I Knead You Tonight

by Hunter, Teagan

  “It’s still so weird seeing you with lighter hair,” Foster remarks. “But I like it. It feels more…you.”

  “That’s because it is me,” I say, taking Wren’s spot, glad she’s leaving so I don’t have to sit next to Winston when he comes back. “Where are you two headed off to this morning?”

  “The courthouse. We’re getting hitched.”

  “Bullshit you are!”

  “Stop teasing her, Birdie.”

  “Then just fucking marry me already, you ass.”

  He tsks. “I told you, I want the whole shebang. I didn’t get that last time. I want this time to be different, special.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Wren rolls her eyes. “I’m your person and you love me and blah blah romance. Just marry me!”

  “Not yet. Calm your tits.”

  “Foster, man,” Winston says, sliding back into the booth after setting two glasses of water on the table. His all-too-familiar scent, the strange combination of bourbon and peppermint, washes over me as he relaxes, spreading his long legs wide, and I feel them brush against mine again. “What’d I say about talking about my sister’s tits when I’m around? That’s in our agreement.”

  “I wasn’t talking about her actual tits,” Foster argues.

  Wren grabs a boob with each hand, jiggling them. “Good, because these tits cannot be calmed.”

  “Please stop playing with your boobs in the restaurant,” says Simon, the twins’ father, shaking his head at his daughter’s antics. He shoots me a sweet smile. “Drew, dear, next time you’re having car issues, call me.”

  Dear. Now I know I’m in trouble.

  Simon only calls me dear when I’ve done something he doesn’t approve of, which is admittedly more often than I’d like, especially since he’s like a second father to me.

  Or, well, I guess just a father since mine was never around.

  Neither was my mom.

  Which is why I find it so laughable that everyone is worried about me not having heat.

  Haven’t they ever had to live through a winter without so much as an extra blanket and only your hopes and dreams to get you by?

  Probably not.

  I’ve been living on the edge of this small beach town for a few years now, and sometimes even I forget the struggles I had to endure growing up, the struggles most people will never even come close to experiencing in their lifetime.

  The Daniels family has taken me in like their own to the point that sometimes I forget we’re from two completely different worlds.

  Theirs is full of love and color.

  Mine is full of survival and gray.

  It’s the reason I hate Winston like I do. He’s been handed everything in his life. Everything he’s ever wanted, he’s gotten. Hell, even when his dad has fired him for being a shitbag, he gets his job back.

  Even when he was handed another chance after his accident, he continues to blow it time after time because he can’t be bothered to face life head-on. It’s like he gave up on himself after the wreck.

  Meanwhile I’ve scratched and clawed my way out of hell just to have what I have now: a broken-down car and a shitty apartment—with no heat, apparently. Both are still better than what I used to have.

  Nothing.

  Winston wastes the privileges he has in life, and I’d kill for a leg up.

  I salute Simon. “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Don’t worry, Pops, I stepped up.”

  “That’s a first,” Simon comments.

  Winston’s bravado falters just a bit, but it’s enough for me to notice.

  “And, Wren, just let Foster have his big fancy wedding. Stop trying to courthouse-marry the boy.”

  “See? Even your dad has my back.”

  “Oh, I think you’re stupid as shit for wasting money on a big blowout, but my daughter also needs to learn to…what was it? Calm her tits.”

  Everyone groans, except Simon, who laughs to himself as he walks away.

  “Well, we gotta scram.” Foster wraps an arm around his girl’s waist. “We have a meeting with a financial planner about getting my landscaping business off the ground, and then we have to go pick up Porter from the airport. It’s a busy day.”

  “I can’t believe you’re going to be a business owner. It’s weird seeing you be so…responsible,” Winston remarks.

  “It’s called growing up, Win. You should try it sometime,” Wren tells him.

  I see him clench his jaw, but I can’t say anything. He’s dug his own hole, and now he has to live with the consequences of it.

  “What is this—shit on Winston day?”

  “As long as they aren’t shitting on me anymore. Right, Riker?” I say, tickling him. “As long as they aren’t shitting on Mommy, huh? You do that enough for everyone.”

  He laughs and my heart squeezes at the sound.

  Riker might not have been planned, but he’s the best unexpected gift I’ve ever received. I love my son, and I’d do anything for him.

  Even accept handouts from someone I despise.

  I glance over at Winston and he’s watching me play with Riker, a glint of joy in his eyes. Surprising, because all Winston ever looks is bored.

  “Pardon me,” says Brad, a server here at Slice, as he shoves his way past Wren and Foster. “I have some pie for the lovely new couple.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” Winston groans, tossing his head back. “I do one nice fucking thing for someone and I must be sleeping with them? What the hell is wrong with you people?”

  “S-Sorry,” Brad murmurs. “Simon said you two were together. I-I didn’t realize.”

  Poor Brad.

  “My fucking father…” Winston grumbles. “Just leave the pie and get the fuck out of here.”

  “Winston!” Wren chides. “Thank you, Brad. Sorry about my asshole brother.”

  Brad scurries off before Winston can yell at him again.

  “What are you two doing together today?”

