Chapter 9 Heather
“Ricky!?” I call, cupping my hands around my mouth. I know this son of a bitch is around here somewhere, hiding from me so he can give me another heart attack.
Once both of us were done swimming in the lake a mile back from my house, he decided to climb out and run away from me, and I’ve been looking for him ever since he took off like a bat out of hell. He does this all the time, because apparently scaring me is one of his favourite things to do.
We were supposed to go to Mexico with all of Greek row for spring break, but seeing as my mother was travelling to London to spend some time with my aunt—after my father’s… untimely death—Ricky and I decided to stay here for the summer.
Two weeks of just me and him living together and enjoying the sun with no interruptions. Nobody to bother us, and nothing to care about but each other. I couldn’t think of anything better—even though his fraternity brothers were less than thrilled about the idea of him not being there.
“Ricky, I swear to god!” I call, fighting the smile on my face.
“Get out here right now!” I shout again, but much louder this time as I turn around, walking backwards for a few paces before I right myself once more.
The fucker stole my denim shorts when he left the lake too, so I’ve been walking around in the pink bikini he bought me last month.
After a few moments, I move through the forest’s edge and stride towards the front of my house, but before I have a chance to get any closer, I hear the sound of his feet hitting the ground behind me and the loud roar he bellows scares the absolute shit out of me.
I release a deafening, high-pitched scream as my body jerks in horror and I practically jump out of my skin.
Ricky grabs my waist and spins me around to face him, widening his stance so he doesn’t tread on my toes. “Gotcha!”
“You asshole!” I smack him repeatedly against his bare chest, giggling along with him. “What is wrong with you?” I laugh, smacking him on his shoulder once more for good measure.
He playfully takes hold of my wrists and spins me in a circle, pulling my back to his chest as he begins to walk forward. His laughter dying down when he buries his face in the crook of my neck. “You look so sexy in your little pink bikini.”
I snort, rolling my eyes at the statement. “Whatever.”
His words are muffled when he speaks again, but I know exactly what he says to me. “Are you wet for me, baby?” he mewls seductively in my ear.
I scoff, “So romantic. I think you and Ricky Jr. need to take a break from all the sexual activities we’ve been indulging in.”
Ricky slides one of his hands down the front of my bikini bottoms, the warmth of his fingers sliding between my slit. “Would you look at that, ladies and gentleman, my girl is in fact wetter than an otter’s pocket.”
I burst out laughing at that, snatching his hand out of the fabric and spinning around to face him once more. My hands cup both his cheeks. “Ricky Martin, you do have a way with words.”
“My mouth is good at many things, sweetheart. My hands too, but you would know that… wouldn’t you,” he huffs before bending forwards and hoisting me over his shoulder, spanking me light-heartedly on my ass, and causing me to release another excited yelp that echoes through the woods.
“Now, we’re going to take a photo for that stupid summer album you’re making, and then I’m going to take you upstairs and fuck the shit out of you.”
“Wow… you’re so romantic.”
“You know it.”
Ricky carries me up the hill towards my house without a single complaint, only settling me on my feet to run inside and grab his phone.
When he steps back through the front door, he jogs down the steps leading up to my porch and over to the tree stump in my front yard, balancing his phone against it and setting a timer.
“Aaaalright. Here we go.” He beams as he makes his way back over to me, and without warning he sweeps me into his arms, bride-style. The timer ticks down and I join him, smiling like nothing in the world can come between us. “I’m going to marry you one day.”
I look at him then, leaning towards him and pressing my lips against his in a deep, passionate kiss. “Okay,” I mewl against his mouth. “Two killers getting married… sounds fun. But one things for sure… we’re changing your last name to Delaney. Ricky Martin has got to go.”
Ricky snorts with laughter against my mouth, throwing his head back with mirth before he spins on his heel and ascends the stairs towards the front door.
“Your phone!” I point behind him.
“Fuck the phone.”
It was me.
It was always me.
At least that’s what he used to tell me.
Memories of every encounter we had within the first six months of our relationship come flooding back, the experience shattering me into a million pieces.
Filling me with more pain and anguish than I ever thought possible, and even though I try my hardest to do as he says—and focus on how he’s breathing—I can’t stop the tears spilling further with every second that passes.