She shook her head and her hair tickled my nose. “This isn’t exactly how I’d like to meet her though.”
Damn, I hated it when she had a valid argument. Especially when I wasn’t on the winning side of it. I gripped her ass and hauled her up my bare chest before I captured her mouth in a hungry kiss, morning breath be damned.
When I finally let her go, her breathing was ragged and her eyes had that hazy, unfocused look again, the same one she had after she climaxed, moaning my name last night. My hard length throbbed at the memory.
“Fine.” I brushed my lips across hers once more. “I’ll leave. But only if you promise to come to my place tonight.” I tipped her chin up until her espresso eyes found mine. “We’re not finished here.”
“I’ll come.”
“Yeah, you will. Multiple times.” I winked and shifted her off me, sliding out from under the quilt and yanking on my jeans. My dick protested when I tucked him back down and zipped my pants the rest of the way up. “Seven o’clock? I’ll even feed you.”
She scrunched her face.
“What?”
“You feeding me. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. A threat or an enticement.” She tilted her head, her swollen lips frowning. “Can you cook?”
I ruffled her hair and then bent over to whisper in her ear. “I guess you’ll have to find out.”
Her smile spread slowly, like honey melting over a hot biscuit, that dimple I loved so much making an early morning appearance. “I guess I will.”
“You eat red meat?” I confirmed.
Her eyes widened and dipped to my crotch before returning to my face, bright splotches of color staining her cheeks. I chuckled. “That’s not what I meant, but I’ll take it as a yes.”
She pulled the covers over her head. “Leave. For the love of all the little fat cherub angels playing harps in the sky, just leave.”
My lips quirked at her choice of words as I found my shirt on the other side of the room. One shoe was still by the door, the other had landed in a laundry basket. “Seven, Reese. I’m going to tell Oscar to expect you. Don’t be late. He’s perfected the sad puppy dog look.”
“I’d hate to disappoint your dog.” Her voice was muffled from the blanket but the sarcasm came through loud and clear.
“There’s nothing worse than an unhappy wiener,” I agreed.
I slipped out the door before she could say anything else, so she’d be left thinking about my dick.
As I drove away with a goofy ass smile on my face, I debated whether to go all out and make steaks and a salad or do something more casual like shrimp and grits. My phone dinged and my grin morphed into a full-on smirk, thinking it was her with a parting shot.
Marco: I’m free this morning if you want to work on the snare duel.
Annoyance filtered through me but I tamped it down. I’d been trying to set up a time for the last week to finalize the duel with him and he’d blown me off three times. For three different girls, I’m pretty sure. But now, now, he was free.
Me: One hour. Practice room two.
Punching the gas a little harder than necessary, I headed home to shower. At this rate, I’d barely have time to stop for coffee on the way. And I needed all the available caffeine in south Alabama to make dealing with Marco on a non-game-day Saturday morning tolerable. We’d been friends once, I might have even considered him my best friend in high school, but most of that relationship seemed to have crumbled over the years. What remained was more of a reluctant partnership—like when the teacher paired you up in school and that’s not who you wanted to get, but there were worse choices so you kept quiet and made do.
The snare duel was a 64-count chunk of time for me and him to shine.
If we could find a way to successfully collaborate.
The practice itself went about as well as I expected. After wasting thirty minutes arguing back and forth and getting nowhere, we finally decided to split it up into sections. I’d play the first eight counts, then him, followed by a sixteen-count section each, and we’d finish it up with sixteen counts played together with some flashy stick work to show off.
We settled on a Wednesday deadline for our solo sections, which meant all we had to get through today was choreographing sixteen beats. Four measly measures. How hard could that be?
It took two hours for us to agree and another hour for us to perfect it.
Fucking Marco.
Noon had come and gone by the time we’d stowed our snares and gone our separate ways. I had no idea where he was going, which was fine by me. These days, if it wasn’t specifically drumline related, we didn’t interact. I wasn’t entirely sure why, but something about him had shifted subtly over the years. His humor had changed, from laughing at himself to laughing at the expense of others. And the way he treated girls as if they were both disposable and interchangeable left a sour taste in my mouth.
I headed to the grocery store for steaks and fresh veggies. No more of this indecisive nonsense. And I could grill the fuck out of a ribeye. Nothing said peacocking like meat cooked to perfection over a fire. There was a raw caveman element to it that was undeniable.
The Wrangler bounced over the uneven parking lot of Publix as my phone dinged. Dreading a message from Marco and hoping for one from Reese, I checked the screen.
Bastard: We need to talk. I’ll expect you here by three today.
My jaw clenched so hard it almost popped. Fucking hell. Could I not catch a damn break? First Marco and now my father? Nothing ruined my day quite as thoroughly as a mandatory trip to Montgomery for a lecture from the man responsible for half of my DNA.
He’d moved about an hour upstate when I started college, claiming he needed a fresh start.
Bullshit.
More like so he could leave without feeling guilty after I started at Rodner as a freshman.
But it worked out. It gave us both an excuse to see each other less. In fact, we didn’t see each other at all anymore unless he demanded it. And I only went because he was the last link I had to Garrett, which I couldn’t toss aside no matter how much I hated the guy. I rubbed the tattoo on my chest.
Years ago, I’d given up envisioning how different my life would be if Garrett hadn’t died. If Mom hadn’t left and Dad hadn’t lost himself to the bitterness of losing a son and then a wife. If he’d remembered that he still had a son who would’ve given his left nut to have a parent at least pretend like he loved him.
I laughed bitterly and didn’t bother replying.
We both knew I’d be there.
I bought steaks, mushrooms, zucchini, squash, sweet potatoes, and salad fixings. A case of Cherry Coke Zero and a nice bottle of wine covered both my bases beverage-wise. And I picked up a can of whipped cream in case the evening went as well as I hoped. After a pause, I grabbed a second can too. I used to be a Boy Scout and the Be Prepared motto still came in handy on occasion. A box of condoms, the shiny gold foil covered ones, rounded out my purchase.
Confident I was fully stocked for my date with Reese later, I dropped everything by the townhouse and spent twenty minutes playing with Oscar. That dog went crazy over tug-of-war. I gave him a good long belly rub and left him with a new rawhide to chew on when I couldn’t put off leaving any longer.
The whole way there, I played the Shrek soundtracks. Those had been Garrett’s favorite movies. We’d watched it so many times and taken turns quoting the different characters. Donkey was my favorite. Donkey was both our favorites. I did anything I could to make Garrett fresh in my mind before I arrived at Dad’s house. Anything to remind myself why I put up with him.
Despite the best efforts of Smash Mouth, my muscles were tense with the impending confrontation when I pulled up the brick-paver driveway and parked in front of the three-thousand square-foot house he lived in alone. I used to think the size was excessive, but these days I recognized that he needed all that space to hold the ghosts of the family we used to be and might have been. Or maybe he needed the fifteen-foot cathedral ceilings to have room for all his lingering bitterness.
Six bedrooms in that house and none of them were mine.
I didn’t stay here. Ever. Even on holidays. Because extending such an invitation would never occur to him.