Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  “I’m sorry, Wyatt,” she says. “You shouldn’t have to go through this again.” Her hand is rubbing my thigh now, and she scoots forward a bit more and takes one of mine into hers. She squeezes it then lets go. But I squeeze back and hold onto it. I turn to her slowly.

  “Wyatt,” she says, her eyes at the ground. “I need to say something to you.” I swallow.

  “Okay.”

  “I’m sorry about your sister,” she says. I swallow again, but it’s harder this time. I blink a few times then look at her.

  “What do you mean? Why are you sorry?” I ask.

  “I’m just...I’m sorry about what happened to her. I’ve been angry for a long time. I was really angry then, and it never really went away. And what happened to us…it was bad, but we still had each other. You didn’t,” she says, and I feel this burning in my chest. “So, I’m sorry. I really am. Willa was a sweet girl, and nobody deserves what happened to her.”

  I squeeze her hand and draw in another breath.

  “Well, I’m sorry, too,” I say. Because I am. “When I remembered that I had seen your dad that night at the store, it felt like maybe I was going to be the one to figure it out. Maybe I wasn’t too late to save her; maybe I was going to be able to stop my parents from being in so much pain. So I said your dad’s name. I thought if we could point them in the right direction, everything would happen faster. I never once stopped to think about the implications it would have on your dad if it wasn’t true, or if it turned out he wasn’t involved. Or your family. Or you.” Suddenly, I feel something I haven’t felt in years, and that’s an overwhelming urge to cry.

  I haven’t shed a lot of tears since my sister died. It takes a lot out of you to go through that, so your body tends to put up some protective walls to stop it from happening again.

  I draw another slow breath and look into her eyes again, and to my surprise, there are tears in hers, and it’s tearing up whatever’s left inside of my chest.

  “Wyatt,” she whispers again.

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t hate you,” she mutters. Her eyes find mine again slowly. I reach my hand out and let my thumb stroke her chin then her bottom lip. My other hand cups her cheek, and I pull her lips to mine. She pulls herself up onto her knees as she wraps her arms around my neck. Her tongue dives into my mouth, and it takes me back. I pull my head away.

  “Tell me again,” I whisper. Her eyes are searching my face.

  “I don’t hate you,” she says again, and I pull her back into me. “I don’t hate you at all.”

  My hands are running up and down her back, and she’s cupping my face as we kiss. Every time our lips touch, it’s like I become more and more dependent on them. Like I won’t be able to breathe, eventually, without them. She pushes up against me then holds her arms up so I can slide the hoodie off over her head. Her t-shirt comes with it, and to my surprise, she’s not wearing anything underneath it. I hold my arms up and let her do the same, and I love watching the way she takes me all in. She presses against me, and I wrap my arms around her as we fall back against the couch. Lying here with her, skin to skin, makes me breathless without even doing anything.

  Her fingers trail up my body, then one hand slips down into my waistband, and I let out a gasp when she grabs hold of me. She lets out a small moan of delight when she realizes that I’m already ready for her and lets her hand work on me as our lips move together.

  I let her go for a few moments, breaking our kisses to drop my head back as it explodes with pleasure. She grabs my head and kisses my neck, my shoulder, my chest. I slip her hand out of my pants and shimmy to the edge of the couch, pulling down my sweats and my boxers. I scoot over to her and help her get rid of the yogas, then I pull her into me again. I kiss her lips, her jawline, her ear, her neck. I wrap my hand around her head and lay her back against the couch and lower myself onto her. I’m staring down at her, and I’ve never seen anything, or anyone, so fucking beautiful. Her locks are all out of her bun now, floating around the cushion. She reaches up and pulls me down to her, kissing me gently then biting my bottom lip before letting me go.

  “Wyatt,” she says just as I’m getting myself into position. I look down at her. “I want you. And not just like this.”

  I feel like I’ve crashed into a wall. My arms feel weak as I hold myself over her. Because goddamn if I don’t want her, too. I lower my lips down to her face, kissing it again. I bring them to her ear.

