The Fourth of July was always something of a high water mark for the summer, the turning point where the days grew numbered and the start of school and return to home became a looming reality. And yet it was always something Buffy looked forward to, for the small town brought out their patriotic fervor in fine array for the day, hosting an old-fashioned parade and festival which culminated in the big fireworks display that could be seen for miles, held at the local high school ball field.
It was a day that in years past had been filled with memories of watermelon and fresh grilled burgers, strange and goofy contests, the pie competition where her Gram always brought home a colorful ribbon, and the sheer exuberance of the day. A throwback to things she didn’t ever recall seeing in the more jaded L.A. suburbs where she lived the rest of the year.
And while this year was exciting for all the same reasons, there was one more that Buffy could not deny. William.
Yesterday had been a revelation. That kiss. She touched her fingers to her lips for a moment. That kiss had blown her away with the possibilities. And while he might say that it was playing with fire, she wanted to feel that heat.
She wanted to make him burn.
She took one final look in the mirror and blew herself an approving kiss. The white halter top was just low enough to hint at cleavage without getting too much of an evil eye from her grandmother she hoped, and her red shorts . . . well, she hoped she could slide in the car before anyone noticed their length or lack thereof. Bright red lipstick a shade darker than she normally wore outlined her lips and she’d darkened her lashes with the new mascara she’d gotten the week before at the drugstore in town.
She debated over the hair, but had finally decided on an upswept ponytail, even if it did make her look a little younger. Yes, she was pleased with the effect and hoped Spike would be goaded into a reaction.
Buffy trotted down the stairs and out the door to where her Gram was putting the final container of food for the picnic into the backseat of the car.
"Ready to go dear?"
"Sure am." Buffy peered into the back seat and made a face. "Gram, where am I gonna sit? Do I have to hold that stuff in my lap?"
"Why don’t you just ride with William, sweetheart." Her grandfather settled the last container and gestured to Spike who’d just joined them, keys to the Desoto dangling in his hand.
"Sure, you can catch a lift with me, Buffy." She turned to find Spike behind her, clad in faded jeans that looked so worn she was sure they’d be soft to the touch and a black t-shirt that defined his arms, and tried to not visibly suck in her breath at the perfection.
Her Gram was busy rearranging dishes for maximum space and barely glanced up. "That’s an excellent idea, William, if you don’t mind. We’ll meet you at the fairgrounds, alright?"
"Sure thing, Gram."
Buffy tried to control the bounce in her step as she headed for the car.
"Your chariot, my lady."
She slid inside and immediately yelped as her bare legs came into contact with the hot seat.
He laughed as he closed the driver’s door. "What you expect with shorts like that, shortcake? No protection." He winked at her and slid his arm around the back of the seat as he turned to back out of the yard.
He seemed relaxed, as if last night had never happened. She was a little confused by his nonchalance, but hey, it was better than back to the silent treatment. She noticed him glance over at her legs as he finished backing down the driveway and smiled. Oh yeah, it was working.
"Mind it we listen to some tunes?" She hid her grin and reached over to snap on the radio as they started down the road.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gramps and Gram were already at the fairground when they arrived, and though there was a brief raise of eyebrow by her grandmother as she actually got a good look at Buffy’s outfit, lunch went smoothly.
Buffy wandered the area set up for the fair, taking in the sights and sounds, but keeping an eye out for Spike, who’d slipped off after they’d eaten, saying he could use a break from the colonials celebrating kicking his country’s arse. She’d expected him to be back by now, but where ever he’d disappeared to, he’d done a good job of it.
As the hours slipped by, she started getting concerned until she spotted him in a group gathered by some picnic tables. His bright head stood out in the crowd and she headed towards the group until she realized he was talking to Faith.
She stopped, watching from the distance as the girl batted her eyes and pressed up against him casually as he sat chatting with a group of some of the day laborers who worked on occasion for her grandfather doing odd jobs around the vineyard. Spike leaned down to whisper something in Faith’s ear and Buffy could hear her low throaty laugh in response to the suggestion, then watched the flirtatious way she squeezed his arm.
