The Complete P.S. Series

by Renshaw, Winter

  “Sutter,” she says my name harder this time, louder too.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” I hold up a finger as Klay Thompson shoots a three-pointer with a stolen ball. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  I rise from the chair, pumping my fist in the air before heading to the kitchen to grab another beer during a commercial break … which I promptly realize is a big mistake the second I’m back.

  “I don’t know why she said she liked the Chanel bag when she really didn’t,” the British lady says, her face taking up my giant TV screen. “It’s no skin off my back. If you don’t like something, you should be honest about it for goodness sakes. But if she can’t even be honest about her marriage, how can I expect her to be honest about a handbag, darling?”

  The woman laughs, fluttering her giant fake eyelashes and brushing her shiny dark hair off her shoulders.

  Glancing toward Melrose, I find her curled up on the end of the sofa, remote clenched in her manicured little hand, a fashion magazine butterflied across her chest.

  “So we’re doing this?” I sit my beer on the coffee table and rest my hands on my hips, my fingertips digging into my flesh. “We’re actually doing this?”

  “Doing what?” Her nose wrinkles. She might be an actress, but I can tell she’s playing dumb.

  I sigh, but I’m not giving up. “There’s a game on TV. An extremely important game. And I’m missing it right now.”

  “Don’t you have a TV in your room?” she asks.

  “Nope,” I say. “This is my TV. And it’s the only one in the house. I’m sure your little housewives show will be on again this week. My game on the other hand? Kind of a one-time thing.”

  “Yeah, well I checked, and they aren’t rerunning these episodes until Thursday, and I have an audition Thursday …”

  “Yeah, well, that really sucks for you, doesn’t it?” I reach down and swipe the remote clean out of her hand.

  Her jaw falls and I plop into the chair, switching the channel back to where it belongs.

  Cavs are up again.

  Jesus H. Christ, this girl is bad luck.

  Melrose swipes the remote back. “What are you, twelve?”

  “Nope. Not twelve. Just a guy who wants to watch a basketball game on his TV.”

  “This might have been how you and Nick handled things, but this isn’t going to work with me,” she says. “All you had to do was ask nicely and I might have considered it. Instead you were a giant asshole, and that is why you won’t be watching your little game.”

  I reach for the remote, but she holds it back, out of my reach, and then she changes the channel.

  I stand up, towering over her. “Come on. Give it back.”

  She takes a seat on the couch—my seat—and her attention moves toward the screen.

  “Don’t ignore me,” I say. “Come on. Let’s stop playing this stupid game. We’re both adults. This is ridiculous.”

  “You’re absolutely right, Sutter,” she says, still bestowing her attention upon a British woman who’s basically making out with her Pomeranian on the screen. “This is ridiculous.”

  My hands rest on my hips. “And?”

  “And the only viable solution to this little predicament is for you to go up the street to that sports bar on the corner and watch your game there.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s not like I can walk in and ask them to turn the station to Bravo,” she says. And I know she’s right, but it still doesn’t change the fact that her show plays on repeat 24/7 as well as on demand, but my game is live once and only once.

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I pull in a hard breath and let it go.

  “Hey, can you move to the side a bit?” she asks, waving her hand as she squints. “You’re blocking the TV.”

  I don’t budge.

  Instead I stand here, debating whether or not I’m going to stoop to an all-time low in the form of falling on my knees and begging her to hand over the remote.

  The thought of missing out on Curry and Thompson doing their thing turns my blood into lava and makes my heart slam in my chest.

  “God. Fine.” Melrose rises, tossing the remote onto the sofa. It bounces before falling to the ground. “If you’re going to keep standing there looking like a sad puppy dog, I won’t be able to enjoy my show anyway, so take it.”

  I turn, instantly offended. “I don’t look like a sad puppy dog.”

  Melrose laughs through her nose, her full lips curling at the ends. “You so do.”

  I scoff as I step toward her. As much as I want to watch this game, now it feels like a consolation prize, a pity present. It doesn’t feel like I earned it fair and square, it feels like she’s caving in to me the way an exhausted mother caves in to a toddler who wants to eat mac and cheese for the eighth dinner in a row.

  “Aren’t you going to watch your game?” She points to the remote, which is lying face down on the wood floor.

  It’s almost half-time, which means I’ve got plenty of time to prove a point before she scampers off and does whatever the hell she does when she’s holed up in her room—practicing for auditions or texting Nick or whatever.

  “You know I’m messing with you.” Melrose winks, dragging her hands through her blonde hair and gathering it into a messy bun on top of her head. Sliding a hair tie from her wrist, she secures it into place as the hem of her tank top rides up and exposes the soft flesh of her tan belly, and once again my attention lingers and my body betrays me until she promptly tugs it back into place. “Jesus. Can you stop checking me out for more than two seconds at a time?”

  “No clue what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.” She rolls her eyes. “Anyone ever tell you your nose twitches when you lie?”

  God, I could punish the hell out of her right now, but I’d do it with a kiss.

  I’d trace my thumb along that pout of hers before owning that smart mouth. I’d wait until she melts against me, until she completely surrenders, and then I’d walk away, leaving her with nothing but the need for more.

