See Me .(36)
The book fascinated him. The way Alberto Vargas painted the beautiful pinup girls made him remember how Abigail moved like fine silk beneath him. How her eyes smiled before her lips did. How those beautiful lips parted for his tongue. Sean took a step, hoping his hard-on would shift to a more comfortable position. No luck.
Along with the large hardback book of painted darlings, he snagged another book. A paperback titled Deeper. He felt like an ass going into the romance section, but he’d spotted the turquoise-colored book on her coffee table that morning and was curious about what she was reading. Thinking about it, everything about the woman fascinated him.
“Here.” He dropped the books on the counter. The young man behind the cash register lifted one brow when he rang up the romance novel. Yeah, don’t go there, dude.
“You already gave me the twenty, so that’ll be forty-eight eighty-five.”
Sean paid for the books and carried the sack out to his truck. The sun was setting, casting pink and purple spikes across the horizon. It was the perfect start to a warm evening. Throwing some steaks on the grill sounded like a great plan, but he didn’t have a grill. Abigail does. Without thinking, he made a stop at the grocery store.
The gym had been packed earlier, so he’d waited to shower until he got home. He tossed the bright yellow gym shorts in the corner and stepped under the cool spray. The memory of those long red-brown strands of hair peeking out from under the covers made him wince. Was she still in bed now? Had she gone to the shoot up at Carl’s cabin? Maybe she stayed there tonight. Maybe she’d watched the actors on the set. Maybe she was right in the middle of it.
Goddamn son of a bitch. He smeared the lather over his face and down his torso in one long motion. Fuck if he wanted to throw her away like a rag doll. The water stung his face as he rinsed the suds away.
Could she forgive him? Would she even want to? Shit, he didn’t know. He rolled the bar of soap in his hands. The slippery lather felt good on his dick. Not as good as her warmth surrounding him, but it would have to do for now. He tugged a couple of times. Nothing happened. He turned around, letting the pellets of water massage his shoulders. Pulled again. Nothing. Shit!
He scrubbed the towel over his head as he stepped out of the shower and walked into the bedroom. He opened the top drawer on the bureau and grabbed a clean tank top. The letter she’d written him after his interview still sat where he’d left it. The flowery smell had faded, but her handwriting was as bright as ever. She hadn’t typed the letter. Hadn’t had Ron write one up. No, she’d taken the time to pull out a piece of soft pink stationary and pen him a note.
“It’s complicated… I can explain.” Why would she want to watch me do those things? He turned the letter over. She can’t be like the others. Don’t throw her away.
The clock in his bedroom ticked again. It was seven fifteen. He could walk through her door in twenty minutes. They could eat dinner and end things politely. She didn’t deserve to be tossed aside. He’d been thrown to the curb plenty and didn’t want her to feel the hit of the pavement the way he had. They could at least end whatever had started in a way that would leave them both intact.
The half-built Lego Death Star sat on the coffee table. On the shelf, the only shelf in the apartment, he’d put the completed Millennium Falcon. On the drive home, after finding the damn DVDs, the only thing he had wanted to do was wring her pretty neck. Now the only thing he could think about was running his tongue along the smooth column. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to go back to her apartment.
The neatly arranged gray blocks sat next to the pile of white blocks. Keeping the blocks organized was very important while constructing a big project like this one. It’d eaten up many a long night when he couldn’t sleep. He pressed one small rectangle on top of another one, locking it into place. He could just stay in tonight and say, “Fuck it.” He didn’t need her anyway. Why did she think it was okay to film him for her private stash?
Sean leaned back against the couch. The memories of his childhood flooded his mind. So many afternoons spent lonely while the other kids played. He just couldn’t seem to exist around other kids without fighting. His temper was what landed him in three foster homes in three years. No one wanted a troubled kid whose mom died of a drug overdose. They assumed he’d be on drugs too one day. Didn’t happen. The fighting continued, but the other stuff never happened.
By the time he turned sixteen, he found out that girls liked bad boys. Sure, they didn’t want anyone to know they were messing around with the kid from the wrong side of the tracks, but that didn’t stop them from keeping the secret. Hell, if they acted stupid enough not to want to share him with their friends, he wasn’t going to be stupid enough to ask to hang out after they’d made out in the back of his old Buick.