by Jean Haus
Long waisted, with a sweet curve to her hips, she could be a swimsuit model, at least for the guy magazines. She’s much hotter than the ridiculous bone-ass-thin models in fashion magazines. Her flower-dotted panties ride low. Right above the red waistband, a faded slash curls inches below her belly button. Another faint scar is barely visible closer to her hip. Her gaze is fearful as she stares at the faint marks.
“You are so beautiful,” I groan. “And this”—my fingers trace a path along a shiny, thin puckered scar—“doesn’t take anything away from your beauty, and certainly not from how much I want you.”
When her body doesn’t release its tight line of tension, I kneel, yank her jeans free from her feet, and turn her sideways. Hands gripping her hips, I kiss and then run my tongue along each faint scar visible above the line of her panties. Releasing a sigh, her body finally relaxes and she thrusts her hands into my damp hair. My shoulders loosen. So intent on her response, I hadn’t realized the tight coil of my own body.
Finally, oh fucking finally, I slowly pull her panties off, and as soon as her feet are free, I press my lips and tongue to the place I’ve been wanting to kiss forever. She gasps and bucks, but I hold her still by the hips. When her climax hits, I watch her face in the mirror. Head back, lips parted, she’s more beautiful than I could ever explain to her.
I stand slowly, then quickly shed the pink shorts and even more quickly lead her to the bed. She still appears dazed as I lay her down. But when I reach for my wallet, miraculously—or not, since it appears Allie had made plans while I showered—on the nightstand, her hands come to my chest.
“Wait, wait. Let me touch you.”
Though I’m not sure how much longer I can wait, I lie on my side and let her hands slide over me. Her fingers trace my tattoos and the muscles on my chest. Her hands wrap around the hot length of me, and my eyes roll into the back of my head. The movement of those hands has me hissing through my teeth, “Get the fucking condom.”
Twisting toward the stand, she giggles. “Yeah, that’s what it’s for.”
I snatch it from her fingers, tear it open with my teeth, and pretty much slap it on. The curve of her mouth turns into an O as I push her onto the pillows and roll over her. Poised above, holding her face in my palms, I know it’s too early, too damn early yet, but my heart is overflowing. “I’m falling in love with you,” I say, entering her.
Her eyes widen into gray pools of shock, but as I deepen my angle, she gasps. I drink the gasp from her lips, her legs wrap around me, and we rock into mindless oblivion.
Chapter 28
Allie
With his arm around my waist, Justin falls asleep almost immediately. I stare at the ceiling while his words, I’m falling in love with you, echo in my head. After his breathing evens in a deeper sleep, I untangle myself, grab my robe, and flee into the bathroom.
I sit on the closed toilet and try to get a grip. My arms tighten around my knees.
Just have fun. Just date. Just get laid.
Why didn’t they tell me to jump off a cliff?
Because Justin’s words have me feeling like I’m standing on the edge of one.
Deep inside, I’m elated, because his words feel right. Yet I’m not ready for them, and I can already feel the weight of them crushing me. Between Ben and the shop and school, I have too much on my shoulders already. Now Justin’s heart has been added to the list. Though Holly keeps saying that Justin is a big boy and that I should worry only about myself, I can’t ignore his words.
And what about my heart?
I can’t even contemplate the issue of love. It’s too much.
I never wanted things to get to this point. It was supposed to be just fun. This sudden deep emotion is suffocating me.
Unable to deal with all the emotions swirling through me, I stand and turn on the shower. For over a half hour, I let the spray of water wash away my thoughts. By the time I step out, I’ve run through all the hot water and my mind is nearly empty. I put my hair in a bun and dab on a bit of makeup, then go change the laundry before getting dressed. I roam around the apartment, mindlessly straightening up and tinkering in the kitchen. I build a wall between those words and me, and try to relax. I pretend for the moment that they don’t exist, that they were never spoken, and that whatever is between Justin and me is just fun.
