by Jean Haus
Chapter 17
~Gabe~
The echo of the highway thuds under us, mixing with the music from a local rock station while April, all prim with her legs crossed and feet tucked under the seat, pretends to read some book about psychology. I’d call bullshit, but I’m aware that kiss freaked her out. Therefore I let her pretend and just drive.
But fuck.
I want to pull this piece of shit truck over and devour her, tear her book away and her clothes, then put my mouth between her legs.
Fuck. I’m getting hard all over again.
My phone vibrates from its spot in the open ashtray—my truck is old enough to have one— jingling the coins under it. April glances at it and gives me a pointed look.
Fine. I should answer the damn thing. It will at least get my mind off fucking the chick next to me. Hopefully, it’s not Kristy. By number of voice messages she leaves, the girl doesn’t seem to be getting that I’m not interested anymore.
I yank it out of the ashtray without checking the name on the screen. “Yeah,” I answer, my sexual frustration coming out in an irritated tone.
“Ah, hey Gabe, this is Allie, just calling about tomorrow. I’m sorry but something has come up and I can’t meet with Sharon and Todd to move the stuff into the apartment. I’m really, really sorry,” she adds. “Unless we can do it later?”
Shit. I draw in a deep breath. I’m not going to my old man’s to get my stuff. Last week we almost came to fists over where my truck was parked on the street. And there is no way I can cancel my weekly session with Joan, my therapist, or band practice. “No, Sharon has to be to work by five. She has to drop it off before then. No problem though, one more night on Sam’s couch won’t kill me.”
“Oh, you’re making me feel guilty, maybe I can get—”
“Seriously, don’t worry about it. I can meet her the following day.”
“You sure? I might be able to get a friend from art class.”
“To move my shit in? Not necessary. We’ll do it Thursday.”
“I can help then.”
“No need. I don’t have much. Just need two people to move the bed. Sharon can’t lug that thing up a flight of stairs.”
“All right, I’m really sorry.”
“No problem.” I toss the phone back in the tray. I’ll call Sharon later about the change of plans.
April lightly clears her throat and shuts her book. “Um, excuse me for being nosey, but it’s hard not to sitting so close. Um, while eavesdropping—not on purpose—I got the idea that you may need some help moving.”
I shake my head. “No, there’s not much to move…unless…” I shake my head again. “Never mind. Dumb idea.” I glance at her slim frame. “You have to be like five two and one hundred pounds.”
“Try five five and definitely far more than a hundred pounds, but if Allie was going to move your stuff, why can’t I?”
“Wow, you’re pretty good at that eavesdropping stuff.” I can sense her glare from across the cab. “It’s not a big deal waiting one more day.”
“Doubt that. You have to be sick of Sam’s couch, and I’m guessing you’ve been staying there to keep away from your dad?”
“You getting psychoanalytical on me?”
“No, that was just obvious.”
I tap my thumb on the top of the steering wheel. “Yeah, I’m trying to stay out of trouble, and living with him tends to turn me into a ticking time bomb.”
“Good thing you’re staying away then.” She unzips her book bag. “But seriously, I can meet Sharon and Todd.”
I’m having a hard time imagining her prim, little, proper self, lugging a mattress and bed frame up to the apartment.
She dumps the book in the bag. “I moved all my stuff into my apartment with one other girl, so I’m sure Todd and I can handle it.”
She sounds so proud of herself that I give in. “Okay, Tough Chick, just move the bed. I’ll have Sharon leave the boxes in the truck. I’ll get them after practice.”
“Tough chick?” she says with a light, tinkling laugh. “I kind of like that.” She glances over and smiles at me.
And I almost run off the road.
Just from that smile on her gorgeous face.
Damn. I haven’t been this wound up in…well, never, and definitely not ever from something as simple as a smile.
