Chapter 18 Karma
?Azalea?
"Grey," I groan.
"Shut up," He responds and I scoff.
"You're heavy," I wheeze, trying to wiggle my body that is one hundred percent under his.
"You're fine," he mumbles and I let out another sound of frustration.
"You don't know how I feel."
He's not the one with someone as heavy as him on top of him. What? Whatever.
"Why are you the one on top of me? You're heavier," I complain. He gives one mischievous chuckle.
"I'd rather be the top," he grumbles amusedly. The top of what? That doesn't make sense. Is this man sleep talking?
"Well I don't like being the bottom," I whine and he raises off me. He props himself up on his elbows and looks down at me.
"You're so fucking oblivious," he shakes his head, rolling off me. Finally.
"Oh thank you Jesus!" I take a deep breath.
"I can breathe!" I arch my back up, stretching and breathing.
"Dramatic ass," he walks into the bathroom.
"Sugar," I get up, walking into the bathroom behind him, "one of these times, my ribs are going to collapse."
I pick up my toothbrush and follow him in brushing my teeth.
It doesn't matter whichever position we fall asleep in, he ends up directly on top of me.
To my surprise, he doesn't say anything about me calling him Sugar.
Is he warming up to it?
"You like being called Sugar, don't you?" I tease, placing my toothbrush back after finishing.
He does the same and gives me a side-eyed scowl.
He grips my chin harshly and he kisses me.
My body temperature raises a good ten degrees and my right leg starts wiggling.
He pulls away.
"You like it when I kiss you, don't you?" He teases the same way I did to him and I'm left blubbering.
"I think both of our questions are rhetorical," I lower my voice up at him. His lip curls up into a smirk.
His hand slides to right above my hipbone. He gently squeezes it and I jerk, a squeal leaving my lips.
He covers the last half of the squeal with his lips. His arm goes under my butt and he scoops me up.
He deepens the kiss and I pull away in shock. Woah baby.
"Baby steps," I breathe out, "don't rush into things, okay?"
"I'm sorry, I know better," he kisses the side of my face.
"It's just new, right? I know, it's okay," I assure him, kissing his cheek as he had done to me.
"I can still kiss you?" he questions, his eyes searching mine for an answer. A little smile reaches my lips.
"If I can call you Sugar," I bite my lip, trying not to laugh, "and slap your butt," I blurt.
"Whatever you want," he pulls my bottom lip from my teeth and he leans forward and kisses it.
I swear, he's a very affectionate person and he never knew it. His hands haven't left me all morning.
Heck, I'm not complaining.
~~~
Pancakes? I think yes.
Am I the world's best pancake maker? Absolutely.
Did I have to make them from scratch because Grey has no pancake mix or anything? Yes.
Did that make them any less freaking amazing? Heck no.
I kind of have to fend for myself when I get hungry. Mom doesn't really make any food anymore and dad sure doesn't either.
And I'm not necessarily the richest person; I can't just buy food.
And I can't starve. My appetite needs to be filled because even though I'm not growing, I like to think I am.
"C'mere Bear," I call him over. I feed him one of the smaller pancakes and he eats it without chewing.
Finishing the pancakes on his plate, Grey gets up to put it in the sink. I take that as my chance. I hop out of my seat and CIA-style sneak up to him.
I draw my hand back and just like I told him I would, I slap the booty. And it gets me fired up. I feel pumped up like a football player before a game.
I feel oddly masculine and like if I spoke, my voice would be deeper.
Oh, I'm so going to do that more often.
"You liked that way too much," he shakes his head, turning around to look at me.
"It turned me on, bro," I say deeply.
"Don't call me bro."
"Dude," I try and his eyes narrow.
"Dawg," I smirk.
"Fella," I love that one. A dish rag gets thrown in my face, my neck gets kissed, and my butt cheek is slapped off.
It stings like a motherfreaker. It hurt like a buttcheek on a stick.
"I didn't hit you that hard!" I remove the rag from my face, wincing at the pain in my butt.
"I didn't hit you that hard," he rolls his eyes playfully.
I twist my torso, lifting my shorts up. I look at the huge five-star on my butt.
I'm hitting him as hard as I can next time.
"I have a five-star!" I exclaim. Not realizing what I'm doing, I turn around and show him the mark on my cheek.
"I can't see all of it. You should take off your pants so I can," He offers and I consider it before realizing he's teasing.
And I'm wearing a pair of one of a kind peach-colored underwear that tends to ride up my butt. So he's definitely missing out.
"Did you go to college?" I question, changing the subject as my cheeks tinge.
