mouth as he tended to them one at a time, circling each nipple with his tongue. 

And there, on the
Bendettis’ front porch, in full view of my parents’ house and basically in freaking public, I spread my legs again, guiding him into my slippery tightness. 

Marco moved deeply and deliberately, trying to push himself as far inside as possible.
  I’d never been wetter.  I’d never wanted it more.   

“Tell me,” he said again, a faint warning note in his voice. 

“Yes.”

“You love it.” 

“Yes,” I whimpered. 

“You want me to fuck you again and again. You’ve been wishing it for a goddamn decade.” 

I felt crazy.  I gritted my teeth and wrapped my legs around him so tightly it hurt.  And relished every heart stopping plunge and thrust until I came. 

Marco was spurred on by my pleasure.  His pace quickened and then his entire body stiffened.  His hot release churned inside of me as he finally pulled away. 

“Shit,” he panted, rolling over next to me. 

I stared up at the dark eaves of the porch.  I was thankful the light had burned out.  Beca
use honestly I would have let Marco screw me on his front porch anyway. 

Marco reached over and grabbed something from the rusted railing.

“Here.”

“What is it?”

“It’s my shirt.”

“You want me to launder it or something?”

“Dammit, Angie, I just thought you might want to cover the hell up.”

“You’re so kind.  Thinking all about me.”

He laughed suddenly.  “Shit, you’re one unhappy chick.”

I sat up, not bothering to shield my naked breasts.  “I’m not unhappy you dickhead.  I graduated summa cum laude.  I have a good job.  And a great boyfriend.” 
Where the hell did that come from?

“You do not.”  I heard him smiling in the dark. 

“Well, whatever then,” I sputtered.

Marco rifled around in his pockets and lit a cigarette.  Bad habit.  And absurdly sexy.

“So what was it in?”

“What?”

“Your summa cumming loudly.”

I rolled my eyes.  “History. What the hell difference does it make?”

“You a teacher?”

“No.  I’m a financial analyst.” 

“Sounds stimulating as hell.”

“What about you then?” I insisted.

“What about me?”

“For starters, BANGER, are there are a bunch of
Bendetti babies running around somewhere?”

“Not that I know of.” He zipped his fly and blew smoke in my direction.  “I t
old you I hadn’t had a roll in quite some time.”

“I think before that you had many.”

He considered.  “True.  But I wasn’t careless in the way that typically produces results.  However I will admit that my transgressions were frequent and usually nameless.”  He stood, grabbing a beer and pulling the tab back with a crack. “And then when I was on the inside I finally figured out how blown to hell my priorities were.”

“The inside?  You mean in prison?”

Marco nodded. 

Goosebumps rose on my skin.  There was a chill in the night air but that wasn’t the cause.  I hugged my chest. 
“How long?”

“Three years.”

“Are you going to tell me what you did?”

I felt him staring at me.  “
Assault and battery.”

“And you were guilty?”

“Sure.”

I chewed on that for a moment while I pulled his t-shirt over my head.  It was so heavy with his scent that it was making me hot all over again. 

My underwear had gone missing but my ass was getting cold on the concrete so I pulled my jeans on.  I sat down again, holding my knees primly. 

Marco sank down next to me and handed his beer over.  I took a grateful gulp. 

“You’re right, you know.”

He flicked his ashes off the side of the porch.  “About what?”

“I guess I’m not particularly happy.”  Funny; I hadn’t even realized it myself until Marco suggested it.

“So,” he said.  “Do something that makes you happy.”

“Well, Marco, I think I just did.” 

He chuckled and then was silent for a long moment, looking down the length of Polaris Lane. 

“Angela,” he finally said very quietly.  “You sorry?”

“About boning the town lothario in my childhood bedroom?
  Or screwing him on his front porch?”

He snorted.  “I know I seem like a pretty big prick but I really didn’t wake up this morning and say, ‘Hell, today I’m going to ruin my neighbor’s life.’”

“I’m not your neighbor anymore.”

“
Come on, Angela.”

