by P. Dangelico
After the “I have no feelings for her and she less for me” remark, I walked away. I know conviction when I hear it. There was force behind those words. And I have my pride. I’m not a complete glutton for punishment.
Speaking of Reagan, he has yet to look at me once since leaving Roxbury Drive. He’s definitely not one prone to broody moods. He’s naturally chatty and bordering on almost annoyingly upbeat. Our conversations have always had an easy rhythm, a steady flow. Which is why this behavior is throwing me for a loop. I don’t know how to handle this version of him. I’ve never seen him this shut down before with the exception of the night we saw Brian.
I wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to ditch me and spend some time alone. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting, though. The last thing I want to be to him is another burden he can’t wait to be rid of.
“Want to crash at my place? No one’s home,” he says, staring out at the empty highway, tight grip on the steering wheel, broad shoulders at a perfect ninety-degree angle he’s so tense.
Okay, I was a little bit off the mark. A slow-spreading warmth that started in the cavity of my chest swiftly travels up my neck and over my face. We’ve never had a sleepover. This is highly irregular for us, but I don’t question it. He doesn’t want to be alone and I get it. I know how it feels. Sometimes to ride out the storm all you need is someone to hold on to, a fixed point, a steady presence that doesn’t tax you emotionally because you’re not invested that way. I’m that to him. Someone he’s not worried about impressing. Someone he’s not invested in.
Reagan’s gaze cuts back and forth from the road to me.
“I don’t have anything with me,” I remind him.
“You can borrow my stuff.”
An image of Reagan in nothing other than his underwear immediately crops up and once again I curse my ability to visualize in fine detail.
You can do this, Bailey. Your friend needs you. Buck up, bitch.
Because isn’t that what friendship is? Putting your own feelings aside when you’re needed. Stepping up to the plate knowing your heart’s on the line, the one that will take the hit.
“Okay,” I tell him.
An undeniable urge to gauge his reaction makes me glance his way again and I’m just in time to catch it, the subtle softening of his features, the relaxing of his shoulders. That’s when I know I made the right choice.
“Patrick,” he cryptically announces out of nowhere. “My middle name is Patrick…I’m ashamed of it.”
My heart hurts. It literally hurts for him. “You’re nothing like him,” I assure him. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Reagan
“I sleep naked.”
Maybe this is a mistake. Judging by the way Alice stands stiffly in the threshold of my bedroom, I would say it is. The abject fear on her face knocks a burst of laughter out of me. “Kidding. I keep my skivvies on.”
After the disaster at dinner, I need her here. I need her more than her desire to keep me at arm’s length and definitely more than my pride. She gets me. It’s not often you find someone that you don’t need to constantly explain yourself to. It’s never happened to me before and I’m not about to miss this opportunity. And maybe I am asking too much of a girl who has been very clear about friend-zoning me from the start, but I’m going to take anything I can get…even if it comes with the nastiest case of blue balls I’ve ever experienced.
I grab a t-shirt out of the dresser and toss it at her. Catching it, she holds it up to her body and the hem of my shirt hits her knees. Alice isn’t tiny, around 5’6”, but I’ve got a good six inches on her. She giggles, and my heart feels it. I swear the sound of her laughter has the power to push into place whatever it is that feels out of sorts inside my chest. She catches me staring at her mouth and her forehead wrinkles. I clear my throat, look away.
“There are clean towels under the sink and new toothbrushes. Take whatever you need.”
“Where’s Dallas and the Petermans?”
“Dall got in his car and said he’d be back in a few days. And the twins are with their parents until tomorrow.” A really awkward moment of silence ensues where I can’t help staring at her and she can’t seem to meet my eyes. “Al?” She quickly glances up. “If you’re uncomfortable…”
“No, I’m good.” She smiles and holds up the t-shirt as she crosses the bedroom headed for the bathroom. “Let me get changed.”
“Wanna watch something? I have Netflix and Apple TV.”
