“Fletch?” I say quietly, stepping into the room. Part of me wants to close the door but it’s safer if I leave it open, for him, not me. I fear what I would do if I close it, probably try to kiss him or something stupid.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” he says gruffly.
“Do you want me to leave?” My voice is quiet, pathetic even and I hold my breath as I wait for an answer.
He shakes his head, “I never want you to leave.”
I can’t see his face to read his expression but his words are heavy, full of an emotion I can’t place.
“Are you okay?”
He looks at me from over his shoulder and even in the dark I feel his eyes on me even if I can’t see him doing it.
“I’m fine.”
“Well if I don’t come down with you, your momma is gonna come here and drag you down,” I try to lighten the mood.
His sigh is audible but he turns and walks towards me, stopping to the left of my body and looking down, “Well come on then,” he reaches around me to grasp the door handle, “best not keep them waiting.”
I follow his tall frame back down the stairs, noticing how high his shoulders are sitting with tension rolling through his body.
At the table I’m sat on his left whilst Mrs. Dallas sits opposite me and his dad sits at one end. The other end is left empty.
I know why and it warms my heart to know they still leave his place empty. The conversation is light throughout dinner, even Fletcher begins to relax, laughing at a story his dad is telling about a recent fishing trip.
Mrs. Dallas just watches them, a light in her eyes that wasn’t present the last time I visited. I had a feeling it was because Fletcher was here, finally back home after months of not coming back.
“You’re a junior, right, Peyton?” Mr. Dallas asks.
“That’s right,” I smile, pausing with my fork.
“What are you studying? It’s been so long and we’ve hardly heard from you.” It isn’t a scolding but I feel ashamed nonetheless.
“Graphic design and business,” I tell him.
“You were always a fantastic drawer,” he nods, “Wasn’t she Fletch?”
“Mm,” Fletcher agrees.
“I’m doing mainly illustration using a graphic tablet.”
“All this technology,” he sighs, “I’ll never get used to it.”
I chuckle, “It took me some time learning to draw on a screen but now I’m not so sure I’ll be able to pick up a pencil.”
“You could,” Fletch declares, “your talent is natural. You’d never forget.”
“Thank you.”
After dinner is finished, Mrs. Dallas pulls out the biggest cherry pie I’ve ever seen and begins to serve it up. I don’t have the heart to tell her I have no room for dessert and I swear she gave me the biggest slice.
I push the pie around the bowl, watching the cream she heaped on top slowly begin to melt and my stomach cramps, refusing to make room for it.
Fletcher leans over, “You don’t have to eat it, you know?” He teases.
I look over at his bowl, seeing he’s polished off his own dessert and I hatch a plan, something I used to do when we were kids and I couldn’t finish the food she made for me. I always felt so much guilt, but why let it go to waste when you have a human garbage can to hide the evidence.
With his parents distracted with talk about tomorrow, I subtly switch the bowls.
Fletcher grins, stifling a laugh and picks up his spoon, digging into his second helping of pie. I lean back in my chair, grinning wide, “That was delicious,” I claim, “I’m so full!”
Fletcher chuckles lightly, shaking his head.
“Well I’m glad,” Mrs. Dallas beams.
“Thank you so much,” I tell her, “That really was amazing.”
Amazingly, Fletcher polishes off that pie too and I stare at him. Just where does he put it!? His abs are as hard as stone and there isn’t a single ounce of fat on him.
“Thanks, mom,” he flicks his eyes to me and shakes his head, clearing the table. After we’ve cleaned the kitchen, we settle in the living room, me sipping a coffee whilst the others drink brandy and whiskey.
It really shouldn’t feel this good, this right being here but I can’t help feeling like I’ve just found something I didn’t realise I had lost.
Seventeen
It was well past nine in the evening and both my mom and dad had had just a little bit too much to drink, not flat out drunk but in the giggly, touchy mood that would make any child, adult or not, cringe bad. With my mom nestled into my dads lap, their giggles giving me the creeps, I tap Peyton on the shoulder and gesture with my chin for her to follow me. There’s no reason she has to endure it either.
Quietly, she follows me upstairs, their giggles becoming muffled by the walls.
“They’re so cute,” Peyton sighs.
“They’re tipsy,” I laugh, “They’ll regret it in the morning when they both have headaches and a huge dinner to prepare.”
“They’re still so much in love,” Peyton continues, ignoring me, “can you imagine? Being married for thirty years and still being so in love with your partner you get to enjoy little things like that?”
I stop and stare down her, she’s paused on the stairs whilst I’m on the top one, making her seem so much smaller, so much more fragile.
In another life, I could imagine that with her.
I’d loved her since I was thirteen, maybe not romantically at first but as we grew I fell in love with her a little more every day and it continues. With every day that passes between us I fall more head over heels for her, I feel it in the tightening in my chest, the warmth flooding through my veins every time her eyes clash with mine.
And it kills me all the same because it’s a love lost.
It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
I call bullshit.
It’s not better, it’s worse and there wasn’t a damned thing to do about it.
