by Bijou Hunter
I notice Mom and Pop quietly arguing in the front hall. She’s clearly telling him to back off while he’s clearly telling her to let him handle shit. I think she uses the word “misogyny” at one point and he might respond with the term “man’s work.”
Despite the topic of their argument, I sense Dash is right about why they’re so tense. They need to get away from Ellsberg, the Reapers, and their kiddos. My parents are so wrapped up in controlling everything in this town that they’ve forgotten to be a couple. They’re Cooper and Farah rather than Coopah—the name Raven gave them years ago during a period where my parents behaved at a—as described to me by witnesses—nuclear-level of frisky.
I can’t discuss relations with my parents because of my sensitive gag reflex and easily triggered blushing. I certainly don’t want them to ask personal questions about my long, illustrious relationship with Dash. I know Mom will grill me eventually, and I could tell how much she wanted to ask a million questions last night.
Lovemaking chats aren’t in the cards, which is a-okay by me. My only focus is taking care of Dash who can’t hide his pain. I decide he needs to chill with a joint out back. Pop says I shouldn’t go outside.
“It’s cold,” he insists.
Poor Pop gets laughed at hard by MJ and Quaid first. I don’t want to join in but the way he says, “it’s cold” is so bizarre. I mean, I’m an adult, but he can’t help treating me as if I’m back in diapers.
After we step outside, Dash leans closer to me and whispers, “His loins are making him crazy.”
MJ walks past us onto the deck. “Pop, I opened the door, and there’s a weird sensation on my skin. What is that called? What am I feeling?” she asks while spinning around on the back deck. “It’s like heat but different.”
Quaid runs outside to kiss his laughing wife. They’re having a ball at Pop’s expense, and he only encourages their laughter when he storms out of the room. Mom even laughs at his overreaction. The only one not laughing is Sissy who likely fears my pop’s anger. She knows he isn’t Topher, but she’s been smacked around by too many angry men for her not to fear them all. I wink at her, hoping she’ll relax. She only watches me, remaining unsure until I give up and focus on Dash.
“Chilling in the chilly weather,” he says after taking a hit from his joint. “I’m living in a funky dreamland where Cooper Johansson opens his home to the Mullen mutts like a Christmas fucking miracle.”
Laughing, I reach for his scarf—one I knitted years ago—and wrap the fabric around him. “You’re so stoned.”
“Yeah, but I’m alive, and you’re alive, and there’s nothing better than that,” he says and kisses me. The heat of his lips nearly wipes away my common sense until I find myself wishing we were naked. Only when MJ squeaks nearby do I wake up enough to remember we aren’t alone and Dash is sporting a very fresh knife wound.
“Our baby kicked!” MJ announces with Quaid’s hand on her belly. “My little boy, Pancake, is moving around.”
Pop appears at the back door long enough to shake his head. “No Pancake.”
“Cheetah is it!” MJ cries and heads for the door. “Sorry, Lily, but my baby is freezing, so we’re ditching you. Oh, crap, we can name the baby, Popsicle!”
Quaid nods as if she’s onto something very special. I can’t believe he’d be willing to name his child Popsicle. In fact, I’m reasonably certain she’s faking the “Cheetah” thing too. After all, my sister was very picky about her own name. I can’t imagine she’d choose a horrible one for her baby.
Pop, though, complains to Mom about his grandchild’s possible name. She tells him to settle down, and I’m again struck by how old and cranky they sound.
Maybe I need to have that lovemaking talk after all.
THE LOSER
Surreal doesn’t adequately describe how I feel about hanging out in the Johansson house. As a kid, I viewed this place as where the bad guys lived. As a teen, I was more interested in the hot chick who lived in the bad guys’ house. Once I loved Lily, I imagined her home as soft and sweet like her. How many nights did I dream of her in this place, smiling easily and hugging often? Her family felt too good to be true, so I’m a little relieved to hear them bicker. Perfect people gross me out.
“I don’t understand,” MJ tells her brother.
