“It’s all yours. I cleared out the drawers on the right-hand side and there’s a spot for your shampoo and stuff in the shower.”
“You have everything handled, huh?” I ask, staring at her.
The cutest blush appears on her cheeks. She’s going to be a temptation while I’m here.
“Sorry. Anal, remember?” She chuckles a bit and raises her hand.
I’m not even going to get into the image that little phrasing puts into my head.
“I have to go to the grocery store after I’ve showered. Can I make you dinner tonight as a thank-you for letting me stay even though I’m not who you expected?”
“Um…”
“It’s just dinner, Brinley, nothing else.”
Her shoulders relax. “Sure. And if you want, I can drive you to the grocery store. I mean, you probably can’t get very many groceries on that motorcycle.”
“That’d be great. Sadly, I’ll be back in my truck in a day or two. I was already pushing it riding it today.” Her head tilts, so I add, “I towed my bike here with my truck. Truck and trailer are parked just outside of town, but I’m gonna have to put her away for the season. Just couldn’t resist today when the sun came out for a bit.”
“Sounds like you really like your motorcycle.”
“She’s a good ride.” I realize how that sounds coming out of my mouth and clear my throat. “I won’t be too long in the shower.”
I go to my room and grab my towel, shampoo, and body wash before heading into the bathroom. Something tells me if I leave her alone for too long, she’ll be all up in her head and change her mind.
Because I was in such a hurry, I didn’t take any clothes into the bathroom with me. When I come out of the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around my waist, Brinley walks out of her bedroom. We stand only inches apart while her eyes soak me in. A strangled sound escapes her throat that makes my dick twitch. I can only hope she doesn’t notice.
“Rules. We need rules.” She rushes down the hall.
I follow her to a whiteboard on the wall by the kitchen. I figured it was for a grocery list, but I guess I’m wrong because she picks up a dry-erase marker and writes “Rules,” followed by the number one below it.
“You should go get dressed.” She eyes me over her shoulder and inhales a deep breath.
“Sorry, forgot to take clothes in with me.”
She doesn’t turn around, putting up her hand. “It’s okay, I mean, we should’ve discussed this kind of thing when we found out that it was a coed situation.”
She writes.
1. Must be dressed at all times.
“I prefer to air dry, but okay?”
Her mouth hangs open.
I can’t help but chuckle. “I’m kidding. I’ll make sure to abide by rule number one.”
I head back to my room and strip off my towel. My dick is already half-chub. These next couple of months are going to be full of sexual tension, I know it. I dress in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then throw on my leather jacket. I decide on a backward hat instead of actually styling my hair.
“Thank you,” she says when I return to the kitchen.
“Sorry again.”
“I just want this to work out. I need half of the rent paid and you need a place to live, so we’re both stuck. If we started something, it would obviously just be a hookup type of situation and things always go south after a hookup.”
Intrigued by her statement, I ask what’s forefront in my mind. “Do you do hookups a lot?” Based on how she acted when we met, I wouldn’t have thought so, but her words suggest otherwise.
That blush strikes her cheeks again, except this time, it travels up from her neck to her face. “Yeah, of course.”
I nod slowly, not really believing her. “And you assume if something happened between us, it would only be a hookup? Why is that?” My head tilts.
She won’t look at me as she puts on her coat and zips it, repositioning her ponytail. “I guess I assumed you were only in town for a short period of time, so you’d only be interested in that.”
Smart girl. “Right. It’s not because you think I’m a manwhore who doesn’t do commitment.”
“No.” She shakes her head as if she’s convincing herself as much as me. “Of course not.”
I lean in close, invading her space and whisper, “Maybe you’re right.” I open the door to the apartment. “Ready?”
She stops at the doorway and looks up at me. “Good thing we have rules, so we don’t cross those lines.”
I can smell her perfume and I want to soak that scent into my skin. What must it be like to fuck someone like her? Someone so prim and proper. I’d love to pull out another side of her, hear her scream and boss me around as she tells me exactly how to make her come.
Damn it. I shift my stance. I gotta get rid of this half-chub.
She hands me the key as we leave the apartment, and I lock it up then signal for her to go down the stairs first. She unlocks her SUV with the key fob. Once we’re inside, I’m surprised to hear her listening to “Feel Like Makin’ Love” by Bad Company.
“That surprises me,” I say, putting on my seat belt.
She points at the seat belt. “That makes two of us.”
“Safety first? So, you’re a classic rock fan?” I thought I’d be tortured by some pop music diva the whole way to the grocery store.
“Thank my dad. Although I do like other types of music as well.”
I turn it up. “Interesting.”
She drives cautiously to the grocery store, making complete stops at every stop sign, looking both ways at the intersections. I’ve never felt so safe.
“I’ll Stand by You” by The Pretenders comes on and she sings softly, knowing every word by heart. The SUV feels like a cocoon, warm and cozy, with her voice ringing through it. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even know she’s singing, and I look out the window so I don’t give away that I’m listening to her. I’m sure she’d stop if she knew I noticed.
The lyrics to the song bring out a feeling I wasn’t expecting—loneliness. It’s been years since I haven’t felt alone in this world. Hell, isn’t that why my commander made me take a leave of absence before I re-up into the service again? He thinks I need a life outside of the Coast Guard, but he’s wrong. The Coast Guard is my life.
She pulls into the brightly lit parking lot of the grocery store and doesn’t bother going up and down the rows to find the closest parking spot. Instead, she parks in the first spot she finds. We file out of her SUV and walk toward the entrance, but she stops suddenly.
“Shoot,” she mumbles.
“Brin?” A woman who looks like an older version of Brinley rushes over with a cart full of groceries.
Brinley glances at me and back at the woman with a resigned look on her face. “Hey, Mom.”
Five
Brinley
My mom’s gaze doesn’t stray from Van. She looks him up and down, popping a grape from the bag into her mouth.
“Mom,” I say to remind her that I’m here too.