Drop Dead Gorgeous

by Landish, Lauren

  “What?” Shock fires through me, hot and cold all at the same time.

  “I mean, not until after the court hearing.”

  Okay, that’s a little better, but . . . “Why? That has nothing to do with us.”

  Us.

  I like the sound of that. I’m finally one half of a couple, like Amy and Fernanda or my mom and dad. It feels good.

  “It does, though. You’re named in the suit with Everlife, and I’m named as a witness. For the claimants.”

  My heart stops, and I can’t help a little bit of anger filling my voice. “What? Why?”

  It’s a stupid question, but I’m dumbstruck as I realize she’s right. In a criminal case, defense and prosecution witnesses being together would be a conflict of interest, but—

  “Does that even matter in a civil case?” I’m reaching for straws, but she’s worth the risk.

  “I don’t know! Maybe? Probably? I’ve never been called to court before, and I can’t fuck this up,” Zoey says with a sigh. At least this isn’t about her getting scared, but the retreat is the same, reaffirming that being with me holds some danger. Even if it’s legal risk, not life or death. “Especially if I want Jeff to look into Richard’s death more.”

  I can’t help it, I growl at the idea of spending even a single day without her. “I see.”

  Zoey sighs miserably again. “It’s about our careers. I can’t chance anything putting my professional reputation in question. Not when the whole county would love to see me fail. Not that they’d have luck getting anyone else to do what I do.”

  Bitter doesn’t sound good on her, but I wouldn’t want her to lose the one thing she’s always done with pride.

  “I have never been more tempted to break the rules, say fuck it to right and wrong, and do whatever the hell I want. A rebel with a cause . . . you.”

  At least that gets a warmer chuckle. “Aww, you’re sweet. But you’re no rebel, Mr. Hale.”

  “I could be,” I argue, knowing she’s right.

  “I could be too, but it’s not who we are. And I like who you are,” she tells me, and I can hear how much it scares her to admit that.

  “I like who you are too.” I sigh in resignation. “Okay, I’ve been waiting for you for weeks. Hell, longer that than if you count when I was looking for the mysterious figment of my imagination woman who’d get turned on by my reading Oprah’s Book Club books to her. I guess one more week without you won’t kill me.”

  “Still too soon,” she deadpans about the death joke. “What do we do? I don’t want to let you go. Not yet.”

  That’s enough to reassure me. “Get comfy and lie down in bed,” I tell Zoey.

  “Ooh, what are we doing?”

  She sounds excited, and I almost change my mind, but more than phone sex, Zoey needs—hell, I need—something normal, something us.

  “I’m going to read you to sleep, Miss Walker.”

  * * *

  Me: Hey, Jacob. Can you tell Zoey something for me?

  Jacob: Sure. Keep it clean though. She’s my sister-slash-mom and I don’t need to hear your dirty porn talk.

  Me: In the U.K., there was a seal couple, Sija and Babyface. They had too many babies (fire emoji . . . eggplant emoji . . . peach emoji) so they had to be separated. But their keepers didn’t want them to be sad (like me), so they set up iPads so the seals could keep in touch. It’s called . . . wait for it . . . SealTime. I miss you, Miss Walker.

  Jacob: Dude, do you really want me to read her all that? Can’t you just send a dick pic or something? I won’t look. Okay, I will. But I won’t laugh. Okay, I’ll do that too. But damn . . . that’s like a whole book.

  Me: Just do it. She’ll like it.

  Jacob: If you say so.

  My phone is quiet for a long two minutes while I stare at it, hoping Zoey likes the trivia tidbit and that it makes her feel how much I miss her. Just when I’m getting impatient, my phone finally dings again.

  Jacob: Wtf, man. You made her cry! Seals make her cry? I’ll get you for this, asshole.

  Me: Sorry, not sorry.

  Jacob: Whatever. Do seals really have . . . eggplant emoji . . . and . . . peach emoji?

  Me: No. But it was better than saying they were fucking like rabbits.

  Jacob: Shit. You did send me dirty talk. Worse that it was about cute, little, slippery seals.

  Me: Good night, Jacob.

