At 4:23 I sat up and blinked into my laptop’s screen. I smiled. My favorite scene was happening in Splendor in the Grass but I happily turned it off to reach for my phone.
You still awake?
Come on up, I replied.
I put the computer on the floor and stood, gathering the comforter around me. My legs functioned almost normally as I crossed the room, but my hands shook a bit when I undid the deadbolt and unhooked the chain.
Pressing my ear to the door’s cool surface, I waited. For several moments all I could hear was my heartbeat. It was strong enough to make the door vibrate. Or maybe the door had a heartbeat and it was pounding against my chest, keeping my own heart company. My fingers stroked the smooth wood panel, trying to detect the woodgrain’s veins beneath layers of paint.
I pulled back when the panel actually shook beneath my cheek. Wyatt was coming up the stairs. I licked my lips and pressed my cool hand to my jittering belly.
“It’s me,” he said. I peered out the peephole, not because I wanted to double check it was him, but because I wanted to see him.
His face was cast down so all I could see was the top of his head. His hair was messy—the cowlick at the top of his skull made the golden-grain waves look ripple-ish under the carriage house’s exterior light. He had his backpack slung over his shoulder. I hoped he wasn’t planning on studying.
I opened the door. Fast enough to surprise him, I guess, because he took a jolting step backward. The landing swayed and rocked underneath him.
“Shit!” he gasped.
I grabbed his flailing arm and tugged him inside. We both turned to look at the rickety framework of the stairs, clutching each other as if we were expecting to see it topple down in some kind of spectacular crashing heap.
Nothing happened. No toppling. My heartbeat was now a deep bass thump in my chest, pumping my body with adrenaline. “You might have to leave via the window and drainpipe,” I said shakily.
“Yeah. Or…” He stepped away from the door, pulling me with him. After the door was safely shut, he leaned against it and looked down at me. His teeth gleamed blue-white in the computer’s shifting light.
“Or?”
“Or we might be trapped here. Forever.” He drew out the word ominously.
Trapped here forever with Wyatt Kelly. Didn’t sound so bad. In fact, it sounded so not-bad that I had to fist my fingers to keep from grabbing his head and pulling it down to mine so I could kiss him for all eternity. Yes, those were the kind of thoughts running through my head. Oh God.
He dropped his backpack and put his hands on me, using my hips as handles to steer me close. The skin along my legs jittered as it brushed against the soft, worn fabric of his jeans. I was wearing boxers and a T-shirt—thin barriers I wanted to disappear. I curled my toes against the floor and closed my eyes.
Firm lips brushed my temple. “What?” he whispered. His lips traveled lower, grazing the crest of my cheekbone. “If the stairs collapse, we’ll get the bros to rent a cherry-picker. It’ll be the event of the term.”
“Maybe the year,” I said. I pushed away flannel shirttails and fitted my palms against the slope of his lower back.
“Mmm.” He nuzzled the skin beneath my ear and my shoulder rose involuntarily—a defense against the tickle of warm, nibbling lips. I pressed my face against his chest and giggle-snorted.
“I brought clean clothes,” he said. “I need to use your shower because I smell like swill.”
I laughed some more. “Such a smooth talker.”
He pulled back a little and smiled down at me. “I only say this because you smell so great.”
“I took a shower earlier. That’s what you do after you wallow around on the floor of the Fenton House basement.”
“See? You know the procedure.”
My breath hitched when his hands rode the curve of my butt. A firm squeeze and the hitch turned into a gasp. I paid him back by dipping my fingers under the waistband of his briefs. The skin along his back contracted and my fingertips zinged with power. I went back for another dip…
“Wanna shower again?” His whisper whuffled against my earlobe. My turn to shiver.
“Um…”
“C’mon. For the last two hours I’ve been wallowing in hell. Craving wet and slick and soapy. Craving you.”
Okay, so maybe he was a smooth talker.
He twined his fingers in mine and pulled me toward the bathroom. I happily followed.
The bathroom needed a gut job. But who cared about cracked vinyl flooring and bad grout when you had a big beautiful guy taking up almost every square inch of the space?
The single place in the room suitable for standing—not counting the narrow shower stall—was being occupied by us. Us, as in a single unit. Me standing in front of the sink, gazing into the medicine cabinet mirror and Wyatt behind me, his hands clasped together across my naked belly, his front pressed tightly to my back. Super tight. As if the crisp hair that rode down the center of his chest and torso was becoming a part of my skin, and his muscles—pectorals, abdominals, hips—were being melded to mine. His cock was a hot, hard necessary presence against the slope of my butt and my lower back, filling curves and convexities that needed filling.
