CHAPTER 32
Murphy
I’m not going to think about where this ball gag has been or how Auggie chose the giant beef bone that Alexis and Cheri gave him instead of protecting me. Note to self—never underestimate the strength and agility of two tiny women armed with fuzzy pink handcuffs.
So help me, if someone walks into The Dew Drop right now and sees me like this, I’m moving out of the country. What the fuck is going on?
“Are you comfortable?” Cheri asks, dabbing at the drool running down my chin with a cocktail napkin.
Grunting, I try to flash her a stern look, but she seems unfazed. Smiling at me, she pats my cheek.
“It’ll be just a few more minutes. Don’t go anywhere. Okay?”
Don’t go anywhere? Is she freaking kidding me?
They tied my feet to this chair as soon as I sat down. I never should have gotten in their car, but in my defense, the stocking hat they pulled down over my eyes prevented me from knowing exactly where I was. I used to like her. Used to.
A microphone squeals, making me flinch. Alexis’ voice booms over the room from the overhead speakers.
“And now, in his debut performance at The Dew Drop, with the exception of one failed attempt at Amateur Night a few years back—for one night, and one night only—the tantalizing Jesse Carver!”
I knew Jesse probably had something to do with this, but this is not what I expected. Is he going to freaking perform? How is that going to repair our fucked-up friendship?
Music filters through the speakers and every muscle in my body locks up. ‘S.O.S.’ by ABBA. He’s playing ABBA for this screwed up peace-keeping offer or whatever it is?
It’s official. I’m going to kill him for ruining my favorite band for me. At least I still have Elton.
The sparkly silver stage backdrop curtain rustles, and he fumbles out through it. I gape. Or at least, I try to. My damn mouth is already pried open by this stupid ball gag.
Decked out in silver, sequin-covered short-shorts that must belong to one of the girls, the only other article of clothing he’s wearing are suspenders. Unless you count the body shimmer smeared across his chest and abs.
Is this some kind of joke to him? I tell him I love him, and his answer is to further tease me with his body? Something is wrong with him. Seriously wrong.
His eyes go wide when he focuses on me through the brazen overhead lights. Am I supposed to believe that the kidnapper grandmaster didn’t know his minions gagged me? I glare back to let him know how I feel about his blundered instructions, but he schools his features.
Game face on, he actually looks a bit nervous as he does a runway-style walk up to one of the dancing poles. He should be nervous. Ass beating of a lifetime coming your way, Carver!
Mouthing the words to the song as he circles sullenly around the pole, I’m shocked to see that he actually knows the lyrics. Is this supposed to be some melodramatic interpretation of our relationship? Because it’s not funny. It’s not funny since I was the only one of us who was dumb enough to fall in love.
Alexis and Cheri dart out from behind the curtain, waltzing in time to the impending chorus up to Jesse. Matching shorts—adorable. The song climbs to its crescendo, and I stiffen at what I suspect is coming. Head down, arms held high like he’s some kind of god, Jesse stands like a statue. And, oh my Lord.
Yup. There go the girls. His shorts come flying off, separating at the seams.
He’s… oh, for fuck’s sake. Like this couldn’t get any worse.
He’s wearing that damn red Speedo we bought on the trip. Way to kick a guy while he’s down… and gagged… and handcuffed.
Kill me. Kill me now.
Stalking forward, he grips the next pole and hikes himself up, grappling his legs around it. What is he…
Oh, no.
Arching back, he extends an arm toward the floor. He’s flexible. I’ll give him that. It’s impressive how graceful he looks. I might even call it erotic, but the painful squeal of his thigh skin as he slides down the pole is like fingernails on a chalkboard. Couple that with the grimace of agony on his face, and I find myself wincing in solidarity.
Shit. That has to hurt.
I just heard a groan. Yeah. Totally hurt.
Face red and panting, he scrambles onto his knees and does some kind of sultry prowl toward the end of the stage. Angling around, I’m treated to the tight stretch of the fabric over his ass.
Fucking hell. Bouncing?
Does he really need to ass-bounce in my face? Now, he’s just being cruel.
Shifting in my chair, there’s little wiggle room to shake off the awakening of my cock. I should not be getting turned on right now.
Fortunately, he gets up after a few bars, but my hopes are in vain. Stepping off the stage, he shimmies up to my chair. I want to believe that adoring smile on his face is the kind I’ve always wanted to see, but I’m sick of deluding myself. I just have to get through one more damn verse of S.O.S. and then I can get the hell out of here. If he doesn’t free me after this, there will be a murder.
Oh, come on. He’s straddling me?
His pelvis makes a few air thrusts. I pinch my eyes closed when his cock bashes into my stomach. I’m only human, I chant. I’m only human.
Make it stop. Please, make it stop.
My chair finally stops rocking. I hear the soft panting of Jesse’s breath close to my face. His hand touches my cheek. I force myself to open my eyes. My heart slams into my throat at the vulnerable-looking smile on his face.
“Hi,” he says softly. “Um, I never said anything about gagging you.” He cringes impishly, fingering this contraption on my face. “Sorry about that, but… maybe it’s a good thing. I need to say some things to you, and I think we’re not good at communicating. It’s kind of hot, though, to be honest.”
Fuck him and that cheeky grin. I almost gave him points for that weak-ass apology, but now all he’s getting is this glare.
“Okay!” He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “We can talk about that later. I hope.”
Give me strength. Give me freaking strength. Sighing, I try to calm myself and muster what I hope is a modicum of patience in my eyes, showing him I’m prepared to listen.
