by A. C. Bextor
“Is that an apology?”
“Fuck no.”
“I’ll pass on your apology to him next time I see him.”
“Wasn’t a fuckin’ apology.”
“Didn’t think so.”
I grab the beer sitting between his thighs and he tenses slightly until he sees what I’m doing. I lift it to my mouth slowly, waiting for him to stop me. He doesn’t. Instead, he watches me bring it to my mouth and take a drink. As carefully as I had removed it, I put it back between his legs. He reaches across and roughly wipes the beer foam from my upper lip. I sit in awe as he puts it to his mouth and removes the foam with his tongue.
“Want to watch TV?” I ask, before I start to stand. I feel the desperate need to get out of the room for a few minutes.
“I’d rather watch you, but okay. Just don’t think I’m watching Snapped.”
“Find something you want to watch then. I’m going to change.”
His tone is surprised, if not accusing. “Find something I want to watch? What the fuck is that?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Devon’s made you fuckin’ soft already. That was too easy.”
Bending down toward him, I push him back further into the couch. I clutch his thighs as he waits to see what I’ll do. My arms brace on either side of his head and I tilt my head to the side. “I’m never going to be soft.”
“You’re right,” he answers, grabbing my wrists. If it weren’t for the beer in his lap, I imagine I would’ve ended up in it had he used an ounce more force. “He’s not for you.”
“Who is?” I ask with feigned innocence, walking the fine line of our evolving “friendship.”
“Me.” His answer doesn’t surprise me, but my body warms hearing it stated so plainly. “Go and change back into clothes that I like seeing you in.”
I stand, look down on him and question, “You don’t like me in this?”
His eyes travel up and down my body, exposing me in a sense. The shadow from the television’s light doesn’t offer enough light for me to truly catch his expression.
“The next time you wear clothes like that, I plan to be the one taking them off.”
“Okay,” I say with the little breath that hadn’t escaped me, and I make a move to turn around and walk away.
Forgetting I was going to tell him something earlier, I turn around, look down, and find his eyes on my body.
Every fucking inch of it.
I freeze, his eyes lift to mine, and his intense, hungry look causes brief shivers to run down my back and then scatter throughout the rest of my body.
“I’ll go change,” I say again, this time with more emphasis as I point to my room and start to walk away.
“I’ll find something to watch,” he mumbles while adjusting himself to get comfortable in his seat.
* * *
Travis
This isn’t good.
Not any of it.
What’s worse is that I don’t know what to do about it.
I’m denying myself until she’s ready, and it’s fucking exhausting. Take tonight for instance, when she came out of her bedroom wearing that dress, about to go out on a date with a man I hate, I was pissed.
But I was also jealous. Of him.
She’s finding her own way now and I’m struggling to let her have that for herself. I want her to embrace her freedom, but it leaves me wanting a piece of her I’m not certain I’ll ever have. She’s in denial, but I’m determined. Between the two of us, we’re at a constant give and take, but neither of us is close enough to the end to see how good it can be. Neither of us is sure what the other is fighting for or against.
After Lacey and Raegan left, I called the guys to see if anyone was able to get out for a drink. I needed the distraction. They were busy so I sat around the apartment, listened to music, watched television, and drank.
My mind was with Sarah. Because of this, I’ve agreed to talk to Ellie.
I called Ellie and made plans for dinner Sunday night. She works most weekends and is on call a lot so it makes it difficult to really plan anything around her schedule. From the sound of her acceptance, she was happy to hear from me. I was hesitant to commit to any plans, but I thought about what Lacey had said. It pains me to admit that she was right. Just because I’m not looking to be in a committed relationship with anyone but Sarah, doesn’t mean I should stand in the way of her happiness with whomever she chooses.
I hate this.
“Ready,” I hear Sarah call on her way to the kitchen.
She flips the overhead light on and I hear her behind me grabbing something from the refrigerator. I don’t look back, but try to quickly find something I want to watch. Otherwise she’ll snag the remote and force me to painfully endure one of her ridiculous Goddamn shows.