***
I drive Sharon’s old Corolla into the parking space Allie said went with the apartment. Practice went smooth tonight, so smooth we finished an hour early. Now that things have become serious, the band’s over the bickering and ego bullshit that has plagued us. Not that I seriously participated in their stupid arguing, other than telling them to get their shit together and just play. We’re all about work now, about getting it done, and getting it done perfect. A bit of debate still happens, but it’s about the music, not who is calling the shots. And I have to admit, the last month and half have been the best, as far as creating and learning and working together.
I truly think we have a shot at making it big.
As long as I don’t fuck it up.
I go up the stairs, planning on putting the bed together, then getting my truck, along with the rest of my shit, from the bar Sharon works at. But when I get to the top of the stairs and push open the door, I’m startled to see April standing on a chair and stretching toward a cupboard above the refrigerator. Her rounded ass takes up most of my vision.
“Hey—” is all I get out because she whips around, sees me, and teeters at the edge of the chair. Shit! In one second, I cross the few feet separating us and catch her right before she hits the floor, which leaves me crouching on the floor and holding her in my arms, while she stares at me with wide ocean-colored eyes.
“You okay?” I gently ask.
She nods and scrambles out of my arms as fast as she fell.
Damn. Now that I know she’s all right, I wanted to check out all the curves that had basically landed in my lap.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, a hand on her forehead as she plops in the chair.
“I believe this is my apartment.” I stay crouched, keeping us at eye level.
She drops her hand onto her lap. “I mean this early.”
“We finished early. But what are you doing here?” Wanting to touch her, I brush back a few erratic strands of hair across her cheek.
“Putting stuff away,” she says slowly, watching my hand.
Comprehension sinking in, I stand and notice the mostly empty boxes surrounding my feet on the floor. “You didn’t have to do that. You should have left them in the truck.”
Her cheeks turn pink. “I didn’t have anything else to do and I wanted to help.”
My first instinct is to be an ass and say something about her wanting to see my underwear or some shit, but her pink cheeks and downward eyes keep the comment from coming out. “Well, thank you. It was quite nice of you, excessive but very nice.”
She smiles weakly and pushes out of the seat. “I should—”
“What is that?” I interrupt, pointing at a large, blue gift bag on the table—besides the couch, the only furniture the apartment came with.
She glances at the bag. “Oh, I wanted to get you a little something. You know, like a house warming gift since this is your first place.”
I snort. “My opulent one room apartment?”
“It’s still yours.”
“You’re right,” I concede with a grin, moving toward the table.
She stands and pushes the chair in saying, “I should get going.”
Screw that. She’s here, and I’m keeping her for as long as possible. All night if I get my way. “Just wait a minute. Let me at least open your gift.”
“Not necessary.” She grabs her purse from the counter. “I know you’ll like it.”
“Yeah?” I ask in a challenging tone. “Let’s just see.”
She crosses her arms and leans on the counter.
Smirking at her, I reach inside and tug out a h
uge aluminum pot, which is full of tissue paper, bags of different colored dried pasta, and utensils. I cock a brow at her before going in the bag again. Next, I pull out a strainer filled with more tissue and jarred sauces: red, white, green, and even a bright orange one. I hold out the orange one, raising my brows in question at her.
“Butternut squash.” She lowers her chin. “I figured on variety over picky with your appetite.”
“Good figuring there. You’re right. I like it. You definitely got the idea I’d eat anything, huh?” She nods as I set the jar down and turn to her. Dressed in jeans and that flannel with a tank under it, instead of her usual preppy shit, she looks extra sexy. What I’d like to eat at the moment is her.
“You.” I take a step toward her. “Should.” I take her purse and set it on the counter. “Stay.” I grip the counter near her hips. “For dinner.”
“Um…” She blinks at me, hopefully confused by my nearness.
I lean closer, not touching her, but allowing her to feel my warmth, and I’m hot. Hot for her. “Let me cook for you at least.”
“Um…” She draws in a deep breath. I have to stop from leaning forward and drinking in her release of air.
