36. Rickie
Rickie
“Oh my God, my arms are so tired,” I complain. “It hurts to hold the steering wheel.”
“You want me to drive?” Daphne asks.
“Nope.” I accelerate past a Hyundai and gun it toward Burlington. “Just like to complain.”
She laughs. “Such a whiner. Can I put on Purple Rain ?”
“Sure.”
She pushes the cassette into the player. Prince starts singing “Let’s Go Crazy.”
We’re in my Volvo, with a load of Daphne’s clothes and books in the back seat, and I’m counting down the exits. This is it. School is starting again. I had a great summer with my girl, and—apart from my muscle pain—I feel pretty great about life.
Daphne had been slow to pack up her room, so Dylan and Chastity drove the truck back ahead of us. Tomorrow we’re all registering for fall courses. Then there are two days of classes before we go back to Colebury to pick apples again.
The last three weeks have been crazy busy.
I have mad respect for the Shipley clan, especially Dylan.
I always knew my friend was a hard worker.
But I never quite understood what the busy season meant for him.
It means picking the earliest apples from sunup to sundown, while also preparing the farm for an invasion of tourists.
Meanwhile, the cows and goats still need to be milked.
And August is just the start. There are miles upon miles of ripening apples in that orchard. As the season progresses, they’ll turn red faster than the Shipleys can pick them.
Dylan puts the “full-time” in “full-time student.” That’s for damn sure. And Daphne has agreed to go back with him and Chastity on the weekends to help out.
Which means I’ll probably do the same sometimes, because I fall a little more stupid in love with Daphne every day. That’s me—falling for a girl who thinks she’s moving across the country a year from now.
I guess I’ll deal with that when it happens. For now, I’m going to enjoy her.
Although, since the night her family learned we’re a couple, we’ve barely spent any time alone together. Daphne doesn’t want to fool around in the house where her mother and grandfather might hear, and I don’t blame her.
So we haven’t found many moments of accidental solitude. Except for one fun night when we parked Dylan’s pickup truck on a deserted country road and had a quickie on the back seat. That was a good time. And now I get to tease Daphne about being a real Vermonter.
My foot is heavy on the gas pedal as the first Burlington exits finally appear. I’m eager to get back to the house—and sleep past six a.m. tomorrow morning for the first time in weeks.
“Almost there!” Daphne says from the passenger seat. She reaches over and gives my arm a happy squeeze. She seems lighter and happier than she’s been in a long time.
I like to imagine that I’m at least partially responsible. “What if we didn’t haul this stuff up to your room yet?” I ask. “We could collapse in my room and watch a movie instead.”
“Sure,” she says easily. “What do you want to watch?”
“Who cares? I’ll probably tune it out and strip you naked after the first ten minutes anyway.”
She laughs. “Okay, I’ll rephrase. What do you want to watch ten minutes of? Pick something exciting so I don’t pass out early.”
“Did I say ten minutes? I meant five.”
* * *
When we reach my house, the truck is in the driveway, but there’s nobody downstairs. Even Keith’s door is shut when I troop upstairs to drop a box of clothes on Daphne’s new floor.
“I don’t know if I can live in such a noisy house,” Daphne whispers when I return to the first floor.
“I know, right?”
She puts a box of books down in the living room. “Can I park this here for now?”
“Of course. You want a beer? I stocked up on Wednesday.”
“I’ll just have a sip of yours,” she says, yawning.
I steer her toward my room. “Pick a show to watch. I’ll be right there.”
A few minutes later, we’re both nestled comfortably in my bed. We’re watching one of those singing competition shows, because when Daphne had flipped past the channel, someone was covering “Like I’m Gonna Lose You” by Meghan Trainor.
“Yours was better,” she’d said. And now we’re watching a fourteen-year-old girl sing an opera aria.
Or—wait—I am. Daphne is asleep. She’s snuggled onto my chest, eyelashes curled down to her cheeks, breathing peacefully.
I sip my beer and watch the silly show. Having Daphne here in my room is exactly what my heart wants. But I’m still that guy who can’t fall asleep with company. Last time this happened, I’d solved the problem by going to sleep in her room.
And maybe I’ll have to do that again. But I’m not going down without a fight.
So I slide out from beneath her and get ready for bed. I shut all the lights off, and check all the locks on the doors. Then I go into my room and close that door too. I lock it, of course.
When I’m lifting the covers, Daphne rolls over. But she doesn’t wake up. She only sighs deeply.
