by Jewel E. Ann
I kiss him back, refusing to keep entertaining this ridiculous comparison in my head. I’m going to let Warren fuck me if for no other reason than I want to march into Mr. Malone’s office on Monday and tell him how an eighteen-year-old senior got the job done—the one Bodhi failed to accomplish at Coachella.
Warren breaks our kiss as I keep ahold of his hair. “I have a hotel room.”
“Does this seat recline?”
He nods, a bit of confusion flitting across his face.
My lips move to his ear. “Guess what I’m wearing under this dress?”
“What?” He breathes heavily.
“Absofuckinglutely nothing. So we don’t need a room, just a little creativity.”
“Sweet Jesus,” he says as his hands start working the button and zipper to his pants.
We won’t be the first or last couple to not make it out of the parking lot after homecoming.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MONDAY MORNING I stand outside of Mr. Malone’s office, holding my pass from study hall, but it takes me a full ten minutes to work up the courage to knock on his door.
“Come in,” he calls when I do.
I open the door slowly with half the confidence I usually have when visiting his office. He doesn’t say anything as he looks up from his computer screen, but his jaw pulses as if he’s biting back the words he wants to say.
“Hi.” I slip inside and shut the door behind me.
“Hi.” He returns a monotone greeting.
I had this grand entrance planned. I’d hoped he would be blinded by my afterglow. Instead, I’m hurting so badly, I struggle to keep taking my next breath. How can he not know what he did to us?
“Did you have a good weekend?” I drop my bag and fall into the chair.
Bodhi nods once, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he returns his attention to the computer.
“I was crowned homecoming queen. Can you believe it?”
His eyebrows knit tightly, but he doesn’t look at me. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” I murmur.
For the next thirty minutes, he uses silence as a weapon to make me pay for what he practically told me I should do with Warren. I wait it out and say goodbye when the bell rings. We repeat this standoff for the remainder of the week.
Every day after school, I’m hell-bent on walking to Bodhi’s house and letting him know exactly how much he hurt me. Instead, I get high and the marijuana does its job. After a while, I just don’t give a shit. All is right in the world when I’m high.
Except today, I don’t get high. It’s Friday, the best day to binge-watch Riverdale and get high. Instead, I go for a sunset ride with Leo and a small group of tourists. I had no idea I was a horse person, but Angelina is a great creature. When my ass isn’t throbbing with pain from the saddle, we’re a match made in equestrian heaven.
“Do you have plans for later tonight?” Leo asks as the three other people follow us back to the stables.
I glance over at him. He gives me a very flirty smile. Bodhi could take a few lessons from Leo. “Not that I’m aware of. Probably getting high.” Something tells me Leo won’t judge me.
“Want company?”
I was right.
“Sure.” I grin back at him.
“Sweet. It will take me about forty-five minutes to finish up here. Meet me at the end of the lane in say … an hour?”
“An hour it is.”
After dismounting Angelina, I start to walk in the direction of the road, but a dark figure on the porch of Bodhi’s house catches my attention. My feet overrule my common sense, and they carry me toward the porch. There’s an older man in a wheelchair entranced by the sunset.
“You lost?” he asks as I reach the bottom of the ramp.
“No.”
He brings a joint up to his lips and takes a drag. “You take the tour?”
I nod, ambling up the whiney ramp.
“Was it good?”
“Sure.” I shrug.
“That Leo kid is full of shit. You didn’t actually believe anything he said, did you? Tourists are so gullible. No offense.”
I laugh. “I live up the hill about a mile. And Leo is totally full of shit, but it’s mildly entertaining shit that seems to amaze the tourists, so you should keep him around.”
He inspects me for several seconds, his joint paused a few inches from his lips. “I’m Barrett.”
“Henna.” I hold out my hand.
He doesn’t shake it. Instead, he offers me his joint. Can’t say I’ve ever smoked pot with a guidance counselor’s father before. I take it. I guess there’s truly a first for everything.
