Carry Me Home (6 page)

“Finger me?” She giggles. “You can say it.”

“I know.” My eyelid twitches. “I know I can.”

She settles a hand against her throat, near the mad pulse. “Tell me more.”

“I like it.”

“Go on.” She bites her lip.

“I like this. What I’m doing.”

“Details.”

Damn. She’s insistent.

“Why?” I whisper.

“Because…” Her soft laugh strokes my dick like delicate fingers. “I want to hear your dirty talk, Green.”

What’s locked inside me paces around, restless. I had to be so safe, so fucking overly cautious with Pippa that those feelings are blocked off.

“I want you,” I pant. She grabs my wrist and tugs, burying my finger deeper. Her small, perfect breasts are right in my face.

I lean down and mouth her dusky nipple though her tank top while slowly sliding another finger into her tight heat. She makes noises different from anything I’ve ever heard. High and then deep, almost a sob, then kind of a laugh.

“Your pussy is fucking hot,” I grind out. The moment the words tear from me, a quake constricts her inner muscles. “I love feeling you. You’re goddamn gorgeous.”

“Don’t stop,” she gasps.

“I’m not taking my hands off you until you come, got that?” These words, they feel incredible to say out loud.

She jerks against my palm.

“That’s it.” My voice is hoarse but clear. “Ride my palm.”

Her eyes squeeze shut. “This is good.”

I’ve made her tank top so wet that the nipple is clearly visible beneath. I want to jerk down the neck, suck the bare skin into my mouth and see if it tastes as sweet as it looks. But I’m not going to stop touching her. Every stroke is a defibrillator on my heart, jolting me to life. “You’re so wet.”

“I’m going to come hard, Green.”

“Now,” I order. “Do it.” I’m growling at her, my face buried against her small but perfect tits, my hand rocking against her heat. “Come all over me.”

And incredibly, she does.

“Tanner!” She lurches forward, digging her fingers into the back of my neck. Her nails sink into my flesh as she holds on tight, her thighs fastening on either side of my abs. “Holy crap. Goddamn. Shit, shit, yes. Oh yes. Oh yes.”

Inside, her body rolls over my fingers like a wave. How would it be to feel this around my dick? Pippa never got off, at least not with me. I couldn’t ever do that—please her. But I pleased Sunny. Relief relaxes through my chest. I did it. I fucking did it.

I pull back and sit on my heels. Sunny is living magma, all fire hair and flushed skin. Her tank top is hiked, revealing her concave stomach and the tiny mole next to her belly button. She draws her hands around her knees, locking her arms around them.

I don’t know what to do. She isn’t looking at me. I want to kiss her. I want to thank her. I want to fuck her. My fingers are still wet, and I make a fist before I do something stupid like slip them into my mouth.

“Well,” she says at last, “that was an unexpected surprise.”

“I’m sorry.” Because when I want something, people get hurt. “I…” I glance around at her small, messy studio. The front door is across the room. If I run out now, I’ll ruin everything.

But I will if I stay too.

P
retty sure that fancy green-tea mask was moot. I’m glowing all over. The throb between my legs lingers, the only sign what went down on my couch wasn’t a dream.

Behind my closed bathroom door, total silence reigns. Tanner’s been in there awhile.
What’s he thinking?

I yank my skirt back on, pick up my underwear, ball it into my fist, and walk to the hamper beside my bed. It’s full, so I have to cram it in. I punch down the clothes, once, twice.

What the hell was I thinking?

Damn, I like butterflies as much as the next girl, but not in my stomach. Face meet palm. I seduced Tanner Green—maybe not a technical home run but pretty damn close to out of the park.

The strange vibe that’s always hovered between us was better locked away in an attic, wandering dusty halls and rattling the occasional chain. We could convince ourselves the curiosity was nothing but a trick of the imagination. But tonight that haunting little feeling went and became Patrick Swayze in
Ghost
when he gets behind Demi Moore on the pottery wheel and she’s all,
Holy shit…Things just got real.

I glare at the closed bathroom door. Impossible to decorate this situation with my usual optimistic gloss when I don’t even know what
this
is. Maybe the time had come to bury the hatchet with Tanner, but did that really need to be in the form of him burying his fingers inside me?

No, no, it did not.

My windows are open, but the studio is somehow airless, overwarm, and I swear I can smell myself—my arousal or whatever—floating around the room like a telltale horny miasma. I’ve hitchhiked into my own alternate universe. What I need is a towel and a guidebook that says “Don’t Panic,” but I’m not starring in a fun-filled Douglas Adams caper. Go ahead and title my memoir
Hitchhiker’s Guide to Making Bad Decisions Worse.

