Suddenly it was my turn to bite my lower lip. “Craig?” Dad asked, concern written all over his face as our eyes met once more. “You okay with that idea?”
I shrugged, turning to Avery slowly so as not to seem too familiar. “I am if… she is,”
Avery’s face softened with a shy, curious smile. “I suppose now’s a good a time as any,” she said, reaching for the door. “I mean, if we’re going to be related, we might as well say more than two words to each other, right?”
There was nervous laughter all around, each of us braying madly like trained seals, but all for different reasons. It continued as we shared awkward hugs, Dad clumsily embracing Avery as she stood rigid in his arms. I knew the feeling when moments later, her mother wrapped me in a bear hug that was as tight as it was awkward. Eventually we were released and as we all stumbled through the restaurant door and out onto the deserted street just outside, Avery and I watched, side by side, as her mother and my father walked hand in hand beneath the flickering streetlamps.
I could feel—as well as hear—Avery’s relieved sigh as our parents rounded the corner and ultimately, disappeared. I wanted to hug her immediately and when I turned to do just that, she stiffened just like she had in my father’s arms.
“Craig,” she hissed, only half-joking as she squirmed free. “What if they see us?”
“They’re long gone,” I insisted, reaching for her hand and dragging her down the sidewalk to the corner where they’d disappeared only moments earlier. “See?”
She peered into the darkness, looking left then right and squeezing my hand as we both spied the empty street in front of us. “Thank God,” she said, sinking into my chest as we wrapped each other in a warm embrace. “I thought I’d never get you all to myself again.”
“Tell me about it,” I snorted, pulling her tight as if we might never be able to touch each other ever again. “All night long all I wanted to do was talk to you. It’s all I want to do right now.”
“Not without a drink we’re not!” she chuckled, nodding toward the street corner where we stood. In front of us was a small café, sparsely populated and half the chairs up. Across the street was a liquor store that looked equally half-open, a winking neon sign just above its door. “I’ll get a couple of coffees,” she said, reaching for the café door. “You find something strong to pour in them, okay?”
“Great idea.” I went across the deserted street into the liquor store. Far from its drab façade, it was busy with Thanksgiving revelers. The lively, upbeat crowd ranged from family men taking a break from football and napping to pick up six-packs of beer and bags of pretzels to shut-ins shuffling out in their robes and slippers for that last nip of brandy for the night. By the time I’d grabbed a handful of pumpkin spice flavored vodka minis and fled the mob, Avery was already fidgeting under the opposite streetlight with a cup of coffee in each hand.
“What took you so long?” she gushed breathlessly, resting the cups on the arm rest of a nearby bench as I emptied a miniature bottle into each one.
“Place was mobbed,” I explained, stirring each with my forefinger before sliding the caps back on and handing her one. I was giddy with anticipation, like our first date all over again, the deserted street and dim light above making it truly feel like the freakin’ apocalypse. “Hope it was worth it?”
I nodded toward her cup and getting the hint, she sipped it carefully. She smiled, then beamed, licking her lips and going back for more in several quite unladylike sips.
“Perfect.” She smiled and nodded at my own cup, still untasted. “Go on, try it.”
I did, finding the combination of flavored vodka and warm, cinnamon coffee the perfect combination for a long, stressful, cold night. “Great idea,” I said again, taking her free hand in mine as we strolled away from the bench, toward wherever this night might lead us. “The perfect concoction to erase the bad taste of tonight’s news from our mouths forever.”
“If only,” Avery sighed, slowing her pace as she simultaneously squeezed my fingertips more tightly. “Craig, what are we going to do about this?”
We paused on the sidewalk, the city quiet as Thanksgiving night neared its end, the streets deserted and silent as we endured our own private drama on what was supposed to be the official start of the winter holiday season. Instead of comfort and joy, however, we’d been brought low. Or, at least, I had. Maybe it was time to see if Avery felt the same way as I did. Snorting the last of my spiked coffee for courage, I paused and pulled her close. “Avery,” I said, the scent of her shampoo rich in my nostrils as her raven hair hugged her delicate shoulders. “I’m not sure about you, but… I don’t think I’m going to like our parents being married.”