“Have a seat.” He nods to the wooden rocker beside his wheelchair.
I hand the joint back to him and take a seat.
“How did you end up in a wheelchair?” It’s weird how I’ve never had the courage to ask Bodhi the same question, but when a stranger offers you a drag of his joint, nothing’s off the table.
“Fourteen marble stairs.”
“You fell?”
Barrett nods.
“That sucks ass.”
He looks over at me.
I shrug. “Don’t look at me like that. I speak the truth, and you know it. Any way you look at it, falling down fourteen marble stairs and permanently landing in a wheelchair just sucks ass.”
A grin works up his face. “What do you know? You’re clearly just a pretty, young pothead.”
I turn to the side and lift my shirt, showing him my scar. “I know about things that suck ass.”
“Mmm …” He inspects it for a long moment. “But you can walk.”
“True.” I put my shirt back down and sit straight again. “So, I suppose I only know about things that half-ass suck.”
A laugh rumbles from Barrett again. “I like you, Henna.”
“Dad, dinner’s—” Bodhi stops on the opposite side of the screen door. “Ready,” he finishes.
“’Bout damn time. It better be good and not instant shit for as long as it took you.” Barrett winks at me. “You have somewhere to be or can I talk you into more than a joint with me?”
I glance over at Bodhi frowning at me. Yeah, I smoked a little weed with your dad. So what? I grin. “I’m starving.”
“Follow me, young lady. Bodhi, Henna. Henna, Bodhi. Smile, Son. There’s a bona fide woman having dinner with us. And she’s not old or a relative, so step the hell up and show her some Malone manners.”
Bodhi holds open the door as Barrett rolls in the house.
“Nice to meet you, Bodhi.” I give him a toothy grin.
“The pleasure’s all my dad’s.” He narrows his eyes as I pass him.
Looking over my shoulder, I stick my tongue out. He rolls his eyes, biting back a grin.
“Spaghetti? It took you an hour to make spaghetti?” Barrett jabs Bodhi.
“The meatballs are homemade, Dad.”
Barrett bites into one of the meatballs as I take a seat next to him and opposite Bodhi. “These are good. There’s really nothing like juicy balls.”
“Dad!” Bodhi flinches, scratching the nape of his neck. “Don’t invite someone to dinner and be so crude.”
“It’s fine.” I bite into one of Bodhi’s made-from-scratch meatballs, and it’s just as juicy and amazing as Barrett said it is. “Mmm … these are good balls.” I wink at Bodhi.
He looks up at the ceiling, drawing in a slow breath.
I grin and so does Barrett.
We spend the next hour having the best conversation about how Barrett met his wife. I love that even though their marriage started to fall apart before she died, he speaks of her with such adoration. At first, Bodhi seems uncomfortable listening to his father talk about his deceased mother, but eventually he warms up and even adds to some of the stories. Cecile, his mom, stayed home while Barrett ran the ranch. She was an excellent cook and a prankster.
I melt listening to Bodhi and Barrett share their trip down memory lane with me.
As I help Bodhi take the dishes to the kitchen, there’s a knock at the door. Bodhi answers it. I recognize Leo’s voice.
Shit! Leo.
I totally forgot.
“Hey, there you are.” He looks over Bodhi’s shoulder as I approach the door. “My uncle said he thought he saw you walk this way.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry. Barrett invited me for dinner, and the time slipped my mind.”
Bodhi crosses his arms over his chest, watching Leo and I have a conversation with him in the middle.
“You still want to … uh…” he gives Bodhi a quick look “…hang out?”
Bodhi squints at Leo and then at me.
“Yeah, sure. Let me just say goodnight to Barrett.”
“Really?” Bodhi’s question stops me.
“Really what?”
Leo watches Bodhi with a bit of apprehension. He clearly knows who’s the boss.
“You’re just going to eat my food and run? Leaving me with the mess to clean up by myself?”
“Oh,” Leo speaks up. “No. She’s not.”
