Chapter 8 Raelynn #2
The sight that greets me stops me in my tracks.
“Jesus, what the fuck did you buy?” I blurt, eyebrows shooting up as Khloe, looking way too pleased with herself, starts unloading the bags onto the coffee table.
“She bought the whole damn app, that’s what she did,” Tessa quips, still curled up in her spot on the couch. Her laughter spills out as she sees the pure disbelief on my face.
Khloe snorts and flips her hair over one shoulder with mock offense. “Excuse me, I exercised great restraint. It’s just Taco Bell, Crumbl cookies, and a few absolutely necessary survival items from 7-Eleven. You’re welcome, by the way.”
I glance down at the growing pile taking over the coffee table: six soft tacos, a pile of sauce packets, a large Crumbl box, several plastic bags filled with candy and chips, and three bottles of Vanilla Coke.
“That’s your definition of restraint?” I raise a brow as I grab one of the tacos and peel the paper back. “Remind me never to hand you my phone while you’re hungry,” I say as I take a bite.
Tessa doesn’t wait either. She reaches for two tacos, selects a couple of sauces, and pulls a bottle of Vanilla Coke from the bag, arranging everything neatly on her lap. “Shouldn’t have trusted her with your phone, Rae,” she says with a mischievous grin. “This is on you.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it, and grab one of the bottles from the bag before flopping back onto the couch with the taco.
“Lesson learned,” I mutter through a chuckle. I set my taco down in my lap and crack open my bottle, taking a long, satisfying swig. After a few seconds, I close the bottle and shove it between me and the cushion and take another bite from my taco.
Khloe hums happily to herself, then flips open the Crumbl cookie box like she’s unveiling a crown jewel.
The smell alone makes my mouth water. Nestled inside are six oversized cookies—two classic chocolate chip, two churro cookies with gooey Nutella centers, and two frosted pink sugar cookies that look almost too perfect to eat.
“Holy shit,” I mumble mid-chew, eyeing the cookies like I’ve just been handed proof that heaven exists.
“You’re welcome,” Khloe replies smugly, plucking a churro cookie for herself and sinking back into the couch like a queen surveying her feast. She tugs the blanket over her lap again and grabs her drink.
I reclaim the remote from the arm of the couch and unpause our movie. The film picks up with the group of friends stripping the body of the man they thought they killed and tossing him into the water, the tone just as ridiculous and darkly hilarious as I remember.
We settle in again, laughter already spilling between bites of food and sips of soda.
By the time Scary Movie ends, we’ve polished off all the tacos, half the Crumbl cookies, and all the Vanilla Coke while the bags of chips and candy lie untouched on the table.
After a short debate about what to watch next (and Tessa’s puppy eyes), we queue up Clueless.
The second it starts, the whole room softens, lulled by the nostalgia of it all.
The face masks we’d talked about earlier?
Completely forgotten. Too much work. We are content with being lazy, wrapped in fleece blankets, and gossip.
The boy talk kicks off about twenty minutes into Clueless, right after Cher strolls into class late, batting her lashes and somehow still managing to win over the teacher. Khloe, unsurprisingly, is the first to take the floor—and she does it with her usual dramatic flair.
“Okay, so listen,” she says, sitting forward and flicking her ponytail like she’s about to present a TED Talk. “This week? Chaos.”
She launches into a rapid-fire rundown of every guy she’s found hot this week, complete with unsolicited details about who she’s slept with and where.
There are zero filters—absolutely none. I swear the girl’s libido has no off switch.
She wears the term “hoe” like a crown. I seriously did not need to know that the frat boy from her Forensic Anthropology class had rearranged her guts with his “eight-inch cock.”
“You’re such a hoe,” I mutter around a laugh, tossing a pillow at her.
“Proudly,” she fires back as she catches the pillow. She hugs it to her chest and smirks at me. “Now spill it, Rae. Who’s been on your mind?”
I fall quiet, gnawing on the corner of my straw.
My Dutch Bros cup has been empty for a while now.
I refilled it once with water but couldn’t be bothered to do it again—or toss it out—so now I’m just chewing the straw for something to do.
Something to keep my hands busy. Something to focus on that isn’t the sudden heat creeping up the back of my neck.
“Oh my god,” Tessa gasps, sitting up straighter. “There is someone!”
“No, there’s not,” I lie, very, very poorly.
“Bullshit,” they say in perfect, suspicious harmony.
I shoot them a weak glare, trying to stall, but I know it’s over. “Fine. If I had to name someone…” I trail off, hoping the sentence dies there, but Khloe’s already leaning in like a bloodhound on a scent.
“Spill it, Rae.”
I hesitate. The name is already at the front of my mind, uninvited and stubborn. Emilio Perez. The man who treated me like I was deadweight. Who laughed at my goals like they were a joke. Who looked at me like I didn’t belong.
But also the man with golden eyes, forearms full of ink, a voice that made my stomach flutter in the worst (best) kind of way. And those lips…
“Emilio Perez,” I mumble, defeated.
Tessa’s eyebrows shoot up. “The grumpy hot cop?”
Fuck me for telling her about him. I knew it was going to bite me in the ass later, and yet I still spilled the beans about someone I found incredibly attractive, minus the damn attitude.
“He’s not hot,” I lie immediately.