  Talk about torture.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks. My gaze lifts from her pillowy lips to her blue eyes.

  “Just thinking.”

  “About what?” she asks. “Or do I even want to know …”

  “You don’t want to know,” I say.

  Her arms fold across her chest. “You’re thinking dirty thoughts about me. I can tell because you were staring at my mouth but you were completely zoned out.”

  I’m speechless for a second.

  “Told you I can read people,” she says. “Knowing body language is part of my job.”

  “Fine.” My hands hook on my hips. “You want to know what I was thinking? I was thinking about what it’d be like to kiss you—but before you go jumping to conclusions, I don’t like you. Not like that. I just think you’re really fucking sexy despite the fact that you’re the biggest fucking pain in my side, and I—”

  My words are silenced with a kiss.

  No.

  No, no, no.

  This is not the way it was supposed to happen.

  Her mouth is cashmere and her tongue tastes like strawberry gum. There’s a slight buckle to my knees and I don’t think I could stop kissing her if I tried.

  My hand cups the underside of her jaw, my fingers threading the hair at the nape of her neck.

  The silkiest moan escapes her mouth as she lifts her arms around my shoulders and presses her soft body against mine.

  I run my hands along her sides, cupping her ass as we stumble backwards, into the sofa. Melrose crawls into my lap, coming up for air before returning her lips to mine. The bulge in my pants hardens as she grinds and circles her hips, and while my head is trying its best to talk me out of this, the rest of me wants to take her right here, right now because I’ve never been so fucking hard in my entire life.

  “For the record, I can’t stand you,” she whispers between
the ravenous kisses coming from her greedy mouth. “You're lucky you're hot.”

  “The feeling’s more than mutual.” I tug on the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head, and she does the same for me.

  There’s no stopping this train now that it’s left the station.

  Unclasping her bra, I cup her soft breasts in my hands before lowering my mouth to a single pert nipple. Swirling my tongue around the sensitive bud, Melrose slips her fingers through my hair before gathering a fistful, like she’s angry at herself for wanting this.

  My cock pulses and I reach for her jean shorts, unhooking the button and pushing them down her hips, dragging her lace panties with them in the process. When she returns to my lap, the scent of her sweet arousal fills my lungs, and the overwhelming urge to taste her takes over.

  Changing positions, I place her on her back and lower myself between her thighs. Slipping a finger between her wet folds, her stomach caves and she releases a breathy sigh. A moment later, my tongue drags the length of her seam, tasting her sweetness as she writhes in response.

  A half hour ago I’d have never dreamed this scenario into life, but here we are, against all odds.

  She’s a flickering flame that I have to touch, even if I know damn well I’m going to get burned. Fires are hot and unpredictable, but sometimes a man craves that heat. Needs that heat.

  I devour Melrose like she’s my last meal on earth, my palms skirting up the sides of her body, tracing her curves before stopping at her swollen breasts.

  I could stay here all night, like this, her honeyed taste on my tongue, the addictive scent of her arousal filling my lungs and her body surrendering, but my cock is swelling harder by the second, and patience has never been my virtue. Rising, I grab a rubber from a coffee table drawer before unzipping my jeans.

  “You sure you want to do this?” I ask before ripping the foil between my teeth.

  Melrose drags her straight white teeth along her rosy red lips and offers a delirious nod. “For some insane reason … I do.”

  Shoving my boxer briefs down, I sheath myself before taking a seat on the couch and reaching for her hand. Pulling her into my lap, I then cup her face, directing her mouth where I want it to go as she lowers herself onto my cock one slow inch at a time.

  I take back what I said about women who are perfect on the outside being ugly on the inside … Melrose is sheer flawlessness on the inside. Soft and wet and tight.

  Brushing my lips across hers, I grip her hips as they circle and rise and fall, pushing her deeper each time she comes down. I want to fill every fucking inch of her as hard and deep and fast as I can.

  “Harder,” I whisper into her ear as my fingers dig gently into her soft flesh. “Like you can’t fucking stand me.”

  Tossing her head back, Melrose rides my cock, her tits bouncing with each impalement. Had I known she was going to feel this amazing, I might have taken a slightly different approach the moment I first saw her.

  The whole roommate/fuck buddy thing could get ugly and messy and complicated, but for pussy this sweet, it just might be worth it.

  My thumb traces the underside of her jaw, directing her mouth back to mine and tasting that bee-stung mouth of hers all over again.

  The game plays in the background, the third quarter tip off, but for the first time, I’m not concerned about Curry or Thompson because Claiborne here has my full and complete attention.

  15

  Melrose

  My palms surround my coffee cup at the Riverwalk coffee shop Monday morning. My cousin Maritza should be here any minute, which is good because I need a distraction since I can’t stop thinking about yesterday and the insanity that transpired in the living room.

  Sutter was gone when I woke up this morning, already at work.

  And while I should be thinking about how weird it was to sleep with him last night and how potentially complicated this could get, all I’m thinking about is how good it was.

  No.

  Good is an understatement. It's too generic for what that was.

  Mind-blowing? Amazing? Earth-rocking? Out of this world incredible?

