Love Me More

by R. S. Medina

  Tristan: BLAIR. WHAT THE FUCK.

  Tristan: CALL ME. NOW.

  Ha, Tristan double texted me. Never mind. Tristan triple texted me. The message pops up with his phone number and I click on it and hit send. The phone rings once. He answers immediately. And he sounds pissed.

  "What the fuck, Blair?" he asks.

  "What?" I ask, genuinely confused.

  "Are you really driving home drunk? Where the fuck is Finn?" he asks.

  "Finn didn't want to drive me home. I had to leave my car at the office and couldn't leave it there overnight," I tell him. I hiccup a little. I'm concentrating hard on the road. I'm not a good night driver anyway, so I'm super focused.

  "Blair, pull over, now," he instructs me.

  "No. I need to get home," I tell him, stubbornly.

  "Blair, call Finn or someone to come get you. I'll come get you. Just pull over," he begs.

  "I'm fine," I promise him hiccuping again.

  "No, you're not. You shouldn't be driving. I'm disappointed in you. You know better," he scolds me like I'm a child. I pout, but he's right. This is so unlike me. Who am I lately?

  "I know," I sigh, gritting my teeth through the admission of guilt. "I'm not normally this reckless. But I promise I wouldn't be driving if I didn't think it was okay. I'm fine. And if it makes you feel better, I'll stay on the phone until I get home so you know I made it safely,"

  "Pull over now," he growls. I've never heard Tristan so demanding or concerned. It's sweet, and he obviously cares. It's kind of a turn on. I kind of like pushing his buttons.

  "Wait. Don't you have work in the morning?" I ask him. It's late. He doesn't usually stay up this late.

  "Yeah, but I'm making sure you get home in one piece," he says. God damn, the things he does to me. I'm butterflies and warm fuzzies and melting butter. I hate it.

  "Why do you care?" I ask him, pushing even further.

  "Because it's you, Blair," he says simply. "Now be fucking careful."

  "I missed your voice," I admit.

  "Are you pulled over?" he asks, ignoring me.

  "It sounds the same as when we were in high school," I tell him.

  "Answer the question," he replies.

  I sigh and pull over, but I'm honestly super relieved. I was swerving a little bit, and honestly, a little bit terrified.

  "Yes, I pulled over," I tell him, hating that I gave in.

  "Good, text me where you're at, and I'll be there in a bit," he says and hangs up. What's with everyone hanging up without saying goodbye? Does no one know phone etiquette?

  I listen to music and wait until I see headlights pull up next to my car. Tristan hops out of the passenger side of the white truck, and the driver's side window rolls down. Billy, Tristan's friend, and an old high school classmate leans out and waves. Tristan comes to my driver's side door and tries to open it. I forget it's locked.

  "Open the door, Blair," he instructs. It takes me a minute to remember where the lock is on my own car. I fumble for the unlock button and unlock the door, and Tristan pulls it open, expectantly.

  "What?" I ask him, squinting my eyes because the overhead light of the car that turned on when the door opened is brighter than I remember. I hope the squint makes me look a little more fierce than the little crybaby we both know I am.

  "Well, drunk ass, get out," he says, raising his eyebrows at me expectably. I hiccup and cross my arms. Drunk Blair is stubborn, too, apparently. He rolls his eyes, leans over me and unbuckles my seatbelt. He smells like heaven, and I sigh. He pulls me out of the car, and I squeal when he does it.

  He holds my elbow and guides me to the passenger side of the car and helps me in. I buckle in, and when I'm safe in the car, he shuts the door for me. When he gets in the car, and the overhead light goes out, the darkness of the car feels so intimate. I don't want to ruin it by speaking.

  Tristan buckles in and adjusts the seat and mirrors, and then pulls out and starts driving toward town. Billy follows behind us in the white truck.

  "So," he says, "I sound the same as I did in high school?" he peeks over at me in the darkness. I'm staring out the window at the road in the darkness. I wish my headlights weren't so dim. Maybe I need to wash my car?

  "Yeah," I say absentmindedly.

  "Well, that sucks," he sighs, disappointed.

