I Knead You Tonight

by Hunter, Teagan

  “Yes, but I wasn’t aware you were going to come prancing out looking like this.”

  “I don’t prance.”

  “Oh, you prance.” I squeeze her ass and she shuffles closer. “What do you say, Drew? Want me to peel this thing off you or what?”

  “Good grief, you two. Do you ever stop screwing?”

  Drew and I haven’t exactly told anyone we’re sleeping together because we don’t know what any of this means other than it feels good, but since Sully lives here too, he kind of knows there’s something up.

  Or at least he’s assumed that’s what we’re doing since he caught us kissing in the kitchen one day. He didn’t say anything, just walked in, asked if he could get by to the sugar, grabbed a fresh cup of coffee, and walked back out.

  That was it.

  This is the first time he’s mentioned it since.

  “Do you ever stop wishing you were screwing?” I glance around Drew to Sully, who’s standing at the doorway. “Seriously, man, you’ve lived with me for a while now and I’ve yet to see you bring a girl home. Isn’t your hand tired?”

  “Just because I don’t bring anyone here doesn’t mean I’m not getting any action.”

  I raise my brow at him. “Oh? Do tell.”

  “I thought you didn’t like talking about your conquests,” Drew says.

  “Ah, but these aren’t my conquests.”

  She lifts her eyes skyward. “You’re hopeless.”

  “—ly devoted to you.” I wink.

  She groans, tossing her head back, trying to wrangle herself away from me. “On that note, I’m leaving.”

  “I am too,” Sully says. “You guys have fun. I won’t wait up.”

  “You sure you don’t want to come with us?” Drew turns toward him, and I finally release her fully. “It’s gonna be a good time.”

  “And watch you two make out all night? I see enough of that at home, but thanks.”

  “Your loss!” I call to him as he scurries down the hall toward his room.

  “Is it just me or is he really chill about us…” She flicks her wrist between us. “Well, you know. This.”

  “I mean, we’re grown-ass adults, Drew. What we do is our business and ours alone. Sully respects that.”

  “So you don’t think he’ll tell Wren, right?”

  “No, definitely not.”

  “Good. I, uh, I’d just like to be the first one to tell her, you know? I don’t want her finding out from Sully or Foster. She needs to hear it from me.”

  “I highly doubt she’s going to care. If she does have anything to say, I’ll just bring up the fact that she’s sleeping with my best friend too. That’ll shut down any issues she might have with it.”

  She grins. “Solid point.” She bends toward Riker. “You ready to get to the festival, little man? We’re gonna have so much fun. Pumpkin cookies, pumpkin cake, pumpkin pie, pumpkin coffee, pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin funnel cakes, pumpkin—”

  “You sound like what’s-his-nuts in Forrest Gump, only change out shrimp for pumpkin.”

  “You mean Bubba?”

  “Sure. Whatever his name is. I have no clue. I hate that movie—it’s boring as fuck. I could never sit through the entire thing.”

  “I’m sorry, I must be hearing things.” She stands, grabbing Riker’s car seat. “Did you just say you hate Forrest Gump?”

  “Yep. Sure did.”

  “No wonder we can’t seem to get along. You clearly have shit taste.”

  “We get along just fine in bed,” I remind her.

  “Ah, yes—our one redeeming factor.”

  “It’s a pretty damn good saving grace, if I do say so myself.” I take Riker from her. “Now let’s get out of here before I show you just how good it can be.”

  * * *

  I never bought into all the small-town-living hubbub. All the people in your business all the time and the same four festivals each year gets old real fast.

  But the Fall Festival is my one exception.

  I’ve gone every year since the inception, mostly because my mother had a huge hand in getting it started. She was a lover of all things autumn, but being in a summer beach town, everyone always looked right over arguably the best time of year.

  And since spending time with Drew and Riker seems to be my new favorite pastime, I was pumped when I found out she had the night off and we could enjoy it together this year.

  Now that I’m here, I’m annoyed because it’s becoming clear to me that Drew has me pussy-whipped.

  Every time she shoves a pumpkin whatever in my face and bats her eyes at me to try it, my mouth drops open.

  If this shit didn’t taste so damn good, I’d be aggravated that she has such power over me.

  But in all honesty, I kind of like it. Being with her just feels so…easy.

  Well, as easy as anything can be when it comes to us.

  We argued about the radio station in the car on the way here. Then again when we were in line for tickets for food vouchers. Then again when Drew wanted to try the pumpkin pie and the pumpkin cake, wasting two vouchers on essentially the same thing.

  Which is where we’re at now, standing in line for pie and cake.

  The booths are set up right next to each other.

  I’m waiting for the cake with the stroller and Riker, and she’s waiting for the pie, practically salivating over it.

  “I’m telling you—the cake is going to be a thousand times more worth the ticket. You can buy a damn pumpkin pie at the grocery store any time you want. You can’t get this cake all year long.”

  “But I want pie too, dammit,” she whines, checking the line ahead of her for the millionth time.

  “Wasn’t it you telling me we can’t always get what we want?”

  “This is an entirely different situation. I can get exactly what I want. I have enough vouchers.”

