by Ney, Sara
Me: Did he have a shitty game today?
Dad: No. He’s played the best I’ve ever seen him play.
Me: Well…then maybe…I’m the best thing for him. And maybe he’s the best thing for me.
There is a long, long pause, the three dots appearing and disappearing more times than I can count and I hold my breath when they appear again.
Dad: Maybe he is.
I stare at those three words, stunned.
Me: Wait. Are you…AGREEING with me???
Dad: Don’t get lippy.
Me: Okay, but it sounds like you are. It sounds like you…dare I say…APPROVE????
Dad: That will be determined once you start bringing the boy around.
Kid. Boy.
Oh brother. Those are words Dad uses when he’s trying to put someone in their place. He does the same thing to my brother and it sounds like he’s going to do it to Trace, to knock him down a peg.
What an asshole.
Still. It’s progress. My father is actually admitting he might like having Trace around as part of the family. Potentially. Or at least admitting he doesn’t hate the idea.
Me: We’ll see what happens I guess. Today was a good start. A horrible, horrible day, but also not the worst, all things considered. Some good came out of it.
Dad: You always have been too romantic for your own good.
Me: Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.
20
Trace
This is the first time Hollis is seeing my place, and I haven’t stopped fussing. I’ve fluffed the stupid throw pillows on my couch more times than I can count—an embarrassing number of times considering they’re fucking throw pillows. What self-respecting dude has this many?
I remove two and toss them behind the sofa.
Now it looks bare.
Climb onto the couch and retrieve them, karate-chopping them in the center like I’ve seen my cleaning lady do. Fluff and chop, fluff and chop.
I had a long-ass day and walked in the door an hour ago, but Hollis had a shitty day, so I invited her over, thinking she might want to be fed and pampered a little.
I had to google “romantic things to do for a woman,” and some of the ideas were super lame, but a few of them I can manage on my own.
Draw her a bath. Check.
Light candles. Check.
Order flowers. Check.
Order take-out. Check.
Massage—that I can pull off with just my bear paws, one hundred percent into it. We all know where massages lead.
I chuckle to myself and stand back, eyeing the pillows I just rearranged for the tenth time, deciding I need to leave them the fuck alone and move on with my pathetic life.
Dinner arrives via delivery and I tip the dude a fifty because he recognizes me. If I don’t, he’s going to go online and tell everyone Buzz Wallace is a cheap bastard who only gave him five bucks while living in a giant house.
It’s not a mansion, or anything close to as fancy as what Noah Harding and Miranda are living in, but it’s a gorgeous place I renovated and remodeled with my bare hands. It’s not a gated community, so every now and again I get the odd passerby who drives slow past the house. Or a brave teenager who knocks on the door to meet me. Or a bored, brazen housewife who wants to try her luck at fucking me.
I won’t lie—there was a time I was down for that. I was bored and lonely, but now…
I’m not.
I have Hollis.
I have her, I know it—and I plan to keep her, and not in an ‘I’m going to make a lamp out of your skin’ kind of way.
The kitchen still needs some cleaning up and I transfer the take-out to glass bowls with lids; it’s Asian fusion and steaming hot. I hope she likes it. I ordered a shit ton, not knowing what her favorites would be but wanting to learn what they are.
I want to learn everything about her, she’s so damn adorable.
The look on her face when she saw me at the police station today was everything. Confusion, obviously—but also delight. Joy? Weird how someone can look visibly relieved. Her shoulders sagged when I touched her, wrapped my arms around her, and squeezed, something she’s never done.
I busy myself by double-checking the bathroom and pulling the quilt taut on my bed. It’s a big bed—a California King and extra long because I’m tall—but I don’t expect us to end up there.
Fine.
I’m hoping we will, but I’m not expecting it.
Pop my nose into the bathroom again and check on the bathwater. It flows from the ceiling—totally impractical, but super cool, I had to have it when I was shopping for houses. Had to. It’s so dumb, but something I thought kids would like.
