Garrett: Been doing good, missin’ you.
Of course.
Rolling my eyes, I take a deep breath. His response snaps me out of feeling sad for him over Dudley.
Missing me? If he really missed me, he would’ve texted me days ago. I would’ve heard something from him by now— anything. Even an invite for another night on the trampoline if he’d enjoyed it even a fraction of what I had.
But whatever. I’ll find the memento and deliver it to him so I can be done, so I can push my guilt aside and move on from desiring my friend in unhealthy ways. Because that’s what we’d always been— friends. And at this rate, that’s what we will continue to be. I tap the flashlight function on my phone which streams the place with a bright, blue-hued light. Looking around, the childhood memories immediately flood me, and my eyes start to burn with a lingering sorrow I thought I’d be able to ignore.
Without seeing it, I can sense the overturned crate in the corner of the treehouse with the three cheer trophies on top. The trophies had been ones Lydia, Kate, and I won before she died. It was our last competition together, and the thought drops a boulder down my stomach. We brought the trophies up that weekend to stash them until our next win. “We won them together, so we keep them together,” Lydia had said. She thought it was only right.
Lydia died that summer before we ever made it to another competition, and I never tried out for cheer again. Kate always hated me for that, but I just couldn’t find it in myself to get over the morbidity of it. Avoiding cheer was the only way I could cope.
Shielding my eyes from the rest of the place, I head straight for the wooden trunk to the side of the treehouse by the only window in the place. The raindrops outside hit the roof harder now in a hypnotic rhythm. I kneel in front of the trunk to lift the lid, and there he is. The little guy I journeyed up here for staring me right in the face. Grabbing him, I press him to my cheek. He’s still soft and squishy and smells like seventh grade— wood and cheap lavender with a hint of sweetness. I shove him down the front of my shirt, and take one last glance around the treehouse before vowing to never return.
Rain is still pounding down as I drive to Garrett’s. The drops on the windshield splatter outward like squashed bugs, and with no umbrella or raincoat, I jump out of the car with my canvas tote in tow and race up the front path of his yard to his covered stoop.
Maybe I should have called first, but at this point, will it really matter?
Nerves overtaking me, I chew on my lower lip and ring the doorbell. As I wait, I’m suddenly aware at just how soaked I am. My blue bra has probably bled through my tank top, my hair nearly sopping wet, and my Keds covered in forest mud.
Seconds later, the door swings open revealing a very curious Garrett wearing dark athletic shorts and a t-shirt. He eyes me up and down “Surprise visits now, huh?”
His lack of enthusiasm sends me stepping backward. “I brought you something,” I admit sheepishly. I can feel my cheeks flooding with a red hot heat, and I want to disappear. It was an awful idea to show up here, especially looking like this.
“Oh, yeah?” Devilish thoughts dance across the green of his eyes. “What kind of something?”
“Not like that, you pervert.” I swat at him and hold my bag out to him.
“Okay, well. You gonna come in out of the rain or what?” Taking the bag from me, he steps aside, ushering me in after I kick my soaked shoes off at his door.
The cold breeze from his air conditioner instantly freezes me setting me off into tiny waves of shivers. Nerves still clawing at me, I feel as if I could probably vomit from my stupid plan of showing up unannounced. What am I even doing here? Grabbing the bag back from him, I toss it onto his couch to get rid of the evidence of my feelings for him.
“Shit, Gator. Is it mine or not?”
“No. Yes. Of course, it’s yours, I just— I mean, I know it’s not a replacement.” My stomach swirls with angst. “You’ll probably think it’s stupid,” I say, plucking the old stuffed animal out of the bag. It’s worn with time and has clearly been loved over the years. It resembles a fox, not exactly what Dudley had looked like, but he’s more of an orange, fluffy cartoon-grade fox.
“What in the world,” he mutters under his breath. With an odd, gingerly grasp, Garrett takes the stuffed animal from me and looks it over. “It’s a fox.”
