he surface. The
Irish? Were his parents closet rebels? Maybe. Probably it was from hard
knocks. For what? >From who? For being honest. That was it. From people
who cut corners with the truth to get ahead or get along. They were the
same that way.

At the bottom of the mountain, they turned down Reynold's Lane to Route
212 and then up the Glasco Turnpike to the Byrdcliffe Road. At AhnRee's
driveway, Willow said "Might as well walk me home."

"My mission," Patrick said. At the door, she suggested that they kill
the bottle, and Patrick followed her in. She filled two glasses. They
flopped into chairs at the kitchen table. She should have been
exhausted, but she wasn't. When the wine was gone, Patrick stood.
Before he spoke, she asked him for a hug, and before he answered she
went to him and put her arms around his neck. His arms went uncertainly
around her. She pressed the whole length of her body against him,
molding herself to his shape. His shoulders were broader than they
looked. As his arms tightened, she felt herself loosen and grow warm.
He took a deep breath. They were losing control. "Patrick," she said.
"Patrick." She pulled away and took his hand. "Let's go out here." She
led him to the porch and kicked off her shoes. Still holding his hand,
she pulled him down onto the bed. She kissed him lightly with open
lips. He was warm and tasted of wine and beer.

"My shoes," he said. She kissed him again, sliding her lips to the
corners of his mouth and back. As he bent forward to take off his
shoes, she unbuttoned her shirt and removed it. She stretched full
length on the bed, naked to the waist, and held out her arms. She heard
his quick intake of breath and felt his palm on her breast.

"Willow?" She pushed up against his hand and began to move slowly from
side to side. There was no more thinking, only a rush of feeling. She
pulled him into her and encouraged him to take her, fuck her, fill her
with his hot hard energy. As he came and collapsed, she hugged him with
her arms and her legs, surrounding him with warmth, keeping him safe.

She remained awake, savoring the moments. It was the right time of the
month. No worries there. Her own need for orgasm was alive and well,
like a promise. She stroked the back of his head, and he mumbled
something in his sleep. God, they were together. She was still herself,
but now she was something else, too. She had a pang of sadness for
squirrelie, alone out there. Squirrelie.