Gibson Boys Box Set
Page 35
“What?” he asks, catching me check him out. “Do I have cookie on my face?”
“No,” I laugh. “I was just wondering why you took me to your grandma’s.”
He shrugs like he hadn’t thought about it.
“Were you trying to convince her of your heterosexuality?” I tease.
“No. Clearly Nana loves me for whomever I choose to be.”
“Lucky for you.”
His lips part into a slow smile. “This night didn’t go as planned, did it?”
“Ha.” Taking a deep breath, I blow it out into the night. “It didn’t go as planned, but is it weird that I’m happy about how it turned out?”
“You are, are you?”
“I don’t think Jonah was for me,” I wince, making him laugh. “It makes me wonder what Whitney was thinking. I mean, he ordered a veggie burger.”
Lance cracks up, his hand dropping to his thigh. My eyes follow it as his fingers press lightly into his leg. The muscles in his forearm flex and I want to ask him if he lifts weights or plays basketball a lot or is just one of those people that wakes up sexy. But I don’t. It’s too dangerous. For me.
“So that was a blind date?” he asks. “You didn’t pick him out of a line-up or something?”
“Um, no. My friend hooked us up. He was cute and I think he’s probably smart if I could have gotten him to open up or something,” I shrug. “But he’s really not what I go for in a man.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere …”
“Really?” I giggle. “Where’s that?”
“What does Ms. Mariah Malarkey look for in a man?”
My mouth hangs open, but no words come out. My first reaction is to babble off hair color or nice teeth, but is that what I look for in a man?
“Cat got your tongue?” he asks.
“You know, I’m not sure what my type is.”
“How can you not know that?” He takes his eyes off the road to look at me. “Don’t women sit around and analyze it?”
“Not this woman. I haven’t ever thought about it. It’s harder to answer than you think.”
He gives me a look that says I’m crazy, so I turn the tables.
“What’s your type, Mr. Gibson?”
His response is instantaneous. “Big ass. Tight pussy. Nice lips.”
My scoff isn’t supposed to be heard. It’s supposed to stay tucked inside the judgmental sector of my brain while I play it off like his response is expected. Because it is. This is verbatim what I expected him to say.
What I didn’t expect is how my heart kind of tugged when he said it.
“What?” he pushes when I don’t say anything. “I’m being honest.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“When you’re fucking someone, nothing else really matters. Sure, I appreciate good breath and no gag reflex but I’m not picky.”
The song switches to something a little faster temp. I turn it off. He lifts a brow, but doesn’t comment.
My eyes drift closed. Fighting my brain to keep from overanalyzing every word I’ve said tonight, I try to just breathe in Lance’s cologne and enjoy the little bubble I’m in. It’s like the world isn’t here. It’s similar to how I feel when I read an amazing book, only this is real. At least for a little while it is.
How long I sit like that and ponder, I don’t know, but Lance’s hand brushing my cheek is what pulls me back to the car.
My lashes open to see him watching me with a concerned look etched on his features.
“I didn’t offend you somehow, did I?” he asks quietly. He clenches the steering wheel, his forearm flexing.
“No, of course not.” Shifting in my seat, wishing the warmth of his hand was back on my cheek again, I smile. “Why would I be offended?”
“I don’t know. You just got all quiet on me.”
“I was just relaxing,” I shrug. “And thinking. I figured out my type.”
“And?”
“He’s loyal. That’s the most important thing. And smart, someone who likes to read and wouldn’t give me crap about reading in bed.” The further I go into this, the easier it gets. “He’d want to be a father, have at least two kids, and not be mad if I let them pile up in bed with us. He’d love cake and baked stuff and wouldn’t be adverse to stopping the car and getting out to dance because a certain song had come on.”
Lance balks. “Dancing in the middle of the road?”
“Yes,” I sigh happily. “It’s so romantic.”
“Which is precisely why I stay away from romance,” he laughs. “That sounds ridiculous to me.”
“You’re better off focused on the ass, I guess.”
“Exactly.”
Twisting so I’m actually sitting sideways in my seat and facing him, I watch his jaw flex. It’s an unconscious quirk. He does it when he’s mulling something, when he doesn’t have quite the comeback he wants.
I study him for a while. He lets me. He keeps his attention on the road and doesn’t chastise me for watching.
Lance could easily be my type. He’s intelligent and funny and he works hard. His heart is good, even if his mouth is filthy, and I know he likes to eat what I bake. I’d even put money on him being a good father. I’d put even more on the table that he doesn’t want any part of that.
“Don’t you ever want to stop chasing women and just breathe?”
“That would be a no,” he cringes. “That sounds terrible.”
“Why?”
“Why?” he repeats. “There’s too much responsibility in relationships. You’re suddenly on the hook for someone else’s happiness.”
“I wholeheartedly disagree,” I shoot back. “The only person responsible for your happiness is you.”
He takes the exit into Linton, shaking his head. “Not true, sweetheart. If you are in a monogamous relationship, it’s your job, even if only in part, to bring happiness to the other person.”
