Chapter 11
EVER
The rental is empty when I get home. Gage is staying overnight at José’s place in Montgomery. The guys will be celebrating until dawn, and with how uptight Gage has been lately, I encouraged him to party like there’s no tomorrow.
He grumbled, then changed his mind when I started coughing like I was hacking up a lung.
“Wouldn’t want you getting sick,” I said, knowing full well that Gage has asthma, and he sees using his inhaler as a sign of weakness.
Gage is about manly strength, not having a woman at his side to prove his worth, and not showing vulnerabilities that have him coming off as a pussy, his words.
It’s rare to have the two-bedroom, one-and-a-half-bath house to myself, and I resist the urge to run around the coffee table with my arms waving above my head in a goofy celebratory dance.
Liking the privacy that comes with the emptiness of not having a moody roommate, I sit on the couch and bask in the silence before showering and getting in bed.
Before I call it a night, or morning—it’s one—I keep my promise to Bobby and text him that I’m home. I’m surprised when he texts me back right away rather than leaving me on read.
B: TY Ever
B: Best news
How can two words make me feel like I’m soaring above the clouds? I beam in the darkness and text him back, not ready to fall asleep. My nerves are heightened, and I’d rather text Bobby than lie awake, overthinking.
Me: WYD
I groan. That’s what a frat boy would text when putting out feelers for a late-night booty call.
B: Office. Crimson.
Me: Y R U inside Crimson’s office
B: I know the owner. He lets me sleep off my hangovers
I narrow my eyes.
Me: U weren’t wasted inside your truck
Did he throw back a few shots and have more of his “usual” with other women after I drove away and watched him in the rearview mirror until he disappeared?
Me: R U alone?
I’m not sure why I asked, other than there’s a pit in my stomach.
Is there a drop-dead gorgeous woman with him, someone closer to his age?
Or maybe it’s women. My time with Bobby was unforgettable, but I still can’t shake the image of the women salivating over him when I caught them checking him out.
B: You?
Me: Depends
Is he jealous?
Me: Can I see you
I’d like to see his face. He said I’m an open book, but Bobby is a different story, no pun intended. I want a better read on him, away from the heat wrapping around us, that drew us closer until I was straddling his thick thighs inside his lifted pickup truck parked in an empty back lot.
My cell rings.
A fluttering starts in my belly. My body heats. I answer on the second ring, turn on the bedside light, and put the call on speaker.
Bobby’s sexy face takes up the screen. His eyes light up when he sees me. And his dimpled smile . . . A twinge starts in my chest and travels to my stomach, where hundreds of butterflies awaken. I haven’t experienced this fluttering in my stomach since Carlos.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
“Happy Saturday to you too.”
“You okay with me keeping you up?” He must’ve set the phone upright against something. Bobby is looking at me with his chin resting on his arms, giving me his full attention. “You said Saturday mornings at the bakery are hectic, and I don’t want to cause more stress by keeping you up.”
Considerate some?
“I’m a college student, remember? We can party into the early morning, be hungover, and still make it to a seven a.m. class on less than two hours of sleep.”
He laughs. “Is that from experience?”
My eyes widen. “How did you know?”
More laughter from him. “I didn’t. It was a wild guess.”
I shake my head, the corners of my mouth lifting. “You’re unbelievable.” The fluttering in my stomach grows from what feels like one hundred butterflies to a million taking flight.
“And you’re gorgeous when your eyes get big. Makes me want to kiss you right smack between them.”
His words have an immediate effect. I relax into bed, pull the covers to my chin, and imagine his soft, warm mouth pressed on the strip of flesh between my eyes.
“I wish you were here.” It’s out before I know what I’m saying. I clamp my hand over my mouth.
The sparkle in his eyes fades, replaced with a dark and lustful expression. Bobby’s gaze roams over my face, from my eyes to my nose, before settling on my mouth. If my eyes, nose, and mouth were locations on my face, we’d know precisely what Bobby’s destination is.
His interest spurs my own and brings my desire into the open. “I want to feel your mouth on mine. Feel your hands on my body. Relive every moment of tonight, this morning, with you.”
There’s a beat of silence, as if we’ve lost connection, but we haven’t, and horror washes over me for oversharing.
I shield my face from him with my hand. “I’m sorry.
” I fan my fingers and peek through them.
“It was too much. I understand if you want to end the call. You must think I’m desperate for male attention.
