In Ruins

by Danielle Pearl

  Carl’s brows pinch together in vague confusion, but she doesn’t question me. “Yeah. Of course,” she murmurs, and climbs from her armchair. She forces an unsure smile and tells Billy she’ll be right outside.

  I hate her uncertainty, especially when it’s about me, and I grab her hand as she passes, squeezing once to reassure her. Trust me.

  She squeezes back—blind faith I don’t deserve. But I fucking will.

  Billy watches me cautiously as I approach the chair Carl just vacated. If I wasn’t sure whether or not he remembered what he said last night, his wary expression would easily give him away. I take the seat at his bedside, raising my eyebrows with mock melodrama—an attempt at easing the stress of these insane circumstances we’ve landed in—and Billy’s lip twitches in an affirming half-smile. “How you feeling?” I ask.

  He tries to shrug, but winces. “Sore,” he admits. “But not too bad, thanks to modern medicine.” He grins sloppily and gestures to the IV currently delivering the morphine that’s making his injuries tolerable.

  I scoot forward in my chair. “Modern medicine did a lot more today than make you high, you know.”

  Billy’s grin fades instantly. “I know.” His somber tone speaks volumes.

  But I don’t hold back. I tell him. I tell him how Carl reacted when she heard about his accident, how she broke down in the car ride over. I explain how she fought to keep it together while we waited in purgatory for news, and how she blamed herself for everything. I describe her face when his doctor walked into that waiting room to deliver the verdict of his surgery, and her palpable relief at the outcome. I tell him she took such a deep breath that I swore I felt her suck the air from the room.

  And then I tell him how it feels to get the opposite news, and what it’s like to know you’ll never see someone you love again. I describe what it’s like to wake up having forgotten for just a second they’re gone forever, only to have reality come crashing back, again and again, every day for months…years.

  I tell him all of it.

  He cries. My eyes might water a bit. But he gets it. And I know there’s more going on under the surface with him, and at some point I hope to talk about the underlying reasons for his acting out. But now is not the time for that. I’m just grateful that when Carl returns to Billy’s room with our friends, her brother has a little more insight into how much she loves him, and how his actions affect her. And I can only hope that whatever he’s dealing with, he’ll think twice before he risks his life, or his sister’s heart.

  * * *

  Now that Billy has been released from the hospital and Nicole Stanger has apparently decided to stick around and be a mother for a change, Carl is back at school and finally acting more like herself.

  I cornered Ben in our garage our first day back on campus, and listened to him swear up and down that he had no ill intentions. That he knows giving Carl the meds and not explaining exactly what they were was stupid. I know that as an athlete he’s taken them many times for injuries, and I also know plenty of people end up using them for reasons they weren’t prescribed for. Others, still, take them recreationally. So it’s possible he really didn’t think it was a big deal. Fucking idiot.

  He admitted he was wrong, and apologized profusely to both me and Carl. He understands how dangerous what he did was, or so he claims. I’m not so sure. I still want to kick his ass, but Carl asked me to back off. I begged her to report him, but she fucking believes him, and she doesn’t want to ruin his entire future over one stupid mistake. She’s way too compassionate. He didn’t think twice before potentially risking her fucking life, and he deserves whatever punishment he’d get. But reluctantly, I have to let Carl make this call. And at least for now, she has. So I focus on other things.

  We present our creative marketing project this week, and as we film our final scene at the lax house of a couple hooking up in the laundry room—or trying to—I can’t stop staring at Carl. She caught me twice already, and the third time I don’t bother looking away. I just blatantly eye-fuck her until she has to bite her bottom lip red to suppress her self-satisfied smile. It’s her own fault. She knows what those flouncy little skirts do to me—the way the hem flirts with her supple thighs—and I doubt I’m imagining that extra sway in her hips as she walks to and from the kitchen to get a cold bottle of water. I can use a little cooling down myself, and I grab it from her and suck down half the thing in three big gulps.

  “Hey.” She swats me on the biceps and takes it back from me.

