I gasp, a drawn-out shriek of horror. “Fuck. What’s wrong with me? I’m so clumsy, I swear.”
When I look at him, his eyes are lingering on my breasts as if he wants to lick the Pepto from them. He grabs a box of tissues from his nightstand, a bottle of lotion next to it. I know that isn’t for moisturizing his skin. Mmm, the thought of him playing with himself, thinking of me … God. He needs to be teased, teased so badly that he comes all over himself with that lotion, wishing it were my wet pussy.
“This feels so gross,” I say. “Do you think I could take a quick shower?”
His mouth drops a little, but a twinkle shines in his eyes. “Yeah, that’s cool. I’d like you to stay another hour, anyway, to be safe. I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“Oh, never mind. I don’t have any clothes. Unless you could wash them. I guess I could hang out in a towel.” Hehehe.
“There are some things of Eliza’s in the closet … if that isn’t weird. I haven’t gotten around to throwing them out yet.”
Yuck. I like the towel idea better. The last thing I want to do is wear that cunt’s clothes. But if it means I can tempt him by being naked in his house, body wet in the setting he most loves to fuck in?
So be it.
I sit on the bed as she closes the door. My hand reaches for a book on my nightstand, but the sex-deprived asshole in me wishes it were reaching for her bra instead. She is taking an exceptionally long time to undress in there. Then … the soft drop of fabric on the floor. Her dress is off now, no doubt, and the squeal of the shower knob as the water rushes out drives me mad.
I imagine her working off her thong. Is she wearing a thong? Is she wearing anything? I try to focus, to train my eyes to move across the words on the pages in front of me. I try to comprehend what those words mean, but I see nothing but Emily naked—rubbing her hands over her body with my bar of soap.
Fuck.
Something about her makes me crazy. Really great idea bringing her here. I should have driven her home, hung out with her there, because her being here is too risky.
My phone buzzes from the nightstand. “Hi, Mom.”
“Sweetheart, are you coming to brunch at—”
“I’m not feeling very well. I think I am getting the flu.”
“Oh, no! I was wondering why you disappeared. I sent Deacon over, but you weren’t home. Anyway, I’ll let you rest, but no surgery for Isabel.”
“Great. Listen, I gotta go, Mom. I’ll call you later.”
We hang up, and I toss the book aside. I get up and walk to the door, pressing my ear against it, idiotically hoping to hear her moan. Nothing but water running. My lips press together in frustration. God, I would love to be in there with her, fucking her against the slick tile, her legs tight around me.
But it can never happen.
Aside from the obvious reasons, she’s acting cold today. I know she was interested at one point. She wouldn’t have kissed me otherwise. But a lot can change in four months.
“Need anything?” I feel like a creep.
“Um … I didn’t see any towels!”
I’m not sure whether to hate or like myself for not making sure she had one, but I grab one from the dryer. I smell it to be sure it isn’t mildewed—sometimes I suck at being a bachelor, but what man doesn’t—and knock on the door just as the water turns off.
“Towel is outside the door. I’ll be in the kitchen while you dress.”
“Would you mind bringing it to me?” Her words are muffled through the door, but they make my cock jump.
“Uh, yeah, but—”
“Come on, I’m freezing and dripping wet!”
I grip the doorknob, twist it, and step inside. Keeping my eyes on the tile, I walk straight toward the glass shower. Do not look up, I tell myself. Except when I get close enough to hand it to her, I fucking look up. In what feels like slow motion, but can’t be more than a millisecond, my eyes run from her feet to her breasts. Her shape is stunning, pussy hidden only because she’s sideways. Breasts shielded in intentional modesty by her arms. The curve of her ass is the only real thing I get to enjoy. Her body decorated in droplets of water from the shower I wish I could fuck her in. Just as quickly as I have taken her in, my eyes flick back to the floor and push the towel through the bar on the door.
“Thanks.” Her voice is devoid of insecurity. So. Fucking. Sexy.
