by James, Ella
“And what?” I bring a piece of bread up to my mouth.
“What were you thinking?”
“Oh, just if you had to take anti-seizure medicine, what your recovery was like, that kind of thing.”
“Did you have any seizures?” he asks, poker-faced.
“Some. Right after. I was in a coma for a few weeks, so it was after that.”
His face pales.
I look down at the table. “Sorry. This is kind of weird date talk.”
“Not weird.” His arm comes around me, folding me to his chest. His scruff brushes my hair. “I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”
I steal a wary glance at him. “You just looked…”
“I know.” His voice is rough.
I feel him take a deep breath, his chest pressing against me. His eyes are everywhere but on my face, and then they come back to mine, and they’re so intense it startles me.
“I have to know—” His voice roughens on the have to— “But…” His mouth flattens. He shakes his head.
It upsets him. Heat sweeps through me as I realize that’s what this is. It bothers him, hearing about the accident.
I wrap my arms around him, and that’s the way our waiter finds us when he returns for our food order. He gives us a funny little wink, and Bear and I place our orders.
When he leaves, Barrett takes a long swig of his water and turns to me. “In the Unit,” he says slowly, “there are short gunners and long gunners. The short gunners, some people call them assaulters…they burst into places, clear buildings. Do hand to hand. They’re on the ground. Task-oriented. And the long gunners, the snipers, cover them. We’re watchers. But nineteen times out of twenty, you know the person that you’re covering.” He shuts his eyes for a small moment. When they open, they glow in the candlelight like gemstones. “You asked earlier… I am protective.”
I hug him tight and wrap my legs around his underneath the table. “Barrett Drake…” His neck and chest flex slightly under my tight grasp. I grip him more tightly, brushing tickling kisses along his collar bone.
The little groan that rasps from his throat gets into my own chest, spreading through me in a lazy tendril that seems to center in between my legs. I feel Barrett shift his hips, and slide my hand down his flat abs until I feel his hardness.
“Gwen.” It’s practically a sigh.
“So hot.” I rub him.
“Stop.” The word is hung between a moan and chuckle. “Damn, Piglet. I’m gonna need another pair of pants.”
I giggle evilly. It’s a good thing that our food comes moments later. We chat as we eat, the conversation never dipping as deep as it did a little earlier. We’re almost finished eating and have just realized we’re both NFL fans when my phone rings.
“Oops, forgot to cut it off.” I fish it out of my purse. “Jamie. Hey, I bet she wants to—”
Talk to him. But Barrett’s standing. “Bathroom,” he mouths with his signature small, dimpled smile. It’s such a peaceful smile. A happy smile. Mine.
The word streaks through my brain as I answer Jamie, so it’s forgotten as she asks to Facetime Bear and me, and I give her a rain check from us.
“He’s kind of the quiet type, remember?”
“So? I’m your bestie. Tell homeboy to pony up.”
I laugh. We’re off the phone by the time Barrett comes back. As we wait for the check, he and I debate whether this should be Peyton Manning’s last season, and before I realize what’s the what, our waiter comes, and Barrett sends him off with his card.
I catch his hand in mine. “You don’t need to do that.”
He brings my hand up to his mouth, kissing my knuckles. “It makes me happy to take care of you.”
We leave the restaurant holding hands, me with the rose in my free hand. We pass a Native American craft store as we head toward my car.
“Do you mind if we go in?” he asks.
“Let’s do it.” I have a thing for pottery and handmade jewelry, not surprising when I think about the kinds of crafts that adorned my childhood home.
“I’ve got a Native friend. Native American. He used to have a dream catcher, when we’d be at different outposts.”
“You want one? That’s a nice idea.”
“His broke. He mentioned it a while back, so…” He shrugs.
My God, this man is sweet. And gorgeous. I admire him in the soft, purpleish light emanating from a stone-looking lamp just inside the shop. I’m checking out Bear’s amazing bicep when something behind him catches my eye. Is that— Oh, yes! That’s a dude mood ring.
