“And my mouth is also very involved, don’t forget about that.” I nibble along the edge of her jaw.
“Please.” She tips her head to the side, giving me better access, a contradiction to her previous warning and her now-pleading tone. “It’s not fair to play with me like this when you’re not going to be able to do anything about it for hours.”
I’ve learned a lot about Avery’s needs since I started taking care of the most intimate one. I’ve also learned that she has an incredibly high sex drive, and that once it’s tended to, instead of waning, it seems to grow exponentially. The whole experience can be likened to opening a box of your favorite cookies and being unable to stop yourself from going back again and again until you realize you’ve eaten the entire package.
The thing is, there is no end to Avery’s box of cookies—yes, the pun is intentional—and the more I get, the more I want. And the more I offer, the more she seems to crave it and me. So it’s becoming a bit of an addiction for both of us. I assume this insatiable need will wane after a while, and we’ll dial it back, but for now, well, I’m all for pushing her buttons.
“That’s the point, babe, because it means when I finally get my mouth and hands on you later tonight, you’re going to be utterly insatiable, and I’ll be the one who gives you everything you need.”
The buzzer goes off, signaling that the guys are in the lobby, waiting to be let in. I cup Avery’s cheek in my palm and tip her head to the side, pressing my lips to hers. “Come on, babe, let me in.”
For several long seconds her lips remain pursed.
“I wouldn’t push your buttons if I didn’t know how much you love it,” I whisper and suck her bottom lip between mine.
She relents, lips parting, tongue stroking out to meet mine.
The buzzer goes off again.
“It’s going to be a long evening.” She pushes on my chest. “I’ll let them in. And you need to be on your best behavior unless you want to let the cat out of the bag.”
* * *
“What’d you do with that container of peanut butter brownies?” Jerome riffles through the bags of snacks sitting on the floor beside the coffee table.
I’m currently sitting in the recliner on the opposite side of the room from Avery; otherwise, I’m liable to do something that will give us away. As it is, I’ve caught myself almost calling her babe at least three times in the past few hours.
“I haven’t seen it. I thought it was in with the Funyuns.” Mark loads up another nacho chip and sets it on his plate.
“You mean this container?” Avery holds up an empty Tupperware with a lazy grin.
She’s only had one beer, but her eyes are droopy and her blinks a little slow. I assume it has to do with this afternoon’s batting practice.
Jerome’s eyes flare. “Did you eat all of those?”
Avery makes a face. “They’re my favorite. Sorry. I didn’t want to share, even though they tasted a little weird.”
“Oh shit.” Jerome and Mark give each other a look.
“Oh shit what?” I ask.
Jerome runs his hands down his thighs. “Uh, those were pot brownies.”
Avery isn’t on painkillers anymore, thank God, but she’s never been much of one for any kind of medication or recreational drugs. Usually she’s a two-beer max kind of drinker. It was helpful back in college when the rest of us used to get shit-faced and she was the designated driver.
“How many were in there?” It’s a pretty big container.
“Four, I think?”
“I guess that explains why I’m so thirsty.” Avery licks her lips and makes a smacking sound. “My mouth is super dry.”
“Isn’t orange juice supposed to help counteract the effects of THC?” Mark asks.
“Oh! I would love some orange juice right now! So refreshing!”
“I’ll get you a glass.” I push out of the recliner.
“Yay! You’re the best, Deck!” Avery bounces a couple of times, tipping a bowl of popcorn over, kernels spilling in her lap and onto the floor. “Uh-oh, looks like I made a mess.” Avery tries to lean over to right the bowl, but ends up sending it tumbling to the floor.
“It’s okay, Ave, I’ll get it.” Mark sweeps popcorn off the couch cushions into the bowl while Avery tries to aim pieces into it from where she’s sitting. Mostly she misses and gets Mark in the face. Or maybe that’s the point.
“Oh man, this is going to be entertaining.” Jerome chuckles as the giggles set in for Avery.
