The Boy I Grew Up With
Page 4
He placed me between the covers, tucking them over me.
He disappeared into the hallway. I heard him go downstairs. The fridge opened, and a moment later, he returned with a glass of water. He set it on the nightstand next to me.
“You want mouthwash?”
I nodded, and he grabbed it, along with a cup and a little bowl I had left on the counter. I sat up, cleaned my mouth out, and sipped my water as he took everything back to the bathroom. A second later, he returned. Both doors were shut, and he pulled the drapes over my window so no sunlight could get through. It cast the room into darkness, and I heard the familiar sounds of him shedding his clothes.
The sheet lifted behind me, and he curled up around me.
God.
Moments like this, my heart burst with love for him.
I loved how he held me, carried me, took care of me. I loved how his hand curved over my thigh and then fell to my stomach, and how a part of me wanted him to slide it between my legs, but I knew he wouldn’t. He knew I didn’t feel good, so this morning wasn’t about the sex I knew he’d originally come for. It was about comfort, and as I felt him slide his leg between mine and tangle our hands together, I knew he was about to fall asleep.
“I’m glad you came over.” The words slipped out before I knew I was going to say them.
His arms tightened, just a fraction. “Me too.”
I felt him smile against my shoulder, and his thumb rose up to touch my nipple before falling back to my stomach.
“Rest, Heather. We can talk later.”
3
Channing
Christ.
What was I doing here?
A hurricane railroaded me. That’s how I felt waking up.
I was in Heather’s room. I looked over to find her curled away from me. Glancing down, I learned my dick was ecstatic to see her.
She’d been sick last night, or—checking my phone—a few hours ago. She was breathing deeply now, and she looked better. She wasn’t pale anymore.
The plan had been to give her space. Had been, the operative words there.
“Hmmm?” Heather rolled toward me, her eyes still closed. She was still sleeping.
Man. Just looking at her, I ached—in more than one way.
The tug-of-war between staying away and being drawn to her was a real struggle for me. I hated being broken up, but it was what it was. That was the rotation for us right now. And I knew I shouldn’t, but I reached over and smoothed my hand over her cheek. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life. I’d thought it when I was in third grade, and I thought it now. I’ve liked Heather since first, but I think I liked that Trapper Keeper more. Third grade was when my real smarts hit me. It never changed after that, and it never diminished. Heather was the shit. She was the girl all other girls wanted to be, or should be. The woman was hella loyal, sexy as fuck, smarter than anyone I knew, and she had the mouth to suck my dick off or kick my ass to the curb, literally.
She wasn’t one to fuck over, and I felt the same shame, guilt, and anger roll around inside me like I always did.
Here’s a secret: I know the root of our problems, but Heather doesn’t.
She just loves me, and that’s her curse, because she shouldn’t. I’m the worst goddamn asshole for her.
Not wanting to give in and kiss her awake, then slip inside her, I forced myself to grab my stuff and ease out of her room.
“Hey, loser.”
I jerked the door shut more than I wanted to, and twisted to glare at Brandon. He was at the bottom of the stairs, in almost the same get-up as myself. Only he was half-clothed, and I wasn’t.
I tiptoed down the stairs, pulling my shirt on first. After getting the jeans and everything else, I itched my face with my middle finger. “Fucker.”
He smirked, following me as I went to the coffee pot and filled a cup. He leaned against the fridge, drinking from his.
“So you’re a surprise.” He seemed to think about that and amended, “Okay. Maybe not such a surprise.” He indicated upstairs with his mug. “I didn’t know Heather had anyone up there.”
I topped my cup off with some creamer and glared again. “Because she shouldn’t have just anyone. It would be me, me alone. Right?” That all came out cocky—but no, seriously. “Right?”
Brandon laughed, rolling his eyes. “My sister’s too good for you, Monroe.”
I grunted. That was one thing we agreed on. I was tempted to salute him with my coffee, but he didn’t deserve it. Though he was a fucker I’d grown up with and loved like a brother too.
I glanced up. I’d been listening for any sounds of Heather moving up there and didn’t hear any. She must’ve stayed asleep.
“You had a scrape with Stalker B?” I asked. “I overheard when I snuck in.”
He almost choked, some of his coffee sputtering out. “What?” His face drained of color. “You’re joking. Right? About the stalker comment. Right?”