Why does Leo feel the need to answer for me?
“I’ll do it for her.”
“What?” I shoot Leo an incredulous look. “No. You didn’t eat dinner here. Just …” I frown at Bodhi, but he ignores my glare, staring back at me with a blank expression. “Another night, Leo?”
Leo takes a step backward on the porch. “Absolutely. Um…” he shoves his hands in his pockets “…have a good night.”
“We will. Thanks.” Bodhi shuts the door.
I cross my arms over my chest, mirroring Bodhi’s stance from earlier. “Boy, your juicy balls sure do come with a price.”
He grins. I pivot and march back to the kitchen. After saying goodnight to Barrett, I finish drying the dishes while Bodhi puts his dad to bed. Their old house is quite run-down, but there’s still a warmth to it from all the family photos on the walls and the fireplace mantel. A beautiful multi-colored quilt lies folded on the back of a rocking chair. I wonder if Cecile made it?
“Smoking pot with my dad, huh? Have you no shame?”
I turn from the wall of photos—many with Bodhi. Ignoring his efforts to shame me, I point to a photo of him surfing. “So it’s true. You can surf.”
Sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he lifts his shoulders, giving me a tight-lipped, I-told-you-so smile.
“Where’s your sister?”
“Bella’s in Kentucky.”
I turn back to the photos, staring at one of her on a horse. She must have been ten or so. “Bella …” I whisper.
“Daddy’s girl. I’ve always liked horses, but to her they are life. Like tacos are to you.”
I grin, but he can’t see it with my back to him. “So why is she not here … at Bella’s Stables?”
“She dreamed of training horses, the kind that could win major stake’s races. Last year’s derby winner? She trains for that family.”
“That’s quite the dream come true.”
“Yes.”
I face him again. “And you don’t ever feel a tiny bit of resentment that she’s doing that while you’re here responsible for your father all but one weekend out of the year?”
Bodhi blinks a few times. “Nope.”
“You’re a nice son.”
“It’s getting late.” He glances at his watch. “Can I give you a ride home?”
“If I say no, are you really going to let me walk home by myself in the dark?”
“No.”
“Maybe Leo could drive me home. I feel bad for standing him up.”
Bodhi draws in a long breath, the muscles in his jaws flexing several times. “Then call him.”
“I don’t have his number. Maybe you could give it to me.”
Those muscles pulse a few more times. Bodhi looks almost feral. The last time I saw feral-looking Bodhi was Monday after homecoming weekend. I’m so drained from wanting the man before me but constantly being turned away by his silence.
I step closer to him and a little closer yet until I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze. “Call him, please. Call Leo and tell him I’m ready to hang out.”
Bodhi’s nostrils flare.
“Tell him I’m ready to smoke a little weed and throw all inhibitions to the wind.”
“Shut up,” he says with a strained voice, through gritted teeth.
I ball my hands that ache to touch him. I try to ignore the tingle of my skin that begs to be touched by him. “Call him.”
Bodhi shakes his head, emotions red in his eyes, jaw set.
“Call him. Tell him you don’t want me, so he can have—”
“Just shut the fuck up.” He grabs my head and kisses me, pushing me into the wall, rattling the picture frames beside my head.
I can’t breathe. I. Can’t. Breathe. All the oxygen leaves my body, replaced with Bodhi. Clawing at his head, I hold his mouth to mine by two fists full of his hair as we angle our heads to find the perfect position that allows our kiss to deepen. I climb up his body, wrapping my legs around him. He grabs my ass with both hands, not like a football—like he owns it. Devouring my mouth, he walks us to the stairs and drops to his knees, sprawling my body out above him.
Shoving my shirt and bra up at the same time, he reacquaints himself with my breasts.
I bite my lips together to keep from crying out. It’s almost painful, but just as he pushes me to the very edge, he flattens his tongue over my nipple that he bit so fucking hard.
“Bodhi …” I pant his name, looking down at him as he looks up at me with hooded eyes.
