Walk of Shame

by ANDREA SMITH

  “And don’t you forget it,” he replies, giving me a wink. “Okay, your turn.”

  “First girl you had sex with,” I say.

  “Whew…let me think,” he says, his hand rubbing his forehead as if in deep thought. “Got it. Christa Lehman.”

  “And…?”

  “And what?”

  “No deets?”

  “Awfully nosey there, aren’t you?” “That’s not part of the game,” he says.

  I give him a scowl. But I will get the details. It will just take a couple of more questions, that’s all. “Yeah, whatevs. Your turn.”

  “First boy you kissed?”

  “Oh, that’s easy. Brandon Brewer,” I reply wistfully. Man, I would’ve done just about anything to get that Kindergarten award from him. I really had deserved it.

  “Hmm…must’ve been some kiss by the look on your face,” Weston mumbles. “Your turn.”

  I giggle again. “How old were you when you FIRST had sex?” I grab a handful of popcorn awaiting his response.

  “Fifteen.”

  “Wow.”

  He gives me a wicked grin. “First guy you let get to second base?”

  “Second base?” I ask, clueless.

  “Jeez, Peyton. Seriously? Feel your tits underneath your cheerleading sweater,” he replies, with a chuckle and an eye roll.

  “I was NOT a cheerleader. And that would’ve been Brandon Brewer as well.”

  “Hmmm, something tells me I need to find out more about this Brandon Brewer,” he remarks, quirking a lovely brow. “I think I’m jealous.”

  “Aww, don’t be,” I reply as he takes a swig of his water, “It was a long, long time ago. I was six.”

  I told you I really wanted that trophy.

  Weston spews his water, and most of it lands on me.

  “Thanks so much,” I gripe, wiping my face and neck.

  He’s rolling over, laughing his ass off. “Are you fucking serious? Six years old?”

  “Long story,” I reply, using my sleeve to wipe my brow.

  “I guess I need to rephrase my “first” questions to include the words: post puberty from now on,” he remarks, still chuckling. “Your turn.”

  “Okay…first woman you said ‘I love you’ to.”

  “Easy one. My mother.”

  Shit. I walked straight into that one.

  “Yeah, yeah. Okay, go for it Romeo.”

  “Peyton,” he says, “Name the first guy, post puberty, that got to third base with you.”

  I give him a glare. He knows I need the definition of third base.

  “Oops. Third base. Hands down your pants. It can be anything from touching your pussy to finger fucking.”

  I freeze as the horrible memory of Phil and that incident in the basement flashes through my mind. I can’t speak. I don’t want to play this anymore. I don’t want his name in my mind let alone crossing my lips. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about what he had done. Yet I had finally shared that with my father after Thanksgiving. And then the weird chain of events pop into my head. The cunt phone call on Christmas, the card on New Year’s and now, the dead rat with the slit throat?

  I ratted out Phil.

  And he knows that I did…

  “Hey babe? Don’t be embarrassed. If it was Stuart, just say it. No judgment here.”

  “No,” I say. “I don’t want to play this anymore. No more questions, Weston.”

  I pull my knees up to my chin and bury my face in them.

  Weston immediately is kneeling on the bed beside me. “Hey, what’s wrong, Peyton? What is it?”

  I raise my face up and meet his worried gaze.

  Should I tell him?

  It’s not his problem though, it’s mine.

  “Peyton?” he presses, louder this time.

  I finally release the breath I’ve been holding. “I know who called. I know who put the rat on the doorstep.”

  “Who?” he asks, his eyes darkening. “Tell me who it was.”

  I crawl into Weston’s lap and I tell him everything. Everything that I had told my father the day after Thanksgiving while I was there with him in Cranston.

  And he just listens as holds me close.

  Chapter 55

  Peyton was wrapped in Weston’s arms. She wasn’t crying, although she had become emotional several times while telling him about what had happened to her when she was just sixteen.

  Sixteen.