“Maybe joy,” I argue. “But not happiness. Two completely different things. Think about it. Joy is something that can be spread. You can bring someone joy, just like the old saying goes. But happiness? That’s an entirely personal thing. Someone else can’t make me become happy if I’m not.”
The lights from Goodman’s Gas Station light up the car as we go by. His lips press together as he considers my stance. “Let’s say we’re dating,” he says finally. “And you really wanted to move to Oregon, right? Maybe it’s the fulfillment of your life’s desire to live in Portland. The job of your dreams is there or something, I don’t know. And for whatever reason I can’t go and it’s the only thing in the world that you really, truly want. I can’t give you that. If you stay with me, you’ll never really be fulfilled. You’ll never be happy. Doesn’t that make me a dick?”
“There are so many problems with that analogy,” I laugh. “First of all, relationships are compromises.”
“What if I can’t compromise?”
“Then you shouldn’t be in a relationship.”
“Which is what I said from the start.”
“But love is compromise,” I insist. “You can’t have everything you want. You have to meet in the middle.”
“Love isn’t compromise. It’s conditions,” he says, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “You love someone if. They love you if. If you don’t fulfill that condition, they leave. Ever wonder why the divorce rate is so high in this country? Because we’re a bunch of hedonistic fuckers.”
“So you’re discussing monogamy, obviously.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn to face the windshield. The car pilots onto my street. Lance turns the music back on, leaving the subject alone.
As much as I want to say he’s wrong about all of that, he’s not. I hate that he’s not, but he’s not. There are conditions to relationships and if you don’t meet them, it’s kaput. That’s exactly what happened with Eric. I didn’t meet whatever conditions he had. Probably the one about anal.
“I guess you aren’t the one-night stand kin
d of girl?” he asks on a half-laugh.
“Hardly.”
“So you’re a straight relationship girl?”
“I’m not anything right now,” I say, wondering if that will ever change.
“What about Jonah?”
“I hope Jonah has a nana like yours,” I laugh, making Lance laugh. “I think I should date more. I haven’t dated anyone seriously since Eric.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Do I want to ask about Eric?”
“You don’t.”
The car pulls in front of my house. Whitney’s car is in my driveway and a light is on in the living room. I realize I haven’t checked my phone all night and I laugh when I consider how many texts are probably on there from her.
“I guess this is it,” I say, grabbing my purse off the floor.
“I’m at least going to walk you to the door.”
“You totally don’t have to do that.” I laugh as he gets out of the car and jogs around to the front. His body moves so gracefully and with such ease that I wish I would’ve been taping it to watch again later. “Thank you.” I climb out of the car as Lance holds the door open and step into the cool evening air.
His hand finds the small of my back again as we walk up the sidewalk. I love how it nestles right in the curve. There’s no fumbling like with so many men. It’s almost a natural gesture and I know I’ll be remembering it later.
We get to the top step and he pulls his palm away and instantly I wish it were back where it was. I wish there were a mile of sidewalk left to my doorstep.
“In a weird way,” he says, “I’m glad I didn’t eat the pizza in the fridge tonight.”
“In a weird way, I’m glad I agreed to a date with Jonah.” The softness in his features makes me blush. “Thank you for saving the day. For giving me a ride home. For taking me to Nana’s. You didn’t have to do any of that.”
“Yeah, I didn’t. But I did.” His forehead creases, his eyes suddenly darkening. “I have a question.”
As he takes a step towards me, his palm gently caresses my cheek, and I hiccup a breath. My chest feels like I’ve already run a marathon. I can’t breathe, only watch his lips descend towards mine. “Yeah?”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he gets closer, the scent of his cologne suddenly stronger. Muskier. Sexier.
My thighs clench together; my panties become pointless. As hot as every fantasy I’ve ever had about Lance Gibson was, it is nothing compared to this. Having him in front of me, looking at me like I’m it … I whimper.
“Can you change your type?” he asks, the gravel of his tone setting me on fire.
My brain screams at me to stop but my lips press together. Just as his mouth hovers over mine, the door behind us swings open.
“Oops,” Whitney winces, squeezing her eyes shut. “I didn’t see a thing. I’ll just, um, go back inside now.”
I’m going to kill her.
Lance’s forehead rests on mine as he chuckles. “Probably for the best, huh?”
“Definitely,” I say, breathlessly. If he can’t hear my heart, he must be deaf, because it’s pounding so loud it’s almost all I can hear.
Whitney is a cold bucket of water but not quite cold enough to put out the flames. If he tried to kiss me again with her watching, I’d let him. I have half a notion to raise up and do it myself, but it is really probably for the best.
“I just can’t believe you were going to let me,” he grins.
“Um, I can,” Whitney chimes in. “Damn, Mariah. I let you leave here with Jonah and you come back with that? Teach me your tricks, oh wise one.”
Lance’s chuckle turns into a full-bellied laugh. “I’m Lance. It’s nice to meet you.”
Whitney leans against the door, outright ignoring me. “It’s nicer on my end, I assure you. Should I shut the door and let you kiss her?” She looks at me and then right back to Lance. “I should. I really should. A friend would. But damn it if I don’t want to just look at you.”