I clear my throat. “You’re welcome.” Shit, I need to get laid. Four months of no sex will have you doing crazy things like fantasizing over your best friend’s ex girl.
I turn, head for the bedroom again, when I hear her moan. Only, it is a moan of distress. I spin around. “What’s the matter?”
The towel is around her body now, her perfect, lean legs slick with water, damp hair falling in front of her eyes as she brings a hand to her forehead.
“I … I don’t know. I’m feeling a little woozy again.”
“Really? Maybe it was the hot water.” I step closer to her, ready to steady her if needed.
She wobbles on her feet before leaning back against the tile, her head hanging. “Probably wasn’t a great idea. Hot showers make me dizzy sometimes anyway.”
My hand reaches out to her, but she waves it off.
“I can’t move yet. Everything is spinning.” Her body slides down as she sits in the bottom of the shower, her knees pulled to her chest, and … holy fuck—a mere glimpse of the edge of her pussy as she adjusts.
Slyly, I adjust my cock, hoping it will stay down, but it isn’t cooperating. “Let me pick you up.”
“I’m too heavy,” she groans. “I just need a couple minutes.”
“You are not too heavy,” I scoff. “I’m picking you up. You can’t stay in the shower. Let me get you to the bed.” FUCK, LET ME GET HER TO THE BED. But no, fuck! I’m totally crossing a line here.
I hook a hand around her back and under her arm, then use the other to support her legs. Her arms wrap around my neck. She is light, perhaps one-ten, one-fifteen of pure perfection. Her mouth is against my neck as I carry her toward the bed, wishing I could unwrap that towel.
I am going to hell. I started the day off at church, and now here I am wishing I could end it in Emily’s pussy. But I’m just horny. This is normal. I’m a guy.
I lower her onto my bed, the towel unfortunately still in place. As I stand again, I feel a brush of her lips against my neck. “You need something?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay. I’ll let you rest awhile. I’ll just be in the living room if you need anything.”
“Hey, Brooks?” Her hand grabs my forearm.
I spin to her. “Yeah?”
She grabs my hand, and sits up, adjusting the towel as she does. She pulls me in toward her, and presses her cheek against mine. “I just wanted to say thank you.”
“For what?”
“For helping me. For doing all this. I appreciate it.”
The words ripple through my ear, sending a chill down my back that drives me fucking crazy. If she doesn’t let go of me right now, I might kiss her, and slip my hand up her thigh.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
May 1999
Today I had to tell Ivy we are moving. Today I saw tears welling in her eyes for the first time. Today I hurt her. Today is probably the worst day I have ever had. Today blows.
It is graduation day, and we are signing yearbooks in the cafeteria. Her back is against the wall, and she looks sadder than I have ever seen, even sadder than the first day I met her, and I didn’t think that was possible. I feel bad. No one is asking her to sign their book, but everyone is asking me. Especially girls.
I take a book from a girl’s hands, but I can’t keep my eyes off Ivy. “Um … what did you say your name was?”
The girl sighs and slaps a sharpie onto the book. “Eliza. E-L-I-Z-A. Eliza.”
I scribble her name, then write HAGS, and sign mine.
“Here.” I thrust the book in her hands again.
&nbs
p; She stares at what I wrote, her eyes squinting at me like she’s mad, before she walks off.
I pick up Ivy’s book that I left on the signing table. I press my lips together and think hard about what I want to say—something that would make her smile and make her happy. It sounds lame, but I write: I will never forget U Ivy! Call me in France! Ivy & Brooks 4Ever! Then, I jot down the phone number she can reach me at, which I memorized.
I carry the yearbook to her and place it in her hands. “Here,” I say, but I try not to look at her eyes, because they make me want to cry, and boys can’t cry. Or, that’s what they say, anyway.
“Brooks,” my mom says, grabbing my arm. She pulls me a few feet away.
“Son, we just got some news,” my dad says.
“Okay?” Oh God, please don’t say we are never coming back. Please don’t say we are staying in France forever. I have to see Ivy again, I just have to.
