Excerpt, Midnight Curfew #4
But Trace just teases, “Shh, don’t break the fantasy.”
I spot my keys on his bedside table and grab them, turning around to face him. “I’m going home.”
“Will you come back sometime?”
I’m taken off guard by the question.
No.
I won’t be back.
There’s nothing here that’s good for me, and it’s time I got my ass in gear. I need plans. Some direction. College, maybe?
But I still have no idea what I want to do with my life.
I never wanted to be a lawyer, a stockbroker, or a CEO.
All I ever wanted was to love waking up. To be counted on to make someone’s life better.
And I want a man who breathes me. Who craves me and needs me.
I’m not going to find any of that in Trace’s bedroom.
“Maybe I’ll see you around town.” I smile a little. “Over the next fifty years.”
He takes my face in his hand, his nose nearly brushing mine. “You need one more good memory to take with you.”
I shift my mouth away, about to push his hand off, but someone knocks on the door.
“Trace?” It’s a woman’s voice.
The door opens, and I peer around him as he releases me. A brunette peeks her head inside his room, and I think she was downstairs with Army’s date. I think her name is Carissa.
She sees me, smiles, and bites her bottom lip. “Need anything?” she asks us.
I stare at her. Do we need anything?
Why would…
I turn to him, but he’s just watching me.
He leans down, planting his hands on the desk at my sides and gets in my face. “Tell her I’m yours tonight,” he says.
What?
It takes about a second and a half for me to realize she’s his backup plan. I shove him away and start for the door.
Jesus. So either I claim him or she will?
When I whip open the door, the girl slides out of my way. “You can stay,” she tells me. “We can both play.”
“Krisjen’s not brave,” Trace says like I’m not here. “Or is she?”
I’m not letting him bait me. “No, I am.” I toss him a glance. “Maybe I’ll do that someday. I’m just not going to do it with you.”
And I walk out, slamming the door behind me.
Motherfucker. I’m half-tempted to call his sister and rat him out, but she wouldn’t be surprised, and I have some pride left.
Plus, she loves the hell out of him.
Trace has always been deliberately irresponsible, but unlike Milo, he’s nice. Not very considerate, but not once did I ever get the impression it was personal. I didn’t love him, so I didn’t worry about it.
But that was personal. I was well aware he wasn’t going to miss me when this was over, but it’s not like him to rub things like that in.
Rain hits the windows, and I head down the stairs, barely noticing the house is now quiet and dark. Lightning flashes outside, and I fist the keys, opening the front door. I take a step but stop, remembering the gator.
Looking around, I scan the yard and the dirt road beyond the fence, spotting lights from the fire station next door and the repair shop across the street.
Music beats against the walls of the bar far off to my left, but most of the cars have cleared out of the Jaegers’ place, and I don’t see anyone—or anything—outside.
I would love an escort to my car, but I’m not about to ask Trace for help.
I leap out into the yard, pulling the door closed behind me, and run to my car.
Drops hit my head as I round the front of the vehicle, but before I can hit the button to unlock it, I know something is off.
The car isn’t level. I drop my eyes to the front tire on the driver’s side, seeing it’s flat at the same time I notice a gash in the rubber. Right there. Plain as day.
I drop my head back, growling. “Ugh!”
Goddammit, Aracely. Seriously. She’s not even interested in Trace. What did I ever do to her?
And I know it’s her. She pulled the same shit with my friend Amy this summer, which I sympathized with, because Amy hooked up with Dallas and Iron. Both Aracely’s exes.
I can see her being aggravated that a Saint is sleeping over here. Having fun with their men (as she would see it). But Trace was never hers. And I thought she liked me.
I guess she thought she’d put up with me until I left for college, and since I didn’t, she’s now letting me know that my time is up.
The wind stirs, rain blowing sideways, and I climb into my car and pull out my phone.
I dial Maker Street Tow Service, but the line just rings. I hang up and try again, but it goes to voicemail.
I start to dial Clay but stop. She worked tonight. And she has classes.
I hover my thumb over my phone. Mom, Dad…
Milo would come and get me. For sure. They’d all come and get me, but they can all fuck off. Can I drive on a flat tire?
I think that hurts the rims or something, but I push the button, turning over the engine anyway. Shifting into Drive, I press the gas and nearly topple over, grabbing the steering wheel in both hands for support. “Damn,” I blurt out.
Shutting off the engine, I dash back out into the rain and run around the car, seeing the rear passenger tire is flat, too.
