by Sara Ney
CHAPTER 13
Caleb
It wasn’t my intention to drag Abby outside to the porch, but I wasn’t about to sit there and have her watch my good friends get into a fight, either.
Leaning against the railing, without giving it any thought, I pull her in closer and we both turn to face the sliding glass window, toward the scene unfolding inside the house.
Stephan and Weston yell at each other in the middle of the living room floor, fingers pointed in each other faces, chests posturing. Molly’s in on the action, arms flapping up and down and she’s yelling, too.
Cubby, clearly entertained, sits on the couch in the seats we just abandoned, stuffing his face with more chips. It looks like he’s watching a movie.
“What just happened?” Abby asks softly, her back pressing into my front, the loose strands from her braid blowing in the slight breeze.
“Truthfully? This kind of thing always happens.”
“Why would Stephan pick a fight with Weston if he’s mad at his girlfriend? I don’t get it.”
I consider this. “Because he needs someone to blame for his problems? He’s a hot head.”
“Oh, is that why he has no teeth?” she jokes.
I almost give her an all-out grin, but stop myself. “Yeah, that’s why he has no teeth.” I pick a fallen branch off the wooden patio railing, peel the bark back, then toss it into the darkness to the woods beyond the cabin. “He’s tried instigating shit with me in the past, but so far, I’ve managed to avoid it.”
“Not a fan of conflict, are you?” she asks curiously, turning her head to study me.
“No. Not this kind of conflict. It gets too… ugly.” I pause. “I don’t mind a brawl on the ice, but that swagger bullshit going on inside? No thank you.”
Another breeze kicks up, and Abby visibly shivers. Crap, how could I have forgotten that she’s wearing next to nothing while I stand here in shorts and sweatshirt?
Instinctively, I close the space between us, pulling her into me and folding my long arms around her. Briefly stiffening, a few seconds pass before Abby lets her body relax in my arms. “Shit, sorry,” I mutter the apology into her hair, relaxing my grip on her waist. “I just thought you’d be cold. Sorry for dragging you out here, but that whole argument was heading south.”
She grabs my hands then, holding them steady about her trim waist. “No! I mean, I don’t mind. My body is actually on fire. Wait, that’s not what I meant. I meant that I’m not cold.” She covers her face with her hands and groans through the fingers over her mouth. “Oh my god, I’m so bad at this.” Even without seeing her face, I know she’s blushing furiously. “I’m so out of practice.”
“Thank god,” I let out a laugh. “Seriously. I’m so bad at this I’m probably going to start chasing you around the woods and pulling your hair.”
Abby’s light giggle makes my stomach flutter, giving me the courage to keep talking. “You’re so pretty I hardly know how to act around you.” I look off into the yard, making light of my ardent confession. “You scare me shitless.”
She spins to face me, her large blue expression gazing at me in wonder. The dim light from the porch casts a shadow on us both, and only her lips are visible in the dark. My hands, which now hover near her ass, just above the waistband of her lacy boxer shorts, itch to inch lower.
“I scare you shitless? Abby scares Caleb.” Surprise etches itself across her face from this novel information, and I can see her clever brain processing the data, turning it around and around, the play of emotions evident on her pretty face. Unlike most girls, who would take my confession and use it to their advantage, the idea that I’m vulnerable seems to make Abby uncomfortable. “How is that even possible?”
“Believe me, Walk of Shame, it is,” I tease.
Abby smacks my bicep and tries to give me a sullen pout, lip jutted out. “Why did you have to go and bring that horrible nickname up?”
“Because I have no concept of what’s appropriate?”
An owl hoots somewhere in the woods, its creepy low melancholy bellow echoing through the crisp night air. It might be spring, but the last of the snow just melted, leaving behind chilly, autumn-like temperatures.
“We should probably go back inside. It looks like they’re done bitching at each other.” I nod toward the large sliding glass door to the living room, where our friends are dispersing, the fun having come to an abrupt halt.
“Do you, um…” She clears her throat nervously.
“Do you want to watch a different movie or something,” I ask, at at the same time she says, “Are you up for another movie?”
