Chapter 33
CRUTCH
I’m gonna kill her.
I know for a fact that when I got in the shower, my shorts, T-shirt, and boxer briefs were all laying on the countertop.
Now, only my boxer briefs remain.
“Lulu, what did you do with my clothes?”
“Huh? What did you say?”
I raise my voice a little louder. “Where did you put my clothes? My shirt? My shorts?”
“I can’t hear you. Come out of the bathroom if you need to talk.”
That little minx. She’s been trying to get me out of my shorts more than usual these past few days. Just like normal, I keep putting it off. I’m drowning in my own jizz, but I’m too afraid to take it further.
Of course, I can’t be too mad at her after what happened Monday night with my parents. She stood up for me. She made me feel like I was worth something. She didn’t treat me any differently after meeting my repulsive parents.
She put ice on my cheek. Hugged me. Kissed me.
Loved me.
It was such a foreign concept but one that made me feel super human.
Sliding on my underwear, I open the bathroom door and stalk across to the bedroom. She’s sitting on the bed, with my pillow hugged against her lap. I think I see my blue T-shirt hiding behind her back. Her eyes widen and she ogles every small detail of my body. Once. Twice. Three times.
I love it when she checks me out.
Reluctantly, she forces her gaze back to my face. “What were you yelling about?”
I fold my arms across my chest. “My clothes. What did you do to my clothes?”
“Does it matter? Aren’t clothes overrated?” She blinks, trying to look innocent as she throws my own words back at me.
The second she licks her lips, my dick hardens. I need to get this situation under control. Fucking stat. Turning my back to her, I reach in the small dresser for another pair of shorts. She’s quicker than me, though.
How’d she get so quick?
Her arm snakes around my waist and her fingertips brush against my cock. It jumps like I just received an electrical shot directly to my groin. Knocking her hand away, I shift to the side. “No.”
She giggles. “No?” She tries to reach around me again.
The feel of her touch roaming across my wet skin makes me dizzy. “Stop it, Lulu.” My tone is much harsher than I intend.
So harsh she gasps. “Ry, why don’t you want me touch you? I know I’m not experienced, but…” Her voice trails off, unsure how to finish the sentence.
Quickly pulling on my shorts, I spin around. She’s upset. And it rips the heart from my chest. She’s rubbing the scar on the back of her neck, chewing on her lusciously pink bottom lip.
“That’s what you think? You think I don’t want you to touch me?”
She sighs. She wants to hide. She wants to run away, but that’s not My Lulu. Instead, she takes a step in my direction, looking deep into my eyes. “Yes. Because I try. Over and over. And you won’t let me. What else am I supposed to think?”
I shake my head. “All I want in life is to be touched by you. Twenty-four hours a day I dream about having your hand wrapped around me. I fantasize about having your mouth on me. It’s you . I always want everything you have to offer, Lulu. Everything you have to give.”
She likes the honesty of my words. Her lips curve into a small, sad smile. “Then why not let me?”
I run my hand over my face, scratching my three-day growth. “Because I would become obsessed. I know I would. The second you cross that line with me, Lulu, there will be no going back. When it comes to you, I’m an addict. The feel of your skin on mine. The sensation of your hot mouth sucking my cum from my body? It would be a never-ending obsession. And I’m not prepared to be one of those dickwads who expects a hand job or blow job from his girlfriend every single time they have five minutes alone together. I’m an asshole, but I don’t wanna be that kind of an asshole.”
She blushes, whether from anger or whether from my graphic words, I’m not quite sure. “But it’s okay for you to have your fingers in me, to have your mouth on me? To have my wetness dripping from your chin?”
My dick is painfully hard right now. So. Damn. Painful. “Yes,” I croak.
She points a finger in my face. “You’re not playing our game fair, Ry.” She puffs out her chest in defiance.
The chest I finally spent hours last night exploring. My initial thoughts were right. Her nipples are extremely sensitive. And perfect in every single way. I tilt my head to the side. “So?”
Wrong word to say.
“I can’t touch you? Fine. Then, you can’t touch me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your hands aren’t allowed on my body until my hands are allowed on your body.”
“You’re kidding.”
She leans forward, preparing to tell me a secret. Her whispered response sends a chill up my spine. “Game on.”
***
Two days.
Two whole days with no kissing. No touching. No tasting.
She hasn’t even let me ‘accidentally’ bump into her while we’ve been working at the body shop.
Why? Because I’m a fucking idiot.
Here is it Friday night and I’m nursing a beer, my bruised ego, and my swollen dick, in front of the laptop, watching one of Lulu’s crime shows, with the firepit crackling in the background, spewing heat into the unseasonably warm spring night.
I’m pouting. There’s really no other word for it.
We aren’t even sitting in the loveseat together like normal. She’s in one chair, and I’m in another. I glance over at her. She doesn’t even act troubled by all of this. She’s just watching the show and picking at the label on her water bottle.
I grunt. Standing from the chair, I stretch my arms high above my head. It’s a planned move. Lulu loves it when I do this. My shirt rides up, showing my waist and the band of my boxer briefs. Except this time, she doesn’t gawk. Not even a peep. I mumble, “I’m getting another beer. Need anything?”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
Taking a long swig from my fresh beer, I’m walking back up to the patio when her phone rings. She jumps, startled by the jarring noise. Her jaw tenses. Based on experience, that means it’s either her mom, her dad, Kristie, or Hudson. She smiles when her aunt or uncle calls. She smiles when her cousins, Holt or Raylee, call. Hell, she even smiles when Detective Marcum calls.
