It’s not like the kiss in the cemetery or the sloppy whatever-it-was before we banged in the walk-in fridge.
This one’s slow.
Deliberate.
With his beard tickling my cheeks and his lips hot and firm and his tongue slowly but steadily teasing me into parting my lips so that he can show me an entirely new world.
Like I’m the very last Oreo cookie in existence, and Oreos are his favorite, and he wants to make it last as long as possible, savoring every last little bit, experiencing it fully.
I don’t think Tyler Jaeger likes me. I think he like-likes me.
And maybe he wants a quickie in the car to relieve what looks like a very uncomfortable situation in his pants.
Or maybe that’s actually a can of squeezy cheese.
Squeezy cheese?
And possibly this is why I don’t have romantic relationships.
Why do women even hire—oh.
Oh, my.
Tyler’s hand is drifting from my jaw, down my neck, and I didn’t know a full-body shiver prompted by a man’s touch could make my clit pulse like that.
It certainly didn’t that night we went all the way at the club.
But this is different.
None of what I’ve put him through since he picked me up yesterday has been easy or convenient or comfortable. He should be making me sit in the backseat while he blares his music so loud that our ears would ring for days, since that would be preferable to putting up with each other one minute longer.
But instead, he’s kissing me like he needs me to know that I matter.
That I have value.
That he sees me, and he likes me anyway, and he wants more of me.
I trust him.
And that’s more arousing than how well he kisses, where he puts his hands, or how well he uses his equipment.
I follow his lead and let myself touch him, my hand lingering first on his forearm, radiating with heat, and then up, soaking in the feel of thick muscle beneath his shirt.
And touching him is turning me on every bit as much as having him touching me.
Every bit as much as him kissing me.
Every bit as much as this new, heady feeling of believing that he wants me.
I’m doing this.
I’m going to have sex with Tyler Jaeger, in his car, in this parking lot, because if I don’t, I might implode.
I want him.
I want him.
I shift in my seat, intent on climbing into his lap, and he abruptly pulls back, chest heaving. “No.”
One simple word.
And that tower of self-confidence that was growing inside me crumbles.
He grips me by the chin. “Don’t go there. I know what you’re thinking. Do not go there. Right now, I want to rip your clothes off and eat your pussy and make you scream my name until you’re hoarse, but not here. Not like this. The next time I have you naked, I’m doing it right. You deserve something special. Understand?”
Oh. “This…isn’t no?”
“This is me being a saint.” He’s holding me captive with a gaze that’s ordering me to not look away, not squirm, not crack a joke and retreat back into myself. “You deserve better, Muffy. You deserve better.”
He lets go of my chin, flings himself back into his own seat, and growls.
He growls.
It’s like taking a lit match to my panties.
Poof. They’re on fire. In the good way.
But he’s buckled back up, putting the car in gear and pulling the car back out of the parking lot before I can put my scrambled brain cells back together to say something, anything.
Weirdly, though, I don’t feel awkward in the silence.
I feel glowy.
And Tyler’s squirming in his seat while he visibly adjusts his erection.
Mine, my pussy whispers.
For a little while, I whisper back to her.
“You ever read the Wheel of Time series?” Tyler asks.
It’s completely inconsequential, yet not, and I’m suddenly smiling bigger than I would if scientists invented calorie-free brownies.
He’s not a fling, or a hook-up, or whatever.
He’s also a friend.
I hope nothing changes that.
22
Tyler
My poor dick is so tired.
He finally gave up the woody about fifteen minutes from Muffy’s house, though I’m wondering if that has more to do with knowing we might run into Hilda rather than him running out of steam.
And now I’m a little worried he’ll be too tired to stand up again.
But not as much as I’m suddenly worried about letting Muffy out of my car.
Richmond feels so far away now, which is making everything that happened there feel far away too.
Like it wasn’t real.
But it was real, and I’m not ready to let Muffy go, which is more disconcerting than facing dead bodies.
And that’s a realization that’ll take time to unpack.
I like Muffy more than I hate dead bodies.
We coast to a stop in front of her house, and I swear she twitches at the sight of it.
Or maybe that’s me.
“Oh, look! Rufus is waiting.” She grins back at me as she points to the front window, where her cat is licking its own butt in the windowsill. She turns back, and the cat disappears.
Pretty sure it fell off the windowsill. That didn’t look intentional.
She sighs. “He does that at least twice a week. You’d think he’d learn. Thank you, again, for coming with me. I won’t tell anyone about anything. Promise.”
“Saturday night.”
Her face flushes, but she smiles at me, and fuck.
She’s adorable when she smiles like that. It’s like hope and joy got together and had a face baby.
“Saturday night,” she says with a nod.
She reaches for the door handle and slips out of the car before I can snag her for the kiss I desperately want.
What the hell is going on with me?
No idea.
Other question: do I even care what’s going on with me?
Nope, I decide.
I pop the trunk and climb out to get Muffy’s suitcase. The minute my foot hits the pavement, Hilda’s voice carries over the yard. “Muffy! You’re back! Just in time. I cleaned out my closet. Can you believe I still had a whole wardrobe of size sixteens in there? I put them all on your bed since they’re too big for me, but I think they’ll fit you.”
Muffy’s smile freezes. Her shoulders start toward her ears, then go back like she’s caught herself having a reaction to her mom’s words, and that’s it.
That’s fucking it.
I slam the trunk without getting her suitcase out. “Get back in the car.”
She visibly jolts. “What?”
“I said, get back in the car. You’re not staying here.” I’ve heard people talk about blood boiling, but I never really knew what that meant until right now. I’m so furious, I’m about to pop an artery.
Muffy’s gaping at me.
“Don’t stand there fishing it up,” Hilda calls. “Kiss the man. That’s the only way to reel ’em in, sweetie.”
I point to the car and ignore the fact that my finger is shaking.
Rage.
This is what rage feels like.
I thought I knew rage. I’ve been betrayed before. I’ve been shit on before. My former best friend gave me a damn concussion on the ice eighteen months ago because I hooked up with his sister once. You damn well better believe that pissed me off.