And instead of acting freaked out, I’m going to have fun for once, dammit.
Once the apartment is spotless and Justin’s clothes are dry, I toss his jeans and boxers at the end of the bed. He sits up still sleepy eyed despite having slept for hours.
His blond hair is a wild mess and his jaw is covered with a dark scruff. The white comforter around his waist contrasts with his coppery skin and the black tribal art and Japanese-lettering tattoos. He is absolutely delectable. Releasing a yawn he asks, “Where’s my shirt?”
“I thought you could hang out in your jeans until we leave.”
The ring in his eyebrow rises. “Oh, I’m your eye candy now?”
“Absolutely. No better eye candy around.”
He jumps from the bed and lunges at me. Laughing, I step into the hallway. “Get dressed. I started making lunch.” I leave him shaking his head and reaching for his pants.
Since I usually cook for Ben, my kitchen is stocked with kid basics. Holly rarely eats here and hardly ever shops. So after searching the cupboards and refrigerator three times, I decide we don’t have many choices besides grilled cheese and tomato soup.
I’m slicing cheese as Justin wanders into the kitchen. I pause to take him in wearing only jeans, with a strip of his boxers showing. Screw Todd. Tribal tattoos are hot. Justin is hot. I want to forget about lunch and have him instead.
He glances at the pan on the stove and the items on the counter, then bumps my hip with his. “Let me cook. You did the laundry.”
“How about you do the soup and I’ll make the sandwiches?”
His lips turn down. “Why do you get the good part?”
I set the knife on the cutting board. “Fine. I’ll make the soup.”
Picking the knife up, he says, “Prepared to be awed by my grilled-cheese-making skills.”
“I’ve already been awed by your spinach quiche.” I dig in a drawer for the can opener. “How did you learn to cook so well?”
“The housekeeper had weekends off. My parents were usually out and about.”
I pause from opening the can of soup and watch him butter a piece of bread. “All weekend?”
“My mother had luncheons and fund-raisers. My father had a car-collecting hobby that filled every weekend. He could spend all Saturday and Sunday searching through car dealerships in a hundred-mile radius. I went with him once. Once was enough. He also dragged me to a few boring car shows.”
“What about at night?”
“They usually met up for dinner at some fancy restaurant. Sometimes I went along. By the time I was thirteen, I opted to stay home. Something like grilled cheese”—he pauses from buttering bread and grins—“tasted better than seared foie gras.”
“What exactly is foie gras?”
He picks up the spatula and spins it. “The liver of a duck or a goose that’s especially fattened to make it a delicacy.”
My nose wrinkles. “Yuck.”
“Thought so too at thirteen, but I tried it again in France. It’s not too bad. Pretty good with a glass of red wine.” He flicks on a burner.
I shake the can of soup into the pot. “Ah, France,” I say dreamily.
“We should go someday.”
“Did you forget I have a son? And limited resources?”
He drops a sandwich in the waiting skillet. “I have resources, and why not take Ben?”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Il pourrait être.”
The can in my hand nearly clanks to the floor. “You speak French?”
“Un peu, et pas parfait.”
He’s too hot, standing in my kitchen half-naked but speaking French?
He’s hotter than hell. I almost fan myself. “What did you say?”
“First?” He pushes a strand of wayward hair from my bun behind my ear. “‘It could be.’ Then ‘A little, and not perfect.’”
Still dumbfounded by him, I spend a moment figuring out his responses. “Nothing’s easy with a five-year-old.” I stand next to him, brushing his arm with mine as I stir the soup. “Did you learn to speak it while you were there?”
He flips a sandwich. “Mostly. I took two years of it in high school but a month there was worth more than two years in the classroom.”
“So you don’t know Italian.”
“Le basi.”
I tilt my head in question.
“The basics.”
“Like?”
“Spaghetti, Parmigiano, prosciutto,” he reels off in a heavy Italian accent. “Chianti, Frangelico—”
My laugh cuts him off. “That’s all food and alcohol,” I say, nudging him with my hip.