“You never understand.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
Colton narrows his eyes and glares hard at his big sister. She doesn’t react to his hostile expression, and he finally walks away. Colton ends up sitting next to Sissy. He whispers something to her, and she responds with, “I don’t get it.”
Moving again, he sits near his mother who immediately uses him as a pillow to lean against. “Just let me rest my eyes,” she says and wraps herself in a plush blanket.
Colton smiles at first until realizing he can’t escape. His gaze travels along the room, finding snickering sisters before he focuses on me.
“Comfy, Farmer Ted?” he growls at me.
Wrapping my arm tighter around Lily, I nod. “Yeah, I am, Meathead.”
“I’d rather have a head made of meat than to be a farmer named Ted.”
“That Ted kid did well for himself in ‘Sixteen Candles.’ He got Molly Ringwald’s panties, bonded with the cool jock, and hooked up with the hottest chick in school. I can think of worse things than to be that guy,” I say while my fingers twirl his sister’s hair.
“I still think Meathead isn’t much of an insult.”
“Fine, I’ll call you Tofu-head.”
Lily bursts into laughter and points at her brother.
“Don’t make me wipe snot on you,” Colton threatens.
MJ sits up from her spot next to Quaid. “I don’t understand.”
“Mom, they’re getting on my nerves.”
“I’m resting, Colt. Just ignore them.”
“I can’t. There are two of them, and they brought their men into battle.”
“Then find yourself a woman and then get an ally with a woman, and you’ll be even.”
“I don’t need allies.”
“Is that because you can’t make friends?” MJ asks. “I can’t make friends either. People don’t interest me. Well, Quaid does,” she says and turns to her husband. “Only him.”
“Gross, get a room,” Colton spits out.
MJ stands up and reaches for Quaid’s hand. “We have a room, and we shall go get to it in it.”
Colton rolls his eyes, but he quiets down while Lily and I snicker at his irritation.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Lily whispers to me once Sissy decides to make Colton’s life worse by asking to watch a Disney movie. “It was my dream to stop hiding, and it’s finally happened.”
“Because of you and our mutt.”
Lily’s hand reflexively goes to her stomach, and I’m struck by the urge to keep her here forever. Not because I feel comfortable in her parents’ house, but she’s protected in a way that she can’t be anywhere else. We’re off the highway, away from town. No one can walk up and attack like they could at the duplex. Topher or one of the Roche roaches could knock on her door and take a shot before she ever answers.
“Maybe you should quit your job and work for the family,” I murmur against her forehead as she nuzzles my throat.
Lily’s head pops up immediately, nearly knocking us both all kinds of fucked up. “I don’t want to work for the family.”
“You’ve never pretended as if your job was anything except temporary.”
“It pays well.”
“Not really. It’s like thirty grand a year plus benefits. I make more than that selling pot and booze to college kids.”
“So my job is shit?” she snaps, switching to Delta on a dime.
“According to you, yeah, baby, it is.”
I catch sight of Farah looking ready to speak up and throw a chamomile-flavored chill on our argument. Before she can work her magic, Cooper appears of out of fucking nowhere–seriously w
as he hiding behind the curtains—to gesture for his wife to hush. He sees a chance to win his earlier argument by letting me do the heavy lifting.
“I’m not quitting my job,” Lily insists.
“Then don’t, but you’re making big moves with the baby and outing yourself to your parents. Not to mention you probably killed your long-time stalker. Why not keep making changes to improve your life?”
“I like my job.”
Cupping her jaw, I soften my tone. “All right, baby.”
“Don’t ‘all right’ me.”
“But I can still ‘baby’ you, right?”
Lily glowers with irritation, but she’s dying to laugh. I can see her struggling to remain angry.
“Work at the pharmacy or for your family or do something completely different,” I murmur as my thumb caresses her plump lips. “I don’t care what you do or how much you make. I just want you to keep growing because I think you stopped at some point and I feel like that was partly because of me. Don’t make me the guy who holds you back.”
“You never do,” Lily says instantly, forever wanting to protect my feelings.
“Such a liar.”
“I push myself because of you.”