“I’m gonna go,” Lance laughs. “See ya on Monday, Mariah.”
“Bye.”
My feet don’t move until he’s in the car. Then I kind of stumble in the house. Or maybe Whitney drags me. I’m not sure.
“You’re meeting him on Monday?” she gushes. “Where’s Jonah? What happened? Tell me everything.”
“No, I’m not meeting him on Monday. I …”
There are so many questions. The answers, though, aren’t as easy to find.
“Did you not look out the window?” I ask, throwing my hands up in the air. “Isn’t there some girl code that says you look out the window?”
“No,” she balks. “I mean, maybe. If I thought you were actually going to be kissing a guy, I would’ve been a little more careful. But it’s you. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t boring little Jonah to death.”
“Seriously? Have you ever talked to Jonah?”
She shrugs. “No. But he’s cute.”
“I almost unfriended you over him alone. And now you’ve ruined my kiss, I think we’re done. It’s a condition,” I snort and head down the hallway.
“I said I’m sorry.”
“I’m going to take a bath,” I tell her.
“Then I’ll sit on the floor by the tub because you are answering my questions!”
Ten
Mariah
Sixteen. I feel like a freaking sixteen-year-old girl. Specifically, like the day when I was sixteen and the captain of the basketball team told me I was beautiful. Of course, he never said it again and continued on with his girlfriend who just happened to be Chrissy’s best friend. Still, I relived that moment for years.
Lying in bed with my hair still in a weird bun from the bath, I can’t wipe the goofy grin on my face. My forehead still sings with the feeling of his against mine. My cheek feels warm from the remembered heat of his palm. My heart is so full from the memories of Grandma Betsy brought out by Lance’s Nana. What a wonderful and weird evening.
Lance is a lot of things. Some of them I didn’t realize until tonight. It never occurred to me that he could be sweet or that he would go out of his way for … me. My head scrambles, trying to process too much information too quickly. I close my eyes, but just see his face.
Just like the sixteen-year-old version of myself, I’m on the precipice of falling. Whether in love or in lust or in a slight obsession, I’m not sure. I just know with absolute certainty I can’t do this again with Lance Gibson.
He’s a dead-end street. A good girl’s worst nightmare.
An unnecessary problem.
There’s so much potential beneath that sexy exterior. It’s almost possible to be tempted to give in and play his game. But I’m not just a good girl, I’m also a smart one. Smart enough to know it’s a game I’m well-versed in and one that will send me to heartbreak without passing go.
His smirk curls through my mind, like the slow, sly way the corners of his lips upturn. My back arches off the sheets, my toes digging into the mattress as I relive his touch.
My palm drags over my chest, remembering the feel of his hand on the small of my back, pulling at the towel covering my body. The air bites away at my warm skin, beading my nipples as I slip my hand between my legs. Covering the stretch of flesh connecting my thighs, a dampened heat warms my fingers.
I can’t do this every night. I can’t get myself off every twenty-four hours while pretending Lance is licking me. Touching me. Fucking me in positions I didn’t even know I could dream up.
Dipping fingertips into my soaked flesh, I release a shuddered breath. My decision is made.
I’m going to take matters into my own hands. And then I’m going to take other matters in my own hands before I’m really screwed.
* * *
Lance
Every light in my house is on. I went room to room and flipped every switch, looking for something to entertain myself. I don’t even care what it is as long as it’s distracting and fully consuming.
And not Mariah.
“Damn it,” I growl out loud.
Hands over my face to block out the light I just turned on, my foot bounces on the floor. It’s a habit I’ve had since I was a kid and one I’m constantly on my students about. Sit still. Stop moving.
But I can’t.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I don’t take it out. It’s a reminder that I didn’t check the message on my dating app. The one from Nerdy Nurse.
“You should log in and find someone to fuck, you asshole,” I say to myself. “That would solve this stupid little fascination you have with Mariah.”
Just saying her name makes my balls tighten.
Cringing, I unbutton my pants and try to relieve some pressure. It just gives me more room to grow.
Historically speaking, getting off cures a lot of these type of ailments. Any time I think I might actually like a girl for more than her pussy, I can just come and everything is fixed. It’s almost magic. Like my jizz is some kind of anti-ship medication, proven to wash away any thoughts of words ending with those four letters.
The problem is this: I’ve already jacked off once since I got home. Thinking about Mariah’s round ass and swollen lips only made it worse. It’s like my cock is mad at me. Like it knew it wasn’t the real thing and now feels cheated.
Sighing, I get off the bed and roll my eyes at the squeak. Even the bed is taunting me.
My phone is heavy in my pocket and I take it out. The notification is on the front screen from Nerdy Nurse. I almost open it. Almost.
I stall. I get a drink. I place my phone on the fucking counter and purposefully walk into the other room like it’s a barrel of feelings I’m trying to avoid because God knows I avoid those. But it’s not. It’s a phone. A message from a woman I’ve been happily trading messages with for what feels like a long time.