My phone rings on the dinette. Whoever it is can wait.

I pace the room and ignore the phone as whoever it is calls back like a persistent asshole. Instead I turn on my electric teakettle and wait some more. It’s been five minutes and still no sound. Should I knock and check on him?

My phone rings for the third time.
Jesus Christ on a cracker
. I’m sure news of the Great Sunny Letman Segway Accident has spread all over town, but I don’t want to rehash anything, at least not now, while I have this whole other unfolding crisis. I walk over to turn it off and my heart quickens when I see “Blocked Number.”

Mom?

As much as I don’t want to take this call, there’s no choice. Delilah and I rarely speak. She calls only on the rare occasions Hoss buys a throwaway phone, and he’d rather spend whatever few spare bucks they have on the necessities. Cozy things like bullets, assault-grade weapons, and bunker-building equipment. You know, because Armageddon could be right around the corner.

“Delilah, is that you?” I ask, walking out the front door. She’s always preferred me to use her first name, even as a little kid.

“Hey there, Sunshine.” She’s got the scratchy voice, her crying voice.

I roll my neck against the mounting tension.
If that asshole hit her again…
“What the hell is going on? What did Hoss do?”

Nevada is only one state over, but it might as well be the moon. Hoss, her main man, as she pukingly refers to him, doesn’t take kindly to me or Mimsy. Mostly because we think stockpiling weapons and taking part in top-secret vigilante militias are ideas that fall somewhere between bad and worse. Then there was the night Mom worked late and he came over—

Don’t go there.
I swallow hard. The memory from that night is locked and dead bolted, never to be opened.

I haven’t see Delilah for seven years, not since the time she hitchhiked back to Santa Cruz and lived in what’s now my studio for two weeks while Mimsy paid for emergency dental surgery. She’d lost her two front teeth. No. Scratch that. Losing is a bad word. Her piece-of-shit husband pounded them from her skull while she was eight months pregnant.

And then? She went back to him, left in the night without a word. “Your brothers’ birthday is in a few days.”

“Yeah, I know.”

She sniffles. “Would you like to come have a party? We’re busy tomorrow, but if you can make it the day after…who knows? It might be fun.”

“Me?” My peanut-butter oatmeal snack turns to cement in my stomach. Hoss hates the sight of me. The feeling is more than mutual.

“Hoss is…away, and the boys want to meet you.”

What can I say? This is my first chance to see my brothers. Get a sense of their situation.

“Yes.” The word hangs in front of me, black and irrevocable. “Yes. I will. I miss you.” I don’t though. I’m so used to the fact she chose Hoss over me, the hurt is like a faded bruise, barely hurts to press. “Hoss is away? That means—”

“Jail.”

Evening has turned to night. It’s cloudy after the rain, can’t see if the moon’s full, waxing, or waning. “What’s happened this time?”

“Usual crap. The police are out to get him.”

I’m not going to hold Mom’s feet to the fire on this. Whatever stupid thing Hoss’s done, it’s not my deal. He’s gone, and this is my best chance to get my brothers in my life.

“Yes, well, looking forward to coming out.” I force good cheer. She named me after the epitome of happiness, right? I’ve always tried to be upbeat, live up to my namesake, and you know what? I’ve done a damn good job.

I hang up. The craziness that happened between Tanner and me inside my studio is well and truly over. I want to get on the road tonight. I have ample time to travel to get to their place in remote Nevada, but restless energy courses through me. Better to find a way to channel it before I get washed away. I’ll hit the road, drive east then south, and take my time through the mountains.

I tilt my face toward the sky. Normally I don’t mind the fog, but why can’t there be at least one visible star? I could really use a little light.

I
don’t know how long I shiver outside, barefoot on the dew-wet grass. There’s a long period of indifferent chill followed by a sudden warming, as two big hands brace my bare arms.

“You’re cold,” Tanner says.

I manage a single nod, refusing to lean into the warmth of his touch. I opened our Pandora’s box against all better judgment. We stand without speaking, me staring into the darkness and his fingers making soft circles on my skin. The same fingers that pressed me until I came like a freight train. Good thing he can’t see my blush. I need to watch my ass around him, literally. Otherwise I’m liable to shake it, and we’ll do something stupid like go at each other again.

And that’s not going to lead anywhere good. Whenever Mimsy bakes chocolate macaroons, I tell myself “just a bite,” but an hour later the whole tray is gone. When I’m around something I want, I get greedy. I can’t stop craving more. It’s part of my makeup. But Tanner and I can’t be a thing, not with all the crap from our past. Better to slam the lid against the wanting, pretend tonight never happened.