  “Couch shopping,” I tell her, grabbing for a slice of the breakfast pizza Winston apparently ordered for us.

  “Seriously, man? I had to sleep on that fucker for like six months. You sleep on it one goddamn night and you’re running out to buy a new one? The fuck, dude?”

  Winston lifts a shoulder. “That was your shitty decision.”

  “I hate you.”

  “You love me.” He takes a bite of his slice of pizza. “Now let me eat my breakfast in peace.”

  “Real attractive, Win. Mom would be slapping you silly right now if she saw you talking with your mouth full.”

  He winks at her, not caring.

  “Wave bye to your real parents.” I grab Riker’s hand and shake it at Wren.

  “Bye, my sweet boy.” She leans down and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “Good luck with my brother today. Give me a call if you need help burying his body. Foster and I have a contingency plan.”

  “Wow. So much for being my best friend,” Winston complains to Foster.

  “Hey, man, this one gives me orgasms. I can’t say the same for you.”

  Winston blows him a kiss. “Come here. I’ll rock your socks off.”

  “I doubt you could handle all this.”

  Wren rolls her eyes, pulling Foster away. “Come on before you strip each other down and get arrested for public indecency.”

  “You’re just jealous he loves me more than he loves you,” Winston taunts.

  She doesn’t respond to him, but Foster throws his best friend a wink.

  Idiots.

  We’re left alone and hit resume on the silence that played between us during the car ride here.

  I rock Riker’s car seat to keep him entertained and try to scarf down as much food as I can before he inevitably begins to fuss.

  “You know you don’t have to eat like you’re never going to get another meal, right? We can stop for lunch later.”

  As if on cue, Riker cries.

  “Tell that to him.” I pull him from his car seat, rocking him in
one arm and trying to finish my breakfast at the same time, something I’ve gotten pretty good at over the last few months.

  “You ready to head out?” Winston asks once I finish the slice.

  “You mean am I ready to spend the day out and about with you? No, not even close. But since I feel obligated to help you, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  He doesn’t respond to my snark, just slides out of the booth, pulling his leather jacket back over his shoulders and tossing a few bucks down for Brad.

  “I’ll meet you in the car.”

  Slice Four

  Winston

  I can pinpoint the exact moment I started hating Drew Woods.

  When I met her.

  “Are you a virgin?”

  I peel my eyes away from the amazing rack I’ve been admiring for the last few seconds, grinning at the girl glaring back at me. “Excuse me?”

  “Well, you’re staring at my tits like you’re a thirteen-year-old boy who just got his hands on his first nudie mag. So, I repeat: are you a virgin or something? You never seen an actual girl before?”

  “You offering to deflower me if I am?”

  She throws her head back, laughing so hard the perfect tits I’ve been staring at bounce.

  And bounce and bounce and bounce.

  Because she’s still fucking laughing at me.

  “Oh, god. Thank you for that. I really needed a laugh today.”

  “Is the thought of having sex with me that hilarious?”

  She flicks her eyes up and down my body. “I don’t even know you.”

  I stick my hand out. “Winston Daniels. Nice to meet you…” I trail off, waiting for her to provide her name.

  “Daniels? Are you related to Wren?”

  I nod, wondering how she knows my sister.

  “Then Simon is your dad, right?”

  “Yeah…” I draw out. “Who are you again?”

  She places her hand in mine. “I’m Drew Woods. Your dad just hired me for the waitressing position.”

  “What waitressing position? We aren’t hiring.”

  “We are now,” my dad interrupts, appearing behind the bar, arms crossed, eyes hard. “Winston, you’re fired.”

  Mouth agape, I glance back at Drew, who is barely holding back her laughter.

  “Guess I just took your job. Tough luck, virgin.”

  And just like that, I hated her.

  I mean, sure, my dad gave me my job back after two days of begging, but whatever.

  The damage was done.

  It didn’t matter that she had an amazing rack or that her curves were what dreams are made of. It didn’t matter that her sharp tongue made me laugh more than it ever hurt me.

  I hated her because she was everything I always wanted and nothing I could ever touch. She wouldn’t let me get that close; that much was obvious, so I’ve kept my distance. Played into our game of who can hurt who the most. Let everyone think we’re mortal enemies all while I have to talk my dick down any time I’m around her.

  I hate Drew Woods.

  But not because I don’t like her.

  I hate her because I do like her…and she won’t let me have her.

  “There. That should do,” Drew says as she arranges the pillows on the couch for the millionth time.

  I have no idea how they ended up on my bill, but I’d already swiped my card and the last thing I wanted to do was stand there arguing with the salesperson when there was a screaming baby in my ear, especially after we’d already been there for so many damn hours.

  Decorative pillows it is.

  “I’m going to go make us some dinner, if that’s okay.”

  “You don’t have to ask my permission to eat, Drew.”

  “You know, I was going to ask if you wanted me to make enough for two but”—she lifts a shoulder—“go fuck yourself.”

  I bark out a laugh.

  Only she would be brave enough to tell the person helping her to go fuck himself.

  She flounces out of the room, not a care in the world.