  I’m so distracted by her that I barely notice Julia call cut, and thank our volunteer-actors. She has an evening class, so she says good-bye and walks them out. Manny checks today’s file on his computer, making sure it automatically uploaded from his camera via the Cloud, as he’s programmed it to do.

  “Are these our releases?” Carl asks, staring wide-eyed at the organized mess of paperwork I have on the table. They are my responsibility, and though Carl has helped with a few of the guys who were reluctant to sign, we also needed signatures from the random girls who were in the background at our parties, and that is where I shined.

  “Yup.”

  “Ugh, Tucker. You’re so messy,” she admonishes, and she starts alphabetizing them.

  “Hey, my job was to get them signed, not make them pretty,” I remind her, and she rolls her eyes. My chest swells. I’ve missed this. Having Carl not be afraid to talk back to me. To challenge me.

  “While you two perfect the form of argument as foreplay, I’ll be over at my dorm creating a masterpiece,” Manny teases a little bitterly as he packs up his computer.

  “What?” Carl gasps, but I just grin. She can deny it all she wants, but there’s only one part of that Manny got wrong—we’ve had this shit perfected for years.

  Manny rolls his eyes and salutes us before he leaves, but his calling us out has obviously unsettled Carl, and that bugs me.

  “These are all crinkled,” she complains as she tries to flatten a sheet of paper on the folding table we keep in the laundry room for—well—folding.

  “At least they’re all signed,” I counter.

  “Not all,” she corrects me, but she’s wrong.

  I come up behind her and reach around her on both sides to find the release that had given us so much trouble. A particularly entertaining reaction by a girl who hadn’t gotten the memo that the jokes were scripted. She heard half a line about spiking the punch with roofies and she lost her shit on Manny and me. It’s gold for our video, but without her release, we couldn’t use it. Neither Carl nor Manny could convince her to sign, but two days ago I discovered her weakness—a little begging and a big smile—and got the job done.

  I find the paper in question and smooth it out in front of Carl.

  She spins to face me. “You got it!”

  I smile smugly down at her, so close my chest brushes hers with every inhale.

  “How?”

  “Employed my secret weapon.” I shrug.

  “And what’s that?” I don’t miss her breathy tone, and my jeans feel infinitely tighter as a result.

  “What do you think?” I raise my eyebrows. I’m just fucking with her at this point, but what can I say? I can’t resist. “Fair is fair, right? A release in exchange for…a release.”

  She eyes me dubiously, like she’s actually considering whether or not I would do something like that, and admittedly, it stings a little, but I’m also massively amused.

  Carl shoves at my chest, but I don’t let her move me. “Ugh! You’re so disgusting,” she hisses, and accepting she can’t push me away, she turns away from me—never mind that she’s trapped between me and the table as she pretends to busy herself with the paperwork again.

  I lean down to her ear. “What’s the matter, Princess? I thought you’d be pleased. I took one for the team.”

  “Don’t fucking call me that.”

  I ignore her ire. God do I love riling her up. But if she’s going to believe that I whored myself out for a go
ddamn school project, then she’s going to fucking pay for it. “What’s wrong, Carl? You jealous?” I taunt her with my breath on the back of her neck.

  Her aggravation doesn’t hide the goosebumps that rise—or the flush that sweeps over her skin. I grit my teeth to stop myself from tasting it.

  “Why would I be jealous, Tucker? I’ve fucking had you, haven’t I? Plenty of times,” she sneers.

  I love her wrath, but hate the whisper of vulnerability—the aggrieved undertone I know would kill her to know I’ve picked up on.

  “I guess your secret weapon is losing its magic.”

  Oh, hell no. I keep my mouth close, letting my lips lightly graze her earlobe as I speak. “Is that why your breathing’s gone shallow?” I lean farther down and brush them over her carotid artery. “Or why your pulse is racing?”

  Both her breathing and pulse respond by accelerating even more, but her shoulders stiffen in an attempt to resist the effect I have on her. “No. That’s because you’re making me uncomfortable,” she lies. Fortunately, I have mastered the art of reading Carl Stanger.