“Come on,” I turn away from her and head to my room, holding the door for her only to shut it when she’s stepped inside.
It’s instant regret.
We’ve been alone before but not like this. Not with her in a tight, skin hugging red dress, curled hair that I want to wrap around my fingers and pouty lips painted a deep burgundy shade. Swallowing and looking away quickly, I push down the heat of desire that rushes me, willing my body not to react.
No woman has ever had this kind of effect on me.
“I thought we could play video games,” I shrug and grit my teeth at how lame I sound.
“Yes!” She squeals in delight, “I’ve been dying to kick your ass on Mortal Kombat!”
I snort, “You can’t kick my ass. I’m king!”
“Ha! We’ll see!”
Without waiting for me she pads over to my too small bed and climbs on, shuffling the pillows up the headboard so she can lean back. She looks over to me expectedly, raising a brow, almost in challenge.
“Well come on then,” she taunts, “unless you’re afraid I’ll take your title.”
“Please,” I scoff, and ignoring the warning bells going off inside my head like a riot, I join her on the bed, sitting in the same position, back against the headboard.
Our bodies are close, thighs brushing against each others, a tendril of her hair tickling the top of my arm. My movements are jerky as I press the button to fire up the console and TV and then hand her the spare remote.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve forgotten how often I kicked your ass when we used to play this.”
“How do you know I didn’t let you win?”
I hadn’t let her win but this was fun. She was good but how much of it was down to the button bash she had down to a tee or actual skill, I didn’t know.
The opening music plays loudly in the small room and I flick my eyes over to her, watching the lights cast shadows over her pretty face, the grin pulling up her perfect mouth.
&
nbsp; After choosing our characters we prepare for the first match and she leans forward, tucking her legs beneath her. It’s a distraction, the hem of that little red dress slides up her thigh revealing too much skin and my eyes snag there, lost in the creamy silk that makes my fingers twitch for just a touch.
She gets the first hit in, then the second and the third and it’s only her laughter that has my eyes bouncing back to the TV.
“Hey!”
I force myself not to look. My fingers press the buttons but she’s got me down to low health.
“Finish him!” She says at the same time as the game and then proceeds to cut my character in half.
Brutal, yes. But we loved this game as kids and clearly, she never grew out of it. I’m glad for that.
I win the next game and we continue to play until it’s too late and the house has gone quiet around us.
After the last game I turn the console off and flick on Netflix, “It’s too late for you to go home. The guest room is made up, you can stay here.”
She smiles and nods, “Let me just text my mom and let her know.”
Whilst she’s busy texting I climb off the bed and find her a pair of my sweats and a jersey, again ignoring all the warning signals that tell me having her wear my clothes is a bad idea.
Stop being ridiculous! I scold myself, it’s not like she hasn’t stolen my hoodies and shirts before. But this is different. We’re not the same people we were back then.
And whilst I always knew there was something about her, something in me that connected with something in her, the desire, I was able to control.
Now, I felt so freaking out of control, like one move, and it was all going to come down in flames.
“Thanks,” she takes the offered clothing and then pads out of the room to the bathroom down the hall. Whilst she’s gone I flick through Netflix, trying to figure out what she might want to watch.
“Hey, that series is good!” Peyton says as she comes back into the room, her red dress hanging over her arms, face bare of all traces of makeup.
The sweats I’d given her hang off her body and she’d rolled them at the feet so she could walk. The jersey slides off her shoulder but she’d never looked more beautiful than she did right now, standing, a little unsure of herself in my clothes.
I pat the bed and watch her bare feet squash into the plush carpet and the mattress dips as she climbs on, settling herself back onto the pillows again.
We can do this. I can do this.
I play a movie, some action thriller but I’m not concentrating on it. I’m focused on the slither of space between us, the rise and fall of her chest, the way my jersey seems to be clinging to her skin, caressing each dip and curve as if teasing me.
About half way through the movie Peyton sags towards me, her head landing on my shoulder and I freeze, looking down to find her eyes closed, lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she sleeps.
Gently, I reach up and slide her hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear and she seems to move into my hand, pushing her face until I’ve cupped her cheek and my fingers are tangled into the tresses of her hair.
“Fletch,” a sleepy murmur whispers from her lips and she rolls towards me, pressing her breasts into my body as one arm curls around my middle.
My jaw clamps shut tight, my teeth grinding together so hard I can hear them moving against one and other.
I shouldn’t, but I do, wiggle gently down the bed until I’m flat on my back and she’s still tucked into my side. This bed is not big enough for two of us, especially with someone the size of me sharing it but I’ll be damned if I give this up.
One night won’t hurt. It’s purely platonic.
I drag the sheets up to cover us both, setting my head down on the pillow and wrapping my arm around her, holding her tight against me.
Somehow I manage to fall asleep, somehow as we lay there in the darkness of my old childhood bedroom, Peyton, the girl of my every dream wrapped around my body, I fall into the most restful sleep I’ve had in the last three years.
If that doesn’t tell me something, if that doesn’t scream that this girl here right now, is the one I’m supposed to be with then I don’t know what would.
