Rash Decisions

by Alex Rosa

  Then footsteps. Tiny, rushed ones.

  Troy pulls away. His face is a mixture of hilarious shock and panic as he flings himself onto his opposite side of the bed, releasing me. Just in time, too.

  I cannot stop the horror that appears on my face as he begins to laugh at me.

  The door to his bedroom opens as Lizzy appears. Her shriek of joy when she spots me is adorably innocent. Oh, goodness.

  I thought I knew embarrassment. I thought I couldn’t go any redder than a tomato, but right now my face feels like the surface of Mars. Hot and blazing red, rippling with bubbling horror.

  “JULLIAAA!!” she shouts as she leaps onto the bed.

  I don’t know what to do with myself as I let out a loud belt of laughter. Troy’s deep timber laughter wraps around mine.

  I shoot him an I hate you glance, but his face is glowing. I may be Mars, but he’s the Sun. Bright and glorious with a grin that could power an entire planet.

  As Lizzy adorably crawls to the space between us, she too could be her own Sun.

  “Julia, you th-lept over and didn’t tell me!”

  I shake my head, shrugging. “Sorry,” I quip finding it more and more hilarious that, of course, Lizzy would be delighted that I stayed the night.

  Then this indescribable feeling in my gut surfaces and it’s more than just nerves, or fear, it’s the realization of what it would be like if I were to choose Troy. Would I be like a mom to Lizzy? Babysitting is easy enough to digest, but motherhood? I can barely be a good example for myself. How would I manage taking care of this incredible child? Can I do that? I don’t know.

  Lizzy’s arms pull me out of my reverie as they fling themselves around my neck, squeezing me into a hug. When I peer over her shoulder Troy looks on the verge of laughter, but his lips are tightly twisted together to hold it back. I wonder what he’s thinking.

  “Julia, are you gonna cook me breakfast?”

  I giggle at how surreal this feels, but my heart won’t stop growing in size exponentially with each passing second, swallowing the previous worrisome feelings whole.

  Troy finally decides to butt in as he grabs for Lizzy’s waist, peeling her off me.

  “Come here, you little monster.”

  She giggles as she falls back onto the bed between us as his fingers thrum over her ribs.

  Giggle. “Dad!” Giggle. “Stop!”

  “Okay, let’s go make you breakfast. Eggs?”

  She smiles, nodding furiously. The girl likes eggs. Noted.

  “Let’s go,” Troy adds.

  Morning pow-wow is over as she flies off the bed with boundless energy and out the bedroom door.

  Troy’s hum catches my attention as I turn to look at him.

  “Well, that was embarrassing,” I say.

  He laughs, grabs for the shirt I’m wearing, but I scoot away just in time, releasing my own laugh as I shake my head.

  “No way, mister. You’ve got eggs to make.”

  He tries one more time, but this time I leap off the bed, straightening out the shirt I’m wearing. His arm outstretched to grab me, but still too far.

  I want to tell him to stop being so cute. It’s teetering on disgustingly adorable, but instead I do myself a favor and stroll out of his bedroom door.

  As I exit Lizzy is walking out of her bedroom, tugging on her own long white shirt.

  “We match!” she squeaks.

  Laughing, I peer down at my shirt, thankful that it nearly reaches my knees. I walk into the kitchen feeling all sorts of incriminating, though.

  The more distracting part of this situation is Troy who’s still shirtless and in a low hanging pair of newly worn workout shorts as he walks into the kitchen.

  It’s too much. I know this is his home, but what are we doing? Lizzy doesn’t seem to care at all as she climbs the barstool with adorable purpose, her broad grin nearly identical to her fathers.

  Troy keeps shooting me glances as I stand in the corner watching him prepare eggs for Lizzy. He pulls out a pan, laying it on the stove, turning it on. He washes his hands and then moves past me to open the fridge, grabbing for a carton of eggs, but shamelessly shoots me that sex on a stick look.

  I keep chewing my lip, eyes glued to him, anxious and eager all at once.

  “Julia?” Lizzy asks interrupting my fluctuating hormones. It gives me a moment to breathe as Troy returns to the stove and begins cooking.