  Hell, not more than five minutes ago he had told her that he’d had his first fuck at fifteen, and now he felt like a total shit. If he had known beforehand what that pathetic fuck of a stepbrother had done to her, he would never have broached the subject of third base.

  Jesus Christ! Why had she wanted to play that dumb game anyway?

  He knew why. There were things she wanted to know about him, just as there were things he wanted to know about her. But why under the pretense of a game?

  He knew the answer to that before the question finished in his mind. Dudes---maybe not all of them, but certainly most of them, weren’t always receptive to serious or deep conversations with chicks. He figured it was all that Venus and Mars bullshit. His mother had done her best during his formative years to encourage mutual communication. Weston had observed firsthand his father’s aversion to opening up with dialogue at times, but his mother sure as hell didn’t allow him to clam up when she wanted to talk about something. She said it wasn’t healthy.

  Weston had no problem at all discussing things with male friends. His problem was that, up until now, he’d never had a reason to get into deep and personal discussions with a non-related female. This was a first for him.

  He knew that Peyton needed comforting. That was something he was equipped to do---or at least try to do.

  He unwrapped his arms from around her, and pushed her gently back on the bed. He stretched out beside her, and then pulled her against him, brushing her hair back off of her face.

  “It’s okay, baby,” he said softly. “I’m glad you told me about it. Now at least we know where to start.”

  Peyton looked at Weston and managed a smile. “It’s my baggage, not yours, Weston. I should have put two and two together when I talked to my father the last time.”

  “What do you mean?’

  “My father told me that he had talked with Louise, my stepmother. He told her everything and laid the law down regarding Phil. In the process, he found out that she’d been subsidizing Phil’s financial livelihood, so he took over handling the money. Phil knows, Weston. He knows that I told on him.”

  Weston rubbed his forehead. He needed to think this through. He had no clue about this dude or how deranged he really was, or how far he would carry revenge for being outed as the fucking pervert he was.

  “I’m spending the night with you here. And then tomorrow, you and me are going to discuss this with your father, okay?” Weston expected an argument from Peyton, and was genuinely surprised when none came. She had to be just as uncertain about Phil’s potential as he was he figured.

  “Okay then,” he said. “Now, how about we do something to take our minds off of all of this Phil shit?”

  “Like what?”

  “Well,” he said, glancing at the clock. “Let’s get back to studying for another thirty minutes or so. I need to do an outline. Then we’re going to fuck.”

  Peyton nodded and smiled. She set the clock timer to thirty minutes before snuggling back up against Weston to finish her chapter review. “I like your incentive plan, Matthews.”

  Chapter 56

  I feel refreshed after the shower I shared with Weston. We did in fact, finish our thirty-minute study wrap-up, and then got ready for bed.

  Eva still hasn’t come home, but it’s only midnight. She definitely has the ability to burn the midnight oil more so than me, but there’s no where I’d rather be right now than freshly showered, naked and under the covers with Weston.

  Our bodies are still a bit damp from the hot shower, but I love the
feeling of our skin touching, and the way that his fingers are playing with my damp locks.

  Slow and methodically.

  It is so relaxing. And it is so intimate at the same time.

  “I love your hair,” he whispers against my neck. “I don’t ever want you to cut it.” His words are soft and soothing. His touch is so gentle and sweet.

  I feel his lips move to my neck where his hand has gently pushed my hair aside. His kisses there are soft and slow. His lips move a couple of centimeters and I’m kissed again…and again…and again.

  “So sweet,” he murmurs, his hand cupping a breast tenderly as his lips continue on their journey. “So mine,” he whispers between kisses, “All mine.”

  And I feel as though I’m simply melting into him with each touch and with each word he gifts me. This is different. This is closer.

  He rolls me over, and his hands slowly massage my sensitive skin, bringing warmth to my body and making me tingle from every extremity.

