19. Wyn
Wyn
“You look good, Wynnie.”
My lips twitch. “Thank you, Auty.”
“I know you’re mad–”
“I’m not mad, Auty,” I say, as my tone betrays me.
I’m not mad… not really.
Not at her.
Never at her. And that’s why I’m mad.
Because Autumn is wrong. Sometimes dead wrong.
And the anger is there, right there. I want to tell her I’m mad at her, and why.
But what good will that do? I don’t want to argue with her.
I don’t even care for an apology. I just want that look, that little hint of disgust to leave her eyes every time we meet each other’s gaze.
I see it, even in the distorted video call.
For whatever reason–maybe it’s her evolving relationship, or my niece cracking her heart open–Auty feels responsible for me.
She doesn’t want to, but she’s opened her home up to me, to support me on my sobriety journey.
She’s kept all my stuff in storage, throwing away all my stashes. She’s trying.
It feels so fake. But maybe her generosity feels so inauthentic because for so long, we’ve been at odds.
Autumn has always hated me a little more than she loves me. I don’t think that’s changed, but pity has been added to the chat.
“I’m tired. I’ma go to bed. Tell Deucey that his TT loves him.”
“What about Rue?” Auty arches a brow.
“When she can string a sentence together, I’ll tell her the same.” I stick my tongue out at her.
“Whatever. Bye Wynter.”
She hangs up, mad because she thinks I’m mad. And Autumn Night has to always have her guard up with everyone, even herself.
Turkey has the patience of a saint.
Shit, Patience, too.
I close the laptop and set it on my nightstand.
The blinds aren’t drawn, so moonlight seeps through the dark room.
I’m so tired, I don’t even care. Mars kept me up through the day, playing some game he invented where we basically run through the sand, and he tired himself out enough to agree to sleeping in his own bed, so I stretch out, sigh, and doze off.
Movement has me whimpering, not wanting to open my eyes. It’s still dark, so I know I have way more hours before I need to get up to attend to any abnormally nice old ladies, adorably clingy shark-teeth boys, and the like.
And yet… someone is in my room. The kitchen needed to be remodeled completely after Rico’s tantrum.
Mars, Nan and I have been staying in one of the very expensive suites of the resort for the past few months.
I mean, I know luxury, but I can’t even remember the type of wood they imported here; I just know it’s expensive and worth every penny.
The bed dips, and then I’m pulled back, suddenly, into a hard chest.
A familiar, hard chest.
My body melts instantly, even if my lids pull back immediately.
His heavy arm rests against my torso, between my tits, pulling me even closer. His breath warms the back of my neck. His toes wiggle against mine.
“Did I wake you?” he hums.
“Um… yeah.” My lids finally lower, and I decide not to question it. Why the hell, after months of avoidance, Richard Alvarez comes back from Colombia and falls into my bed.
“Sorry,” he yawns, settling in more. His other arm stretches underneath my pillow, until it’s nestled in the bend of my neck.
We fit perfectly.
“Reem and YT are fucking.”
My eyes balloon again. “What?” I breathe.
I feel him nod against my crown. “Some shit happened. It could just be the heat of the moment, but… I think it’s something more.”
He hugs me tighter still. My hands cup his arm as he flexes his fingers and rests them at the base of my throat. His other arm curls, and now I’m caged to him.
“Goodnight, Snow.”
“‘Night,” I whisper, falling back asleep.
My eyes burst open, and not because of the sun filtering in through the linen curtains.
No, it’s because of the man curled around my back. His hands holding me tight.
And his big ass hard ass dick poking my ass.
God, it’s been so long.
So long since I’ve had sex, and so long since I’ve had sex with him.
Richard Alvarez. Now that I’m… thirty, and have been around the proverbial block, I can honestly say that I had no business having sex so young. The things we were doing… it’s no wonder I ended up pregnant.
I’m almost afraid of how much he's grown and changed. And judging by the log on my booty cheek, Rico sure has grown.
So, I don’t even try to be subtle in yanking myself out of his hold. When I turn around, he’s already looking at me, face balled up, distorted from his pink scar.
I roll my eyes in full view, before going to the dresser. “Hot ass morning breath on my neck.”
“Fuck you, Snow.”
I wish. But I don’t say that. I just grab some clean clothes and slam the bathroom door shut.
My teeth are stapling my lips so I don’t spout the most foul vitriol I can think of at this asshole three feet from me.
Today, I was all set to spend the day with Miele. We had a date with a six-movie series and all the ice cream we could eat. I breezed through my morning workout, even if Rico and I didn’t speak, because of this.