He hip-nudges me back. “That’s the important stuff.”
We’re standing there grinning at each other when the apartment door opens behind us.
Though I’m startled that someone is coming in, I’m thinking it’s Holly. Turning, I drop the tomato soup–covered spoon and it clanks on the tile as my heart drops to the tile too.
My father and Ben stand in the doorway.
Justin steps away from me and crosses his arms over his naked chest.
“Dad! What are you doing here?” Oh, crap, crap, crap. Oh, big-time crap! Why didn’t he call to say that he was dropping Ben off early? Why didn’t I give Justin his dang shirt? Because I’m a hormonal idiot who’s now preoccupied with fun. I’m completely mortified by my father’s harsh expression at seeing me with a man. A half-naked man at that.
My father’s expression turns harsher as he stares at Justin. “Your mom and I have a retirement party this afternoon. She’s not cooking today.”
“Oh.” Why don’t people tell me this stuff? “Um—”
Ben tosses his backpack on the dining room table then points to Justin. “What’s he doing here?”
“Um…” My shocked brain is coming up with nothing.
My father’s jaw grows tighter.
Justin’s face appears serious. “Your mom called me over this morning to fix your leaky sink. She offered lunch as payment.”
Ben scoots onto a stool in front of the peninsula. “So you’re a…plumber? Don’t they wear shirts? Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
Justin twirls the spatula. “It’s in the dryer. Got wet while I was working.”
Ben’s forehead crinkles. “Where are your tools?”
“In the trunk of your mom’s car.”
Okay, Justin’s kicking butt here, at least with Ben. My father is a totally different story. Though I’m relieved Ben’s still clueless about us, the lies coming out of Justin’s mouth have me a bit worried.
“So you’re good at fixing things?” Ben asks, tilting his chin.
Justin nods with an air of indifference. “Almost the best.”
After adjusting his glasses, Ben jumps off the stool. “Then you gotta come to my room and help me.”
“You need something fixed?” Justin asks him but looks to me.
I nod an okay as Ben yells from the hallway, “Something super important!”
Justin turns the burner off under the grilled cheese. “Be right back.”
Once they’re gone, my father comes and stands on the other side of the peninsula. Obviously upset with me, he’s even more intimidating in his Sunday khakis and a button-up dress shirt. He usually wears jeans and a flannel over an old T-shirt.
“It’s not what you think. We’ve been dating for a while,” I say, wishing I could melt into the floor. If there’s one person I don’t like letting down, it’s my father.
He lets out a sigh. “I’m not judging you, Allie. It’s not my place, but haven’t you been down this road? I was hoping you’d wait for marriage this time around.”
Staring at the counter, I can’t think of anything to say. I wanted to wait, but Justin blew into my life like a new song I became obsessed with overnight.
My father comes around the peninsula and lifts my chin gently. “For others to respect you, you have to respect yourself the most. Think about that.” He kisses my forehead and I tremble as he walks back to the door. “Take care of my boy,” he says like he always does when he leaves.
I stand in the middle of the kitchen until I notice the smell of burning tomato soup and notice that it’s bubbling and spitting all over the stove. I move the pan off the burner, wipe up the mess, and lean on the counter. The day is only half over, and so far it’s been a roller coaster of emotion. After a few deep, calming breaths, I find another can of soup and the ingredients for another grilled cheese for Ben.
My father’s words echo in my head as I turn the heat on again under the sandwiches and stir the soup. Though I do believe Justin respects me, I’m aware we are moving too fast. I dated Trevor for over a year in high school, then four months prior to getting married. Obviously, I should have taken more time then too. But with Trevor, I always had a desperate obsession with holding on to him, as if our connection were something that could slip through my fingers if I looked away for even a second. My obsession with Justin is entirely different. I want to be with him. I want to know everything about him. I want him to know everything about me. But I don’t have the need to hold on to him with a death grip. Because our connection feels mutual.