“You should tape this! It’ll be like another in-prational video. In-spatial video.” She makes a duck face and waves her hand around in the air. “You know what I mean.”
I cross my arms. “This is pretty far from inspirational, Ave.”
She stops aiming for the bowl and chucks popcorn at Mark, trying to get it to land in his hoodie. “Come on! Look at how good my aim is!” She beans him on the forehead and the cheek, and a kernel ends up in his beer glass, sending her into hysterics that has tears streaming down her face.
I pour orange juice into a plastic glass, because I don’t trust that she’s going to be able to manage anything breakable at this point. “Nice work,” I mutter to Jerome as I pass him.
“Here, take a sip of this.” I hand the glass over to Avery, who’s still laughing, but it’s died down to a reasonable giggle.
“Thanks, Deck, you’re the best nurse-friend ever. You take such great care of me.” The orange juice sloshes precariously close to the rim of the glass as she raises it. She tips it before she reaches her mouth and ends up pouring half the glass down the front of her hoodie—which is actually my hoodie.
“Oh shit!” She looks down at the front of her shirt like she can’t figure out what just happened. “I guess I missed.”
I take the glass before she can spill the rest of it and set it on the side table. “Maybe a straw would be a good idea.”
“I didn’t even get to taste it. I’m super thirsty.” She licks her fingers. “I think I need a new shirt, and maybe a different blanket.”
“I’ll help you out of the hoodie,” I tell Avery. “Jerome, can you get me a wet cloth, please?”
Getting Avery out of the hoodie isn’t particularly easy, and the orange juice that hasn’t soaked in yet ends up dripping all over the blanket in her lap. Under the hoodie she’s wearing one of her long nightshirts, and she’s braless, as evidenced by the fact that her nipples are visible against the fabric.
I pull my own hoodie over my head and help her into it while Mark grabs a different blanket and Jerome brings a wet cloth so Avery can wipe her hands and anything else that’s bound to be sticky.
Once she’s cleaned up, I go in search of a straw and a cup, preferably with a lid. She has a bunch of those reusable ones with the metal straws. I’m a little worried she’s going to bite it and chip a tooth, but I can’t find any paper straws.
She drains the entire glass in thirty seconds and asks for a refill. “Where’s my phone? If Declan won’t video me, I’ll do it myself.”
“We’re not recording this for your recovery journal,” I tell her as I fill her glass.
“I know that, silly.” She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. “I just want to record it for me. I have all these thoughts, and I want to get them out before I forget them.”
Mark is about to reach for her phone, but I shake my head. “Fine. I’ll use my phone.”
I pass her the glass of juice and pull mine out of my pocket.
“Are you recording?” she asks around the straw.
“Yup.” I’m not, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“No, you’re not. Hit the record button.”
“Fine.” I give in, because I know she’s not going to give up until I do. Tomorrow I can show her the evidence, and she’ll thank me for not letting her video herself.
She slurps her orange juice and waits for me to follow through. Halfway through the glass, she makes a face. “Don’t we have any of the other bendy straws?
Can you check for one, Deck? My head is so heavy and it’s really hard to drink like this.”
She slumps down in the cushions. I can’t imagine it’s comfortable. “I can’t get you a bendy straw and record you at the same time.”
“Oh, hmm. Yeah. That’s true.”
“Want me to put a pillow behind your head?” Mark offers.
“Sure, maybe that’ll help.”
Mark grabs one of the throw cushions that ended up on the floor, and Avery struggles to lift her head off the cushion. I grab her juice so she doesn’t drop it.
“Seriously, why is my head so freaking heavy? Is it magnetic and the cushion is keeping it pinned? I can’t even lift it. Mark, you need to try to slide it behind my head, ’kay?”
“Dude, she’s a mess,” Jerome mutters.
I lower the phone, but Avery points at me. “Hey! I have things I need to say!”
“We could voice record.” I hit a button, intending to stop recording.
“It needs to be a video,” she insists.
Mark is still trying to get the cushion behind Avery’s head. “Ave, you’re literally pushing your head back into the couch, just relax.”
