Chapter 35
FML
GREY
No, I don't let her use the chainsaw. Not today, at least.
It's a long day full of hard work on the house.
Her face when we pulled up to the house nearly broke my fucking heart, the sight of the fallen tree and the branch busted into the house so much worse in the daylight.
Everything was sopping wet. I was able to cut up the branch so we could pull it out of the windows, and once cleared, she headed inside to clean up the mess in there.
Broken glass, water and leaves, debris everywhere in the spare room.
Thank god it was mostly empty. We'd have to repaint it, but the floors were okay.
Since we'd have to get new windows, I had a thought we could make it a bay, put a window seat inside for her to sit in and read.
The whole thing had to be reframed anyway, why not upgrade it?
I've been making mental plans for her library past that, imagining the built ins, put in a rail with a ladder. Maybe a pretty light fixture.
We went to the hardware store, and by the time we got back and I boarded up the windows, it was nearly dark.
So we ordered pizza. Showered together. She packed a bag and got Scout's things for the weekend, hopeful we'll have her house together enough we can stay there next week.
Then we ate and hopped in the truck, swinging by my place so I could change on the way to The Horseshoe.
I made a note to get some stuff together to take to her place, some clean clothes and a toothbrush at least. Especially while we're working on repairs.
Which we'll be doing for longer than I hoped.
The damage is substantial enough that it's going to be a shitload of work, but not so bad that it's not livable.
There's so much to do, staying at her place makes the most sense for us.
And yeah, I said us. Because wherever she is, that's where you'll find me, unless she says otherwise.
There isn't another thing in the world that could drag me away.
Feels like a swarm of bees is circling inside my ribs as we pull up to The Horseshoe. When I kill the engine, the faint sound of music and voices floats toward us, and I hesitate, anxious.
Whatever we find when we walk through the doors, at least I have her. And I'll fight through hell to keep her. God help any motherfucker who gets in my way.
"You ready?" I ask, noting she looks nervous, but sure of herself.
But then she smiles and says, "Horses, hoe."
A laugh bursts out of me, and just like that it feels like everything's going to be okay.
"You ready?" she asks.
"Only because I've got you, peaches." I lean over the console, and she meets me for a kiss, my fingers trailing her jaw, her neck. She's so soft. A flash of our shower earlier shoots through my mind and into my lap. So many firsts for us, each one a little sweeter than the last.
I'll be thinking about her soapy tits in my hand and her fist around my slippery cock on my deathbed.
I try and put the thought away--it's not going to help our case if I walk into the bar with a hard-on.
I'm not worried about our friends' reactions, though I'm sure they'll cause a scene.
But I don't know what to expect from everybody else.
It could go either way--they'll have their answer and shut the fuck up, or they'll talk more shit.
Worse shit. I'm braced for it, bound and determined to take the brunt of it so she doesn't have to.
I just want to be happy. That's it. Feels like a simple request, one that I want to believe that the people of this town, who for forty sum odd years have largely regarded me as a good guy, would give me a fucking break. They know what I've been through.
But so far, all they've done is prove me wrong.
We climb out of the truck, my pulse doubling in the time it takes me to meet her around the front.
She's wearing a little skirt that she'd normally have on a bigass cardigan with, but tonight, she left it at home.
Which means her top is tight, hugging the curves of her breasts and waist. I got the feeling she left the sweater at home on account of my obsession with her titties, mostly when she smoothed her hands down her torso and asked if she looked okay.
My answer was to get ahold of one of her breasts and touch her until she squirmed.
I should have brought the cardigan just in case. The last thing I need is somebody commenting on her body--what little chill I have will evaporate and the odds of me hitting somebody will rocket to space.
Sighing, I pull her into my side, her arms looping around my waist. And then I press a kiss to the top of her head, saying another little prayer before steering us for the door to the bar.
The second we walk in, half the jam-packed bar turns to look, and then the other half is looking too, and for a suffocating second, you could hear a pin drop.
And then Cass yells "Finally!" and the whole table of our friends cheers.
The bar watches as we're greeted by the people who actually give a shit about us.
Somebody says About damn time! And another, You finally got your shit together.
Molly is blushing, laughing, and the guys are clapping me on the shoulder.
You'd think we got engaged as excited as they are.
The thought--engaged--sends a flare of overwhelm through me at the unbidden imagining that it's what that is. It's not a thought I've ever had before, not with anybody. I can't even entertain what that implies, despite knowing exactly what it implies.
When everybody's calmed the fuck down and takes their seats again, I pull out the only bar chair for Molly--between Shelby and Tate, of course--taking her elbow as she climbs up. Then I tip her chin. Look into her eyes, the connection between us humming.
"What do you want to drink, peaches?"
"Bees Knees, please." One of her newly discovered favorite drinks, now that she partakes, a suggestion of mine--sweet and velvety and makes you warm from the inside out, just like her.
I nod once, leaning in to kiss her sweetly, chastely, just in case anybody had questions as to who she's here with. And then I head to the bar.
The crowd is thick around the bar, and I know every face.
Every face but one, the figure at the end of the bar.
The man from the game, the stranger talking to her after, his hand around a beer bottle, forearm resting on the lacquered wood.
Our eyes meet. My hackles prickle, then they rise.
Leo calls my attention, but when I look back, the stranger is gone.
Uneasy, I order her gin and honey drink and a beer for myself, but when I scan for him again, he’s gone. whichW is good. He was smart to leave.
I ignore the occasional looks, otherwise feeling pretty good about our little coming out party. It's not worse, at least not yet.
I’m waiting on our drinks when I hear him.
