51. Jake
FIFTY-ONE
JAKE
Darcy and I get trashed.
It starts as an innocent margarita while we’re out for dinner. The next thing I know, we’re shooting whiskey at a honky tonk, dancing until our balance doesn’t let us anymore. We get a late-night slice and stumble back to my apartment, where she makes fun of my navy blue sheets. Apparently this is some stereotypical young guy thing? She didn’t say a peep about it when I was fucking her into the bed that afternoon, but I guess the whiskey has her lips a little looser.
In the morning, we slither out of bed, slap together a greasy breakfast, and dance around the kitchen. It’s sweet and cozy. Domestic. I hold her hips and nibble her neck while we cook.
She’s wearing my shirt that’s much too big and slipping off her shoulder. I pepper kisses along the ridge of her shoulders and she bursts into tears. I remove my hands from her, holding them up. “What? Did I hurt you?”
She spins and throws her arms around my neck. “I just love you so much.”
I hold her and laugh. “I love you too.”
She’s laughing and crying. “Sorry, hangover. Makes me emotionally vulnerable.”
I brush her hair back from her face. “Is that it?”
Her eyes fill again, which she waves away. “It’s my favorite place to be kissed, and I remember—” she breaks off with a sob. I’m taken aback by her big burst of emotion. “Sorry, sorry. I remember when you first kissed me there.”
“When you were sick?” I ask.
“Yes,” she cries. “It was just so sweet and nice and—I just really love you, you know?”
I kiss her forehead and she hiccups while I hold her to my shirt. “I love you too, baby. You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”
“Yes!” she shrieks. “God, I know! I told you, this is my hangover thing!”
We sway in the kitchen while she laughs and cries and calms down, her face against my chest, her ear on my heart.
“I feel very loved,” I tell her.
She nods. “You are.”
We kiss and slowly, it evolves. Her fingertips snake under my shirt. My hands push her underwear down, cruising over her bare ass until I crush it in my fingers. Her legs loop around my waist and my cock teases at her entrance. I try to press her against the kitchen wall, but she squeals that it’s too cold. We settle on the couch, and her eyes never leave mine. Sometimes they shut, but they always come back to me. She’s not very talkative but I tell her everything: how much I love her, how beautiful she is, how perfect she feels in my hands.
The time comes where we either need to eat dinner or part ways. We both have to work early, and I need to drive her back to the farm. She says she’s not hungry, but I take her through a drive-thru anyway. “Thanks, Daddy,” she grumbles.
Darcy seems unduly sad when we say goodbye back at the farm. She clutches me tight and sniffles.
Something’s wrong. Very wrong.
“I love you,” she whimpers.
“I love you too. I’ll see you Wednesday. I’m just starting my last semester of school. I’m not going off to war.”
“Sorry,” she says, waving around her face. “Hangover strikes again. It’s just been a really good summer.”
I lace my fingers with hers and hold them behind her back, her chin tipped up at me. “It has. We’ve got a whole lot of fun ahead of us, baby. This is just the beginning.”
She doesn’t say anything and, for the first time, unease settles in my gut.