I keep myself from glancing over at it while we pick out a beautiful dream catcher for Bear’s friend, and then one for my room. As we move toward the register, I grab his hand and point toward the door we came through. There’s a soda machine across the courtyard.
“Could I convince you to grab me a drink?” I ask him, pointing. “Just something carbonated, while I pay for this? My stomach kind of hurts.”
His thick brows draw together. “Of course.” He brushes a kiss over my hair and looks around the shop, taking in the short, gray-haired woman behind the counter before he walks back outside. Swaggers, really. Lord, that ass.
I jump slightly as someone moves behind me, turning on my heel to see a tallish, red-haired guy standing in the doorway punched into the pottery wall. Judging by the landscape behind his wide shoulders, I guess it’s an adjoining door that leads into a moccasin store. His eye catches mine for half a second before he turns and walks slowly back into moccasin land. I figure he must work there.
With a quick glance out the window, I race to the ring display, grabbing one I pray is his size and paying for it and the two dream catchers before he comes through the door. We leave a few minutes later, clasping hands while Barrett carries the bag with the dream catchers and I harbor his ring in my pocket.
“So, Dove,” I say as we stroll along the sidewalk. “That’s his real name?”
He gives me a strange look. “Seth. Dove is his tribal name, I guess you’d call it.”
“That’s cool. Is he nice?”
“He is.” Bear’s hand catches mine, his gaze warm on my gaze as our fingers intertwine. “Lives out in bumfuck nowhere with his wife, a writer.”
“Ah, so, married. He’s retired like you?”
Bear nods. I sense a story there, and also catch a vibe that makes me feel as if he doesn’t want to tell it.
When I see, between two sandwich shops, a little white fence with a sign bearing an image of a stream, I stop in my tracks. “Ohhh, we can go down right here and see one of the streams. Want to?”
Gatlinburg’s downtown is striped with tiny streams that rush between motels and behind strip malls. You can hear the water rushing over rocks from where we stand on the street.
“Sure.” We pause and as we turn toward the gate, he rubs his cheek against my head again. He pulls away and smiles down at me, his eyes squinting sweetly. “You’re pretty,” he says in a low voice.
I’ve got my hair in a long side pony tail, and I have to say, I feel pretty.
I stroke his chest through his shirt, smiling up at him. “So’re you, mister.”
We make our way down a narrow set of stairs to a little stream that rushes between two balcony-dotted motels. As we veer off the little walkway and onto some boulders near the stream’s edge, I trip and shout, “Bear!”
He catches me around my waist, and when I latch onto his arms, I see he’s smiling.
“What?” I tease.
He shakes his head. His lips curl.
I arch my eyebrows.
“I like it when you call me Bear.”
“My favorite Bear.”
He puts an arm behind my back to keep me steady on the rocks and kisses me, cupping my jaw as his tongue strokes mine. I cling to his shoulders, and I want more.
“Take me home…”
* * *
The second we’re out of my car in the garage, I go for his pants. I have
aspirations to make it into the laundry room, where the floor is softer, but we wind up on our hands and knees on the cold cement.
Barrett pulls my shoes and pants off, taking his time pulling my panties down before he runs a finger down my asscheek, parts my pussy lips, and fucks me hard and fast from behind. I love every dirty second of it.
It’s not until I lift myself up off the floor and notice all the leaves around me that I realize: we’re right by the gardenias. I turn to Barrett with wide eyes.
He winks and shifts back on his heels, giving me a gorgeous view of what’s rocking between his legs before he tugs his boxer-briefs and pants back up.
I hurry to dress myself as he watches with a small, smug smile that’s somehow also sweet and indulging.
When I’ve got my clothes on, he takes my hand, brushing his lips over my knuckles as I work the key into the laundry room door.
“You want a bath?” he murmurs in the dim light of the kitchen.
“How’d you know?”
I’m still hot and bothered from what just transpired, so just the graze of his big body against mine as we move through the den makes me feel sparkly and warm.