Abby laughs nervously as we walk to the sliding patio door, and I watch as she begins twisting a finger on her right hand, presumably the spot in which she normally wears her ring. Reaching around her, I slide the door along its track just wide enough to squeeze through, and we both shiver again as we step over the threshold into the warm, cozy living room.
Abby runs her hands up and down her bare arms. “Brrr, I didn’t realize how cold I was until we came back inside. I’m kind of glad they built a fire.”
“Here, grab a blanket,” I say, grabbing a fuzzy blanket from the couch and holding it open.
“Thanks,” she says somewhat breathlessly and beams up at me with her beautiful, smiling blue eyes, before stepping into my open arms—into the blanket. My heart swells with pride, because I’ve finally done something right.
My arms fold around her, encasing her in the thick wool, and linger on her shoulders before she eases herself away and down onto the couch.
“Do you want anything from the, uh, kitchen?” Self-consciously, I stuff my hands inside my hoodie. Abby’s eyes go to the pocket, then back up to my face.
She nods slowly with a shy smile. “Water, please?”
“Water? That it?” What I don’t say is, I’ll gladly get you anything you want. “Okay. So, uh, want to find us a movie while I’m grabbing drinks?”
I disappear into the kitchen and take a deep, steadying breath with my hands flat on the counter before going through the motions of filling up two glasses with ice water. It takes me less than ten minutes, but in that time, when I return to the living room, I note that Abby has nervously smoothed out her braid, climbed out of the blanket, pulled the coffee table back to the center of the room, and repositioned herself on the couch.
I stand motionless under the barn beam arch, hesitating at the threshold of the room, and survey Abby lounging dead center on the sectional. Do I walk over and sit down next to her? How far from her do I sit? Or should I sit in the recliner on the other side of the room to give her space?
Shit.
As if she senses my indecision, she takes pity on me and pats the couch.
“Am I hogging all the room on the couch? Sorry, I’ll scooch over.” Abby makes a show of repositioning herself for me on the sofa, but in reality it looks like she’s only moved over a few inches.
Which is just fine by me.
***
Cecelia: So the two of you just watched a movie?
Abby: Yeah. We watched that chick flick, Pitch Perfect. He’d never seen it before.
Cecelia: NEVER SEEN IT?! Was he living under a rock?
Abby: I don’t know, but watching him try not to laugh was better than watching the actual movie.
Cecelia: Did he do anything besides hold your hand during the movie? Like, oh, I don’t know… touch you inappropriately?
Abby: NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! He was a gentleman.
Cecelia: Well THAT’S boring!
Abby: Okay, now you’re starting to sound like Jenna. Stop.
Cecelia: TAKE THAT BACK ^^^
Abby: You’ve been living with a boy too long ;)
Cecelia: Ugh. Sorry. Matthew is corrupting me with his hockey locker room talk. Let’s blame that one on him.
CHAPTER 14
Abby
Have you ever had one of those dreams that was so vivid, it felt like reality? Have a dream that felt
so good, you were content basking in it, slipping in and out of reality in a drunk-like state, oblivious to your actual circumstances, and just giving in to your senses?
Yeah. I’m having one of those dreams now.
“Mmm, that feels good,” I moan in a low, groggy, sleep-filled voice that hardly sounds like my own, stretching lazily and rotating my hips against the hard erection pressed into my ass crack. I slowly become cognizant of a wide, warm palm resting lazily at my waist—that same, solid palm grazing the flat expanse of my stomach beneath my tank, fingers traveling down to the waistband of my lacy white sleep shorts.
My breathing becomes labored, eyes rolling briefly back as I rotate my hips again, savoring the foreign sensation grinding against my butt crack. My arms come up, stretching to grasp the back of the head nuzzled in the crook of my neck. The lips against my throat emit a low, almost painful groan as the hand roams up my torso, and the large palm runs over my breasts before giving one nipple a gentle squeeze while he grinds into me from behind.
It sets my already buzzing body a-freaking-blaze, the ache in my thighs throbbing unbearably as I gyrate my backside in slow circles, unknowingly looking for some relief.
