42. Ford
FORD
“Mmm…,” June hums. It’s low and rusty from sleep and sounds sexy as hell.
Rubbing at my tired eyes, I lift my head from the pillow and look down at her curled against my chest. Not gonna lie. She's cute as a button, but my back might not ever forgive me for last night’s decision.
“It’s official,” I grunt. “Twin beds are not meant for two people.”
June wiggles against me, groaning as she tries to shift on the too small bed. Seems I’m not the only one dissatisfied with our position. Covering her yawn with her hand, she points out, “To be fair, you’re the one who asked to have a sleepover.”
“Oh, so you’re rescinding your invitation?” I ask.
Her sleepy smile shines back at me. “Too late. It’s already morning.”
“Well, damn. I’m already counting down the minutes to bedtime.”
Resting her chin on my chest, she peeks up at me. “Me—”
My grumbling stomach cuts her off.
“Are you hungry?”
“Apparently,” I reply.
“Come on, I’ll make you some breakfast.” Moving off me, her hair a mess, she pads toward the exit, and I take a second to enjoy the view.
I’m not sure when she managed to slip on my discarded T-shirt.
It sits tight around her tits and stomach, stretching the fabric while her baby blue underwear covers her round ass, leaving her perfect thighs and dimpled skin on full display.
“I take it back,” I call.
She glances over her shoulder, her brows pinched.
“I’m definitely ready for my breakfast.” I crook my finger, urging her to come back to bed. Where I can devour her. My mouth waters at the thought.
With a laugh, she says, “First teeth, then pancakes, then tutoring, then…your afternoon snack.”
Tutoring. Right. I’d almost forgotten. Pushing to my feet, I walk closer, gripping her hips and tugging her into me. “And by snack, you mean…you?”
Her soft brown lashes bat up and down. “Maybe.”
She’s cute in the morning. Is she always this cute in the morning?
Are all girls this cute in the morning and because I’ve never slept over, I’ve always missed it?
Nah. Pretty sure this is a June-exclusive phenomenon, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
Tilting my head, I tuck her messy locks behind her ear.
“Do you always plan out your mornings like this?”
Her grin widens. “Sure do.”
I lean forward for a kiss, but she dodges the gesture and covers her mouth. “I said teeth first, remember?”
After we brush our teeth, me with a spare because my girl is always prepared and she takes dental health seriously, we head to the kitchen.
Pretty sure it’s the size of my closet at home, but I don’t mind the close proximity.
The opportunity to touch June as much as possible under the guise of innocence.
She scoots in front of me, her ass grazing my crotch as she opens the refrigerator and pulls out a dirty glass jar.
It’s filled with some kind of sticky substance, and my nose wrinkles.
“What is that?” I ask.
Clutching the jar to her chest, June closes the fridge, then faces me with a grin. “Ford, I’d like you to meet”—she holds the jar out for me to take as if it’s a rare gem—“my son, Quasimodough.”
“The one and only, huh?” The jar is cold from the fridge. I hold it up to the light, inspecting the contents. Large bubbles press against the glass in a creamy white concoction. I glance at June again. “He looks just like you.”
Crinkles form at the corners of her eyes. “Why, thank you.” Taking the jar back, she twists the lid and raises it to my nose. “Smell.”
I take a whiff, then pull back. What is that? Why is it almost familiar? I go in for another sniff. Tangy. Acidic. Almost like yogurt or buttermilk, but different. “It kind of smells like beer,” I realize.
“It’s the yeast,” she explains. “He’s hungry.”
“Hungry?”
“Yeah, do you see the bubbles?” Her finger taps along the outside of the jar.
“The yeast is a living organism, right? So it needs food to keep growing and fermenting and tasting delicious, so we need to discard…” She inspects the glass again.
“Probably three-quarters of this? Then we’ll add some flour and water.
” Her attention shifts to the time on the microwave.
“I don’t think I have time to make an actual loaf since we have a lot of studying to do, but what do you say we make some pancakes with the discard? ”
I blink. Twice. Damn, the girl is like a scientist and shit. Pushing up my sleeves, I say, “All right, put me to work and tell me what to do because I have no idea what you just said.”
With a laugh, she nudges me toward the sink. “First, wash your hands, then grab the skillet by the stove and the flour in the cupboard.”
Well, all right then.
“Okay, so what you’re saying is, I need to multiply the first numbers in each parenthesis before multiplying the outer numbers?” June questions.
“Yes, then it’s the inner numbers and the last,” I repeat. After devouring the best short stack I’ve ever tasted, I helped June clean up the kitchen before she pulled out the results from her last math test along with the first unit due Monday. Two hours later, she’s mastered the entire thing.
She looks back at her paper and starts the calculation. The familiar scratch of pencil to paper is the only noise in the kitchen before I scoot my chair a little closer to her. A wrinkle forms in her brow when she pushes the notebook toward me. “Like this?”
I look over her work, my head bobbing up and down. “Not too bad, June Bug.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, for sure. It’s right.”
She sags against her chair, relief spreading over her pretty face. “Okay, so that’s what I was doing wrong. I kept adding the two numbers in the parentheses then multiplying. My bad.”
“It makes sense if you know what X is, but since we’re multiplying two binomials, you need to get rid of the parentheses before you can break the equation down even further to find X.”