I want to sink into the floorboards. “It was mine when I was little. Thought maybe you’d like to have it.” Because I’m an idiot, I refrain from saying. “He’s a little more domesticated than Dudley ever was, but you know.”
I hold my breath tight as Garrett flips the stuffed animal every which way, inspecting the stitches and coloring. He taps on the dark plastic eyes. I can feel myself growing pale until his lips slowly curl into a smile.
“Wow. Thank you.” He hugs it to himself, something that seems like feigned interest but then he works at positioning the fox on the back of the couch to face the television, and I can’t help but think he might actually like the creature. “Reckon’ this might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever given me.”
Relieved, my breath leaves me in a wicked rush, and I feel my heart soften at his gratitude. “I was worried you’d hate it.”
“What?” He looks taken aback by my admission. “Why would I?”
“Not sure.” I lift my shoulders in a lazy shrug, “It’s kind of sentimental is all. That’s not really your thing.”
“Well.” Grabbing the fox from the back of the couch, he settles it atop the coffee table, pushing it’s frayed tail under a magazine to balance it from falling over. “That’s better, front and center. Dudley would have loved it.”
“You know, since you’re not really into cats,” I say, sidling up to him, “you could always get a dog to keep you from being so lonely.”
He clears his throat. “Who said I’m lonely?”
Not meaning to offend him, I shrug. “It’s just the vibe you give off.”
“Well I ain’t lonely.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice sounding small.
“A dog, huh?” He sighs, bringing a hand down his face. “That’s a terrible idea.”
“Why?”
“I’m never home. I work all the time.”
“There are dog sitters,” I say, grabbing my canvas tote and zipping it up.
He scoffs. “Should I take the dog to daycare, too?”
“Hey, those exist,” I snap far too harshly for the topic at hand. But the moment Garrett draws near me with a sharp expression, my tongue lays silenced. His eyes smolder as he looks down at me, and for the first time, I find myself waiting for him to be the first to speak.
“I want to know what makes you think I’m so lonely,” he says low, his eyes boring into me.
Shrugging again, I take a step back from him for some space. What a dumb thing for me to insinuate, that someone like Garrett could possibly be lonely. Even if he was lonely, he’d have texted me, called, or something.
“You heard from Kate lately?” I ask changing the subject. I lick my lips, then having gone dry from all the tension between us.
He furrows his brow. “Would you be mad if I had?”
Blinking at him blankly, I imagine how a personal conversation between Kate and Garrett would play out and decide there’d be no passion, not like he and I share.
He shakes his head as if erasing his last question and steps toward me, closing in on the space I’d given us. “Goddamnit, Rachel.”
His sudden snap and the pained tone of his voice pulls at my heart. “What’s wrong?”
Staring at me for a moment, he shakes his head and shrugs. “I can’t stop thinkin’ about you.”
I lick my lips and take in a deep breath, his confession shocking me. “What do you mean?”
“I mean just that. No matter what I end up doing, you’re on my mind. At work, driving home, watching tv, before bed. Can’t get you out of there,” he says, pressing a knuckle to his temple. “Always on my mind.”
The admission sets my heart to fluttering. But I have too many years of caution and worry built up to let it drive me instantly forward. “On your mind in what way?” I whisper, testing him.
His lips flatten with a myriad of thoughts that I can see drifting through the depths of his eyes. He isn’t letting me in, not giving me a single piece of his soul today until his hand slides behind my neck. Bringing his head down, I feel the heat of his breath on my face causing me to shiver.
“This way,” he whispers right before capturing my lips with impassioned intensity. There is something desperate about his kiss today. The sweep of his tongue that aims to taste every inch of my lips, and the weakening of my knees that lets him push me backward toward the couch. At the last second, I grab hold of his thick wrists and swing him around, forcing him to take a seat.
Overtop his lap, I straddle him and kiss him back with the same burning heat I’d felt for him ever since our first night up on the golf course three years ago. The same passion I’d been too afraid to fully show him.