“No shit?” she snorted, pushing me away playfully and slugging me on the arm. “I mean, how are we supposed to be together now?”
We both scoffed, nervously, as I found her eyes and quieted my own inane chuckling. “I’m serious, Avery. I wanted… I wanted so much more for us.”
She batted her eyes, taking an involuntary step back and sipping her coffee casually, as if I hadn’t just taken a big leap. I watched her impatiently, waiting for some sign that she felt the same. Instead she blurted, “You… did?”
“Didn’t you?” I blurted back, inching closer as I held my hands out and waved them dramatically. “I was finally getting close to you. I wanted to get even closer, then this marriage shit happened.”
“How close?” she hedged, sipping the last of her coffee before tossing the cup away in a nearby trash can. Now we stood, face to face in the crisp, dark night, no more vodka left to make us brave, no more coffee to rev us up, no more excuses.
“I think,” I said, gulping so loud we both laughed. “I think… I’m falling in love with you.”
Twenty-One
Avery
“You too?”
The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them, making Craig blush and smile to hear the unvarnished truth. So, there it was, I thought. We’d both said it, or at least implied it, even if indirectly—we were falling in love.
Forget about were falling in love, I thought to myself, my heart pounding and blood rushing at the realization. I already was in love.
But I never thought—I hadn’t dare hoped—Craig felt the same way about me. “Why me?” I couldn’t help but ask, sinking onto the bench behind me, the streets around us deserted and serene, the whole town feeling like our own private living room—at least for the moment. “I mean, with all the other girls you’ve been with—could be with—why me?”
“I can’t explain it,” he said, sinking down next to me as we both turned to face each other, knees gently brushing as our eyes met. “You’re not my type, at all,” he said with an apologetic grin, as if I might get offended, then rushed to add, “And I know I can’t be yours. And yet, I can’t get enough of you. And not just in the sack, but… here, right now, just sitting here and talking. I’ve never talked this much to a girl in my life before, or for so long, and yet I feel like you and I could talk forever and still not say everything we wanted to say to each other.”
His words only made me regret my mother’s decision to marry Professor Robinson even more, and my heart ached for what might have been between the two of us.
Everything with Craig had been too good to be true. I’d been waiting for the next shoe to drop. For him not to touch me or not text or call or not show up unannounced. And yet he did, time after time, keeping me off balance and wondering what the catch was. I’d never been treated so kindly, so gently, so passionately before and especially not by a guy like Craig. He was too good looking and popular—with his bad boy ways and love ‘em and leave ‘em reputation. I hadn’t allowed myself to entertain any thoughts of a future together and now it appears, I wasn’t wrong.
If only I had been! If only I’d allowed myself to go there, to fantasize about a future together, maybe at least I could have held onto that for the rest of my life. Now all I’d have were memories—ins
tead of our future.
Craig was so perfect, in every way: handsome, even beautiful, smart, kind, witty and energetic, physically intoxicating, sexually attentive and sensitive to boot. Now he’d be my brother—stepbrother, but still—undeniably hands off once Mom and Professor Robinson got married.
“How could they do this to us?” I blurted out a little too loudly, shaking my head. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I want our parents to be happy, but together?”
He snorted, nodding energetically. “I felt the same way when I heard,” he confessed. “Happy for them but selfishly, pissed off at them as well.”
“Thanksgiving will never be the same,” I whined, pouting like the spoiled brat I was.
“Thanksgiving?” he barked, shaking his head as if he, too, had gotten a lump of coal in his stocking. “What about Christmas?”
We laughed then, sharing our misery and pain under the streetlight. “And New Year’s,” I opined, already savoring the midnight kiss—and more—I’d never get.