  “You mean we have enough. We’re supposed to be splitting those.”

  “I told you we should have bought more,” she says.

  “I didn’t realize you were going to use them all for yourself for some basic-ass pie.”

  The people around us gape at me, the ones in the pie line shooting daggers.

  “You’re all fools,” I mutter to them.

  Drew shakes her head, trying to be angry, but I see her lips tic.

  “Just wait. You’re going to try this pie and it’s going to change your life.”

  “You better shut your piehole,” I warn.

  “Nobody says that anymore unless they’re like fifty.”

  “Riker, your mom is about to walk home, and that’s going to suck for her, because it’s a few miles and she has short legs.”

  “Riker, your mother is about to murder your best friend and stuff his body where nobody can find him.”

  “You just threatened me. I have witnesses!”

  Everyone in line turns the other way, already pissed at me for hating on the pie.

  “Traitors!” I yell.

  Drew and I step up to the booths at the same time, order our respective desserts, and then meet off to the side.

  We take a bite at the same time.

  “Oh my god,” she moans. “It’s so good.”

  For the first time in my life, I’m jealous of food.

  I want to be the only one to make her moan.

  “Here, try it.”

  “Not in a million years,” I sneer. I shovel another bite of heavenly pumpkin cake into my mouth. “Oh my god,” I mimic. “It’s so good.”

  “I bet it tastes like dirt.”

  “I bet it tastes better than your pussy.”

  She gasps. “Winston!”

  “You’re right. I take that back. Nothing tastes that good.”

  Her face turns beet red, and I feel real damn proud for making her blush.

  She trowels another bite of pie into her mouth, trying not to look so embarrassed that my comment makes her flush.

  We throw our plates away and continue through the fe
stival, stopping at all the booths set up along the main strip of downtown because Drew has to talk to everyone.

  “Why don’t you set up a booth for your photography? I bet you could make a killing here.”

  “I don’t know. These kinds of events aren’t really my thing.”

  She slides her eyes my way. “You mean you’re too afraid you’re going to put too many expectations on yourself and end up hating the hobby you love so much.”

  I don’t say anything, but we both know she’s right.

  “You know, for what it’s worth, there are plenty of people out there who took their passion and made a career from it and are doing just fine. I mean, hell, your twin sister did just that and she’s thriving. Her life has never been better. You could learn a lesson from her and take a chance once in a while.”

  “It’s not that easy,” I say.

  “It’s also not that complicated.”

  “Says the most complex person I know.”

  She shakes her head. “Whatever. Just keep living in that safe bubble of yours, not doing anything about your life because you’re too big of a pussy. You—”

  “Well, well. Fancy seeing you two here together.”

  Two familiar faces from Slice, an older married couple named Blythe and Randy, stroll up to us. They’ve been coming to the joint since the doors opened. They’re kind of like extended family at this point.

  Randy bends down toward Riker. “Sorry, little dude. I didn’t see you there. I take back my two and add a plus one.”

  Riker grins like he can understand him.

  I stick my hand out to the older gentleman. “Randy, Blythe. Good to see you both.”

  “What are you two over here arguing about?” Blythe inquires.

  “Nothing, ma’am.”

  “Oh bullshit,” Drew says. “I’m trying to convince Winston here to do something with the skill he was given and has spent years honing. He’s too afraid to take a damn chance on it.”

  “Are you crazy, boy? Your pictures are brilliant!”

  Her response surprises me, because I know for a fact I’ve never sat Blythe down and showed her my stuff.

  “You’ve seen my work?”

  She points to her head. “Your sister does my hair, son. What else do you think I stare at while she’s working her magic and taming this beast?”

  “Sorry, Blythe.” I grin at her. “Sometimes I forget your natural hair color isn’t rainbow.”

  She bounces her short curls. “I look damn good with this hair.”

  “The most stunning woman here, present company included.”

  “Hey!” Drew exclaims.

  “You mind if we chat a moment?” Randy asks. “In private.”

  “Uh, sure,” I say. I look to Drew, who shrugs, having no idea what’s going on either. “Be right back.”

  We walk about five yards away before he starts talking.

  “Listen, Blythe and I are coming up on our fiftieth wedding anniversary, and I’d love to do something real special for her. She’s always jabbering about not having enough photos of us together, so I’d love to surprise her with a photoshoot or something like that. What do you say? Want to take a stab at something for us?”

  Wait…

  “You want me to…photograph you and Blythe? Like…professionally?”

  “That’s what you do, right? Take photos?”

  “Well, yes, technically.”

  “Then you can do it?” Randy asks.

  “Again, technically, I could.”

  “I’m not understanding.”

  Could I take photos for Randy and Blythe? Yeah, I could do that no problem.

  But I don’t do photography, at least not for people I know.

  And I definitely don’t take photos of people.

  The coastline is what calls to me, and it’s my main go-to for photography. Other than in Wren’s salon, there isn’t a single photo of mine hanging on a wall out there.

  She pinky promised she’d never tell a soul where she got them, but I guess she let the cat out of the bag to Blythe.