We belonged like this. I could tell because it felt so good, so right, like finding that periwinkle world I’d always wanted to wake up to, like knowing the rumble of this person’s heartbeat and breaths was the fuel that could fire my pistons until I became a beautiful machine that could go anywhere, do anything.
His lips were exploring the spot between my neck and my shoulder (he’d explored this spot thoroughly before, but apparently it was fascinating enough that it merited another go) and I loved the way his messy hair gleamed. I abruptly decided I didn’t hate the horrible overhead light anymore. It made Earp look like a golden-skinned god. Okay, maybe that wasn’t just the light.
I gasped when he moved his hand and spread his fingers, dipping into the quivery-shivery space below my belly, tickling my pelvic bone before delving into the moist heat between my legs.
“Oh,” I breathed. “Wow.” I didn’t know where to center my attention—his tongue traveling along my neck, igniting every nerve ending until it flailed and performed a worshipful fire dance, or his hand and its clever long fingers that were finding all the spots that made me inhale sharp breaths and exhale low moans over and over until I was dizzy.
In the mirror my eyes belonged to an exotic stranger—shot through with midnight, wide and fascinated. Wyatt’s hair and skin and sleek contours were wonderfully familiar and they grounded me, making me aware that the stranger in this dreamy scene was actually me.
I raised my arms—I’d been gripping the edge of the cold sink too hard—and I reached behind me to grab blindly for warm, tensile man.
When he shivered, a series of tiny quakes traveled through the skin along my back, shaking my insides and then fluttering into all the good places his hands were ministering to along my front.
He raised his head, meeting my gaze in the mirror. “You’re so gorgeous,” he rasped, the words a sweet vibration against my cheek. “Feel so good.” His hands slid gently upward, covering my bruises, tickling the bumps of my ribs, before cupping my breasts. My nipples jutted a needy hello toward the moist skin of his palms.
I moaned some more, sensation knocking me for a loop-di-loop.
His cock twitched in its tight cocoon between our bodies.
“Better get in the shower.” I felt his smile against my ear. “Things could get messy.”
Laughing, I reached past the curtain hanging in front of the shower stall. “I like how you make messes all happy and spurty.”
“That’s cuz you’re a goofball.”
“Your fault,” I told him, adjusting the temp of the water, enjoying the way our bodies had made a slippery sheen so we could slide together as we moved.
He stepped under the spray and drew me into the already steamy space. “Just like it’s your fault if I make a happy spurty mess.”
“I’ll take the rap for that.” We faced each other, front-to-interesting-front. I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him as water poured over his head.
He gripped my hips, tugging me against him with a needy groan. Shampoo and soap hadn’t entered the equation yet, but he tasted and smelled perfect to me and I loved the way his lips and tongue slid over mine as hot and sleek and invigorating as the water.
Our hands were like happy otters as they played over each other, finding a whole bunch of excellent places to slide and glide, bumps and valleys and slips and dips.
When Wyatt’s hips jerked hard and he exhaled a particularly sexy groan—“Oh, shiiiiit…oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!”—I gripped his cock, sliding my thumb over the slick head, experiencing the miracle of a happy-spurt.
Before I could giggle in sheer exuberance, or groan in blissful empathy, or congratulate him on his impressive feat, he pushed me against the wall, his mouth moving over mine as if it was kiss-starved and absolutely dying for attention. This wasn’t the case—I’d been kissing him madly for a good twenty minutes—but it was sexy as hell and when he slicked his hand across my hip and between my legs, I kissed him back with equal enthusiasm. The honey bomb that had been gearing up for detonation in my lower belly exploded—ka-boooom!—and I held on to him hard, knowing Earp would protect me, help me ride through the delicious aftershocks.
Later, when we’d run out of hot water and energy, we sprawled on the futon, our limbs as floppy as well-cooked linguine. Felt good to be linguine. Moist and flushed and thoroughly bubbled. As if I’d had a rubdown at the finest spa in the world.
Wyatt Kelly’s Night Spa. The Linguine al Dente treatment.
I giggled. For the eightieth time tonight. I’d achieved an all-time giggle-per-hour record, I was pretty sure.
“What?” Wyatt brought our meshed hands up to his lips and kissed my knuckles.
“Nothin’.”
“Gotta be somethin’.” I felt his lips curve against my skin.
“Nope. Doesn’t gotta be.”
“You’re right.” He sighed. A happy sound.
He brought our hands down to his chest and, after a few moments, I could swear his thud-thudding heart was speaking to my hand…telling it to move, to touch and explore. I wanted to obey the command but I didn’t want to let go of his hand, so I rolled to my side, using my elbow as a prop so I could look down at his drowsy features.
“Ha,” I said. “I have another hand.” My fingertips played a jazzy rhythm down the center of his torso.