He runs the water really hot the way I like it, then motions me in. I settle in the back so I can wrap myself around him and try not to gawk as he folds his breathtaking body into the small space in front of me. He looks so ridiculous, though, and I can’t help laughing. Barrett chuckles too, a rich, warm sound I love more every time I hear it.
I rub my damp hand over his shoulder tats, looking more closely at a small pile of spent bullets on his right shoulder blade. Out of one of the shells, a flower sprouts; it’s a gardenia. My fingers are wandering down his spine, over a few long coordinates etched vertically between his shoulder blades, when he leans back against me.
“You’re heavy,” I whisper into his curls.
He starts to sit up, but I grab his shoulders. “I like it.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, but he lets me press him back against me. It’s strangely pleasant to be under him like this. Makes me feel protected.
I drape my arm along his collarbone. “I know you don’t.”
I want to see his snowflake tat again, but with him leaning back, I can’t, so I decide to kiss it. I drag my lips along his hairline at the nape of his neck, sucking lightly, nibbling. With him lying on top of me, I feel every quiver of his muscles; I can hear and feel him let his breath out. I suck on him, and he moans, wrapping his right hand around my slightly raised knee.
When I reach the spot where I think his tattoo is, I bite. He chuckles as he arches his back. “Piglet…”
His voice cracks, and my body throbs.
“Mmmmm?”
I feel his left arm move and…God, he’s got his fist around his dick.
I kiss down his nape and nibble on the upper ridge of his shoulder. The muscle there is thick, and he tastes salty. I suck his skin into my mouth and find his nipple with my fingers.
I’m rewarded with a moan. “You better quit that, Piggy.” His voice is a delicious rasp I feel between my own legs.
“Or what, Bear?” I breathe my words against his skin.
He whirls around so fast I have no chance of escaping his snare. With his arms around my shoulders and his mouth on mine, he rasps, “Or I’ll huff…and I’ll puff…and I’ll blow your house down.”
I laugh into his blue eyes, and Barrett gives a wolfish grin.
I’m the one who blows him, as it were. Before I finish, he lifts me up onto the tub’s side, spreads my legs, and huffs and puffs until my hands are running through his hair and my legs are locked around his shoulders.
“You think that’s all?” I rasp, lowering my feet back into the warm water.
He gives me a handsome, almost shy smile, and shakes his head.
“Lay down.”
He does, and I ride him.
We come clutching each other and as Barrett sits up with me still on his lap, I’m struggling to keep my eyes open.
He nuzzles my cheek with his scratchy one.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, and grabs a towel from beside the tub, scooping me up in his arms before he gets out of the tub, wrapping me up first and balancing me against his wide chest as he tucks a towel around his waist. With a small half-smile—the shy, sweet one that seems to wreck my heart a little more each time I see it—he takes me to my bed and we lie down together.
I push my fingers through his wet hair and Barrett, curled around me, kisses my forehead. He’s rubbing my shoulder with his warm palm when I feel his body twitch. For once, he’s out before I am. I pull him closer to me, joyous at the miracle of our two bodies folded so sweetly together.
When, after a little while, my heart’s still soaring too high to sink into sleep, I gently disentangle from him and slip off the bed.
FIVE
Barrett
I’m going for my toothbrush when I see—
Is that a ring?
I lift it off the toothbrush handle, set it in my palm, and hold it up near my face. My eyes are still blurry, but it looks like… I chuckle, despite my raw throat. That’s a fucking mood ring: just like hers, but a thick band.
I grin down at it. All the tightness in my chest: the cold, tight, empty feeling— That shit dissolves as I look at the ring in my palm. I set it down and wash my hands and try it on before I brush my teeth.
It’s too tight on my middle finger, but it fits the one beside my pinky, on my right hand. I watch amused as it turns from brownish green, before I brush my teeth, to sea green when I’m finished. I take it off so I can clean the sink up, put away the cloth I stuffed into my mouth, and use a spare hand towel to soap off my neck and chest. I don’t think they’re really dirty, but I want to be sure before I get back into bed with her.
