We're silent for a few minutes while we smoke, and I don't want to break the stillness that settles between us like some kind of spell. I wait until we're finished, walking back out through the park, to speak. "What about you?" I'm more curious than I thought I'd be about her.
"What about me?"
"The future President's kid - is that what you're about?"
She laughs, the sound bitter. "It doesn't matter what I'm about," she says. "That's the plan, don't you know? Anyway, it's not for a while -- his Senate re-election is this year, and he won't run for President in the next election. So it'll be the following Presidential election after that. Six years is a long time." She studies my face as we walk. "I'm not like you, you know."
"No shit." I can't think of a person less like me if I try.
"It must be nice to not give a shit what other people think," she says.
"You might want to try it sometime." The words come out with an edge they shouldn't have, especially since I'm high. Damn, she's got this way of being condescending. I can't stand it.
"That would be nice," she says. I think she actually means it.
We reach a park bench and sit shoulder to shoulder beside each other. I'm aware of our proximity, nearly touching. She doesn't say anything, so we just sit there quietly for maybe a half hour or so. It's probably the weed, but it feels easy to just sit with her.
When we get up to leave, I reach for her hand to pull her up, and as she rises to her feet, she stumbles against me and we're frozen there. My eyes go down to her chest, even though she's wearing this sleeveless white shirt that's not revealing; the fact that I can't see the tops of her breasts makes me want to see more, like some kind of reverse psychology thing. She inhales, her chest rising, and I'm fixated on her lower lip as it falls open in slow motion. When she flicks her tongue over it, I picture those lips wrapped around my cock and it goes rock hard.
I bring my mouth down on hers, crushing her lips under mine, and she moans into my mouth. Her tongue meets mine, and her hands are on my chest, gripping my shirt and pulling the fabric -- and me -- toward her. She presses against me, arching her back and pushing up her chest as she grinds her hips against my hard-on.
I grip her ass cheeks in return. I don't give a shit where we are; I want to want to rip off her clothes and fuck her right here in the middle of a public park.
Then as suddenly as it started, it's over. She presses her palms flat against my chest and shoves me, stepping back and wiping her mouth with her hand like I'm some kind of contaminant she can't wait to get rid of. I'm looking at her, trying to comprehend what the hell she's playing at here, but I can't think because there's no blood left in my brain. All I know is that my dick is hard as hell and she's standing there looking like she just ate some bad food.
"Don't, Caulter -- " she says, holding her hand up like I'm a rapist about to come after her. As if I fucking grabbed her and kissed her against her will. As if she weren't just moaning into my damn mouth, arching her back and pressing her tits into my chest, daring me to touch her.
"Don't what, Princess?" I ask. "You're the one who's rubbing up against my cock like it's a magic lamp."
Katherine shakes her head, her fingertips still pressed against her mouth. Her lips are swollen, the skin around them red from my kiss. "This isn't fucking happening, Caulter." The way she says it is like I'm throwing myself at her. Like I'm lucky to be getting a chance to touch her or something. Her attitude pisses me off even more.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," I say. "Just because I was high and wanted a quick lay doesn't mean anything."
She looks at me with an expression I can't quite figure out. I think it might be disappointment, but she's the one who's fucking rejecting me. It passes as quickly as it appeared. "Just -- just keep your hands off me, Caulter," she says.
"Keep my hands off you?" I can't hold back my laugh. "That's rich. Don't worry, Princess, your pussy isn't magic and I'm certainly not hurting for it. It won't be a hardship to keep my dick away from you."
She narrows her eyes at me and her jaw clenches. "Good. I'm glad to hear it. We should be adults. Friends. We should be civil to each other." She stands there awkwardly, her words just hanging in the air, and I just stand there. I'm not thinking about what she said, though. I'm really thinking about the fact that my dick is not moving from where it's lodged, pressed up against the zipper of my jeans. I think her holier-than-thou attitude might have even made it harder.
Clearly, my dick has poor taste in women.
"Do you want to go back to my father's house?" she asks.
I shrug. "Nah," I say, taking my pack of cigarettes from my back pocket and opening the flap. "I think I'm just going to go out. There's no sense having a hard on and not being able to use it."
I say it just to hurt her, and it looks like it works. She blinks a few times, standing there with her hands balled up into fists at her sides, before she whirls around. "Fine," she says. "Whatever. Have fun."
I stare in the opposite direction, watching her leave out of the corner of my eye but not looking at her. I won't give her the satisfaction of looking at her. The way she wiped her mouth after she kissed me, like I'm some kind of sleaze she can't wait to get away from? She may have been a good lay, but great lays are a dime a dozen. I don't need her.