“We won’t be leaving for another month.”
It’s a few seconds before I realize what Dad just said. “Really?”
“Really!” they say together.
I smile so big my cheeks instantly start hurting, which never happens to me. “Be right back! I gotta tell Ivy!”
My body turns, and I run to her, shouting her name, not noticing anyone else around us. I grab her hands.
“Ivy! Ivy, Ivy, Ivy! We’re not going for another month!”
She looks confused at first, but then she grins and closes her hands around mine harder than she ever has. “Really?”
“Yeah, really!” I nod, then swoop my hair from my eyes, and put my arms around her. We hug tighter than we have ever hugged, jumping in the air like maniacs, as all the kids close by stare at us. “I’ll call you later, okay? We can meet at the creek behind the school until I move.”
We pull away from each other now. Her head nods. Her smile relaxes a little, but her eyes are happy. She is happy. Today I made Ivy happy. Today is one of the best days, because I get another day with her. A lot more days. Today is rad.
I hug her again before I have to go, because my parents are checking me out early. My parents decide to take me to get lunch at my favorite taco place to celebrate my good grades.
When we are waiting for our food, I snack on the chips and salsa while my parents whisper to each other. I am sure it is about Ivy. They hadn’t seen her until today, and I had avoided telling them anything about her except for her name.
Finally, I can’t stand it anymore, especially the stupid side glances they are giving each other. “Are you guys talking about Ivy?”
“No, of course not, sweetie,” my mother says. She reaches across the table and pats my hand.
“You don’t like her, do you?”
They look at each other, my dad shrugging as my mom tucks her hair behind her ears.
“No, sweetie, it isn’t that.” She smiles. “Remember when I told you before that all the girls were going to go crazy for you?”
I roll my eyes and lightly shake my head. “Yes, Mom. How could I forget?”
“Well, baby, you’re going to be in sixth grade in a brand-new country. A year wouldn’t be so difficult for two adults to handle, but you’re a kid, sweetie. It’s going to seem like forever.”
“What’s your point?” I ask as the taco lady puts the plates down and pours more soda in my glass.
“What your mother is trying to say is that it’s very unlikely you two will even care about each other when we get back.”
“Rick...” my mother says as she elbows him. She looks back to me. “The point is, baby … I don’t like the way you were looking at each other.
“What?” I say, my mouth full of tortilla and meat. I finish chewing. “What do you mean the way we looked at each other?”
“Sweetie, you were looking at each other like you were in love!”
In love. “That’s crazy, Mom. I’m only twelve!”
“Exactly, dear.” She scoops up some salsa with a chip. “You were acting like you were seventeen and in the middle of some tragic goodbye. You’re both twelve. Sixth grade is going to be an entirely new experience. And you’ll be in a different country with so many new things to see, and new friends to make.”
I slap my palms on the table. “This is because she’s poor, isn’t it? You could tell, couldn’t you? You start making money, and maybe you think me having a poor friend would somehow make us like that again. Well, that’s stupid, and it won’t.”
“Brooks!” my mother says, mouth hanging open at my accusation.
“Don’t you dare speak to her in that tone, young man. Do you understand me?”
I lean back against the booth. “Sorry.”
My mother scoots out of the booth and comes to my side, sitting down beside me. She wraps her arm around me and pulls me close to her. “Brooks, this has nothing to do with money. The last thing I want is for you to sit around moping and missing her is all, because you’re young, and that wouldn’t be healthy. You worried me today—the way you two were acting. You’re too young to be acting like you’re in love when you don’t even know what love is yet. Cheer up is all I’m trying to say.”
Love. Is this what love is? The feeling that I won’t be the same when we’re gone—when I don’t have Ivy? When I can’t see her every day? Can’t hear her laugh or see her smile? Can’t protect her from the jerks that go to our school or see her ocean eyes anymore?
If that’s what love is, then my mother is wrong.
If that’s what love is, then I love Ivy Hobbs.
And I need to tell her before I go.