“Brooks.” Wade Pruitt leans onto the bar next to me, beer in his hand, shit-eating smirk on his face. “Damn, what a pull. Good for you.”
I don’t answer. I know that smirk.
We played ball together in high school, and he was the worst player on the team. Not because he wasn’t skilled, but because he was a shit team player. His daddy owns half the marina, and Wade has spent his life acting like he owns the other half too. Mean-spirited, a bully to the core.
I’ve always fucking hated him.
I pin him with a look, daring him.
He’s either too drunk or too stupid to notice.
“She’s cute as fuck,” he says, loud enough that the guys next to us look over. “The librarian?” He nods in her direction, and something hot and violent rushes through me when his eyes land on her. “Sweet little thing.”
“Is there something you wanted?”
Kyle materializes at his shoulder, slinging an arm around his neck.
He’s drunker than Wade, and the look on his face says he thinks he’s about to say something funny.
“Yeah—your girl.” Laughter cracks out of him, but the smile on Wade’s face goes still.
“He asked her out three times and she shot him down. For you.” Another oblivious laugh. “How the fuck did you land that?”
“By not being an asshole.”
Wade’s eyes slide to me, his smile coming back to life, tighter now. “How old is she again? Heard she’s never had a boyfriend.”
Who the fuck told him that?
"Which would mean she’s probably a—”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll break your fucking jaw.”
They laugh, blow me off.
“Relax, dude,” Kyle says, but they begin to retreat.
“Yeah,” Wade says, an edge to his voice. “Tell her I said hi.”
I watch them disappear into the crowd as Leo slides our drinks across the bar. My hands are steady, The rest of me isn’t.
He asked her out three times, and she said no to every advance.
Something tells me Wade Pruitt has never heard no three times in his life.
Fuming, I head back to the table.
The second Molly sees me, her smile falls. "What's wrong?" she asks, taking her offered drink, but otherwise ignoring it.
I soften, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "Nothing. Just some asshole I went to high school with."
She knows, reaches for my hand and squeezes it, dispelling every bad thing that ever happened to me. "Come sit--oh. No chairs."
"I don't mind standing."
"Orrrr," she starts with a trouble-making smirk on her lips as she hops down, "you sit. I'll sit in your lap."
The temptation is too strong, and I'm out of fucks to give when it comes to what anybody thinks.
So I sigh and say, "Whatever you want, peaches."
The second her sweet, perfect ass is seated in my lap, I realize my mistake.
It's not just the curve of her ass against my cock, though that is my most immediate issue.
But being with her like this, in front of everybody.
Every motherfucker in this room knows she's mine now.
I can touch her, kiss her, hold her, and I do.
Gone is the longing and wishing--my arm is around her waist, my hand on her thigh, fingers trailing and circling her skin.
The neck of her top is wide, and there's a little bit of her bare shoulder on either side that I can't seem to keep my lips off of.
Nothing weird, just the occasional, affectionate press of my lips to her skin.
Or my hand resting in the curve of her waist. The scent of her is everywhere, driving me crazy.
The smell of her soap reminds me of the shower again, and I have to shift her to accommodate for my cock.
She gives me a knowing little smile over her shoulder that almost takes me out.
This morning I told her I wouldn't stop her when she's ready to fuck, and she looked at me like she was about to say it. I'm content with how things are, more worried about her than myself, always. The way she's acting, I don't think it'll be long. But I kinda hope she'll wait.
The amount of restraint it's going to take for me to be gentle is herculean.
So much harder than when we're fucking around, especially now that I have the freedom to want her and she knows what to expect, knows my body, knows her own.
But when it comes to sex sex, I have to be careful.
Promise myself I can fuck her like an animal once she's comfortable. I hope it's enough.
Every little shift she makes is driving me insane.
At one point, somebody bumps the chair, and she bounces in my lap so firmly, I grip her hip hard enough to bruise to keep her still for a second.
After that, I cannot concentrate. I don't know what anybody's saying.
I smile when everybody laughs, look in the direction of whoever's talking when I'm supposed to, all while my hands roam in small measures.
Cup the inside of her thigh under the table, my thumb shifting.
Then it slides up to the outside, this time my thumb slipping just under the hem of her skirt.
Occasionally, she leans back against my chest, twisting her neck so she can kiss me.
Twining her fingers in mine sometimes. Purposely shifting her hips, her smile giving her away.
She leans forward, propping her head on her hand on the table.
But from where I'm sitting, she's stretched out in front of me, back arched a little, the curves of her waist and hips and ass planted in my lap conjuring filthy visions of fucking her from behind.
When she sits, I can barely stand it anymore and bury my face in her hair for a second, then bring my lips to her ear.
"You look so fucking good tonight."
She takes my hand, slides it across her belly low, presses it to her. Strokes the top of my hand. Then wiggles in my lap and giggles a little.
I all but groan, glad it's loud and everyone's drunk.
"Cut that out, peaches, or we're not gonna make it home." I slide my hand up her thigh under the table, not stopping until my fingertips brush her pussy through her panties.
She's soaking wet.
Her body jolts at the contact. My heart bangs like a fucking kick drum.
"What do you want?" I whisper into the hollow behind her ear, stroking her ever so slightly, discreetly.
"I'll touch you here. I don't want to wait.
" I nip the shell, the thrill when she nods overwhelming.
"Third bathroom. Wait a couple minutes and get your ass in there.
" When I push the chair back and set her on the ground, she's flushed and a little breathless and absolutely fucking beautiful.
I give her the briefest kiss and haul ass toward the bathrooms, catching her eye before I step in, smirking like a bastard with my cock so hard it hurts.
Because I've never wanted anything so bad in my life as much as I want her.