“But I’m not! It’s really this heavy. I think there’s a magnetic field. I’m like Magneto head right now. What if I can’t ever get up off this couch because my head is stuck?” Her eyes go wide.
I keep holding the phone up, so she at least thinks I’m recording. “Hey, Ave, I have your orange juice.”
“Oh! Yay!”
I hold it far enough away that she has to lean forward to get it, giving Mark enough room to put the pillow behind her. When she leans back, she slides even farther down the couch and her chin meets her chest.
“I don’t think this is going to work. I’m going to end up with a neck crick.” Avery tries to get the straw to her mouth, but it’s facing the wrong way. “This is the worst! Who designed this? My head feels like a boulder. How much does a head weigh, Deck? Mine is like two hundred pounds right now. I feel like I’m sinking into the couch. Do you think the couch is made of quicksand? What if I become part of the couch?”
“You’re not going to become part of the couch, Ave. I promise none of us would let that happen.” I sit on the edge of the chaise lounge and turn the straw around to face the other way. “Here, try this.”
“Ooh! That’s better. I don’t know why they make these straws so tricky. The paper ones are the worst. I miss plastic bendy straws. Like I get it, they’re not good for the environment, but you can’t chew on the paper ones, and they start to disintegrate almost right away, which is super annoying because no one wants paper bits in their orange juice.”
“Paper bits in orange juice is just wrong,” I agree, still holding the phone up.
“Right? Anyone who is against plastic straws is basically a devil worshipper! I mean, the plastic bendy straws are so much fun. And are these metal ones really better for the environment? Like sure, they’re not going to harm the turtles, but they could harm something else.” She punctuates that statement with a long slurp. “What if you dropped it in the ocean, and a big fish ate it and then they couldn’t poop it out? Then he’d have a metal straw sitting in his belly until his stomach acid dissolved it. Do you think that would cause heartburn? I bet it would. So see, metal straws aren’t better for the big fish at all!”
Avery chases the straw around in her glass and takes another aggressive gulp before continuing her weed-brownie-fueled rant. “And turtles are cute and all, but they’re super stinky. And some of them bite, which isn’t cute at all. Sometimes I really miss the fun, non-environmentally friendly versions of the less fun things we have to use now, especially plastic bendy straws. I wonder if you can get them on the black market. I bet you can. Can someone pass me my phone?”
Jerome is laughing so hard, he’s not even making sounds anymore.
“Would you like me to look it up for you so you can keep drinking your juice?” I ask.
“Oh yes, that’d be awesome. This is the best orange juice I’ve ever had. But do you know what would make it better?” She cocks a knowing brow.
“A plastic bendy straw?”
“Exactly! What if I accidentally try to chew on the end of this thing and chip my freaking tooth? What if a turtle tried to chew on it and chipped his tooth? Turtles aren’t the only important species out there. People matter too!”
Avery finally seems to realize that the guys are dying of laughter.
“What’s so funny? Why are you guys laughing? This is super serious. I need bendy straws in my life, and the turtles are making it impossible!”
Avery rants about the lack of bendy straws in her life and the unfortunate odor of turtles, and then she goes so far as to question whether climate change even exists. Which I’m aware isn’t at all how she really feels.
Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to put my phone down until she’s done. It isn’t until I finally look at the screen that I realize that instead of stopping the video, I’ve been recording the entire time. Avery takes my phone out of my hand and mumbles about sending it to herself. I have my doubts that she’ll even be able to manage that feat considering the way she jabs at the screen.
After a minute she gives up and tells me I need to make sure I send it to her. Then she announces that she has to pee. “Can you get me my crutch, Nurse Declan?”
“It’s probably easier if I wheel you there, don’t you think?” I honestly don’t think she’ll be able to balance at all in her current state.
“Hmm, maybe you’re right. I feel like my butt has magnets in it and wants to stay on this couch.” She tries to lean forward, but flops back against the cushions. “If I had a peen like the rest of you, then I could just whip it out and aim for a bucket. Peens are weird but convenient, vags not so much.”
