21. “I’m Home” - Nevertown
“I’m Home” - Nevertown
Heath
“Are you sleeping with her?”
Gotta admit, Walker’s question takes me by surprise. Not only was I not expecting her to question my relationship with Seeley, but I wasn’t expecting her to have an interest in any of my relationships, sexual or otherwise.
Her slender legs stretch out in front of her. If I had to guess, I’d say she opted for the long-sleeve surf suit not because she thought she’d get cold but because she thought it would be less sexy that way. I smash my lips together to keep from grinning. God, was she ever wrong.
She doesn’t spend much time in the sun, but she has her mum’s olive coloring. Her toenails are painted hot pink. It’s so out of character for her that I can’t help but applaud the tiny fractures in the glass box she keeps around herself.
As if sensing my perusal, she shifts upright and brushes the sand from her arms. I still haven’t answered her question. Much as I don’t want to talk about another woman when I’m with her, I can’t let her walk away thinking there’s more between me and Seeley than there is.
“We’ve slept together, yeah,” I say.
Her hand stills for a moment, but she quickly resumes her brushing.
“That explains a lot,” she says.
“Like what?”
She brushes the sand from her legs. I ought to tell her not to bother, that the ocean will wash it off within seconds, but I’m completely mesmerized watching her hands skim over her calves. “Sexual tension. Familiarity. The look on her face.”
My head spins. “What?”
“It was all there.”
“You were there for how long—a few minutes?”
She looks at me over her shoulder. “Trust me, that’s plenty of time to read the chemistry between the two of you.”
My mouth hangs open, and I must look like I’m a few sandwiches short of a picnic. But she can’t possibly think there’s anything substantial going on with Seeley. “We only slept together a few times.”
She nods and starts swirling her fingers through the sand between her bent legs, biting that bloody lip. My cock pulses inside my shorts. Time to get back in the water.
“Seriously.” I touch her arm with my fingertips. When she doesn’t pull away, I rub my thumb across the fabric of her wetsuit. It’s like touching velvet, and I envision the softness of the skin underneath. “It was only a handful of times. It never went anywhere.”
“I think she might wish it had,” Walker says quietly.
Every encounter I’ve had with Seeley since the last time we had sex—at the end of last season—spins through my mind like a merry-go-round. We never had a conversation about it, but she didn’t give me any reason to think she wasn’t as happy about an after-work fuck as I was.
For a few seconds, I let myself imagine it.
Laughing together over a shared piece of banana cream pie.
Packing a cooler and taking a road trip to wherever the fuck we want.
Waking up in the middle of the night, hard as a sledgehammer, and being able to turn to the person beside me in bed instead of stumbling to the bathroom for a tube of lube.
Of course, I can’t imagine those things without also imagining the rest. Nagging about the lack of a cap on the toothpaste or the socks on the floor.
Screaming matches after I come home later than I said I would.
The look of disappointment in her eyes when she realizes I’m not the person she thought I was.
“Not everyone gets the fairy tale, Walk.”
“Referring to her or you?”
How did I let myself get roped into this conversation? “Not referring to anyone.” I stand up and reach down a hand to help her to her feet. “Come on. We’ve got to get you upright on a board.”
* * *
It takes another hour, but she finally does it. The look on her face as she rides the board is worth every second of uneasiness I felt earlier.
My bet was a little underhanded. It was obvious that douche from the club was only looking for a warm place to stick his cock. The bet was my way to get Walker out of that stuffy library to have some real fun.
Sure, she had fun when we went out with the whole crew, but I never had her to myself those times. Except for when we were dancing, and if my dick is to keep from giving away everything I’m thinking, I need to think about anything but dancing with her.
“That was so much fun,” she says after we return her board. “I’m not going to hang up my bookbag, but I would definitely do it again.”
The sun has sprinkled freckles across her nose, and I have the strongest urge to lick them as I gaze down at her. “Glad to hear it,” I say. There’s something in my throat making me sound like a twelve-year-old in the throes of puberty. “Still want to go to the Archives?”
She scrunches up her nose. “I kind of need to. I haven’t been the most efficient lately. Will you be okay?”
“I’ll survive,” I tell her. “Come on. We can shower at my place.”
She follows me in her car. No one is home, thank fuck, and I offer my bathroom to her. “The shower’s bigger in there,” I say. “I’ll take the guest bath.”
I grab my stuff and head down the hall. If I’m to survive the rest of the afternoon, I need to bash one out in the shower. I’m ready to hop in when I remember to grab boxers. I wrap the towel around my waist and pad back to my bedroom.
The shower’s still running, which means I can slip in without Walker realizing I’ve come back. I grab a pair of underwear from my closet and walk back through the bedroom.
The door is cracked. I swear it’s cracked. I never touched that knob.
But I will admit to looking. If one can drink with one’s eyes, I did that too. The shower walls are glass, and the open door gives me the perfect view of the mirror.
She’s like a goddess. Her dark hair is slicked back and dripping. Her back arches under the stream of water until it meets the curve of her ass. I can still remember the way it feels in my hand: firm but soft, like a ripe peach.
And then there are her breasts. Water sluices over them, the rivulets running down her body. She used to be frustrated because the left was slightly bigger than the right. I would cut off my own arm to find out if it still is.
I snap out of it when my towel starts to slip off, thanks to my cock deciding that the fantasy is about to become a reality. I walk back to the guest bathroom before I can do anything stupid.
When we meet in the hallway fifteen minutes later, I am a perfect gentleman. Now that I’ve gotten one off in the shower, I can proceed with a somewhat level head.
Walker is wearing an oversized white button-down shirt and a tiny little skirt that showcases the tan she got this morning. Her hair is barely damp. She must have found the blow dryer I hardly ever use.
“Ready?” she says, swinging her bag over her shoulder.
I motion for her to go first, but instead of heading downstairs, she stops directly in front of me. I catch a whiff of my own shampoo. Why does my scent on her make me want to fuck her all the more?
She reaches for my shirt. Every drop of blood in my body heads south.
“You need to learn how to button a shirt,” she says.
I suck in a breath as her fingers fumble with the buttons, slipping and brushing against my abs. She leaves the top two undone, then turns to skip down the stairs. I stumble along behind her, already working several of the rest out of their holes.
If I’m to be trapped in that room with her for the next few hours, it won’t be in a buttoned-up shirt.