“Yeah. You do.” He cracked his eyelids. Looked at me from between his lashes. Grinned.
I could see all this because it was dawn and newborn sunrays were washing the futon with pale light.
My fingers’ jazz riff continued, zipping down the treasure trail bisecting his belly, stopping for a few tender notes around the satiny skin surrounding his belly button before playing a tune around the base of his cock.
“Careful,” Wyatt murmured. “Don’t wake the beast before he’s ready.”
I snorted, not feeling particularly threatened. The beast was definitely of the friendly variety. In my experience so far, anyway.
I ran my fingernails down the drowsing shaft of flesh. Interesting terrain here, resting or rarin’-to-go. A trove of textures and shapes. Sleek satin interrupted by thick veins. Mushroomy head topped with a slick slit. All nestled against a crinkle-skinned hairy sac that could really only be described as goofy. I mean, c’mon. What a thing to carry around a couple of balls in. I giggled again.
“Hey, hey,” my bed partner rasped, capturing my hand. His eyes stayed closed. “No giggling while touching the beast.” His lips twitched. “Shit’s not right.”
I licked the penny-colored skin around his nipple in apology.
His free hand came up to play with my hair, smoothing a hank away from my cheek before tucking it around my ear. I leaned into the touch. I’d never get enough. I’d had my suspicions before, but I knew it for sure now. His eyes opened, his irises forest-dark in the dim light. He smiled and my stomach tingled as if I’d swallowed a jug of frothy bubbles.
“C’mere,” he said, tilting his chin, parting his lips. I leaned in and made the requested kiss, a little bit of tongue, a little bit of bite.
His big hand cupped my jaw as he deepened the kiss. My elbow collapsed and, in a slick-smooth motion (my boy had some body-knockin’ skillz) he was on top of me. His groan was deep and the rumble made everything tingle from the tops of my feet to the spot where our lips connected.
“What time you gotta go to work again?” he mumbled. My spine arched as he traced the tendon between my ear and shoulder with the tip of his talented tongue.
“Seven.”
“Shit.”
“Is the beast a morning kind of guy?” I asked.
Wyatt laughed. Laughter, apparently, made the beast wake up faster.
I wriggled against him. “Does he like to wake up slow, or he is one of those annoying-as-hell morning-type creatures?”
“I have my suspicions. But let’s experiment and see…”
Didn’t take much experimenting to discover that Wyatt’s beast woke up damn fast. A few brief strokes and he was ready to roar.
I bit my lip. I wanted to taste him again. But I wanted other things too.
“Earp,” I said.
“Yeah,” he breathed. I loved the way I could make him respond with my touches. Not just the stuff on the outside of his gorgeous body—flushed skin, hard nipples, ravening beast—but the stuff inside too. His heartbeat, the rate of his breath, the darkness of his eyes.
“Are you feeling heroic today?”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “Pretty fucking heroic, actually.”
“Good.” I nuzzled his neck. Now was not the time to be shy. “Do you have any condoms?”
He inhaled. His dick twitched in my hand. “I do,” he breathed.
“Let’s get this virginity crap done, then. Can’t do it on my own.”
His laughter created interesting reverberations in my midsection.
“I might have to watch this Wyatt Earp movie of yours. This is the kind of heroism I can totally get behind.”
“We can watch it for sure. Multiple versions, even. Just not now, okay?” My need for him was a throb that wouldn’t quit. It was in my head, my hands, my belly, my toes.
He laughed again. “Okay. On it.” He scrambled from the bed and crawled toward his backpack. I drew the comforter up to my chin, enjoying the view of Earp’s muscles working in gorgeous unison as he retrieved a baggie from the front pocket of his pack.
My turn to laugh. “A baggie of them?”
He shrugged. If the light had been brighter I knew I’d see a blush on his face. “There’s a communal supply at the house. The baggie keeps them from going everywhere in my pack.”
“Smart,” I said. “Fastidious.”
“You giving me shit at a time like this, Fayette?” He lowered his voice to a bad-guy growl and stared at me through narrowed eyes. Then he laughed. He made a much better hero than villain.
“Bring ’em here,” I commanded, throwing off the comforter.
Wyatt crawled toward me, back to making an effort with the narrowed eyes. Again, the effect was ruined. This time by the stiff, enthusiastically bobbing cock between his legs. As soon as he was close enough for me to get my hands on him, I tackled him. He landed on his back beside me with an “oof!”
I ran my hands over his chest, his collarbones, his upper arms. He was chilly just from that brief foray from beneath the covers. His gaze was not chilly. At all. His pupils were molten black, his irises vibrant green. I leaned in to kiss him and he gathered me close, cupping my ass with big, warm hands as he opened his mouth for my tongue. “You taste…” I nibbled his lip. “So good.”