  “You have me, then,” I tell her just as I push myself inside of her. I groan as we begin to move, and she wraps her legs around me, holding me tight to her body, pushing me deeper and deeper inside of her. We move back and forth together, kissing in sync with our rhythm, moving like we’re fucking pros with each other’s bodies. I feel her nails dig into my back as she clenches around me, and not even a moment later, I’m spent, too. I fall on top of her, both of us catching our breath. It takes a moment for her to release her legs, like she doesn’t want me to move as badly as I don’t want to.

  As I finally pull myself up, I lower down for one more long kiss.

  This was different.

  We’ve done way more, touched way more, explored way more of each other the other times we’ve hooked up.

  But this felt like way more. I get up and grab her some paper towels before joining her back on the couch. When she’s done, she comes back and snuggles up against me, and I wrap the throw that hangs off the back of the couch around us. Her head is against my chest, and I’m pretty sure there’s not one part of me that’s not touching a part of her.

  My heart rate has finally slowed, and the realization of why she’s here in the first place is slowly creeping back in. I feel my grip on her tighten, like I’m afraid that if she goes, I’ll wake up in that goddamn parole meeting.

  “Maryn,” I whisper.

  “Hmm?” she moans against my chest.

  “Please don’t leave tonight,” I say without opening my eyes. I don’t want to see her reject me. But to my surprise, I feel her lips press up against my skin.

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” she says. I smile and run my fingers through her hair. There she goes again, making me feel like I can do anything.

  19

  Maryn

  I wake up with this weird kink in my neck, and after I peel my eyes open, I realize it’s because we’re still on the couch. I feel his warm body pressed up against mine, our hands still clasped, and I smile.

  I should have started staying over a while ago.

  I don’t want to move, because I don’t want this to be over, but I also can’t feel my right arm. I shift slightly, but it’s just enough to wake him.

  He opens his eyes and blinks a few times then gently readjusts his arm under me. I turn to face him, letting my palm land on his cheek and my thumb trace his bottom lip.

  “You’re still here,” he says with that killer grin. If I were wearing underwear, they’d probably have dropped to the ground with that.

  “Of course,” I say, pushing myself up and kissing his lips.

  “Thank you,” he whispers before kissing me again, and it makes my chest tighten. He needed me last night, and it feels good. “Want some breakfast?”

  I smile and nod, and he scooches out from underneath me but not before I spank his perfect ass and whistle. He rolls his eyes as he pulls his pants on. He reaches down for his shirt, but I stop him.

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” I say. “I prefer my breakfast with a view.”

  He laughs and throws his head back then does as he’s told and drops his shirt back to the floor. I freshen up in the bathroom as he starts making some sort of fancy omelet. When I come back into the kitchen, it smells like a five-star restaurant. He serves my food within a few minutes, and I’m attacking it like I haven’t eaten in years.

  “Jesus, this is good,” I say between bites. He smiles as he leans across the bar, eating his own.

  “Glad you like it,” he says. “So,” he goes on, a mischievous look in
his eye, “you don’t hate me, huh?”

  I put my fork down and smile, rolling my eyes playfully.

  “Oh, Lord, are you gonna throw that in my face?” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Hey, you said it, not me,” he says with a shrug. He gathers our plates and puts them in the sink then comes around to the other side of the bar.

  He gently pushes my legs apart and stands between them, putting a hand on the bar on either side of me. He leans down and kisses me, and it’s a long, slow, leaves-me-panting sort of kiss.

  “So if you don’t hate me, what does that mean?” he asks, resting his forehead on mine for a moment before rolling off and leaning down to kiss my neck. I moan and drop my head back so he can continue.

  “It means that I want to be around you,” I say. He kisses back up my neck.

  “Uh-huh,” he says, then he kisses my jawline.

  “And it means that our hot sex is about to get way hotter,” I say, and he laughs, kissing down my cheek to my lips.