“Good then push yourself to do more than a job as a pharmacy tech when you’re capable of doing so much more.”
“Like what?”
“I have no idea.”
“Neither do I and that’s the problem.”
Nuzzling her cheek, I whisper, “Just be open to opportunities as they come.”
Lily can’t remain upset with me. I’m in pain, and she’s a kindhearted gal. Besides, deep, deep down inside, she knows the pharmacy is a boredom prison. There’s no upward momentum, not that she’d be challenged by managing one of the many Johansson businesses. I’m not a guy to help her pick a perfect job. My big career choice was to obey Topher. If the fucker died tomorrow, I wouldn’t know how to do anything differently. I’m a follower, a stoned sheep baa-ing my way through life. Lily, though, is capable of so much more. Sooner or later, she’ll click with something that stimulates with both her Lily and Delta sides.
THE PRINCESS
The first night Dash sleeps over at my parents’ place isn’t as pleasant as I hoped. Pop remains fussy all evening. Mom mostly focuses on Sissy and the kiddos because she knows how to take care of people and they need taking care of. Colton lingers around the edges of conversations, but he isn’t thrilled to have Mullens in his house. MJ disappears at one point and doesn’t return. Finally, everyone starts talking about heading to bed, and that’s where things get very complicated.
Sissy, Haydee, and Hart return to MJ’s room where they bunked the night before. They seem as relaxed as possible considering their current influx situation. Still, they’re not the problem.
Dash versus the staircase is the real dilemma. He needs a few minutes for each step he takes. I stand with him, patiently waiting despite somehow believing things would be easier at my place. I think mostly I believe my couch is more comfortable than Mom and Pop’s couch.
After fifteen minutes of working his way up the staircase, Dash turns to me and sighs. “I think I’ll just have to sleep here for the night. Go on without me before it’s too late. Tell our mutt I died doing what I loved. You know, trying to get up the stairs.”
Sitting on the step, he holds his head in his hands, and he’s just done. I want so desperately to speechify about how he should be at the hospital, and he pushed his body too hard by going with Pop to meet Bobby Bo. I have a long list of gripes to share, but I bite my tongue and just smile patiently in the way my mom does when she’s at her most mom-like.
“Take your time.”
“Yes, but once I’m upstairs, I’ll need to come back down eventually and then I have to go back up. Fucking hell, who came up with stairs anyway?”
“Nazis,” Colton mutters. “They have their hands in all that’s evil. Hydra too.”
“Thanks,” I tell my brother.
“Hey, I’m only trying to help,” he says, grinning from his spot on the arm of the couch.
“Why don’t you help figure out a way to get Dash upstairs?”
“I guess I could carry the little hippie freak.”
“Dude,” Dash mutters, “the only way I want you carrying me is if you put a ring on it first. Then feel free to carry me over the threshold to our wedding bliss.”
“I didn’t understand anything you just said.”
Rolling my eyes, I answer, “He said, ‘No, thank you.’”
“You know, I try to help out, but people always tell me no,” Colton says, throwing up his hands and storming off to his room like a nonplussed pubescent.
“He’s fun,” Dash says behind his hands.
I squat in front of him and whisper, “Look, baby, I know you are in a world of pain, and I know that you probably have no interest in playing with my milk jugs, but I will strip down and do whatever you want if you can get your ass up these stairs.”
Dash looks up from his hands and gives me an exhausted smile. “Oh, Lil, you know I’d never deny your maids a milking.”
Unsteady and cursing under his breath the entire way up, Dash conquers the stairs. He then shuffles to my room and feels me up for maybe a minute in bed before dozing off when I try to change positions. I’m honestly relieved to have lovemaking off the schedule considering I’m not sure how to pleasure him without hurting his back wound.
I cover Dash in my old quilted blanket and cuddle next to him. My room isn’t particularly welcoming after I moved everything to my new place. Still, I sleep well, just knowing Dash is near. If he needs me, I’m here. If I need him, he’ll likely sleep through much of it, but I still feel better to have him with me.
