Chapter 37
“We’re eating in Fernwood?” Elle’s voice is all surprise as she glances over at me.
“Is that okay?”
“Of course. I just … didn’t think you’d want to.”
People will stare, she means. The whole town will talk. Gossip about me. About us.
And … I don’t care.
The important people in our lives—our family and friends—all know about and accept our relationship. Accept might be a stretch in the case of Elle’s parents. She told me they’re happy for her, for us, but I wouldn’t put it past her to be lying to protect my feelings. I’ve still never met her mom, and my one meeting with her dad didn’t go great. Me getting arrested for drug possession the next day probably didn’t improve his opinion of me.
“I’ve never eaten at The Franklin,” I tell her. “I wanted to try it.”
“You know if you hate the food, you have to pretend to like it, right?” Elle tells me.
“Why would I hate it?” I ask.
“It’s … fancy. Caviar and oysters and truffles.”
“Lobster?”
I tried lobster for the first time at the clam shack Tuck took me to. It was good, a lot better than I had expected. The clam fritters were decent, too, but it doesn’t sound like this place serves much fried food.
“They might,” Elle replies.
“Great. I like lobster.”
I spot a parking space right in front of the restaurant and take it. Climb out of the car quickly and frown when I see Elle already has her door open.
“You were supposed to wait for me to open it,” I grumble.
This is our first date. I’m trying to do everything right.
Elle smirks.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell her, jogging toward the closest meter.
This night does not need a parking ticket.
I’m waiting for the paper for the dashboard to print when I hear, “James.”
I glance away from the meter, stilling when I realize who’s walking toward me. I haven’t seen Zane in years, not since the fateful night I accepted Phoenix’s offer of a ride to Hathaway’s party.
“Hi, Zane,” I say carefully.
“I heard you were out. Nice to see you, man.”
I nod, knocking the fist he offers.
He glances past me, his smile widening when he spots Elle waiting by her car. Whistles. “Damn. Elle Clarke. I guess things kinda worked out for you, huh?”
My guard goes up. “What do you want, Zane?”
He lifts his hand in a placating gesture. “Nothing. I’m out of all that shit. Have been for years. I just saw you and wanted to say hello. Always felt bad you got the short stick with none of the perks.”
“You keep in touch with Phoenix?” I ask. More for Reese than myself.
Zane shakes his head. “Haven’t talked to him in years. He was in California, last I heard.”
“With Cruz?”
He shrugs. “No clue.”
“He set me up?” I ask.
That’s always been a nagging uncertainty in the back of my head. It seemed too … convenient, how the one time Cruz’s suppliers were tailed were when they delivered to my trailer, not his.
“If he did, he didn’t tell me,” Zane replies. “Wasn’t much of a democracy, but he didn’t usually keep us in the dark.”
My nod is slow. Maybe it was just shitty luck. “You still live around here?”
“Nah. Just visiting. Not a bad place, in certain circles.” He glances at Elle again. “Guess you know that.” His gaze lands back on me. “I’ll see you around, maybe.”
I nod.
Zane continues walking, right past Elle.
I finish paying the meter, then head back toward her. “Ready?”
“Who was that?” she asks.
“Just a guy I used to know.”
“A guy you used to deal drugs with?”
I swallow. “It’s all in the past, Elle. Let’s leave it there, please.”
Elle crosses her arms. “It’s not in the past if you were just talking to him.” She hesitates, then asks, “Are you … dealing again?”
“No! No. I’ve never—” I exhale, running a hand through my hair and then belatedly remembering I tried to style it earlier. “Can we talk about this later at least?”
“You went to prison for dealing drugs, Ryder.”
My jaw tightens. “I remember.”
“So, tell me what you were talking to him about.”
I glance around, wishing we weren’t having this conversation on a sidewalk. “When I moved back here, senior year, I could’ve joined Cruz’s crew. But I didn’t.”
A wrinkle appears between Elle’s eyes.
“When you asked me if I was involved, I was honest. But then …” I swallow. “I owed Cruz a favor. He asked me to receive a shipment. I was supposed to store it for a couple of hours. That’s it. Thirty seconds after the guys dropped it off, the cops showed up. It was all just … terrible timing.”
“But … why wouldn’t you tell the police that?”
“What does anyone say when they’re caught with a bunch of coke? It’s not mine isn’t innocent, Elle. I had it in my possession—alot of it in my possession—and that’s all they needed. If it had gone to trial, I would have risked more than eight years. So, I took the deal. If I’d snitched on Cruz, I have no clue what he would have done.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all of that when I visited you?”
