Cuba focused on me, ignoring Spider. “Whatever you think of me…in the past…I made mistakes, but I’m trying to make up for it with Emma—”
“Get out of my seat,” Spider bellowed, his entire body drawn up.
The entire restaurant hushed, and the waitress scurried over with refills to make sure we were okay.
“Spider, it’s fine. He’s leaving,” I assured him.
Cuba exhaled heavily and rose, looming over Spider’s smaller six feet. His mouth tightened as he gazed down at him. “Grow up, Spider, and put a leash on that temper of yours. Especially if you’re going to be with Dovey. She deserves better.”
And then he turned and walked out the door.
Spider cursed and sat down. He slapped his cell on the table. “If I’d known he was going to harass you…”
“Let it go,” I said.
He grumbled under his breath, but I ignored him. Maybe I was a little ticked at him because he’d been gone so long. But, he wasn’t my protector either.
Thankfully our food came and both of us got quiet.
“So. Emmo is preggo,” he sang in between bites of his pizza.
I set down my knife and fork on my plate. My food was tasteless anyway. “Yes.”
He shrugged and took a sip of the beer he’d ordered with his fake ID. “She’ll get fat, you know. We can make fun of her. But, she’ll probably get rid of it.”
“Don’t be so flippant,” I snapped, angry with his attitude. “What if that was you and not Cuba?”
He smirked. “Emma is not my type. Too much fake going on.” His eyes scanned over me. “I want someone real, someone like you, Dovey.”
Not this again.
I looked away and took a sip of water to cover up my nervousness, but I don’t think I fooled him.
A few minutes later, we finished and walked out of the restaurant. “Why don’t you come home with me tonight, and we’ll watch a movie.” He pointed out at the white-covered parking lot. “And it might be a good idea if you spent the night. The roads will be crap.”
I nodded. Heather-Lynn was with Sarah tonight, and sleeping at Spider’s sounded perfect. Right?
AFTER SLIPPING AND sliding the entire way back to his dorm in his SUV, he smuggled me into his one bedroom apartment—he paid extra for a private suite—and we watched Pulp Fiction. We lay on his suede couch while his beer bottles accumulated, and I dozed on and off, the screams and the blood from the movie not registering. We’d only watched it a dozen times together.
I woke to the credits rolling across his big screen. Stretching out, I eyed my bag, resting next to his discarded pizza boxes from one night this week. Or maybe it was last week? Ha. His room was a mess, and I wondered if I should pop over one day and offer to clean it up for him. It was the least I could do since he was loaning me money.
Spider sat his drink down on the side table next to the couch and tugged me into his arms. “You staying?” he asked, his nose nuzzling my cheek.
I stiffened at the touch, yet the moment I’d climbed in his car, I’d known we were teetering on the edge of something dangerous.
But why not experiment? And maybe I wanted this. To prove to him that Cuba meant nothing to me.
“Let me check in with Sarah,” I said, calling home. I half-way wanted her to tell me to come home, but Heather-Lynn answered and said they were fine and for me to stay put in this weather.
I hung up the phone and my eyes locked with his warm ones. I gazed into them, searching for answers about our iffy relationship. Were we friends who turned into lovers?
He must have read the question in my eyes because he took my hand and kissed my palm. And it wasn’t a friendly, let’s be BFFs kiss. No, it was I want to throw you down and have my way with you kiss. He kissed it with an open mouth, the pressure of his soft lips and the heat from his tongue making me fall toward him.
He threaded our fingers together and gazed down at me, his eyes hot. “I’m going to kiss you, Dovey. You good?”
Was I? No idea. But I nodded.
He tilted my face up to his and kissed me, his mouth fitting over mine easily and, of course, expertly. This was Spider, and he’d been with countless girls, filling a void I didn’t understand.
His hands encircled my nape as his tongue coaxed my mouth to open, the pressure hesitant and easy as if he were afraid I’d pull away. I sighed, liking the sweetness, getting lost a little in playing with his stud, rolling it around, experimenting. Kissing him didn’t make my heart fly like Cuba’s first kiss had, but there was something to be said for kissing someone who you knew cared for you.