  I stare down at the baby sleeping on my brand-new couch, barricaded in with pillows. It’s hard for me to fathom how something so sweet could come out of something so sassy.

  He looks so tiny, his little hands balled into fists as he snoozes away. His cheeks are chubby, and bright red hair peeks out from under the hood of his polar bear jammies.

  Which is odd, because neither his mother nor his shitbag father have red hair.

  I would know. I had my fingers tangled in a fistful of it as I held him off the ground.

  When I found out how he reacted to Drew being pregnant, never coming around and basically calling her a whore and saying the baby wasn’t his behind her back, I didn’t waste any time in hunting his ass down and giving him a piece of my mind…and my fist.

  “Fine.” I snap my eyes Drew’s way as she stomps back into the living room. “I’ll—” She pauses, her attention dropping to the couch. “You can hold him. If you want to, I mean.”

  I scoff. “Hold your gremlin who keeps me up all night with his squawking? Did hell freeze over and I missed it?”

  “He doesn’t even make that much noise,” she argues, not the least bit surprised by me not wanting to hold him.

  I point to myself. “Light sleeper.”

  “Whatever.” She waves her hand. “I’m making you a sandwich. Not because I like you, but because I feel obligated. Hope you like mustard and mayo.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  “Well then tough fucking shit. Dinner will be ready in five. Go wash up.”

  I tap my temple. “I’ll be outside getting my head right.”

  She sighs but doesn’t say anything, heading back into the kitchen as I make my way out the back door.

  I grab my trusty box and lighter and take up my usual spot on the deck.

  Lighting the joint, I inhale, holding the sweet surrender in my lungs as long as I can as I admire the sea that calls to me like a siren. I itch to go inside and grab my camera to capture the waves in their nighttime essence.

  I knew the coast was where I belonged the moment we stepped foot in this town when I was thirteen.

  I’ve been a slave to the waves ever since. They’re my favorite thing to photograph.

  I suppose it’s the one upside to never being able to sleep. Early mornings are my favorite time to catch on film.

  “One turkey sandwich and chips,” Drew says, sliding a plate down the railing.

  “Complete with mayo and mustard?”

  “Maybe a little something extra.”

  I grab the sandwich and take a bite. Chew. Swallow. “Yep, hate and discontent. I can taste it.”

  “Weird. Mine tastes like it was made with love.”

  “You’d never make anything for me with love. Poison, maybe. Love? Never.”

  “I think that’s a fair assessment.”

  She grins at me, and we eat our meal in silence.

  I stare out at the ocean, and she stares at me.

  “What?” I ask when I can’t take it anymore, my skin beginning to crawl.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing never means nothing. What?”

  “I’m just trying to figure out your angle here.”

  I sigh, hating the riddles. “Just tell me what you’re trying to say. I’m in no mood for games.”

  “Why are we here?”

  “Because I invited you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m secretly a nice guy.”

  “Under all that grump? Bullshit.”

  “Can’t you just let it the fuck go and accept it?” I growl.

  “Fine. But I’m still suspicious of you.”

  “Fine.”

  We resume our silence and I light up my joint again, thinking she’ll walk away from the stench of it.

  She stays.

  “It’s beautiful tonight,” she comments.

  “It really is. Wish I had my camera right now, but I’m too lazy to g
o grab it.”

  “You, lazy? Never,” she mocks with just enough bitterness in her tone that I can’t tell if she’s teasing or not. “Do you shoot often?”

  “Every morning.”

  “Seriously?” I don’t have to glance at her to know her brows are probably into her hairline. “You get up every morning and take photos?”

  “Yep.”

  I don’t elaborate, because it’s none of her business what I do in my free time, and because I don’t like sharing my hobby with others.

  She drops it.

  “Does the father ever come around?” I ask, flipping the tables on her as a distraction.

  Pot gives me loose lips, and I’d rather not talk about me and start spilling feelings and shit.

  “Chadwick?” She wrinkles her nose, frowning. “No. I haven’t heard from him since I was three months along. He was half-ass there and then he wasn’t there at all. I didn’t bother trying to get him involved when it was clear he didn’t want to be.”

  “Did he even reach out when Riker was born?” I take another hit, waiting for her answer.

  “Not even a text.”

  “Is that really a bad thing though?”

  She sighs. “I don’t know. I mean, on one hand, I’m glad he’s not around because I’m so fucking angry at him and the way he reacted when I found out I was pregnant. On the other, I want Riker to have a father figure. I didn’t get the chance to grow up with one and look how I turned out.”

  I huff out a laugh, the smoke trailing around us. “Stubborn. Obnoxious. Strong. Independent. Yeah, those are all real shit qualities to have.”

  “I’m sorry, did you just say something nice about me?”

  I point at her. “I called you stubborn and obnoxious too.”

  “Yeah, but you like me.”

  “I tolerate you on a good day.”

  “Uh-huh,” she singsongs. “You like me.”

  I take a long step toward her, and because the deck is so small, I can feel her chest brush against mine as her breaths quicken.

  She looks so small and fragile staring up at me with big, brown eyes. With the moonlight shining down, they almost look like bourbon.

  I fucking love bourbon.

  Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and my eyes trace the movement.