I put the ring back on and smirk at myself in the mirror. Pretty princess. Breck used to call me that when I called him our special snowflake. Breck would like her, I think, as I run a hand back through my hair. He was so outgoing. He always liked the quiet, sweet ones. Gwen’s not quiet—she’s more talkative, which is a good foil to me—but she’s sweet as hell.
I give the ring one more glance—dark blue now—before I turn out the bathroom light and step quietly into her room. It smells so fucking good in here. Like fruit and sex and…vanilla. I look up at the ceiling, at the twinkle lights, then I let my gaze find Gwen. Her narrow shoulders, her small body curled into a little “c.” She isn’t skinny, but compared to me, she’s tiny. So small and soft—and warm.
I climb into bed. She’s facing me, so I position myself around her, arranging things so her pretty face is tucked against my throat. I wrap an arm around her back and bring my knees up below hers. It takes all my self control to resist kissing her, but based on her breathing, I don’t think she seems soundly asleep, and I don’t want to wake her up.
It feels so good to be here with her, but I don’t want her knowing how fucked up my head is. It would be best if she could think it’s better when I’m near her. One, because it really is. But also because I don’t want to be trouble to her. She said she could tell me what to do for the nightmares, but that’s not what I want. She doesn’t deserve to have to deal with that. It’s mine. I deserve it.
I inhale right by her hair, trying to find a label for the sweet, unique scent.
I wonder how I’ll ever be away from her again.
Maybe I really don’t have to be. Now that I know her and care for her, I feel more sure than ever that I can keep my secret. I can take it to my grave.
I’m so damn glad I didn’t tell Kellan or Cleo. No one knows but Dove and Blue. I can handle Dove and Blue.
I shut my eyes and with her silky hair against my face, I think about my mom. I have the weirdest, hot feeling right under my throat. My chest feels like it loosens up, so I can breathe. I take a deep, slow breath, and it feels good.
Gwen’s lips tickle my throat.
“Hey…” Her voice is raspy.
I kiss her temple. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“You like it?” She smiles sleepily.
“Blue—for happy.” I kiss her nose. “Yes. I like it.”
I end up inside her, breathing hard in time with her soft breaths… Groaning as my pleasure takes me over. We fall asleep entangled in each other.
Knocking wakes us.
* * *
Gwenna
The mattress bounces as Barrett gets down off the bed. I hear the swish of fabric over flesh as he pulls pants on.
“Stay there.”
Before I can clear the sleep from my eyes, he’s disappeared. A minute later, I hear the echo of his laughter.
“What the fuck?” He sounds happy as he chuckles; very male, as if he’s greeting a guy friend. At my house?
“Come on in— well, wait a second. Gwen’s— How are you here?”
I can’t hear the answer, but my stomach does a slow flip. Does he have Delta Force friends? My pulse pounds in my head as I hop out of bed and race into my closet, throwing on the first things I touch: Lularoe leggings in magenta and black, and an oversized heather gray sweatshirt with a hood and a big hand pocket on the front. Thank Jesus for the tiny mirror on the back of my closet door. Looking into it, I smooth my hair and do the universe’s quickest braid, then bind the end with a small rubber band I find around the door knob.
“Piglet?”
I suck in a deep breath and poke my head out of the closet. “Yeah?”
Barrett’s face is radiant: his eyes alive, his smile bright. He’s shirtless, too. He steps into my closet and throws a big, bare arm around my shoulders. “Kellan’s here. And Cleo.”
“What?”
He gives a low laugh. “My brother and his fiancé.” He rocks back on his heels a little, soft affection shining in his eyes. “I want them to meet you. They’re only passing through— Not really,” he corrects himself. “They were down in Georgia seeing Cleo’s family and the bank called. House is closing. I put Kelly as a reference. They didn’t know I was even here, so they’re surprised.”