“Mmm. So do you.”
Unfortunately, if I was kissing him, that meant I was too distracted to get the condom on him. I reluctantly pulled away. I found the baggie and opened it. I read the small, square package for a condom, enticed by the words “lubricated” and “ribbed”.
“You want me to do it?” he asked. “I’m the hero, right?”
“You’re definitely the hero,” I told him. “And you’re going to be heroically patient—no coming, no begging—while I take my time with this.”
“Got it.” He bit his lip. Closed his eyes.
I was giving him shit. I wanted to go super-fast. I couldn’t wait to feel him inside me, moving, thrusting, working against the incessant, needy throb that kept getting stronger. Obliterating it. Exploding it into heavenly kingdom come.
I ripped open the plastic pack with my teeth and tossed the wrapper and the baggie next to the futon. Maneuvering carefully, watching all of his lip bites and chest heaves and fist clenchings, I unrolled the latex over his cock.
His sex—the crown, the shaft, the contours and veins and ridges, all of it—was the most alive thing I’d ever felt in my life. I didn’t really want to cover it in rubber, but now wasn’t the time to discuss safe sex. Now wasn’t the time to discuss anything.
I straddled his hips. His eyes shot open as I gently pulled his cock toward me.
“Use it,” he said.
I raised my brows, breathing so hard I was lightheaded.
“Use it to make yourself feel good. It’ll feel good for me too.”
He put his big hand over mine, guiding the head of his cock toward my entrance. He rubbed it against my labia, gathering moisture before moving up to my clit.
“Oh fuck,” I said, letting my head fall back. Earp knew what the hell he was doing.
I let him guide the movement—up, down and around—again and again until I was on the thinnest, most incredible edge of coming. “Inside,” I breathed. “Now. Please.”
I eased up onto my knees, put my hands on his shoulders. He closed his eyes again, a furrow forming between his eyebrows as he took deep, slow breaths. Control was an honest-to-God battle he was determined to win. I loved him for it.
When his hands dropped away I knew it was because he wanted me to guide the speed and the motion of what would come next.
“Ray,” he gasped, opening his eyes.
“Yeah?” My head was spinning. I concentrated on the heat in his eyes.
“I want to kiss you. When I’m inside. When we’re connected. Okay?”
I licked the salt from my lips and nodded. He’d said the right thing. I wanted kissing badly and the idea of it distracted me from concentrating too damn hard on what was happening between my legs. I put his dick where we both wanted it to go and sank down while his hips gently thrust upward. I gasped.
“Okay?” His hands were on my waist, his grip hard, but good. Reassuring. We were in this together.
“Yeah. Burns a little.”
“Shit.” He bit his lip. “Shit.”
“Don’t bail on me now, dude.”
He smiled. “Never.”
“Let’s do this.”
“Fuck yeah.” He winked. Winked. The bastard. I giggled and he tightened his grip on my hips and started thrusting.
Not especially slow or gentle. His control was slipping and I was still feeling some pinch and burn, but it was okay. The look of blissed-out awesomeness on his face was worth it.
And when he started doing new and amazing things with his hands, finding my nipples and my clit and sparking crazy-good pleasure sensors in my needy-greedy skin, I didn’t care about pinching or burning anymore.
“One question and then you gotta kiss me.”
I nodded, biting my lip, grinding my hips in time to his not-so-steady thrusts.
“Where I’m touching you right now…” He slowed the circling motion he was making on my breasts and between my legs. “You like that?”
I nodded.
He smiled and I knew I’d remember that particular sexy twist of his lips the next thousand times he smiled at me. “Okay. Good. Another question. Sorry.”
“I forgive you.”
“Harder or softer?”
“Don’t care,” I said. “Just keep touching me.” I captured his face in my hands, leaned forward and kissed him.
He groaned into my mouth. I groaned back into his. Matching the thrust of my tongue with the thrust of our hips was insanely satisfying. Jesus. This was the way to French kiss.
In the next three seconds I reached the saturation point. Every touch turned into one big blob of bliss and the giant spool of pleasure he’d been winding inside me unraveled.
I lifted my head, trying to breathe through the climax ripping through me. I hollered something crazy and incoherent.
Earp was bucking beneath me. He was big and ferocious inside me. Right as I started to feel the uncomfortable burn again, his hips froze. He inhaled sharply. Exhaled slowly. His hips moved again, jerking, shuddering thrusts. His arms flailed like he was struggling. I suspected it was a good struggle from the groans he was making, but I reached for his hands and married our palms, holding his arms down on the futon so he didn’t bop me or himself in the face. I wanted to help him through the storm the way he’d helped me.