She turned and walked back towards the main area, seeing red. It was like being kicked in the pit of the stomach, like having your balloon popped when you were four. Just bam, everything gone. All her stupid daydreams about how he’d be so wowed by her today had deflated in a second. She was never going to get anywhere with Spike, not in that way. He’d put her in her place, declared her too young and moved on to other, she tossed a furious glance over her shoulder at the still nuzzling pair, well-grazed pastures.
She was so caught up in her thoughts that she almost didn’t notice Owen right in front of her. Owen was a local boy, one of the few her age, and her grandmother had already made several comments about the nice young man of the Thurber family who’d been asking about her. Buffy remembered him from a year ago, a gangly, pimpled guy who’d seemed inclined to hang with his buddies and shuffle his feet when he was around her.
But apparently the year had been good to Owen as well, for the guy in front of her hardly fit the same image. Taller, he’d filled out nicely, with a football player’s physique quite different from Spike’s lean . . . she shook her head. She wasn’t going to do that. Spike had made it pretty clear how he felt, over there cannodling with little miss ho-bag, and there was quite a hunk standing in front of her saying her name at this very moment.
"Buffy? Buffy? You in there?"
She batted her eyes and gave him a sweet smile. "Well hello, Owen, how have you been?"
She managed one quick glance in Spike’s direction as Owen led her off to the picnic table where some of the other teens were sprawled and was surprised to see him staring in her direction. She gave one final toss of her head and slid her arm through Owen’s, giving it a little squeeze and trying not to grimace at Owen’s rather direct glance down her cleavage.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Owen was clearly proud to have her on his arm, and wasted no time in stopping by the table where her grandparents sat conversing with another older couple in the shade of a broad-limbed tree.
"Mrs. Summers, would you mind if Buffy goes with the rest of us to watch the fireworks out by the dam?" He’d smiled sincerely as he promised to take good care of her and bring her home right after.
As they started to walk away, her grandmother called out to her, "Buffy, can I speak with you for just a moment?" She pulled her aside. "Now, since it’s a holiday and such, if you’d like, you can stay out a bit later with the group tonight."
"Um, Grammy, is the heat getting to you?"
Her grandmother laughed. "No dear, I just remember what it was like to be young once, with a handsome young man wanting to squire me around. You go and have a good time with Owen. Just be sure to be home by midnight, alright?"
"Alright, Gram." Buffy hugged her before she trotted back over to the group of teens.
The afternoon hours passed and the sun began to wane as families started to pack up in preparation for the evening show. Owen suggested they head on out to the lake and Buffy took a last swig of the Coke he’d brought her and tugged down her shorts just a little as she trailed along with the group towards the parking lot. She halted her new date.
"Hey Owen, I’ll meet you out there, I just need to drop by the little girl’s room."
"Sure, Buff, I’m in the blue pick-up."
She nodded and visited the facilities, checking her hair and touching up her lipstick in the mirror. This was a welcome distraction. Who needed Spike anyway? Like he had the market cornered or something. Owen was cute enough and obviously interested. It was nice to be wanted.
Would Owen try to kiss her tonight? She imagined that he would, he’d been acting possessive, keeping an arm around her as they’d talked with his friends. She’d been flattered at first, glad to find someone who appreciated her, but the novelty had worn off a little over the course of the afternoon. He was just a little too big, too smothering. Not like someone else’s lithe body, pulling her into his embrace . . . She clamped down on that traitorous train of thought. She wouldn’t even begin to ponder that other kiss still lingering in her mind.
She’d just exited the bathrooms when an arm she recognized impeded her path.
"Well, well, well, if it isn’t the social butterfly. Where’d your boy toy go to?"
She tossed her head, secretly delighted he’d come to find her. "Oh please, Spike, he’s just giving me a ride up to the lake to watch the fireworks."
He tugged her arm and pulled her around the side of the building where they were shielded from view. She tilted her head up to look at him, surprised by how dark his eyes had turned as he searched her face for something, what exactly she wasn’t sure.
"Do you want to go with him Buffy?"
His proximity was making it hard to breathe, as he boxed her in with his arms on either side of her against the wall, leaning in closer.
"I, I, guess so. It’s not like I have anything better to do."