Sarah’s addiction to the television has lessened, but still, she knows the television schedule like most women know shoes and purses.
“Find anything?” she asks, plopping down next to me with another water for her and a fresh beer for me.
“Nope,” I answer, accepting the bottle from her outstretched hand.
“Worthless,” she calls me as she snatches the remote from my lap and flips it to some ridiculous pop music channel. The screen fills with a reel of photos of Adam Levine and I hear Sarah sigh.
Whatever.
Putting her drink down on the table, she leans into me and rests her head on my shoulder as the volume goes up. The perfume or spritz shit she put on earlier envelopes the area around us.
“I’m tired and my feet hurt from those Goddamn shoes.”
“Tragic,” I respond, not feeling the least bit sorry knowing Dev-fuck got to enjoy watching her legs walk in them.
“It really is. I think I have a blister.”
“Suppose looking hot must be hard on the feet.” I sigh with no emotion.
Sitting up, she drops the remote on the table, turns to me, and gives me her full attention. Her voice sounds almost accusatory. “You called me hot.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Shocking. I used to be cute.”
“You were never that.” I smile because it’s true. There are several words to term Sarah as a child and “cute” isn’t an accurate description.
“Wow. Hater.”
She starts to stand up and I catch what she’s wearing, again.
About a week after Sarah moved in, I noticed some of my shit had come up missing. It started with a pair of jogging pants, then I saw a pair of my boxers in her room. She did laundry, I wasn’t going to question it and even if I did it would surely lead to an argument. It always did.
However, recently she’s moved in on my t-shirts. I don’t normally complain about it, but this one is off limits.
I point to her and narrow my eyes. “My fucking shirt again, damn it.”
Looking down, she smirks as she takes in what she’s picked out of my closet. “Your favorite shirt, I thought. Isn’t it?”
“Yes, damn it! Take it off.” I snap. My AC/DC classic concert t-shirt is off limits to everyone, including Sarah. “Why were you in my room? You’re not supposed to be in there, remember?”
“Take it off?” she repeats my demand and ignores my question. Her hands fall to the hem and she starts to lift it over her head. Her belly button piercing shines in the light of the television as her body twists side to side. “All right, but this may make you uncomfortable.”
Sarah’s choice in clothes always makes me uncomfortable. But Sarah without clothes will fucking kill me if I can’t touch her. Reaching up, I stop her. “Don’t. Stop wearing my shit, Sarah.”
“Is this one your favorite?”
“You know it is.”
“Good. I was nervous it wasn’t,” she says playfully.
Aiming my eyes toward the ceiling, I exhale, trying not to give her what she wants. My frustration. Just as I’m about to focus on the television, Sarah walks to the other end of the couch, lies down, and rests her feet near my l
ap.
“Rub ’em,” she tells me, lifting one foot near my face.
I swat it away. “I’m not rubbin’ your Goddamn feet.”
“Rub ’em,” she repeats.
“Damn it, what’d I say?”
“They hurt!”
“That’ll teach you to go out in hooker heels.”
Her eyebrows furrow and in the barely lit room I see her anger. “Did you just call me a whore?”
“Did you hear me say that?”
“Whatever.”
She turns to rest on her side and situates her hands under her cheek, curling into the fetal position. She’s quiet.
Lifting one of her ankles, I place it on my lap, waiting to see if she refuses. She doesn’t.
Gently, I run my fingers up and down the bottom of her foot, forgetting Sarah isn’t ticklish. My hand moves to her calf and I start to massage the length of it, working my way down to her foot. I admire her perfectly painted toenails and consider how far she’s come since Bean’s death.
She stays quiet and lets me do this for a few minutes. I take turns rubbing her foot and finishing my beer. My hand rests on her leg, and I’m thinking I’m about finished.
“That felt good,” she nearly moans as she closes her eyes. “You’re good at that.”
