by Mia Ford
Though, that’s a bit of a lie. I do care. I just don’t want to chase the answers anymore.
“Yeah, I get it,” Jessica says, sinking down into her blanket. Her eyes are lowered and she’s the very picture of despair. “Regardless of what you say… I do understand. I put you through something terrible, didn’t I?”
I look away, refusing to confirm that.
“One day, I’ll try and make it up to you,” Jessica promises. “But, for now… Can’t we try friendship, at least? For Owen?”
I glance at her. Her eyes are beseeching me to at least agree to this. It feels like a mistake, as though she’ll run a mile if I give her an inch. After a moment, however, I sigh grudgingly.
“Yeah, we can try that,” I grumble. I drain the last of my coffee and heave myself out of my chair. I need something stronger than that. “Beer?”
“Please,” she says with added emphasis, obviously feeling the same way.
I grab a couple of bottles out of the fridge and carry them over. In the distance, I can hear the rumble of my dryer. Hopefully, it will be finished soon, and we can put this awkward conversation in the past.
Four hours later, however, the dryer is the last thing on my mind.
“Wait, seriously?” Jessica exclaims. “That was you?”
“Yeah,” I say with a smug smile. “Sorry.”
“No, no!” Jessica says, waving her hand. “Dad never figured it out! Then the damn things showed up again, and he was just so angry! It was hilarious! Last Christmas, Jace got him a wooden spoon as a gift, and I thought he was just going to throw it back.”
I can’t help but grin. Jessica’s father was a strict man who had never liked me much and, one year, in a fit of youthful retaliation (or, rather, I was just out for petty revenge), I stole every wooden spoon in the house. Paul, who was a baker, had been ropeable, but he never once suspected me. The next day, he grudgingly bought some new ones and, overnight, I replaced the ones I had stolen.
He was so angry, I was half expecting him to call a detective to do some forensic tests on them to figure out who the culprit was.
“Where is Paul?” I ask now.
“Oh,” Jessica says, rolling her eyes. “He and mom are in Washington. He calls all the time. He absolutely dotes on Owen.”
“He does know Owen is my son, doesn’t he?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Actually, you went up in his opinion,” Jessica snorts. “If only because I went down. He’s been trying to convince me for three years to contact you. He thought it was a disgrace that I got knocked up, and then kept it a secret from you.”
“Woah,” I say, blinking. “You know, seeing the look on his face when I walked through the door with you and Owen would almost be worth getting back together with you.”
Jessica snorts into her beer. What I had said was actually quite cruel, but we were both more than a little tipsy at this point after several bottles of beer each. We’ve long since gravitated to the couch, and there’s some sort of game playing on television, but neither of us is paying much attention to it.
Somehow, we’ve managed to start reminiscing about the past. With the alcohol to dull all the hurt, it feels nice to sit with her and think about all the good times. I’ve had precious few moments where I could think about all the good without it being painful.
A distant part of my mind is screaming at me, telling me that this isn’t going in a good direction, and that I need to kick Jessica out before it gets any worse, but I ignore it. I’m surprisingly content as I sit next to Jessica, thinking of our antics when we were a little younger and listening to the patter of the rain on my window. The rain hasn’t let up once, and it offers a soothing backdrop to our conversation.
“I spoke to dad on the weekend and told him I finally told you,” Jessica says with a smile. “He said it was “about time” and that I should be ashamed it took me so long. Then he told me that if he walks in to catch us in bed ever again, he’s really going to shoot you.”
It’s my turn to snort this time. That had been the most embarrassing moment of my life. I had stayed over at Jessica’s place for the night, some months after we had first gotten together, and I had been woken by Paul’s yells, not expecting to find a man in his daughter’s bed when he arrived to visit her. He looked like he was prepared to chase me out with crutches he was hobbling around on at the time, having sprained his ankle the previous week.
“Oh god,” Jessica laughs, throwing her head back. Her short hair curls around her ears, and I’m forced to look away. “He’s the absolute worst. Then again, it just seemed like you left a bad impression, no matter what you did.”
“I did try,” I protest, but I’m grinning anyway. “Besides, I think your dad enjoyed being angry at me. It sort of turned into a bit of a game for the both of us.”
“Of course it did,” Jessica says, rolling her eyes. “Mom thought the same thing too, but dad would never admit it. He just went around and acted like you were the worst person in the world because you were dating me.”
I grin. The voice in the back of my mind becomes more insistent, telling me to stop this now. I almost listen to it.
Then I look over and see Jessica’s eyes close, a content smile curling at her lips. All thoughts of making her leave flee my mind.
It’s fine. Just a little bit longer. I want to hold onto this warmth while I can.
Chapter Sixteen
Jessica
I stretch, taking care to make sure that my blanket is still securely around me. Beside me, Grant is relaxed and open, sprawled out on the soft cushions as he sips on a beer. How many of those has he had tonight? How many have I had? I lost track ages ago. I don’t think I wanted to keep counting.
Now it doesn’t matter. I feel pleasantly light-headed. Owen is being taken care of for the night, I’m being allowed to sit in Grant’s apartment with him, and it doesn’t feel like I should be worrying about anything at all.