“Of course you do,” she teases. “Pick something and I’ll be out in a minute.”
The door shuts and I strip down to my black boxer briefs and select something to watch. Dead Pool 2. Perfect. After what happened at dinner, I’m wrecked and in dire need of a mindless distraction. I grab a couple of bottles of water out of the small refrigerator in my room, set them by the nightstand. I want her to be comfortable. That’s all…or maybe I’m somewhat nervous too.
Alice steps out of the bathroom wearing my favorite t-shirt. It hangs loosely to her knees, except for where the tips of her hard nipples tent the fabric. And the minute I get a good look, I lose what’s left of my mind and go full-on cro-fucking-magnon.
This was a mistake. Having her here is a mistake. My dick decides this is a great time to introduce himself, and the best I can do is drop my hands in front and pray she doesn’t notice.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I duck out, turn away from her, and walk into the bathroom without meeting her searching gaze. Minutes later, I step out and find Alice tucked in bed. Without any makeup, she looks so much younger than…
“Are you twenty-one yet?”
“February thirteen.” She beams up at me, her full pink lips parting to show her bright white teeth. And damn if she isn’t the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.
“Don’t make plans. I’m taking you out.”
Her thumb runs back and forth across her bottom lip as she studies me. “The girls may want to do something, bossy pants.”
Bossy pants? Whatever. “We’ll take them with us.” She can call me whatever she wants as long as she keeps smiling at me like that.
“You’d do that?” The pitch of her voice rises, her excitement palpable. I want her to look at me that way forever––like I can do no wrong.
“It’s your birthday, Bailey.” I shrug. “I’ll do whatever makes you happy.”
I find myself staring at her mouth again. Swear to God, I’m under a spell. One more kiss. Just one. Then I’ll slide between those shapely white thighs, push myself inside of her, and fuck her into next week the way I’ve been dreaming about doing for the past two months.
“What are we watching?” She looks so oblivious to the filthy shit that’s playing out in my mind that it almost makes me laugh.
When I don’t answer right away, she stares at me blankly, puzzled by my behavior. Can’t blame her. I’m standing by the side of the bed, looking at her like a twelve-year-old that’s gotten his first peek at Internet porn, so a little confusion is justified.
I slide into bed making sure to stay on my side. It’s a California king-size bed. This should keep some respectable distance between us. Otherwise it’ll be another sleepless night for me.
“Dead Pool 2.”
“Oh good. I love Dead Pool. Do you mind? My feet are cold.”
No sooner has she made this announcement than her feet are on mine. Cold doesn’t even begin to describe them. I yelp, jerking them back. “The hell! Are you…what the…I’ve dissected dead things with more body heat.”
Laughter breaks out. Head thrown back, uncontrollable laughter. It’s husky and sexy as hell. A familiar sensation stirs in my balls. This was a mistake.
“Gimme those frozen toes.”
Still smiling, she narrows her eyes. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m not having those dead things sneak up on me in the middle of the night. Hand them over.”
Chewing on her lip, she considers my command.
“You’re very bossy tonight.”
There’s a teasing note in her voice that feeds my lust. I wonder what it would sound like whispered in my ear as I’m driving my dick inside of her. The image has my heart thrashing inside my chest.
“What are you thinking about? You have a weird look on your face.”
I can’t answer. I’m too busy watching her pull her legs out from beneath the covers and extending them in my direction. I love her legs. Not a single blemish or freckle. Pale and curved in all the right places. I’d love them even more wrapped around my waist.
She places her feet in my lap, and I shift my hips to hide my hard-on. Her delicate toes are painted light purple and so damn cute. I picture them rubbing up and down my shaft.
“Nothing. I’m thinking about your dead toes.”
She laughs again. I take her feet between my hands, push my thumbs into the arches. Her eyelids get heavy and her mouth slack. I give her toes a gentle tug and a soft whimper slips out.
“Oh God, that feels so good…” She gasps when I cup them and gently squeeze. “Don’t stop.”
