Carpool (Milford College, #1)

by Noelle Adams

  The words surprise me, so I pull away from his chest enough to look up at his face. “You weren’t?”

  He shakes his head, his eyes very tender. Or maybe it’s just the bluish light of the television, which is still playing in the background. “No. I want to be where you are, Jennifer.”

  My expression breaks. My mouth twists. I make a helpless sound in my throat.

  He takes my head in both his hands and pulls me into a kiss.

  It’s not hard, but it’s hungry. His mouth moves urgently against mine, his tongue sliding along my lips and then inside my mouth when I open for him. I moan softly into the kiss as I respond, wrapping one arm around his neck and clutching a fistful of his shirt with my other hand.

  This is what I need. Marcus. Nakedly needy. Holding me like he never wants to let me go.

  We kiss for a long time. One of his hands tangles in my hair, and his other slides down to the small of my back. I’m leaning against him so I can feel as he grows aroused, and my own body heats up in response to his. The ache between my legs intensifies as his hands start to explore my body.

  Soon he’s pushed me onto my back on the couch and moved on top of me, making room for his body between my legs. We’re both still wearing our clothes as we kiss again, but we fumble together until we’ve managed to get them off.

  Then we’re naked. On my living room couch. My legs are parted and bent up, and Marcus’s warm weight is pressing down into me. His tongue is in my mouth again, and I’m so aroused now I’m raking lines down his bare back with my fingernails.

  “Marcus, please,” I gasp, rubbing myself against his erection, which is trapped between our bodies.

  He groans and closes his eyes, his hips pumping a few times. “I was gonna... go down on...”

  “Do it later,” I say, writhing in my urgency. “I need you inside me now. Now. I’ve waited so long.”

  He groans again and doesn’t argue. He finds a condom packet in the pocket of his trousers, rips it open, and rolls it on. Then he’s prying my legs apart again and aligning himself at my entrance.

  I’m more than ready for him. I’m desperate. I make a silly sobbing sound as he pushes into me slowly.

  “Oh fuck, Jennifer,” he rasps, ducking his head into the crook of my neck for a few moments. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you... too.” I’m so needy I’m already trying to pump my hips, even though he hasn’t started moving yet.

  “Jenn—” He breaks off midname when I clench hard around his erection. “Oh fuck.” He starts to thrust hard and fast.

  I whimper in relief, rocking eagerly to match his motion. I try three times until I can wrap my legs around his lower back, hooking my ankles to keep them secure. I hold on to him tightly with my arms and my legs.

  He’s panting against my skin, his features tightening with effort and need. I’ve never seen anything like the sight of his eyes gazing down at me. The depth of them. The intensity. Like blue-gray flames in the flickering light of the television.

  I twist my hips as I near orgasm, trying desperately to reach it. I’m making all kinds of embarrassing sounds, but I can’t bring myself to care.

  Nothing is more important than this. Being with Marcus like this. Like we’re not two separate people. Like we’ve always been one.

  I cry out loudly when the tension inside me finally shatters, and Marcus comes right after me, choking out what might have been a word. My mind is too full of pleasure and emotion and visceral satisfaction to figure out details like that. Marcus jerks and shakes on top of me as he works through it, and I keep whimpering as little aftershocks continue.

  He collapses on top of me afterward, the full weight of his body falling down on me for just a minute.

  It’s not comfortable, but I still love it.

  Love that he needs me so much. That it takes so much out of him.

  I’m stroking his back when he finally rears up. His erection is softening, and he needs to take care of the condom. I’m sore and raw when he pulls out and sits up. He ties off the condom, grabs his boxer briefs from the floor, and gets up to walk to the bathroom.

  I just lie sprawled out on the couch.

  I’m really not sure I can move.

  “I don’t think I can move,” Marcus says when he returns, groaning as he moves my feet to make room for him on the couch.

  I giggle since it’s like he just read my mind.

  He slants me a suspicious look. “You laughing at me?”

  “No. I’m really not.” I summon the energy to crawl over toward him, pressing a kiss against his mouth. “I can’t move either.”

  “At least you’re already home. I have to drive half a mile to get to my bed.” His voice is soft and dry.

  “You can stay here,” I say without thinking. “For the night. If you want.”

  He gives me a quick look. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  WE DON’T TALK BEFORE we go to sleep together. And it’s fine. It feels comfortable. Natural. The two of us being the way we need to be.

  But I dream about him.

  I’m not sure what the dream is about. It’s just flickers of images and sensations. But the male body involved is Marcus. I know it is, even in my sleep.

  When I start to wake up, I take control of the dream. I don’t know if anyone else does this, but there’s a moment on the edge of sleep when I can take the pieces of a dream I’ve just had and shape it into something I want.

  I do that as I wake up the next morning. I shape a dream of Marcus holding me on the couch, whispering that he loves me, telling me it’s always been more than sex for him, asking me if I think we might have a future together.

  Because that’s what he wants. A future. With me.

  Only me.

  And he wants me enough to change his history and habits. He wants me enough to make it happen.

  I wake up all the way with this daydream filling my mind, and it guts me because it isn’t real. It isn’t what happened last night.