“Are you cold?” he asks, pressing his warm lips to my cheek. When I shake my head in defiance, he slides his hands up and down my sides and hips, drinking in every curve of me with the touch of his fingers. It’s a warmth I love, and even though it’s a lie, I pull my soaked tank top off over my head.
Looking back at him, his eyes burn with desire. This makes me want more from him, and despite my mind screaming at me not to do this, I’m hungrier for him than I’ve ever been— even trampoline night. I slip out of my jean shorts, but I’m still not satisfied. Hopping up to my feet, I give Garrett no hesitation as I unclasp my bra and shimmy out of my wet panties.
Standing there in front of him, I feel like a Goddess, his eyes raking over the curves of my form. I’m suddenly aware just how chilled I am, as my hands brush over my own nipples and they’re hard as pebbles.
Garrett reaches for my hand and pulls me back down atop him with another crash of heated lips, and the first feel of my body pressed against his warms me like a blanket. He’s intoxicating, and already, I’m addicted.
“Lay back for me,” he murmurs.
My cheeks go deep red as I glance at him, unsure of what he’s wanting from me.
“You trust me, Rach?”
Nodding, I hesitate because he hadn’t called me Gator. There’s something far more intimate about him using my real name.
“I want to make you feel good,” he says, kissing my kneecap.
Lying back, I watch him crawl his way down between the V in my legs, and I’m instantly robbed of the chill I’d felt earlier. All I begin to feel is an overwhelming heat flooding every inch of my body.
He laps his tongue against me for the first time, and though it’s only the smallest of caresses, I whimper in an unstifled moan causing him to slide his hands under my rear. Within minutes, his swirling tongue pushes me to heights I hadn’t known existed. It’s an honest struggle to keep my legs from collapsing around his head under all my pleasure, but he pushes down against my inner thighs to halt my temptation.
My legs tremble at his touch long before I feel myself start to climb toward the peak of release. I can feel it building, molding itself into a fresh tower of ecstasy, and I can’t help but curl my fingers deep into his hair, aiming to find some part of him to be my anchor for the storm brewing inside me. I moan louder with every slip of his tongue against my sensitive nub as my pleasure intensifies. I’m not sure how much more of this I’ll be able to take until the pattern and rhythm he’s playing with his tongue sends me soaring. “Oh my God,” I moan, on the verge of what can only be tears of overwhelm.
Grasping at his back, I can’t help but think that one orgasm is all he’ll get from me. But the sensitivity continues growing, lifting me higher, and soon I find myself floating to another peak of ecstasy. The desperate groan that escapes my lips is capped by me crying out in abject pleasure. Every nerve in my body tumbles over the edge and my body wracks with pulsating muscles I’ve never felt before.
But I swear I can feel Garrett grinning against me, his tongue still reaching out and sliding against that sensitive nub. Even the softest touch feels like a dangerous spreading of wildfire within me.
“Garrett, I can’t,” I say, breathless and without energy as my body completely gives in from the exertion of such explosive spasms.
Sitting up, he sweeps his tongue over his damp lips and smirks down at me.
With no words, I blink at him several times, my mouth still agape. I shake my head.
“You’re cute,” he says, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Would’ve done that for you sooner had I known you’d react like that.” He sits up, still fully clothed, and drapes my bare legs across his lap.
I watch him intently as the pad of his thumb drifts along the soft skin of my inner thigh. Somehow he seems totally taken with this simple motion, his thumb tracing me up and down.
“Don’t you want me to—”
“It’s fine,” he says with a smile. And usually I would think him saying such a thing is a lie. But there’s something close to satisfaction in his tone that makes me believe him.
“Are you sure?” I feel a little guilty that he’s just done all this without expecting anything in return.
He chuckles, and I’m convinced that the smile he casts could light up a thousand dark rooms. “Of course I’m sure. I just want to make you feel good, Rach. And if that ain’t a satisfied face,” he says, smiling at me, “I don’t know what is.”