  “Yes?” I chirp as I try not to embarrass myself further and skip to the kitchen island, leaning across it to talk to Lizzy.

  “Do you have your markers with you?”

  I laugh, delighted by her bright eyes and messy tangled head of hair. I shake my head. “No. They stay at work.”

  She pouts, but it doesn’t stand a chance against her permanent grin.

  Troy butts in as he places a plate of food in front of her, his face etched with a funny purpose as he says, “You know there isn’t any coloring on the kitchen counter, we save that for the desk.”

  “But I want Jule-th to color with me.”

  I’m about to nod my agreement but a hand appears at my waist, curving over the thin fabric covering my ass. Although it’s hidden with the height of the counter I cannot stop my face from turning the same color as Troy’s dark red living room walls. I swat his hand away. The nerve he has, yet I can’t contain my own smitten grin.

  “I can color with you, I promise.”

  “With me?” she squeals while forking a large helping of scrambled eggs into her mouth. Chewing as she speaks. “Oh, please!—“

  “—After you finish your food, and clean up your room,” Troy interjects.

  Her face falls mid-chew. Her brows knitting together just like Troy’s does when he’s been rubbed the wrong way. “But why!”

  “Don’t argue. Julia cannot see the wreck that is your room. Then coloring.”

  She doesn’t argue more, but chews with a look of disdain as if she plots a way to avoid the request entirely.

  The little adult she is finishes her bowl of eggs in fuming silence.

  Troy raises a brow, hinting that this is far from his first rodeo as he says, “Now Elizabeth. Room. Clean. Now.”

  She dramatically jumps off of the barstool, hands on her hips as she quips, “Thi-th i-th th-tupid!”

  “Elizabeth!” Troy scolds.

  “Fine!” Lizzy replies as she stomps to her bedroom.

  The moment her door clicks shut Troy flips me around back against the counter, and presses his body onto mine.

  “Troy …” I whisper as a feigned plea.

  He buries his head into my neck, kissing and sucking at the hollow of my collarbone. I hold onto his arms for support as he kisses his way back to my lips. I can’t refuse. I just can’t.

  “I want this,” he says before crashing his lips to mine.

  My arms reflexively wrap around his neck. His hands slide across my torso, over my hips and onto my thighs. They begin to slowly rise, dragging the fabric of the t-shirt with them as his hands come in contact with my bare skin.

  The moment his hands hit my heated flesh, squeezing the skin under my ass, pulling me against him, my heart does this thing I only ever feel when I’m on a roller coaster. That moment when you’re about to roll over the precipice and the adrenaline rises from your gut and explodes in your heart, yearning for it, yet terrified of the thrill. Yeah, like that.

  He lifts me off the ground, my legs naturally wrapping around his waist as he carries me to his room.

  My kisses become devouring as a self-directed anger drives my lust. Why did I wait so long to feel like this?

  Troy kicks his door shut behind him, tossing me carelessly onto the bed as if I’m a toy to be thrown. I bounce a few times on the mattress, my hair falling in long, messy tresses around my face.

  I childishly blow the hair out of my face as I watch Troy lock his bedroom door, turning around with a mischievous grin. He knows better this t
ime.

  I shake my head, but it does nothing to affect my grin as he prowls toward me.

  “Troy, no. We can’t. Lizzy is down the hall, and …”

  He crawls over the bed. My body instinctually obeying the maneuver as I fall back against his sheets as he climbs over me, his hands dragging heavily over my legs.

  “And what? Are you breaking up with Noah or not? Isn’t that what you said?”

  Troy always has a way of making it a point of clarifying my words or intentions. He’s right though. It’s what I said.

  With his face hovering above mine, eyes intent on prying the truth, he isn’t fooling me. There is a bit of doubt hidden in the darkest corner of his iceberg eyes.

  I lift my head up, and place a soft kiss against his mouth, finding that Troy tastes good at any time of day.

  When I pull away, he’s still hopefully apprehensive, but doesn’t move. That’s when I laugh.

