Chapter 64
Bowen
I love you, Bowen.
It's the first thought that filters past the haze of sleep.
It feels like it should be a dream, but there is no mistaking the vivid memory of kitten muttering those words underneath me last night.
Glistening with sweat, kiss swollen lips and blushed cheeks.
His eyes were still glazed from his orgasm, and my body was soaring to the top.
His words had me free-falling from the precipice so quickly, I didn't have time to brace for the fall.
I fell on top of him like a sack of fucking potatoes, and he laughed, holding me to his chest.
I didn't fucking say it back.
Why the fuck didn't I say it back?
I don't have to search for him this morning. His slender body is fully on top of me. Head tucked under my chin, arms tucked by my armpits. His legs are tangled with mine, and his slow, even breaths tickle the hair on my chest.
I want this. Every morning. I want to make love to him every night.
I want his damn drool on my chest in the morning.
I want his sleepy smiles and bed hair and morning breath kisses.
I want to go to sleep knowing we'll both be in the same bed when the sun comes up.
I want it so badly that my chest burns with the urgency to do whatever I need to make sure it happens.
I need to make sure I make him feel so fucking good, so sure of us, that he doesn't get back in that goddamn van.
So why didn't you say it back, you fucking coward?
Kit mumbles something, scrunches his nose, and rubs it over my chest. That seems to wake him, because the absent rub slows and becomes a slow caress, and I hear him inhale. He's smelling me. I grin and pick my arms up from the bed to run down his spine.
“Morning, kitten.”
“You smell like cum, dude.”
“That's because you're a heathen and refused to get off of me. You used me like a glorified cum rag and went to sleep.”
He snorts, rubbing his cheek on me like an actual kitten before he lifts his head and looks at me.
Sleepy eyes.
Sleepy smile.
Say it!
“Do you think my parents heard us last night?”
My panic halts, considers the memory of him moaning with my tongue in his ass, and switches gears. I groan, wrapping him in my arms to roll us.
But the universe is a fickle bitch who loves to fuck with me. Because as I'm rolling us, the blanket slipping down until my ass is centimeters away from the chill air, the bedroom door creaks open with a, “wakey, wakey eggs and…Bowen?” from none other than Mr. Meyer.
Kit's eyes shoot wide. My heart plummets to my ass, and I consider the very real possibility of having a heart attack. Is death by humiliation a thing?
I scramble, trying to flip off his son without flashing my ass or my horrified dick. Meanwhile, memories of each loud moan echo in my mind. Surely if Pat heard the deprived sounds coming from in here last night, he would have fucking knocked.
Right?
Kit sits up by the headboard as soon as I'm no longer suffocating him, “Dad? Knocking is a thing, remember? We established that when I was like…twelve!” By the way his cheeks burn an even more fiery red, I take it this is not the first embarrassing moment Pat has walked in on.
Pat is somehow just as fucking red as Kit, but unlike his son’s wide eyes, Pat schools his features.
He leans into the doorway, likely so he doesn't fall over from horror, and offers a pleasant smile like my naked dick wasn't just touching his kid.
He sips the coffee in his hand, and it hides the smile tugging at his lips.
“Your Mom will be thrilled to know there aren't feral raccoons in the attic after all.”
Kit covers his face and groans.
I cringe. “Sorry, Mr. Meyer.”
He waves the apology away. “See you boys downstairs for breakfast in ten.”
Kit recovers from the embarrassment long before my heart even begins to relocate itself back in my chest. He giggles over my hurried dressing, like if I put my dick away, it'll revoke the morning. Maybe if I'm dressed and act casual, I can gaslight Pat into thinking none of that happened.
Kit’s eyes sparkle at me in the bathroom mirror while we brush our teeth. I scowl when he waggles his eyebrows. But can't help stealing a kiss when he looks up at me with a smile that fully consumes his face.
His eyes open slowly when I pull back, and he sighs. “You're so hot.”
“You cannot look at me like that over breakfast.”
“Like what?”
“Like you're the feral raccoon and I'm a strawberry Pop-Tart.”
Kit gasps, but humor is tucked into the curve of his lips. “Too soon, Bowen.”
I'm considering going back into his room and living there permanently, but Kit rolls his eyes at the top of the stairs and grabs my hand, tugging me along.
