Chapter Thirteen
I haven’t upset this many people since the unfortunate incident at a friend’s third grade pool party. And that took years to live down. How was I to know birthday cake paired with belly flops was such a potent combination?
There were no signs of media on our brief foray into town.
But it’s not like we hung about. No one wanted to talk to us after the meeting.
Our only interactions were with some children booing us on the corner of Main Street and a man with a mobility aid calling us duplicitous villains. He was seriously pressed.
People you don’t even know having strong feelings about you is a strange thing.
I don’t blame Molly for not letting me speak.
The truth is, why we did what we did is probably pretty obvious.
Nash is famous and he wanted to hide his identity and be normal for a while.
That basically sums it up. Hopefully I can start apologizing to people soon.
Make it up to Sabrina, Carmen, Isa, and Rose, in particular.
Just as soon as I draft a speech and maybe buy some gifts.
I know mistletoe means kiss me. But which flower says sorry I was a dick?
Once we get home, Grandma disappears off to her weekly morning poker group.
She doesn’t believe in giving any one time or space.
I, however, am unsure if inflicting our fine selves on the town folk now is the right choice.
Though there’s also the distinct chance I am just delaying the inevitable.
Such as finding out my new friends don’t want anything more to do with me.
Which is absolutely their right after the nonsense we pulled.
My mind is too distracted for work. So I pack my suitcase and assorted market bags and move houses.
Brandon is the only boyfriend I lived with long term.
The furniture I found and helped pay for got left behind when he kicked me out with no notice.
And most of my books etcetera are still in the back of my broken-down car.
So it’s not like I have a heap of stuff to be moved.
Nash is downstairs showing Charlie where he wants to set up the recording studio.
He also wanted to play him some of the new songs he’s been working on.
The ones he tells me I inspired, which is a wild notion.
No idea if Nash is hoping to lure Charlie out of retirement to tour the new material.
From what I’ve heard, it was him disappearing for months on end that ended him and Grandma last time.
I don’t know if I’d handle it any better. Having Nash put us on hold to go tour the world for a couple of years. Managing a long-distance relationship. Though maybe he would invite me along.
Meanwhile, Angus is asleep in Grandma’s spare room.
Rockstars coming off tours sure need their rest. I don’t have any siblings.
However, beating the crap out of each other and then carrying on with your day as if nothing happened seems odd.
They should probably speak to Molly about doing some psychic counseling. It can’t hurt.
Hauling my suitcase up the stairs to his bedroom on my own feels strange.
Like he might turn up at any moment and ask me what’s going on.
As if I somehow misread him. But Nash wants me here.
He has made it clear. Guess my delicate feelings are still bouncing back from being trounced on by my ex.
Relationships can be so treacherous and it’s not like I chose well last time.
Which is when the mystery of where my dress from last night disappeared to is solved. There it is, hanging in his walk-in closet. Only he could have put it there. Which is a sign I think I needed to see.
The butterflies in my stomach are giving such indecision. But he wants me where I am. We’re really doing this. Whatever this is. And I have no idea what the ring on my finger means. One step at a time.
My cell in the pocket of my blue-plaid mini dress starts buzzing.
Someone is calling (which is not what I use my phone for).
Then texts and messages and other notifications slowly start filling the screen.
From a friend of Brandon’s, a person I worked with, and a roommate from college.
Also a cousin I haven’t talked to in forever and another ex from a few years back.
There’s a link to an article in one text and another has pictures attached. Photos of me and Nash walking back from the disaster of a town meeting, hand in hand. Creeper shots taken from a distance.
Just because we didn’t see the media, didn’t mean they weren’t around.
“Junebug?” Nash’s footsteps are heavy on the stairs. “Where are you, my sweet?”
“In the closet.”
He wanders in wearing his usual blue jeans, boots, and a tee.
And while he first looks for me at head height, it doesn’t take him long to find me sitting on the ground with my back to the wall under hanging clothing.
The small room is all shadows, with no window and the light turned off.
However, his black eye and easy smile are plenty visible.