  His mouth lowers to my breast, and I close my eyes and drink in the pleasurable sensations as his tongue circles a nipple slowly, over and over again before lightly nipping it with his teeth. I suck in a hard breath as he latches on to a nipple. A soft moan escapes me, and as he continues with that breast, his other hand moving to the other, gently kneading and teasing the nipple into erection. His mouth soon follows, and my back arches slightly as he begins to suck.

  “I love these,” he whispers. “They’re perfect. You’re perfect. We’re perfect.”

  My hands grab for his head. I need his lips on mine. He is saying words---words that I never imagined would be said to me, and all the pleasure his hands and tongue are bringing to me, are nothing compared to the words that are spilling from his lips, his heart.

  I pull him up so that our lips meld together, my tongue invading his mouth, claiming him as mine. I kiss him with a passion I never knew I had, and I don’t want to stop. Weston feels it too as his passion grows.

  I feel his hardness pressing against me, and my hand lowers to stroke him without parting from this kiss. His arms snake behind my neck, drawing me even closer as he brings his legs up and apart so that he can straddle me. My hand drops away from his shaft, as he hovers over me and I watch in awe as he pulls his face from mine, briefly, as his hand guides himself into me with one quick thrust.

  I moan at the fullness I feel with him inside of me. His mouth returns to mine as he slowly moves within me. So gentle. So sweet. I’m soaking wet for him, because of him. His kisses are deep and caring, and my hands brace each side of his face, the female in me wanting to devour him as if he’s the prey. I can’t explain it. It all seems so…primal. But with him it feels totally natural.

  He moans my name as his tongue mates with mine. “Move with me baby,” he instructs, his hips rolling against me as my legs wrap around his torso. I plant my feet firmly on his well-muscled ass, and let my toes dig into his flesh, as he thrusts even deeper inside of me. “That’s it,” he whispers, huskily.

  We are now in a perfect rhythm, and our mutual pleasure is evident with the sounds emanating from each of us. I’m so far gone by the deep, warm sensation that has started at my core and is slowly and exquisitely spreading throughout every nerve ending in my body that all I can think of is not ever wanting this to stop.

  Weston is groaning and his thrusting is escalating to a faster pace and a deeper level, as his hands move to cup and lift my buttocks so that he can reach that spot within me that is so ripe and ready. I can feel his piercing as he swivels his hips, and his jewelry rubs against the engorged spot deep within me. I gasp as he continues with the same movements until I hear myself moan loudly and then whimper over and over again as my climax unfolds.

  He is right there with me, coaxing me to continue with his soft, sweet words. His lips are grazing my neck as I continue to come, and then I feel the throbbing deep within me and I know that his climax is meeting mine.

  It seems as if our orgasms last forever as we thrust and move against one another as if trying to become one in this vortex of pleasure.

  Weston grabs a handful of my hair, pulling my face to his as he shudders the last of his climax inside of me, his lips peppering me with kisses.

  “Baby,” he moans softly, “you are just so fucking perfect.”

  Chapter 57

  Peyton was not happy but Weston had insisted they drive to Cranston to talk to her father in person. This required more than just a phone conversation in his opinion. Peyton had argued that there was no proof it was Phil, but Weston had no intention of letting another incident take place for the sake of proof.

  He was determined to get the information he needed on Phil so that he could pay him a personal visit and let him know that this shit was going to stop. He was going to put the fucking asshole on notice.

  “Is this the exit, babe?” he asked, glancing over at her.

  “Yep.”

  “So, you’re not talking much this morning, Sunshine.”

  She glanced over at Weston and couldn’t help but break into a reluctant smile. “I’m not mad if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said, “I’m just…apprehensive. We can’t prove a thing, you know? And besides that, we’re both missing classes.”

  “Leave it to my nerd girl to mention that,” he said. “We’ll survive. This takes precedence.”

  “Turn left at the next light,” she instructed, “And then right at the second light.”

  “So,” Weston said, “how do you plan on introducing me to your father?”

  Peyton glanced over at him quizzically. “Well, I thought it was customary to do it with your name,” she said, sporting a sly smile.

