by Anna Cruise
“Are you at the house?”
“What?”
“At the house,” I repeated impatiently. “Are you there?”
“No.” She didn't elaborate and I knew she was sleeping at Kelly's. She was still evasive about it, even with me.
“Who's home this week?”
“No one.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” she said irritably, yawning. “Why? What the hell is going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Where are you, Annika?”
“I'm coming home.” I hung up.
THIRTY FOUR
“This doesn't look like a hotel,” Stuart said dryly, staring at the sorority house.
I yanked my bag from the backseat and got out of the car. “Sherlock again.”
“Is there one within walking distance?”
I hoisted the bag over my shoulder. “What?”
“A hotel. So I have a place to sleep.”
“You're sleeping with me.”
Even in the dark, I could see the surprised expression on his face. “Excuse me?”
“You accused me of not wanting to spend time with you. Of viewing you as an inconvenience. I'm going to prove to you that you're wrong.”
I walked to the front door and stuck the key in the lock. I twisted and pushed the door open. Stuart made no move to follow me.
“What are you waiting for?” I called. I turned on the hall switch and light flooded the main floor.
The car door slammed shut. I glanced behind me and Stuart was leaning against the car, his arms folded across his chest. “You don't have to prove anything to me, Annika.”
I ignored his comment. “Are you coming or not?” I glanced around the outside of the house. “Because even though the grass is nice, the automatic sprinklers usually kick in around three.”
“I could always sleep in your car,” he said, patting the roof.
I dangled the keys in front of me. “Sure. If you had these.” I pushed a button and, even from where I was standing, heard the car doors lock.
“You always get what you want?”
“Yep.”
“And you're sure this is it? What you want?”
I looked at him. He looked more yeti-like than ever, his clothes creased and rumpled, a backpack on his back and a duffel bag over his shoulder, his forehead sunburned, the thick stubble from yesterday positively beard-like on his chin and cheeks.
I wasn't gonna lie. I was just as confused and conflicted by what had happened in Mexico and my reactions to everything. But there was one thing I was still sure of.
I wanted him.
THIRTY FIVE
“Give me a minute,” he breathed, his mouth hot against my cheek.
I tugged on his shorts, finding and pulling down the zipper. “No.”
We were in my room, our bags tossed and forgotten in the corner. I reached my hand inside his shorts and grabbed on to him.
“I don't want to wait,” I said, gripping him, rubbing my hand up and down his hard shaft.
He moaned softly and tightened his grip on my ass, his fingers digging into my skin. I still had all of my clothes on and all I wanted to do was kick everything off and climb into bed with him. Forget Mexico and forget the last two days and just focus on him and me and how we made each other feel. Aroused. Ignited. Alive.
“Wait,” Stuart whispered, his voice thick with desire.
“I'm done waiting,” I told him, pushing him toward my bed.
He walked backward, his hands still attached to me, and sat down on the bed. I yanked his shorts to his knees as he fell and positioned myself on his lap, his arousal thrusting into me through my clothes. I snaked my hands under his shirt and kissed him, our tongues tangling, my breathing just as ragged as his.
“Annika.” His voice was a murmur, a low note on a drawn, shaky breath. I kissed him harder. His hands stilled and he tore his mouth away from mine. “Annika.”
I pulled back and looked at him. His brown eyes were black with desire, his expression harsh. “What?”
“I don't want this,” he said.
His words stung. “What??”
He didn't want me? What the hell was going on?
“I don't want this,” he repeated.
Anger flared inside of me and I put my hands on his shoulder and shoved. He reached for my arms, pinning them to my sides, wrapping his own arms around me, pulling me against his chest. He buried his face in my hair.
“I've had sex with you.” His voice was muffled. “I don't want that.”
“Then let go of me,” I snapped, squirming against his arms.
He tightened his grip. He shifted so that his face was inches from mine, our noses almost touching. “Shut up and listen,” he growled.
I looked away.
“Look at me.”
I kept my eyes averted.
“Goddammit. Look at me, Annika.” He used one arm to hold me still, wrapping it around my body, holding my arms down. With his free hand, he grabbed my chin and turned me to face him.
“I don't want sex.” His words were slow. Deliberate. “But I do want something else.”
“I don't give a shit what you want.”
He shook his head, the start of a smile twitching his lips. “You don't get it.”
“You just told me you don't want to have sex with me!”
His lips brushed across my forehead, surprising me. “I know. I want something else,” he repeated.
I glared at him. “What?”
“I want to make love to you.”
I stared at him, not comprehending.
“Please,” he whispered. “Let me make love to you.”
I stilled in his arms. No one had ever made love to me before. I wouldn't let anyone and I wouldn't let myself.
Making love wasn't sex. I was sure of it, even though it was something I'd never done. It involved feelings and emotions, something I'd separated out from the physical act of sex. I slept with guys because it felt good...and because I wanted to make them feel good. To prove I could. To prove I was the best.
Stuart loosened his grip on me, his fingers caressing my skin. I closed my eyes. He wanted this. He was asking for it.