Exhaling, he chews his lip anxiously, looking like he’s in pain. “I’m mad at you,” he blurts.
What? Not what I was expecting. He’s a free man. I’m the one in fuzzy cuffs.
“You threw all this growing old, hand-holding, and loving-me stuff at me and then told me to leave when I didn’t say anything! And then you were going to skip town on me again, just like you did the last time you dropped a bomb on me.” Mouth set in a pout, he grips my shoulders and gives them a little squeeze. “That’s not fair, Murph. You’ve had a long time to think about how you felt about me, but I’ve only had a day. I didn’t know I was allowed to be anything other than your friend until you said so.”
I’ve looked at and dreamt about those eyes countless times. They look so much deeper now; open, exposed. What is he saying?
Rolling his eyes, he lets out an exasperated sound, obviously reading something on my gagged face. “You got pissed off at me when I came after you on the cruise,” he reminds me. “And that guy at the bar? Rod—what a stupid name, by the way. You can’t hang out with a guy named Rod. Anyway, I was jealous.”
He looks like he’s concentrating on where his fingers are playing with the seam of my shirt on my shoulder, but his face is like an epiphany to me. Jesse… jealous?
“I didn’t realize it at the time,” he adds with a grimace, darting his attention back to me, “but now I know for sure that’s what it was I felt. It made me sick. I thought we were just screwing around because you never said anything different. I thought I was the only one feeling… different. Different like I needed you more than I ever have—needed you like I need to see your face all the time and… and to know that I’m the only one you want to do those things with. And when you kiss me,” he pauses, swallowing hard as I listen in awe. “Sometimes I can’t breathe because there’s this feeling in my chest like I’m going to die if we don’t stop, but also like I’ll die if we do stop. But now that I know how you feel, that scary feeling is gone. All that’s there now is happiness,” he says, tapping his chest. “I didn’t want you to go away again without knowing that. So, that’s what I had to say.”
Reaching behind my head, it takes him a few tries, but he releases the straps on the ball gag. The ball slips out of my mouth along with a long bead of slobber. Angling my head, I smear my chin on my shoulder, hoping I look slightly dignified for what I have to say.
He’s still straddling my lap like he has no intention of going anywhere. I’m not happy I’m still strapped to this chair, but I like that he stayed put.
He has happiness in his chest when he thinks about me? He gets jealous? They’re all delightful things to hear, but is that enough?
“You had the girls kidnap me so you could tell me you’re happy?” I drawl, trying to sound annoyed.
Shrugging, he rubs his hands anxiously over my chest, making my skin turn to gooseflesh. “It’s my gesture.”
“Your gesture?”
“Yeah, my big gesture, so you know that when I think about getting old, I think about you being there with me. Your beard is grayer, and you still look grumpy sometimes, but you’re there. And we hold hands and wave to people like two disgustingly happy old guys who love each other. Just each other, not like sandwich makers.”
Did that gag cut off too much air to my brain? Am I hallucinating? Watching his pulse flicker in his neck and the bashful way his gaze keeps flickering off mine and back, I’m too terrified to believe this is all real.
“What are you saying?”
“That you’re stuck with me. You can run away, but I’ll always find you.” The confidence on his face that has my heart soaring falters, and he winces. “That sounded less creepy in my head.”
For weeks now, I’ve been telling myself that I was happier than I ever have been in my life. I wasn’t. It was all smoke and mirrors. We were in limbo, putting the cart before the horse. Right now, though, as a breathless laugh tumbles from my mouth, I am without a doubt the happiest I’ve ever been. Jesse wants to stalk me for the rest of my life in the healthiest way possible.
Smiling, he chews his lip and cards his fingers through my hair. “You’re my best friend, Murph. You always will be, and I love you for that, but… I love you in other ways, too. We can have both, right?”
I’m still going to kick his ass, but it’ll be for being too fucking sweet and making my dreams come true. “Untie me,” I rasp, trying to keep from choking up.
Grinning, his lips meet mine. Soft, sweet, loving. I feel it now. So much love.
Farther back in the room, I hear squealing and cheering from Cheri and Alexis. The damn spies. I’m too grateful for them tackling me at my house and hauling me here to be annoyed, though.
When Jesse comes up for air, I chuckle and shift my shoulders. It’s a friendly reminder that I’m still bound and need his assistance.
Glancing down at me, he grins. “In a minute.”
The pervert. Shifting my hips, I manage to buck up into his groin. Waggling my brows, I add, “How about now?”
“Not until you tell me again.”
“Tell you what?”
“That you were right—that you’re crazy about the guy who loves you back.”
Damn it, I’m becoming a crybaby. Fresh tears are stinging my eyes again. I know he implied it already, but hearing it so boldly makes it all that much more real. Jesse loves me back.
“Yeah, I’m fucking crazy. I’m tied to a chair and don’t want to kick your ass for it.”
His cackle lights up my heart with joy. When he comes in to kiss me again, it occurs to me I don’t have to hold back anymore.
“And I love you,” I murmur against his lips.
“Good.” He beams. “We can probably take the cuffs with us. I doubt the girls will mind.”
A stream of daylight spills onto the floor next to us, accompanied by the sound of a creaking door. “What in Sam Hill is going on?” I hear Ralph call out behind me. “Are we doing amateur night again?”
“Nah, Ralph,” Jesse calls, rising from my lap. Tugging at his Speedo, he adjusts himself with an endearing lack of etiquette. “I’m retiring.”