by Carian Cole
“I seriously love it.” She frowns at her ticket. “I didn’t win. Did you really tell her I like the older bands?”
“Yeah.” I turn the page of my motorcycle magazine and lust over a picture of black-matte rims. Someday, I’ll get a new set for my Harley.
“She said you talk about me a lot.”
My aunt has a big mouth.
“I wouldn’t say a lot. Just casually about everyday shit.”
“I see,” she says, with that teasing hint in her voice that tells me she’s not buying a word I’m saying. “I think she really wants to ship us.”
I look up from my magazine. “Ship us? Where?”
She rolls her eyes theatrically. “It means she wants us to get together.”
“No. We’re not shipping,” I reply, grinning at her. “Who the hell makes up these fuckin’ words?”
“Beats me. If you hung out on the ’gram or TikTok, you wouldn’t be so lost.”
“No thanks. I’m not getting sucked into all that internet fuckery.”
Laughing, she picks up her plate and carries it over to the dishwasher. “You’re being old, Jude.”
“Don’t care.” I throw my magazine back on the pile at the edge of the table. “You want to watch some television with me?”
“I was thinking we could start a series. It’d give us something to watch every night.”
Worry stops me from answering right away. Every night will morph into a habit. A standing sort of date-night thing.
Won’t it?
“We could start The Office. Megan says it’s funny,” she says. “I like to watch lighter things before I go to sleep. Otherwise, I have disturbing dreams.”
She waits for me to answer with an expectant, hopeful smile on her face.
I should say no. The word is waiting on the tip of my tongue. I should change my mind and watch TV alone in my room until I fall asleep. Continue to keep the walls up, the lines in place. Refuse the ship.
“Okay. But just one or two episodes. I gotta be up early.”
I’ll say no next time.
“Cool!” she says. “I’m gonna go change real quick.”
Letting out a sigh, I look down at Cassie, who’s sitting next to my chair, staring up at me with her little black, judgy eyes.
“You’re right,” I say. “I gotta learn how to say no.”
Chapter 24
Jude
“I was thinking about what your Aunt Suzy said,” Skylar says as she pads into the living room. Her arms are crossed in front of her as if she’s cold, but she’s not wearing footie pants tonight. Tonight, it’s pink, cotton pajama bottoms with angry cat-face illustrations printed on them and a white, long-sleeved top with the cuffs pulled down to her palms.
“We’re not having a baby,” I quip.
Kicking my feet up on the coffee table, I lean back into the couch cushion with a long sigh. I probably shouldn’t have been crawling around behind the washing machine and on my aunt’s kitchen floor earlier. My back is hurting worse today than it was yesterday.
I get a look from Skylar that says she thinks I’m crazy. “I will not ever want to have a baby. I was thinking about Aunt Suzy saying next time we visit, she’d show me her old record collection, and concert photos.”
“And?”
She plops down on the other end of the couch and tucks her legs under her.
“Well, is there going to be a next time?” she asks.
I turn toward her. “What do you mean?”
“Will I ever see them again? Because I felt kinda bad spending the day with them, having them be so nice to me, and treating me like family. I feel guilty. She gave me a shirt that’s worth a few thousand dollars. I wouldn’t sell it in a million years, but I feel like I don’t deserve to have it. I’m a nobody to them. I’m not family.”
I blink at her and rub my tired eyes, not sure how to respond to this seriousness she’s throwing at me out of nowhere.
“And then she was talking about next time and I didn’t know what to say. I felt like an asshole, Jude. And the more I think about it, the more upset I feel. Because they’re nice people. Like, really nice people.”
Words like asshole and upset are like little red flags sprouting up between us and I’m still clueless as to what brought this on. “Skylar—”
She talks right over me. “They really love you. They want you to be happy. They think we’re going to be together, together.”
Pain radiates to my upper back as I sit up. “Where are you going with this?”
She puts her palms up in question. “I don’t know. I’m just wondering why you brought me over there when you know I’m not a permanent fixture here.”
“Because you’re my friend, and I like being around you. I thought we’d have a nice time hanging out with them.”
Confusion is contagious. Now she’s blinking at me.
“Oh.” Her shoulders sag a little.
“Why are you upset?”
“I’m not…” she says unconvincingly, pushing her hair behind her ear. “I just... I guess I just really liked them, and I was looking forward to seeing them again. I’d love to hang out with your aunt and see the photos, but—”
“Skylar,” I interrupt, still baffled as to why she’s so upset. “You can see them again. I go over there a few times a month. Come with me.”
Her spine straightens and her shoulders perk up. “You’re sure? Even though we’re not married for real?”
I took her to my aunt and uncle’s because I knew they’d treat her like family and make her feel right at home. I thought it would be good for her since she doesn’t have a relationship with any of her own family.
And what I said is true—I like having Skylar around. She’s fun and she makes me laugh.
But maybe it wasn’t the best idea, given how upset it’s made her. I wasn’t thinking about her not being a “real” part of my life and family. I was just going with the flow and enjoying the day.
Uncle Al’s words echo in my head. You’re playing with fire.
“Of course,” I assure her, shoving the warning aside. “We’re friends. That’s not gonna end, right?”