  “The feeling is fucking mutual,” I growl, and I close my hands around her sensuous hips, pulling them back the half inch that separates our lower bodies, and I lightly press the evidence of my raging discomfort into her enticing ass.

  Carl gasps before she can stifle it, her head lolling against my shoulder in a fleeting surrender before she regains control and squares her stance. “Too bad I have standards.”

  “Have they gone up in the past week?” I scoff, gently scraping over the skin of her throat with my teeth, soothing it with my tongue, unable to resist a taste.

  “Fuck you, Tucker.”

  I spin her to face me. Now I’m fucking pissed. She tries to look away so I grip her jaw and force eye contact. “How well do you know me?” I demand.

  “Not as well as I thought!” she seethes.

  My gaze narrows. “Clearly fucking not, if you actually think I would fuck some stranger to get her to sign a damn release form!”

  Carl’s eyes widen so slightly and briefly I know anyone but me would’ve missed her combined relief and remorse, but it’s instantly crushed by a wall of defensiveness. “Well, how the hell am I supposed to know who you do or don’t fuck.” It isn’t a question.

  I know her attitude is out of self-preservation, born of insecurity, and I also know I’m to blame. I bend enough to level with her, softening my tone. “You’re the only person who knows that, Carl.” You’re the only person I’m fucking. Even though we’ve only hooked up twice in the past few months, so we’re not technically fucking. But as I try to get our friendship back on track, even if I know it’s too soon to pursue something more, I see no reason for us to torture ourselves with abstinence. We’ve never been ones to do things in traditional order.

  I can see the moment I win her over, but I’ve gotten her so worked up that her chest heaves with her aggravated breathing, and her gorgeous tits surge with every inhale.

  “My eyes are up here, Tucker,” she scolds, biting her bottom lip to conceal her mirth.

  I continue to stare at her chest. “Yes, baby, but your perfect tits are right here.” I step away to lock the door, then return to her, enjoying her wide-eyed stare. My hand slowly skates from her hip, up along her side until my fingers tease the outline of her breast. I meet her gaze, finding hers glazed with desire, letting her see how much I want her. My fingers follow the edge of her top, trailing along her neckline, my middle finger slipping just under the cotton fabric.

  Both of us stare at my hand, and I take my time, but she does nothing to stop me. I let only the tip of that one finger explore the silky skin just under her neckline, watching with satisfaction as it leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. She has the most beautiful cleavage. Her breasts aren’t the biggest, but they are perfectly round and full—an ample handful of pale, unmarred flesh, untouched by the sun or anything else. Except me.

  I take the half step that brings me flush against her irresistible body, and my other hand reaches up to cup her jaw and angle her face upward. She seems so delicate—breakable.

  “Tuck,” she breathes. I love the sound of my name on her lips—always have.

  “You make me crazy,” I admit. I’ve said it before, many times, and it’s no less true now than it ever was before. “I want you so much I can’t even think straight when you’re around.” I drop my hand from her chest to her thigh, tracing the line where hem meets skin. “You knew exactly what this skirt would do to me.”

  She unconsciously licks her plump, pink lips, calling to me like a fucking siren, and my mouth crashes down on hers without another thought. Her arms fling around my neck as we consume each other, our breaths mixing and our tongues wrestling.

  I pin her against the table, desperate to get closer, my tongue ravaging her mouth with impatience. Carl is practically gasping with need, and when her hips grind into my thigh, I lose all sense of control. I grab hold of both ass cheeks and lift her, lining our bodies up just right and guiding her long, gorgeous legs around my waist, and I place her on the table.

  Better. But still far from good enough. The table is too low—or I’m too tall, so without disentangling from her hot mouth, I pick her back up and spin us around, setting her on the washing machine instead.

  Perfect. Our hips are perfectly aligned, and I swell to the point of pain, my dick knowing how close it is to its target. Its home.

  Her knees part and I charge between them, grabbing her hips and hauling her forward, but she pushes me back, startling me until I realize she means to rid us of the barriers separating our bodies.

  Good fucking thinking.