And I wasn't sure I was ready.
“Please,” he repeated, his voice raw.
No one had ever asked me for anything. I always gave, always took. I knew I was in a vulnerable spot, the weight of the last two days bearing down on me. Maybe that was what had me in a weakened state. But, whatever it was, I knew one thing.
Stuart was asking.
And, more than anything, I wanted to give it to him.
THIRTY SIX
I sat in my car, the engine idling, and stared at the building in front of me. Even with the blinds closed, I could tell there was a light on. Someone was awake.
I shifted my gaze, looking west toward the beach. I couldn't see it from where I was—I was ten blocks inland—but I knew what I would see. Thick gray clouds hovering over the water, the ocean a mirror of those gray skies. A mostly empty beach, seaweed littering the sand, washed in with the tide, flies buzzing the thick vines. A few hardcore surfers, braving the chilly morning to get in a session before the tourists descended.
I glanced back at the building. What the hell was I doing here? It was eight o'clock in the morning and Stuart was still sleeping in my room. I'd slipped out of bed, pulled on my clothes and left him a note. A note. I rolled my eyes and slammed my fist on the steering wheel. What the hell was wrong with me?
I took a deep breath. I didn't know what was wrong with me and I didn't have a clue what I was doing. But I knew I needed to talk to someone. Not Sheridan and not one of my other sorority sisters. I needed to talk to someone who knew me. Maybe not as well as I knew myself, but there was someone who knew me better than I'd ever admit.
I pulled the key out of the ignition and stepped out of the car quickly, as if moving fast would keep me from changing my mind. I climbed the set of stairs outs
ide of the building and rapped my knuckles on the door. Within seconds, it opened.
“What are you doing here?” My sister eyed me with unabashed surprise.
I brushed past her. “I need to talk to you.”
She sniffed. “You don't smell like a bar.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means it's eight o'clock in the morning and the only logical explanation for you being here is because you're just heading home.”
“Wrong.”
I stepped over a pile of toys in the entryway and made my way to the couch. It was newish, I thought, a chocolate-colored microfiber couch with bright red pillows. Abby had painted the walls a warm gold and tossed a throw rug in the middle of the room, covering up the dingy carpet.
“Where's the kid?” I asked.
Abby pointed. “Right there.”
Amanda was in the dining room, standing at an enormous plastic play kitchen. She looked toward us and smiled. She was dressed in footed pajamas, her blond hair a ratted mess.
“Why isn't she sleeping?”
“Uh, because she's awake.”
I stared at her for a minute, then turned to my sister. “I have a question for you.”
Abby shook her head and laughed. “Well. Okay, then.”
A door opened down the hallway and heavy footsteps headed toward us. West appeared, his hair wet, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.
“Was that the door?” he asked Abby before his eyes settled on me. They widened in surprise, then disgust. He turned back to his wife. “What the hell is she doing here?”
“She can talk,” I snapped. “And since when is it a crime to visit my sister?”
He stared at me in disbelief. “You? Visit? Uh, since you never do it, I guess I wouldn't know.”
“That's bullshit,” I said. “I visit.”
“You haven't been here since you babysat Amanda.” He looked to the ceiling. “When was that? Almost a year ago?”
I smirked. “Already can't remember your anniversary?” I clucked my tongue. “Guess the honeymoon is over.”
Abby held up a hand. “Stop it, both of you.” She rubbed her eyes and sighed. “It's too early in the morning for this.” She looked at West. “Give us a few minutes? Please?”
His eyes cut back to me.
I looked him up and down, my eyes settling on the black boxer briefs he wore. “Maybe he needs a few minutes. Or seconds. Want me to sit with the kid while you two try to procreate again? Oh, wait. Mr. Miracle Grow has already done that...”
“They should really make Round Up for people,” West said.
I cracked a smile and Abby just stood there, halfway between flustered and pissed. “Please?” she repeated.
West ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. “Fine. I'm gonna finish getting ready for work.” He pulled my sister to him and kissed her. “You okay this morning? Not sick?”
She nodded. “I'm fine.”
“Okay.” He kissed her again. He shot a disgusted look at me before disappearing down the hallway.
“Well, that's one way to say good morning,” I muttered. “Not.”
Abby sat down in the battered recliner in the living room. It was a God-awful piece of furniture. “It's not a good morning when you show up and insult my husband.”
“I didn't insult him. I just...made a comment.” I pointed to the recliner she was sitting in. “Why is that thing still here? Didn't the Giant mean to take that with him?”
“Griffin?”
“I don't know,” I said, waving my hand. “Whatever that giant of a roommate's name was.”
“West's roommate was Griffin.” Abby frowned. “And he didn't take it because there was no room for it in his new apartment.”
“What does he live in? A closet?”
“A studio,” she said. “In San Luis.”
“Oh, that's right. Best friends turned lovebirds.” I'd almost forgotten that Abby's best friend, Tana, had hooked up with West's former roommate. “How convenient for all of you. Maybe they'll have a baby and your spawn can marry their spawn and you'll all be one happy family.”