He pulled me on top of him as he stretched out on the couch, and we fit. His hardness against my stomach created an ache in me, reminding me of the emptiness I felt. I sank into him deeper, and he groaned, his hands working my shirt up, until his fingers reached the front snap of my bra. In seconds, he had the clasp undone, my grey tunic and pink lace bra off and over my head. I sensed more than saw him toss my things over the couch.
He had some lightening moves.
“I’ve been wanting this…you…for so long,” he said, cupping breasts and kissing across my jaw line, whispering sexy words, and I whispered words back, feeling into the moment, surprised by the slow burn but going with it.
And he was surprisingly gentle. Most of the time when I’d watched him interact with girls, I got the impression he wasn’t a tender lover, that he took what he wanted hard and fast. I’d always suspected he fucked, not made love. But, maybe I was wrong.
We escalated faster than I wanted. But, he felt good against me, especially when he whipped his shirt off, the searing touch of his chest against mine making me pant. I kissed him harder, my tongue searching for his, needing him.
See, I tried to convey with my lips, I do not still love Cuba.
And I didn’t. Cuba was long gone. Yesterday’s news.
Yet, in the middle of our kiss, I pictured Cuba and Emma at some place like Babies R Us. I tried to push the image away, but it kept resurrecting itself over and over. Them oohing and ahhing over cute baby clothes, taking a Lamaze class together, pushing a stroller. My stomach roiled.
“Open your eyes,” Spider said, his hands framing the sides of my face, his thumbs against my cheeks almost painful. I shook my head and buried it in his shoulder and bit his neck, finding his erratic pulse and sucking on it. He smelled good, clean and woodsy and yet not quite right.
I whispered to him again and again and…
“Dovey,” a voice snapped. “Look at me.”
I didn’t want to. I didn’t. I decided I wouldn’t. I rotated my hips against his, making him hiss and let out a string of curses. Was this a good idea flitted through my mind, but oh, I didn’t care about that, because he was hard and I was soft, and I wanted to feel good about something. I wanted to forget about Sarah’s illness and Cuba’s baby. I wanted to forget about all the shit floating around in my head.
I put my hands on his crotch and stroked hard, letting him know I meant business. He stiffened, groaned and said my name, and it sounded beautiful and sweet, like a benediction. And because I loved the sound of my name on his lips, I said his name. Over and over and over…
Then his voice changed, getting shrill. He shoved me off him, pushing until my bare back bounced off the couch, and I slid onto the carpet. My eyes blared open, my desire cooling at the anger in his eyes.
“What? Isn’t that what you wanted?” I scrounged around on the floor, found my shirt and pulled it on. The bra was MIA. Great. My favorite one. I didn’t doubt for a second he’d add it to his collection later.
He snapped off the couch and paced around, a tinge of unbalance in his jerky movements. “You have no idea what just happened, do you?” he said, snatching up his beer and guzzling it.
I shrugged. “We were making out and—”
“You called me Cuba, Dovey! You kissed me and called me his bloody name. Complete cluster-fuck.”
“Not possible.” But had I? For
the life of me, I couldn’t remember what I’d said. “You misunderstood.”
“I’m not deaf,” he said. “Nor am I stupid.”
I rubbed my hand over my swollen mouth. I had been thinking of Cuba, comparing their kisses.
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting? It was a slip-up—”
“You were thinking about him the whole time,” he interrupted, pulling at his spiked hair, seeming to be talking to himself more than to me.
Now that wasn’t true.
“You’re overacting,” I said, feeling defensive. And sad. I wanted to forget Cuba.
“I’m not,” he said. “Your eyes follow him everywhere he goes. He shit on you, and you still want him.” He raised his hands up over his head and yelled, “I hate the way you rip me up inside.”
