Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Dice
River dancing?
Icouldn’t sleep.
So much for impulse control. My mouth—too quick, too reckless—hurt Lot.
Now I’m standing on Rayne’s front porch, holding a bag of jelly beans and a Spider-Man plushie. I went to three stores in town and crossed into the next two counties looking for a spider but came up short. Hopefully, it’s the gesture that counts.
Lot opens the door, looking good enough to eat.
Locs piled on top of her head like a pineapple.
Sweats riding low on her waist, strings untied.
Fitted T-shirt with her graffiti-style art of an angel wearing a gold halo, hand on her cocked hip, holding a red chili pepper between her lips.
The caption reads Sugar ’n Spice, and not always nice.
I lift my eyes to hers, getting the spice. Hazel and pissed, burning right through me.
“I would have called first,” I say, “but you still have me blocked.”
“With good reason.”
“I don’t know what that reason is, but I’m here to talk about last night. To apologize. Can I come in?”
“I’m busy.”
“It won’t take long.”
“Then it can’t be much of an apology.”
I blow out a breath and hold up the gift bag. “Don’t you want to at least see what I got you?”
She cuts her eyes at me but steps back. I enter, taking it as a mini win. Rayne’s place is an older home like mine, but the inside’s been renovated. It’s modern with pale grays, clean whites, and pastel accents.
“Where’s Rayne?” I ask.
“Grocery shopping.”
I hear Queenie’s bell before she appears. One look at me and she hisses, then bolts down the hall.
“They say animals are a good judge of character.”
“Are you going to let me apologize, Lot?”
“Who’s stopping you?”
Before I can answer, a loud thudding vibrates through the house, accompanied by metallic groans. “What’s that?” I ask.
“The washing machine.”
“You might want to check on that.”
“It’s fine.” She grabs the store bag and peeks inside. Her gaze raises back to mine, not at all moved. “You think candy and a stuffy are going to fix the shit you said?”
“No. But I figured a reminder of how we met might.”
“You figured wrong.”
I knew she wasn’t going to be easy.
The machine lets out another grrr, the motor grinding and reverberating.
“You should seriously check on that.”
With a huff, she tosses the bag at me and disappears. Seconds later, I hear her swearing. “Goddammit. Shit.”
I drop the bag on the coffee table and follow her voice to the laundry room. She’s rolled up her pant legs, sloshing barefoot through water and suds pooling from the front-load washer.
“Turn it off,” I call over the rumble.
“Fuuuck. What’s wrong with this thing?”
“My guess is it was overloaded.”
She glares at me. “Why do you think it’s my fault?”
“I didn’t say it was your fault. Just offering a theory.”
She finally shuts off the machine and stands there a moment, panting in frustration, staring at the washer like it personally betrayed her.
“Where are the towels to clean this up?” I ask.
“Rayne would kill me if I used her bath towels on the floor.”
“Where’s the mop, then?”
“Pantry. Beside the back door.”
I head to the kitchen and grab the mop, bucket, and a roll of paper towels. When I get back, Lot’s trying to scoop up the suds with her hands and dump them in the sink.
“River dancing?” I smirk and get the evil eye. “I’ll mop, then we can use the paper towels.”
She leans against the doorframe and folds her arms over her wet T-shirt, watching me pass the sponge head across the floor. “I suppose you think this makes us even.”
“I don’t think that.”
“What you said last night was fucked up.”
“I know.”
“I’m still pissed off.”
“I know that too. You have every right to be.”
She kneels and begins drying the areas where I’ve already mopped. We finish the floor in silence.
When the tiles are dry, she moves half the sudsy clothes to the sink, then restarts the machine.
I squeeze out the mop and dump the water in the bathroom beside the laundry room. The one she must be using, judging by the way makeup and body stuff is scattered around the sink. It smells amazing. Many scents. Many layers. Just like her.
“Do you do windows, too?” she deadpans.
I can’t help but laugh.
“I’m going to change out of these wet clothes.”
With any other woman, I’d offer to help, but after last night, sexual banter would not be smart. “I’ll meet you in the living room.”
When she returns, I’m waiting by the window. My gaze slides down the cropped hoodie to the Lycra shorts stretched tight around her thick, dimpled thighs.
“What’s with you?” she snaps. “Since when do you look at me like I’m some kinda snack? You were never interested before.”
If she only knew how interested I was. How many times I was tempted to pull her in and press her tight against me. Or how many nights I lay awake, going crazy from wanting to kiss her. Wanting Lot was never the issue—it’s what I did. Day after day. Year after year.
“You didn’t know because I kept that to myself.”
“Ssskt. Please.”
I run a hand over my head, searching for the words. Pouring out emotion isn’t my strength, but after what I said last night, Lot deserves the truth. I lean against the window, the neighborhood where we met stretching out behind me.