Dash wakes twice in pain. Both times, a joint settles him back down. I use my body to help steady his shaking until he’s relaxed enough to sleep again. We don’t speak all night. Not until I wake from a nightmare. Then Dash reaches across me, wraps me closer, says killing Rudy was a good thing, and returns to sleep.
“Hell yeah, it was,” I mumble, shaking at the memory of Rudy killing Dash in the dream. “Better him than you.”
Sleep pulls at me quickly despite my nightmare. I suspect hormones are behind my comfortable slumber. My first trimester has been smooth sailing except for a few unnecessary hysterics. Fatigue is the only symptom I felt from the beginning and continues to linger. Tonight, it acts as a godsend.
Dash is awake when I open my eyes to find a cloudy morning. I watch him for a few minutes as he stares out my old bedroom window. His jaw clenches repeatedly, and I notice his fingers curled into a fist. What is he thinking about that pisses him off so much? Is it me? No, probably not, but I feel like crying anyway.
“Bad morning, baby?” he asks when I sniffle next to him. “Is it because I passed out last night before I could properly molest you?”
“Well, that didn’t help my mood.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs and cups my left breast. “I’d love to fuck you stupid, but it turns out my back muscles are necessary for that. Who knew, huh?”
“Are you upset about how this week turned out?”
“I wish I hadn’t been stabbed in the back. You mean like that?”
“Do you regret stepping in the way with Topher?”
“No, but I regret him not missing me completely and stabbing himself instead.”
Laughing, I gesture for him to turn over so I can check his bandage. Dash moves as slow as an old man but finally gets comfortable. I carefully pull back the dressing to find a pink line with angry black stitches lacing it.
“I’m no medical expert, but I think it looks okay. Not infected anyway. How do you feel?”
“I’m not sure you want to know.”
Once he’s situated in a comfortable sitting position, I straddle him and take his face in my hands. He tries to move his lips away while mumbling about stinky breath. I don’t care if he tastes like a dumpster. I need him wrapped against m
e as tightly as he can tolerate. Yesterday, I woke up terrified I’d lose him. Until he’s healthy and fucking me like an angry pirate, I want to attach myself to him.
Dash hesitates at first. He fears pain and my reaction to his suffering. Once my lips suck at his throat, he forgets about his injury long enough to slide his hands inside my nightgown.
“Whoa, this is the biggest mistake,” he moans as his manhood presses between my legs with only his sweatpants keeping us apart.
“I’ll do all the work,” I whisper against his throat. “You just give me access to your pirate flag.”
“Arr,” he groans when I reach into the sweatpants to find him willing and able. “Lily, I don’t know.”
I tug my nightgown over my head and rest upon my knees, so his face is trapped between my milkmaids. Rubbing my mounds against his bearded jaw, I’m so beyond ready to be ravished that I finger myself without thinking.
Dash grips my hips, steadying me long enough to suck my left nipple into his mouth.
“Arr,” I groan before giving him the right nipple. “Just a little sucky before I need you inside me.”
Dash presses my breasts together and runs his tongue over the erect nipples. “Don’t rush me, baby,” he says, staring up at me with his gray eyes.
“This foreplay feels unnecessary. I am ready to sit on your flag and fly it high.”
“I don’t think that means what you think it does,” he teases before popping his manhood from the sweatpants. “I’m ready when you are, baby.”
I ease down on his erection and exhale loudly. Leaning my head back, I enjoy the feel of him deep inside my body. I begin to move my hips and lean forward to kiss Dash gently.
“Tell me if I’m too rough,” I murmur as my body tightens around his.
“Hush, baby.”
Smiling, I move my hips slowly, dipping down to take every inch I can fit. Dash closes his eyes, resting his head back against the wall while his fingers roll my nipples.
No hurry. No rush. No one except us. We move at a leisurely pace, enjoying every stroke of him inside me. I feel my stomach tightening, and an orgasm threatens to ruin our quiet lovemaking. Holding it off as long as possible, I don’t want anything to destroy the perfection of Dash and me safe and warm today.