I rested my head on my knees.  My mind
was in a tumult.  Never in my life had I taken this kind of risk.  And never in my life had I felt so awake.  Vibrant.  Alive.  But all I said was, “No, I’m not sorry.” 

Marco snuffed out his cigarette and reached for me.
  One hand went around my back and the other cupped my chin, drawing my face to his.  We made out like teenagers, our tongues exploring, our hands tentatively groping as if we hadn’t already been ten times more intimate. 

He pulled the
scrunchie from my hair.  My dark curls fell in a riot long past my shoulders.

“Come inside with me.”

I swallowed.  “All right.” 

The inside of the
Bendetti house wasn’t as neatly tended as my parents’ home but had the same darkly paneled décor whose day was over a decade expired yet comforting nonetheless.  The last time I vividly recalled seeing the inside of the house was circa 1979 when my mother, busy at the store with my father, had sent me over to retrieve a piece of Tupperware from Mary Bendetti. 

I remembered now; Marco had answered the door with his shirt off as Ozzie blared loudly in the background.  Behind him, on a rust-orange floral patterned sofa, Cindy Page was red-faced and hooking her bra. 

“Yeah?”  Marco, more well-defined than any other reasonable ninth grade boy, was already bored by my interruption.  

I blushed, crossing my ar
ms over my polo shirt.  “Um, is your mom here?”

Marco raised his eyebrows while Cindy giggled.  “What do you think?”

I took a step back, nearly sprawling on my back as the front steps came out of nowhere.  Marco looked at me like I was a zoo animal which annoyed the living crap out of me. Cindy had left the sofa to slither behind Marco and wrap her skinny arms around his muscled torso.  So I said the most sensible thing that came to mind.  Actually I yelled it at the top of my lungs.

“I was just looking for the goddamn Tupperware!” 

And then I spun on the heel of my Keds and went running back to my house, my face in flames.  I slammed the door to my room and flopped on my bed, realizing Marco very likely, almost certainly, didn’t have any idea what the hell Tupperware even was.

When the doorbell rang a few minutes later I was expecting to see one of the neighborhood gossips in search of my mother, or perhaps one of Tony’s hopeful girlfriends in search of something that didn’t exist. 

But it was Marco Bendetti.  He twirled the moss green plastic bowl on his right index finger and grinned at me.  “This what you were looking for?”

I snatched it away and for the briefest of
universe snaps, my hand brushed his.  “Thanks,” I murmured, hugging my mother’s bowl to my chest. 

“You’re welcome, Angela.”  And as he turned away and began to walk back across the street I stared after him, still feeling the vibration in the air of my name on his lips.  Watching him, I could almost see the restless man he would become already simmering under his skin and I shivered, closing the door, wishing that I hadn’t seen him in his living room with Cindy Page, wishing that ad
ulthood didn’t loom so close. And then praying it would let me catch up soon. 

“It’s the same,” I said, motioning to the couch
as Marco closed the front door.  It was in fact the ugliest piece of furniture I’d ever had the misfortune to behold.  The burnt orange background was the Crayola crayon color no one ever wanted to use and the patterns of large nameless flowers were varied hues of urine yellow and shit brown. 

Marco gave a short laugh and then pulled me close, kissing me hard an
d pressing himself against me.  Just before I closed my eyes and sank into his kiss I glimpsed a brass-embellished end table with teenage 8x10 headshots of Marco and his brother Damien.  For a strange second it was as if no time whatsoever had passed between the “Good year” Marco admired on my bedroom wall…and now. 

Marco began peeling my clothes off
, his voice gruff.  “Let’s get rid of these.” 

I glanced with alarm at the curtained window, knowing full well we were at least partially visible.  After the front porch
sexcapades I should expect it didn’t matter but my more sensible side finally screamed through. 

“Not here,” I stilled his hands. 

With a sharp tug he pulled me into a narrow hallway and opened the door to a room I had never seen, not even in the hazy era of early childhood.  It was his bedroom. 

Marco’s mouth was
moving rapidly across my nipples and between my breasts, skating across my stomach and teasing lower.  As he rose I reached into his pants and withdrew the pulsing organ which was ready to go again.