“I’m good at a lot of things,” I return, setting one foot down and grabbing the other.
“I know what you’re good at,” she jokes, but I don’t find it funny. I stop rubbing and look at her, still focused on the History channel. I don’t say anything for fear of saying the wrong thing. “Sex,” she mumbles through a grin.
“Sarah,” I warn, setting her foot back down on the couch. “Don’t joke about it.”
“Don’t stop rubbing!” she pleads. “I’ll be quiet but don’t stop. It feels really good.”
I stand, stop in front of her, and look down. Her eyes are shining with laughter and I can’t help but return her contagious mood. “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be here.”
“You always are.”
“Rude,” she remarks before I can make it out of the room.
Grabbing my phone from the counter, I check messages before getting another beer.
Hayden 09:52 p.m. Lacey’s putting together game night. She’s invited Ellie and Devon.
Fuck.
10:56 p.m. Great.
I assumed he was sleeping or forcing himself on my sister. It’s wrong to think that’s what he does to her, but the idea of her enjoying what he does to her body sickens me.
His return text is almost immediate.
Hayden 10:57 p.m. I know.
Putting down the phone with a little more force than needed, I walk back to the couch and exhale in hopes of relaxing some. “Sarah?” I call again, finally making it to the couch.
Her eyes are closed and she’s curled into a ball again. Her features are still, which is rare for Sarah. She’s always in constant motion. Just being who she is must wear her out. I know it does me.
After ensuring the door is locked, I shut the kitchen light off, turn off the television, and walk back to the couch. Bending down, I reach under her knees and small waist, lift her carefully and carry her to her room. The nightlight she’s always needed shines in the corner and gives off enough light that I’m able to lay her down in her unmade bed without interruption.
After I have her situated, she opens her eyes and whispers, “Thank you, Trav.”
As I stand above her, my arms at my sides, I feel her hand reach out to touch mine. She holds it and uses her thumb to caress my fingers.
“Thought you were tired?” I ask.
“I am,” she answers, still not letting go of my hand.
“Sleep, Sarah,” I tell her and try to back away. She stops me so I kneel down beside her.
“Devon may be kind of bossy,” she says.
I remind her, “You say I’m bossy.”
“You are,” she confirms, tilting her head to the side as it rests on her pillow.
“Then why be with him when you already live with me?” I joke, but there’s so much truth to my question.
“You know why,” she whispers.
Leaning my face closer to hers, I kiss the side of her mouth. She doesn’t respond, but she also doesn’t pull back and refuse. I let my lips explore the warm skin of her cheek then make their way back to her mouth.
This time she moves, but only to pull me closer.
The hand that was still holding mine moves to the back of my head and Sarah deepens the connection. I feel her mouth open and my tongue slides in slowly and touches hers.
For the briefest moment I remember with aching detail what she felt like under me. For a split second, a hope I haven’t felt in weeks comes to surface.
Maybe Rae was right and if I give her enough space she’ll see what we could have. Maybe she needed time to consider it.
Pulling back, not letting myself take this too far, I look into her face. She looks timid and unsure, which I don’t like.
“I’m gonna go,” I tell her, pulling her arm away from my neck.
She rests her hand on my cheek, sighs, and tells me, “I like when you kiss me.”
“I do, too,” I answer, kissing her forehead and standing up.
I don’t wait for her to stop me because I know she won’t. Instead, I walk to her door and move through it without looking back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Travis
“SO, ELLIE. HOW’S my dear, sweet, cranky-as-hell older brother treating you?” Lacey, my meddling sister, asks from across the table as she sits next to Hayden, who’s holding Liv in his arms. Olivia is crawling all over his chest and shoulders, leaving trails of slobber with every inch she touches. Hayden doesn’t seem to notice or care.
Ellie looks at me, smiles, and winks before answering, “Good. Thanks for letting me crash your party.”
“I’m glad you could stop by,” Rae replies as she situates herself in Ace’s lap at the end of the table.