“Hi, Mom.”
After several moments, she closes her eyes and rubs her temple. “No, Mom. I’m not in Miami. I left you two voicemails last weekend and even texted you. I also talked to Dad on Monday. He said he would tell you. I stayed here. I’m spending the week camping with Ryland.”
…
She sits up straight, stiffening her spine. Uh-oh, this should be interesting. She tosses a glance over her left shoulder, presumably checking for me. She doesn’t see me, though; I’m standing behind her right side. She hisses into the phone. “Yes, Mom. He’s still a thing . And by the way, this thing is pretty real. So, you better get used to it.”
…
She blows a raspberry. “Nothing is wrong with me. I’ve always been stubborn and combative, I just kept it buried beneath the surface.”
…
“But I’m getting tired, Mom. I always do what you want me to do simply because it makes life easier. I act proper and polite, but only to those who come from lives like ours. Everyone else gets the cold shoulder. I wear the clothes you approve of because you believe the world judges a book by its cover. I picked my college major on what you and Dad deemed appropriate for our pedigree and station in life. I even eat the food you think I should. Heaven forbid, I gain ten pounds and go up a size.”
…
“No, Mom. He’s not a bad influence. He’s the best person I know.” She sighs in frustration. “Don’t you get tired of it too, Mom? Don’t you just wanna pull the curtain down and show someone the ‘real’ you? What about Carrie? Maybe if she had let more people into her authentic life, she wouldn’t be missing right now. Don’t we owe it to Carrie to be genuine and honest?”
…
“How about we talk Sunday night when I get home. We could have dinner, talk, hang out.”
…
She bobs her head up and down, tsking her tongue. “Of course, you do. Do you even remember that we have a meeting with Marcum and Leary next Wednesday? They’re supposed to discuss the latest testing methods the state lab got approved for and see if we think sending any more samples from the vehicle evidence would be beneficial.”
…
“Of course, I’ll handle it.”
…
“No, we’re not staying in some chic cabin with a waitstaff. We’re sleeping in a tent, Mom.”
…
“For him, I’d spend the rest of my life sleeping in a cardboard box if I had to.”
…
“It’s sad you can’t understand that. Maybe that’s where you and Dad went wrong.”
…
She pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at it blankly. She mumbles to herself, “She hung up on me.”
Huffing, she tosses the phone on a side table and stands up. Turning around, she sees me. Knowing I’ve been spying on her, she gets a little nervous; she rubs the back of her neck.
“What did she want?”
“She asked me to go to some distillery in Miami and buy five bottles of some ridiculously priced specialty rum to bring home.”
“You’re underage. How the hell does she expect you to buy liquor?”
Lulu shrugs.
“Why can’t she meet with the detectives? Is she going somewhere?”
“Yep. Girls trip to a wellness spa in Arizona.”
I nod. What can you say about that? Her mom goes on so many trips she probably has her own TSA check-in line. Her own beverage cart. A drop-down oxygen mask plated in gold.
And what the fuck is a wellness spa? Trust me, it will take more than a one-week trip to make Lulu’s mom ‘well’.
“Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”
I watch as Lulu disappears into the tent. I’ll give her a few minutes to clear her mind, and then I’ll go to her. I have no choice. I’ll always go to her. The way she talked about me to her mom? The things she said?
She said everything that I feel. And one of these days, I will grow big enough balls to actually tell her. Tell her that I love her. That I can’t stand the thought of living one second of my life without her.
But what does that mean? Because what kind of life can someone like me give her?
She emerges from the tent with a blanket wrapped around her. I guess she got cold, although, it’s a mild and pleasant night. I love the spring time, the months before the mosquitos of summer come out to feast. Instead of walking to the patio, she walks down to the old wooden dock and stares at the small waves in the pond. Tossing my now empty beer bottle in the trash, I walk down to join her. I don’t say anything. Sometimes, Lulu likes to just think.
After a minute or two, it suddenly becomes my turn to think.
When she drops the blanket from her shoulders, I think real hard.
I think about how important this game of ours really is.
She’s wearing one of those tank tops with the straps that are so thin they barely qualify as straps. No bra. Her nipples are peaked and calling my name. Screaming it. From the damn rooftops.
Her long legs glitter underneath the moonlight, and her white lace panties cover every part I long to touch, long to lick, long to taste.
Adding pure torment to my tortured libido, a breeze blows around us, sending the sweet scent of her shampoo and her arousal into the air.
She’s good. Little minx is a damn good game player.
Slowly, I tug my shirt overhead, tossing it over into the grass. Next, I kick off my flip flops. The night around us stills. Lulu freezes, stops breathing. The zipper on my shorts is so deafening in the silence, it makes me cringe. My boxer briefs are pulled tight around the massive erection that’s stealing all of the blood from my body. I don’t give her time to look. I don’t give her time to study. I grab her ass, hauling her into my arms. Immediately, she wraps her legs around my waist. Her eyes widen in desire and delight. I carry my girl into the comfort of our tent, with our lavender-scented sheets and crisp down comforter.
“You win, Lulu. Game over.”