15. Fifteen
Fifteen
Rosie
M y eyes spring open as I hear a moan, and I instantly regret it. My head feels like it weighs a ton. I shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.
I try to turn, but Vic’s wrapped around me like I’m his life-sized body pillow.
What happened to our little wall of purity?
He’d die if he realized how tightly he was holding me or, more accurately, my breast. I look down at his fingers against my chest and smirk. I wish I had my phone to take a picture and send it to him later.
As I tilt my head back to look at him, I can see the perspiration trickling down his face and hear his faint moans of discomfort. Is he sick?
With all my strength, I move his arm and turn to face him, carefully placing the back of my hand on his forehead to check his temperature. It’s clammy and warm .
“No,” he says, his brows furrowing into a deep crease as his eyes remain closed. “Please,” he pleads, his voice filled with desperation, “come back.”
Shit, he’s having a bad dream.
Who’s he dreaming about? Who does he want to come back?
I tenderly touch his cheek with my trembling fingers as he lets out another moan, his breath tickling my hand. I move to his hair, which has gotten a little longer since I first arrived. It glides between my fingers as I rub his head. The action calms my nerves and seems to have the same effect on him. He relaxes and doesn’t make any other sounds.
Whenever I’m trapped in the clutches of my nightmares from the attempted kidnapping, Alexa has always been there to console me, making the transition from slumber to wakefulness much smoother. So I continue to rub through his whole scalp, at least what I can reach, and then down to his shoulder that is naked. When did he take his shirt off? I continue my exploration of his skin to his mid-chest until I head back up.
His chiseled abs are on full display as he peacefully sleeps. I yearn to trace my fingers along their defined edges, but I resist the temptation out of respect for his unconsciousness.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a flicker of movement, and when I meet his gaze, I’m taken aback by the intensity in his eyes.
“Sorry, you were having a bad dream, and I—ah...” I got nothing.
How embarrassing.
“You were touching me.”
“Only your hair,” I blurt.
“I distinctly remember your fingers traveling south.”
“You were awake?” I ask, mortified .
He says nothing but grins bigger than I’ve ever seen. It’s then I notice how close we still are, and Vic does, too. He rolls away before bouncing up and out of bed.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Can you hand me a bar in the top drawer?”
“Um, yeah,” I say, reaching into the drawer filled with the same protein bars stocked all over his house. I hand it to him, and with two quick bites, he devours it before requesting another.
“You sure you’re okay? You sounded upset in your dream.”
“I’m fine.”
“But...”
“I’m fine, Rosie. Just old bullshit from my past.”
Understanding crosses my mind. “Your parents?”
“Yeah.”
“If you tell me about it, you might not have that same dream again. It can take away its power.”
“Drop it and stop with that look in your eyes,” Vic says as he rushes through putting his clothes on.
I can’t help but feel hurt as he shuts me out. I thought we were making progress and growing closer, but the wall that is his past is tall and unbreakable.
“How about we go by Burnouts?”
“Really?” I say, instantly perking up .
I expected us to go home after work and him to ignore me more. He’s been in a shitty mood since I pressed him on his dream this morning. It was stupid of me to push. I know I wouldn’t want to be pushed, but I couldn’t help it.
I want to know more about him, and I want to fix his pain, or at least understand it.
Vic is usually bossy and a complete jerk, but there are also those rare, tender moments I appreciate. These moments have become more frequent.
He took me to the lake, a place he finds peace, even though he never had to. He didn’t have to take me to the clubhouse, which he considers his home away from home, but he did. He’s given me more opportunities to draw for clients because he knows I love it. He makes sure I’m always protected and fed. He is a great guy, and I want to give back as a thank you to him.
Vic makes a U-turn, and we end up in front of the bar I haven’t been to since my first night.
One that I have very mixed feelings about.
The sound of that guy’s words still resonates within me, but it’s drowned out by the powerful sensation of Vic’s hand gripping my neck as he threw me over his shoulder and had his wicked way with me.
Do I need to see someone over how wrong that is?
Probably.
Vic looks back at the booth where he sat that night. Trey has a girl on his lap, and they look like they’re ten seconds from getting it on right in the booth. Geez. I avert my gaze quickly.
“We won’t be here long. I’ll be right back. Stay here.”
“O-okay,” I say, a little confused as I watch him head to the back. Why did we even come here if we’re leaving so quickly?
I head to the bar and order a drink. The drink is barely in my hand before Vic grabs it, downing it in one go.
“Hey!”
“You drank enough last night. Let’s go.”
“What’s the rush?”
“Number two.”
“Number two?”
“You’ll see,” he says with a smirk while pulling me out the front door that Trey and his mystery girl just left through.
Vic salutes Trey, who revs his engine and speeds down the road with his new friend clinging to the back.
Once we’re in Vic’s truck, he reaches into the back seat and pulls out a duffel bag.
“Put these on.” I hold up a sweatshirt and a black mask with holes where the eyes are.