“You’re hiding,” he says, crouching down. “Why are you hiding?”
I wince. “The internet found out about me. People are having big feelings.”
“Fuck.” He pauses. “Are you okay?”
“Eh.”
“Actually came to warn you there’s a pap at the front gate.”
“Wonder if it’s the same one who saw us walking back from town together.
” I put my cell face down on the floor. “I don’t know if Carrie gave them my name or someone else talked to them.
It probably wouldn’t have taken long for me to be identified anyway.
There’s a lot of discussion about your haircut and lack of a beard.
Thank goodness you were wearing sunglasses and they didn’t see your black eye. ”
He just grunts.
“So many opinions about me from your fans. And they zoomed in on the photos to pick out my flaws with such zest.”
“June…”
“I’m much too mid for you, by the way.”
“Couldn’t disagree more. My working theory is random opinions on social media cause brain rot. What do you think?”
I give him a solid half-smile. “That it makes sense now how Grandma said they think they own you. This is seriously giving me the feminine urge to scream and break shit.”
“Do it.”
“What they don’t understand is that being chubby is both an honor and a privilege. I worked hard to get these thighs.”
“I fucking love your thighs. And the fans don’t own me or actually know either one of us.” He frowns and shuffles closer. “Which side of the bed do you want, by the way?”
“Huh?”
“Couldn’t help but notice some of your stuff is hanging in the closet,” he says. “So which side do you want? And I’m okay with you being big spoon if that’s your thing.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I say, as he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. He then strokes the side of my head several times. “What are you doing?”
“Soothing you.” And he’s flashing a hint of a smile. “My wild Junebug.”
“I know I have to learn to deal with this shit. It’s just…guess it might take a minute.”
“Take all the time you need. Come on out here,” he says, gripping my ankle and drawing me toward him.
“But it’s dangerous out there. People and their opinions lurking everywhere.”
“No,” he drawls with the same smile. “It’s just me. I’m your friend.”
“Is that what you are, huh?”
“I really like how short the skirt on this dress is. Have I told you that today?” And he keeps on pulling me out of my hidey-hole and into the middle of the small room.
His big hands slide up my legs under said skirt.
Then his fingers hook in the elastic of my underwear and start tugging on it oh-so-subtly. “Do me a favor and lie back.”
“Okay.”
The way he slips my panties into the pocket of his jeans.
Though those are a favorite pair, pale yellow with daisies embroidered on them, so he’s going to have to return them sometime.
“Since I’m not wanted at morning meditation or jogging group or people against book bans right now…
I’ve decided to start some clubs of my own. ”
“Is that so?”
“Very small. Very exclusive.” He raises the skirt of my dress, pushes my legs apart, and makes himself comfortable.
How the heat of his mouth on the inside of my thigh gives me goose bumps.
This is so much better than worrying about silly shit someone said online.
Five stars. Highly recommend. “Just me and you, my north star.”
“And what will we be doing?”
“Well…there’s the make-June-come-in-every-room-of-the-house club.
” He doesn’t mess around when it comes to giving head.
There’s a trail of wet kisses and sharp, small bites all the way up my legs.
Then his thumbs part my folds and he drags the flat of his tongue through me.
“I’m having t-shirts made for that one.”
My stomach does this weird flip-flop. And everything low in my body feels hot and heavy. “Nice.”
“Right?” He sucks on the lips of my labia, making my blood surge. “Then there’s the fuck-June-on-every-piece-of-furniture society.”
“T-shirts for that one too?”
“Nuh. I’m thinking bumper stickers.”
And I laugh. Receiving oral is a serious business, but he just is that damn hot and funny.
One finger pumps into me nice and slow. Then a second.
His tongue draws circles around my clit and the noises he’s making.
Like he’s never tasted anything better. He licks and sucks, and kisses me into submission.
A partner who enjoys going down on you is truly a gift.
Wet noises and the scent of my excitement fill the small room.
And I grind my ass against the rug, wanting to get closer, needing just a bit more, like maybe everything.