What’s this strange burning in the corner of my eyes? Delilah’s unexpected call must have hijacked my emotions. I’m so not a crier. Not these days.

“Come inside,” he says gently.

What am I going to do? Argue? Not likely. It’s cold. The night air slides fingers under my skirt, over my bare thighs.

“Okay.”

I turn and he’s still there, not backing away. If he apologizes for what happened, I can’t be held accountable for my actions.

“Thank you,” he says, so quietly I almost don’t hear.

Those words strike me with a one-two punch.

“I should be the one thanking you.” I give his shoulder a playful push, playing it off like no big deal. I mean, this is what I do, the no-strings mess-around.

He catches hold of my hand. “Let’s warm you up.” If it were anyone else, I’d assume a dirty innuendo, but this is Tanner. He leads me into the house. It’s nice not to think for a second, just follow. When we get back in the studio, I blink at the light, abstractly aware my teeth chatter.

“Too bright.” He lets go of me and walks to the wall, turning down the dimmer, before heading to my bed and pulling back the covers. “Climb in.”

“Tanner, I…” I’m not sure what I want to ask. What is it that I want from him? Maybe it’s better if I just table the feelings and lie here until my head stops whirling.

“Tea?” he asks, walking toward my tiny kitchenette.

I yank my comforter to my chin. Part of me is still desperate to leave, but another part wants to linger. It’s as if the world started spinning counterclockwise. “You hate tea.” At least I can fake normal conversation. That has to count for something.

“I did at thirteen.”

“Guess you’re allowed to change.”

“I hope so.” He turns around, and that smile, it slays me. “I was a dumbass at thirteen.”

I burrow into my pillow, and even more strangely, my giggle is genuine. “You and your Lucky Charms cereal.”

“Well, some things never change.”

“You can’t still eat that crap.”

He pours hot water into a ceramic mug. “Magically delicious.”

This feels oddly comfortable, natural even, having him here, moving around my kitchen. His presence is steadying me, like someone’s holding my hand while I try and drunk walk across a balance beam.

That’s when truth strikes like a poisonous snake. Tanner’s sticking around because that’s what he does—looks after people. It’s a default setting. If he can care for me, he doesn’t have to deal with himself and his own messy shit. God, I almost went and thought I was special.

I roll out of bed and smooth my skirt. “Hey, you don’t have any obligation toward me.”

He turns, my teacup small in his huge hand. “What we just did—”

“It was good—great even—but it’s not a big deal.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I need a shower?”

He turns away, sets down the mug, and braces himself on the kitchen counter. “That’s what she used to do.” I barely hear his whisper.

“Who?”
Oh, fuck.
“Pippa?”

“She showered anytime I touched her.” He addresses the window. “You’re different.”

He’s right. I am. Pippa was this perfect, lovable, larger-than-life person. Me? I’m way too close to the memories that haunt him, what can’t ever be forgotten. “We had a good time tonight, and now it’s over and done with.” I force an easy smile and ignore the sharp stab in my stomach.

“No.” He turns around and holds up a warning hand. “You want to screw random guys like John Boy? Fine, do what you want. But don’t ask me to be that way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Doesn’t he know I’m a hookup girl, not a relationship girl? Big feelings are fine, in theory, but nothing I want to experience head-on.

“I won’t be a random booty call who leaves without a second thought.” He crosses his arms. “That’s not who I am. It’s not what I do.”

No, that’s my job description.
My forced laughter is as sharp as a blade. “You know my reputation, Tanner. I exchange kisses, maybe some bodily fluids, and that’s it. Done and done. Keep it simple.”

“Are you serious?” He’s pissed now. My heart does this odd double beat as he storms toward me. “That’s messed up.”

“Hey, it’s my superpower, right? Making a mess?” I kick the pile of clothes beside my bed. Why can’t he just accept this isn’t going anywhere? “Go on. Say it.”

“I like your messes.” His bare foot is an inch from a zebra-print thong. “When you’re around, I never know what’s going to happen next.”

“But no one ever does. Not really. I mean, Kirk Cameron could get raptured tomorrow.”

He gives me a weird double take.

“Seriously, it could happen…maybe.”

“So what do we do with all this uncertainty?”

“I don’t know. Kick. Flounder. Keep our heads above water and try not to drown.” My voice wavers with desperation.

“Life according to Sunny Letman.” He tries to hold my hand.

“Hey, I’m not selling self-help books to Oprah over here.” I twist free and beeline to my open closet, throw on a sea-green button-down and grab the first outfits my fingers graze. I have to get out of here pronto. Otherwise he’s going to win me over with sweet words and I’ll let him stay the night. But the problem is that Tanner’s the guy I’ll want to stick around for breakfast, then maybe go to the beach for the day. Then it will be dark, and he’ll be here again, and suddenly, it could look a lot like a relationship. I’m a free spirit—dependency gives me cold feet.

