“After I left Mossy Rock. I wasn’t in a good place mentally, Taron.”
“Are you in a better place now, Pixie Dust?” He swipes at strands of hair near my brow.
The concern in his voice, the earnestness in his eyes . . . I swallow past the lump in my throat. He cares so much, and I am a jerk for not caring enough. I should have given Taron the benefit of the doubt and faced the unraveling of my perfect life with him at my side. Instead, I hurt my best friend when I betrayed his trust and ran away.
“I am. Thank you for asking.”
“I’m glad.”
He cinches my waist with his hands and tugs me close. I rest my head on the spot over his heart. Can hear the thump, thump, thump of his heartbeats.
More content than I’ve been in a long time, I close my eyes and feel everything around me, like I did back in the days of me and Taron wrapped in each other’s arms.
Inhaling, I catch a whiff of his scent. Minty. Soapy. Clean. Virile male when he brings my lower half against his heat. His fingers press into my skin through my jeans, and I rub my nose over his shirt. Soft cotton. Gentle pressure from his fingertips. What are those thick fingers capable of? A lot. Like making me tingle in all the right places a lot.
Unhinged by how much I want to drag him inside his truck and do bad things to his rock-hard body, I spin out of his hold, step around him, and hurry inside his truck. His chuckle is achingly sexy, and so not fair that he can get me wet with his laughter alone. No man should have that kind of power.
He gets in the truck, and there is a calm to him I find pleasing. Is us touching his healing salve, and what draws out the storm from the pool of ink of his eyes? Can I calm his storm with more touching? Take away this need of his for answers and closure with touching and kisses?
What if I make it worth his while, this getting to know one another, enough that he gets closure without me having the urge to tell him my secrets and my mom’s? Taron and I can focus on the here and now, living and just being. We wouldn’t stress over the uncertainty of where we will be three months, six months, or even a year from now.
Tucking the tempting idea to later revisit, I concentrate on the sexy guy taking up a lot of space in his big truck. He is asking if I am up for grabbing a bite to eat.
“Won’t your girlfriend mind?” I buckle my seatbelt.
He straps in too. “I have one of those?”
There is a teasing lilt in his voice.
“The redhead with you at Bayside.”
“Cousin.”
“Do you vacation with your cousin often?”
“Yeah, we’re close, so we party, hang, and vacay together every chance we get.”
“What about the girl sitting next to you in our elective class? Again, I’m sorry for spilling coffee on you.”
“No need for apologies, Pixie Dust. Wasn’t your fault that bastard tripped you.”
“Tell me you won’t do anything to him? You have enough to deal with from your teammates. Well, is she?” And there goes my pride for continuing to pry.
“You leave my teammates for me to deal with. As for other girls, I am interested in one girl only, and she’s sitting next to me. So, how about it? Will you grab a bite with me?”
His wish.
“It won’t be a date, right?”
He skirted the question of whether the pretty brunette is his girlfriend, and I put up my guard. I’ve seen Beau in action, and he acts the same way when he doesn’t want a woman he’s interested in to know he’s seeing someone. Beau is a decent dad, but in the dating department, he is what my stepfather, Gary, would call a prick.
“Do you want it to be?”
Taron says the words with underlying hope, and there goes my heart. I bounce my head on the headrest, growling low under my breath.
“Syn, are you okay?”
“Fine. Look, for the record, I’m not into guys who get the kind of action you do between the sheets.”
“Don’t tell me this Dare guy is a saint.”
“He doesn’t have sex partners in the high double digits!”
Why am I yelling? I rub my temple. He runs his fingers through his hair.
“I knew this would come back and take a chunk out of my sorry ass. Look, what you did fucked me up, okay?”
“So you went crazy with your junk and slept with every vagina that looked in your direction?” I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I have no right to judge. Your body. You can do with it what you want.”
“And you haven’t?”
There is an undertone of something other than curiosity, but I can’t put my finger on what that emotion is.
“I have. I’m not a prude. It’s just I—”—I wave my hand—“I don’t like sex.”
I suck in a breath. I’ve never admitted this to anyone, including Dare.
“Not liking something is okay in my book, Pixie Dust.” No teasing whatsoever.
Taron accepts my confession as though it’s a part of me, like the heart-shaped birthmark on my right inner thigh.
Embarrassed that I admitted something really personal to a guy I haven’t seen in years, and confused that he is not turning my confession into something to jab at and further dissect, I move on to a less heavy subject.
“Cut it out with the dumb nickname. Middle school was ages ago.”
“I can’t forget how we met, Syn.”
Me running around the school cafeteria in circles, dressed in a ballerina outfit with a sparkly wand in my hand and throwing “pixie dust” in the other students’ hair.
“So dumb.”
“Why do it?”
“Mean girl Sabrina would give me twenty dollars if I could get your attention.”
“Hell yeah, you did. You dumped a jarful of soot and gross dirt in my hair. It took forever to get off, and it itched like a mother.”
“It got your attention and I got paid.”
“What’d you need twenty bucks for? If you were desperate for cash, I would’ve given you the money.”
“Not so,” I say. “You would have wanted something in return.”