I’m about to get Justin and Ben, whom I suspect are working on the bridge Ben has been trying to create with his erector set, when my phone rings. Trevor’s number flashes across the screen. Knowing he’ll keep calling, I force myself to answer it.
Before I can even get out a hello he says, “Do you know how pissed I am?”
Imagining his bloody nose and battered face, I can imagine. My jaw clenches at the aggressive tone in his voice. “Just get to the point.”
“I’m getting a lawyer on Monday.”
“Good, you’re going to need—”
“And getting custody of my son.”
I clutch the counter so I don’t fall. The kitchen rug, the world,—actually, even gravity—feel ripped from under me. Breathe, Al. He’s angry and spouting crap. “What are you talking about?”
“Then I’m getting the shop back.”
The shop isn’t even on my radar. “Why would you even think you could get custody? He hardly knows you. You hardly know him,” I snap. Now I’m getting angry. “Is this your deranged idea of revenge?”
“You want to be a bitch?” he hisses. “You want to date some douche bag? Then I’m going to fuck your world up.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Douche bag and his buddy better not press charges against me.”
“Or what?”
“Think about what I said,” he growls before hanging up on me.
Fury pounds through me as I stare at my phone screen. Custody? He’s lost his mind.
Furious, I call him back. Of course he doesn’t answer.
I’m about to destroy my kitchen—throw soup against the wall and smash grilled cheese under my feet—but instead lean against the counter and take deep breaths.
The soft murmur of conversation comes to me from the hallway as Justin and Ben make their way toward the kitchen.
I take in one last gulp of air and say pleasantly, “Lunch is ready. Go wash your hands, Ben.”
With a scowl etching his face, Ben turns back toward the bathroom. Justin studies me for a long moment. “Everything okay?”
Forcing a smile, I nod.
Inside, I’m a screaming mess.
Chapter 29
Justin
We’re all sitting around Allie’s drawing desk on Monday afternoon. Todd’s on his third piece of pizza. Shaya is on her second. Allie is still picking at her first. We’d planned this lunch last week, but Allie was surprised when I showed up with two pizza b
oxes. Todd and Shaya had been ecstatic.
Allie has also been quiet and distant.
Yesterday, after our surprise lunch with Ben, she’d been quiet too as she drove me back to the dorm. I chalked it up to Ben’s nonstop chatter and that she was freaked out her father walked in while I was there, shirtless no less. When I texted her late last night she seemed fine, but today I’m wondering if there’s more going on than her Dad’s disapproval.
I can’t help blaming her quietness on my big fucking mouth. I should have never told her I was falling in love, but in the heat of the moment, the words felt so right. So true.
Never said them before.
Now they’re biting me in the ass.
Beyond tense, I roll my paper plate and force myself to listen to Todd’s story about a customer from last night.
“So I’m kickin’ it to third,” Todd says, still chomping on pepperoni and sausage. “Pounding skin when the fucker passes out.” He swallows and then laughs. “Almost falls out of the chair.”
I’m guessing pounding skin means he was inking at a high speed.
Shaya giggles, causing her curls to bounce. “He says it calmly, but he screamed like a ten-year-old for me to get in there last night.”
Allie’s forehead wrinkles. Though she hasn’t said more than two words so far, she asks, “Why would you push ink like that?”
“Well, he came in at five to nine.”
Allie glares at him. “We take work until nine.”
“Yeah, but this ass wanted a three-hour job and beyond that his back was already almost entirely engraved. How was I to know he needed a pussy ball?”
At my raised eyebrow Shaya explains, “A tennis ball to hold for pain.”
Todd folds another slice of pizza in half. “He was fine until the fainting thing.”
Allie gives me a weak smile, then her mouth curls in a scowl at Todd.
“Hey, he finished,” Todd says.
“Our first wrastler!” Shaya says with a giggle.