“Shut up, Henna.” His eyes are filled with so much anguish, I have to fight back my own emotions. He unfastens my jeans and peels them off me. “If you want me to stop, then say stop. Otherwise, just…” he tosses my jeans aside “…shut up.”
Resting my elbows on the stair, I peer down at him as he pauses … waiting.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper.
Bodhi slides down my panties and spreads my legs. His eyes flit between my middle—wet and completely exposed to him—and my steadfast gaze. Lowering his head, he keeps his eyes locked to mine.
“Ung!” I bite back my reaction as his tongue makes a slow swipe.
He does it several more times before plunging it into me. His eyes roll back in his head and he hums his pleasure. My eyes do the same thing as he quickly and expertly claims my orgasm.
This sends me higher than I’ve ever been. The kind of high that could make me pass out. Before I completely come down, he picks me back up and carries me the rest of the way upstairs, kissing my mouth the way he kissed me between my legs.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers in my ear as he lays me on his bed. “Tell me, Henna.” He crawls between my legs, resting his forehead on the mattress next to mine as his fingers slide between my legs.
I jerk my hips, sensitive to his touch after my orgasm.
“Please … tell me.” He slides a finger partway inside of me then pulls it out and spreads my arousal all around.
I’m a lot of things, but tonight I’m not his savior.
“Get a condom,” I whisper in his ear.
“Henna …” He says my name like the most desperate plea.
I reach for his jeans. He brings his body up so he’s hovering over me, both of us watching my shaky hands unfasten his jeans. When they’re fully unfastened, I flit my gaze to his. He parts his lips, letting his tongue make a lazy swipe over his lower lip. We say things in this one look that don’t require words.
My fingers push the elastic band of his briefs down just enough to expose the swollen head of his erection. His eyes flare, watching me, breathless, with every muscle in his body flexed and hard as steel with anticipation.
“More,” he says on a jagged breath.
I ease the black material down the rest of the way, completely releasing him. Our eyes meet again—his glazed over, mine slightly widened.
“Fuck,” he seethes as I wrap my hand a
round him.
I’m so inexplicably fascinated by his reaction to me touching him, and I’m surprisingly comfortable with it as well.
Henna and Bodhi …
It’s like my body knows that he’s mine to touch. My nerves dissolve into a confidence that I can’t explain. I slide my fisted hand up his full length, watching his facial reaction the whole time. He’s mine. Even if he doesn’t really know it yet—he’s mine.
After a few more slow strokes, he stands on his knees between my spread legs, shrugs off his shirt and rids me of the rest of my clothes. Sliding out of his briefs and jeans, he rolls on a condom and kneels between my legs again. He grabs under my knees, pulling my pelvis and my whole body toward him. I hold myself there as he guides his cock between my folds, sliding it up to tease my clit before sliding it back to my entrance.
He does this over and over, stopping every so many times to press just the head of it into me an inch or so.
“Henna?” He continues to stimulate me with his full length, adding his thumb to circle my clit when he presses into me an inch or so.
My lips part to let out ragged breaths that come faster as the heaviness grows again between my legs. “Huh?” I lift my hips higher, approaching another release.
God … he feels so good. I close my eyes.
“Henna?”
I force them open, teetering on the edge of my orgasm.
“Look at me, baby.”
I look at him. All the pain and worry have been replaced with something else.
“Henna Eve Lane …” He inches into me a little more.
My breath catches.
He pulls back out, leaving just the head of his cock kissing my entrance. “I love you.”
Tears sting my eyes.
“No matter where I am on this earth, I’m loving you … forever.” His thumb circles my clit faster and my hips buck. He slows his circles when I come undone, a deep pulse spreading in all directions like the Mediterranean painting the shores of Italy. “Bodhi and Henna …” he says while grabbing my hips and plunging all the way into me.
“Fuck—”
He covers my mouth with his hand and stills himself, buried completely inside of me. He bends down, ghosting his lips over my ear. “Thank you,” he whispers.