  "Why?" I ask, genuinely curious. Why would he be disappointed? I love his voice.

  "Because I imagine my voice was high pitched and squeakier when we dated," he admits, shrugging at me in the darkness.

  "No," I tell him. "You've always had a super deep voice. It's not a bad thing."

  "You sound the same, too," Tristan replies, smiling and staring straight ahead at the road.

  "That sucks because I hate my voice," I declare, crossing my arms again.

  "I love your voice," Tristan confesses. He's doing a much better job of steering the car in a straight line than I was.

  "Why? It's annoying." And I'm truly stumped, but people always claim to hate the sound of their voice on recordings and such.

  "Because it's cute. You're just super cute," he says like it should be super fucking obvious.

  "I don't know if being cute is a good thing. Puppies and babies are cute. Grown women aren't supposed to be cute," I tell him.

  "You're definitely cute," he assures me.

  "Whatever you say, captain. You're fucking handsome." I tell him looking straight at him. Drunk Blair is also blunt and bold. Thank you, liquid courage.

  He laughs. "And you're drunk." Hello, Captain Obvious.

  I give him my address, and when we get closer to my house, I start to panic.

  "Tristan," I say, wringing my hands, "you can't take me home. You have to stop," I say, watching the truck Billy is driving behind us.

  "What? Why?" he asks, confused.

  "If Finn sees you drove me home, he will get mad," I remind him.

  He sighs. "Fine, I'll drop you off at the end of the street, but I'm going to watch you pull in," he tells me. When we get to my street, like promised, he pulls over before we get too close to my house.

  I see headlights sweep over my car as Billy pulls in behind us and waits for Tristan. Tristan gets out of the driver's seat and holds the door open for me as I walk around to that side of the car. Before I get in, I stand in front of him and the open car door, and I just look at him. I can't believe this guy just stopped everything he was doing, stayed up late to make sure I got home safe and came to pick my drunk ass up.

  "Thank you," I say, and I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek.

  "Blair," he says, trying not to laugh. "You reek of alcohol."

  I frown. "Rude."

  He kisses my forehead and waves me inside the car. I'm sorry, but forehead kisses are the most amazing thing ever. There is nothing sweeter. My heart fucking melts, and a goofy smile crosses my face.

  "Time to go home, pretty girl. I'll watch you get in."

  I climb into the car clumsily and drive down the road, and pull into our driveway. I get out and watch Tristan and Billy pull away. I wave as they pass by, and the truck disappears in the darkness.

  Me: Thank you for making sure I got home safe.

  Tristan: I'm glad you're home safe, Blair. Now never do that to me again. Pinky promise me.

  Me: I pinky promise.

  Present

  When we round the corner and pull away from Blair's street, I can feel Billy eyeing me from the driver's seat. I just stare out the windshield. It was nice of him to come with me, so I had someone drive to pick Blair up without getting stranded myself, but he's making me feel like I hugely inconvenienced him, even though he was just sitting his fat ass on my couch watching TV.

  "Dude, what are you doing?" he asks raising an eyebrow at me as he turns the radio down so we can talk.

  "What do you mean?" I ask, shrugging. When did he get so fucking nosy? I don't get in his business and judge him even though I let him crash at my place, rent free. He can do what he wants
. It's not my business.

  "She's married," he says, his fingers tapping the steering wheel. I can tell he's uncomfortable calling me out like this, but if he's doing it, it must mean that it's important that he says something.

  "You think I don't know that?" I ask. I tug at my beard in frustration. I don't want to talk about this with him right now. I obsess over the fact that she belongs to someone else. Blair is total wife material, and someone was just smart enough to realize that before I could get my shit together and realize that myself. Some fucking karma for me, right?

  "You should have let her fucking husband go get her," Billy tells me.

  "Dude, don't judge me. He left her there to drive herself home, and she was obviously in no condition to drive," I tell him. I continue to scratch at my beard uncomfortably. Maybe it's time for another trim?

  "That's not your problem, bro. Don't pretend that this is all that is," he tells me, calling my bullshit. "You like her, don't you?" he accuses.