  Carl gets to work on obstacle number one—my jeans—unfastening my belt buckle. Her hands don’t stop long enough for me to remove her shirt, so I just push her cardigan over her shoulders and shove her tank top up over her bra.

  Fuck. Me.

  She knows how much I love her in white lace. Most girls think a black or red bra is hotter, but Carl introduced me to the erotic appeal of white—a color I’d never considered sexy before I saw it on her when we first hooked up. And it’s no less powerful right now, her pert, pink peaks peeking through the transparent fabric, and my mouth lowers to the swell of the bounty it holds, kissing and tasting.

  Carl moans, and the sweet, sexy sound shatters the last of my patience. I shove my jeans and boxer briefs down my thighs, freeing my furious hard-on, and flip her skirt up around her waist.

  I nearly come on the spot.

  White. Fucking. Lace. Panties.

  I have to close my eyes and suck in a gulp of air to regain control of myself. Carl makes matters worse, boldly wrapping her fingers around me, and I forcefully snatch her wrists before she can stroke me and end this before it begins.

  She peeks up at me from beneath her long, lacquered lashes, mouth slightly parted and eyes hooded in lust. It strikes me that I am the only man who has ever seen her like this, and in this moment I know that I would do absolutely anything to keep it that way.

  I run my hands up her thighs, spreading them further as I go, losing myself more and more to my lust with every inch they separate. My fingers grasp the thin, sheer material, and I yank them from her body in one swift tear. Carl gasps at my savagery, but with her most intimate of places bare and open for me, she can’t hide how turned on she is.

  I take her mouth in a fierce kiss, and she surrenders to me, her mouth as open as the rest of her, and I can take no more. “No man will ever make you feel like this, Princess. Only me.” I need her to know this. To make sure that she knows there’s no point in looking at other men while we’re not technically together.

  She winces, as if I said it as a punishment of some kind.

  “I know.” Her tone is resigned, almost sad, and it makes my chest ache. She still thinks I’d never be with her again, not for real, and I want so much to tell her she’s wrong. That I would take her back today if she’d have me. But then I’d also have to
tell her I treated her like garbage for months for no fucking reason. That I had the audacity to believe she knew about my father all along, and chose to keep quiet. And I know her well enough to foresee the indignation, the hurt that would cause, and I’m not ready for that. First I need to remind her how good we are together, make it up to her before she even realizes I’ve fucked up. And I know one way to start.

  I stroke between her legs, marveling at how ready she already is for me. “I’m going to fuck this hard, Princess,” I breathe gruffly into her ear. “I’m going to come so deep inside you I’ll still be there next fucking week.” I stare down at her, my eyes bright with my promise.

  “You’re always inside me, Tucker,” she whispers, her words an arrow straight to my heart. Here I am making dirty little vows, and Carl says something so transcendently beautiful.

  She leaves me fucking speechless. But I can express myself in other ways. I capture her mouth with mine, and kiss her with everything I feel—every desire, every regret. But right now it’s the need to possess her that’s strongest, and I pull her hips to the edge of the washing machine, and guide myself into her welcoming body.

  I swallow her long, strangled moan, tasting its perfection as I hold myself still inside her. She grips me tight and hot, and I close my eyes and just feel. I’ve missed this. I miss this every single goddamned moment I’m not doing it.

  “Tuck,” she whimpers.

  Carl wraps her legs around me in encouragement, like she wants to keep me a part of her, as if without me she’s missing something vital. At least that’s how it feels, and I love that, too. God, I love every fucking thing about her. I always have.

  I gently fist her hair, pulling her head back so she’s forced to lie down, and follow with my body covering hers. She grabs the hem of my T-shirt and tugs it up, and I reach back and yank it off in one quick motion, desperate to get back to where I belong.

  I lean down over her, and then, finally, I move. I rear my hips back until I nearly withdraw, and then push slowly, deliberately in until I bottom out. Again, I pause. I’m struck with a wave of overwhelming humility. I don’t deserve this, but fuck if I could ever bring myself to walk away. Not again. Not for real.