And as I watch her face glow with pleasure, I say what’s been on my mind since we got back. “I’m sorry my parents were rude to you. I shouldn’t have forced you to come.”
There’s only understanding on her face. No pity, no judgment. I can tell her anything and not feel threatened. That’s never happened to me before and the feeling is addicting as hell. I am fucking crazy about this girl and every minute I’m with her I fall deeper and deeper.
I play with her toes, slide my index finger along the sensitive skin between each of them. She shivers and inhales sharply. I look up, into her heavy-lidded eyes, and time stands still. I see my life, next year in med school. No sleep. I’m miserable, just going through the motions. Then I see Alice living her life. Laughing with her friends…talking to the douchebag in her film class. And my heart sinks into my gut.
“Stop apologizing,” she murmurs, snapping me out of the moment. “I wanted to go with you. You don’t need to be responsible for me the way you are for everything and everyone else…I will say this, they’re actually worse than you described them. Now I know why Brian is so troubled.” She presses her toes into my abs and I swallow down a groan. “I have no idea how you turned out so well.”
“They definitely did their best to screw us up, but my brother started using because of a girl.”
Her flashing eyes, burning with curiosity, scan my face. She sits up abruptly, takes her feet back, and crosses her legs. I instantly miss them. “How?”
Exhaling tiredly, I decide on the abridged version. “Brian was always the perfect son. Amazing swimmer, nationally ranked. Great water polo player. Academic highest honors––you know, all that. Sophomore year a girl named Jessie Turner transferred in from Santa Cruz. Gorgeous, best-looking girl in school and that’s saying a lot. She ran with a really fast crowd––already doing eight balls as a sophomore.”
Alice’s eyes get even bigger.
“Yeah. Played the broken damsel part like a fucking Oscar winner. Brian fell hard for her. He started doing coke to party. She was always taunting him into shit. Saying he didn’t have the balls for it…anyway, it worked. He started experimenting. Started cutting school. Got kicked off the water polo team for not showing up for a game. Then he won a swim meet and tested positive. My parents sent him straight to rehab…while Brian was in rehab, Jessie overdosed and died.”
A gasp has me looking up into Alice’s soft brown eyes. I won’t lie. In the past, I’ve used women as a refuge from all the responsibility weighing on me as much as they used me for their own self-interest. It was a perfect arrangement. The problem is the high-flying vibes only lasted until the following morning. Then I’d wake up alone and find myself scraping bottom again. But Alice? It’s not her body that gives a man a soft place to land––it’s her eyes.
“He went off the rails. Broke out of rehab and went on a three-month bender that had my parents picking him up in a drug den in San Francisco. After that it was just more of the same. He never even got his high school diploma…”
She takes my hands in hers, tugs on my fingers the same way I tugged on her toes, her gaze cast down on where we touch.
“I was thirteen and the first lesson I learned about love was that it could ruin your entire life.”
“Do you still believe that?” She looks up then, and it takes everything I’ve got not to kiss her.
“No.”
Not since I met you, the words form in my head. And that’s where they stay.
Alice
A chill wakes me abruptly out of a deep sleep. Confused, I scan the room until I’m reminded that I’m at Reagan’s. In his bedroom. Alone in his bed. Then it all comes back to me. The horrible dinner. The heart-to-heart. After the talk we were both exhausted. He put on Dead Pool 2, and we fell into a comfortable silence. The kind you rarely find and often yearn for. I only made it through the opening credits.
I wish I knew how to keep some emotional distance between us. Which is definitely in my best interest because the mixed signals haven’t stopped. I can’t decide if he’s just not in to me, or he can’t make up his mind. Neither of which do me any good. And between the sweet gestures and the heartfelt talks, he makes it impossible not to fall for him. After last night I am one thoughtful action away from hitting ground zero in L.O.V.E.