  Jacob: Night, man. She’s smiling again, so I think she liked it, but you two are weird as shit.

  I send him a thumbs-up and set my phone down on the nightstand. This is torture. I haven’t read a single page in my book since I read with Zoey two nights ago. And the wood figurine I’ve started to think of as ‘hers’ is lying on the pillow too. It’s no substitute for Zoey, but it’s a sweet reminder.

  And now, every time I see wood, I get hard because it makes me think of Zoey.

  Fuck, I miss her, and this week can’t be over fast enough.

  * * *

  “Where’s our ringer?” Heather asks on Saturday at trivia night.

  The pain must show on my face, because her eyes, which are topped with red glitter shadow to match her talon red nails tonight, narrow as her whole face pinches in. “Oh, fuck, did you mess it up already? I liked her.”

  Cole must overhear Heather’s accusation because he yells, “Can I get Zoey’s number then? Maybe she’d feel up to wiping the floor with you. Trivia-wise, I mean.”

  He absolutely doesn’t mean with trivia, though I think he’d enjoy making us lose by any means possible. But his eyes never leave Heather as he asks for another woman’s phone number, and I think jealousy is his true goal.

  “We’re fine,” I tell them both. “We’ve got work stuff going on.” That’s as much detail as I can give considering it's a pending case.

  “Mmm-hmm,” Heather hums, her brows going up in disbelief. “Work stuff,” she echoes with the addition of finger quotes. “That’s what I tell guys when I’m giving them the brushoff.”

  Her mention of other guys seems to have the effect Cole was looking for with her because his face goes stone-still and he growls, “What other guys?”

  I wish they’d get their shit straight and just be together already. At least they could be. I can’t even see Zoey for another few days, and they’re over here fighting what they both so obviously want. Which is exactly what I tell them two hours later after a few too many celebratory rounds of beer that dissolve my filter into tattered nothingness.

  “You two should fuck already. Quit dancing around it when we all know you want each other.” I point back and forth from Heather to Cole with my beer glass in hand.

  “Shut up, man.” Trey shushes me, punching my shoulder too hard, which he shouldn’t do because he’s sober enough to know his own strength.

  Plus, he spilled my beer.

  “Hey! We’re all thinking it,” I argue, looking around to the whole trivia group who are mostly smiling.

  “Well, thanks for the game tonight, guys. Too bad we’ve got to be going,” Trey tells the table as he hoists me up.

  “What? I don’t want to go home yet.” I try to push him off me, but I only succeed in stumbling over my own feet. “Zoey’s not there . . . hiccup . . . so why bother?” I slur.

  “You are so fucking gone for her. Worse than I ever was with Serena.” Trey laughs as he helps me into the passenger seat of his car by shoving me in.

  “No way. You were a mess over her. Remember when you wrote her a poem and played the guitar? You don’t even know how to play the guitar!” I laugh so hard it turns into a cough and my eyes tear up.

  “I do play the guitar,” Trey replies grumpily.

  “Not well.”

  “Maybe,” he admits as he buckles his seatbelt and double-checks mine. But even drunk, I buckle up. I always buckle up.

  “Serena, Serena . . . will you be my queen-a?” I sing loud and off-key.

  Trey laughs. “Well, I couldn’t rhyme her name with hyena. I’d have never g
otten laid.”

  “Facts,” I deadpan, pointing my finger at him. “You’re smart, man. Tell me . . . what am I going to do?”

  “It’s two more days, Blake. Not forever. And you’ve been texting the woman every morning and night.”

  I shake my head, which is really not a good idea because the lights on the dash swirl with halos. “Not enough.”

  “Phone sex?” he suggests, and I consider it for a long moment.

  Zoey in her bed, touching herself as I tell her what to do, her voice in my ear telling me what to do as I jack off. But fuck, I’ve been doing that with my own imagination.

  “I need to see her.”

  “So sneak out and see her,” Trey says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

  “We should sneak out!” I say, just now coming up with the most brilliant idea ever.

  “Good idea,” Trey says flatly. He doesn’t get how genius I am.

  Tomorrow, Zoey and I are sneaking out because I need to see her, listen to her, hold her, taste her.