“Because it wouldn’t have changed anything. There was nothing you could have done.”
Elle’s lips press tightly together. She’s annoyed. Probably hurt. And she has a right to feel both those things. But at some point, we’ll have to move past all this. Or else … we won’t.
“What was the favor?”
“What?” I play dumb. I am dumb, for mentioning it.
“Why would you get involved? What was the favor?”
“Elle …”
She hears the hesitation in my voice. “What aren’t you telling me, Ryder?”
I sigh. “Cormac called me from a party the night before, needing a ride. The party turned out to be Hathaway’s. When we got there, he said some shit, and I lost my temper. I punched him, and Cruz got spooked, thinking Hathaway was going to call the cops or mess with his business. Me getting that shipment was supposed to make up for it.”
“Did Cruz set you up?”
I exhale. “I don’t know.”
Elle gnaws her bottom lip. “What did Archer say?”
Another question I don’t want to answer.
And I don’t have to. She reads the truth on my face.
“It was about me. You went to prison … because of me.”
“No. No, Elle. I made my own decisions, and I made the mess. None of it was your fault.”
She nods, but her expression is still unsettled.
I grab her hand and tug her toward her convertible. “Come on.”
“What—where are we going? We just got here.”
“We’ll come back. I want to show you something first.”
Elle frowns, but she climbs into the passenger seat after I open the door for her.
I back out of the parking space, then start on the route that’s so familiar by now that I could travel it blindfolded.
Elle keeps glancing over, the confusion on her face growing more pronounced as I drive through town toward Fernwood’s most exclusive neighborhoods.
“What’s going on?”
“You’ll see.”
She huffs, but stops asking questions.
Five minutes later, I park in front of the old Warren house. The blue dumpster in the driveway ruins some of the effect, but the exterior still looks pretty good. Way better than when we started.
I wasn’t sure if she’d see it. Get it. But one glance at her face, and I know she does.
I climb out first, walking around to open her door.
“Ryder …” Elle’s wide eyes are glued to the house.
“You remember?”
“I … how? How did you do this?”
I shrug. “Easy. Tuck trusts my vision as his main contractor. I made suggestions; he signed off on everything. Thinks I’m some sort of design genius.”
“No, I mean, how did you remember everything? The color, the brick walk, the porch swing?”
“There’s a screened porch too,” I tell her.
Elle looks away from the house for the first time. “You said that was impractical.”
“The convertible grew on me too. Want to see the inside?”
She nods.
“It’s a lot rougher in here,” I warn her as we approach the front door. “Another few months of work at least.”
I fish the house keys out of my pocket, smiling when my fingers brush the little lighthouse attached to Elle’s car keys.
“Wow. It’s …”
“Empty?”
Elle rolls her eyes. “I was going to say beautiful.”
“This is the entryway, obviously. Living room is here, to the left. Screened porch can be accessed through here or the front porch. And then this is the dining room. Those built-ins are new, just got installed this week. The kitchen is back here. Appliances are in the garage, waiting for the countertop guy to get those installed.”
Elle follows behind me, peering closely at each room.
The drawing she showed me of her dream house was just the exterior, so there are no special details inside. Just the original woodwork and a whole lot of labor. I know every inch of this house as well as my mom’s tiny trailer by this point.
“Want to see upstairs?”
“Maybe later.” Elle looks away from the trim she was inspecting, her attention all on me.
I watch her walk toward me, a secretive smile on her lips, not sure if this is headed where I think it is.
Elle had the bar exam this week, so I haven’t seen her since last weekend. She’s been in Boston, and I’ve been in Fernwood. Tonight—our first official date—was supposed to end with us going back to her place in the city.
I don’t think we’ll make it that far.
She closes the small distance between us in seconds, her hands landing on my belt.
“I like the house,” she tells me.
“Good.”
The word turns into a groan when she sinks to her knees. At least the floors in here are clean. The crew has kept out of the kitchen since all that’s left to do in here is install the countertops and hook up the appliances.
Golden sunlight spills across the varnished surface as sunset approaches.
I can barely hear the rasp of the zipper lowering over my harsh breaths. My hands clench into fists.
Elle teases me, running the warm tip of her tongue around the flared head of my cock. Her hand moves along my shaft, squeezing, pulling a hoarse grunt out of my mouth.
