Eleven
W e walked back to the clubhouse together, and I knew he wanted to ask, but he was trying to honour my privacy or some shit, so eventually I groaned.
“Go on, start with the incessant questioning, brother, I know you want to.”
Reacher laughed, stopping at the side of the road to eye the local coffee shop. He opened the door and took a deep breath in through his nose, and closed it again, walking once more.
“You’re a twisted bastard, aren’t you? Torturing yourself like that. Decaf tastes just the damn same and you know it.”
Reacher glared at me. “Don’t give me that shit, it tastes like despair.”
I could tell him about despair, but I could tell he was trying.
“So?”
He wasn’t looking at me as he answered.
“I’m glad you went, man, thanks. All I wanna know is if it helped at all, to have someone outside of the club to talk to.”
“She’s not though, is she? Not really. Not that I think she’d tell Ice, but I still have to risk seeing her daily at the club, knowing that she knows how fucked up I am. What scares me. What wakes me in the night.”
He slowed down at the curb, shooting me a look.
“Nightmares?”
“Try being in my position and see if you get them. Actually, fuck me, that’s an awful thing to say. Don’t ever be in my position please. And yeah, she’s nice. Listens well, but doesn’t judge. Time will tell, but if she got Ice to talk to her, maybe she’s a miracle worker after all, right?”
“Think it helps that he’s crazy about her, but yeah, she’s helped me too, so I think it’s worth trying. So uh…”
Here we go. Pushing for details. Wanting to know if I told her just how much I’ve given up on life.
“Cammy seems nice.”
“Fuck you, man. And it’s Camille.”
He smirked as he pounded his fist on the gate.
“Why don’t you just let yourself in, dickhead?”
He grinned as the prospect pulled it open for us.
“Wouldn’t want to deprive them of their job, would I?”
“Why did you ask about her, anyway?” He shouldn’t know, I mean, nobody knew we’d almost hooked up, right?
He stopped, dragging me to stop with him.
“You do remember going all caveman-like in there, right? You think I didn’t know why you dragged me away from her? She’s nice, and you know, convenient.”
The fuck? I shoved him away from me.
“Fuck you, asshole! You think this is just about fucking convenience, or fucking laziness? Go fuck yourself.” I wanted to hit him, and that surprised me, because we’d have the occasional disagreement but never anything that led to actual blows. I was tempted though, because he shouldn’t talk about a lady like that. It was out of order.
I stepped up closer, jabbing my finger at his chest.
“Don’t ever fucking talk about her like that again. In fact, don’t even fucking think her name. Got it?”
He held up both hands as he agreed with me, but he was smirking, the fucker. Getting a rise out of me, like it was a fucking game. I glared at my bike before I went inside, feeling even more frustrated by the fact that I couldn’t fucking sit on it, and I really, really needed a ride.
Cammy
W hen Lissa invited me to the clubhouse again for drinks, I considered it, but I knew if I went, I’d only be looking for Stitch, and when I didn’t find him, I’d be crushed by disappointment, because I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
I went home, and I changed into a vest and shorts, because it was pretty damn hot and I moped about all evening, eventually going to bed with a large glass of wine, and a book, because sometimes a girl needs to get some any way she can.
My phone buzzed, and I ignored it, sinking into the gloriously sexy scene in my book. The hero, or anti-hero as he really was, had pinned his captive to the wall, and was touching her. It was so hot. She was arguing with him, but she wasn’t exactly fighting. The phone buzzed again and I cursed, grabbing it so I could silence it.
On the lock screen, it showed a text from an unknown number, but the last message showed.
Unknown : It’s Stitch, btw.
My heart raced, and the kindle fell from my hand, as I sat up straighter. Stitch? How did he have my number? I unlocked the phone, and saw it was the second message from him.
Unknown : Lissa gave me your number, I hope that’s okay.
Unknown : It’s Stitch, btw.
Wow. Oh my god. She gave him my number?! And I was sitting on my bed, nicely buzzing from wine, nicely moist from the sex scene I was reading, and here was my personal wet dream, texting me. Oh! I should text back.
Me : Hi Stitch… why do they call you that anyway?
He was quiet for a few minutes, and I actually worried that I’d offended him, or that I’d missed my window, because he’d fallen asleep. I checked the time on my phone. It was almost midnight, wow. I’d been reading longer than I thought. I wondered if I should message again, but then my phone buzzed in my hand.
Unknown : Why don’t you try guessing, and I’ll tell you when you get it.
And yes, there was an emoji after the message, with a tongue poking out. Stitch uses emojis? My god. I’d only seen him intense and nervous, and this was a new side of him yet again.
Hmmm… why, I wonder… Oooh…
Me : Because you keep everyone in stitches with your amazing sense of humour!
I wondered if he was in bed too, or if he was naked. Well, both really. I hoped he was naked and sprawled out, all glistening and sexy. Why would he be glistening? Fuck’s sake, woman, get it together.
Stitch : There should be penalties for every wrong answer, I think.
Oooh… that was sexy too. Clearly I’d gone too long without sex. I was making everything into something bigger. I liked seeing his name on my phone though. Maybe I should have added the emoji after his name.
Me : What did you have in mind, and will I enjoy it?
Oh my god, what made me send that? Wine? Horniness? Both, I’m going with.
His answer was faster than the others.
Stitch : Well, I will… not sure about you.
Oh god… how was texting making me even wetter? He probably meant something dull, but here I was picturing spanking, or something utterly wicked and depraved.
Stitch : I’m not telling you what it’ll be. Let’s keep the mystery going. I’ll just keep counting.
That was definitely kind of kinky, and I was totally down for that.
Me : Just so you know, there’s not much I wouldn’t enjoy.
Damn, I just kept flirting, and he might not be. What if he was being sensible, and I was hitting on him? I went back and re-read every message in a panic. The buzz in my hand told me there was a new message, so I nervously scrolled down to read it.
Stitch : I’m looking forward to finding out whether you’ll enjoy what I have in mind.
Be still my lady parts, he really is flirting! My god. I felt like sliding my fingers into my underwear, and stroking myself as we flirted, because this was the most action I’d had in forever. Wasn’t that incredibly lame? Don’t worry, I know the answer is yes.