Chapter 4 #2
Instead, he walked beside her to the bus and the waiting crew. And after the hair and makeup lady got through with them both and the cameras and boom mic had been positioned to Jill’s satisfaction, they were back to filming.
“This converted school bus comes in two thousand dollars below your budget, and it boasts 245 square feet of charming living space.” Allie swept a hand toward the bus. “No tiny house could be more portable!”
Lucy shaded her eyes with her hand as she considered the vehicle. “Would I need a commercial driver’s license to bring this with me from state to state?”
“I researched that.” Allie appeared pleased to have been asked the question. “Once a bus has been converted for personal use, you don’t need a special license, although some states may ask you to get a special endorsement.”
“Okay.” Lucy didn’t mention the weird paint color or the rusty spots. Instead, she nodded calmly toward the bus entrance. “Shall we go inside?”
To be fair, the inside of the bus seemed much less cramped than yesterday’s cabin. The passenger seats had all been removed, leaving space for a small living area, a bare-bones kitchen, a private bathroom, and a sunny bedroom in the back of the bus.
All good things. However…
“Is this”—Lucy stepped closer to one of the walls and touched a gray lump with her fingertip—“old gum?”
“What a creative way to add texture to a wall treatment, right?” Allie hustled past that spot—and dozens of similar spots on the floors and walls—and toward the bathroom. “I think you’ll like this area of the house.”
But Lucy hadn’t budged. Instead, she was staring at a mark on the wall near the gum, her brows drawn together. He moved beside her and got a better view of the mark’s shape.
Oh. Oh.
Well, given the previous use of the bus, perhaps they should have expected as much.
Lucy scanned the wall and ceiling, squatting to study other marks closer to the floor. Then her peaceful expression fractured, and she started giggling.
“Allie…” Her body was shaking with her laughter, her brown eyes bright. “D-did you see what’s all over the walls?”
Allie bit her lip. “This bus features many fine examples of outsider art. It’s truly an outstanding value.”
“Outsider art? Is that what people are calling these now?” Lucy snorted. “When we went to school, I believe they were just dick drawings. Lots and lots of dick drawings.”
“Cut!” Jill yelled.
After a moment, Lucy managed to calm herself. “I apologize, Jill. I just hadn’t anticipated so many penises”—she snorted again—“in my potential house.”
He couldn’t help himself. “Don’t neglect the balls.”
She bent over laughing again. “Y-you’re right. I was wrong to ignore the lovely, h-hairy balls also included in the drawings.”
Like him, Jill and the crew were snickering to themselves. Even Allie, to his surprise, had cracked a smile.
“The cameras won’t focus on the, uh, outsider art.” After wiping her eyes, Jill got back to business. “As long as you don’t use the term dick drawings, though, feel free to talk about what you see.”
“What term should I use instead?” Lucy raised her brows. “Penis pictorals? Tumescent tracings? Sack-related sketches?”
The sparkle was returning. He could almost see her brighten, minute by minute.
Jill waved a hand. “Whatever you want. Alliterate away. Just no dicks, pricks, or cocks, please.”
He could have sworn he heard Lucy mutter, “Speak for yourself.”
But then the cameras were rolling again, and they were moving toward the miniature kitchen.
As they went, he scanned overhead and beneath his feet.
No additional insulation, as far as he could see.
Patched original floors. Gum and dicks everywhere.
Whoever had converted the bus hadn’t devoted a great deal of money or care to the process.
The kitchen area appeared workable, however. A square of tiled counter, a small sink, and four electric burners on the stovetop. The tiny oven might even be able to fit a tofu turkey, if Lucy shoved it in there hard enough.
“This kitchen features everything you need for Thanksgiving dinner,” Allie declared.
Lucy opened the oven door and glanced inside. He stooped beside her, and she turned her head to whisper to him. “No dicks in the oven. I’m kind of disappointed, to be honest.”
“Cut,” Jill called again. “Lucy, the mic is more sensitive than you’d imagine.”
Lucy bit her lip, but couldn’t stop herself from responding. “As are dicks.”
For that, he high-fived her. “Nice.”
“Don’t encourage me.” She stood again. “I’m sorry, everyone. I’ll get a hold of myself, I promise.”
Manfully resisting a get a hold joke, he composed his expression once more.
“Why don’t you two do what I call the butt-bump test?
” The producer pointed to the stove. “Lucy, you stand in front of there like you’re cooking.
Sebastián, you stand at the café table across from the oven.
Face the windows and pretend you’re eating breakfast or something.
Let’s see if you have enough room to work without bumping butts. ”
He and Lucy got into position. The crew began filming again. And sure enough, when Lucy opened the oven and pretended to put something inside, they were touching, just as Jill had predicted.
Lucy’s soft, rounded bottom pressed up against him, and the world dropped away.
“I think this stove would work for me,” she said, a bit breathless.
Oh, fuck, he loved her ass. Always had. Even back in high school, when he’d only appreciated it in a platonic way, he’d acknowledged its superiority over all other asskind. Her sweet breasts might be small, but her booty and hips…they were lush. Profligate and welcoming.
His appreciation could no longer be termed platonic. Not in any universe.
He tried to back away from the amazing, horrible contact, but there was nowhere to go, not without messing up the shot.
And the camera operators kept saying they needed a different angle or that the mic had malfunctioned, so there they were, butt-to-butt, for minutes on end, as Lucy moved a bit from side to side, pretending to work in the kitchen as she chatted with Allie.
It felt like a tease. It felt like heaven and a very specific kind of hell.
Seemingly years later, Jill spoke again. “Good. Let’s set up the next shot in the bathroom. FYI, Lucy, the shower is kind of small. I have no idea how a larger person would fit in there. Or two people, for that matter.”
“Maybe we should…” Lucy blinked up at him. “Maybe we should test that out? In case I ever had, um, special company?”
She wanted to know whether she could fuck in the shower? He could show her. He’d be delighted to show her. Even if the space was too tight for full-on penetration, he could get to his knees and brace her against the wall, her legs over his shoulders as he—
No. No, no, no. He dropped his chin to his chest and took a breath. Friends. You’re friends. Don’t let her know you want anything more.
So he crowded into the tiny, surprisingly clean shower stall with her, cameras rolling, and prayed that she—and they—couldn’t detect his reaction to such potent temptation.
MATLAB simulations. He’d think of MATLAB simulations, rather than the press of her breasts against his chest or the sounds she’d make when he licked her open under the shower spray and sucked her clit so gently into his mouth—
“Seb?” she whispered. “You smell really good. Do you use cologne or aftershave or…?”
“Umm…” He couldn’t remember. At this point, he probably smelled like nothing but pheromones and desperation. “Not sure what I used this morning.”
“Maybe if we”—she rubbed against him as she slipped her arms around his waist, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head—“maneuver a little, we’ll be a bit more comfortable. Just give me a moment.”
Hell. He really had descended to the fiery depths of Hades, where well-intentioned men who were trying their best to control their emotions and their disobedient cocks got tortured for their efforts.
For a decade and a half, he’d kept things light. Casual. Made sure he didn’t reveal the intensity of his feelings or how they’d shifted with the years and puberty.
And this was how he got rewarded? Motherfucker.
She was still squirming, her softness breathtaking against him as those agile massage therapist’s hands slid from his back to his shoulders. “Nearly there. I just need to—”
When her elbow hit the shower handle and icy water poured down on them both, he was almost grateful.