Page 261 of Devil’s Disciples

The kiss was long, passionate, and included me gripping her little ass firmly in my hands. When our lips parted, her sunglasses fell from her forehead down onto the bridge of her nose.

“How did that feel?” I asked.

She lifted her glasses. “Awesome.”

“Okay,” I said. “You make me feel awesome.”

She lowered her glasses. “I’ll accept that. Awesome is as good as it gets. You make me feel awesome, too.”

“Thank you.”

She leaned onto the handrail and faced the ocean. “There it goes.”

I draped my arms over her shoulders. “We almost missed it.”

“There will always be another tomorrow,” she said.

There were no assurances that tomorrow would ever come, but I didn’t argue with her. I simply enjoyed the sunset while I held her in my arms. As a myriad of colors merged into the sea, I dreamed of a life filled with as many tomorrows as a man could imagine.

He simply picked them off a tomorrow tree, like apples. Each piece of fruit was one more tomorrow. Beyond each tree was another, just like it, as far as the eye could see. A land where my relationship with Abby lasted as long as there was fruit to pick from the trees.

And the trees went on forever.

97

Abby

Porter and I were days away from being together one month. I’d convinced myself if we could last that long, we could last forever.

Lying on my back with my head resting against the arm of the couch, I faced Porter, who was on the opposite end, positioned in the same fashion, facing me. My legs were draped over his thighs and my feet rested on his hips. A cluster of grapes was resting on my chest, and a cluster rested on his.

I plucked a grape from the stem, took aim, and paused.

“It doesn’t look like you’re ready,” I said. “Are you ready?”

“Uh Uh,” he muttered.

“Is that a yes?”

“Damn it. I can’t respond with my mouth stretched wide open. I was ready. Just toss the damned thing.”

I flipped the grape into the air. After reaching its apex, it began to fall toward Porter’s face. With wide eyes he studied it, and then snatched it from mid-air.

“Are you part frog?” I asked. “You snatched that thing with precision.”

He swallowed. “I told you.”

He picked a grape from his cluster and raised it. “Damn. What kind of grapes are these? They’re good.”

“Cotton Candy.”

His brows knitted together. “Cotton Candy grapes?”

“Yep.”

He looked at me in disbelief. “Really?”

“What do they taste like?” I asked, my tone sarcastic.