“Don’t stop…” An agonized curse trails off in a whisper. “Don’t stop. Abby…”
Wait. What?
My eyes pop open, even though in my drowsy stupor I continue pulling the silky hair fisted in my palm, and I suddenly become aware of the following things:
1. The hand and rection belong to Caleb, and we’re both lying horizontally on the couch.
2. Daylight pours through the large living room windows.
3. Caleb and I are not alone.
“Bro, check it out,” a voice declares. “They’re dry humping in the middle of the living room.”
“Shut the fuck up,” another male voice demands. “You’ll wake them before they get to the good part. Shit, this is better than soft core porn.”
The first voice laughs. “Do you think Showtime will jizz in his boxers?”
“Definitely. I don’t think he’s gotten laid in a while.”
“Wait. Didn’t he get a blow job from that butch lesbian on the lacrosse team?”
“No, dude, that was me.” They both laugh and I hear them high-five.
Oh. My. Freaking. God.
Once again, I force my eyes open, the fuzzy vision clearing after I blink a few times, concentrating my focus on the other side of the room.
Cubby and Stephan Randolph are sitting on the fireplace hearth, watching us, each with a mug of steaming hot coffee in their hands. I bury my face in the couch cushion as Caleb slowly removes his hand from underneath my shirt, pulling the hem down my hips.
“Shit,” he moans. “I’m so sorry.” The low pitch of his voice so close to my ear makes me shutter. “Well, sorry we got caught.”
Unable to face his friends, I struggle with my movements, trying to flip over so my backside is presented to the guys without making eye contact, and bury my flaming-hot face in Caleb’s soft tee shirt. I maneuver this way and that, trying to balance myself and not fall off the edge of the sectional.
“Don’t move. Please,” Caleb grunts. “You’re making it worse.”
Right.
The overlooked erection is now pressed into the juncture of my thighs rather than my butt crack.
“If you don’t finish him off, Abby, you’re going to give him blue balls,” Cubby says matter-of-factly, and I can hear him slurping obnoxiously from his coffee mug.
“Shut the fuck up, Cubby. Can you give us some privacy?” Caleb talks over my shoulder, his muscular arms wrapping protectively around me—and because I can’t resist the temptation, I snuggle in deeper, giving his shirt a good whiff.
Mmmm, so, so good.
His hand timidly caresses my back.
“All I’m saying is, we weren’t hating watching you dry hump,” Cubby says, just as Stephan adds, “It gave me a giant boner just seeing you two.” I hear the shuffling of clothes as he stands. “In fact, I think I’ll go stick it inside Chelsea.”
“Jesus Christ. Unbelievable,” Caleb whispers. “Cubby, why are you still sitting there? Get the fuck out of here.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll leave—but remember kids, abstinence makes the heart grow fondler.”
“What a douchebag,” Caleb mutters, aggravated. When Cubby clears the room, he gives my back a few more strokes. “Hey. Are you okay down there?”
I pull back, tipping my chin to look at him.
I’m mortified, but I nod.
“Yes, I’m okay.” I wonder just where the heck my courage is coming from to even respond. My underpants, probably, because the sight before me is like a wet dream. Caleb’s often serious face is covered with the sexiest five o’clock shadow I’ve ever seen, and he’s gazing down at me with his aroused, storm-colored eyes.
A deep gash that I’ve never noticed before mars the corner of his eyebrow, and a new, healing scar runs down the length of his rigid jawline.
And his hair. Oh, his shaggy, beautiful black hair. It’s truly a crime against nature for this surly boy to have such thick, silky hair, and for him to hide it under a vast collection of baseball caps.
His full lips are pulled down over his teeth, and the outline of dark stubble surrounding that sexy mouth is a crazy, maddening, ovary-clenching turn-on—especially after all the rubbing, petting, and grinding we just sleepwalked through.
Our lips are but a whisper away, and morning breath be damned, I arch my back, stretching my lips toward his beautifully imperfect face, and lay a single, soft kiss on his surprised mouth. He produces a low growl as a loud, annoyed shout rings out from the kitchen. “Get a room!”