“You mean when we get divorced and I move out?”
The word divorce makes my stomach burn. I’d rather think of us as parting ways someday.
“Yeah,” I say. “Don’t you think we’ll still be friends after? It shouldn’t change that.” I don’t know what’s going through her mind, but I assumed we’d stay friends.
Her mouth opens and she falters for a moment. “You’re right. I guess I didn’t know if you’d still want to be.”
“And not get to see your funky outfits all the time?” I joke, hoping to make her smile. “How could I give that up?”
“True.” There’s the smile I needed to see. “And I’ll have to keep you up-to-date on all the slang so you’re not out in the world confused and unsupervised.”
“Also true.” I grin, relieved I put the fire out. “Can we watch the show now?”
She nods excitedly and swipes the remote from the cushion between us to hit play. We spend the next half hour laughing more than I thought I would.
“Good choice,” I say, standing. “I’ll be right back and we can watch one or two more.”
When I return from the kitchen with four Tylenol in my hand, she eyes me suspiciously as I carefully lower myself onto the couch.
“Is your back still hurting?” she asks.
I toss the pills into my mouth and chase them with a gulp of soda. “Yup.”
“Can you do anything for it?”
“Just Tylenol. I can’t take prescription pain killers or muscle relaxers.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll eat them like candy and prowl the streets for more.”
“Oh!” The light bulb goes off in her head. “Right.”
“Not worth it to tempt the demons, ya know? I’d rather be in pain.”
Nodding, she turns to the television, then
back to me, her lips pursed together.
“I could massage it for you. Your back.”
My insides jolt with a massive battle of rights and wrongs.
“Nah, I’m okay,” I grumble. “It’ll pass.”
“Jude,” she says with slight impatience. “Would it be so bad to let me do something for you? You’re always doing things for me.”
“You helped me yesterday,” I argue.
“I vacuumed water. You put in a new sump pump, moved furniture, moved the washer and dryer, crawled around with towels, mopped the floor with bleach. You even made me toast. And today you fixed a washing machine and crawled around your aunt’s kitchen floor looking for a diamond. After working your ass off all week.”
“It’s life. I’m fine.”
“Maybe I want to do something for you.”
“Did Aunt Suzy put you up to this?”
“No.” The vagueness in her voice is sketchy.
“Watch the show,” I deflect, lifting my chin toward the screen.
She blows out a frustrated breath. “It’s just a back rub, what are you scared of?”
So much.
So. Damn. Much.
“I’m not scared of shit,” comes out of my mouth.
“People pay for massages. It’s totally platonic. It’s not like I’m asking you to Netflix and chill,” she says with amusement.
I’m stuck. If I keep resisting, she’s going to think there’s something wrong with her. Or me. If I tell her she shouldn’t be touching me, she’s going to know there’s a reason I don’t want her to. Like it’s inappropriate. Or that I’m attracted to her.
Which I am.
And I'm not sure how I feel about it.
“Okay,” I finally say, ignoring the stare Cassie gives me from her plaid doggy bed in the corner. I know if the dog could talk, she’d be telling me I’m a dumbass.
Within seconds, Skylar’s scooting across the couch and wedging herself behind me.
“Just relax and watch the show,” she says, putting her hands on my shoulders. “I hardly ever see you just resting for more than an hour.”
I take my feet off the table and lean forward, resting my elbows on my thighs. “I don’t like to sit still. There’s always something I should be doing.”
“Yeah, but you should also rest. It’s nice you’re not a lazy bum, but it’s okay to chillax. You’re like my grandfather. He was always doing something. When he wasn’t at work, he was working on the house, or on a car. Literally nonstop. I think that’s why he had a heart attack. Too much stress.”
I cringe. “Are you comparing me to your grandfather?”
“No, silly. I’m just worried about you.”
“I’m not gonna have a heart attack. I promise.”
“I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” Her fingers slowly move to the back of my neck, rolling in slow, careful circles, loosening the tension.
“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” I say softly. My eyes close, unable to resist the relaxing lull of her touch.
If I had half a brain, I’d be more careful of her getting attached to me. I can’t let myself become all she has. When it’s time to go, she has to be stronger. Able to take care of herself and never need anyone.
And I shouldn’t get attached to her, either. If I do, it’ll hurt when she’s gone, and I’ve got nothing to numb the pain.
Inch by inch, her warm hands move down my spine, massaging my muscles with the perfect amount of pressure. Every press of her fingers escalates the conflict swirling up inside me.
This feels so good, it must be right.
This feels too good, it’s totally wrong.
I lift my shoulders, stretching my muscles beneath her palms.
“Do you want to take your shirt off?” Her voice is so soft, her words innocent. But with my eyes closed, sitting between her parted thighs, alone in a dim room with her on a Sunday night, her words could be inviting. Sensual.
While my brain insists there’s absolutely nothing sexual going on, my cock is devouring every word, every touch. It’s hard as a rock, acting like it’s never been near an attractive chick before.
Women coming on to me has never really done it for me. I need more than that to get a rise. But this subtle, unexpected chemistry with Skylar is twisting me up like a pretzel.