“I never knew how to label what we were. Friends didn’t feel right.
It was deeper than that. I had so much love for you, Lot.
I didn’t want to screw it up, so I promised myself I’d never act on the attraction.
You were off-limits. But when you came back, I don’t know…
I couldn’t hold it like I used to. Seeing you with that dude, watching him touch you—I saw fucking red.
I know I had no right, and I went about it all wrong.
I’m sorry for that. You’re the last woman I’d ever want to make feel like just a piece of ass. ”
She stares at me, opening and closing her hands. This is unchartered territory for both of us.
“Honestly, I’m shocked,” she says after a long beat.
“I never thought you saw me as a woman to be desired. But I told myself I could live with that as long as I knew you cared about me. Then you proved you didn’t when I told you I was leaving for New York.
You just shrugged and wished me luck like I’d never mattered.
You didn’t even come to say goodbye. A text a week later asking about New York wasn’t it. ”
Christ. I hurt her, just as Lexie said, and I’d been too dumb all this time to see it.
“Lot, the day you told me you were leaving, I was gutted. I couldn’t imagine not having you here.
But New York was all you ever talked about.
I knew it’s where you needed to be. I just didn’t know how to handle it, so I played it cool.
Too cool. I thought if I acted like I didn’t care, maybe I wouldn’t.
I didn’t realize that’s why you cut me off.
I thought you’d just decided you wanted a fresh start and left me behind.
Believing that was easier. Easier to be angry than to face what was beneath it. ”
“Is that true?” she asks, blinking up at me.
“Yeah. Every word.” Emotion snags in my throat. “You were my constant, Lot. My spiderweb girl. The first person who ever looked out for me. Who cared. I vowed never to touch you or do anything that would jeopardize what we had. But I fucked up anyway.”
“You really catching me off guard here,” she says as realization dawns in her eyes and my confession shatters the beliefs she long held, falling around us in pieces.
“I should have told you sooner how important you were to me.”
“It’s not all on you.” She drops onto the arm of the sofa, her toes curling into the carpet. “You were the one person, other than Rayne, I could always go to because… you got me. But I also wanted you to want me. Not just see me as one of your homies.”
“You were never one of my homies, Lot.”
“Yeah, I’m hearing that now. But back then I thought it was one-sided, and I blamed you for not knowing how I felt. That wasn’t fair. I never should’ve left like that or blocked you. Guess, it was easier for me to be mad too. What I did was shitty and immature. I’m really sorry, Dice.”
Lot doesn’t just hand out apologies. Not to me. Not to anyone. I take her words as the gift they are.
“I’m sorry too, Lot,” I say quietly, still in a space that feels too tight, too unfamiliar. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“Yeah, okay. We both messed up, but we don’t need to get all mushy about it.”
The tension breaks, and I let out a short laugh. Lot doesn’t do feelings either. We’re alike in that way. “So I guess a hug’s out.”
She cuts me side-eye, but there’s no heat behind it.
“We good then, Web?”
“I’m good. But don’t expect me to just jump into bed with you ’cause we cleared the air.”
“I wasn’t expecting that.”
Her brow arches, calling bullshit.
“Well, not right this minute,” I admit with a crooked smirk. “Not gonna lie, though. I still want you. I’ve tried to lock that up, but now that it’s loose, it’s all I can think about.”
She tilts her head, mouth quirking. “You wanna be fuck buddies?”
“Does it need a label?” I shift down onto the sofa arm beside her, close enough to breathe in the warm, sensual pull of her scent. “Can’t we just be two people reconnecting after too damn long, who want to spend time together… in and out of bed?”
Lot’s never still when she’s thinking. It’s like her body’s running on the electricity in her head. Her knees bounce, her hands glide up and down her thighs. I fight the urge to touch her and test if her skin feels as buttery soft as it looks.
“No pressure,” I say instead, because Lot still means more than just a hot lay. “I want you back, hanging out like we used to. With or without sex.”
“Gotta admit, with sounds better.” Her tongue sweeps across her bottom lip. “But I’m not going to act on impulse.”
“Take all the time you need,” I say, forcing patience, my gaze lingering on her mouth before lifting back to her eyes. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Tryna charm me, Jones?”
“Nope. Just speaking the truth.”
She pulls her gaze from mine, reaches for the bag of jelly beans on the table, rips it open, and offers me one.
Green. Just like that day in her backyard, over twenty years ago.
We grin at the memory, but when our fingers brush, the spark that jumps is nothing like the innocence of back then.
She feels it too. I see desire flare in her eyes. I could have her right now. But after all this time, I don’t want some rushed fuck on her cousin’s couch. I want it long and slow—an entire night with Lot finally in my bed.