She knows exactly what I like. Information she’s using to her advantage.
She sucks a couple of inches into her mouth, then releases me with a wet pop. Blows on the dampness. My hips jerk forward, seeking. Begging.
“Lo …” The syllable is thick with desire. Overwhelmed by lust.
Elle smirks, then takes me into her mouth again. Deep, until the tip hits the back of her throat. Her grip tightens on the remaining inches, her throat contracting as she struggles to take more.
I hold still, fighting the urge to thrust, giving her a chance to adjust. She swallows, and my legs go numb from the flood of endorphins.
She’s on her knees, bringing me to mine. I could come from the sight of her lips stretched around my erection, let alone the sensation of her sucking.
Elle’s hands land on my thighs, and then she moves one to cup my balls. They’re throbbing, heavy and tight. Desperate to fill her mouth.
I groan, the urge to touch her too strong to ignore. Her hair is pulled back in a fancy twist I don’t want to mess up. I cup Elle’s face instead, rubbing my thumb against her cheek. Her eyes hood as her hand leaves my balls to grip the base of my cock, rubbing the tip along the outline of her lips before starting suction again.
I’m transfixed, watching her touch me. Completely mesmerized.
Someone could light this house I’ve poured blood and sweat into on fire, and I wouldn’t move unless Elle was in danger. I’m entirely at her mercy right now.
I warn Elle when I’m close. Rather than move away, she sucks me harder. I come a few seconds later, the bob of Elle’s throat swallowing as erotic as the sight of her pink lips wrapped around my dick.
I tug her to her feet and kiss her hard. Tasting my own cum is strange, but some primitive part of me likes that she tastes like me.
Elle’s sucking on my tongue the same way she just sucked my dick. I pull a condom out of my pocket, one I stashed there earlier, hoping this would take place at some point tonight.
I wasn’t expecting us to hook up here, but maybe there’s some cosmic poetry to us having sex in this house, the one I tried to turn into her dream home.
I glance around the kitchen. Options are very limited in terms of a stable surface to have sex on. The only tables in here are constructed from sawhorses, and the cheap plywood serving as temporary counters is guaranteed to have splinters.
Elle realizes the dilemma and solves it.
“Sit,” she tells me, reaching for the hem of her dress.
I don’t argue.
She tugs the dress over her head and lets it fall in a pink puddle on the floor. Her bra disappears next, her nipples pebbled and pointed straight toward me. Her thong goes last, the view as I look up and she stands over me obscene. Her pussy is glistening and swollen, aroused from blowing me.
I toss the empty condom wrapper away, reaching for her.
We both groan when she straddles me and our hips align. My hands coast up her back and down her sides, attempting to touch as much exposed skin as possible. It feels like a privilege, seeing her naked. I think it always will.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur.
Elle blushes, the shy color in her cheeks a contrast to the confident way she moves my dick to her opening and then sinks down.
“Fuck.” I exhale, feeling her heat only for a second before it starts to surround me.
Elle’s greedy for more, bearing down hard as I watch her opening stretch to accommodate my penis. My hands slide up her stomach and cover her breasts as she undulates over me.
“You feel so fucking good,” she tells me, scratching at my shoulders as I replace my hands with my mouth. “So thick and hard and—” I bite gently. “Ry!”
She’s close. I can feel her inner muscles rippling around me.
Elle reaches up. A few bobby pins fall to the floor as she undoes her hair, dark strands curtaining her rapturous expression. She leans back, miles of smooth skin spread in front of me. We’re still fucking, and I’m already ready to start all over again.
She shifts again, grinding our pelvises together.
My hands move to her hips, working my cock in and out of her. I’m starting to sweat from all the lust burning through me. Nothing affects me like Elle. When we’re touching, she has more control over my body than I do.
Elle grabs my right hand and guides it lower. As soon as my fingers touch her clit, she’s coming, breathy moans and loud cries filling the kitchen as her pussy pulses around me.
Elle doesn’t move away, even after both of our bodies have stilled. She rests her forehead against my shoulder, her fingers playing with the ends of my hair.
“I’m sorry, Ry,” she whispers, her voice slightly muffled by my skin. “So sorry for everything that happened to you.”
My hold on her tightens. “I’m not. I’d do it all over again, Lo, every shitty second, if I knew it meant we’d be here, having sex in houses we don’t own.”
She laughs. “This is the best first date ever.”
I chuckle too. “Just wait until you try the oysters and caviar at this restaurant.”