My ire rose, taking over my mouth. “I thought you were my friend. Was your friendship all pretend? Was I the only girl who didn’t give you what you wanted, Spider? Is that why you hung around for four years?” I seethed. “Fine, you wanna fuck? Let’s do it. Let’s taint ourselves with meaningless sex between friends. So what if I’m just one in a long line of girls. Because next month, you’ll be hot for someone else. And our friendship will be ruined.”
His color rose and veins popped out along his temple. He closed the distance between us and pulled me back into his arms, but this time his face was all wrong, hard and angry.
“Stop,” I said, twisting around trying to get some space between us. “Let me go.”
“Not until you admit you have feelings for me,” he said tightly.
I just stared at him, not understanding his emotion. It was a damn slip-up for goodness sakes. It didn’t mean anything.
“Why are you so angry?”
“I’m angry because I fucking love you,” he shouted. “And you’re too caught up in Cuba to notice.”
I shook my head. Impossible. “No. Don’t love me, Spider. Because I can’t love you back. Not like that.”
He grabbed my chin. “Remember who I am,” he muttered and kissed me, this time forcefully, his tongue invading my mouth uninvited. Our teeth knocked together, and I snapped back, but he followed, backing me up against the wall, his hips pinning me.
But I wasn’t afraid because sometimes a woman just knows things. It’s an innate sense given to us at birth, maybe because Mother Nature felt sorry for us, bestowing most of the physical strength to men. As females, we know when other girls don’t like us even when they pretend to; we know when a boy doesn’t love us anymore; we sense when a guy is inherently bad or good. And, Spider was not evil. He’d never hit me or make me bleed like my father had done to my mother.
Sure, a gentleman would have graciously let me go when I asked, but I never said Spider was a gentleman. He’s not. He’s messed up with internal secrets, but he is my friend and I’d never had many. Maybe people would say I’m too accepting of his faults, but the truth is, with the way I grew up, Spider didn’t seem so bad.
And so, I stopped struggling, softening my hands as I clasped his shoulders.
His hold on me eased. He trailed his mouth down my neck, his fierceness losing steam, his common sense catching up with his outburst. He stopped kissing me and hung his head down over my shoulder, his entire body vibrating.
“I’m sorry for calling you Cuba,” I whispered in his ear. He muttered and started banging his head repeatedly against the wall behind me, making the pictures on the wall bounce.
“Spider, don’t hurt yourself.” I skimmed my hands over his bare chest, wanting to comfort him.
He flinched, his body heaving with emotion. “Don’t touch me.”
“Spider, wait—”
His face was drawn in tight lines. “I can’t bear to look at you, Dovey. You’ve got me all jacked up because you don’t know if you’re coming or going. And I’m sick of it, sick of you. I want to forget I ever cared for you. Just get the fuck out,” he said his voice low. Final.
I guess he pretty much covered it all right there.
I slipped around him as he took his fist and slammed it into the spot where I’d been.
I put my jacket on, still hoping maybe he would turn and talk to me, but he didn’t. The cold beckoned and I answered, walking out of his apartment and into the night.
“Sometimes being a dandelion blows.”
–Dovey
COLD.
The icy wind pummeled me as I headed for my car. My feet pounded into the sidewalk, automatically knowing where to go, taking the side streets that led to the main part of BA’s quad and parking area. I burrowed deeper into my coat, pulling the top of it over my mouth.
Like a true Texan, I wasn’t prepared for these freezing temps.
The world was dead-quiet and frozen, and the bleakness of it ate at my gut. Pulling out my cell, I stared at it, but there was no one to call.
I was alone.
Spider had been my one constant, but he’d tossed me out of his apartment and into the cold.
I clutched my dandelion necklace, remembering another time when Cuba had brought me to his house. And I hadn’t been alone. I’d felt good and warm and loved.
My throat thickened at the beauty we’d shared, and I crouched over in the snow, gasping, trying to stop the memories from taking up residence in my head.
But, like the falling snow, the past fell all around me…
A few weeks after Vespucci’s, Cuba and I walked out of a late movie. It was our fifth date.