  And I can no longer deny to myself that it’s what I really want. Sex and companionship isn’t enough.

  I want more. I need more. And I’m not going to be able to settle for less.

  I feel sick—physically ill—as I push myself into a sitting position. I pull down the T-shirt I slept in so it’s covering my hips.

  I turn and look, but Marcus isn’t in the bed. His side is rumpled but empty.

  My stomach churns. Maybe he’s already gone home.

  Before I can work out how I feel about this possibility, he comes back into the room, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs and carrying two phones.

  I’m too tired and upset to figure out why he’s got two.

  “Morning,” he murmurs, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed beside me.

  “Morning.”

  “Your car is ready,” he says, handing me my phone.

  My eyes widen. “You looked at my phone?”

  “Not on purpose. We left them both on the coffee table last night, and we have the same text alert. I grabbed it, thinking it was mine. I didn’t mean to look at it.”

  He sounds sincere, so I nod in acknowledgment. I glance down at my screen and see what he saw.

  Johnny texted at five o’clock this morning. Car ready!

  I stare down at the text, thinking about the dream I made up, processing what it means that I want Marcus to love me.

  I know what it means.

  It means I love him.

  I just don’t know what to do about it.

  My eyes ache, and my throat aches, and my chest aches, and my stomach aches. I’m trying not to shake. I can’t look away from my phone.

  “So,” Marcus says at last. He’s sitting beside me. I don’t know if he’s looking at me, because I’m not looking at him.

  “So.”

  “Is...” He clears his throat. “Is that it then?”

  I almost choke on the question. Is that it? He thinks because my car is re
ady that this thing between us is over?

  Maybe it is.

  I don’t know.

  Maybe it was all in my imagination to begin with.

  Surely if he wants more than sex, he’ll say something now. He’ll ask me out on a date. Something. Anything.

  He won’t just sit there, waiting to hear what I’ll say.

  He’s told me more than once that men will always make a move if they really want someone. And if they won’t, they’re just along for the ride.

  I don’t want Marcus to be along for the ride, having sex when it’s offered. He’s been good to me, but that doesn’t mean he’s in love with me.

  And that’s what I want.

  It’s all I want.

  I’m not going to settle for anything less.

  “I... guess. Unless...”

  “Unless what?” he asks.

  I shake my head, making up my mind. I’m not going to be weak in this. I’m not going to make up excuses for why he’s not saying anything right now. I’m not going to talk myself into accepting less than I deserve. “No. You’re right. This is a good time to end it. Casual sex can’t last forever. I want... more.”

  I try. I really do. I try to keep my voice even. But there’s a lift in the last word, a final little reaching toward hope.

  He sits tensely. I can hear him breathe. It feels like forever before he finally says, “I understand. You deserve more. I hope you find it.”

  He leans over and presses a soft kiss on my cheek.

  For a moment I think he’s going to say something else.

  I want him to so much I sway toward it.

  But I’m daydreaming again. He doesn’t say anything except, “Goodbye, Jennifer.”

  Then he stands up, drags on his clothes, and walks out the bedroom.

  I heard the click of the front door as he leaves.

  Eight

  THAT AFTERNOON, I’M crying on my couch, mopping my face with a paper towel, and trying to control myself enough to keep talking to Beck.

  She drove all the way out to Sterling as soon as I told her what happened this morning.

  So now she’s sitting on the other side of my couch, wearing purple-and-pink-striped leggings and an oversized tunic top. Her hair is pulled into two long braids, and she’s wearing glasses instead of her normal contacts. She’s got them off at the moment so she can dab at her eyes. She has more empathy than anyone I know, and she cries a lot more easily than I do.

  “I’m so sorry, Jennifer,” she says. “I know you thought you had everything under control.”

  “I did. I really thought...” I clear my throat. “I’m so stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid. You fell in love with him. It’s a perfectly natural thing to do.”

  “But I should have realized it was happening and stopped myself from getting so close to him. He doesn’t... He won’t... He’s never going to...”

  “He wasn’t just using you for sex. He cares about you. That much I know for sure.”

  The words ease a little of the knot in my gut because I recognize them as true. “Yeah. I’m sure he does. But he said when he’s ready, he’d close the deal on love. He said he’d make his move. A love move. And he didn’t with me. I do think he likes me, but he doesn’t like me enough to do that.”

  “Or maybe he does, and he’s just scared.” Beck’s voice is very gentle.

  I sniff, but another round of sobs doesn’t rise up into my throat this time. “I’m not going to talk myself into hoping for things like that. Maybe he’s scared, but he doesn’t like me enough to get over it. What does it matter why? He’s not going to close the deal. And that’s what I want.”

  “I know. Maybe he’ll change his mind, but you can’t wait around hoping he will.” She nods and puts her glasses back on. “So you cry about it this weekend. Then you pick yourself up and start again.”

  “Yes. That’s what I’m going to do.” I know in my mind that this is the right choice, but it feels horrible to me.

  I don’t want to start over without Marcus.

  I don’t want to do anything without him.

  But I’m not going to chase him, pressure him, try to get him to do what I want if he doesn’t want it enough to make a real move.