On top of that, Grant has laughed at some of my jokes. As tipsy as I am, this feels like an enormous accomplishment. Part of my mind has already convinced me that this is the first step to complete reconciliation.
If I can make him laugh, then maybe he’ll be happy with me?
Deep in my mind, I know that this won’t be the case. It’s stupid to even think of it like that. But I’m slightly drunk and I’m happy, and there’s nothing that can pierce the contented bubble around me. I don’t know why Grant is allowing this. Maybe he’s a little drunk too and has let down his guard.
I can only hope he doesn’t come to regret this in the morning. I don’t think I’ll regret it. This is what I wanted, after all. This is why I ran all the way in the rain late at night after Kyle gave me Grant’s address and all but kicked me out of Allison’s apartment.
Kyle, I decide, is a good guy. He kicked me out for my own good. I wonder how he’ll explain giving Grant’s address to me? Hopefully Grant isn’t too angry at him.
But he won’t be, my mind drowsily decides. I’m the only one Grant is unhappy with.
Except, not right now. Because he’s laughing with me. That’s a good thing, right?
The circular motion of my thoughts confuses me, and I decide to push those ideas away for now. I can revisit those ideas, maybe, when I’m sober, if I remember them.
I snort aloud.
“Not going to remember,” I predict.
“Remember what?” Grant asks, confused by my sudden announcement.
“Laughing,” I tell him.
“Oh.” He looks even more confused. “I see.” He blinks at me. “You’re still only wearing a blanket.”
I look down, as though I’ve only just noticed this.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s really warm. Can I take this home?”
“No, it’s my blanket,” Grant tells me. “Do you want me to check on your clothes?”
Do I want my clothes back? It’s hard to imagine they would be as comfortable as the blanket that I’m not quite ready to give
up. I shake my head.
“Later,” I say.
He laughs and I grin at the sound.
“It’s already later,” he says, pointing at the clock. “Like, really fucking later.”
I look at the clock face. It’s half in darkness, so I can’t quite make out the hands. I shrug. I’ll take Grant’s word for it that’s it’s late. It does feel like I’ve been sitting here with Grant for quite some time now. Just how much time has passed? Is Allison waiting to hear from me?
“Where’s Owen?” Grant asks suddenly.
I try to remember if I’ve already told him. I honestly don’t know.
“Hazel has him,” I tell him. “I needed a break. Except, then I decided to run here, so that wasn’t much of a break.”
“This is a break,” Grant says, gesturing to his beer. “Are you warm enough?”
“This blanket is warm,” I tell him.
Didn’t I already say that? I rub my forehead. Maybe I shouldn’t have had so much to drink. Still, it’s worth it for the content, relaxed feeling that’s currently taking over me.
“Maybe we can put a movie on?” Grant suggests.
A movie means staying later. Well, I have no way to get home, anyway, and it isn’t like Owen will be waiting for me there.
“Sounds good,” I say.
Grant reaches over to grab the remote, scooting closer to do so. He doesn’t move back as he turns the television on, and I feel the warmth of his body through the thick blanket. Suddenly, a movie is the last thing on my mind.
No, the rational part of me tries to say sternly. Haven’t I already been down this path more than once? It never ends well. Grant has already told me he doesn’t want a physical or emotional relationship with me. We’re going to try to be friends. I need to be satisfied with that.
I try to shift away. But the blanket falls off my knee and Grant’s hand brushes against my bare skin at that moment as he lowers the remote. It sends a jolt through my body and I gasp. Grant’s entire body locks up.
“No,” I say out loud. “I’m not being stupid again.”
I look up at Grant. He’s staring at me. There’s desire in his eyes, and it sends a flush of heat straight through me. His hands are clenched on his own knees. He wants me, but he doesn’t want to make the first move.
“We can’t be stupid,” I remind him.
“Yeah,” he says.
He turns away. His clothed leg brushes against my bare one.
I don’t know, exactly, who moved first. I think it might have been me. I’m sitting next to Grant one second, and then, before either of us know what’s happening, I’m pushing him back and swinging a leg over his lap so I can straddle him. I half expect to be pushed away, but his hands land on my hips and dig into the skin, his actions keeping me in place.
Shit, the feeling of his hands, the way he’s touching me, the sound of his panting breaths, it’s all almost too much all of a sudden. My mind floods me with images, of sucking Grant’s penis into my mouth, of thrusting against him frantically as I ride him, of crashing into the bar’s break room and having sex right there on the couch. Having sex with him twice hasn’t cured me of this obsession with his touch. It’s just made me more addicted.
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Grant says, his voice ragged.
God, we’re definitely going to regret this in the morning. I’m going to regret jumping the poor man once more. Grant is going to regret wanting me. We’re both going to just be one big ball of regret, though at least we’ll be together in it, this time.
Or maybe we can stop this now, before we can get too far. I open my mouth.
“I want you so bad,” I tell him. “Shit, Grant, fuck me now. I want to feel you all over.”
No, damn it, that’s not what was I meant to say. I need to get off Grant’s lap. I need to do the smart thing and get my clothes and get out of here before this goes any further.
