Lengths by Liz Reinhardt, Steph Campbell Page B

hands. “Wow, your hair was so long. Doesn’t even look like you.”
              That’s because it’s not me. It’s just a girl I used to know. Someone who didn’t understand how complicated and unfair life could be.  
              “Anyway, beer?” I ask, holding the cold import up.
              “What the hell.” Deo comes up behind me, reaches around my body with the warm snake of one arm, grabs two and pops them both open. “Only if you’re joining me, friend.”
              We both take a long pull from our bottles and, by the look on Deo’s face, he’s just as beat as I am. The unrelenting pounding of the waves and the sunshine have completely drained me. He takes me by the hand and pulls me back while he flops on the tiny loveseat. The way we’re tangled so close, limbs twined, skin rubbing against skin could be friendly, technically. But I have to remind myself of the friendly nature over and over again as my body keeps sending my brain a whole different message.
              “So, now that I’m just your boring, hot-as-hell, sexy surfing friend , I guess I should ask you the basics. Like how school is going.” When I don’t say anything immediately, he grabs my foot, which is laying on his thigh, and starts massaging it with sure, unbelievably amazing fingers. I pull my lower lip between my teeth to keep from moaning and his hands press quicker and harder. “Uh, if you want this to stay friendly, you’d better bore me with some long-ass school story. Now.”
              “You could stop rubbing my foot like th--aaah,” I sigh.
              He raises one eyebrow. “You really want me to stop?” His thumb slides along my arch, then rubs a heart-stopping line along the center of my foot.
              “No. No, don’t stop.” I try to focus. “Okay. School. Right. I have this project right now for my anthropology class.” He presses on the place right under my toes, and I swear I feel the stirrings of an orgasm. This is so not friend territory, and I’d be smart to stop it right this minute.
              No one ever said I was smart.
              “So what are you doing? Digging up bones of ancient Califonians? Robbing graves? Searching for the Holy Grail?” The mix of his joking voice and his tantalizing hands makes my head spin.
              I look at him through half-closed eyes, and he’s even more gorgeous slightly blurry. He needs to leave.
              I never want him to leave.
              “That’s archeology,” I explain. “I’m in anthropology. We’re studying different cultures. So, my assignment was to watch people in a social situation and make note of any cultural details, like manners or gender roles.”
              “Ah. I get it. Not as interesting as fighting Nazis and almost getting your heart ripped out by crazy Hindus, but we can’t all be Indiana Jones, right?” He drops my left foot and picks up the right one, treating it to the same mind-numbingly awesome treatment as its mate.
              “Did you learn everything you know about history from Indiana Jones?” I ask, arching my back as he hits the perfect spot that I didn’t even know existed on my body.
              “All the important stuff.” His hands move more quickly, but his voice slows to an almost slur.               “So, bout this assignment?”
              “I used your mom’s dinner party,” I confess, my voice bleary with the warring needs for him to stop immediately and never take his hands off of me. “And I got back the rough today. My professor wants to read it to the class next lecture.”
              Deo’s brows press over his eyes and his smile is wry. “I could have told you that writing about me