  “Inner voice, Blake. Not your outside voice,” Trey says nonsensically.

  Why’s he smiling?

  * * *

  The next night, I don’t remember a lot about trivia night. But I do remember my brilliant idea. The moon is now high in the dark sky, thankfully only a crescent that illuminates without making it so bright that any nosy people can see what I’m up to as I sneak into the trailer park. I park almost a half-mile away behind a dumpster and walk the rest of the way too, just to make sure no one can hear my car or see the headlights as I drive in.

  Under the cover of darkness, I duck down next to Zoey’s trailer when I see light flashing in the living room. That must be Jacob playing video games. I pull my phone out to text him, hissing when the light of the screen blinds me. I lower it down and look around frantically but sense no movement.

  Me: You up?

  The lights keep flashing, glowing a blue-tinted white as I hold my breath and wait impatiently. “No! You bush camping motherfucker!”

  I text him again.

  Me: Open the door.

  This time, there’s movement, and a few seconds later, the screen door opens slowly, letting out a creak that could wake the dead.

  “Blake?” Jacob whispers.

  “Shh!” I hiss, coming up the steps and pushing my way inside. “Shut the door!” I order, and though he raises his brows at me for the barked command, he does it.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks. “Aren’t you and Zo supposed to be staying apart until after court?”

  “Yeah, but . . .” I can’t explain it—especially not to him, since I barely understand it myself. “I need to see her.”

  Jacob looks over his shoulder toward Zoey’s bedroom. “You know this is against everything she believes. You’re asking for the bad luck gods to strike you down with lightning.”

  “I’m not her grandfather,” I tell him gently, knowing he lost the man too.

  He smirks, but there’s a haunted look in his eyes he’s trying to cover. “That was a test to see how much she’s told you. See if you know her history.”

  “I do. Just as importantly, I’d like to think I know her future. If you’ll let me by and she doesn’t freak out. I brought a coaster so she can touch wood for luck.”

  I reach in my back pocket and hold up one of the new coasters I bought for my living room to show him.

  “You brought a coaster?” he says, trying to be quiet while he laughs. It’s not working.

  “Shh! Yeah, I brought a coaster. That’s not weird. It helps Zo’s nerves if she can touch wood.”

  “Oh, I bet. On that note,” he says, grabbing his phone from the coffee table, “I’m going to Angelo’s to spend the night.”

  “Thanks, man.” I offer a hand, which he shakes firmly.

  “I’m going to make a production of it as cover. Then the only thing people will be talking about is little old hellion me. Not Zoey, for a change. But you need to be gone well before sunrise,” he warns. “Thelma and Louise get started on coffee around six, and by eight, they’ll have added a ‘wee dash of warmth’ to it.” He tips an imaginary bottle into his hand and then upends it, mimicking one for the cup and one for the gut. “Whisky.”

  “I got the hint. Thanks for the tip.”

  “Ready?” he asks, shooting me two thumbs up.

  Before I can answer, he stomps to the front door and pushes the screen open so it creaks loudly, then slams the wood door closed behind him. Outside, I hear him yell, “Angelo, I’m gonna whip your skinny ass, man. You left me alone in the Steamy Swamp while running off like a fucking newb for what? To go fishing for a purple SMG!”

  He keeps shouting as he gets further away, and I hear someone else grumpily tell him, “Jacob, shut the hell up!”

  I smile because his plan seems to have worked. Maybe a little too well because I hear footsteps behind me. I whirl just in time to see Zoey’s face go from ‘I’m going to murder that boy’ to ‘what the hell’ to ‘oh!’

  “Blake?” She rubs at her eyes disbelievingly and then realizes what she has on. More importantly, what she doesn’t have on . . . pants. Her sleep shirt barely reaches the tops of her thighs and her feet are covered in slouchy socks.

  No ice-cold toes, I think, even though I’d happily warm her up from head to toe right now. Fuck, I’ve missed her. Texting here and there through Jacob hasn’t been nearly enough.

  Not for me.