Eighteen
When I wake in the morning I’m alone. There’s no Peyton tucked against me only the scent of her strawberry shampoo lingering on my pillow that tells me I did not dream last night.
I bolt up in bed, searching the room for any sign she is still here.
The door cracks open and she tiptoes back in, holding two fresh cups of coffee.
“You’re still here,” I state to her back. Clearly, she hadn’t noticed I had woken or checked before sneaking back in, not with the way she jumps, causing the coffee in the mugs to spit over the edges.
“Ah, hot, hot, hot,” she darts towards me, depositing the coffees on to the bedside tables before brushing angrily at her feet as if the liquid is still burning her skin. “You made me jump!” She chastises.
“Sorry,” I laugh, “You haven’t left yet?”
She looks down, “Did you want me to?”
“No,” I say quickly, “I mean, no, stay for breakfast.”
She nods, “Sorry that I, uh, fell asleep last night, this bed is really small.”
“It’s okay, I fell asleep too.” I lie.
She nods again, her cheeks turning pink. She’d washed her face free of makeup last night but she looks more natural now, first thing in the morning with her hair slightly wild, hoods of her eyes still a little heavy.
“You snore,” I tease.
“I do not!” She defends, brows drawing down.
“Oh you do, real soft.”
“I do not, Fletcher!”
“I’m not lying, why would I lie?”
“Well no one’s ever told me I snore.” She crosses her arms as a wave of jealousy slams into me. There have been other people, of course there has, I’m not stupid but I’ve been able to ignore it.
“Being nice,” I grunt, taking the black coffee on the side. She plucks up her coffee with cream and we both audibly sigh after the first sip.
“Your parents are still asleep,” Peyton says after a minute of silence.
I chuckle, “They’ll have a hangover, mom rarely drinks.”
“I remember,” Peyton nods, “I think I’ve only seen her tipsy maybe a handful of times.”
My eyes drop down her body, still dressed in my clothes and the words to tell her how good she looks in them is on the tip of my tongue. I manage to keep it in, just, but I’ll appreciate the sight internally for as long as I can.
_
By the time mom and dad roll out of bed, Peyton and I have thrown together breakfast, a spread of bacon, eggs, toast and sausages. My dad groans, plopping his butt in the chair and begins to plate up the food for my mom.
I chuckle when she slides into the kitchen, her robe tied tight to her body, “I drank too much.” She complains. She smiles sweetly at Peyton, “It’s nice to see you again this morning.”
“You too, Mrs. Dallas.”
We eat breakfast together, Peyton sat at my side again and when we’re done, she disappears upstairs before coming back down in the dress she wore last night.
“I need to head off,” she tells the room, “Thank you for dinner last night.”
“Hey, I’ll give you a ride. It’s cold out there today,” I tell her, plucking up my car keys.
She smiles sweetly and follows me out to the car, climbing into the passenger seat. I blast the heat but it’s no use, the car barely has time to warm up itself by the time I’m stopping out front of the large house I remember so well.
It still looks the same, the lawn lush and large, spanning the entire way round as far as the eye can see.
“Thanks,” she reaches over and squeezes my fingers, hesitating before eventually she reaches down and opens the door, letting in a blast of icy air.
Before she can close the door, I call, “Hey, wait!”
Rubbing the back of my neck I look up to the house and then back to her, “Me and the guys are going to the cabin for the first few days of winter break, do you want to come?”
“You’re going skiing?”
“Maybe, not sure, we haven’t planned anything, we’re just gonna spend a few days there before the holidays.”
“Yeah, actually, I’d love to. Thank you.”
“Okay,” I clear my throat, “Good, we’ll sort travel and stuff out when we go back to campus.”
She nods, “Okay, Fletch, I’ll see you later.”
“Bye Peyton.”
I watch her small form walk up the path to the front door and disappear inside and then I drive back home, wondering what the fuck I just did. A few days in the small as hell cabin with her is going to kill me. Sure the guys will be there but whenever she’s in the room, all else is forgotten.
Mom is dressed by the time I get back to the house and in the kitchen, preparing thanksgiving dinner. Her sister, my aunt June is coming with her husband and their kids later on today as well as dads fishing buddy who has no one else to celebrate with.
“Peyton looks good,” my mom comments as I settle at the table with a coffee, “She’s really grown up these past few years.”
“Mm,” I nod my agreement.
“So why did you two fall out?” Mom looks back over her shoulder.
My mouth drops open. I never told mom Peyton and I had grown apart or rather I had pushed her away, how did she know?
“Uh, we didn’t,” I frown, sputtering over my coffee.
“Don’t lie to me, son, I know something happened between the two of you.”
“We just grew apart.”
She scoffs, “You did not. You pushed her away. You forget I’ve watched you the last three years, Fletcher, I watched you push away everyone you care about, including Peyton but,” she softens her tone, “I’m glad you’re letting her back in and she’s giving you the chance, lord knows I would have made you suffer a bit longer for giving me the cold shoulder for so long.”
Fletcher( Boys of HGU #1) Page 9