“And Valentine’s?” he sighed, adding insult to injury as I pictured Craig at my door, spiffy and naked except for red silk boxers, covered in hearts and cupids.
“Craig,” I murmured, sliding a hand innocently—or so I thought—along his thigh. “You’d make a leprechaun look sexy.”
“Too bad you’ll never find out,” he groaned, leaning into my hand so that I could feel the heat through his thin dress pants.
“Yeah?” I teased, the heat from Craig’s thigh shattering the autumn chill that had permeated the night air. “Well, good luck seeing me in my Easter bonnet next spring, Mister!”
“Jesus,” he murmured, sliding closer as his eyes devoured me as only Craig’s could. “I can’t… I can’t do this, Avery.”
“Do what?” I teased, peering around the deserted city street to let my hand drift higher up his thigh. “Do what we’re so very good at?”
I wasn’t sure why I was teasing him when, after all, it only meant teasing myself. I guess, just like everything else with Craig, I couldn’t help myself. His thigh felt so firm and lean beneath my hand, his crotch so close and warm—not to mention inviting.
“No,” he murmured, somehow managing to pull himself away from me to the opposite end of the bench, as if afraid of what my touch might do to him. “I mean, yes. I mean… I can’t ever have you again, Avery. I can’t do that. I just can’t.”
His voice, so thick and low, sounded defiant and begging all at once, like he was telling me something, but also asking. I could sense the raw desire in his tone, and his eyes, so soft and smoky in the street light. “So… what do you suggest we do about it, Craig?” I croaked, my voice as low and aching as his.
He shook his head, peering down at the cracks in the pavement, exhaling loudly until, he looked back up, his eyes excited. “I have an idea.” He reached for my hand and placed it—not on his crotch—on his heart. “Just… hear me out, okay?”
I could only nod, focusing instead on the pounding coming from his beating heart. “I think you’ll like this idea,” he said, causing me to pinch his nipple playfully.
“If you think I’ll like it so much, Craig, then spit it out. I’ve had enough surprises tonight, lover boy. I’m not sure my poor heart—or yours—can take another one so soon.”
“I dunno,” he said, reaching for me and standing abruptly, so I had only one choice—to stand as well. We stood, face to face in the quiet stillness, our hearts pounding so hard was all we could hear. “I think if we try real hard, we both might be up to this. Feel me, Avery,” he murmured, guiding my hand to his hard, stiff crotch. “I already am.”
“Jesus, Craig,” I said, barely glancing around before squeezing it gently, and inspired, took his free hand to guide it beneath my wool skirt. I felt his fingertips probing until they found my wet spot and gently, rubbed me even wetter. “Tell me already.”
“I say,” he said, teasing me by sliding his fingers away and pulling them out from under my skirt. “I say we race home and fuck until we can’t fuck anymore—”
“But, Craig,” I gasped, using all of my willpower—and when I said all, I meant ALL of it—to push him away from my overheated flesh. “Didn’t you hear what our parents just said?”
His eyes seemed bewildered, staggering back at the volume and vehemence of my voice. “Yes, yes,” he stammered. “But just hear me out for a second—”
“Then get your mind out of the gutter and back in the game then,” I scolded him, only half-jokingly. “We can’t do anything anymore, Craig,” I continued, as upset with him as I was with myself—and our stupid parents. “We’re going to be related any day now, brother. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Stepbrother,” he corrected me, wagging a playful finger with one hand as he tugged me off the sidewalk and into the street with the other. “And not for another whole month, so until then, all’s fair in love and war, right?”
“But Craig,” I wondered aloud, more than willing to be taken home by my future stepbrother, at least for the moment. “But won’t doing all that, until then, just make it all the harder to stop after Christmas?”
We paused in the street, simultaneously, as if suddenly realizing the calamity and great error we were committing. And then just as suddenly, he shrugged. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Avery.”
I nodded, knowing he was right—or worse—he was wrong—and happy to do it anyway. And even as Craig led me back toward campus, back toward my apartment, back upstairs and into my apartment, I knew two things.