He smirks. “You know me too well.”
“Since you were twelve, too well.”
He hands me my ring. “Have dinner with me, Syn. Not a date.”
“Do you have a place in mind, or should I choose?”
“You pick.”
I slip on the ring. “The diner inside the bowling alley.”
“It’s noisy and there’ll be too many people.”
“Exactly.” I give him a satisfied smile.
He weaves his fingers in my hair, pulls me close, and says near my lips, “You win this round, but next time, I’ll wish for something less negotiable.”
“Like what?”
His gaze dips to my lips. “Too many to name off.”
“Don’t think I’ll give away my rings at the first sign of trouble. I refuse to be your crutch. It’s on you to control your temper.”
“Are you saying you want out of your position? I’ll be paying you a shit ton of money.”
“All I’m saying is when you play ball professionally, I won’t be on the sidelines handing you rings left and right.”
He starts the engine. “Who says I want to play ball professionally?”
“It’s all you’ve ever wanted,” I sputter. “That’s been your dream since I’ve known you.”
“My dad’s dream, Syn. I want something different.”
This is a change from four years ago. A horrible, miscalculated change of plans. The reason I kissed another guy, guaranteeing Taron would hate me, was so he could go to Stanford and not be tied down by a relationship.
Taron needed the chance to spread his wings and grow as a person. I would only hold him back from his potential.
“What’s this different?”
“Not ready to tell, Pixie Dust.”
I sigh, understanding the whole “not ready to tell.”
“You sure about the bowling alley?” he asks.
; “Yep.”
“Your funeral.” He gets on the road.
The trip won’t take long, and I fill the time with small talk.
“How are your parents?” I miss my mom.
In a way, I miss Beau. When I lived with him, we would exchange snarky comments that bordered on mean and hurtful. Okay, the comments were mean and hurtful, and they came from me and not Beau. That first year living with him was rough. We fought a lot. I yelled. He became a stone wall with his silence and arms crossed over his chest.
Then he introduced me to Gunner, and my hate for Beau and for him leaving my mom for someone prettier slowly changed to mild dislike, and then our contentious father-daughter relationship became friendship.
I’m his only biological child other than Gunner, and seeing that he has more experience with the dating scene than the parenting one, he treats me more like I am one of the guys than his daughter. I don’t mind, seeing myself more as a tomboy.
After I started college, Beau and I kept in touch with texting and FaceTime. His texts and GIFs are so random, plus the fact he left me and my mom, that I have him listed in my contacts as “Bounce.” As for Gary, the man who raised me, I haven’t seen him since I ran away from home. I’m not sure if I want to see him. It’s an awkward conversation I would like to avoid at all costs.
Oh, hi, Dad, I mean my mom’s pimp. The thing is, I miss him too.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Yes, why?” I swipe at the hair that gets in my eye as I whiplash around to look at him.
“You cut out of the conversation with a blank look followed by annoyance, and then you cringed.”
“I cringed?” Can I walk myself out of his truck now, please?
“Visibly. Am I boring you?”
“Lost in thought. Don’t take it personally. Would you mind repeating what you said? If you do, I won’t take it personally.”
“Syn, we’ve known one another since we were twelve. Blank stares from you are par for the course.”
“But you just asked if I was bored.”
“’Cause I haven’t been around you for four years. You’ve changed, and I—” He runs his hand over the dash. We’re stopped at a red light. “I’m adjusting, Pixie Dust.”
“A good adjustment or a bad one?”
“Jury’s still out.”
“For me too. About you,” I admit.
“My parents. I was saying they’re separated.”
“I’m so sorry, Taron.”
“I’m not.”
So much anger in those words, and I understand where it comes from. The world as he knows it was pulled from under him. Then the questions loop in your head until you want to scream.
How long were they unhappy? Did one or both of them cheat? Is there a chance they will get back together? With Mom and her news, that I’m not Gary’s daughter but a high-profile football player’s, I didn’t ask her my questions. She was dying from cancer for goodness sakes.
Why not get them from Gary? But what if he goes after Beau? Gary raised me. Beau is my biological father. It’s best for everyone that I keep the line a solid black and never mix former pimp with football superstar. I have a feeling the mix will leave a bad taste in everyone’s mouths.
“My mom asked about you. Says to tell you hi if I run into you on campus. I let her know we have a sexuality class together when she texted earlier.”
My face heats. “What did she say to that?”
“It’s about time.”
There’s a sadness in his voice, and I am baffled as to why it’s there. Did something happen to a girl or girls he hooked up with at Stanford? Oh, God, did Taron get a girl pregnant?
“My mom knew you moved to Washington but didn’t know where exactly. The guy who told her had no clue other than you wanted a do-over.”
Which guy? No one except Beau knows I’m here. He’s the one who suggested I apply to DU. An ex-girlfriend graduated from here, and he remembered her gushing about how quaint and beautiful the town is.
I stayed quiet for too long. Taron fills in the stifling silence.
“She ran into a friend of your mom’s. Guy’s name is Gary Thornton.”
Gary knows I’m in Dumas? My vision goes in and out. My breathing is shallow. Everything in the window is too bright. My skin itches. Oh, God, first Taron and now Gary. Soon, he’ll be pounding on my door, wanting answers for why I left without a word.