Wordlessly, I pull my shirt off and toss it on the couch next to us. Her breath catches the first time her hands touch my flesh.
Or maybe that was my own breath.
“Is this okay?” Her voice wavers with a hint of nervousness as she pushes the heels of her palms into my tense muscles. “Am I hurting you?”
“No. It feels great.” Hopefully she doesn’t notice the sudden huskiness in my voice.
I focus on the TV to distract myself. Detach myself from her and her touch—like I would if this were a professional massage.
Of course, if it were, I’d be lying on a table, not sitting on the couch with a hard-on and her squished behind me.
The comedy we were watching drones on. What we’re doing can’t be wrong when we’ve got a happy, light backdrop of laughter and humor.
Right?
“Is this a real place?” she asks as her fingertips skim over the tattoo design that spans my entire back.
“Mostly.”
It’s a tattoo of a mountain cliff done in shades of gray, with a sunset in oranges, yellows and reds. There’s a lone house in the mountains, way out in the distance. Trees run up the sides, framing the scene, and two birds fly across the sky. It’s a vision of peace for me.
“Are these two people sitting here?” She touches a spot in the middle of my back.
“No, it’s a rock.”
“To me it looks like two people sitting together, looking out at the sunset. It’s really pretty,” she says. “I like it.”
“Thanks.”
“I don’t see the point of getting a huge ass tattoo on your back, though. It had to cost a fortune, and you can’t even see it.”
“Doesn’t matter. I know it’s there.”
“Yeah, but have you seen it? There’s two people sitting there and you think it’s a rock.”
“It is a rock,” I say.
“If you say so…”
I can feel her breath, hot on my back as she continues to move her hands up and down my spine, squeezing my shoulders, then roving lower over my ribs. My muscles might be relaxing, but my pulse is racing.
“Is this making you feel better?” she asks.
I wish she’d stop talking. Her soft voice is only making me want to turn around and kiss those pretty pink lips of hers.
“Yeah.” I exhale slowly and stretch my neck back a little. “Maybe a little too much.”
“There’s no such thing as too much better.”
Not true.
The episode on the screen ends and another starts, but we don’t move to get up or say goodnight. Her touch becomes less of a massage and more of a slow, wandering caress up and down my back. It’s not sexual, but it’s intimate. Careful. Loving. Every few minutes she touches the back of my hair, winding a long lock around her finger. It sends thousands of tingles over my scalp and down my spine. At some point I wrap my hand around her leg, and I slowly match her touch, sliding my hand from her outer thigh, down to her calf, then back again. Her cotton pants with the funny cat faces under my palm is a confusing mix of comforting, innocent, and sexy.
My breathing has become shallow. She’s lulled me into a stilled, dream-like state. I’ve never had a woman touch me in such a delicate, sensual way before. I’m used to the scratch of sharp, too-long nails. Impatient pushing and pulling. A rush of takes and demands.
But not this.
I don’t even know what the hell this is. This breathless, aching, long-lost lover feeling.
How the hell can an eighteen-year-old girl wearing crazy pajamas make me feel like this?
But now that I’ve felt it, it’s too much like that all-too-familiar euphoria in my ve
ins that the addict inside me remembers vividly. It’s the same kind of high—the kind I don’t want to come down from. I want a little more. A little longer. I want to tease it and tempt it. Find out how good it can feel if I lose myself in it.
This is not cool.
When the end credits for the show start to roll, I quietly reach behind me and grab her hands in each of mine, pulling her arms around my waist. Clasping our hands together over my stomach, I gently lean back against her. Her small breasts press against my back as she breathes. Her heartbeat thumps against me like a ticking clock.
I struggle with all the lessons I’ve learned to make good choices. Like how bad is a master at wearing the mask of good and not to fall for it.
“I think this stopped being a back rub a while ago,” I say softly, rubbing my thumb over her hand in mine.
“I think you’re right,” she whispers.
“It’s late. I think we’re over-tired.”
“I think you’re right,” she repeats. Her breath is warm and wispy against my ear. “I should probably go to bed.”
“Me too.”
Neither one of us makes an effort to move. We stay there, quietly breathing together. Our entwined fingers slowly dance against each other. Hers long, soft and thin. Mine thick and calloused.
Resistance crumbles, and I turn toward her face, just inches from mine.
I don’t know who kissed who. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was her.
Doesn’t matter, because my mouth is on hers when it shouldn’t be. But fuck, her lips are soft and sweet, and I can’t resist one more taste of her.
And that’s all this is. One more time.
The last time.
There’s always a last time when quitting something. A final moment to savor.
Our lips touch softly, fading apart every few seconds and then meeting again for another quick kiss. And another. And another. Finally, I lift my hand to cup her cheek in my palm and the little moan that hums in her throat tells me she wants more just as much as I do. Tilting my mouth to cover hers, I edge my tongue past her teeth—subtly asking for permission. Her mouth opens to mine breathlessly. Our tongues touch, swirling together, and I swear to fuck I see fireworks. I move my hand to cup the back of her neck, pulling her closer, kissing her deeper. Her hand slowly inches up the middle of my bare chest to gently grasp the side of my throat, mimicking my own touch.