  This I know for sure.

  I’m doing the right thing.

  Beck and I have fallen into a tired kind of silence, both of us slouching on the couch, when she says, “Why don’t you come over to my place tomorrow evening? You can spend the night with me, and then you won’t have the long drive Monday morning by yourself.”

  My throat closes briefly with appreciation for her thoughtfulness. “Thank you. Maybe I will. Oh, wait, don’t you have a doctor’s appointment first thing on Monday morning?”

  “Yeah, but I can still get to that. You can drive to work, and I’ll drive to the doctor’s.” She makes a face. “Thanks for reminding me of it.”

  “It’s just a checkup, isn’t it?” I’m surprised by the distaste on her face since she’s usually so agreeable and not nearly as uptight as I am.

  “Yeah, but I hate checkups. I hate going to the doctor.” She rolls her eyes. “Let me tell you, it’s pretty frustrating to sit in a room with someone who tells me that every single health problem I have is because I need to lose weight.”

  I blink in surprise, distracted from my own heartache by this new topic. “Really?”

  “Yes. Really. I’ve had doctors tell me that everything from itching to period cramps are happening because I need to lose weight. Seriously. One of them said I wouldn’t have cramps if I lose weight! I think every skinny woman who suffers from cramps would have a thing or two to say about that. But weight is their explanation for everything. Some of them never look any deeper than that. They just tell me I need to lose weight and act like my issues will be miraculously cured. That’s why I’ve waited so long to make an appointment in Milford. But I need a prescription for birth control, so I can’t wait any longer.”

  I shake my head, more offended for her than I ever am for myself. “That’s horrible. Maybe this new doctor will be better.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t have much hope. She is a woman, so that’s something.” She gives her head a little shake. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to change the subject to me.”

  “I know you didn’t. And the truth is I’m glad to talk about something else. I don’t want the whole world to be about Marcus, and that’s how it feels right now.”

  She reaches out and squeezes my arm. “I know, but it won’t forever.”

  BECK GOES HOME AFTER dinner since she doesn’t want to drive the narrow country roads in the dark. I’m feeling a little better by then. Not good. Not anywhere close to good. But I’m not crying all the time, and that’s progress.

  I take a shower and change into my pajamas early, preparing to plant myself in front of the TV and not move for a few hours. But I’ve just poured myself a glass of wine from the bottle Marcus and I opened last night when there’s a knock on the door.

  I can’t imagine who it is, and I have a moment of panic at the realization that I’m already in my pajamas at seven on a Saturday evening.

  But there’s nothing for me to do but walk to the front door. I peek through the small window.

  I gasp loudly when I see who it is.

  Marcus.

  Standing on my front stoop.

  Looking sober and exhausted and still handsome.

  Familiar.

  I freeze, another shuddering beginning deep inside me.

  “I see you there,” Marcus says through the door. “Please open the door and talk to me.”

  I take a few deep breaths. My hand is shaking as I reach for the doorknob. I can’t seem to do it.

  “Please, Jennifer,” Marcus says, the hoarseness of his voice audible even through the door.

  I turn the knob. Open the door. He’s already got the storm door open.

  We stare at each other over the threshold.

  The shadows under his blu
e-gray eyes are dark smudges. He still hasn’t shaved, so his beard is filling out. He’s wearing an old T-shirt and a pair of track pants.

  He looks just as battered as I feel.

  I cling to the front door, and he holds on to the storm door. Neither of us says anything.

  It lasts a long time. I have no idea how long because the seconds have slowed as they pass into minutes.

  Finally I can’t stand it anymore. My voice is no more than a rasp as I ask, “What are you doing here, Marcus?”

  He opens his mouth, but no words come out.

  He does it again but still doesn’t succeed in forming a word.

  “Marcus?” I prompt, confused and strangely excited.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be excited. This could mean anything. But I can’t help it. The shuddering inside me coils down tightly, threatening to release.

  He finally bursts out, “You were right.” He blinks like he surprised himself.

  I blink too. “About what?”

  “About me. About everything. About how I need help. With girls. I told you I could close the deal, but I can’t. I can’t. Not when it matters. Now when I really want to. Not when it’s more than sex. I can’t close the deal. I don’t...” He takes a ragged breath, his eyes lifting slowly to meet mine. “I don’t know how.”

  “You don’t... know how.” I don’t know why I repeat the words, but they’re the only ones I’m capable of shaping. Marcus’s face blurs slightly until I’m able to refocus. That coil of intensity inside me clamps down even tighter.

  He rubs the dark hair on his jaw. “I don’t know how. I never have before.”

  I need to figure out what is happening right now. I need to figure it out right now. “But you want to... to...”

  He’s dropped his eyes again, but he raises them as he says, “Close the deal.” He clears his throat. “With you.”

  “With me?” God, I’m stupid, but I really can’t process what’s happening. The shuddering inside me has reached my extremities. My fingers are trembling. My toes are buzzing.

  “With you.” His voice is thick and soft.

  My knees buckle. Literally buckle. I lose my balance and end up on my knees on the floor of the entryway.