by Donya Lynne
“Sure, I can take you. No biggie.” If he can act like nothing happened, so can I. I turn away from him. “So, mom, how long on those pancakes? I’m starved.”
* * *
An hour later, Nick is still in bed—and yes, he did come home last night, or, more like, in the wee hours of the morning—so Gunner folds himself into the passenger seat of the lava red Fiat 500 my parents bought me for my birthday last year. He looks comical with his long legs and torso crunched into the tiny space.
“Does this seat move back?” He searches for a lever or button to give him more leg room.
“Yeah, it’s over there.” I point, not daring to get any closer.
“Where?” He fumbles around.
“There.”
“I’m not finding anything.”
Giving in, I lean across his body, find the lever to adjust the seat, and then freeze when his hand brushes against mine.
Memories of those hands taking off my shorts and pushing against my thighs flood my brain, and I suck in my breath as I turn my gaze to his.
His eyes lock on mine, and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down once as he searches my face. But he doesn’t say a word. He reveals nothing of our tryst.
Clearing my throat, I pull away from him, start the engine, and try to get my head together. This is Gunner. Yes, last night was strange and thrilling and confusing, but he’s still Gunner. I may have a crush on him, but he’s still my friend. I can get through this.
“So, why do you need your mom’s car?” I force myself to sound casual as I pull out of the driveway.
“Christmas shopping.”
I throw him an incredulous look. “You haven’t done your Christmas shopping, yet?”
“Hey, I’ve been busy studying. You try to get your shopping done during finals.”
I laugh. “Excuses, excuses.”
Now that I’ve concluded that last night was probably just a one-time thing and that Gunner wants to forget it happened, it’s easier to fall back into friendly banter. Note that I didn’t say it was easy, just easier, because yeah, I’m hurt. I wanted last night to mean more to Gunner. I wanted it to mean as much to him as it did to me. But if it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I can cry about that later. Right now, we’re together. And that’s good enough.
“You’ll be in college next year,” he says, “so you’ll understand soon enough.”
We ride in silence for a while.
“So,” he says, “speaking of college, do you know where you’re going, yet?”
I shrug. “I’ve sent out applications. My counselor told me my chances are good that I’ll get into whatever school I want.”
“Where did you apply?”
“North Carolina, Michigan, University of Florida.”
“Florida?” He throws me an agitated glance like that’s the last place he thinks I should go. “Why the University of Florida?”
“Duh. It’s in Florida. Who doesn’t want to go to college where it’s warm all year?”
He makes an irritated noise. “You don’t pick a school based on what state it’s in. You’re supposed to go to the best school for what you want to study. Besides, it gets cold in Florida. It’s a wet cold, too, so it’s even worse than winters here. It’s the kind of cold that cuts right through you.” He glances out the window and clears his throat. “Do you know what you want to study?”
“Sports medicine.”
“Really?” He brightens. “Ohio State has one of the best sports medicine programs in the country. You should apply there. You have until February. We could all be together again. Nick and I could show you around campus. It’ll be fun.”
I did apply to Ohio State, and if they accept me, I’m pretty sure that’s where I’ll go, but I’m kind of enjoying playing with him, especially since he seems determined not to talk about last night.
“I’ll think about it.”
I pull onto his street. Less than a minute later, I turn into his parents’ driveway.
“Thanks for the ride.” He unfolds himself from the passenger seat and climbs out.
“Any time.”
He hesitates before shutting the door, bent at the waist so he can see inside the car. He’s looking at me as if he wants to say something. He doesn’t, though. After a few seconds, he drops his gaze.
“Thanks again.” He stands.
“Have fun shopping,” I call, wishing I were going with him. More than anything, though, I wish he’d say something about last night. I’m dying to know what he’s thinking and whether that was a one-time deal, especially after his persuasive arguments to apply to OSU so “we can all be together again.”
He waves over his shoulder and marches up the driveway to the house, his keys in his hand.
As I drive away, I’m more confused about my relationship with Gunner than I’ve ever been.
* * *
Gunner spends the whole day shopping and comes back to our house with a half-dozen shopping bags, which he takes directly to his room, where he stays until it’s time for dinner.
Nick invited Missy over for dinner, so conversation focuses on her, where her family is going for the holiday, and how she’s doing in her classes. Mom teases Nick like she always does about when we can expect an engagement announcement. Of course, Nick dodges the question the way he always does, with a chuckle and a remark about how Mom will just have to wait like everyone else.
Through it all, Gunner pointedly avoids looking at me. I’m beginning to think there’s something wrong with him or me or both.
After dessert, my mom checks the time then pushes away from the table. “Okay, kids, your dad and I have to get ready for the company Christmas party.”
“The first of many parties,” my dad adds with an unenthusiastic sigh, standing reluctantly and tossing his napkin on his plate.
He’s not much into parties and would rather stay home, but he says that some of the biggest business decisions all year get made at the holiday party, so he has to attend or risk missing out.
“I wonder who’s going to get drunk this year,” he says as he sets his plate and empty glass beside the sink.
My mom laughs. “Careful, Scott. That was you last year.”