  Last night deserves all the heart-eyes and praise-hand emoji’s.

  Unlike most twenty something guys, he actually knew what he was doing. He didn’t treat me like a blowup doll, didn’t avoid eye contact. He didn’t get his rocks off and ditch me the second it was over. Instead we sort of collapsed on top of each other and he wrapped his arms around me—not in a romantic sort of way, but in a relaxed, that-was-so-good-I-can’t-move-so-I’ll-hold-you-for-a-while kind of way.

  I don’t want to give him too much credit, but he might be the best lay I’ve ever had …

  Of course I’d never tell him that. His head’s already big enough.

  And who knows? Maybe it all boiled down to the fact that neither of us like each other so there was no pressure to impress? We were just two savage, sexual beings going at it the way nature intended.

  True, unadulterated no-strings sex.

  I take a sip of coffee as the bells on the coffee shop door jangle, and in walks my cousin, peeling a pair of giant sunglasses off her face as she grins. Her dark waves bounce on her shoulders and her hands are stretched in my direction. I rise, wrapping my arms around her. The two of us grew up as only children and she’s the only cousin I have on my dad’s side. In a way, we’re more like sisters than cousins.

  It feels weird meeting up with her every once in a while, when we used to see each other every single day, and yet living with her almost feels like a lifetime ago.

  “So what’s new?” she asks, sitting down after she orders a coffee.

  “Same old,” I say, sipping my coffee. “Auditioning like crazy. Actually have one right after this for some headache medicine commercial my agent found.”

  “Still taking classes?”

  “Always. Have to hone my craft,” I say with a wink. And it’s true. If there’s anything Gram taught me, it’s to stay humble and never assume your talent has reached its pinnacle. No matter how good you think you are, you can always be better.

  “So how’s the roommate thing going?”

  I roll my eyes and feel a smile attempting to emerge, but I glance down and fight it off.

  “What?” she asks. “What is that face?”

  “Nothing.” My eyes narrow.

  “No. You made a face. What is it? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I say it harder, as if it could possibly bear more weight that way. “He’s just really annoying and I was thinking of something he did and it made me laugh.”

  “Annoying like how? And what’d he do?”

  “Just … he just … I don’t know …”

  Maritza leans closer. “Why are you tripping over your words? That’s not like you.”

  “You’re putting me on the spot,” I say.

  “Oh my god, you slept with him.” Her hand covers her mouth and she chokes back a laugh.

  “What? Why would you automatically jump to that?”

  “Because I know you. And because I can tell. The way you’re acting. It’s all over your face,” she says. She may not have been bitten by the acting bug, but Gram made sure she, too, knew how to read people.

  “It’s a life skill,” she’d always say.

  I palm my drink. “It was a one-time thing. It’s not going to happen again.”

  I can’t lie to her anyway. She knows all my ‘tells.’ She knows when my eyebrows twitch or my nose crinkles or I’m looking to the left too much.

  “You’ve only lived with him for what, a week or two?”

  “I know. I know,” I say.

  “Don’t you think that’s going to make things weird? You still have, like, six months together, right?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Everything you’re saying out loud are all the things I’ve already thought. No need to lecture.”

  “I’m not lecturing,” she says. “This isn’t like you. I’m intrigued, I guess. How does something lik
e that happen? You hate casual sex.”

  I shake my head. “We were fighting over a remote and one thing led to another.”

  Her head cocks. “You were fighting over a remote and then you had sex? Just like that?”

  “I know how it sounds.” I scan the coffee shop, desperate for a distraction or a familiar face I can scamper off and say ‘hi’ to, anything. “Anyway, so how’s Isaiah?”

  My transition is bumpy at best, but I don’t care. I have to change the subject. I don’t want to talk about the thing that’s been on my mind since the moment it happened. I’m still trying to figure out what the hell it means and what it’s going to mean going forward, and I can’t do that with my cousin hurling a million questions at me a minute.

  She pulls in a breath and lets it go. “He deploys again in a few weeks, so we’re trying to spend as much time together as possible.”

  “How is that different from any other time?” I ask, wrapping my palms around my coffee, grateful for the new topic. “You two are inseparable.”

  Her lips wear a dopey, teenager-in-love grin. “Yeah. I guess we kind of are.”

  Everything about Maritza glows, like it has from the moment that boy showed up in her life. I’ve never met two people so different yet so right for each other. Honestly, they bring out the best in each other and I couldn’t be happier for the two of them.

  “How’s school going?” I ask.

  “Same. Oh! Did Gram tell you? I finally quit Brentwood Pancake and Coffee,” she says. “End of an era. Miss my coworkers, but I don’t miss having to argue with every single customer who thinks they need more than one pancake and that the posted rules don’t apply to them.”

  “I never did understand that,” I say.

  We finish our coffee, gossiping about Gram and her new guy “friend” who happens to send her flowers every Friday and make her giggle like a schoolgirl. Ever since the two of us moved out of the guesthouse, he seems to be coming around more. Or at least that's what Maritza heard from one of Gram’s neighbors.

  Checking my watch a while later, I exhale. “I should get going. Need to let Murphy out and get ready for that audition.”