I shook my head. “One of my guys slept with her one night, and it took him a long time to shake her.” I grinned. This was my revenge for him calling me loser. The rest I deserved. “You’re fucked, buddy.”
He coughed, pounding his chest. “How long is long? And who?”
“Congo.”
Congo was one of my ride-or-die friends, and he wasn’t a guy to get stalkers. Might’ve been connected to his bald head, hands that looked like he ate trees for breakfast, and his seriously mean face. He was one of my most trusted guys, but he was just plain mean-looking. There was no other way to describe him.
I enjoyed telling Brandon this.
Brandon Jax was nice, but he tended not to give Heather enough credit. Call me overprotective or whatever, but that always burned me. She’d taken Manny’s on when their dad abandoned it—and abandoned them. They thought of it differently, but the SOB had done just that. He took off in an RV caravan with a bunch of retired buddies, and the last I heard, they’d all set up shop in Florida. Brandon didn’t want to deal with the real work of Manny’s, so Heather did.
It was the same quality that allowed her to keep loving me.
She should’ve walked away from me years ago.
Brandon groaned. “How long, Channing?”
I smiled now, saluting him with my coffee. “It took him a year. How many times did you sleep with her?”
“Oh my God.” He looked as if he’d been stabbed in the gut. His hand cradled his stomach. “Twice. I was with her twice.”
I laughed. “Yeah. You’re fucked.”
“This isn’t funny, Channing.”
I sipped my coffee. “It is from my view.”
“Shiiiit.”
He tipped his head back, a long groan coming from his throat. His hands went to his hair and balled up in fists. It was then that his bedroom door opened and a girl came out, slipping her arm through a shirt. Her hair was a little messy, and her jean skirt still unbuckled. She carried flip-flops in her hands.
“I’m ready to—” She looked up and saw me, and her voice trailed off. “Go...”
It was the same chick who’d been hitting on my cousin last night. She paled, and I grinned. This would be fun.
I raised my mug to her. “We had a wager where’d you end up after Scratch sent you packing.” My eyes slid to Brandon, then back to her. “Didn’t know it’d be here, but it makes sense. Going from Tuesday Tits to Manny’s.”
She gulped, but I didn’t care. The stalker was funny. But this girl, she hopped from bed to bed looking for the next guy to bankroll her life.
He disappeared into the hallway. I heard him go downstairs. The fridge opened, and a moment later, he returned with a glass of water. He set it on the nightstand next to me.
“You want mouthwash?”
I nodded, and he grabbed it, along with a cup and a little bowl I had left on the counter. I sat up, cleaned my mouth out, and sipped my water as he took everything back to the bathroom. A second later, he returned. Both doors were shut, and he pulled the drapes over my window so no sunlight could get through. It cast the room into darkness, and I heard the familiar sounds of him shedding his clothes.
The sheet lifted behind me, and he curled up around me.
God.
Moments like this, my heart burst with love for him.
I loved how he held me, carried me, took care of me. I loved how his hand curved over my thigh and then fell to my stomach, and how a part of me wanted him to slide it between my legs, but I knew he wouldn’t. He knew I didn’t feel good, so this morning wasn’t about the sex I knew he’d originally come for. It was about comfort, and as I felt him slide his leg between mine and tangle our hands together, I knew he was about to fall asleep.
“I’m glad you came over.” The words slipped out before I knew I was going to say them.
His arms tightened, just a fraction. “Me too.”
I felt him smile against my shoulder, and his thumb rose up to touch my nipple before falling back to my stomach.
“Rest, Heather. We can talk later.”
3
Channing
Christ.
What was I doing here?
A hurricane railroaded me. That’s how I felt waking up.
I was in Heather’s room. I looked over to find her curled away from me. Glancing down, I learned my dick was ecstatic to see her.
She’d been sick last night, or—checking my phone—a few hours ago. She was breathing deeply now, and she looked better. She wasn’t pale anymore.
The plan had been to give her space. Had been, the operative words there.
“Hmmm?” Heather rolled toward me, her eyes still closed. She was still sleeping.
Man. Just looking at her, I ached—in more than one way.
The tug-of-war between staying away and being drawn to her was a real struggle for me. I hated being broken up, but it was what it was. That was the rotation for us right now. And I knew I shouldn’t, but I reached over and smoothed my hand over her cheek. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life. I’d thought it when I was in third grade, and I thought it now. I’ve liked Heather since first, but I think I liked that Trapper Keeper more. Third grade was when my real smarts hit me. It never changed after that, and it never diminished. Heather was the shit. She was the girl all other girls wanted to be, or should be. The woman was hella loyal, sexy as fuck, smarter than anyone I knew, and she had the mouth to suck my dick off or kick my ass to the curb, literally.