  Weston turned the corner, downshifting, and then gave a soft chuckle. “You know what I meant. What title, role---label, whatever you want to call it are you assigning me?”

  “Gee, I hadn’t really thought about it. Friend?”

  “Friends don’t fuck,” he said.

  “Don’t forget, right at this next light.”

  “Quit stalling,” he replied, putting his signal on to make the right hand turn. “Are you gonna introduce me as your boyfriend?”

  Peyton was silent until after he made the turn. “It’s two blocks down on the right. You’ll see the sign, ‘The Bagel Stop.’”

  “Answer me.”

  “Are you my boyfriend?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at him playfully.

  “That comes with the exclusivity part, babe, so the answer is yes. And while we’re on the subject, no more going bareback until you are on some form of birth control. That was some risky shit last night,” he said, whipping his car into a parking spot by the curb.

  He parked and killed the engine. Peyton felt his eyes on her and she knew that they had indeed taken a risk by not using a condom last night, but it had all happened so quickly. It had started out as a comforting thing, and then had morphed exquisitely into something else, something that had simply unraveled into the most intimate of moments they had shared thus far.

  Weston’s hand found the back of her neck as he stroked it gently. “It was my fault, baby, I know that it was. I just got…I don’t know…I just got so fucking carried away. You do that to me.”

  “Stop,” she said, smacking at him playfully. “Don’t go getting all gooey on me.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “Sappy, sugary sweet, you know…”

  Weston chuckled as he pulled his hand from her and opened his car door, “I’ll try to remember to stay salty then, but I don’t take it back.”

  The bell over the door to the bagel shop tinkled as Weston opened it and held it for Peyton to enter. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the smell of bagels still warm from the oven greeted them both.

  There were several tables of customers inside, enjoying their coffee and bagels as they talked, read the paper, or tapped away on their smart phones.

  Weston looked around and was a bit impressed at how the shop
, although small and cozy, still offered the amenities required for social and business networking. Free Wi-Fi, and charging stations were setup throughout the dining area. A flat screen on the wall was turned to a cable news channel and the dialogue was scrolling along the bottom so that the noise level was kept to a minimum for the patrons.

  At the back of the dining area was the alcove where the customers could walk through the line and make their selections of bagels, pastries, fresh fruit, juices, and several varieties of coffee and tea.

  Luckily, it was past ten so the breakfast crowd had pretty much diminished. He followed Peyton to the back and immediately he saw her father.

  Older guy, salt and pepper hair that was still thick, a slender build but in shape nonetheless. His eyes were dark, and as soon as he recognized his daughter, his face lit up, and his eyes sparkled. He had a trimmed moustache, and he reminded Weston a bit of that actor from those old Iron Man movies.

  “Peyton,” he called out from behind the glass display cases, “What brings you here? Everything all right?” he asked, his expression morphed quickly into one of concern.

  “Everything is fine, Pop,” she assured him, as she stood on the other side of the case. “I…uh, I just needed to talk to you.” She turned to Weston, and put her hand on his shoulder. “Pop, this is my boyfriend. This is Weston Matthews.”

  Chapter 58

  I’ve never seen my father the way I’m seeing him now. He’s a mixture of things. I can see that he’s impressed with Weston, and maybe even pleased that he’s my boyfriend. There was certainly never any love lost between him and Stuart.

  My father may not have been college educated, but he is nobody’s fool. He knew that Stuart was an academic snob by the patronizing way Stuart interacted with him the few times we were at home. Stuart acted as if he had come from wealth, but I want to laugh hysterically (to myself of course) when I compare his pedigree to Weston’s.

  No contest there, that’s for sure. Not that money makes the man, don’t get me wrong. That is just one of the many things Weston tops Stuart with, but certainly not the most important thing, mind you. And before your mind goes off to the gutter, let me clarify: Weston has a heart like no other. I admit, I never would’ve believed it at first glance, but that was my bias rearing its ugly head I suppose.