I throw out my hands. “Jesus, Aracely. Do you want me to leave, or are you trying to keep me here?” I call out to the empty street, just picturing her watching all this from the woods.
Goddamn.
Locking my car, I run back into the house and up the stairs. Swinging open the door to Liv’s room, I spot someone asleep on the bed and stop.
Face down, no shirt…I have no idea who it is, but I can’t crash here.
“Come on,” I gripe under my breath.
Snatching the blanket off the bottom of the bed, I close the door and walk back downstairs. I can hear laughter followed by moaning somewhere behind me, and I kick the couch before I drop my keys to the coffee table, kick off my sneakers, and then plop down on my back, pulling the blanket over me.
I’ll look nice and pathetic still here in the morning. I can’t even change the tire once the rain stops, because I need two of them now. Hopefully, I can reach a tow service in the morning.
I tap out a text to my brother.
Car trouble. Stuck in the Bay. Be home in the morning.
I reach behind me, finding one of the many chargers they keep around the house, and plug it in my phone.
Drops of rain catch the moonlight on the windows, lightning filling the room for a second.
Small sounds drift downstairs—a laugh, a thud, a creak—and I can’t help but stare at the ceiling, listening.
Anyone would think I might be upset that all those sounds are probably Trace, but all I’m wondering is if he was that loud with me so anyone downstairs would’ve heard.
I remember hearing Liv and Clay once. Last year, during an away game when we were on the lacrosse team.
They were enemies—hated each other—but we were all on the same team, sharing a hotel room one night.
I was in one bed with Amy, and they were in another bed together.
And I woke up and finally knew my suspicions were correct.
They didn’t hate each other at all. I swear I could hear the sweat under the sheets as they went at it.
When I felt Amy start to stir next to me, I triggered the alarm on my phone and pretended to wake up, because Amy seeing them wouldn’t be the way Clay would want everyone to find out she was into girls.
Or maybe just into Liv. Their need for each other is still so strong. I’ve never felt that with anyone.
I’ve never felt like someone wanted me more than anything.
“More?”
But it’s not Trace saying it.
It’s someone, though.
One of many silly fantasies.
I back up as he stalks toward me, a gleam in his eyes.
“Just a little bit more,” he taunts.
I let my eyes fall down his naked chest to where the jeans hang low on his hips, and I can smell the water in his hair from when he jumped in our pool after he tended to the lawn.
I close my eyes, breathing hard and my stomach already swirling a little.
He closes the distance between us, and I back up, running into my closed bedroom door. “Don’t you have to check in with your boss?” I ask.
My nipples strain against my shirt as he takes my chin and runs his thumb down my bottom lip. “I’ll tell him I had to stay and negotiate my tip.”
His tip…um, oh, right. I pull some money out of my pocket and hold it out to him, but he just smirks, taking the money and tossing it onto my dresser.
The pulse between my legs throbs, and I place my hand under the blanket, pressing my hand there.
He slips his rough fingers underneath the hem of my shirt.
And my heart races against my chest as I use my hand to do the same.
I don’t breathe as he pushes my shirt up, up, and up, over my breasts, letting it rest there as his gaze heats my skin.
The cool air in the house hits my nipples, and I feel them rising straight up as I push down the blanket and rub myself harder and harder.
He grabs the backs of my thighs and lifts me against his body. “Open your legs,” he growls softly.
I widen them.
I widen them.
And circle his waist as he carries me to my desk chair, dipping his tongue out just enough to taste my lips again and again.
I squeeze one breast, my clit hammering as I roll my hips in and out against my hand and tip my head back.
I straddle him in the chair, and he grabs my hips, pulling me in against his cock. “Now open your mouth and give me your tongue, girl, and don’t tell your mother what we did while she was gone.”
I ride my hand like I ride him, feeling his eyes on my tits and his fist in my hair. I move faster, feeling my breasts sway back and forth, and I bite my bottom lip to keep quiet. But my breathing is getting too fast and shallow.
Oh God. I…
I…
I blink my eyes open, seeing a figure looming at the entryway between the stairs and the living room, and heat rushes under my skin.
Oh shit. I gasp, pulling my hands off my body, pulling my shirt back down, and opening my eyes wide until he comes in view.
What the fuck?
He lifts a beer bottle to his lips and tips it back, taking a drink.
Trace?
My heart pounds against my chest. “Oh my God,” I murmur.
I can’t swallow. My throat is so dry.