She wasn’t one to fuck over, and I felt the same shame, guilt, and anger roll around inside me like I always did.
Here’s a secret: I know the root of our problems, but Heather doesn’t.
She just loves me, and that’s her curse, because she shouldn’t. I’m the worst goddamn asshole for her.
Not wanting to give in and kiss her awake, then slip inside her, I forced myself to grab my stuff and ease out of her room.
“Hey, loser.”
I jerked the door shut more than I wanted to, and twisted to glare at Brandon. He was at the bottom of the stairs, in almost the same get-up as myself. Only he was half-clothed, and I wasn’t.
I tiptoed down the stairs, pulling my shirt on first. After getting the jeans and everything else, I itched my face with my middle finger. “Fucker.”
He smirked, following me as I went to the coffee pot and filled a cup. He leaned against the fridge, drinking from his.
“So you’re a surprise.” He seemed to think about that and amended, “Okay. Maybe not such a surprise.” He indicated upstairs with his mug. “I didn’t know Heather had anyone up there.”
I topped my cup off with some creamer and glared again. “Because she shouldn’t have just anyone. It would be me, me alone. Right?” That all came out cocky—but no, seriously. “Right?”
Brandon laughed, rolling his eyes. “My sister’s too good for you, Monroe.”
I grunted. That was one thing we agreed on. I was tempted to salute him with my coffee, but he didn’t deserve it. Though he was a fucker I’d grown up with and loved like a brother too.
I glanced up. I’d been listening for any sounds of Heather moving up there and didn’t hear any. She must’ve stayed asleep.
“You had a scrape with Stalker B?” I asked. “I overheard when I snuck in.”
He almost choked, some of his coffee sputtering out. “What?” His face drained of color. “You’re joking. Right? About the stalker comment. Right?”
I shook my head. “One of my guys slept with her one night, and it took him a long time to shake her.” I grinned. This was my revenge for him calling me loser. The rest I deserved. “You’re fucked, buddy.”
He coughed, pounding his chest. “How long is long? And who?”
“Congo.”
Congo was one of my ride-or-die friends, and he wasn’t a guy to get stalkers. Might’ve been connected to his bald head, hands that looked like he ate trees for breakfast, and his seriously mean face. He was one of my most trusted guys, but he was just plain mean-looking. There was no other way to describe him.
I enjoyed telling Brandon this.
Brandon Jax was nice, but he tended not to give Heather enough credit. Call me overprotective or whatever, but that always burned me. She’d taken Manny’s on when their dad abandoned it—and abandoned them. They thought of it differently, but the SOB had done just that. He took off in an RV caravan with a bunch of retired buddies, and the last I heard, they’d all set up shop in Florida. Brandon didn’t want to deal with the real work of Manny’s, so Heather did.
It was the same quality that allowed her to keep loving me.
She should’ve walked away from me years ago.
Brandon groaned. “How long, Channing?”
I smiled now, saluting him with my coffee. “It took him a year. How many times did you sleep with her?”
“Oh my God.” He looked as if he’d been stabbed in the gut. His hand cradled his stomach. “Twice. I was with her twice.”
I laughed. “Yeah. You’re fucked.”
“This isn’t funny, Channing.”
I sipped my coffee. “It is from my view.”
“Shiiiit.”
He tipped his head back, a long groan coming from his throat. His hands went to his hair and balled up in fists. It was then that his bedroom door opened and a girl came out, slipping her arm through a shirt. Her hair was a little messy, and her jean skirt still unbuckled. She carried flip-flops in her hands.
“I’m ready to—” She looked up and saw me, and her voice trailed off. “Go...”
It was the same chick who’d been hitting on my cousin last night. She paled, and I grinned. This would be fun.
I raised my mug to her. “We had a wager where’d you end up after Scratch sent you packing.” My eyes slid to Brandon, then back to her. “Didn’t know it’d be here, but it makes sense. Going from Tuesday Tits to Manny’s.”
She gulped, but I didn’t care. The stalker was funny. But this girl, she hopped from bed to bed looking for the next guy to bankroll her life.