My kids.
Three would be good. Or five. However many, getting cracking on a family would be swell.
Because I’m feeling extra romantic, I had candles delivered from Target through an app, and I start lighting them one by one, expecting Hollis to ring my doorbell any second now. No sense in waiting, as I intend for her to slip right into the bath.
Shit.
What if she thinks it’s bizarre instead of romantic that I want her to relax in the tub? What if she thinks I’m a pervert and just trying to get her naked? It’s not like I’m going to climb in with her, but there’s a nice ledge I could sit on so we can talk while she soaks. My plan is to pour a little bit of my heart out to her; the bubble bath seems like the perfect spot to listen from.
Again…is that weird?
The doorbell chimes as I light the last white candle. Guess I’m about to find out…
“Here goes nothing,” I say to no one, since I live alone.
Forever Alone, a new men’s fragrance, by Tripp Wallace.
That joke about my brother makes me laugh, and I’m chuckling when I make it to the front door, pulling it open with a smile. Take in a quick breath, because wow, is Hollis beautiful.
“Hi.” She’s standing on the stoop in a little floral dress and flip-flops, casual but feminine, comfortable, but put together. “I brought you these.”
She hands me a plate of chocolate chip cookies that still feel warm, and I hold them to my nose, sniffing. “Damn these smell almost as good as you.”
Can’t wait to eat them. And her.
I lean down when she steps up and into the house, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, and damn if she doesn’t surprise me by puckering her mouth for a kiss on the lips.
Whoa, and it’s a good one, too.
“How are you?” I lead her to the kitchen, setting the cookies on the counter while Hollis begins the classic snoop-around people do when they’re curious about your living situation. Her neck cranes to the doorway of the hearth room; it’s off my kitchen with a small fireplace and a TV, kind of like the den. Intimate and smaller and my favorite room in the house.
“This is nice,” she says, now with her nose in the powder room, which is also off the kitchen. “Do you clean this?”
“No. Jenny and Tiffani do every Monday.”
They’re my dynamic duo—they call themselves Grime Busters and love scrubbing. Weird, right?
“I like how there’s tile all the way up the wall.”
“I laid that tile myself,” I tell her, getting two wine glasses out of the cabinet and setting them down. Find the bottle of white in the fridge that’s been chilling and locate the corkscrew. “Wine?”
“Sure.”
“So, this might sound strange…”
Why is it hard for me to talk to this girl? She gets me all nervous!
“Everything you say is strange,” she teases. “Just say it.”
“I drew you a bath.”
Her brows shoot up; that’s the absolute last thing she’s expecting to come out of my mouth, something I’ve come to expect from her. “A bath? Why, do I stink?” She lifts her arm and sniffs her pits.
I make busy pouring a small glass of white wine for each of us and hand her one. “You smell delicious, but you had a bad day and I thou
ght soaking would be nice.” In a cheeseball move I’ll remember as being the turning point, I take her hand and pull her in. Kiss her on the lips. “A good bubble bath cures almost anything.”
“Is that so?”
“Yup. I even have bath bombs for you. They’re phallic.”
The brows shoot back up into her hairline. “Phallic? Like dicks and vaginas?”
I shrug. “Meh, I wish—they’re eggplants and peaches. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Up the stairs and down the hall to my bedroom, her neck does the craning thing she did downstairs to peer into the passing rooms. Guest room. Office. Bonus space. Another guest room.
My bedroom.
It’s simple, nothing crazy: my giant bed, the TV cabinet, a nightstand and lamp on each side of the bed. The basics.
Clean lines.
I’ve picked up my bathroom, too, so there aren’t any skivvies lying around—dirty underwear did never a woman seduce. They’ve been swiped up and put in the hamper, off to the laundry for Tiff and Jen on Monday.
“Wow.” Hollis makes for the tub. It’s a ridiculously large bowl, sized for someone my height, devoid of bubbles because I wasn’t sure what she’d want in it.
