A Summer With Amber Chapter 4
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Marcie had decided to stay for dinner, but she was happy to give Sam a lift over to Gina's house. It seemed that neither Gina's father nor her stepmother were home yet, but Sam saw the curtains move in the window of Gina's room as he got out of the red Miata and waved his thanks to Marcie.
Gina opened the door and dragged him inside before he could knock. Sam rocked back against the door as she leaned into him, pressing her body against him in a passionate kiss.
"Hi," Sam said when they eventually came up for air.
"Hi. Lover," Gina said, as if trying the word out. "How'd the test go with Mrs. Gray?"
"One hundred percent," Sam said. "Thanks to your expert help."
"Ha!" Gina said, then kissed him again. "As I recall, we spent a lot of that study time fucking like rabbits."
"Well, yeah," Sam said between kisses. "But really, really smart rabbits."
"Mmm. You say the sweetest things."
Gina had practically climbed Sam's body, his hands under her ass to support her while her arms and legs wrapped around him. Sam reflected that there was a lot to be said for dating a gymnast.
"So... what time do your folks get home?" he asked after a while.
Gina looked over her shoulder at the clock and groaned. "Too soon. Why didn't you get here earlier?"
"Sorry," Sam apologized. "I got distracted.
"I'll bet," Gina said. She dropped back down to the floor and took Sam's hand, tugging him gently towards the stairs. "Let's go to my room. Whose car was that, anyway?"
"Joan's friend, Marcie's," Sam said, letting himself be guided.
"So... is she one of your... ?"
"Yep," Sam said.
Gina gave a surprising little shiver. "Oh. You know, I thought I'd be jealous at thinking of you with other women, but I'm not. In fact... "
"Yes?" Sam prompted when she hesitated.
"Well... in fact, it's kind of hot. I think of you with Joan, or now with Marcie, and it makes me feel kind of... " she shrugged, then grinned.
"Hmm. How do you feel when you think of me with Joan *and* Marcie?"
"Oh, Lord." Gina practically dragged Sam into her room. "Come in here."
Gina's room was rather like a feminine version of Sam's: a desk piled with schoolbooks and a large bookcase crammed with paperbacks, with a row of gymnastics trophies on the top. Posters of great gymnasts were tacked up on the walls, and a little huddle of stuffed animals watched from the nightstand. Sam had been there many times before, but he paused to look around appreciatively.
"This room," he said, "is like you."
"Yeah," Gina said, "a total mess!"
Sam turned and swept her up into his arms, provoking a squeak of surprise.
"Careful!" Gina said, clinging to him. "Don't drop me."
"Not a chance," Sam said. He laid her down gently onto the bed, then paused to kick his shoes off before joining her there.
"I meant," he said between kisses, "it's warm, and friendly, and full of interesting stuff."
"Mmmm," Gina sighed against his lips. "It's a lot more interesting with you in it."
The two of them were making out when they heard the sound of the garage door opening. A few seconds later, the door into the house banged open.
"Gina?" came the voice of Gina's stepmother from downstairs.
Gina sighed, and sat up. "We're up here, Angie!" she called, refastening her bra and pulling her shirt back down. "In my room!"
When Angie poked her head into the bedroom, Sam was sitting on the desk chair and Gina was propped up on the bed, both looking quite innocent. Angie smiled vaguely at Sam, then said to Gina, "So, I haven't really planned anything for dinner. I thought we might order a pizza."
"OK," Gina said, and Sam added "Sounds great, Mrs. diCosta."
"Your dad'll be home soon," Angie added, withdrawing into the hallway and continuing to her bedroom. "Maybe you should go downstairs."
Gina was the baby of her family; she had two older brothers, both already graduated from college and living in other cities. She had once told Sam that she thought her birth had been an attempt by her parents to save their marriage. If so, it had been only temporarily successful. The diCostas had split up when Gina was seven, an event that Sam remembered vividly, since it had reduced his normally unshakeable friend to unpredictable fits of tears. Gina's father had remarried a few years later to a much younger woman: Angie was only a year older than Mr. diCosta's oldest son, which had led Sam's mother to quietly comment about men trading in for newer models. Despite this, their marriage seemed fairly happy. Angie was a pretty, passive woman, affectionate in a vague way, not especially bright but good-natured, and she got along reasonably well with Gina, largely because she made no attempt whatsoever to act like a mother to a girl only twelve years younger than herself and considerably smarter.
Sam and Gina went downstairs to sit chastely in the livingroom, waiting for Gina's father to get home, while Angie changed clothes in her room.
"So, how does this work?" Gina asked Sam after a bit.
"I haven't the faintest idea," he admitted. "I don't even know if it will work. Let's just keep our eyes on your Dad and Stepmom and see how they act."
The sound of the garage door came again at this point. "Looks like we're about to get the chance," Gina said. She sounded a bit nervous. "I'll follow your lead."
Sam gave Gina's hand a squeeze. "It'll be fine," he said, once again feeling a sensation of inner confidence. "Trust me."
Roberto diCosta was in his fifties, but he remained very fit. He was a big man with graying hair and a booming voice. He kissed his daughter vigorously on the cheek, wrung Sam's hand and clapped him on the shoulder with enough force to knock down an ox. Since this was his usual greeting, Sam took no notice of it, other than to discreetly rub his shoulder when Mr. diCosta looked away for a moment. Gina grinned at him.
"So," Mr. diCosta boomed, "was the late-night studying a success? How was the test?"
"I got a hundred percent," Sam said. "Thanks to Gina."
"Not hardly," Gina contradicted. "Sam is really smart."
"Well, you're both beyond me. Math. Was never any good at it." Mr. diCosta shook his head, not seeming particularly upset at this lack. "Hey, Angie!" he called up the stairs. "What's for dinner?"
Angie wandered downstairs a brief time later, presenting her cheek to be kissed, which her husband did heartily. She explained her plan to order pizza, received his approval, and wandered off to make the phone call. Mr. diCosta sat in a chair, opposite the couch where Sam and Gina sat not quite touching, and engaged them in a running interrogation about school, sports, and the weather, interrupting himself from time to time to call suggestions of toppings out to Angie in the other room. Eventually Angie returned, to sit demurely in another armchair and contribute occasional monosyllables to the conversation.
At first, there was no indication of any influence at work. Mr. diCosta tended to dominate conversations, but Sam was used to that; and his interests and comments seemed much the same as usual. Then, during a pause in the discussion of which sports teams had a chance, Angie suddenly piped up.
"So -- how old are you now, Sam?" she asked.
"Umm, sixteen. Same as Gina," Sam answered.
"So, do you go out at nights?"
Sam blinked a little. "Well, yeah. Sometimes."
Angie explained, "We've been talking about whether Gina should be allowed to date, if she wants to."
"Who's 'we'? " Gina asked. "Nobody's said anything to me."
"Me and your father," Angie said. "I told him that I went out on dates when I was sixteen. He's just old-fashioned."
Geraldine
- 11.06.2021
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