  "Fuck off, bro," I say, turning my head to look out the passenger side window. It's none of his business how I feel or for him to judge me. I don't need this.

  "Holy fuck, you do!" he exclaims, his eyes lighting up with recognition. "I didn't believe it, but you do." He laughs. "Tristan, she's married!" he repeats. Saying it again doesn't make it any more obvious. Like I haven't already over analyzed it, rationalized it, and I hate knowing.

  "I know. Blair and her husband might be separating," I tell Billy, making excuses for myself, although I know there aren't any. There's never an excuse to mess around with a married person. But here I am, unable to keep myself from Blair. She's like an addiction. She's so sweet that I need more. Just a taste isn't enough. I need the whole thing.

  "Key word—might," he says, calling me on my bullshit.

  I know that she will probably stay with her husband. They have a child together. In what world would she choose me? I don't say anything; I just look out the window at the trees in the dark passing by in a blur as Billy drives my truck back to the house.

  "She is fine as fuck, though," he admits, nodding and cocking his head to the side, trying to lighten up the mood. It doesn't make me feel better. It kind of gets under my skin and makes my blood boil. He shouldn't be thinking of her like that. She's mine... or should be mine.

  "I know, you've told me," I remind him, thinking back to the kitchen the other day.

  "It's worth repeating," he laughs. "I'd give my left testicle to get with her." I don't respond. I hate that I had to drop her off so she could be with a husband that doesn't appreciate her. I could have taken her home with me.

  "In high school, I had such a crush on her," he says, continuing and shaking his head. Does he not know when to shut the fuck up? "I would have wrecked that," he says with a smirk.

  I shoot him a glare, and he shuts up. He's about to get punched in the mouth. Blair would never date Billy. He's just not her type.

  I look down at my phone. There's no text from Blair, but there is one from Stephanie. I text her back. I must be a glutton for punishment. Why do I pick girls to fall for that will make me miserable and my life a living hell?

  Billy pulls into my gravel driveway and rocks bounce against the bottom of my truck. When he parks the truck, I get out and walk around to the driver's side of the truck.

  "Where are you going?" he asks, surprise crossing his face as he hands over my keys. "I thought we would hang out and drink a few beers and watch a movie?"

  "Nowhere," I tell him, not wanting to admit I'm going to see Stephanie. Billy would kill me. He knows how badly she fucked me up, but I need to get Blair out of my head. I need to get Stephanie out of my head. And the hate sex we had the other night was fucking fantastic. She's a beast in bed, and I don't seem to care she's no good for me, as long as she makes me forget Blair.

  "You're not going back over to Blair's, are you?" Billy asks, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. I shake my head.

  "Why are you being all secretive now then?" he asks, staring me down.

  I cave. "I'm going to see Stephanie," I admit with an exasperated sigh. Billy's eyes widen with shock.

  "What the fuck? Why?" he asks, throwing his arms up in frustration.

  "She called," I say with a nonchalant shrug.

  Billy shakes his head in disapproval, but steps out of my way.

  "Don't let Sam catch you," he warns. "He'll fucking kill you."

  Present

  When I walk into the house, all the lights are off, and Chazz is already gone. Finn is sitting on the couch, and the Xbox is already on. The TV casts flashes of light on the walls and men are yelling, and gunfire is erupting in our living room. It instantly irks me that the first thing he does is turn on the Xbox when he gets home. There is a beer on the coffee table in front of him, and he's not using a coaster, so the beads of condensation are traveling down the bottle, and leaving a ring on the black wood stain of our coffee table. I walk over to the coffee table and huff as I slam a coaster down and place his beer bottle on top of it.

  I put my purse down and kick off my shoes at the front door and lock it behind me for the night. I don't say a word to Finn.

  "What took you so long?" he asks without looking up from his game. He's furiously clicking buttons on his remote, and when he dies, he punches the air and throws his head back angrily. He finally looks up at me.

  "I was trying to sober up so I wouldn't have to drive home drunk," I admit to him. I don't mention that I made it home because Tristan drove me. "I'm still drunk."

  "Well, fuck, Blair. If I had realized you were that drunk, I wouldn't have made you drive home. Why didn't you say anything?" he asks.