  His no-nonsense stare makes an appearance while at the same time pressing his hips into mine, demandingly. Well, that gets my attention.

  “You enjoy making me nuts, don’t you?” he says.

  “Of course,” I retort, finding it hard to focus when Troy is all around me, encasing me like a blanket. “Okay-okay. I am. I’m going to break it off with Noah, but I don’t know what we are doing.”

  He shrugs. “We don’t have to figure that out yet.”

  This answer thrills me. Troy doesn’t want to pressure me into anything, and I’m thankful. For him, he just wants to make sure things are clear. I’m aware that this doesn’t make this moment right, but at this point, I need it. I need him.

  His mouth returns to mine, and between kisses I ask, “What about Lizzy?”

  He shakes his head, not willing to stop, growing impatient. His hands reach for the hem of my shirt, lifting it up over my head as he says, “We have at least fifteen minutes before she throws a fit.”

  Before I can comprehend his words I’m distracted as he pauses, leaning back so he can appraise my body in just my panties and bra. He nibbles on the corner of his lips, and I’m squirming under his appreciative eye.

  “Remind me to schedule us a date night, because fifteen minutes won’t be nearly enough time for me to do what I want.”

  I try to restrain a groan. “What are you waiting for?” I pant, while also coping with my own funny smile.

  Here we are, trying to sneak in a quickie while Lizzy cleans her room. Is this what the life of a parent consists of? Am I ready for that? Why is this so fun?

  He loops his thumbs into my panties, pulling them off in one swift move, and then falls onto the bed next to me, lying flat on his back. He turns to me only to grab for my hips, and swings my body on top of his, my legs bracketing his hips. I let out another squeal as my palms come in contact with his hard chest in order to balance myself.

  I squirm in his lap, feeling his erection underneath me, the thin barrier of his shorts and briefs the only thing in the way of what I want.

  I’m not the most comfortable with his daughter down the hall, and I question that no matter how much I want it, that right now isn’t necessarily a great time to give into our impulses.

  As if being able to sense my inner turmoil, he shocks me by sitting up, putting us nose-to-nose.

  “Don’t think. That’ll get us both into trouble.”

  Could this guy stop making me feel like a swooning fool? I want to hate that he tends to be right in these situations, but I don’t have it in me to challenge him, and instead crash my lips to his.

  It’s the green light he needs as his arms wrap around my entire body, pressing me into his hard, lean one, his touch telling me he doesn’t ever want to let me go. Everything picks up speed as I grind my hips into his.

  His fingertips make a diligent trail up my spine, undoing my bra. With shockingly gentle hands, he slides his palms over my shoulders, pushing the straps off and then tossing the garment aside without once disconnecting his lips from mine.

  I press my chest to his, skin to skin, feeling the blazing wildfire ignite between us. He feels so good, and our bodies mold against one another perfectly, as if they were made for each other.

  I have not been good at expressing my feelings with Troy. Hell, most of the time I’m trying to convince him of the exact opposite of the truth. However, my words slip between our mouths with ease. “I want you.”

  I think he gasps. He pulls away, but it’s frantic as he leans over to the nightstand to open the drawer to grab a condom. He doesn’t need me to make myself anymore clear as he tears the foil with his teeth. His eyes are nothing but crystallized lust that hold a sinfully wonderful goal.

  I grab the condom from his hands, and his mouth is quick to do that wonderful twitchy thing I love so damn much.

  I scoot down his body, grabbing for the waistband of his briefs and shorts, and tug them down his legs, finally tossing the last items of clothing to the floor.

  Both naked and vulnerable we stare a moment as I climb back.

  He’s eager. I’m eager. It’s evident in the air, as if we’re both two cut wires, sparking for a connection and a satiated calm.

  I gulp as I take a look at his impressive length, hard and ready. I less than gracefully slide the condom over him, and resume my seated position, but he doesn’t move his stance, still nose to nose. It makes the whole experience more intimate. His hands grab for my hips, lifting me above him and I hold my breath.

  His eyes are intent in holding my gaze. I press my palms to his cheeks, holding his face to mine as he a slowly lowers me onto him.