“I’d like to show you my appreciation after you’ve worked so hard,” I say, my tone smooth.
“Ah, I’m not sure…” she says hesitantly, but never finishes the thought, her gaze on my mouth.
I can almost hear her brain at war with her libido. Hands on the counter, I trail my thumbs on the skin of her waist, right above the line of her jeans. I bend near her ear. “You can relax and I’ll do all the work.”
She lets out a soft gasp, and at the noise, I’m instantly hard.
Damn. I hope I’m reading her right because I can’t keep talking shit while my mind has one thing pounding across it. My hands slide to her waist, spraying across her back and pulling her from the edge of the counter. My mouth lightly brushes the line of her jaw. “And I hate eating alone.”
Her eyes are wide as I face her again.
I bend toward her mouth, stopping centimeters from it. “So please stay.”
A slight shudder goes through her. “Okay.”
As far as I’m concerned, the question and that answer had nothing to do with pasta. I close the short distance between us, yanking her by the hips to me. “Good choice,” I say against her lips before covering her mouth.
She grabs my hair and kisses me back without restraint, melding her body closer to mine, standing on tiptoes to reach me. She’s sweet, wild, want under my mouth and hands. The kiss is so hot, that without thinking I lift and set her on the counter. Her legs wrap around me and I gasp into her mouth as my cock hits the hot center of her.
Fuck.
I break the kiss, only to kiss her hard and fast, again and again.
I want to taste and touch all of her at once.
Now.
I don’t know where to start, what to touch first, I just want.
All of her.
My hands glide. Over her ribs. Along the sexy curve of her hips. Down to the sharp points of her knees. My mouth slides. To the corner of her mouth. To suck on her bottom lip. Along her chin. My fingers grip. Her skin. Her curves. Her hair. I tug the silken strands, force her head back, and expose her neck. My mouth follows the line of her throat, nipping and sucking and tasting velvety skin, which leads me to wanting so much more. After releasing her hair, I slide my palms under the back of her shirt. My fingers find the clasp of her bra.
Her chest rises in harsh breaths. Somehow, lost in the feel and taste of her, I force myself to pause, my fingers gripping the closure. I wait for her to realize my intent, give her time to stop me if that is what she wants.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, and that’s all the encouragement I need. With my mouth above the line of her tank, I release the clasp and my hands are on her beautiful tits in two seconds, molding to their shape, caressing the soft skin, and brushing her hardened nipples until she’s panting above me.
The sound is so damn sexy.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
No. Fucking. Way.
My thumbs brush back and forth over nipples.
Her legs clench around my waist. Her grip on my shoulders tightens.
I drag the edge of the tank lower with my teeth.
And my phone starts vibrating again, like the person called me back right away.
I’m about to toss the phone in the freezer. Who the hell would keep calling? Who the fuck would I stop for in the middle of this?
Then it hits me who it might be.
“Fuck!” I say, stepping from April and dragging out my phone.
Shit, it is Sharon.
“Sorry,” I say to a dazed eyed April before I answer the phone with a, “Hey, Sharon.”
“I need your help,” she says in a frantic tone. “Your dad’s here at the bar. He won’t leave. He’s getting argumentative and I’m afraid he might hurt himself.”
I snort. “More like you or someone else. I’ll be there in ten.” I’ve tried to get Sharon away from my dad, stayed at the house longer than I should have to keep her safe, and even offered to share an apartment with her. However, she won’t leave him—claims she loves him and he needs her, though I’ve questioned that and her countless times—and I can’t stay any longer or I’ll forever be caught in the cycle.
“Please hurry up!” she says as I hang up.
April’s already jumping off the counter. “Where are you going? Do you need my help?”
“No!” I say a little—maybe a lot—harshly at the idea of her anywhere near my father. I run a hand through my hair. “I’ve got to go.”
“Okay…should I wait?” she asks in small, confused voice.
