“Lay down,” he told her, and moved in next to her. He wrapped his arms around her. It didn’t matter if he was a grown man: He really didn’t care to be caught in the act by his parents. He told himself to breathe.
“They won’t see us. Hold still,” he whispered.
“I think they heard us. It’s bad enough,” she whispered back.
He heard scurrying footsteps in the kitchen and his dad’s bigger, heavier ones.
“I could have sworn I heard voices down here,” his mom said. “Maybe we should take a look around.”
Drew heard the refrigerator door open and shut, the cabinet where he kept the plates opening and shutting, and the sound of the silverware drawer opening and shutting. “Bonnie McCoy, you get your cute little fanny back here and quit snooping around. Drew is fast asleep in his room. Nothing is wrong. Let’s go back upstairs.”
His parents’ voices receded as they climbed the stairs. He could hear the click of the bedroom door shutting all the way downstairs. He took his first deep breath in five minutes. He stroked Kendall’s face and kissed her on the forehead.
“Portland’s starting to sound better and better,” he muttered.
AFTER GRABBING THE clothes strewn around Drew’s family room and hurriedly dressing themselves, they decided to spend the next few hours attempting to get some sleep in his bed before she had to go to the airport. Kendall grabbed the quilted fabric overnight bag she’d brought out of the entryway of his house, and they hurried upstairs as silently as possible.
Drew’s room was huge and thickly carpeted. One wall was dominated by a clerestory window that looked out over his backyard. The king-sized bed he slept in didn’t make a dent in the available space. The bed itself had a dark bentwood headboard, no footboard, and was somewhat nondescript. The bedding was simple in design, earth tones, and he had no decorative pillows. The sheets were white. A wooden chest sat at the foot of his bed. He also had a dresser and a flat-screen TV mounted over it on the opposite wall. She smiled at the large glass jug full of change on the floor beside the dresser.
The room included a bathroom, which had the usual high-end finishes—granite countertops, tile flooring, double-glass-walled shower, big whirlpool tub. There was nothing here, though, that expressed Drew’s personality or what he cared about besides the stack of books waiting for him in the recessed cubbyhole of his nightstand. She wondered if there were family photos, football mementos, or other items that might show her a little more about who he was somewhere else in the house.
She set her overnight bag down next to the side of his bed that didn’t have the books in the nightstand and said, “May I sleep on this side?”
“You can sleep anywhere you want,” he assured her. He’d moved quickly up the stairs, but she noticed he winced a few times as he pulled a pair of shorts and an old T-shirt out of his dresser.
“Are you okay?”
“Just sore from the game. I’ll take some ibuprofen or something and be good as new by tomorrow morning.” He nodded toward the bathroom. “Would you like to change in there?”
She’d have to do some thinking later about why she felt suddenly shy getting naked in front of him when she’d been spread out all over his couch, let alone just given him a blow job, but that was a puzzle for when she wasn’t post-orgasmic and quite so tired.
“That would be great,” she said. She grabbed her bag again, headed into the bathroom, and took care of her business. She emerged from the bathroom to find Drew already in bed. He’d turned down the blankets for her.
“Let’s leave one of the bathroom lights on in case you wake up, okay?”
“That might be a good idea. Thank you.”
They were oddly formal for two people who were so crazed for each other less than half an hour ago they’d torn each other’s clothes off and risked getting walked in on by his parents. If Drew hadn’t conveniently finished moments before they came downstairs, she would have met them wearing nothing more than toenail polish and a pair of hoop earrings. She slid inside the soft, cool sheets, lay on her side facing him, and hauled in a breath.
“What time is your flight tomorrow again?”
“Ten AM.”
“I’ll set the alarm on my phone for six AM. Will that work for you? It takes about half an hour to forty-five minutes to get to the airport from here.”
“I forgot to call the shuttle—”
“I’ll drive you,” he said. “My mom and dad are getting picked up in a town car at seven AM.”
“Don’t you want to spend some more time with them?”