“Hey, I had to do something to get through the evening. If I had to listen to Walter tell one more knock-knock joke sober, I might have slit my own throat.” He makes a face that conveys torture.
“It wasn’t that bad.” My mom starts putting the leftovers away.
“Says you.” My dad turns to Nick and me. “You kids are on your own until morning, so don’t burn down the house.”
I perk up. “You’re not coming home after the party?” This is an unexpected surprise.
My mom lets out a breathy giggle. “After what happened last year, we booked a room. That way your dad can drink if Walter starts telling jokes again, and I don’t have to drive us home at two in the morning.”
She’s still fussing around in the kitchen when she should be following my dad upstairs to get ready.
As Nick, Gunner, and Missy drift off to the basement, I snag the dish of leftover potatoes from my mom. “I’ve got this, Mom. You don’t need to be messing up your hair.”
She had her hair done this afternoon and has been very careful all night not to destroy the stylist’s work.
“You sure?”
I scoop the potatoes into a Tupperware container. “Yeah. Go get ready.”
“Thanks, honey.” She pats my hand then hurries up the stairs, leaving me to load the dishwasher and tidy up even as I hear the first clack of pool balls hitting each other downstairs.
As I stack the dirty dishes by the sink then wipe down the stove, my brain dives back into the land of daydreams. I’ve been living there a lot in the last twenty-four hours.
In my fantasy, this is my house. Our house. Gunner’s and mine. Gunner and I live here together. We’re married and have sex every day, rotating from room to room. Tonight, he comes to me in the kitchen, bends me over the counter, an
d . . .
The image in my head makes me blush.
My thoughts immediately turn toward what he did to me last night, and my insides transform into hot mush. Butterflies flutter to life in my belly as I remember how his tongue felt caressing my clit, flicking over it, teasing it. I’m practically panting as I rinse off another plate and set it in the dishwasher.
“Hey.”
I jump and spin around as Gunner enters the kitchen, beelining for the fridge.
He stops and holds up his hands as he lets out a short laugh. “Whoa, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Warmth invades my body at the sight of him. His full lips flatten into a straight line as he bites back a smile and opens the refrigerator.
“You startled me. My mind was . . .” It was obsessing over him, but I can’t tell him that. I wave my soap-covered hand over the sink, dropping suds onto the stainless steel. “I was thinking about something.”
He pulls out a two liter of Pepsi and shuts the door. “Sounds serious.”
“School stuff,” I lie.
He eyes the dirty dishes on the counter. “Need a hand in here?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ve got it.”
He starts out of the kitchen, flicking me a backward glance. “Join us downstairs when you’re finished. We can play doubles. You and me against Nick and Missy.” He winks. “We’ll kick their asses.”
How can I say no?
“Sure, okay. Give me a few minutes.”
He disappears down the stairs.
Mom and Dad appear a short while later looking glamorous in a sequined dress and a tuxedo, and my dad is carrying an overnight bag.
“Good night, honey,” my mom says, following my dad to the door. “Remember,” she adds with a raised eyebrow, “behave yourself with Gunner.”
My face heats. If only she knew.
“You’re keeping the bathroom door locked, right?” she asks.
I give a tight nod as my mouth goes dry. “Of course.”
She smiles. “Sorry if I’m being overprotective, Cami. It’s just that I know you really like Gunner, and . . .” Her smile widens as she lowers her voice. “I think you might have finally caught his eye.”
My heart skips a beat. “W-what makes you say that?” I swallow past the dryness in my throat.
She winks. “Women’s intuition.” She kisses my cheek. “He’s been looking at you differently.”
“Differently?”
She takes a step back. “Like he wants to ask you out.”
My dad finally enters the conversation. “And you tell him I said you’re not allowed to date until you’re thirty.” He’s smiling, so I know he’s kidding. He’s always liked Gunner.
“Oh, honey”—my mom lightly swats his arm—“stop teasing.”
“Who’s teasing?” He knots his wool scarf around his neck.
My mom shakes her head and addresses me again. “Have a good time, honey. Just be the responsible daughter we know you are.” She lets my dad direct her toward the door.
“Call if you need us for anything,” he says.
I just want them to hurry out so I can breathe again. This whole conversation has hit too close to home, making my heart race.
“I will. Have fun,” I call after them as the door to the garage closes.
It shuts with a finality that feels like relief and freedom.
I know it sounds crazy, because Nick and I have always been responsible kids. We’ll never do something stupid like have a wild party or play with a Ouija board just because our parents are out for the night. But it doesn’t change the atmosphere that comes with being parentless. The house is ours for at least twelve hours. We can play adult for a change. Nick has been adulting for a couple of years now that he’s off at college, but for me, this is a rarity.
I finish up in the kitchen then go to my room to freshen up before joining the others in the basement.
I stop when I enter my bathroom. There’s a white box with a gold and chiffon ribbon around it on the counter. An envelope is tucked under the ribbon.
Curious, I pull the envelope free and slide out the small notecard inside.
Wear this to bed tonight. Only this.
That’s it. No signature. No greeting. But I would recognize Gunner’s neat handwriting anywhere.