I look down at our entwined fingers and swallow thickly. He smirks at me over his shoulder, and his fingers try to loosen to break the hold, but I squeeze them firmly.
Not happening. His hand fits perfectly in mine.
His dad already saw me on top of him this morning. The hickey is still fading on his pale throat. I think they'll survive seeing us hold hands, though I'm not sure I'd make it without holding his hand now.
I'll tell him after breakfast.
It smells like bacon and pancakes when we walk into the kitchen. Mary is standing at the oven, humming along to a tune only she can hear. Pat is sitting at the kitchen table by the patio glass doors, reading a paper and sipping his coffee.
So fucking normal. It all feels surreal. Like I'm just a kid again, coming downstairs for breakfast after staying up way too late watching movies and eating candy. Only this time, there was no movie, and the only thing I ate was their kid.
“Morning, boys,” Mary singsongs, grinning.
Warmth. Mary Meyer has always been so warm and welcoming.
She would kiss our scraped knees as kids, just like she would for her own kids.
She always stayed stocked on our favorite snacks and bought me cherry juice boxes even though the rest of the kids liked the fruit punch.
I should have come around more. Or at all the last two years. The best I've done is answer when they call and throw something on the grill when they tagged along with my ma to the lake. They all pretended they were just visiting, but I know they were scouting for any hints that I wasn't okay.
Good thing they all stayed away from the small cabin.
Kit walks me over to the counter and uses his free hand to grab a piece of bacon off the plate next to Mary. He eats half, then feeds me the other half. Mary turns back to the stove with an even bigger grin.
Am I fucking blushing right now? I don't blush.
“We're not gonna be weird about this, right?” Kit asks no one in particular. He narrows his eyes in a faux serious glare at his mom, then his dad.
Pat doesn't even look up from his paper when he says, “I expected to walk in on that a long time ago, kid.”
Yep. My cheeks are on fire.
Kit shoots me a look, like he wants me to commiserate with him, but he does a double-take.
“Don't even say it.”
He throws his head back and laughs, dragging me with him to the kitchen table. I refuse to let go of his hand, so we awkwardly pull out chairs and stretch the hold so we can both slide on opposite sides. As soon as we settle, I pull our joined hands to my thigh.
Mary sets out the food and pinches Kit's cheek when she pours orange juice into his glass. I offer to take the pitcher from her, but she waves me away, filling mine too.
They chat about nothing important. Kit tells his mom about the help wanted sign he had seen at the bookstore, and Pat tells him the coffee shop is always hiring.
The fact that he's talking about finding a job should make me feel good.
If he's talking about a future here, that means he's not going to leave.
But my leg is bouncing with the steady thrum of anxiety coursing through me.
“And how about you, Bowen? When does school start back up?” Pat asks, setting his fork on his empty plate and sitting back, rubbing his stomach.
I clear my throat, and Kit rubs the back of his hand over my thigh. I stop bouncing it and start up with the other. “I actually have a faculty meeting tomorrow morning. School starts Tuesday.”
Only my second year as a teacher, and I'm already failing. I have absolutely nothing prepared, and here I am, chasing my heart around the state like I don't have shit to plan.
Kit swings his head over to look at me, and my stomach swoops. “You're leaving today?”
The panic is there, and I want to pull his mouth to mine and reassure him, but fuck, I feel it too.
“Yeah, kitten.” I squeeze his hand and rub my thumb over his skin. It does nothing to ease the intense look on his face. He's looking at me so hard, like he's willing his thoughts to travel right from his brain into mine.
Mary fiddles with her glass on the table for a moment, then smiles and ignores the sudden weight in the room. “You guys should go see your mom, Bowen. I bet she was thrilled when you showed up.”
The memory of walking into my mom's for the first time in years yesterday is something I don't think I'll ever forget.
Setting my keys in the same blue fish dish that Brett made her in school when we were in third grade, seeing the same pictures hanging.
It smelled the same but felt fractured. Hollow.
Quiet where it used to be loud. When I called out for her, she came into the room with tears already rolling down her face.
“Yeah,” Kit whispers, squeezing my hand so hard it hurts. His face is pale, but he tries to smile when he finds me watching him. “Yeah, let's go see your mom.”