The cable box flashes 2:59. It’s creeping me out to be in this massive bed alone so I go in search of him. At the end of the empty, dark, never ending hallway, I hear the sound of splashing water and head for the patio. Across the living room, I spot him through the open sliding doors. The water churns and foams as he swims the length of the pool, each stroke faster than the last. It looks like someone is working out some serious aggression.
Barefoot, I shuffle outside onto the patio at the same time he hits the edge. “Reagan.” My voice is raspy from lack of use, but he hears me all the same because he comes up sucking in huge gulps of air and looks over his shoulder.
I expect to find frustration on his face. Maybe a teasing smirk? That I would understand––it’s practically his signature. Even exhaustion would make sense. What I don’t expect to find is lust, unmistakable, undisguised lust on his face. For me.
His hot stare slowly travels from my toes to my face. Almost instantly I’m engulfed in heat. An aching emptiness develops between my thighs. And my nipples perk up. It’s been so long I almost forgot I had nipples. I literally go from barely awake to fully turned on in less than a second…from a single glance. God help me. What would happen if he actually touched me?
“Did you…uh, sleep?” I don’t know what else to say. Tension is running inexplicably sky high between us and it’s making me nervous and curious as to what the heck happened while I was asleep. Did a flip get tripped in his head? And what tripped it because I was firmly in the friend zone a few hours ago.
That’s when he jumps out of the pool and faces me.
And he’s naked…naked. Gloriously naked.
I can’t even pretend that I’m not staring at his penis. I am incapable of speech let alone artifice of any kind so I go right on staring.
It’s beautiful, perfect. That’s not hyperbole. I’ve seen a couple, mostly on the Internet, and his is the best by far. Not too big. Not too small. Not too thin. I’m suddenly the Goldilocks of dick. It lies long and thick against his smooth, hairless sac. Sweet Jesus, he shaves.
While I’m staring appreciatively, it starts to grow, standing at attention while water slowly streaks down the rest of his tan, finely honed muscles. His body is unbelievable. At the risk of sounding clichéd as eff––a work of art. I want to spend days staring at it through the viewfinder of my camera, get lost between every curve and hard angle and never return.
He starts moving, coming for me like he means business. Meanwhile I’m frozen, incapable of doing anything other than watching him obliterate the distance between us in a few, long strides.
; “No, I didn’t sleep,” he rasps. Eyelids heavy, chest heaving with deep breaths. “You expect me to sleep with your sweet round ass pressed up against my dick?”
Am I supposed to answer that?
Exhaling harshly, he tips his head back and gives the stars a passing glance before his focused attention returns to me. “No. No, I did not sleep,” he answers for me and he doesn’t sound too happy about it, either. His hot green gaze drops to my hard nipples, poking the cotton t-shirt, and his expression grows pained. “I thought I wasn’t your type?”
He’s serious? He actually believed me? I guess I’m a better actress than I thought I was.
“I-I uh…” stutters out of me.
Inching closer, he takes my face in his hands. The t-shirt I’m wearing, his t-shirt, gets soaked where my breasts touch his chest. His erection presses into my lower belly. And oh my God, if he just bends his knees a little I am going to go off like a rocket.
“You said I wasn’t your type. Did you mean it?”
That’s when things go from shocking and borderline amusing––to serious. There’s uncertainty in his quiet voice. The swagger is nowhere to be found. No arrogance in the way his lashes lower while he waits for me to answer. He’s baring himself to me. His beautiful naked body. The tender vulnerability in his open gaze. He’s placing himself at my mercy.
No. I don’t mean it. I’m sorry I ever said it. And I’ve never wanted anyone more. The words circle round my head, hang on my lips. And I do. I want him so much. I’ll take as much as he can give for as long as he wants me. Because I’d rather have a little bit of him than nothing at all.
“Heeyyy. Am I interrupting something?” a male voice queries from somewhere behind us.
Our heads jerk in unison to find Dallas standing a few feet away in the living room. His eyes––black and blue and swollen. His lip cut. His arm in a sling.