I shiver at the name again, my name. A name he’s been using a little too freely lately. And whether he’d really pleasured me so deeply because he wanted me to feel good or merely for the pride of it, I can’t say. But I smile back at him and close my eyes. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“Are you still cold?” He runs a palm down my shin. “I can feel your goosebumps.”
Nodding, another chill runs down me.
“Come here,” he says, patting his chest.
I climb my way up the couch overtop of Garrett as he pulls a quilt from the back of the sofa wrapping us in it. I can feel him kiss the top of my hair that’s still damp as I nestle into him. I drape my arm over his chest and sink into his warmth. It feels odd to be so perfectly comfortable lying naked next to him, but the familiarity of his body next to mine has me thinking I could get used to this as my eyes drift shut.
He caresses my arm and hip underneath the quilt, slowly dragging his fingertips up and down me which lulls me into a pacifying kind of calm I haven’t felt with anyone before.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about something,” he says, his voice trailing off.
Through my exhaustion, I manage to look up at him. “Hm?”
Smiling, his lips begin to part several times before he waves off his attempted explanation.
“Garrett, what is it?” I press, my words nearly slurred from having been drained of all my energy.
“Really, it’s nothing,” he says, his voice soft and soothing. “You gettin’ sleepy?”
My head now resting against his chest, I nod. Listening to the sounds of his body, I rise and fall with his deep and steady breaths.
“I’ll tell you when the time’s right,” I hear him mutter right before I drift off into a peaceful sleep.
Chapter Ten
My hands are covered in foamy dog shampoo when my phone rings from the shelf behind me. The sparky shih tzu I’m bathing, adorably named Beatle, has been a nightmare and a half this afternoon and starts growling at the third ring of my phone. Fighting me, she yaps at my cell until it finally stops ringing. “Calm down, girl,” I say, holding her firm.
I’ve been coming to this condo by my old high school twice a month every summer to groom Beatle. She looks quite like a white and brown spotted teddy bear. But soaked in water, she reminds me more of a squirming rodent. Before encountering her, never once had I considered disliking a dog. But the constant snapping of her jaw at me makes me feel a lot less guilty for the few times I’ve tho
ught it.
I’m nearly finished rinsing her, but the rascal hops up on her hind legs and attempts to nip at my fingers. Trying to leap out of the wash pan, she splashes warm, soapy water all down the front of me. Big dogs I can handle any day. It’s the small ones that always seem to give me the most trouble.
Setting off her voracious little howl, my phone starts ringing again. The sound of her whining adds to my aggravation, so in a hurry, I rinse the last of the shampoo off of the dog. Snatching my phone from behind me with wet hands, I answer the call without even looking at the screen.
“Hello?”
Taking the only moment of uncontrolled action I’d allowed her during her bath, Beatle shakes her entire body dousing me in tea tree-scented water.
“It’s me,” the voice says, irritated and rushed. I immediately recognize it to be Franklin.
“Hi, can’t really talk,” I say, pushing down on Beatle’s behind to get her to sit. “I’m at work.”
He should know this. It’s a rare day that I hear from him anyway, but for him to call me when we should both be on the clock is pretty unheard of these days.
Ignoring my rush to hang up, he clears his throat “Did you hear about dad?”
“No,” I say, grabbing the medium comb from the cabinet above me and taking it to a few of Beatle’s knots. “What about him?”
His voice goes stoic for a second until he sighs.
In the wake of his silence, all I can imagine is a car crash or a stroke, some sort of accident toeing the line of horrific. The idea of having to drop Beatle and race to the emergency room settles down into my stomach. Rousing my brother from his silence, my voice grows two shades of panic now. “Franklin, what’s wrong?
“Seriously? Dad didn’t tell you?”
“Jesus, Frank. Tell me what?” Beatle is wriggling in my hands as I carry her over to the drying station.
“Dad decided to get rid of the brewery.”
I scoff. “He’s been trying to unload it for years, Frank. Of course he’s getting rid of it.”
All the Wild Ways: A Friends to Lovers Romance Page 7