I strip down and lie beside her, closing my eyes. I’m so tired. My muscles ache. And I just want to do this simple thing that other people can do—fall asleep in a bed where someone else is. This is so peaceful , I tell myself. There are so many people I care about under this roof .
Logic doesn’t always matter, though. Ask anyone with a phobia.
Tonight, the message seems to be penetrating my tired brain. I’m safe , I remind myself. My trauma is in the past. I can’t pretend it isn’t there, lurking in the shadows. That doesn’t work.
But right here, right now, everything is fine. I listen to Daphne breathing steadily beside me. And I slow down my breathing, matching my rhythm to hers. It’s like a meditation, except instead of focusing on my own breathing, I’m focusing on hers.
Until I’m not anymore.
* * *
The bed moves suddenly. That’s the kind of thing that ought to startle me. Except Daphne’s voice says, “Omigod. I’m sorry.”
My limbs are heavy. I only slit my eyes open to see sunlight pouring into my room. Then I close them again.
“Rickie. I slept here. And you slept, too!”
“Still doing it,” I slur.
She laughs. “Isn’t this great? I don’t mean that it’s great that I overstayed my welcome. But you don’t look like you minded. Were you awake all night?”
“Nuh uh,” I breathe.
“So that’s progress?”
“Mmm.” She’s not wrong. But now that I’ve figured out how to sleep, I’m down for the count.
Daphne runs a hand though my hair, and slides off the bed. I hear her unlock the door and leave, closing it softly behind her.
My consciousness is a half-formed, floaty thing. The bed is warm, and I’m hard, because I’m so comfortable and the pillow smells like Daphne. Everything in my life is wonderful, because I slept in a bed with my girlfriend like every other horny guy on the planet. Go me.
A little later, it gets even more wonderful, when a freshly showered Daphne comes back into the room a half hour later with a mug of tea.
“Is that for me?” I mumble. But of course it is, because Daphne is a coffee drinker.
“Yes, sleepyhead.” She sets it down on the bedside table.
“I’m unworthy.” I push myself up into a sitting position.
Her eyes widen at the view, because I sleep naked. “Good morning to you .”
“Isn’t it?” I reach for the hot tea and take a sip. I let the comforter stay where it is—low on my thighs. Then I give her a sexy smirk.
Daphne gulps. “I’m liking Burlington a little more than I ever expected to.”
“Are you now?” I run a shameless hand over my tattooed pecs. “Why don’t you close the door?”
She does it.
“I like your first day of school outfit.” She’s wearing another of her short skirts, with a pretty blue shirt. “But please take it off.”
“We only have an hour until we’re supposed to leave,” she whispers.
“Darling, that’s plenty of time.” I put the tea back down on the table. Then I toss the covers off my body. “You need some help?”
“Sure,” she says, biting back a smile. “Why don’t you show me what you have in mind?”
I lean over and catch the back of her smooth leg in my hand. And I run my fingers very lightly up the back of her thigh, under her skirt, until she shivers. My cock thickens against the sheet, and I let out a happy sigh.
As I unzip her skirt, Daphne lifts her shirt over her head and tosses it onto my rug. “Take off your bra,” I whisper. “Come closer. Let me love you.”
She begins to obey, but I’m impatient. So I wrap both my arms around her legs and pull her onto the bed, where she topples onto my body.
And she’s laughing—until I shut her up with my mouth.
The lady said we didn’t have much time. So I ply her with kisses. And it isn’t long until I have her spread out on her back, her hands gripping my shoulders as I move inside her. Our morning together is made up of white sheets, sunshine, and bare skin.
Then she catches me off guard, suddenly tensing her body with a sweet, climactic gasp. She pulses around me, and then moans.
So I’m done for, too. I plunge my tongue into her mouth and groan as I come fast and hard.
And then I bury my face in her neck and laugh.
“What’s so funny?” she pants, her arms flopping out to her sides.
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” I grin against her smooth skin. “I spent so much time trying to get back my old memories. But all I had to do was make some new ones.”
“Yeah, okay. True. This will probably be a top-twenty memory for me.”
“Twenty?” I yelp. “Sweetheart, please. I’m climbing your leaderboard a hell of a lot faster than that.”
“I’m just leaving some space, McFly,” she whispers. “It’s only the first day of school.”
“I like how you think.”
She squeezes my hand. And I squeeze hers right back.