  "You threw a fit about leaving my car there overnight," I said. I'm still a little unsteady on my feet. I peek out the window to make double sure I didn't leave the car headlights on or something, and that I parked my car straight. I'm just glad that Tristan came to drive me home. If Finn knew, he would throw a shit fit.

  "Blair, I would have just driven you home," he says as his stats from the game pop up on the TV screen. Another match is about to start. Finn puts his headphones back on and unmutes his microphone. His voice deepens a little when he's talking to his friends over the Xbox microphone. That's as much interaction as I'm going to get tonight, so I walk down the hallway to check on Olivia.

  I look inside her room, and she is sleeping peacefully in her crib. She's got her little booty in the air, and she's in her cute little pink monkey footie pajamas. I just stare at her for a moment. She looks so sweet and angelic. How did I make something so perfect? And then, as if she senses my presence, she starts to stir, and I jump a little and panic and pray for the love of God that she doesn't wake up because if she sees me in her room, it will take forever for her to go back down. I tiptoe as quickly and as quietly as I can out of her room.

  I head to my room and peel off my dress. It feels so good to get out of these clothes. I walk to the bathroom in my panties and bra and start to brush my teeth when Finn walks in behind me. I see him eye me for a second in the mirror, and watch him look away. It hurts. I know he doesn't like the toll that pregnancy took on my body. But instead of coming in to brush his teeth or whatever he was planning on doing, I feel him press up behind me and wrap his arms around me. I let him. His arms used to be my favorite thing about him. I love how big and muscular his arms looked around me. I'm still rigid and unsure, but it's nice to have an interaction between the two of us that isn't fighting. He doesn't speak, he just stands there.

  Finn is already in a t-shirt and his favorite sweats with the word Marines down the leg. I've always loved those sweats and the way they hang off his hips in just the right way, and the way you can see the hint of the outline of his package in them. He looks so sexy in those sweats.

  Finn slowly slips his hand down inside my lace bra, and I gasp and close my eyes. I refuse to look in the mirror at my body and ruin this for myself or ask too many questions about his motive. I
focus only on his hands on my skin. With my eyes closed, I feel him breathing on my neck, kissing a trail from my neck to my shoulder bone. His lips are warm and soft and grazing a trail of fire down my arm. I want more.

  I try to turn, but he keeps me in place, not letting me move. I feel his hand slowly trail down my chest and my stomach and into the lace of my panties. His hand slips easily under my waistband, and I feel him slowly start stroking his finger along my folds. My eyes pop open in shock. This wasn't what I was expecting at all, but I don't stop him either. I spread my legs a little farther to give him permission. He takes the hint and presses a finger slowly inside of me, and I gasp in pleasure.

  I can feel him growing hard against my ass, and he presses himself against me. It's such a turn on. I put my arms on the bathroom counter to steady myself as he starts picking up the rhythm and I feel myself growing wetter and wetter. Finally, he turns my head with his other hand and kisses me intensely while his hand rests on my throat like he's searching for himself in me. He's still stroking me, and it feels so good. Suddenly, he stops, and I'm left wanting more.

  I turn and shove myself against him and press my mouth against his before he can change his mind about this. He presses me up against the counter, and I hop up onto it, sitting on the edge. He presses himself between my legs, and his hands are all over my breasts. He pulls away from kissing me and unhooks my bra. My breasts spring free, and Finn bends down and sucks my nipple into his mouth while he plays with the other with his thumb and forefinger. I sigh, and my head falls back. He hasn't touched me like this in so long. I try to reach down and grab his cock, but I can't quite reach, so I put my hand on the back of his head and my fingers fist in his hair which only turns him on more. I hear him moan deep in his throat. He pulls away, and I'm filled with disappointment.

  Our eyes meet and he holds eye contact with me as he bends down between my legs and slowly pulls down my panties, and spreads my legs apart with his hands. He runs his finger up and down my folds and slowly slips a finger in, and slowly pulls it back out, then puts his finger in his mouth and sucks me off him. He closes his eyes like he's relishing it and it's seriously hot. God, we haven't had foreplay like this since we conceived Olivia.