Though ecstatic that she would ask to wait, I shake my head. “This may take a while. Sorry. Really sorry. Sorry for you and me. I owe you dinner,” I say, shutting the door and not looking back. If I look back at her tousled form, at her swollen kissed lips, or her blue confused sexed eyes, I won’t be able to leave.
Chapter 18
~April~
I sit across from Dr. Medina as she flips through my folder. This date for our meeting had been looming in my head since mid- August when I applied to the Clinical Counseling Program. Now near the end of October, I’d almost forgotten about it. If it hadn’t been on my phone calendar, I would have missed the meeting. She has asked several questions already, but I’m getting the suspicion that were moving on to my group therapy—more like group agony.
She closes the folder. “Well, April, I talked with Jeff last week and he assured me that you were progressing nicely. Naturally, he wouldn’t give me any particulars, but I trust Jeff.” She takes off her reading glasses and lays them on the folder before folding her navy suited arms on the edge of the desk. “So I’m more than happy to inform you that I think we should go ahead and schedule your interview with the board of Psychology professors.”
Relief comes over me. Finally. “Thank you, Dr. Medina.”
She smiles. “During our call, I also asked for Jeff’s permission to tell you a bit about him.” She sits back, hands in her lap. “Jeff was one of my…I suppose favorite students. Not that I pick favorites, he just has such an unconventional way of working with people, that as a professor I couldn’t help being intrigued. Though he is competent in the current strategies, he tends to adapt therapy to each individual group.” She smiles at me again, though this time it is more of a compressed smile. “Your approach is very by the book, April. Nothing is wrong with that per say. But along with facing your own issues, I wanted you to perceive how therapy should be about individual needs, and not only what the texts say is obligatory. I hope you have gleaned that from Jeff’s sessions.”
“Um…” I say, stalling because I haven’t gleaned anything from those torture like sessions. “Yes, I suppose he does adapt to our groups needs, though I probably wouldn’t have been able to express it as clear.”
Nodding, she picks up her gl
asses. “It’s always good to understand and remember that all those textbooks are starting points. People and their needs can transform all those philosophies into true counseling and therapy.”
“Quite true,” I say numbly, feeling like she just tossed three years of college out the window.
After scanning the schedule on her computer, she assigns me a date for the interview. I thank her and leave, actually rush out of her office, feeling bewildered at her praise of Jeff and on the edge of embarrassed by her opinion that I’m rigid.
Out of the psych department offices and in the hall, I’m startled at the sight of Riley and Romeo waiting by the entrance to the stairs. Until seeing them, I had forgotten telling Riley about the upcoming meeting. Of course, they would both be here to offer support in case it didn’t go well.
“Hey,” Riley says, coming up to me, her expression growing more worried with each step. “Are you all right?”
I nod, even force a smile. “Yes, my interview is in about four weeks.”
“That’s great, April!” Riley says, hugging me.
Romeo watches me with lowered brows. When Riley moves away, he asks, “Then why do you look like someone just kicked your ass?”
Because I just learned what Dr. Medina really thinks about me, but instead of revealing that, I shake my head, as if I’m shaking off an emotion. “I don’t know. It’s been a stressful morning, a couple of months.”
“Then let’s go to lunch and celebrate!” Riley says, moving toward the stairwell.
Crap. Along with everything else, I’d forgotten about Riley’s earlier plans about lunch since none of us have Thursday afternoon classes. “Yeah, sure,” I say, not wanting to let her down and forcing yet another smile. I feel so much like a damn cheerleader with their fake toothy smiles that I’m getting on my own nerves.
The three of us head to the parking lot and her car. Some fans of Luminescent, two girls and a guy, spot Romeo as we walk across the campus. The guy asks for an autograph on his notebook. Always aware of the importance of fans, Romeo signs the notebook and talks with them a bit while the girls eye him in awe. Riley, having grown used to this, just stands to the side with me and grins.