"I got my associates in high school," he grumbles.
Jake was doing that too.
"My parents-well, my dad didn't let me do that. He said...never mind," I decide against telling him what Dad told me.
His eyes fall into a scowl and I wince. I turn around and go back to my seat at the table, shoving my face with pancakes.
"What'd he say to you?" He questions, his voice serious.
"It doesn't matter," I smile, pretending what he said didn't affect me.
"Azalea," he says harshly and I sigh.
"He said I should leave the success to Jake and that I'd never do good in college anyway."
The worst part about it: I believed him.
If no one liked me in high school and even strangers don't, college would be no different plus hard schoolwork.
But I wanted to go.
After the accident, I missed the last part of my school year and even a quarter of the next one, too busy trying to heal everything and going to PT.
I spent the rest of my high school year, including the summer, catching up and getting everything I needed to graduate and maintain a good GPA to get into college.
And then Dad told me I wasn't allowed to go.
It broke my heart. I wanted the experience. There was always the chance that college would've been better for me.
But I guess everything happens for a reason.
"Jake was very good at sports," I explain further, figuring he didn't know what Jake was successful at.
"Azzy. Try it," Jake encourages. I huff and shoot the basketball up into the hoop or basket or net or whatever the heck they call it.
It bounces off the top and hits me square in the face. I groan and dramatically fall onto the floor. He lets out a bark of laughter.
"Is my nose still there?" I question out and he pulls me up.
"Try again."
I try a good twenty more times. It doesn't work.
"It's just not your sport," he shrugs. I don't think any sport is my sport.
"Softball?" he questions, tossing Aaron's sister's softball at me. It hits me in the boob and then proceeds to fall onto my toe. I dramatically cry out.
"That's not even soft," I whine, ignoring his chuckles.
"Soccer?" he asks.
"You honestly think I can run that much?" I respond. He thinks about it before shaking his head.
"Tennis?" he asks.
"That's a scary sport," I chide, "do you hear all the grunts and stuff they do on tv?"
"Sports aren't for you," he decides and I agree with him. I really have no desire.
"That's okay," he smiles.
"You know your dad is fucked up, right?" he questions seriously. I look up at him.
"I know," I admit softly.
"I'm going to get in trouble for spending the night here," I tell him honestly and a glare settles on his face.
"It's okay," I dismiss it, waving my hand in the air.
"Why don't I have a talk with your dad?" he crosses his arms and my eyes widen a little bit. I shake my head.
"Oh no, that'd only make things a lot worse," I explain.
"What does he expect from you? Does he want you to wait until you're thirty to have a fucking relationship?" he grumbles.
I honestly don't know why it bothers dad so much.
"I don't know," I mumble. He only sighs.
"And your mom doesn't say anything?"
"When you came to my house, she said I shouldn't let you be there much," I look up at him. His face sets unhappily.
"I should actually probably go home. The last time I stayed for long, Dad got mad," I tell him honestly, picking up my plate, and putting it in the sink.
"Do you want me to wash those?" I question sincerely, nodding to the dishes in the sink.
His face scrunches as if it was stupid to ask that.
"Quit asking stupid questions," he warns me, gripping onto my arm and turning me the opposite direction of the sink.
"Kiss my butt," I send him a scowl over my shoulder. The look on my face drops when he starts coming for me.
He grips the top of the back of my pants and I'm pulled back into him.
"Now or later?" His hand slides over my booty.
"Grey," I scold. He isn't serious, is he?
"Think heavenly thoughts Sugar," I imitate the praying hands that he has tattooed on his hand, with mine.
"Where'd you get this scar?" His finger brushes over a scar on the very top of my shoulder.
"Sex."
"That was my first guess," he chides.
"A couple of years ago, I was in the shower- aren't you already so interested?"
By now, Mr. Terrip would've already tuned me out.
"A couple years ago you were in the shower," he repeats.
"Tell me about that shower," his voice gets lower.
"Oh well the shower was nice and warm. I think I was really tired so it was supposed to be a really quick one," I tell him about it and after I finish he sighs.
"I-Okay," he starts but cuts himself off.
"Anyway, I fell and busted my shoulder up on the faucet. It hurt so bad," I recall the pain in my shoulder. I feel him lean down and place a kiss on it.
Sweet as sugar.
Bear whines in jealousy.
"Are you still hungry?" He asks. I ate six pancakes.
"Is this why Bear is just a little chunky? Do you always give him food just because you think he looks hungry?" I turn around to face him.
"He's not chunky," he looks over at him.
He's only a bit chunky. But that's perfectly okay because it means that there's just more of him for us to love.