Six Summers to Fall

by C.W. Farnsworth

Up until last night, I hadn’t seen Harper Williams in ten years. Her love life—anything about her life—is none of my damn business. So what if I thought she was hot in high school and she’s gorgeous now? It doesn’t matter that she intrigued me then and fascinates me now.

“Nothing…happened between us last night, right?” I grin. “You’d remember if it had.”

“I’ve never met him, actually,” I reply. “I’m dating his future sister-in-law, Harper.” I don’t consider myself a great liar. But there’s no false note in my voice. It’s easy to lie about something you want to be the truth, I guess.

“I’m not trying to fix you, Harper. I’m trying to spend time with you.”

“It’s a tragedy, Harper. And tragedies never make any sense. They’re just weights we have to live with.”

“Are you going to kiss me?” I put it right out there, certain we’re both thinking it. “Depends,” he answers. “Depends on what?” “Is it part of this fake date to the wedding thing, or is it just us?” He doesn’t wait for a response, probably because the answer is written all over my face. There’s no one to see this. Whatever we say here—whatever we do—is a secret between us.

But I’m thinking everything about that kiss. Because it felt extraordinary, not normal. It felt like a beginning. Like a world-wrecker. Like a final first kiss. And I’ve never, ever thought that before.

“You have a whole room, all to yourself?” I manage to ask. “Nah. I’m sharing it with this girl.” Drew’s hand moves a little lower, playing with the hem of my underwear, but not slipping beneath. Yet, I hope. “What’s she like?” “Aside from making loud sex sounds while her roommate is trying to fall asleep?” Drew grins. “She’s stubborn. Feisty. Determined. The most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.” “I bet you say that to all the girls,” I whisper. Drew shakes his head. “No, I don’t.”

And I’ve never called a woman baby in my life. But for some reason, I want to use something more intimate than just her name. Harp is an instrument or an insult, not a nickname. Every time I’ve called her Sunshine, I think Harper has taken it the wrong way. I think she thinks I’m using it ironically rather than how I mean it—like light personified. Hard to ignore or look away from. And baby slips out naturally, like my aversion to it up until now has simply been because I wanted to wait and only use it with her.

At this point in my career, I’ve seen hundreds of people wear my jersey. Maybe thousands. But this feels very different. This is the person I could see taking my last name, not just wearing it.

“I put this jersey on so you could take it off.” I’m proud of that line. Drew is definitely better at dirty talk than I am. But that sounds sexy. Drew runs the thick head of his cock against my slit, then uses it to tap my clit, causing my hips to lurch. “I want to fuck you while you’re wearing my jersey.”

Instead, he exhales. “You want to know some truths, Harper Williams? I’ve never fucked a woman wearing my jersey—never even cared if she wore it. Do you know what else I’ve never done? Never taken a girl to dinner with my parents. Never spent two hours agonizing over a single text. Never slept in the same bed for a week. I’m in this, Harper.” His hips press closer to mine as his cock slides through the wetness, delicious friction mixing with anticipation. “You look incredible in anything you wear, Harper. But in this?” One hand slips back under the polyester shirt, cupping my breast and pulling another moan out of me. “In this, you look like mine.” I whimper, the mixture of his words and touch too much. “Say you’re mine, Harper.” “I’m yours,” I gasp. “I’m yours.”

“I only called you Sunshine ironically once,” he tells me. “Every other time, it’s been because that’s how I feel around you. Bright and happy. Being around you makes me so fucking happy, Harper.” “I’m falling in love with you,” I whisper. His fingers continue playing with my hair, my favorite smile appearing. “Good. I’ve been falling for a while, baby.”

“I fell in love with you during your dance routine to that Spice Girls song,” he tells me. “And then again, when I saw you in that pink bikini. When you dropped that lime. When we kissed for the first time. When you caught that fish. When we danced at Amelia’s wedding. When you showed up at my game, wearing my jersey. And I’ll fall in love with you a thousand more times.”