  “Go on,” he whispers, kissing up the other side of my face.

  “And it means that I don’t want anyone else kissing you or having hot sex with you.”

  He pauses at my ear, and I swallow. I can’t believe I just said that out loud. I hate coming across as needy, especially with a guy. But it’s true. I don’t want him going down on any other girl with that god-sent tongue or making her to-die-for omelets. He pulls his face back from mine and looks down at me.

  “Do you think I’ve been seeing someone else?” he asks. I shrug.

  “I hadn’t really thought about it. It wasn’t really my business,” I say. “But I guess I sort of want it to be my business now.”

  He takes my chin in his fingers and tilts my head back. He leans down and kisses me, long and slow again, but this time letting his tongue massage mine. He pulls back, nibbling on my bottom lip before stepping back.

  “I haven’t been with anyone else since Florida,” he says. “And I don’t intend to.”

  I smile and nod. He pulls me up off the barstool so he can kiss me again, running his hands down my back and resting them on my ass. “But that goes for you, too.”

  I nod and give him a fake salute.

  “And no more lunch dates with Nate,” he says, nuzzling my neck. I push him back gently and shoot him a look.

  “He’s my boss. I’ll get lunch with him if he wants,” I say. He can tell work is a boundary I won’t cross. “Speaking of that, I won’t compromise my job or how hard I’ve been working,” I tell him. “Not even for you. So don’t ask me to. Don’t ask me about the gallery; don’t ask me questions you know I can’t answer.”

  He’s looking at me, eyes narrowed, but he’s got a smile on his face.

  “You’re too good of a worker,” he says with a smile. “But fine, deal. Just be careful with Nate. I don’t know what he’s up to.” I roll my eyes.

  “I can handle myself, Mr. Executive, but thank you,” I say, pushing myself up against him and biting his neck gently.

  “Speaking of work,” he says, “what do we do about it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we’re together, right?” he asks, and it makes me smile. It’s like we’re having “the talk” in high school.

  “Yes, Wyatt,” I say, “we’re together. But it doesn’t need to go on public broadcast. Like I said, this can’t screw up my job for me. I need it.”

  He nods and takes my hand, looking down at our clasped fingers. I step closer to him. “But when we’re alone in the elevator, feel free to whisper dirty things to me.”

  His eyes light up as I kiss him and walk away, leaning down to grab my hoodie.

  “Heading out?” he asks, and I can’t help but notice the disappointment in his voice. I freeze. I don’t really have anything to do today. Ellie is working the lunch shift, and it’s a rainy Saturday in Manhattan. I turn back to him slowly.

  “I just thought you might be sick of me,” I say with a smile. He saunters over to me, taking the hoodie gently from my hands and dropping it on the couch.

  “Never,” he says.

  After a spicier round two of last night that lands me on my back on his cool kitchen counter before an a-may-zing finale on his kitchen table, we’re watching reruns of Martin while snacking on chips and guac.

  “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get sick of your penis,” I blurt, thinking out loud about how perfect every inch of him is. It makes him choke on his chip for a minute before he turns to me, laughing hysterically.

  “What?” he asks, exasperated. I chuckle and shrug.

  “I’m serious. It’s like sex with you gets better every single time we have it,” I say. He smiles and leans in to me. He kisses my cheek then slides down to my lips.

  “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get sick of any part of you,” he says. His fingers trail down my stomach and rest just on top of my hottest spot over my yogas. “But yes, I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of her either.”

  I smile and kiss him back.

  “On that note, before I jump you again, what do you say to lunch?” he asks, hopping up from the couch. He holds a hand out to me, and I take it.

  This is the first time we will be out together in New York since we’ve decided to be together-together.

  “Let’s do it,” I say. But then I look down at myself. “But do you mind if we stop at my apartment so I can change? The walk-of-shame thing is one thing, but the lunch-of-shame thing is a different level.”

