Abigail (2)

Abigail (2)
I don't go straight home after leaving Calista's house with a cucumber gift in my bag.

My mother always stays behind at church on Sundays. She isn't an usher like Calista's mom, and she doesn't have friends to gossip with in the courtyard.

She simply likes sitting alone in the empty pews, whispering endless rosaries to Mother Mary.

My father, on the other hand, rarely steps inside the church. Sunday mornings are reserved for drinking with his friends.

Which means the house is empty-and the whole day is mine. 

First, I have business in the cornfield. 

As I reach the edge of the tall stalks, soft laughter echoes through the leaves. I freeze by the fence line, waiting until the voices fade before slipping through the dirt pathways. 

I weave through the green stalks, my eyes scanning the rows to make sure no one is watching before I head toward the old log cabin where Daniel hides out after service. 

I don't know why he prefers spending his afternoons in this rotting cabin, and I don't bother asking why his father rarely steps outside the main farmhouse. 

His father's strange habits aren't my problem. I have my own reason for being here.

Daniel is supposed to be my escape from Calista's shadow. Instead, every time I leave him, I feel like I've stepped right back into it.

She gets the attention. She gets the praise. She gets the handsome boyfriend everyone knows is hers. Even when she's not in the room, somehow she's still the most important person in it.

I hate that I notice. I hate even more that I care. 

I give the wooden door a single knock. 

A moment later, Daniel pulls it open and smiles. 

"I knew you'd come," he says, his voice bright as I step inside. "Were you with Calista?"

I nod. "Yes."

"Good." He shuts the door and shoots the bolt into place. "Is she doing okay?"

I glance around the cabin. It isn't exactly romantic, but it'll do for a quick conversation.

I have a dozen things I want to say, and I can't stay long. If Calista walks in and catches us, our friendship will burn to the ground.

"You'd know how she's doing if you actually spoke to her after Mass," I say, looking away as he sits beside me. "And why were you winking at me during the sermon?"

A grin spreads across his face, and he reaches over to pull me against his chest, forcing my face toward his.

"Because Calista told me she won't be coming over today."

A bitter lump rises in my throat. It forms every time I'm reminded that I'm nothing but the side chick, stealing quiet moments in a log cabin and tasting her leftovers.

"When are you going to dump her?" I ask, my voice laced with venom I can't quite hide. "I want you to myself."

He chuckles, brushing his thumb along my shoulder. "You always say that. But you know your best friend would skin you alive if I did."

I pull his arms off me, stepping back.

"You really think she'd hurt me?"

He leans back against the door, taking a slow breath. "I don't know. But you know how intentional Calista is about what belongs to her."

A slow smile touches my lips.

He's right. Calista is terrifyingly intentional. The only thing she ever fakes is the holy look on her face during Holy Communion.

I turn and walk toward the far corner of the cabin. A dusty amber bottle rests on a tall stool against the log wall. I pick it up, turning back to Daniel.

"Did you buy this for her?"

He tilts his head back. "No."

I look around for a disposable cup or a glass, but find none.

Daniel gets up, already knowing what I'm looking for. Instead of grabbing a glass, he takes the bottle from my hand and sets it firmly back down.

"It's eighty-five percent alcohol," he murmurs, stepping into my space. "It'll knock you flat."

He slips a hand around my waist, pulling me against him until his warm breath brushes my lips.

I wrap my arms over his shoulders.

"Don't you want to risk getting a little drunk with me?" I whisper against his mouth.

He chuckles, his palm sliding down to squeeze my ass. My breath catches as his fingers trace the dip of my lower back.

I can already feel my pussy leaking.

"Sorry," he mutters into my neck. "We can't risk it."

I rest my head against his chest, inhaling the scent of sun-warmed skin and cheap soap.

"Who's the wine for, then?"

His hands hook under my skirt, pulling the fabric up my thighs the way he always does.

"It's for the hired boys," he says. "They're clearing the field this evening. My father saved it for when they're done."

I shove his hands away and press my palm against his chest, forcing him back until his spine hits the wall. He stays there, watching me as I trace a slow fingernail down his jaw.

Then Calista's face flashes through my mind.

Her perfect smile. Her innocent eyes. The way everyone at church looks at her like she's incapable of doing anything wrong.

I wish I could stop caring.

"Between me and Calista... which one of us do those boys think is your girlfriend?"

He lets out a slow sigh.

"Did you tell them I'm the one you want?" I ask, my hand sliding down his thigh. "Or do you only brag about her?"

His penis is already hard beneath his jeans.

I stroke the bulge, knowing he won't answer. My fingers work the metal zipper until I pull him free.

He isn't as large or as thick as the older men I've been with, but he's warm and eager.

I rub my thumb over the bead of slick fluid at the tip of his head.

He closes his eyes, a sharp breath escaping him, while his hand settles at the back of my head as I wrap my fingers tight around his dick and begin to stroke.

I don't just want his hands on me. I want him to choose me.

"Does Calista touch you like this?" I whisper.

I watch his face carefully.

I want him to say no. I want him to tell me I'm different.

For once, I don't want to be the girl standing beside Calista. I want to be the girl someone chooses first. 

Instead, he says nothing. 

The silence twists something inside me. 

I stroke him faster. 

"Are you sleeping with anyone else in town?" I murmur, leaning in close. "Do you know every girl in church wants to get into your pants, but they're too terrified of Calista to try?" 

I already know I don't want to hear the answer. But I need to, anyway. 

I drop to my knees on the wooden floorboards, gathering my hair behind my neck. But before I can lean in, his hand grips my hair, pinning my head in place. 

His eyes flutter open, dark and glazed with heat. "What are you doing?" 

"What does it look like?" I give him a sweet, innocent smile. "I want to suck your dick." 

He shakes his head, pulling his hips back.

For a second, I don't understand.

He's wanted me before.

He's touched me before. 

So why is he suddenly acting like I'm asking him to commit some unforgivable sin? 

"Abigail." He says my name as if I've just grown another head. "That's a sin."

"Oh, come on, Daniel," I snap, my smile evaporating. "We've been fornicating for months, and you're cheating on my best friend."

He tucks his dick back into his pants and pulls his zipper shut. 

"It's different," he says firmly. "Father Romanus said a woman's mouth shouldn't touch a man down there." 

"Daniel," I growl, heat surging up my neck. "Did you just zip yourself up?"

He nods, smoothing down his shirt. "Yes. You don't need to do that."

I spring to my feet and swing my palm straight toward his face. He reacts quickly, catching my wrist midair.

"Abigail," he warns, his grip tightening. "Stop."

I nod as though I've calmed down. Then swing my left hand.

My palm connects with his cheek, ringing out like a gunshot in the small cabin.

I wrench my wrist free from his grip.

My face burns. I hate that he managed to make me feel rejected.

"You're such an idiot."

I storm back to the stool, snatch my bag off the cushion, and spin around to face him one last time.

"The next time you see me in this cabin, Daniel, I'll be on my knees, sucking your father's dick."