Chapter 9 Push It
Push It
Wheeler
Despite the very real terror that has taken root in my center, I still let out a bark of laughter when a familiar beat plays over the TV speaker.
“Is this—”
“Milli Vanilli?” Duke turns his head to meet my eyes. “Yep. I dare you not to dance to ‘Girl You Know It’s True.’”
I look at him. He looks back, singing along to the song and bopping his head. The music video plays on the TV. It’s so bad it’s almost good—the kind of entertainment that’s compellingly cringe-worthy.
“What in the world made you think of this?” I ask, touched by his very obvious attempt to distract me.
Honestly, what is wrong with me that I can’t give this cowboy a chance? He is excellent in every sense of the word.
And then I remember Preston saying my high school boyfriend broke up with me because I was ugly and stupid and “kind of a bitch.” I cried for days after that. Mom made him say he was sorry, but his apology was halfhearted at best.
“When we were kids, we’d get freaked out when the weather was bad,” he explains. “Remember how the TV would beep really loud during tornado warnings?”
“That was terrifying.”
“My mom would take my brothers and me to the basement, where she’d turn on music and have dance parties with us.”
My chest hurts. “She wanted to distract y’all.”
“It worked. Just like it’s gonna work now.” He flexes his fingers. “Up. C’mon.”
I really, really should just call it a night and go to bed. My buzz is wearing off, and I’m exhausted.
This flirtation is going nowhere. I won’t let it.
But I’m just tipsy enough—just terrified enough—to shove all that aside.
“Great.” I take his hands and let him pull me to my feet.
“So I just need to dance, and I’ll stop thinking about the wind blowing down all those trees and them crashing through the house and us getting pinned underneath them and dying a slow horrible death from internal bleeding and/or asphyxiation before the rescue teams are able to make it up here? ”
His lips twitch. “Yup. That’s all you need to do.”
I don’t know how it happens. One minute, the wind howls, the windows to our left literally rattling in their casings. The next, my arms are wrapped around his neck, and he’s got his hands on my hips, which are melted into his.
I’m terrified.
I’m turned on.
Duke starts to dance. It’s the kind of dancing I’d hoped to do that night we met at the Rattler: flirty, easy, fun.
He’s a good dancer, confident as he moves to the beat. His grip on my hips is firm, and he urges me to follow his lead by guiding my body one way, then the other.
The need between my legs flares hotter. Blares louder.
I glance up and see him looking down at me intently. The lenses of his glasses make his eyes look especially large.
Especially blue.
Our lips are inches apart. How does that keep happening?
My own lips throb with the desire to be kissed. He tilts his head—or maybe I’m imagining he does—giving him the perfect angle to go in for the kill.
How good would it feel to let him sink me into the sofa, the weight of his body making me deliciously short of breath as he kissed the shit out of me?
I look away. Look down at my feet, heart pumping.
“We’re gonna be just fine,” Duke murmurs, his breath warm on my cheek.
I nod. “You know, I’m still not over the fact that these guys were fakes. Milli Vanilli.” I glance at the screen.
“The nineties were apparently a wild time.”
I move and he moves, and I start to feel slightly better.
Better and so turned on it literally hurts. The more we move, the more adventurous his dancing becomes. I know he’s just trying to make me laugh with his exaggerated hip gyrations, and I do. I laugh so hard it leaves me breathless.
I throw up my arms and close my eyes and lose myself to the music, because why the hell not? It really does make me forget everything except the beat and the feel of Duke’s body pressed against mine.
It grounds me in the present, time moving heartbeat by wild heartbeat.
Duke must’ve used YouTube to put on this music video, because another one comes on right after.
I toss back my head and laugh, hard, when I recognize the opening notes of Salt-N-Pepa’s “Push It.” “I love this song.”
Duke bites his bottom lip and knits his brows, really going for a hip thrust. “It’s a classic for a reason.”
I hip thrust right back, and he bursts out laughing.
I do that thing where I put my fists in the center of my chest and pump my arms. I’m sure I look like a lopsided butterfly, but I don’t care.
What do I have to lose? It’s not like anything’s going to happen between Duke and me.
Since I don’t need to play it cool, I can do whatever the hell I want without worrying what he thinks.
Duke turns around and sticks out his butt, shaking it. I pretend to give it several solid whacks, and he pretends to be into it, covering his mouth with his hand.
I do the Bugs Bunny. Or I try to anyway and end up backing into the sofa and falling over.
I don’t know who’s laughing harder, me or Duke, who once again is pulling me to my feet. Pulling me into his arms.