  “Sure,” he says with a smile. “Lead the way.”

  This is the first time he’s going to be in my apartment, and I suddenly feel a little self-conscious. Our apartment is usually pretty clean, but I would put the hot-guy-coming-over spin on it if I had some time to prepare. I pull my phone out and text Ellie in case she hasn’t left yet. She’s a fan of walking around in her underwear, which wouldn’t be the best first impression.

  Oh, dammit! I’m already on my way to work. Bring him back so I can meet him!

  I smile at my phone.

  “Ellie won’t be there, but she says you have to come back so she can meet you,” I tell him as we get in the cab. He smiles.

  “I’m down,” he says. “I want to meet whoever you want me to meet.”

  Then our eyes flick up to each other, and I know we’ve had the same thought: my parents. If this turns into something, how in the fuck would I tell my parents? I can almost picture how that would go.

  Never mind, I don’t want to.

  He takes my hand and squeezes it.

  “It’s all gonna be fine,” he tells me, and I’m awe-struck at how he can read my mind. “We’ll figure it out.” He slips his arm around my shoulders and tucks me into him as he looks out the window. And as I let his warmth surround me, I know he’s right. We pull up to my building, and I let the cabbie know we’re here. It’s not as glamorous as his end of town, but I’m proud of it. I’m paying my own way in New York City, and it feels pretty damn good.

  We get out, and he follows me inside and up the stairs.

  “Sorry, no fancy elevator here for your dirty talk,” I say as he follows me up. I feel his hand graze my ass.

  “Don’t need an elevator for that,” he whispers, and I giggle as he kisses my neck. We round the corner, and I’m fiddling with my keys and pull out the one to my apartment. He’s got his arm around my neck, and he’s kissing the side of my head as we walk down the long hall. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so...okay. Like everything is in its place, and if it’s not, it will be.

  And then we reach my apartment, and my keys fall from my hand when the man at my door turns around.

  “Dad,” I say.

  20

  April 2015 - Maryn

  I’m lying on my bed, trying desperately to focus on my stupid math test tomorrow. I can’t focus on a damn thing these days, yet somehow, I’ve just been going through the motions like everything’s fine. My friends at school rarely even bring my dad up
anymore, which is both a relief and also sort of pisses me off.

  It’s like he’s been written off, written out of their lives. And yet, our lives are still stalled, waiting for someone else to decide when they can continue on again.

  I roll onto my back and stare up at my ceiling when I hear them talking downstairs. Mom’s voice is high, and I immediately spring up. That’s either really good or really bad. And as my experience over the last few months has taught me, it’s usually the latter.

  I run to my bedroom door, open it, and trot down the stairs, Tucker in line behind me. I feel bad that he’s going through this, too. He’s only in eighth grade, and I think the whole distance from the high school thing is helpful, but I know it has to be eating away at him, too. He and my dad are extra close, and my dad is more of a shell of his old self than anything else these days.

  “Mom? Dad? What’s going on?” I ask as we get to the kitchen. Dad’s nodding and repeating “okay” into the phone then thanks whoever he’s talking to profusely before hanging up.

  My heart’s beating in my chest so hard that I feel it in my throat.

  “Dad?”

  He sighs and rubs his temples, and when he looks up at us, there are tears in his eyes.

  “They’ve officially cleared me as a suspect,” he says, his hand dropping to his side. “There was new video evidence discovered that shows I was still in the store when she was taken.”

  My mom shrieks and jumps on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him over and over.

  “Thank God!” she cries, burying her face in his shoulder. “This nightmare is almost over!”

  Dad hangs his head as he sets her back down to the floor.

  “Hopefully, for us, it is. But for that family, it’s just getting started,” Dad says. I look up at my dad and narrow my eyes at him. Of course, it’s absolutely devastating that the Mills family is back to square one. But right now, all I can think about is that my dad is not square one. He’s no square at all, anymore, and there’s a weight that’s lifted off my shoulders with each passing moment.