I show her the box, picking out a boat and presenting it to her. “Motorboating.”
Hollis laughs. “That is not what that one means! It’s got to be something else. River of love? The love boat?”
“Nah, it’s motorboating.” I put it back in the box and pull out the one shaped like a clam. “Crotch.”
She smacks my arm. “Stop it.”
The peach. “Juicy ass.”
Hollis nods. “Okay, that one I believe.”
Eggplant. “Cock.”
Another nod. “Accurate.”
“This one I’m not sure about.” It’s a gold fortune cookie looking thing—half croissant, half I don’t know what the fuck. I turn it this way and that in my fingers, getting gold glitter on my hands. Swipe some on my face. “Now it looks like I’ve been to a strip club.”
She removes it from my hand and sets it back in the box. “You are twelve.”
“So are you going in?”
Hollis tilts her head and studies the water. “Are you going to sit here and keep me company?”
Duh. “Thought you’d never ask.” I point to the bath bombs on the ledge. “Do you want one of these or bubbles?”
She plucks the peach emoji bomb from the pink, cardboard box and examines it. Gives it a whiff. “This one smells so good. I’ll pop it in the water once I’m in the tub.”
“Should I…” Leave? “Give you some privacy?”
She purses her lips for a few seconds while she considers. “Just don’t stare at me directly while I’m getting undressed and we’ll be fine. It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked already.”
“Or licked your pussy.”
She rolls her eyes. “You didn’t have to say that, but yes—since you’ve already licked my pussy, what’s the point of me being modest?”
Holy shit. “I can’t believe you just said the P word.” I’m giggling like a teenager in health class and covering my mouth, too.
“You boys are so dumb.”
I laugh again but turn my back so she can undress, setting my sights on the terrycloth towels. Grab two of those, and a bathrobe, fold them neatly on the cool tile surrounding the tub.
Plus, I can see her reflection in the mirror while I’m gathering bath supplies, so I’m no angel.
It takes her a few moments to get her clothes off, and I watch her firm ass flex when her leg bends so she can lift it over the short ledge. She has a lovely backside.
Once she’s submerged and plops the bath bomb into the water, I turn around to join her, bringing the wine glasses along with me.
She takes a dainty sip, her best parts still visible in the water.
The bomb fizzes and the water gets cloudy—but not nearly enough to conceal her tits or the V between her thighs.
Don’t stare.
Don’t stare.
“Ugh, this feels amazing. I don’t have a tub at my place. I mean, I do, but not in my bathroom, and the guest tub is the size of a Tic Tac.”
It pleases me that she’s happy.
Her eyes slide shut as she sips from her glass, making tiny slurping sounds as she does it. “Mmm.” Hollis cracks an eyelid. “Why is this bathtub so huge?”
“‘Cause I’m huge.”
“Do you ever sit in it?”
“Yeah, sometimes. I have to soak my muscles.”
She assesses me for a bit. “How was your game today? I never asked.”
“We won.”
“What was the score?”
“Eleven to ten.”
Her lips release a low whistle. “That’s a close one.”
“It was a real nail-biter.”
“What time did you get there?”
“Eh, end of the first inning. No one missed me.” I pause. “Getting back into the stadium was a real shitshow, though. I didn’t have any ID on me because who the fuck carries their wallet in their baseball uniform?”
“Didn’t Karl recognize you?”
“It was some other guy—he just assumed I was a doppelgänger tryin’ to lie my way inside. Can you imagine what a clusterfuck it would have been if they hadn’t let me in?” I laugh.
She laughs. “My dad would have killed you.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, Coach about had a coronary. He nearly stroked out when I walked out just before being up in the lineup and I got my ass chewed out when I got back.”
That’s an understatement. I got fined twenty thousand dollars, too—not that I’m going to tell Hollis that. She’d be horrified.
“Sounds like you had a rough day, too.”
