What Happens Over the Summer

I was not going to fall for this. I kept repeating that in my head even as my arms lost their ridgedness and traveled up to R.J.'s arms-solid muscle. The kiss seemed to drag on forever as my hands slid even farther north, up to shoulders that were just as fit as the arms, then finally my hands twined around his neck and my fingers burrowed into the short hair at his nape.
Even as my hands had gone north, R.J.'s had gone south. They had already disposed of my towel, now were finding their way under my brief bikini bottoms. But I barely had time to think about what his hands were doing when he was using that magical mouth. Damn the man could kiss better than any Frenchmen.
"What the hell is going on in here?!"
Normally my grandfather's stern voice when I wasn't expecting it would have made me jump through the roof. But it took me a minuet for the fog to clear. But as soon as it did I realized I was standing in the middle of the kitchen, in broad daylight, with the door to the patio open, with R.J.'s hands cupping my bare ass and me wrapped around him like a python. And no snake was hard enough to be pressing against my stomach like that.
I ripped out of R.J.'s arms like a wild thing, still barely aware of my grandfather standing in the kitchen doorway.
"There are you happy? You proved you fucking point. Now leave," I demanded, pointing to the door, convinced my hands were shaking with rage.
"Jo-" he tried.
"I said leave! What part of that can you not understand? Why don't you get that I don't want you here?!" As soon as I said the words I regretted them. The look that crossed his face just compounded my guilt. And to top it all off, I heard a sniffle behind me. I turned around to see that Max was standing in the doorway, next to my grandfather, in front of my grandmother with tears in his eyes.
Instantly the anger went out of me. "Max-" I tried.
But the little boy walked past me with his head down, as if he had something to be ashamed of, when it was me that should be ashamed. He walked up to R.J. and took his hand. "Let's go Daddy. She doesn't want us here...just like my Mommy."
And that was the twisiting of the knife. If that would have come from R.J. I would have said that he was right. But coming from a boy that had already been through so much, who's own mother had turned her back on him...it was enough for even my eyes to mist over.
R.J. picked his son up. I got up the nerve to look him in the eye and saw that something had gone out of him. The fire that had always been in those blue depths. Either teasing or anger or passion...something had snubbed it out. Someone...me.
"I think you're right son," he said in a dead voice. He looked back at my grandparents. "Sorry to be a burden." Then he looked at me one last time. And left.
I thought it had hurt when he'd left me the last time. I had cried for days, even when he promised that he would come back. But this time it was my fault, my wrong, my mistake, my damn acid tounge and pride. And I hadn't just hurt him, but an amazing little boy that I had grown to...to what? To love, I realized. To love like I loved his father.
Oh God what had I done?