Until he rained on my parade. No movie marathon for me today. I’m stuck with him.
He took mercy on me, letting me bring my laptop into his office, saying I could watch movies in here. Only, he’s been in meetings all day, and after the third look he shot my way, I turned it off.
I can’t make any sounds. I can barely breathe. But I also can’t leave.
This fool locked us inside his office.
So I’m just sitting here, with his e-reader, eyes glazing over at the historical fiction he was already reading before he chucked it at me.
If I didn't know any better, I’d say he’s being… clingy.
We haven’t spent more than ten minutes away from each other today. And that was only when I showered this morning. By the time I came out, he was up and ready. When I showered again after my workout, he actually stayed inside the bathroom, typing away on his phone.
What the fuck happened in Colombia–besides catching YT and Reem in a compromising position–that has Rico wanting me in his orbit at all times?
Months of avoidance, to this. I’m getting whiplash.
Sighing, I switch from the e-reader to the laptop, and begin typing fragments of lyrics floating around in the room with us.
It’s a love/hate relationship, being around someone who makes you feel such jarring feelings. Rico’s a perfect muse, even after all these years. My comp book is filled with poems and lyrics and half-realized songs about love and loss and bossing up on a nigga who played you.
After months of living in this paradise prison, I’m finally used to my mind being so clear. My hair is long enough to be slicked back or styled in cute fingerwaves. I see the beginning of muscles being built on my frame. And I barely cry myself to sleep anymore.
“Stop fucking typing so loud.”
My hands freeze before I slowly turn my head toward this douche.
He’s not even paying attention to me. Eyes glued to his desktop as he pulls on a small plait in the middle of his head.
“Your hair is stupid.”
He cuts his eyes to me briefly. “You’re just mad because my hair is longer than yours. Chickenhead.”
“Ya mama,” I blurt, cursing myself inwardly. But when he narrows his eyes at me, I just stick my tongue out at him unapologetically.
Rico smirks. “Her hair was longer than yours, too, powderhead.”
I slam my laptop shut. “I don’t have to listen to this. We can go back to ignoring each other. In fact, I can pack my shit and go back home.”
“You ain’t going nowhere,” he taunts, waving me off.
Shooting out of my seat, I twirl around, trying to find anything to get me out of this damn room.
I grin victoriously when I see what’s on the mantel.
Stomping over, I reach up and grab the antique looking rifle off the display.
Rico stands, but I’m already aiming at the doorknob.
“Snow–”
I pull the trigger, squealing that it’s actually loaded and that it actually blew the doorknob off the door.
Dropping the rifle, I curve my hand over the new hole and pull the door open.
Before I can take a step, I’m whirled around, but I’m ready, smacking Rico dead in his face.
“If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say SHIT!” I mush him again, then rush out of the office to my room.
Rico’s at the door before I can close it, pushing into the room. He closes and locks the door behind him.
“Get out!” I shriek, tears lining my lids. “God, I swear I hate you.”
Rico just leans against the door, peering at me with those dead eyes of his.
“You hate me, Snow?”
“That’s what I said. I fucking hate you.” I fold my arms, hugging myself as I glare at him as mean and ugly as I can.
Rico pushes himself off the wall, taking slow steps toward me. “Is that right?”
“Yes! I hate your rude, sassy ass.”
My eyes track him until our feet nearly touch. I stare him down, even if I’m looking up at him. His eyes dance between mine, and I’m so focused on trying to seem upset, that I gasp when I feel his hand curl around my jaw.
My eyes stretch immediately.
He pulls gently, lifting and angling my head as he leans down until we’re breathing the same air.
“You hate me, Snow?”
I unfold my arms to wrap my hands around his arm. I can smell the mint gum he likes to chew during our morning workouts. It mingles with remnants of his cologne, cocoa butter, and hair products.
Rico sticks out his tongue and rubs his piercing across my lower lip. My mouth opens automatically, my heart beating so hard it’s all I hear for a moment.
“Huh?” he whispers, before licking the roof of my mouth.
When he closes his lips on mine, my whole body shudders.
Rico’s other hand clamps down on my lower back, crushing me to him.
That log is even harder now, stabbing my pelvic area.
My moans are muted, as he swallows them over and over. This kiss… fuck, this kiss.
I’m insatiable.
My arms wrap around his neck at the same time he cups my ass and hoists me up. We never stop kissing, even when he sits on my bed.
His hands don’t settle in one place. One second they’re squeezing my ass. The next, one is cupping the back of my neck, while the other rubs across my back.