First, that I’d regret it immediately and second—I had no power to stop it, even if I wanted to.
Twenty-Two
Craig
It was near dawn, or close to it, the cold sky outside Avery’s window a fiery shade of crimson black. And yet, peering through bleary eyes at the digital clock on her nightstand, I saw that it was barely 4 AM. The blinds were open, the moonlight spilling in across Avery’s half-naked body.
The sheets were twisted around her ankles and somehow, she’d managed to slip on my boxer shorts in the middle of the night. Her breasts were full and damp, sticky from our latest love session only an hour before.
I sat up in bed gently, not wanting to wake her even as I knew I’d have her again before sunrise. I had to. I couldn’t help myself. While she was half-dressed, I was buck naked and sweaty in the cold room.
We’d made good on our promise, naked and shaking only seconds after walking in the door. First on the couch, then on the kitchen table, and finally, just after midnight, retiring to her bedroom for another long, slow tumble into the night.
Now, after a brief nap, I was up—and by up I meant hard. I’d never fucked so many times in one night in my life, nor had the energy to fuck again after so many orgasms. My throat burned, not having had anything except Avery’s sweet pussy since we’d stumbled through the door.
Now, rising gently—but not too gently, in case I accidentally woke her up—I crept across the floor, our clothes strewn from room to room as I followed them out to the kitchen. There was beer this time, half a six-pack leftover from my visit a few days before. I grabbed one and twisted off the cap, sucking down half of it in a single, giant swallow.
The beer chilled every cell of my body. I thought about her half-naked on the bed as I savored another, slower sip to celebrate the moment.
Maybe we’d be related in one short month and never be able to be like this again? Free and raw and naked. Like this. But for the rest of the night, and the week after, and the week after that, and then a little more, we could. And I’d be damned if we didn’t!
I finished my first beer and reached for another, then crept back toward the quiet bedroom. Avery stirred as I stood in the doorway, blinking her eyes open as if she could sense me standing there.
“Room service,” I said, loudly enough to rouse her without being obnoxious.
She chortled softly, making my balls ache with desire. Sitting up slowly, she admired me from hea
d to toe then back again. “What, the beer?” she asked, nodding toward my waistline. “Or the hard-on?”
“Which do you prefer?” I chuckled, inching closer with the beers at my side.
“The beer first, hotshot,” she said, reaching for it. I handed it over, watching her lap it up as eagerly as I had mine. Her lips were full around the bottle top, the beer surprisingly cold so that, pulling it away, some spilled and drizzled across her breasts.
“Jesus,” I murmured, sinking onto the bed beside her, harder than ever. “How can I still want you so badly?”
She shook her head, wiping her lips with the back of her free hand so saucy and sexily, I knew she was wide awake. “How can I still want you to want me so badly?”
“Is this wrong?” I asked in between sips of my second beer, the darkness laying out before us like the long Thanksgiving weekend ahead. “I mean, even though our parents aren’t married yet, should we be doing this?”
She chuckled, sipping her beer slowly and nodding toward the thick staff between my legs. “Are you prepared to stop now?” she said, polishing off the last of her beer and setting the empty down on the bed beside her. “And are you going to deny me what you promised me, back there on State Street?”
As if to tempt me, she raised her hands above her head and laced them together, one on either side of the wrought iron headstand. “Tell me, Craig,” she purred, nodding toward the string of scarves hanging over a nearby chair. “Tell me you can stop and I’ll stop. Tell me you were teasing me back there by the restaurant and I’ll laugh it off. Tell me that hard-on isn’t real and I’ll ignore it. But you promised me a month of ecstasy and unless I’m mistaken, we’re only getting started.”
I reached silently for the nearest scarf, and following her unspoken lead, wound it around her wrists, then through the wrought iron headboard, until she was loosely bound. Testing her constraints and finding them satisfactory, I admired her satisfied grin.
Time Out: A Holiday Sports Romance Page 11