I wriggle slightly on Grant’s lap. He groans deeply beneath me, his head falling backward as I brush against the erection straining against his pants. I suddenly realize that the blanket is starting to fall, and I clutch at the corners as it slides down and reveals my shoulders. I’m completely bare underneath, because even my underwear had been soaked through.
Then Grant’s hand comes up and runs over the smooth skin of my shoulder, his eyes dark with desire.
“I wondered if you were wearing a bra or panties,” he says huskily. “Looks like they were wet, too.” His eyes gleam. “How wet are you now?”
I shudder as his thumbs rub circles into my hips through the blanket. Suddenly, I don’t care about trying to pull away. I just want more.
“Fuck, Grant,” I groan.
“That’s the plan,” he promises.
I want to find the words to tell him how much he’ll regret this in the morning. He might want me now, but he won’t in the morning. He’ll be upset that he succumbed to lust once more. Then we’ll be back at square one, unable to even trust each other enough to be merely friends. It won’t be fair. I want him to be in my life, but it’s not going to happen while this keeps happening between us.
This will all matter more in the morning, though. Right now, his touch is more important than anything else. If he doesn’t keep touching me, I think I’ll just fall apart at the seams. The feel of his hands is at once keeping me grounded and sending me flying. I’m dizzy with the sensations and he still hasn’t even touched my naked skin other than the brush of his hand that started all this.
“Grant…” I moan. “Please, more.”
“Patience,” Grant says, but his breathing is harsh and his hands are tightening on my hips. He’s holding himself back, but it’s getting harder and harder to do. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk right.”
Yeah, that sounds good. I shift on his lap, pressing myself closer to him, and he bites off a curse word, his grip becoming bruising for a split second before he regains control. How close to the edge is he right now? Everything is overwhelming to me right now, so it must be equally so to him. I wonder if it’s the alcohol that’s made everything so overpowering. Neither us are going to have it in us to draw this out.
But Grant is trying. His hips are moving in little upwards thrusts against my body, bouncing me slightly on his lap. My legs are loosely straddling him, and I can feeling his straining erection through his soft pants as it rubs against my thigh. But he hasn’t made any move to undress or remove my blanket. He wants to draw this out torturously slowly.
I wonder if there’s part of him that’s doing it on purpose, to punish me just because he can’t help but touch me. If that’s the case, then I’ll take this type of punishment over being ignored any day.
“Shit, Jessica,” he says, panting. “Can you feel what you do to me? Can you feel me?”
“Yes,” I groan.
“Your mouth was on that last time,” he tells me, and it conjures images of his dick, hot and heavy in my mouth. I groan again, this time without words. “And it was inside you, fucking you deeply as you rode me. Do you remember that?”
“Fuck, yes,” I moan.
Then, suddenly, his hands tighten.
“You got to give it all last time,” he says. “This time, it’s my turn.”
I don’t get a chance to ask him what he means. Suddenly, he’s moving, and the world spins around me. I can feel his hands on me, and then, suddenly, I’m lying on my back on the couch. Grant his leaning over me, one leg braced beside me on the couch, the other hanging off the side, his arms on either side of my head as he braces himself over me. My blanket has fallen open, and I’m completely naked as his eyes sweep hungrily over me, taking me all in.
“I didn’t get to look, last time,” he says, his voice low. “You sucked me dry and then you rode me so hard I was seeing stars. But I didn’t get to see you naked much, because you spent all that time chasing my orgasms. Now it’s different; you’re the one lying underneath me.”
“What are you going to do?�
�� I ask, breathless.
Something crosses his face. It’s a moment of clarity and I know, if ever it was going to happen, now would be the time that Grant could just get up and walk away. I wouldn’t blame him for it. He made it clear that he isn’t interested in me right now, that all the pain and the secrets have made it hard for him to look at me with anything other than anger. That’s why we were going to try just being friends.
So much for that idea. I should have known better than to accept that first beer. It was a downhill spiral from there.
I don’t want him to leave. But I also want him to be here with me because he wants to be, not just because his lust took over and forced him to primally want me.
Trembling with the need that’s wracking my body, I reach up and put my hands on his shoulders. I don’t want him to go. But I want him to have what he needs first.
“Grant, you…” I start.
Then he’s leaning down and kissing me, stealing the words right out of my mouth. I tilt my head back so that he can thrust his tongue in and map the inside of my mouth as I open my lips, my fingers gripping his shoulders rather than pushing him away as I intended. And I know then that all my good intentions are gone. I don’t have the energy to fight this anymore, not when I want him so badly. Hopefully, this won’t ruin us trying to remain friends. We need that for Owen’s sake, after all.
But I can deal with that later. Right now, I need this for my sake. I want him. I’m addicted to Grant. I’ll take one more night with him and hope for the best.
“Grant,” I moan when he pulls back.
He lowers his head and nips my jaw, right where I’ve always been so sensitive. I remember him doing that on the first night that this happened between us. He remembers everything about my body, just as I remember everything about his and the things he likes me to do to him. It’s been three years, but we spent two and a half years mapping out each other’s bodies until we knew them just as well as our own. It isn’t surprising that he hasn’t forgotten anything about me.