“Are we robbing a convenience store or something?” I say with a laugh.
“Look in the duffel bag on the back seat.” I lean back and pull one side open before laughing.
“Is that toilet paper?”
“It is.”
Oh my God.
My list.
“We don’t have to toilet paper a house. It’s silly, remember?” I say, mirroring what he said when he first saw my list.
It hurt when he laughed at it. I guess the idea of toilet papering a house is pretty silly for someone my age, but I started this list as a child. It’s something all the other kids did at school on weekends that I never got to experience because of my parents’ overprotectiveness. The little girl in me deems it necessary to complete the whole list. No matter how juvenile it may be.
Apparently, Vic is taking it seriously, too.
I can’t help but smile.
“We’re doing it. Put that stuff on. We’re almost there.”
I waste no time donning the all-black attire.
As we pull up to a residential area, my heart races uncontrollably. We’re really going to do this. I can almost laugh at how silly I’m being. My palms are even in the beginning stages of clamminess.
“Okay, we have to be real quiet and quick. You don’t want to go to jail, right?”
I take a deep breath, my eyes going wide. “Jail?”
“I’m kidding. You’re so sweet and innocent,” he says as he rubs my cheek through the mask, making my heart stop. “We’re going to run around the corner to the house. Then throw as much toilet paper as possible. Got it?”
“Yeah,” I say with a grin.
We open the doors slowly before getting out. He comes around the back and pulls something out of the back as the duffel bag hangs from his other arm.
“Do you want me to hold something?” I whisper, needing something to keep my hands occupied so I don’t throw up out of nervousness.
“Nah, I got it.”
We trudge toward a house with a long driveway and trees covering most of the front, giving us the cover we need and helping with our semi-illegal crime. He opens the duffel bag and hands me a roll .
I let the first piece sail through the air like a streamer, and my small giggle feels weird but exciting. I can’t believe we’re doing this. This is so bad, but it feels good.
Five minutes later, I scan my surroundings while snatching up the last roll. The entire front yard is scattered with toilet paper, creating a chaotic and messy winter wonderland scene.
“Finish that one, then run back to the truck. I’ll be there in a minute.”
I nod, too scared to use my voice so close to the house.
As I rush back to the truck, a playful chuckle rises in my throat, matching the excitement coursing through my veins as I hop into the cab and rip off my sweaty mask. I’m on a complete high right now. I might cringe about it later when I think of the person seeing it in the morning, but right now, I’m up in the clouds without a worry in the sky.
Vic walks back a minute later with the mask in his hand and a smirk on his face. It’s crazy to think that this didn’t even affect him. He was calm throughout the whole thing.
Once he opens the door, he gives me a weird look before lunging at me. Grabbing my face, he puts his thumbs in the hollows of my cheeks and kisses the shit out of me. My head is swimming as he ends the kiss as quickly as it came. That... I was not expecting.
“Let’s get outta here.”
We drive in the opposite direction, away from the scene of the crime. Vic pats his pants before pulling out a cylinder, popping the top, and then pulling something out.
“Can you reach into the center console and get the lighter in there? I lost mine. ”
I give him the lighter, and he proceeds to ignite something, inhaling deeply before exhaling a cloud of smoke.
I’ve never seen him smoke, nor has he ever carried the scent of it, but something is undeniably attractive about the way he looks while doing it.
“Number five, I stole it from Trey’s stash,” he says with a smile before handing me what I now know is a joint.
Getting high was on my list.
I hold it between my fingers before looking at him. “How do you remember everything I wanted to do? You’re even numbering them.”
“Photographic memory.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Following his lead, I place the joint between my lips and inhale deep. The citrusy sweet but earthy taste dances on my tastebuds while the smoke fills my lungs. I pass it back to him like I’ve seen in movies.
Despite feeling lost, I’m determined to exude maturity and competence around him. I don’t know when his perception of me shifted to where I care, but it did.
I hold the smoke in until my lungs burn and then exhale. The next thing I know, I’m coughing so hard my eyes water, and I think I might throw up.
“Shit, you’re going to be high as hell,” he says, looking at me with a grimace. “I should have told you to take it slow.”
So much for not looking lame.
“Drink this.” He hands me a water bottle that I gulp down to tamp down the inferno in my lungs.
Apart from the fiery sensation in my throat, my head is swirling, and I have a sensation of being adrift. Something similar to the way I feel on the back of his bike or floating in the water. It’s kind of nice.
The earlier excitement fades away and brings forth a calmness that’s hard to explain.
I grab my bag and pull out my list, but stop.
I can do it later when I’m alone.
“Do it,” Vic says in a light voice.
“Do what?”
“You can cross them off.”
I look over at him, but he’s looking at the road. I open the paper and cross off two more firsts. The joy that fills me when I cross them off my list is indescribable.
It’s satisfying but also warms my heart.
“Thank you,” I say as I peek over at him.
“Of course.”