It’s time to go. My arms are loaded with dresses, skirts, and a cardigan. I walk to the couch, shoving the contents inside my bag.

I turn and he’s staring. No hint to his thoughts.

“I’m off.” That’s when his face shifts. Blink and you’d miss it, but I hurt him. “It’s that call I took outside. It was important.”

“Okay.” His Adam’s apple bobs. I can’t tell if he buys it or not.

Irrational anger rushes through me. If I bailed because of what happened, he’d stand there and watch me go? This guy is a mystery. On one hand he’s almost ruthlessly determined with himself, with his own body. I grew up watching him skate, and there’s no doubt that he’s built a wildly successful career mastering his physicality. Yet on the other hand, he’s got this passivity. No, that’s the wrong word. It’s like he’s deadened in some way. Emotionally. And I don’t have any idea how to lurch him back to life.

You know what? It’s not my job.

We can only control what we can control. Right now I need to get the hell out of town, hit the road and clear my head. Driving settles me. I’ve got two days to make it to southern Nevada. That’s a lot of time for open-road thinking.

“Sorry I can’t finish you…this…whatever…” What am I even saying? I can’t have sex with Tanner Green. We’ve already crossed into dangerous territory.

The bridge of his nose wrinkles. “Sunny, we aren’t a
Mortal Kombat
death match.”

“Finish him.” I can’t hold back a desperate snicker. Tanner and I are such a fucking joke. It’s easier to address my closet rather than his face. “About this, me leaving…I’m not freaking out.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“Sorry, who’s the one who went into bathroom lockdown again?”

“I panicked, but I’m here now, not running out the door. I’ll talk if you stay.”

A wave of dizziness slams me. I have given him all my crazy, all my ugly, and he’s still here. He hasn’t run away. How am I not scaring him straight out the door?

“I have to go.” I sling my bag on my shoulder. I don’t want to tell him about Delilah, how the way she sounded has me worried. I don’t want to be something he needs to clean up. He’ll get his life back on track better without me. His mom, Lydia, is so much happier without my mom. She has a cute wife now. They come into the natural-food grocery store where I work and stage mock debates over soy versus rice milk.

Delilah? She fled straight into the arms of Lydia’s polar opposite—beefy, hairy, tatted-up Hoss—and headed east, to where the sun rises, like she could reset her life, her decisions, her loneliness. Maybe she thought Mimsy would make me a better mom. At least on that point she was right.

Tanner has no idea my stepdad’s in jail or that my life resembles a daytime television drama. No one does. That’s my shit, and I keep it under wraps.

Half-dried sweat cools on my palms. “I need to go, Green. It’s not about you. Like I said, this…this was nothing.”

His expression goes as flat as my bag. He doesn’t move. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.

“Look. I—you—me—there’s something there, okay? Who knows what? Probably just curiosity.” Great, now he has me babbling.

“I’m not curious,” he says flatly, lifting his gaze. The undisclosed longing in his expression hits me like high beams in the dark. I’m standing here like a stupid deer, frozen, waiting for impact.

“Great.” I throw up my hands. “Good for you.”

He’s silent, his eyes not leaving my face. “I’ve thought about you. A lot. More than I should. More than is okay. And did I plan on any of this happening tonight? No, but it did and I don’t regret a second. I’m not curious, because I know you, Sunny. And I like who you are.”

There will be time to reflect on everything he’s saying after I’ve put a hundred miles between us. I’ll pull over at a rest stop, light a joint, listen to some music, and play “I like who you are” on repeat in my mind.

But not now. Not yet. I’m in pure survival mode.

I flee to the bathroom, grab my toothbrush, and come out. My heart is beating way too fast. I’m not used to this skittish, jump-out-of-my-skin feeling. Usually getting off is a sedative to me. Post-orgasm naps are my jam.

Tanner’s eyes match the fog; veiled in his gaze are hints of all that’s going unsaid.

“Come outside?” My voice is unfamiliar, pleading even. “I want to lock up.”

“No, you don’t,” he says flatly.

“Yes, I do.” What’s up with the whole he says/she says?

“You’ve locked me out since that summer, but I don’t think it’s ever been what you’ve wanted.”

My mind blanks, all words running for cover.

“You don’t know the first thing about what I want, Green.”

“Maybe not, but I’ve got a good idea what you need.”

I spin on my heel and storm around the side of my house, cursing under my breath, because the fucked-up thing of it is, maybe he’s right.