I knew he was easing off his orgasmic wave when his fingers flexed against mine and he opened his eyes.
I smiled down at him. He laughed, eyes shining.
I kept smiling. I would have kept doing it for a while—a few hours maybe. But my thighs ached and my arms were quivering and, oh God, I needed to lie down.
“Here,” he said, releasing my hands to hold my waist and help me off. As our bodies disconnected, the condom did a weird squooge-y thing that made us both giggle. I watched him take it off—brisk and efficient. Call me a dork, but I found these little technical aspects of sex fascinating. And sexy. Mostly because Earp was the one demonstrating this technical prowess. He tied off the top of the limp latex tube and set it on the floor.
“Very slick, Earp. Very fastidious.”
“Shut up,” he said, grinning. “I’m just meeting basic standards of heroism. Nobody wants to get near used-condom ooze.”
“And you say the sexiest things.”
I tackled him, gripping his big shoulders and pinning him down.
He managed to find the comforter and flop it over us, so I obviously wasn’t out-muscling him.
I rubbed my cheek against his chest, settling in as he wrapped me in his long arms. Sun was beginning to stream through the windows. Earp yawned. “So does this Wyatt Earp movie end with the dude riding off into the sunset?”
“Nope,” I said. “Actually the ending depends on which version you watch.”
“Hmm. How about falling asleep with his lover as the sun rises? Is that a good ending?”
I smiled. “Yeah. I’ve only got time for a power twenty. But it sounds good to me.”
At work that morning every time Dottie looked my way she either cackled or grinned, but I wasn’t sure why. I mean, I hadn’t exactly confessed what I’d been up to for the two hours before my shift. People couldn’t ooze well-shagged vibes, could they?
Could’ve been that she noticed the rosy rash of beard burn riding the base of my throat but I was pretty sure my T-shirt covered that shit up.
Maybe it was the goofball smile that kept shoving its way onto my face? I didn’t smile for the entire shift, although I did end up getting more tips than usual. But that could’ve just been because it was a sunny Sunday morning and folks were in the mood for waffles and French toast.
Whatever. It felt really frickin’ good to feel good. It was like I’d been walking around in sub-zero temps for the last couple of years, constantly weighed down by a fifty-pound parka and trudging through knee-deep snow in mukluks. Now it was spring and I could shed all the cocooning burdens from my body. Run around and invite sunshine and warm breezes to kiss my reawakening skin.
As I sped back to the carriage house on the Vespa, hoping Wyatt was still sprawled on the futon, I tried to keep butterfly comparisons to a minimum. Yeah, the Vespa was pink and I felt like I was flying, but most butterflies had a lifespan of only a few weeks and I planned on living a lot longer. And then there was that whole proboscis thing.
My hopes for finding Wyatt in the same position in which I’d left him—debauched and ready for more fooling around—were zapped when I parked in my usual unobtrusive spot and noticed a few guys hanging out obtrusively in the area adjacent to the carriage house stairs. It was a grubby patch of lawn and there weren’t any toys—no kiddie pools full of Jell-O shots, no grills, no volleyball nets, no scantily clad girls—within twenty yards.
The trio was dominated by Teddy Solomon. A guy whose mere existence was obtrusive as all get-out.
Hmm. Ignore or engage?
I disembarked and de-helmeted, rolling my shoulders, running a hand over my hair. I was makeup- and hair product-free this morning. Teddy examined me as if I was a specimen fished out of muck at the bottom of Ellery’s skating pond, all ready for analysis by a pimple-faced freshman in Biology 101.
Alrighty then. Engage it would have to be.
“Howzitgoing, guys?” Innocuous enough, right?
Apparently not. Teddy cranked his neck like he was getting ready for a primetime MMA brawl. Yeah, I’d been all hard-as-nails back in the day, but lately my conditioning had fallen off. I rethought my ignore/engage debate.
“Good, good,” said one of Teddy’s minions. He was nice-looking, but the crap-smear glint in his dark brown eyes wasn’t what anyone would call attractive. “How you doin’?” he asked, holding out his hand. For a shake, I guess.
I shifted my helmet around and shook. “I’m doing okay,” I answered.
His palm was moist but I resisted the urge to wipe my hand on my pants. We were in some kind of showdown, and even though I didn’t know what the heck it was all about, revealing blatant disgust would probably be bad strategy on my part.
The third guy stepped onto the invisible line where Teddy and Minion One were standing. Made me wonder if they’d rehearsed this. Or if they approached folks in this dorky fashion all the time.
“We represent the, uh, pledge committee,” said Minion One.