Brooks is still trapped in the hug I pulled him into when his phone rings.
Suddenly, he stands. “I swear, if that’s my mother again...” He sighs with relief. “Realtor. Deacon and I are looking for a vacation house together.”
He slides his finger across the phone. Says hello. “Yeah,” he finally nods. “We would definitely be interested in that.” Pause. Then widening eyes. “Now? But it’s Easter...” A laugh. “Okay. Yeah, yeah, it works for me. Can you text me the address?” A final pause. “See you then.”
When he hangs up, I realize how awkward me soaking his bed with my hair and his towel has now become. The phone call ruined my plot to tease him to the point that he’s jerking his dick to the thought of me later, but now I feel pathetic after the moment was interrupted.
I sit up fully. Clench the towel tightly. “Where’s the house?”
He’s stuffing his wallet in his pocket. Putting on his watch. “Blue Ridge on the river.”
“And she’s willing to show it now? On Easter Sunday?”
He shrugs. “She said she’s an atheist.”
Damn atheists and their logical minds. I had Brooks right where I wanted him, my enticing ways explainable under the everything-I’m-doing-is-because-I-don’t-feel-well umbrella.
“I have to leave in ten to make it.” He opens the closet. Pulls out Eliza’s clothes and tosses them to me. “In a strictly platonic and non-creepy way … do you need any help?”
I smile. “No, thanks.” I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Standing up, I clutch the clothes against me. Unsteadily, I head for the bathroom door.
His arms are around me before I reach it. Holding me. Supporting me. I want to feel bad about faking this, but God threw me this bone at church, and I’m going to run with it. Besides, Brooks makes me weak in the knees … emotionally dizzy. That counts.
“If this is still happening tomorrow, you should see a doctor. Are you sure nothing like this has ever happened before?”
“Like I said, sometimes when I shower, if the water is too hot.”
“Hmm...” He escorts me inside the bathroom. “Well, hopefully it’s just a coincidence, and isn’t anything serious. I’ll wait out here.” He motions with his thumb.
Once the door is closed, I move in front of the mirror. Smile. I silently clap so rapidly that I stop because I worry he’ll think I’m yanking a dick I don’t have. But Brooks is showing his con
cern for me, which means at any moment he could realize our souls fit like puzzle pieces, and that he loves me. Oh, God, to hear those words. I can’t wait!
I open the door once I’m dressed, and he’s there. Arm resting on the doorjamb, shirt lifted just above his jeans, exposing that beautiful sun-kissed skin of his hip. “So, is there gonna be anyone to take care of you when I drop you off?”
I shrug. I want to go with him! “I don’t know. I think everyone is busy today.” I shake things up. “But maybe Jared could.”
“Jared?” His eyes penetrate me as I detect the slightest tinge of jealousy. “Oh, the neighbor guy. Well, have fun with that. Heard about him. Rest assured he’ll be fucking some stripper while you’re passed out on the floor bleeding to death because you hit your head on the counter.”
Oh my God. He’s really getting jealous. What kind of voodoo potion is in that magical book? I make a mental note to memorize every word, every phrase—cement the whole thing in my head, because it’s a glorious, wonderful, priceless book of make-your-man-love-you. Or, for me, make-your-man-remember-he-loves-you.
I laugh him off and change the subject. “Know where my purse is? You’re going to be late.”
His tone softens. “It’s in the car.”
After he locks up, he holds my upper arm while we walk down the porch steps, and opens the door for me. I stumble as I slide inside, and bring my hand to my head. He asks if I’m okay, and I say yes, but to him that means no. As he’s walking around to his side, I’m giddy, and check myself in the mirror. I’m horrified when I see my face. No makeup, since I took a shower. I at least need some gloss and a little powder. Maybe some mascara. But thank goodness for beautiful, clear skin.
When his door shuts, he turns to me as he starts the engine. “Call him.”
The Evolution of Ivy: Antidote (The Evolution of Ivy, Volume 2) Page 7