I did, but, “No one tried to rob me.”
One of her toes peeks out of the water. “Are you sore?”
I am. “Kind of.”
“If I let you join me, can you behave yourself?”
Is she out of her mind? “No.”
Hollis laughs, and her tits rise and fall beneath the water’s surface. “I can’t fault you for your honesty, can I?”
“Nope.” I’m already shucking off my shirt, pulling it up and over my head. Flexing for her to get a laugh before moving on to my bottoms. “Close your eyes—no peeking.”
She puts a hand over her eyes, spying through her fingers.
Then,
I’m naked.
Hollis makes room so I can settle into the water opposite her, my ass finding space next to her legs. They’re smooth and I have to touch them almost immediately, before I even get comfortable.
Can’t keep my hands off.
The water rises several inches, causing Hollis’s boobs to sink below the surface.
Dammit!
We each make room for one another, eventually finding positions where we’re not scrunched up. My knees are slightly bent, which is nothing new. I’m too tall for any bathtub, and when you add a girl into the mix, someone will be sitting here like a pretzel, and it’s inevitably me.
Worth it.
“Want to add another bath bomb?” I want to partake in the tub froth, too. Why should she have all the fun?
“Mmm, not really? Is that okay? I feel like I’m one bath bomb away from a yeast infection.” She mimics a laugh, cringing. “But for real. Yikesss.”
Okay, so no to more fizzle fun. “Roger Dodger. I’d rather give you a UTI from too much sex than a yeast infection from soap.” I cough when she doesn’t laugh, dipping my head below the surface to avoid her bemused expression.
Count to three and pop back up to the sound of her voice saying, “I’ve had a urinary tract infection before and let me tell you—”
I disappear again below the water, blowing bubbles out of my nostrils.
I hear clearly enough to understand, “Oh my god, why are you like this?”
“The effervescence makes me cray.”
She rolls her eyes, but her toe toys
with my left glut—enough flirting to get me excited. “You and your effervescence are going to get you in trouble.”
We both sip from our wine glasses, eyeballing each other above the rims.
“How are your parents?” she finally asks. “They came down for the game last week, yes?”
I nod. “They did, then we all went to dinner. My brother and sister, too.”
Hollis’s brows go up. “Dang. Your mom wanted me to meet the whole family, eh? Your sister? Sisters are…scary sometimes.”
I shake my head. “Nah, True is the shit. She’s like me, but a girl.”
“Y’all went to dinner?”
Y’all?
My ears perk up—she sounded Southern just then, and I get hard for Southern accents from time to time. Maybe she’d be into role-playing and pretending she was from Georgia or some shit.
“Yeah, w’all went to dinner.” Sip from my wine glass, taking it slow because I can see the bottom and didn’t think to bring the bottle into the bathroom. “Your name came up.”
“Oh?”
“My mom kept asking where you were and how you are, and then True—my sister—wanted to know who you were, because she hadn’t heard of you before. Then my dipshit brother told her you were my girlfriend, and all hell broke loose.”
Hollis slowly shakes her head; I’m well aware that she’s well aware of the family dynamic. “I can only imagine.”
“It only got semi-bad when I told my mom we dry humped.”
The wine Hollis has in her mouth gets projectile spit into the warm bath water, dripping from her gaping mouth once she composes herself. “What did you just say?”
“I said, it only got semi-bad when I told my mom—”
“I HEARD WHAT YOU SAID.” She splashes me with a spray of water that gets on the floor behind me.
“Hey! Watch it—don’t make more work for the Grime Busters!”
“Do not try to deflect. Oh god, I want to drown myself.” She sinks below the surface as I just did, and I can hear a muffled UGH that’s only partly silenced by the water.
Her head pops up, but just enough so she can breathe, her dark hair falling in her eyes. “Make it go away.”
I smirk. “You’re being really dramatic. It’s just dry humping—I told her there was no penetration.”