Trying to slow my breathing, I rummage in my backpack for my antihistamines.
“Syn, are you okay?” Taron parks the truck and cuts the engine.
I shake my head, find the bottle of antihistamines, and pop a pill in my mouth, followed by water. Thirty minutes. That is all I need to feel normal. Closing my eyes, I rest back against the leather seat. Featherlight caresses on my bare arm.
“What are these from?”
My welts.
“I’m highly allergic to you.”
“Not funny. I should know these things. Or else how am I supposed to help you when it happens again?”
“I’ve survived four years without you.”
“Years I can’t get back. Let’s make now and forward count, Pixie Dust.”
God, what he says . . . It’s bloody confusing and stinking hot.
“You can’t help unless you make everything that gives me anxiety go away.”
“These welts are because you’re having an anxiety attack? What’s the trigger? Is it talk of my parents?”
My eyes still closed, I roll my head side to side on the headrest.
“It’s this Gary guy, isn’t it? You were fine until I brought up his name. What’s the deal with you and him?”
“Not telling.” If I do, I’ll want to tell him the rest of my mom’s story. I can’t do that. Taron loves my mother as much as I like his mom’s homemade pies.
“Syn, look at me.”
I open my eyes and do as he says.
“Babe, I’m sorry about your mom.”
The concern in his voice and the tender way he looks at me takes me back to the good old days of shy Syn with hot-tempered Taron.
“It’s nothing for you to be sorry for. Cancer isn’t your fault.”
“Not being there for you is one hundred percent mine to own.”
“You didn’t know, and that’s my fault. My mom’s gone, and I now have friends who are willing to give me a kidney.”
“Syn.” Big sigh from him. “Babe.”
“Don’t, Taron. I’m not your babe, your girl. We”—I point to him, then me—“won’t work.”
“Why the hell not?”
“We’re too different now. I’m not the same girl who attached her star to a rising star. I’m my own person.”
“You forget something important, Syn.”
“What’s that?”
“I shine brightest when I’m with you. Now let’s go eat. I’m fucking hungry.”
10
Taron
“Personal professional snuggler, eh?”
We’re inside the bowling alley diner, sitting at the bar with our bodies angled toward the other. Swallowing, then following her burger with a chug of water, Syn holds up a finger. After she wipes the sauce off her fingers and I swipe the ketchup from the corner of her mouth with my napkin, she answers my question.
“Yes.”
From the gleam in her beautiful eyes, that is all she plans on giving me. Guess I’ll be doing the leg work in this conversation.
“How long you been a snuggler?”
“Professional snuggler.”
“You give group rates?” I bite into my burger and sip my beer.
A touch of a smile on her lips. She shakes her head. Wisps of white-blonde hair fall across her eye, and I reach out and sweep the strands aside with my knuckle. Don’t want to smear sauce on her skin.
“Personal snuggler.”
“How long again?”
“Since I moved to Dumas.”
“Have there been others?”
“Dare’
s my only client.”
“Add me to your list.”
“I’m not accepting new customers. Anyway, you can’t afford me.”
“I don’t have billions, but give me a few more years and I can get there.”
I work summers for my dad. Build computers and websites on the side. A hobby my mom encouraged. Thank fuck she did. My skills are her plan B now that she finally left my dad and the security he provided with his money.
“Tied up in stocks, I’m assuming.”
This girl is sharp. “The power of compound interest.” I pick up a fry and run it over the ketchup on my plate until it’s lathered with it. “How’d he get so loaded?” I stick the fry in my mouth, chew, and swallow before washing the grease down with my beer.
“He designs and tests video games for his family.”
“Gaming is a lucrative business.” I wipe the grease and salt on my fingers from the fries on a napkin.
“It is. It’s also the reason the Sterling guys have crazy names like Midnight, Red, and Malice.”
“If I were a Sterling dude, what name would I be given?”
“That’s a no brainer.”
“It is?” I cock a brow. This conversation is interesting as fuck, and we haven’t yet circled back to me being her newest customer for this snuggler gig of hers.
“I’d name you Rage for obvious reasons.”
I chuckle. “Spot on, Pixie Dust.”
“What would you name me if I were a Sterling dude?”
“If you had asked me back when we were dating, I’d say Serenity. Now? I’d name you Hardcore.”
To make my point, I zone in on her sexy-as-fuck piercings, from her right brow to her nose to her bottom lip.
What will it be like to press my mouth up against the balls and the sliver of metal? To flick the tip of my tongue over that sinful strip of silver before I suck her bottom lip into my mouth?
Or to feel the cool metal stroke my cock as she sucks me off? My dick comes to life. No. Fuck no. Not here. I haven’t had a boner in God knows how long, and suddenly, bam, B-man decides to come out and play?
Clearing my throat, I shift in my seat and jerk my head at the ink on her arms. In my head, I am telling my dick to calm the fuck down.
“When’d you get all of it done?”
“The snake and the butterfly when I was eighteen. Everything else happened afterward.”
Give You Up (Dumas University Book 1) Page 5