I snorted. Couldn’t help it. Maybe it was his official-sounding tone. Or maybe it was the way he said “uh” as if he wasn’t sure what he represented. Or maybe it was the way they were all standing in line like they were about to break into a song-and-dance routine.
“Sure it’s not the Lollipop Guild?” I asked.
Teddy narrowed his eyes. If Minion One had been a dog his hair would be standing on end. The other guy blinked at me. “Whuh?” he grunted.
“Never mind,” I said. I widened my stance, rocked back on my heels. “What can I do for you boys?”
Teddy laughed. “Now we’re finally getting to the point.” His voice was deep, smooth and tinged with I’m-smarter-than-every-fucking-thing amusement. Reminded me a little of Tom’s Wall Street Avenger tone. Sleek, pedigreed alpha on the surface and who knows what kind of scary psycho overbred SOB underneath.
“We are?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Teddy said. His slick-as-snot mood swings alarmed me. They were tinged with a psycho-freak vibe that made me feel…slimy.
I covered my discomfort with a shrug and a huff of laughter. “Care to enlighten me?”
“Boooooys,” he drawled slowly, that wry humor deepening. “This is a frat house for boys.” He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Real ones. With dicks and everything.” His teeth were straight, perfectly shaped and unnaturally white. I wondered, again, how he got them to look like that. Dye? Spray paint? Did he actually stand in front of his mirror and carefully attach those Crest whitening strips to his showcase of orthodontics?
It was a good image to think of because it allowed me to return his smile in a genuine kind of a way and swallow down my first stupid, kneejerk response which was the all-time classic: “duh”. I decided to go for the more nuanced (and more annoying) smart-ass remark. “No,” I said. “Actually this isn’t a frat house. It’s a parking lot. For cars. And other assorted vehicles.”
He rolled his eyes. I was impressed. Good style with the old eye roll.
“C’mon, Ray,” he said, still smiling, silent minions at his sides. “We know you’re smart. Smart enough to make a smart kid like Kelly do all kindsa stupid shit—”
“I haven’t made Wyatt do—”
“And we get what point you’re making. We get what you’re doing. And we respect it, really. But this is the wrong place, the wrong way to do it.”
“Yeah,” said Minion One. “You’re wasting your time. Both you and Kelly.”
“Still don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I said.
“Even if you talk a bunch of guys into trying to change our charter, you’ll never convince the alums,” Minion Two explained, clear as mud.
“It’s not a total loss though, right?” Teddy flexed his biceps prettily, folding his arms across his chest. “You got a place to live for a few weeks, a prize Fenton to fuck. And the bros got a rehabbed apartment out of the deal.” His eyes flashed up to the apartment’s gleaming windows. “Thanks for that, by the way. Mikey tells me you did a stellar job.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, gracious as can be.
“But if you’re thinking you’re gonna weasel your way into staying here any longer,” he said, laidback as Casual Friday, “you’ve got another think coming.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I nodded, acting all fascinated. I was about to tell him multiple “thinks” were not required in this situation, but he kept talking.
“And if you need even more enlightening, I can tell you that the closest you’ll ever get to becoming a Fenton is to keep fucking Fentons.”
“You know, the pledge committee needs some work on its marketing program,” I told him, disgust soaking through my outer layers. I could feel the stains popping out all over my body. “Maybe come up with some new, progressive policies instead of relying on ones created by your great-great-grandfathers? You’re being fucking stupid and complacent by not becoming equal opportunity.”
His despicable eyes raked my body. “I’m definitely equal opportunity when it comes to fucking.” He cast a glance at his two buddies and laughed before centering his gaze just below my midsection. “Not too proud to tap Wyatt’s leftovers.”
“No, you’re not proud, are you?” I swallowed down a surge of nausea. Why had I tried to engage in any kind of conversation with this guy? “You’re fucking disgusting.”
His gaze slid down my body again. “Disgusting is in the eye of the beholder, Ray, my friend. Show up at the alumni social at the end of term and find out for yourself.” He shoved his hands in his jean pockets and tilted his chin, a crooked smile passing over his lips. A move I knew was practiced because it emphasized his square-jawed, buff-boy handsomeness. Ugh.
“C’mon, boys,” he said, grinning, tipping his head toward the big house on the other side of the lawn. The minions followed him.
“Were you serious about tapping that, man?” Minion One’s voice was loud enough to carry back to my buzzing ears. Deliberately loud, I was sure. Didn’t bug me. It was a legit question, after all. (For someone who actually cared, which I didn’t.)
“Hell, yeah,” Teddy said. “Fine ass is fine ass. You saying you wouldn’t?”
I watched Minion One’s beefy shoulders shudder. “Fuck no, you freak. God!”