  We groan in unison as my body fills with his, taking him to the hilt. Things speed up as my hips beg to begin a rhythm, his fingers digging into my flesh, guiding my hips, and pulling me harder to him, going deeper and deeper with each pulse.

  Having to keep our voices low, his mouth covers mine, as we swallow our quiet, rapid groans and breaths as I ride his hips, harder and faster, knowing that there’s only so much forbidden, inappropriate, naughty time left.

  His body rubbing me at my most sensitive spot, matched with his taste, his touch, and his sweet humid gasps has my body quickly swerving into a tailspin of pleasure while our hips buck against one another, faster and faster.

  “Give it to me,” He breathes as I ride my orgasm to the surface.

  I drop my hips hard into his as my nails dig into his back, and I let go, my body clenching around him as I try my hardest to keep my voice low. I groan his name against his mouth while his body trembles against my own, finding his release as our arms tightly wrap around each other, pulling, pressing and clenching while we find and absorb that epic high.

  Passion. This is what passion is.

  I bury my head in his neck and kiss gently at the light sheen of sweat. Our arms still tightly wound around each other as we let our breathing calm.

  “Damn, Jules,” he says, pressing his cheek to my shoulder while I hold him close. His hands sliding over my waist, caressing each curve as he goes. “I can’t get enough. It’ll never be enough. I’ll always want you. Is that crazy?”

  For his words to be so toe-curlingly hot, there’s an odd, endearing sentiment to it.

  I brush my fingers over his scalp, clutching him close.

  “It’s crazy, but I completely understand.”

  That’s when we hear a door being yanked open and, “I don’t wanna clean my room! I don’t wannaaaaaa!!” as I overhear my very first Lizzy tantrum.

  Troy and I both let out a belt of laughter as we collapse back onto the bed knowing that we have to somehow face reality now.

  I take the steps two at a time and find it funny that Megan is the only person since I was six years old that knocking on her door at any hour feels perfectly acceptable.

  However, as I reach our floor my nerves bunch up in my gut. I don’t really know what I’m doing or know if this is even appropriate.

  I peer down at my clothes, noting that I’m do
ing this in my walk of shame outfit that I’ve been wearing since Friday. I’m tempted to change first, but I feel that the shame is something I should accept. I need to fester a bit, and I’m also impatient as hell and need to vent.

  I roll my eyes thinking my therapist would have a field day with all of this self-deprecation.

  I pull in a deep breath and strut up to Megan’s door. I can’t tell if I want her home right now. Will she care? Did she even like Troy? I knock anyway.

  When Megan opens her door I wish her greeting smile eased my nerves, but it doesn’t. She looks ripe from an afternoon jog as light drops of sweat pepper her forehead, but they somehow add some sort of impossibly fashionable effect to her teal, patterned yoga pants and matching racer back tank. She finishes a large sip of her cup that harbors thick green slime.

  “What’s wrong? Do we need to play dress up again?” she asks as she licks at her mouth from her sip.

  Her sincerity only makes the knot tighter in my gut, although I manage a smile.

  “Can I come in? I need girl talk,” I reply.

  “Oh, girl talk? Something I’m also good at.”

  She moves to the side, allowing me in, and as I walk past her and her cup I catch an awful whiff of something.

  “What are you drinking?” I squawk, debating on if it would be rude to pinch my nose.

  She lifts her glass of green sludge. “Kale and wheat-grass, but I have a banana in here too.”

  I wrinkle my nose and shrug. I’ll never understand people who consume those things willingly. It makes me think of Noah. My guts tense painfully, writhing as if they were to tighten anymore my insides might rip into two.

  “Julia, what’s wrong? Your face is all bunched up.”

  I sigh and make my way into her living room. I pull in an exhausting breath as I collapse onto her couch.

  “I did something stupid, Megan. Like, really dumb, but it doesn’t change how happy I feel right now, but also how much I dread the future. And by future, I mean days from now, not necessarily long-term.” I pause, thinking over the words long-term, and I don’t know what I mean by that, or where I see myself. Is Troy in the long-term? It makes my head spin. “Scratch that. I just don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”