Or that I’m love bombing you.” I’m digging myself into a deeper hole when I won’t shut up.
I cover my face with a pillow and groan. I wouldn’t blame Bobby if he wants to get off this call ASAP. I’m coming off as needy.
I am not needy. Carlos said I was too independent for my own good and that asking for help wasn’t a sign of weakness or that I couldn’t take care of myself. That’s my fear, though. What I didn’t tell Carlos.
My biggest fear is losing my grip on life again to the point that I do the unthinkable, like taking my mom’s drugs, so I could lose myself because I’d rather drown in a high than ask for help with my grief over losing my mother.
Mom worked two jobs to afford the mortgage and the bills. Money was tight, and we were regulars at the food bank. That didn’t stop her from taking me to the zoo, visiting Dumas Botanical Garden, and shopping for school supplies and new clothes, and then makeup when I was twelve.
We still enjoyed life. She was my world, and Ty and I were hers. He was into football, and his passion and talent made her more determined to make his dream of playing ball in college come true. His dream did come true, and he played football for DU before he opened his tattoo shop.
My mom was strong. The strongest person I know.
But I knew, even at a young age, that she carried a heavy load on her shoulders.
She cried at night, when she didn’t think I would hear her.
She thought I was deep asleep beneath the covers.
Mom was wrong. I stayed awake until silence descended on the house.
When she didn’t stop crying, I went to her, holding a plushie that my father had given to me, using his men. They’d set a box on the back porch.
Seeing the latest plushie, she’d smile through her tears and say everything would be all right. She was waiting for a promotion. Then she met her dealer at one of her jobs, and life went from tough to unbearable.
Ty was out of the house. By then, he was twenty and playing football for DU. Our visits to see my dad gradually became less frequent. I couldn’t tell him what was happening with Mom.
He spoke in codes on our last visit, letting us know that trouble was brewing for him inside prison. Dad didn’t go into details, but I had a feeling it had to do with his ties to his father’s side of the family, who have connections to the Irish mob.
My mom’s dealer got her hooked, and her addiction stripped her of her independence and spirit.
When she asked me for help, it wasn’t so she could get clean.
My mom asked for help with the small things we often took for granted, like getting dressed, remembering to eat and drink, using the bathroom, and showing love to those around her.
I was made to feel like a stranger, then a caregiver in our house.
I loved her, but she was needy all the way to the end. “Brush my hair and apply my makeup, Ever. Help me get dressed, baby girl.” Her dealer was stopping by the house, and she wanted to look good for him, though she still loved my father.
I never want to be needy.
“Ever?”
“Hmm?” The pillow muffles my response. I don’t want to face Bobby. I’m scared I’ll see a what-the-hell-have-I-gotten-myself-into expression.
“Look at me.”
I peek at him around the pillow.
“Remove the pillow.”
I set it aside.
His face fills the screen, and I’m in full view of his beautiful eyes. I swallow down my nervousness and wait for his judgment. It doesn’t happen.
“Never apologize for sharing your desires with me. In fact, I encourage you to tell me what you want. Am I clear?”
Want and not need. Liking his choice of words, I blink back the tears and smile. “Crystal.”
His fingers glide over the screen. “Your eyes, sweetness. There’s sadness in them.”
Oh God, he’s wiping away the tears pooling in my eyes with his finger on the screen. Tears prickle my eyes anew.
“Tell me what makes you sad and I’ll do everything in my power to make it better.”
“You can’t.” I sniffle and wipe the back of my hand over my eyes.
“Try me.”
I blink back my tears. My throat tightens.
When I speak, my voice is hoarse, like I’ve been screaming in pain.
“When I’m with you, talking with you, I want to share my memories of my mom and best friend with you.
Others aren’t talking about them as much as they used to, like they’re forgetting them, and it hurts here.
” I ball my hand on the spot above my heart.
“You lost your mom, sweetness?”
“When I was fifteen.”
“Aw, baby, I’m sorry for your loss. Grief is hard, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say on a strangled whisper.
“Tell me until it doesn’t hurt here anymore, sweetheart.” He places his palm over his heart.
Telling him about my mom will be nice, but . . . “You won’t mind me talking about another man?”
“I’m not jealous of a best friend who watches out for you from heaven, babe.”
I told him I’d never be a man’s baby, babe, or sweetheart, but Bobby . . . Bobby’s pet names endear him to me more.