He’s avoided the topic of what we did last night all day. Now he’s left me a gift. Something he wants me to wear to bed. Does this mean he plans on visiting me again tonight?
My heart leaps into my throat as I go wet between my legs. Looks like I won’t be behaving tonight after all. Sorry, Mom, not sorry.
I untie the ribbon and lift the top off the shallow box. Inside is a cascade of pale-pink chiffon and lace that drapes like a silken veil as I lift it from the box by its satin spaghetti straps. A wide satin ribbon circles the empire waist, and pleats of chiffon fall in a swish of see-through fabric.
Gunner wants me to wear this? To bed? Tonight? With nothing on underneath it?
The hem will barely cover me below the waist.
I set the sexy nighty back in the box, and with goosebumps prickling my entire body, I practically skip down the stairs.
He’s coming to me again tonight.
Chapter 5
Gunner and I do, in fact, kick Nick’s and Missy’s asses in pool—twice—thanks to Gunner’s superb skills with a cue, and then we make popcorn and watch a movie in the theater room. I can’t tell you a thing about what we’re watching, though. I’m too busy thinking about that slinky pink swatch of material awaiting me in my bathroom.
Gunner has no idea I’ve seen his special gift, but knowing he’ll be paying me a visit again changes the entire mood of the evening, and I’m overly eager to go to bed.
As soon as the credits begin rolling on the screen, I stand and stretch, making a show of how tired I am.
“I’m beat,” I say. “I’m heading up.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Gunner stands and yawns, but I can tell he’s faking.
Nick and Missy appear oblivious but grateful for the privacy we’re about to give them.
“’Night, guys,” Nick calls as I lead Gunner out of the theater.
“’Night.”
Gunner and I climb the stairs in silence. On the main level, I switch off the lights, and then we make our way to the second level. At the top of the stairs, we turn down the hall the same way we did last night. As I reach my door, I stop and glance over my shoulder as he does the same outside Wendy’s bedroom door.
“Well . . . good night,” I say.
“Good night.” He remains still, watching me. A moment later, he pushes through the door, but not before I catch the hint of a smile cross his lips.
The moment his door closes, I rush into my bedroom and race to the bathroom. I wash my face, brush my teeth, apply lip gloss, spritz the nape of my neck with half a pump of baby powder-scented body mist, and grab the pale-pink nighty.
Returning to my room, I strip out of my clothes and put on the nighty. Pale pink has always been a good color on me, with my fair coloring and blond hair.
The fabric in the bust is stretchy, so while I don’t fill it like a Victoria’s Secret model, my breasts do feel snug within the bodice. As expected, the hem hangs just past the bottom of my panties, barely concealing me below the waist.
Speaking of panties, the note said that I was only to be wearing the nighty.
Turning away from my full-length mirror, I gingerly hook my thumbs in the elastic waist and push them down my legs, then step out of them.
I’m ready.
I think.
At least, I’m physically ready. Mentally is a whole other thing. I’m not sure I’ll ever be mentally ready to welcome Gunner into my bed.
Whether I’m ready or not, it’s going to happen, so I’d better prepare myself.
Pulling back the blankets, I climb into bed and turn off the light on my nightstand.
Will he come in right away? Will he make me wait? This is his gam
e. All I can do is play along.
I’m a tense, nervous wreck, my fingers laced over my stomach, my legs straight and pressed together.
I look like a corpse on display at a funeral.
Loosen up, Cameron.
Taking a deep breath, I separate my hands and bend my legs, angling myself so I’m lying partially on my side, facing the door to the bathroom, of course.
Within seconds, I hear the door to Wendy’s room open with its telltale squeak. I slam my eyelids shut and hold my breath. The door to my room opens, and his footsteps approach my bed. A moment later, my mattress dips as he sits down beside me.
“Are you going to pretend to be asleep again tonight?” he asks. I hear the smile in his voice.
I keep my eyes closed a moment longer then open them as I exhale. “No.” I give him a resigned smile.
“Don’t get me wrong”—his fingertips slide up my arm, leaving tingling sparks in their wake—“I liked our game last night, but I think I’d like to see your eyes tonight.”
“It’s too dark to see my eyes.”
“I can see them just fine.”
“You can?”
“They’re sparkling from the light coming in through the window.”
“Oh.” I sit up.
The blankets fall away, revealing the bodice of my nighty. His face is only a couple of feet from mine.
“Do you like it?” His gaze takes in the nighty as he lightly caresses my shoulder with his fingertips.
Tiny explosions blast through my body from the subtle caress, and my breath comes in more rapid, shallow bursts.
“Yes,” I say shyly, dipping my head, hiding my face as I draw my legs up and wrap my arms around them.
“Nervous?”
I nod. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Why?”
I shrug. I’m suddenly the quiet, mousy girl I was the first time I saw him six years ago. I don’t know how to behave around him, anymore. We’re no longer just friends, but we’re not a couple, either. As far as I know, no one but us knows we’ve even hooked up, and it’s probably a good idea we keep it that way. I doubt Nick would get upset, but it could make their friendship weird, and I know it would make my relationship with him awkward.