  Can’t blame her, though. The old lady should have a job as an interrogator. She seems to be able to get anyone to talk.

  “If you’re not up for it, it’s fine. I just figured I’d ask you before I went to some other local chump.”

  “I’m flattered you asked, really, it’s just…I don’t really do photography. It’s sort of a hobby-only kind of thing.”

  He nods but looks disappointed. “I get it. Well, thanks anyway, kid. If you happen to change your mind between now and then, well, you know where I eat dinner three nights a week.”

  He winks, clapping me on the back, and we make our way back to the ladies.

  “What were you two gabbing about?” Blythe asks.

  “We were just minding our own business,” Randy smarts.

  She ignores his quip and looks to me. “Listen, son, quit being afraid to chase what you want and buck up. You did it here with Drew, finally asking her out after pining for her for so long. You can do it with your photography too.”

  “Oh, we’re not—”

  “I’ll take your advice to heart, ma’am,” I say, interrupting Drew.

  She stares at me, lips pulled into a firm line.

  Blythe’s eyes dart back and forth between us, a sly smile on her lips like something’s dawning on her.

  “Interesting,” she murmurs. “Kids these days.”

  “I tuned out when I saw that the cake line is finally dying down, but I agree with everything my wife just said,” Randy tells us. “I’m sure we’ll see you two lovebirds tomorrow.”

  He shakes my hand again and heads toward the cake after bopping Riker on the nose.

  “Think about what I said,” Blythe says, patting my cheek. She leans in close and whispers, “Don’t give up on her.” She tosses me a wink before straightening up herself. “See you kids later.”

  When they’re out of earshot, Drew spins toward me.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “What was what?” I say innocently, pushing the stroller forward.

  “You know what I mean,” she says out of the corner of her mouth, clearly annoyed with me. “Why did you just let them believe we’re dating?”

  “Because it’s not that big of a deal if they think it.”

  “But it’s not true.”

  “Am I really that awful that anyone thinking we’re dating upsets you? Even if it’s two old farts like Randy and Blythe?”

  She grins. “I am ninety-five percent certain Randy would kick your ass if he heard you calling him an old fart.”

  “He’d definitely give it his best shot, but that’s not the point. I just don’t understand how you can fuck me every night and sleep in the same bed as me and live under my roof but be too chickenshit to call this what it is.”

  “Call this what it is? What?” She wrinkles her nose. “A relationship?”

  I laugh disdainfully at her disgust, which is an obvious coverup for how she really feels.

  “You say I’m living in a bubble, too afraid to go after what I want, Drew? Maybe you’re right, but I’m not the only one doing it.”

  “What? What does that even mean?”

  “It means there is clearly something between us, and it’s not just mind-blowing sex. I’m saying maybe, just fucking maybe, you don’t hate me at all.”

  “I’m not the only one doing the hating around here. You don’t like me just as much as I don’t like you,” she maintains.

  “Or,” I say, “maybe that’s not the case at all.”

  “Wait a second…are you…are you saying you like me?”

  Her mouth is popped open, like even she can’t believe the words coming out of her mouth.

  But she should, because they’re accurate.

  Hell, they’re more than accurate.

  I like Drew, and I might even love her.

  I just wish she could see what’s right in front of her.

  “I’m just
saying maybe things aren’t what they appear to be.”

  “Stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop playing with me right now. I don’t know what this is, but it’s not funny.”

  “I’m not playing any game,” I push out through gritted teeth, already annoyed with myself for opening my trap because she’s obviously not taking me seriously. “I’m simply telling you I don’t think the idea of us being together is entirely insane.”

  “You can’t be serious. We can’t stand each other!”

  “No, Drew, you can’t stand me. You’ve never liked me.”

  “That’s not true,” she says.

  “It’s not?”

  “No. Actually, the first time I met you, I thought you were…charming. A little obnoxious because, I mean, you were staring at my tits, but still charming in your own way.”

  “What changed?”

  “Honestly? You did. After your accident, you were just so…cruel, and not just to me. That part I would have been fine with, but you were terrible to your dad and your sister and it just made me really fucking angry because they were trying so hard to be there for you and you wouldn’t let them. You had people who loved you, who wanted to take care of you, yet you just shut them out like they didn’t matter. You stopped showing up to work. I mean, not that you had a great track record for that before the accident, but it was way worse after. Then you just…I don’t know, gave up.” She scoffs. “And that really pissed me off because of what you had right there at your fingertips: love and support. You just didn’t give a shit about any of it.”

  I don’t say anything, because her points are valid.

  I was just in so much pain for so long that it morphed into anger. I know it’s my own fault in a way because I gave up, but to anyone looking in, they wouldn’t get it, wouldn’t understand how hard it was to get up every day and trying to live like I wasn’t in agony.

  Giving up was easier. Smoking myself numb was easier.

  I wanted easy.

  “I don’t hate you, Winston. I’m just really fucking annoyed by you.”

  I laugh. “You annoy me too.”

  “See? That!” She points to me. “That right there. It’s why we could never work. We annoy each other too much. One of us would commit murder within the first six months. I just know it. A prison romance doesn’t sound appealing to me.”