Khloe shrieks, clapping her hands like she just won a bet. “I knew it! Girl, your face betrayed you so fast.”
“I don’t even like him!” I argue. “He’s rude, arrogant, and treated me like I was a complete waste of time.”
“But would you climb him like a tree?” Khloe asks, deadpan.
“Absolutely,” I blurt before my brain catches up to my mouth. I freeze. “I mean—ugh. Maybe. I don’t know. My brain is broken.”
They lose it. The room explodes with laughter.
We talk for a while longer—about everything and nothing.
Clueless ends, and we throw on the first season of The Rookie as background noise.
We eventually polish off the rest of the snacks, so I let Max out.
He makes a beeline for the patio door, and I throw it open so he can do his business.
When he returns, he goes straight for the wrappers on the coffee table like a food-seeking missile.
He noses through the mess until I catch him trying to chew a Taco Bell wrapper, then, thoroughly disappointed, he settles on the couch behind Khloe, his tail thumping lazily against the cushions.
I gather up the trash and clean up the table. When I finally sit back down, Max stretches and rests his head in my lap like it’s always been his place.
We continue to chat until the sky outside darkens and the soft buzz of fatigue starts to settle over us.
Tessa yawns and stretches. “I am hella tired, so I’m heading to bed,” she mumbles mid-yawn before disappearing down the hall and into her bedroom without another word.
Khloe lingers beside the couch, already half-curled under the throw blanket.
“I’m too tired to drive,” she mutters, voice thick with drowsiness. “I’m crashing here.”
I smile and rise from the couch, grabbing one of the pillows from the armrest. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I toss it her way, and she catches it with a sleepy grin.
“Thanks, babe,” she says as she slowly gets up from the floor, clutching both the blanket and pillow to her chest.
“You’re welcome, hoe,” I tease softly as I head toward the hallway.
She snorts and flops down, the pillow now tucked beneath her head as she settles in. The blanket shifts with her as she curls into a cocoon, already halfway to unconsciousness.
I flick off the overhead light, the room falling into soft darkness, then call out, “C’mon, Max.”
He hops down from his spot on the couch without hesitation, nails tapping lightly on the floor as he trails behind me.
I glance back once, watching Khloe’s chest rise and fall in a slow rhythm, her breathing steady.
The apartment is quiet now, the chaos of earlier replaced by the kind of peace only late-night comfort can bring.
But my mind? It’s anything but quiet.
By the time I push into my bedroom and close the door behind me, the cozy calm of the night is already slipping through my fingers, replaced by a low, thrumming tension that’s been building all damn day. It pulses just beneath my skin, coiled tight in my stomach and burning low between my thighs.
Emilio. Fucking. Perez.
Just thinking his name sends a ripple down my spine. I grit my teeth.
I hate that he’s in my head like this. Hate that every time I close my eyes, I see that stupid, smug smirk, those golden brown eyes, the tattoo inked across his arm that I keep imagining wrapped around me.
His voice—deep, clipped, irritated—keeps replaying in my head like a song I didn’t ask to like.
And the worst part? My body doesn’t care that he’s an arrogant asshole who treated me like an inconvenience. It wants him anyway.
I shed my clothes slowly, one layer at a time.
The oversized t-shirt hits the floor first, followed by my leggings, then my panties, already damp with my arousal, which only pisses me off more.
Max hops up, circles the foot of the bed twice, and settles with a sigh, chin on his paws.
I slip beneath the sheets completely bare and let the coolness of the microfiber chase a shiver up my spine.
For a minute I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the A/C and Max’s breathing.
Once his breathing evens out, I reach into the bottom drawer of my nightstand and pull out my black rose-shaped vibrator.
I long-press the button, and once it turns on, I readjust the covers over myself, the soft hum making my thighs twitch in anticipation.
I don’t fight it anymore. I can’t. I let my mind go exactly where it’s been aching to go.
Emilio cornering me against a wall. Voice dark and low in my ear, telling me to shut up before he makes me.
His hands on my waist. His mouth at my throat.
That lethal gaze holding mine as he presses closer and growls that he’s thought about ruining me for days.
Since the first moment I opened my mouth and challenged him.
I press the vibrator against my clit and gasp, the contact electric, sharp, and immediate. My back arches, hips twitching as the pleasure rushes through me like a wave I’ve been holding back all day.
Fuck, yes.
Heat floods my cheeks, and I bite the inside of my lip to keep quiet. My fingers curl in the sheets beside me as I adjust the vibrator just slightly. My eyes flutter closed, and a soft, breathy moan escapes my lips as my mind gives in to the fantasy completely.
His left hand pinning my wrists above my head, dragging his mouth down my throat, growling things I shouldn’t want to hear.
Telling me how badly he wants me. How long he’s imagined ruining me as his right hand slides between my legs.
His fingers circling my clit before slipping inside my pussy.
His pace slow at first, then rough. Hungry.
My toes curl as my orgasm hits fast and hot, stealing my breath. I clamp a hand over my mouth, muffling the sound that escapes, and ride it out in silence, teeth sinking into my knuckles. My thighs tremble, and my chest rises and falls in uneven waves.
When the tide recedes, I collapse into the pillow and blink up at the ceiling. My heart beats loudly in my ears as I try to catch my breath.
God, I’m so screwed.
Because I don’t just want Emilio Perez.
I need him.
And that was going to complicate things.