He stroked my palm with his thumb. “Come home with me. We have a guest bedroom, and my parents won’t mind. It’s too late for you to drive home tonight anyway.”
Sarah wouldn’t mind. I stayed with Spider all the time.
“Are you sure your parents don’t mind?”
“Positive. And if they’re up, I want them to meet you.” He gave me a long look. “I think they’ll love you, Dovey, especially my dad.”
We reached his house, and pulled into a long winding drive that led to a mansion, its exterior reminding me of a castle in Europe. He let us into the darkened house by a side door next to the kitchen area. My eyes adjusted, taking in big pieces of fancy furniture and heavy draperies. We made our way upstairs, and he showed me his room, a spacious blue and white themed space with a king sized bed.
“What happened to the guest room?” I asked, arching a brow.
“I promise to be good,” he countered, shuffling his feet.
I remembered his reputation and my doubts came back. “Was this a ploy so you can have sex with me?”
He crossed his arms. “Stop putting yourself down. And insulting me. I brought you here because I don’t want you out of my sight.” He shrugged. “And if I wanted to have sex with you, I’d tell you up front.”
But I wasn’t sure, and I had his parents to think about, so we decided on the bedroom across the hall from his. Decorated in sage and ivory, the new bedroom was beautiful, like something out of a magazine.
“Your mom has great taste,” I murmured, running my hands over the damask bedspread.
“She didn’t do it. Some decorator did.” His voice sounded off when he talked about her.
“Goodnight,” he told me after we’d kissed, touching my cheek briefly.
And then he walked out. Just like that.
Five minutes later, I practically ran from the room, the door banging against the hallway as I popped it open.
He opened his door and my mouth dropped. He stood there in a cocky way, shirtless in just his track pants and nothing else. I mean, I’d touched him everywhere on top of his clothes, but I hadn’t seen him bare-chested yet. I swallowed.
“Dovey? You need something?”
“You,” I said. “Sleep only though. No sexy stuff. And you gotta put some clothes on.”
He smiled and led me back to his room. After watching some mindless television together and cuddling in his bed, I grew sleepy and decided I’d shower. I’d spent three hours in the studio today and going without one seemed wrong.
So, I went into his bathroom and took a fast one, anxious to get back to him. Then, I dried off and put on one of his football jersey’s he’d given me.
The door opened, and he stepped inside the steamy bathroom.
I froze.
“You look hot,” he murmured.
I blushed. All I had on was a shirt and panties. “Thank you.”
“Think I need a shower, too,” he said, his fingers pulling up from the neck and easing off the T shirt he’d put on earlier. Broad and tan, I wanted to run my hands over every hard muscle on his chest and down to his chiseled abs. I glanced at the track pants he’d put on and the obvious bulge he sported.
Did his lower body match the rest of him? Was it all sinewy muscle and big?
Just. Yeah. That thought got stuck in my head and wouldn’t let go.
“You staying?” he asked, a little smile working his face. Pleased at my open admiration, probably.
“No.” But I made no move to go.
His smile broadened, and he pivoted to turn on the shower, the whishing sound of the water filling the room. My eyes got arrested by the muscles in his back, at how they twitched and rippled. Football and rowing had been good to him. Very good.
He hooked his thumbs into his pants, paused a moment—maybe waiting to see if I’d run from the room?—but when I didn’t budge, he slid them and his underwear off. My mouth opened. Cuba Hudson, the most popular guy at Briarcrest was standing right in front of me, naked and beautiful. And like the cocky bastard he was, he posed for me, his big muscles making me vibrate all over. Need for him slammed into me.
Did I mention he was hot?
Well, I was wrong.
He was off-the-charts, no-holds-barred, freaking going to make-me-lose-my-mind-right-there, delicious. And I had no idea how to handle him. Because I was way out of my league.
He ran a hand across the steel rod between his legs, and I bit back a moan.
“Still leaving?” he said huskily.
“Any minute,” I said, backing up against the wall, propping myself up. “Just chillin’. Shower wore me out. I might need to hold this wall up for a sec.”
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