My fingers slipped on the slick surface of my helmet. It fell to the ground with a hollow thud. I picked it up, absently. My brain felt fried. Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle and then…thwissp. Complete crisp.
Their laughter followed me as I started up the stairs, a loud reverb effect that I think was caused by the lawn’s slope. I didn’t move fast, didn’t stomp my boots. Mostly because I was trying to hold on, hold on, hold on…didn’t want my head to explode in public. Also, I didn’t want the stairs to collapse because it would really fucking suck if I had to rely on Teddy Solomon and his moronic minions to unbury me from a pile of stair rubble.
Exhaling a sigh that felt wrenched from my lungs, I unlocked the door and pushed it open. First thing I saw was Wyatt. He was right where I’d left him on the futon. Asleep apparently, his long form a series of lumps beneath the blue comforter, his hair crowning my pillow with golden tufts, his face turned toward the kitchen side of the room.
I shut the door carefully, quietly, and set down my stuff. My hands were shaky. My knees were shaky too, and because I didn’t trust them, I planted my ass on the floor.
My eyes drifted closed as I rested my head against the wall. Shit. That conversation had been stupid on so many levels I was literally stupefied.
Maybe I dozed off, or maybe Wyatt was good at waking up silently (I always moaned and groaned and thrashed around a lot before I was able to get my body to go upright), because when I opened my eyes again, he was sitting up in the middle of the futon, mirroring my arms-on-knees pose.
“Hey,” he said. His mouth twisted into a smile, sheepish and sexy.
“Hey,” I said.
He ran a hand over his head, snagging his fingers in the glossy waves I’d spent a good part of the early morning tangling. His yawn was hippo-worthy and I winced when I heard his jaw crack.
“Mmm,” he grunted, smiling again as he rubbed his stubbled chin. “Felt great to sleep in. Don’t remember the last time I sacked out like that.”
I nodded. Sacking out was good. I shoulda stayed here with him, spent the morning in sack-out land, instead of earning a paltry fifty in tips—funny how mood can change how rich you feel—and having to deal with hideous humanity.
“How was work?” he asked.
I shrugged. My mouth wasn’t quite ready to speak. I wanted to sit silently and look at him for a bit. His left hand was busy waking up the right side of his body—scrubbing at his biceps, smoothing over his shoulder. His skin was gold and warm in the sunlight.
I wanted to sprawl across him and soak up the good vibrations he sparked just by being alive. I’d hang out there on top of him for a while until I felt revived—like a beach junkie getting a dose of hot sand after a week of rain.
When he stretched his arms over his head and the comforter fell away from his torso, I cleared my throat. “Did you ever take any philosophy classes?”
“Um, yeah.” He sprawled on his side, propping his head on his hand. “A couple, actually.”
“Read any existentialism?”
“I think so…mostly it was political theory stuff. Econ related.” He sent me a lopsided smile. “You like that stuff, I’m guessing. Existentialism?”
“I don’t know if ‘like’ is the right word…”
He laughed. “Spill. What are you thinking about?”
“Jean-Paul Sartre. No Exit. Where he says, ‘hell is other people’.”
“Hell is other people,” he repeated slowly.
“Yep. That’s what I was thinking about.”
The curve of his lips faltered. His eyes turned tender, that juicy spring green that sometimes seemed too damn hopeful to look at.
“C’mere,” he said, lifting the comforter, patting the spot beside him.
My skin went achy. I wanted to feel good and I knew snuggling up against Wyatt under the covers would guarantee good feelings. My eyes pricked with tears. And I didn’t know why.
“Don’t make me come out into the cold to get you.” His smile was still crooked but his voice was steady-Eddie. Serious.
I swiped at my itchy cheek and crawled toward him on my hands and knees. I wasn’t trying to be sexy or seductive; crawling seemed faster than standing and walking. When I got close, he grabbed me and pulled me down, cuddling me into the warm, Wyatt-scented dent where he’d been sleeping. He leaned over me, cradling my jaw in his big hand. His lips brushed mine, three moist, nibbling kisses before he pressed his face into my neck and inhaled slowly. I held on to him tightly.
“You smell like syrup,” he mumbled.
“And hash browns.”
“Mmm.” His tongue teased the thin skin behind my ear. “I’m gonna have you for breakfast.”
“Brunch,” I said. My chest swelled. He made breathing easier and more difficult all at once.
“And dinner if I’m lucky.” He pulled back and looked down at me again. His eyes were so clear. Sure and easy on my face. He brushed hair away from my temple. “That hell is other people thing…”
I let my fingers travel up over his shoulder, exploring the nooks and grooves of lat and deltoid and collarbones. “Yeah?”
“At the risk of sounding corny…” His mouth turned down on one side.