He leaned back a little at that. "Touché, shortcake, touché."
"And stop calling me that!"
"What, shortcake?"
"Yes." She straightened up, memories of him practically nuzzling Faith earlier in the day returning. "I’m not a dessert."
"Oh, but you look sweet enough to eat."
She was nearly certain her knees started to buckle when he purred those words in her ear, but she knew she was in trouble as his finger slid teasingly along the hem of her red shorts.
"These are the color of those luscious red strawberries that grow in that field by the stream, just waiting to be plucked and eaten. And this," the same finger followed the plunging neckline of her halter top, teasing just beneath the edge, "is like the sweet whipped cream covering it all up, ready to be licked off and savored."
Her eyes fluttered shut, unable to do more than listen to the silken tones until she felt his finger brush against her lips, outlying the contours she’d just traced with her crimson lipstick. "And these, these are like sin incarnate, just begging a man to nibble on them. You taste so sweet, Buffy. Did you know you taste like strawberries?"
And then he kissed her and everything else just faded away. In later years she’d try to remember what it had been like, that kiss. It had been prefect, she remembered that, the way he traced her lips with his tongue, teasing his way inside. Their bodies had slid together as though made to fit each other and she’d whimpered and pushed closer as the intensity of the kiss had grown, his hands tangling in her hair, her hands sliding against his shirt, wanting to touch the smooth skin underneath more than anything. He groaned something unintelligible into her mouth as she rocked against him, sliding her leg up and around his hip as he ground against her, devouring her mouth as his fingers brushed the sides of her breasts.
She’d never felt more alive, more perfect, more complete at that moment until he suddenly jerked away and stepped back, panting, as she leaned back against the wall, trying to stay upright.
And then she realized why he’d pulled away.
"Buffy? You okay in there?" Owen’s voice drifted around the corner and she remained quiet, searching Spike’s gaze for some clue as to what was going on in his mind until she heard Owen walk away. Spike stepped forward and gently wiped away a smudge of her now smeared lipstick with his thumb. She could feel her whole body leaning towards him as though there were a magnetic pull between them.
"What am I doing?" he asked softly.
"I don’t know, what are you doing?"
"Making a mistake I’ll probably regret. You’re so damn young, Buffy, why do you have to get under my skin this way?"
He stepped away again, putting some distance between them. "Go with your friends."
"What do you mean, go with my friends? You pull me back here, kiss me like that, and tell me to just go on, and that’s that?"
He was back on her in an instant, pressing her against the wall and she gloried in the feel of him. "No that’s most definitely not that. But this is not the time nor the place for us to have this conversation. And if we stay back here, we’re likely to do something we’ll regret later. So you go with your friends, watch the damn show, and then come see me when you get home."
Her heart was jackhammering as his words sank in. He wanted her to come to him tonight. His tone told her he’d make good on the promise in the kiss if she’d only be patient, and she knew she could wait. He was right, this wasn’t the place. But come hell or high water, she’d be in his room later tonight.
"You’d better go before the big lug you’re with calls out the troops. I’ll look for you tonight and we’ll hash this out." He stopped her as she moved to leave. "Oh and Buffy? Don’t let him kiss you."
She smiled. "Want to give me some incentive not to?"
He growled and pulled her into a final breathless kiss which had her ready to beg him to take her back out to the farm this minute. When he finally released her, she managed to give him the promise he’d asked for.
"No kissing. I think I can handle that."
"Good, I’ll see you tonight, shortcake.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She’d made another quick run into the ladies room to fix her disheveled ponytail and smudged lipstick before meeting the others in the parking lot. The remainder of the evening was pleasant, and Owen had been polite, but she could tell he was disappointed when she fended off his advances and claimed a headache from too many sweets that day. He dutifully drove her home after the fireworks ended at ten and she was excited to see her grandparents were also making a late night of it and hadn’t made it back yet.
The only car in the drive was the Desoto.
Her heart felt like it might explode into a shower of brightly lit sparks, like those she’d just spent the last few minutes watching, as she walked straight to the small garage apartment and knocked softly on the door. He opened it and she stepped inside.
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