  I want to see her expressions as she tells me about her day, gross as it might be. I want to hear the things she’s learned, no matter how silly or obscure, because I’m fascinated by what she finds interesting. I want to lick her pulse at her neck when it skyrockets as I touch her body and give her pleasure.

  But she’s pulling at her shirt uncomfortably.

  “Hey, Zo.” I keep my voice even and calm, holding my hands out as though she might attack me.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispers snappishly. “This is totally against the rules!”

  The reminder probably seems warranted, but I’m beyond caring at this point. For her, I truly have become a rebel who will throw caution to the wind and break rules if they don’t suit me.

  I cross the room in three strides, backing her up against the wood-paneled wall. “I missed you.” And then, just in case she’s had any backslide and gotten unsure about us, I remind her why everything about us works with a kiss.

  My lips meld over hers as I breathe her in. She freezes beneath me for a moment in which my heart stutters, afraid something has changed. But then she goes liquid, letting me invade. I explore her mouth with my tongue and suck at hers enticingly when she explores mine in return.

  I pull at her shirt, perhaps a bit too roughly because I feel the thin cotton give way to my desire. Zoey doesn’t object, just pulls me toward the narrow length of counter in the kitchen, the two of us twisting and turning, almost dancing, until I have her right where we need to be.

  She hops up, her delectable ass perched on the edge as I pull myself out, already rock hard and aching. I grip my cock tightly at the base, my free hand reaching for my wallet, but Zoey stops me.

  “Now, please. I’m safe.”

  I grip her jaw, forcing her unfocused eyes to mine. “Zo?” I need her to be sure. I’ve been inside her, know the heaven she holds, but if I feel her with nothing between us, there will be no going back for either of us. Ever.

  There’s already no going back, my mind whispers. That’s true, but this is a very precise, specific showing of that, and she has to understand what she’s offering if I’m going to take her raw.

  She twists her head in my hand, kissing the pad of my thumb before swirling her tongue there. “Yes.” The word is as clear as her eyes suddenly are. She knows. She understands.

  My thumb still in her mouth, I lean into her, crowding her until I pin her shoulders against the upper cabinets and her head falls back to the fake wood with a soft thud. I take my thumb back, pulling her
panties to the side to rub her own saliva over her clit before gathering her juices to spread them over her pussy as well.

  She writhes, her body arching into my touch as I trace my hands roughly up her body to cup her breasts. She pulls the torn sleep shirt up and off, her hair falling freely over her shoulders, to give me better access. I’m not willing to let go of her for long enough to remove my own shirt, so I just shove the hem over my head. Zoey’s hands immediately cover my chest, her short nails digging into my muscles.

  For once, I let go of my safe side. I thrust, both of us gasping as my cock slides deep into her. What’s better than heaven? I have a ridiculously vast vocabulary but don’t have words to describe this. Whatever it is, I’m feeling beyond-heaven right now. I grunt as I grind inside her, needing to feel every inch of her silky, wet walls grip me.

  “Fuck, I need you,” I growl, pulling back and slamming home again. Zoey’s hands move to my biceps, gripping me tightly in encouragement. Her every stuttered gasp is music to my ears.

  “Yes . . . I . . . you . . .” She moans between each driving stroke, but her words float away too.

  There’s no more space for words, for thoughts, for feelings. There’s no time in between panting breaths and hard slaps of our bodies.

  Despite all of our combined intelligence, we’re animals, primal beings at our core, and we hungrily unleash on each other. I claim her with every hammering plunge, and she returns in force, mashing her lips against mine, combining our breaths. Her noises get higher pitched, almost keening, and I feel myself swell, trembling on the edge.

  Sensing my impending orgasm, she bites my lower lip sharply. The pain pulls me back for a thrust, then a second, and a third as her legs lock around my back to pull me in tightly. With a final hard stroke, I explode deep inside her, my cock pulsing and both of us crying out as hard, knee-quaking orgasms rip through us simultaneously.

  I lay my head against hers, panting with exertion as she holds me, her breath coming in shuddering hitches. “Blake.”

  “You’re mine,” I pant, unable to stop my words. “No rule can change that. I’ll break them all, time after time, no matter the consequences. You’re mine, Zoey Walker.”