“Are we playing another round or are we done?” Hayden asks, pulling Olivia away from his body and setting her diapered butt on the table in front of him.
“What do you all want to do?” Marlee asks, standing and gathering the empty beer bottles scattered throughout the table.
Ellie squeezes my arm. “I should go soon. I have to work in the morning, but I’ll play one more.”
Looking at her sitting beside me, I notice she looks different than when we first starting hanging out together. Her makeup is darker, the clothes are more fitted, and her long dark hair is curled. Before, she wore it natural and always threw it up in a ponytail like the others do.
Maybe she’d changed before tonight and I hadn’t noticed. It’s not lost on me that I should be paying more attention. She and I haven’t had sex. She hasn’t pushed and neither have I. We’re friends for the most part, and I do like her, but with everything happening in delayed progression with Sarah, I’m not sure I want to start something with anyone else until I’ve given up completely. Lacey was so sure Ellie and I would be a match when she set up us, but Lacey doesn’t know about Sarah.
“Where’s Sarah?” Ace breaks in, finally realizing after two hours she’s not here.
“Out with Devon,” I answer quickly and am rewarded with chastising looks from the girls. Lacey’s smiling, Rae’s not.
“Ah. I see,” Hayden adds. “She likes him, huh?”
“Yeah¸” Marlee answers. “She does.”
“Never thought I’d see Sarah with one guy for more than five minutes. Bet she’s gotta be a handful to date.” Hayden looks at Ace as he says it. Ace has remained quiet, but brooding with irritation.
“She needs to be careful,” Ace says. “I’d like to see her wait, but Sarah’s never been one to do anything I ever tell her to.”
Lacey stands, runs her hands through Liv’s hair as Hayden holds her on his lap, and asks, “Ellie, you want to help me clear this and we’ll get the guys a fresh beer before the nex
t game?”
Ellie stands, puts her hand on my shoulder and squeezes before leaving the room with Lacey. Raegan has her head resting on Ace’s shoulder as he strokes her thigh near the edge of the table. Toby is playing on his cell phone.
The front door opens and all eyes move to Sarah. “We’re late,” she announces as if we hadn’t already noticed.
“Hey.” Devon nods, smiling until his eyes come to mine and narrow completely.
She’s wearing another short skirt. The small blouse is a button down in front with short sleeves. She’s not wearing a coat and it’s fucking winter. I start to open my mouth to mention it, but don’t bother. Her focus, as usual, isn’t on me.
Devon, wearing a heavy coat, has his hand on her back, pushing her through the door so he can close it behind him.
Hayden stands, putting Olivia on the floor. He moves in to shake Devon’s hand as Sarah puts her purse down. Hayden’s attempts at small talk continue as Sarah looks around the room for the others.
Toby is still ignoring the rest of us, concentrating on his phone.
Ace remains seated and watches Devon carefully. Ace isn’t a fan of Devon either, and he’s making no move to go out of his way to be friendly. He nods and I can tell by his body’s jerky movements his knee is bouncing underneath the table.
There’s nowhere specific to sit, so they remain standing, hand in hand, at the front door. Devon doesn’t fit in. His labeled clothes and designer shoes don’t belong here.
I hear the girls’ chatter get closer as they come in from the kitchen. Raegan walks by and runs her fingers through my hair before she sets another beer in front of me. Sarah spots it, along with the empty glass and chair beside me, and gives me a blank expression.
Marlee rushes to Toby, grabs his phone and drops it on the floor next to him. He opens his lap for her to sit without complaining about what she’s done. Toby is so fucking easy; rarely an opinionated word or reference said. Marlee and his kids are all he needs to keep him happy.
Ace adjusts in his chair and pulls Rae in to him as she tries to remain standing at his side.
Ellie comes up from behind where I’m seated, bends to kiss my cheek, and then takes her seat next to me. I watch as Sarah and Ellie assess each other carefully.