My sides ache, and so does my face from smiling. I put my hands on his chest.
“You win the dancing competition,” I manage.
He grips the backs of my upper arms. “You’re terrible at this.”
“I know.”
“It’s cute.”
“No, it’s not.”
His eyes bore into mine. “Yes, Wheeler, it is. You gotta know how cute you are.” He licks his bottom lip. “How pretty.”
My stomach takes a violent nosedive.
“Thanks?” I manage. The look in his eyes—it’s hot and hungry and so very tender.
Blinking, I look away and drop my hands from his chest. I step back, everything inside me rioting.
My blood riots at the loss of his touch.
My gut riots at the very real warning coming from my head: danger.
“I should probably hit the hay.” I bend down to swipe my phone off the sofa. “Just in case the trunk show happens at any point tomorrow.”
“Aw, really?” His voice is deep with disappointment. “But you’re such a terrible dancer!”
I don’t want to laugh, but I do. “Show’s over, cowboy. Sorry.”
“You’re really bumming me out here, Blue.” His eyes are earnest now.
He really does want me to stay.
He really is enjoying my company.
A whisper of something new moves through my head. Maybe I’m not as awful or nasty as I thought.
Maybe I’m still a bitch, but that doesn’t preclude me from also being warm and carefree and a damn good time too. Don’t we all contain multitudes?
Don’t be stupid. That’s another voice, one I recognize. My therapist told me it’s my miswired brain being mean—that it’s an echo of my dad’s voice and my brother’s.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” I grab my water and start heading for my room. “If, of course, we don’t get crushed by falling trees tonight.”
But truth be told, I’d rather the trees fell than I do.
____
A loud crash tears me from sleep.
I bolt upright, stomach seizing. My heart hammers as I blink back the darkness. What the fuck was that? Where am I? What time is it?
A persistent, roaring howl fills the silence. Glancing at the windows beside the bed, I see nothing but blackness. Occasionally there’s a crackle, like sand being thrown against the glass.
It’s sleet. And a lot of wind.
I shiver. My nose is numb.
Everything inside me goes still. What happened to the heat? Did the electricity go out?
The ceiling groans. My stomach bottoms out. I reach for my phone on the bedside table, which apparently hasn’t been charging. It’s two o’clock in the morning.
Dropping my phone and flinging back the covers, I suck in a breath at the shock of cold air that greets me. I’m shivering, shaking, and I—
“You okay?”
Startling, my blood turns to ice at the sound of the voice by the door. Instinctively, I hit the flashlight button on my screen and hold it up.
“You’re naked!” I don’t know why I’m whispering.
I do know why I’m staring.
Duke stands just inside the doorway.
He is totally, completely, gloriously naked. He also makes absolutely no attempt to cover himself up.
For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me. Makes sense that someone who works with animals all day would be totally at home in the animal that is his own body.
Makes sense he’d be totally unashamed.
I wish I could say my gaze lingered on the whorls of dark blond hair that cover his broad chest. Or the deliciously satisfying way his waist tapers into chiseled hips.
But no.
No, my gaze catches on the beautiful cock that hangs between his massive thighs. He’s thick, long, a vein running down the side of his velvety-looking shaft. His head is wide and pink. His pubic hair matches the hair on his chest: wiry, dark, lush without being overwhelming.
A rush of saliva fills my mouth. Despite the fact that the room is freezing, a hot bloom of renewed awareness unfurls between my legs.
I thought about taking care of that when I climbed into bed earlier, but masturbating to images of Duke in his glasses sliding his hands up my shirt seemed like a dangerous activity, so I did my best to fall asleep despite the acute need that thrummed through my body.
“Heard the crash and came running,” he explains impatiently, flattening his palm on his heaving chest. “No time for clothes.” Or glasses apparently, because he’s not wearing those either.
He came running.
He heard a crash, and his first thought was to come find me.
My cunt throbs. Heart gallops.
“You sleep naked?”
His hand moves to cover his dick. “Sorry. I just had to make sure you were—”
“No”—I clear my throat—“apology necessary. I appreciate you checking in on me. What the hell was that sound?”
“Has to be a branch. Bigger than before, I think. I was gonna check it out after I made sure you were okay.” His pectoral muscle pops. That’s when I realize he’s shivering too.
“You’re freezing.”
“You’re scared. C’mon, let’s go make sure everything’s okay. Then you’re coming to bed with me.”
My heart leaps into my throat. Leaps again into my mouth. “I—”