She started to say something, then stopped. “Whatever. Why are you here?”
I stared at her for a minute. She looked pretty. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she didn't have any make-up on but she looked pretty. Fresh. Happy.
“What?” she said, her hand flying to her face. “Why are you staring at me? Do I have something on my chin? My nose?”
“No.” I looked down at my hands. “Okay. I have a question.”
She waited.
“How...how many times have you been in love?”
“What??”
I glanced up at and her eyebrows were almost at her hairline.
“In love,” I repeated.
“I heard you.” Her face was screwed up with confusion. “Why?”
“Just answer the question.”
She searched my eyes. “Are you drunk? Stoned?”
I wrinkled my nose. “I don't do drugs.”
“How much did you drink last night?”
“Oh my God. Just answer the question before I go and ask West instead.” I stared at her. “Because I'm sure another convo with him will go over really well. Better have the phone handy just in case we need an ambulance.”
Abby sighed. “Fine.” She hesitated. “Once.”
“Just West?”
She nodded.
“You married the first guy you fell in love with?” I said, my voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and disgust.
“I liked other guys before,” she said defensively. “But...things sort of happened. So that I couldn't have relationships...”
Her voice trailed off and I knew what she was referring to. Me. I'd sabotaged every crush, every chance she'd ever had at a relationship. Until West.
I swallowed. “Okay. So Just West. How...how did you know? That he was going to be the one, I mean? Because it's not like you fell in love with him right away, right?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you asking me this stuff?”
“Because I want to know.”
“Bull shit. You don't just show up at my house at eight o'clock in the morning to ask me because you're curious.”
“Well, it's the truth.”
“You wouldn't know the truth if it bit you on the ass.”
“I might be a bitch and I might do shitty things but I don't lie.” Not often, I amended silently.
“What's going on with you?” she asked. “Are you...did you meet someone? Is this about that Wood guy you brought home the other day?”
“No.”
“I don't believe you.”
“Look, you go and get pregnant less than two years after that kid is born,” I said, pointing at Amanda. She had plastic pots and pans strewn across the floor and was trying to wedge her foot into the smallest one. “I'm just wondering how that happens. What compels you to get yourself knocked up—and how you can possibly be happy about it. The only thing I can think of is love. And since I've never been in love...” I hesitated. “Well, I want to know what to be on the lookout for. So I can nip it in the bud.”
“That's why you're here?” Her eyes traveled to the television. The morning news was on, the weatherman promising clearing skies by noon. “At eight o'clock in the morning? Seriously?”
I nodded. “I couldn't sleep. Your baby news traumatized me.”
Abby stared at me and I couldn't tell if she believed me or not. But I held her gaze and she finally sighed.
“Fine.” She reached behind her and undid her ponytail and her hair fell to her shoulders. “No. I did not love West right away.”
I waited for her to elaborate.
“He was an arrogant asshole,” she said, smiling at the memory. “Cockier than hell.”
“So why did you get together with him?”
“Because he made me laugh. Because, even though he acted like a total asshat, he was actuall
y a nice guy underneath.”
“Probably didn't hurt that he was totally hot, too.”
She frowned. “Don't need to hear that from you. Especially from you.”
I nodded but didn't apologize. “Right. Okay. So he was nice and funny. And that made you fall in love and decide it was okay to get fat and pop babies out, one right after another?”
“You know, I don't need this,” she began and I held up my hand.
“I'm sorry. Not fat. Pregnant. Obesely pregnant.”
She frowned.
“Well, you were. Okay. So being nice and funny was what did it for you? What made you fall in love with him?
She rolled her eyes again. “No. It was more than that.”
“Like...?”
She twisted the elastic back around her hair, the ponytail looser this time. “Look, I don't know. I have no idea what the recipe was. I just know that West made me feel special. He made me feel things I'd never felt before. He looked at me differently. He treated me differently. There were a million reasons why I fell in love with him, no single one more important than the other.”
My pulse quickened and I swallowed a couple of times. “Okay,” I said. I stood up. “Well, that's all I wanted to know.”
“Wait.” Abby frowned. “That's it? You don't want to stay and...I dunno, have a cup of coffee or something?”
I laughed. “Coffee? Like with sugar and cream in dainty little cups? Are you going to break out the butter cookies, too? Turn on Dora so we can watch it with the kid?”
“Jesus, Annika.” Her cheeks flamed red again and she cast her eyes downward. “That's not what I meant.”
She sounded hurt and I felt a twinge of guilt for teasing her.
“I do need to go.” I thought of Stuart in my bed. “But...maybe I can come by another time?”
My sister nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”
I paused at the door. Amanda was sitting on the floor, stacking bowls on top of one another. She looked up at me and grinned, a pearly white smile that lit up her entire face.
“Hey,” I said, turning back toward my sister.
She raised her eyebrows in question.
“You and Baker Boy make cute kids.”
