And hell, I can’t even remember why I had to come inside the pool hall in the first place. I’m pretty sure it was just my knee-jerk reaction to the jealousy that overwhelmed me. I had to walk away before I did something insane, like drag Naomi up on the roof to fuck her in front of the world in an attempt to appease my alpha tendencies.
After I sit my ass down in my chair at the head of the Dirty Aces’ meeting table and smoke half a pack of cigarettes, I finally feel calm enough to face her again. Surprisingly, the woman is still in the same place I left her and straddling my bike with her helmet on.
“Ready?” she asks with a hesitant smile like she’s unsure of my mood.
“Yeah.”
“Would you mind taking me by my house to grab a few more things?” she asks while reaching inside her helmet to push her short hair out of her eyes, looking sweet and innocent when we both know the truth.
“Fine,” I agree when I climb on in front of her.
After I crank the bike up, Naomi wraps her arms around my waist and shouts, “Do you need directions?”
“Nope,” I respond before I take off.
Rushing past the world at a high rate of speed is just as cathartic as usual. In fact, I’ve reeled in my anger by the time we park outside the white, rundown farmhouse, leaving only the simmering jealousy.
“This place looks like it would fall over if I sneeze on it,” I tell Naomi after we both dismount and remove our helmets.
“It’s not that bad,” she scoffs before leading the way up the steppingstones to the front door. I don’t even know why I’m surprised when she pulls a key free from underneath a flowerpot with some unknown plant that’s wilted in the dry summer heat.
“Nice security system you’ve got there,” I tell her rather than lecture her about how dangerous leaving a key on the porch like that could be.
“Nobody ever comes out this way,” she says when she pushes the door open and walks inside. “I’ll grab some things from upstairs and be right back.”
Once she’s gone up the creaking stairs, I stroll around through the living room where the dusty furniture looks like it’s several decades old. There are several colorful, handmade quilts tossed around and a thick old-school television that I’m surprised still works. Above the fireplace that probably hasn’t been used in years because of the heat the coast endures all year lately, there are several framed photos of a man and a woman, their wedding photo and then one where both of their hair has turned grey. Then, there’s a school picture of a young woman, who looks similar to Naomi, before a picture of a toddler, who I have no doubt is the woman upstairs. The kid has her big, blue eyes and light blonde hair, looking like a tiny angel with a sweet, innocent grin on her face that probably got her out of any trouble she caused.
Even years later, she still has that same power over me despite how much I fucking hate it.
I hear her footsteps on the squeaky stairs before I hear her voice. “All set. Let me just grab a bag.”
She walks by me with a folded stack of clothes and a small plastic container on top.
“What’s that?” I ask her when she grabs a plastic grocery bag from somewhere and stuffs her things into it.
“This?” she asks, holding up the piece of plastic.
“Yeah.”
“Birth control,” she answers with a grin that sends my mind right into the gutter as I immediately think about taking her again tonight without a rubber getting in the way.
Apparently reading my mind, Naomi sets her bag down on a brown leather chair and walks right up to me. She grabs my belt buckle to undo it as she sinks down to the floor on her knees.
And for the second time in a week, I find myself turning down a chance to fuck her sweet mouth.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“What does it look like?” she replies as my belt comes free of the buckle.
“No,” I say, grabbing her hands to still them before she can pull out my dick and I change my mind.
“No?” she repeats, blue eyes widening in surprise and what looks like disappointment that I’m rejecting her again.
“No,” I reiterate. Clearing my throat when I turn away from her to fix my belt, I ask, “Do you need anything else?” I need to change the subject, because for the life of me I don’t have any answers to what the hell my problem is, and I’m sure she’s about to ask.
“No.”
“Good. It’s hot as hell in here, and I’m ready to get home,” I tell her.
“Oh, sorry,” she says as she gets to her feet again. “The, um, air conditioner is broken, and I haven’t had a chance to fix it.”
“Good thing you don’t have to stay here tonight, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” she agrees with a sigh, shoving her clothes into a plastic bag. “Good thing.”
Chapter Seventeen
Naomi
* * *
Malcolm is so icy that it’s freaking me out. In fact, after we get back to his house, he doesn’t come straight to bed. I take a long shower, hoping he’ll join me. He doesn’t. So, after I dry my hair, I sit down on the bed and wait…
He turned down another blowjob from me, which would be a first for any other man, but is the second time for Malcolm. Now, I’m afraid to try and make a move for fear of him rejecting me yet again.
I don’t like the way it feels when he doesn’t want me. My entire body is off-kilter, like I can’t remember how to sit still or stand up straight. I’m anxious and annoyed.
After eleven, I give up and climb under the covers. Of course, with my mind in so much turmoil, I can’t sleep. I just lie there, waiting for him.
When Malcolm does finally come into the bedroom minutes or hours later, I hold my breath to see what he’ll do, hoping — hell, praying — that he’ll touch me.
But he doesn’t. His weight shifts the mattress in the dark, and then…nothing.
I wait and wait, hearing his heavy exhales in the dark before I finally cave. Rolling over to his side of the bed, I throw my arm around his naked waist as I spoon him from behind. Like the other nights, at least he’s still sleeping in the nude and didn’t feel the need to come to bed in jeans to add a barrier between us.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks gruffly.
“Cuddling.”
“I don’t cuddle.”
“Okay,” I reply, but I don’t move an inch.
“Naomi?”
“Yes?” I ask, my chin resting on his shoulder.
“Give me some space.”
“No.”
“What did you say?” he asks.
“I said no, I’m not going to give you space. You’re angry at me and maybe pissed about losing your custom bike, and so I’m going to cuddle you until you fall asleep. Hopefully tomorrow you’ll wake up and want to touch me again.”
Malcolm’s quiet for several long minutes, so long I think he’s not going to say another word. Then, I hear a mumbled, “I don’t share.”
“You don’t share?” I repeat.
“That’s right.”
“Okay.”