“Go on,” I said. I was, at heart, a corny person. I wasn’t going to admit it out loud, but I was kinda sure he had a clue about this part of my mystery.
“Last night…this morning…being here with you. Felt pretty fucking heavenly, you know?”
“Yeah.” I swallowed. “It was.”
“I’m going to kiss you some more,” he said, tracing my lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “But first you’re going to tell me what the hell happened while you were away this morning. You were smiling when you left.”
“I had a chat with Teddy Solomon.” Felt nasty to say his name. As if that combo of syllables would pollute the good-smelling air surrounding us.
Wyatt’s brows rose. “Solomon? He came to the diner?”
“No. He was down in the parking lot when I came back. With a couple of other guys.”
“Hargreaves and McNeil.”
“Dunno.”
“They’re always together. Some of the guys call them Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.”
I snorted. “Sounds about right.”
“They give you shit?”
“Yeah. I suppose that’s what they were doing.”
I thought about saying more, but the incident had stirred up some stuff I knew I should let bake a while. What was gnawing me about Teddy Solomon wasn’t so much his threat to me. It was the shit he’d said about Wyatt. I figured Wyatt was a big boy and could take care of himself, sure, but Teddy’s brand of nastiness could cause ripples that got wider and wider until they touched all kinds of unexpected things with poison.
Before I could explain—or try to explain—the complicated stuff I was feeling, Earp said, “Solomon is a small guy with a small group of friends. He’s not much in the grand scheme of things. Ignore him.”
His easygoing dismissal seemed too…easygoing. I’d dealt with guys like Teddy before. They were way more dangerous than their slickly smiling exteriors let on.
“Spoken like a big guy who’s always had a big group of friends,” I murmured.
He played with my hair for a few moments, stroking, comforting, considering. “You’re right. I’ve always had good friends, a good group of folks I could count on. I’m lucky that way. But I’ve had to deal with plenty of assholes in the crap service jobs I’ve had over the years. Teddy’s not so bad. He might be a little overzealous when it comes to all the Fen-men crap—mostly because his dad and his grandpa went here and drilled it into him—but he calms down if you call him on any shitty behavior.”
“Hmm.” I wasn’t buying it. Made me sad, because I knew Earp bought into the whole brotherly loyalty thing. He’d never had a reason not to. His good-can-conquer-bad-shit-if-you-work-hard attitude was both inspiring and worrisome. I was afraid Earp was in for a big, fat disappointment when it came to his fellow Fen-men.
I wanted to ask about the alumni gathering Teddy had mentioned. And the Fenton charter and if anyone really read or cared about charters around here. And why the hell Wyatt lived anywhere near these crazy dudes. But I didn’t really have a right to ask him a bunch of questions about what the heck he was doing in a place like this.
My own living situation was a good reminder I wasn’t a permanent part of the sheriff’s life. Fenton was going to get all four years of Earp’s Ellery time and I was going to get maybe four weeks. Summer would happen and the sheriff would take his truck and ride out west and I would figure out a more “suitable” place to live. By the time fall rolled around, he would return and go back to his Ellery routine—a routine I wasn’t going to be a part of.
I stared beyond Wyatt’s chest to the kitchen range. It was old and crotchety but I was beginning to understand its quirks. I hadn’t burned anything in a while. There was a series of cracks in the enameled oven door—they formed the outline of a butterfly-like creature, wide wings, antennae, little legs. I’d been thinking it was a good sign—a sign that once I figured out how to fix the thermostat on the thing I could try a few recipes and they might come out pretty good. But it was already May and I was running out of time. I’d need to order parts, wait for them to come in—
Stop. I needed stop thinking about this stuff. And concentrate on how right now it felt good being in this cozy bed, being held in Wyatt’s arms. I needed some time in his sunshine. I messed around with the hair curling against the back of his neck.
“Makes me worry when you get that look on your face, Ray.”
“Don’t worry,” I told him. “This look is perfectly harmless to guys named Earp.”
“You want me to kick Solomon’s ass?”
His tone was lawman-serious. I blinked up at him, checking for a twinkle or a spark in his eyes. Wyatt wore his imaginary white hat and silver pistol with style, but I wasn’t sure how much experience he’d had with actual bad guys. Right when I started to worry he was, in fact, serious he cracked a grin. “Don’t look so surprised. I’d do it if you wanted me to, but I get the feeling that if I did, you’d kick my ass harder later.”
I punched his biceps. Ow. Dang it. “When’s the kissing going to happen?”
“Now.” His body covered mine and I let my fingers get lost in the tangled waves of his hair. When our mouths came together it was easy to forget I’d made the mistake of getting out of bed earlier.