CHAPTER 15
Caleb
I’m in Hell.
Struggling through a crowd of loud, obnoxious, unsupervised kids and teenagers, I barely manage to climb in line behind our friends for the water ride we all just stood in line to buy wrist bands for.
Two little punks in front of me start a game of Tag-You’re-It, and I seriously want to punch myself. Fuck, this is aggravating.
Whose goddamn idea was this?
I catch site of Abby at the top of the platform for a ride called “Tornado Waters,” one arm wrapped around a big yellow inner tube. She’s laughing unabashedly at something the purple-haired chick, Jenna, is saying, the action making her boobs jiggle in the simple navy-blue bikini top she’s got on.
Boobs that I had a handful of this morning.
I run a hand down my face at the memory, and when I look up at her, she’s watching me from her spot in line and listening intently to whatever Jenna is saying in her ear, eyes wide. They exchange glances, Jenna throwing an irritated elbow to Abby’s ribs. I snarl and take a step forward protectively—because, Hey, get your damn hands off her, and before I realize what’s happening, Abby is curling her hand in a shy come hither wave.
I stare.
I blink.
I’m shoved from behind by a big yellow inner tube.
“Get your big dopey ass up there,” Weston says, rolling his eyes. “Does she need to send you an engraved invitation?”
“Oh,” I reply.
He bumps me once more with the tube. “Yeah, oh,” he mimics, rolling his eyes again. “Don’t be such an embarrassment to the team.”
The tube thumps me a third time in the back of the head, and it’s enough momentum that I stumble on the steps.
I swat him away, scowling. “Enough already. Knock that shit off, alright? I’m going.”
I don’t mean to sound so begrudged, because I do want to get to Abby, but Jesus, man, enough badgering me about it. When did my friends get to be such pains in my ass?
Weaving my way up the stairs doesn’t take me long—Abby is only about ten steps up—but navigating through the tubes was a pain in the ass, especially because my friends take douchebaggery to an epic level. Only a kid would find it fucking hilarious to pull someone’s swim trunks down in a crowded indoor w
aterpark full of little kids.
I shoulder past Miles and Stephan, who are keeled over laughing at the sight of Cubby struggling to pull his board shorts back up over his narrow hips.
“I thought maybe you’d want to share?” Abby says when I reach her, Jenna looking on with a satisfied glint in her eye. Even at a waterpark, the chick is dressed outlandishly in a bright Aztec-print bikini, large gold hoop earrings, and matching gold chain around her stomach—like she’s not afraid that shit’s going to get ripped off her body on one of the water rides.
Whatever. Not my problem.
Four people are ahead of us now.
“You kids go on ahead of me.” Jenna baulks when I join them. “I’ll wait for that big hunky gorilla, Cubby, since he’s flying solo too.” She wiggles her eyebrows at Abby, who shakes her head in objection.
“No to Cubby. Just… no.”
Jenna shrugs. “What do you expect me to do? Get myself off all weekend?” She laughs. “Oh, calm down, I’m kidding. Sort of? You should see the look on your face.”
“Put the lid back on your filter,” Abby says with a blush. “And no one wants to hear about you getting yourself, uh…” She darts a look at me.
Holy shit. Do girls actually sex talk to each other like this?
We move up another rung on the steps, and Jenna lets us pass, but not before swatting me on the ass. I scowl at Jenna as Abby hands the tube over to the waiting water park attendant, a lanky teenager with a crap ton of zits, who looks bored. As. Shit.
“Have fun sticking it through the tunnel, lover boy.” Her innuendo isn’t lost on me, and my mouth falls open. I mean, it’s one thing for a guy to say shit like that. But a chick? Jesus.
“You sit down first.” The attendant directs Abby and me, sizing me up before pointing down at the tube he’s placed at the entrance of the dark waterslide hole.
It’s a single tube for one rider.
“Don’t we need a double tube?” I ask the kid, confused and wanting to follow the rules.
He sighs like I’ve just inconvenienced him and puts his hands on his hips, clearly irritated. “I don’t know, bro. Do you want a double tube?”