Avery is a rag doll, so getting her off the couch is a struggle. Her face ends up mashed against my neck.
“You smell yummy,” she mutters. “Way better than a turtle.”
“Well, that’s reassuring since turtles are apparently super stinky.”
“They’re adorable but gross. You’re not gross, though. You’re the opposite of gross. I don’t know why I never really noticed how not gross you are before you became my nurse.”
“Maybe you could tell me about that later, when everyone goes home,” I whisper in her ear as I help shift her into her wheelchair.
“Okay, that sounds like fun.”
I’m not sure I trust in her ability to manage the bathroom without assistance, so I stand outside the door and wait until she calls me back in.
She doesn’t even bother to pull her shorts back up, so I take them off for her and drop them on the floor, leaving her in a long nightshirt and one of my oversized hoodies. “I think I might need to go to bed. My head is still so heavy, but light, like a lead balloon,” she tells me as I help move her back to her chair.
“Okay, want to say good night to the guys, then?”
“Yeah, that’d be good.” She nods once, head loose and floppy.
I wheel her back out to the living room where she mumbles a garbled, less than perfectly coherent good night. “Next time I won’t eat all the special brownies.” The words are slurred.
“Sorry I didn’t warn you about them,” Jerome says.
“S’okay. I bet I’m going to sleep like a baby. Not a colicky baby, one of those babies that sleeps through the night.” She pats my hand and tips her chin up, trying to look at me, but I’m standing behind her. “Can you stay with me tonight? In my room? I still feel like my body is a magnet.”
“Why don’t we get you settled and see how you feel once you’re in bed?” I don’t like the hot feeling creeping up my spine, or the fact that Mark and Jerome are bearing witness to this. “I’ll be right back,” I tell the guys.
“You need help?” Mark asks.
“Nah, man, we’re good. It’ll just take a minute.” I spin her wheelchair around, heading for the hallway to her bedroom.
> “I think I’m too tired for full service tonight, which is too bad, ’cause I was really looking forward to it.” She pats the back of my hand again.
I shush her and rush her down the hall, so we’re out of earshot of the guys.
I help get her into bed and she keeps on with the chatter. “I really wanted another orgasm tonight, but I’m so tired. I think I’d probably fall asleep on you and that would be embarrassing. And a lot of wasted effort.”
“Shh, Ave, it’s okay.”
“I think I’ll probably appreciate it more tomorrow. And I’ll be able help you out too.”
“Let’s talk about it in the morning, ’kay, babe?” I kiss her forehead and tuck her in.
Her eyes are already closed, and she seems to be down for the count before I even have her comforter pulled all the way up. I leave her door open a crack and stand in the hallway for a few seconds, trying to gather myself before I face Jerome and Mark. I sincerely hope they didn’t catch any of the telling comments she made.
Based on their cocked brows and inquisitive expressions, I’m guessing they did.
Mark is the first one to talk. “Wanna explain what ‘full service’ means?”
The real answer to that is no, I don’t, but I don’t think that’s going to cut it. I hold up my hands in supplication. “It’s not what you think.”
“So you and Avery aren’t screwing around?” Leave it to Jerome to be blunt.
I tuck my thumbs into my pockets so I don’t run my hand through my hair, aware it’s what I do when I’m stressed and having a conversation I don’t like. “It’s not like that.”
“So what’s it like then?” Mark asks.
“She only has one working hand, and it’s her weak one. She needs help with everything.” I don’t know why I don’t own up to it like I should.
“Seriously?” Mark looks incredulous. “You do realize there are toys out there that can do the same thing, without the added layer of complication.”
And this, right here, is why I wanted to keep it between me and Avery. “She was frustrated. What was I supposed to do? She needed relief, and I helped her out because she asked me to, and I will keep doing whatever the hell she needs me to until she tells me she doesn’t anymore.” I cross my arms, defensive and on edge.
When Sparks Fly Page 17