“Okay, so if we didn’t have X or if we knew what X already was, then we’d do what was inside the parentheses before multiplying the two numbers?”
“Exactly.” Unable to help myself, I lean in and kiss her. She tastes like syrup. I resist the temptation to deepen the kiss, and pull back just enough to let her breathe but not entirely. I’m only so strong. “Damn, you’re smart.”
I feel the edge of her mouth curve up. “Maybe I have a good tutor.”
Fuck, this girl is addictive. I kiss her again. “Does this mean it’s time for my afternoon snack?”
She giggles against me and raises her hand, cupping my cheek and shifting closer on her chair.
My mouth moves over hers as her fingers tickle my jaw.
I love it. The gentle exploration. The innocent curiosity.
It’s a June-exclusive quirk. One I know I’ll never grow tired of.
My hand finds her thigh, and I squeeze. “Yeah. Definitely time for my afternoon—”
My phone buzzes on the tabletop.
“One second,” I murmur against her lips.
Picking up my phone, I find Hawke’s name on the screen.
Dammit. Sometimes, I hate how close I am to my brothers.
Most families would turn off their cell, making a mental note to call them later.
Me? I know I won’t be able to focus on anything else until I’ve spoken to him, thanks to the shit-show that is our business at the moment.
Even so, I hesitate, staring at my brother’s name.
“Answer it,” June urges as if she can read my mind.
I give her a scowl, then slide my thumb across the screen. “What?” I groan.
“Dude, what the hell?”
“What?”
“You still haven’t cleaned the hall of mirrors?”
“What?” Hall of Mirrors? What the hell is he—ah, shit. Another groan slips out of me as I piece together what he’s talking about. Slumping back in June’s kitchen chair, I mutter, “Fuck.”
“Gus is pissed.”
Yeah, no shit. He has rules for us using his property, and the most important one is that we leave shit as we got it or better.
Considering the paint, feathers, beer bottles and probably condom wrappers I have no doubt are tossed around the hall of mirrors from our last Harden Night on the carnival grounds, Gus has gotta be livid.
I shift my phone to my opposite ear. “I’ll take care of it. ”
“You already said you’d take care of it.”
“Yeah, but I forgot.”
“Who’s to say you won’t forget again?” Hawke demands.
“Because I won’t, okay?” I snap. I hate that he has every right to be pissed.
I dropped the ball. And considering the precariousness of our relationship with Gus at the moment, I didn’t just drop the ball I dropped the ball big-time.
Even so, the last thing I need is a lecture. “Come on, man, don’t be a dick.”
“When?” he pushes. “When will you take care of it?”
If I hadn’t already fucked up, I’d bribe a few freshmen to handle it for me, but considering the lack of time and the need to make sure shit gets done right as soon as possible, I run my tongue along my top teeth, considering my options.
Trouble is, there aren’t any. Not really.
Only one answer will earn my brother’s stamp of approval and stave off a lecture.
“I’ll do it tonight,” I offer.
“When?”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes and call him out for being on his man period.
I won’t because I was in a good mood before answering his phone call, and if I pick a fight, it’ll only drag this out, but boy, do I want to.
He’s in a mood today. Maybe he caught Lexie grinding on some guy’s junk or something.
Whatever it is, he needs to calm the hell down.
I glance at June and pray for patience. “It’ll be done by nine, all right? ”
“AM or PM?”
“PM,” I clarify. Duh.
“That’s four hours away.”
“Would you prefer I said AM and wait ‘til tomorrow?” I toss back at him.
“You’re really gonna get it done before tonight?”
“Jesus, Hawke, I don’t need a babysitter.”
“If you didn’t need a babysitter, you wouldn’t have forgotten.”
“Someone’s pissy this afternoon. Did you forget your Midol?”
Oops. I said it.
“Just get it done, all right?” The call ends, and my phone clatters against the table.
“You okay?” June asks.
“I love my brother, but he really needs to get laid,” I grumble.
Amusement toys at the edge of June’s lips. “What is it?”
“Nothing. I just forgot about something I need to take care of, so I gotta get going.”
“Oh.” With a frown, she closes her notebook and starts gathering her pencils, eraser, and graphing calculator. “Okay, well, I think we’ve covered enough math for today, so…”
“You want to come with me?” I ask.
Her fiddling ceases. “Where?”
“To The Drift,” I answer. “I have to clean up one of the rooms at the carnival grounds.”
“Oh.” She smiles. “Yeah, of course. I’d love to.”
“Really?”
Not gonna lie. I’m a little surprised. Who wants to spend their Sunday cleaning up another person’s mess? I know I don’t, but the idea of June tagging along makes the task a lot more palatable.
“I mean, if I tag along, I get to spend some more time with you, so why wouldn’t I?” she asks.
Well, damn.
I’m not used to being wanted. Okay, that’s a load of bullshit, but I mean it in the most…
I don’t know, non-sexual, maybe? Yeah, I mean it in the most non-sexual way possible.
People don’t spend time with me unless they want something.
And sure, June wanted me to help her with her homework, but it doesn’t feel quite so transactional as it does with others.
The reminder brings a warmth to my chest. Like a hot cup of coffee with extra whipped cream on a cold morning.
Reaching for the leg of her chair, I drag her closer and kiss her again.
“But first, I need my afternoon snack.” Then, I dive in deeper, sweeping my tongue against the seam of her lips.
Yeah, the room can wait another hour.