More Than Enough (More Than Series, Book 5) (15 page)

Dylan:
Turns out my brother’s a Neanderthal… doesn’t understand technology and has fat as fuck fingers. Give him five. I’m setting up a comp for him. Hopefully that’ll help his cause. The kid can build an engine in his sleep but he can’t fucking type to save his life.

Riley:
lol. K. Thx.

I show him the message. “What the fuck does this mean?”

“Laugh out loud. Okay. Thanks.”

“Why doesn’t she just type that?”

He shakes his head with his chuckle. “You’re such a fucking noob, D.”

“What the hell is a noob?”

He ignores me and says, “All done.” He sets the computer on his bed. I sit down on the mattress and place the computer on my lap.

Dylan:
Can you hear me?

Riley:
See you? Yes. OMG. Lol.

Dylan:
okay. What is OMG?

Riley:
Oh my god. I feel like I’m writing to my grandpa.

Dylan:
Shut up. Seriously though. What is OMG?

Riley:
Oh my god.

Dylan:
Just tell me.

Riley:
O = Oh. M = my. G = God.

Dylan:
Oh.

Riley:
Yeah…

Dylan:
So…

Riley:
So…

Dylan:
What are you wearing?

Riley:
rly? Lmfao.

I stay in Eric’s room while he works and I type (slower than Riley’s grandpa, apparently). I don’t know how long we stay in there, occasionally laughing at and with her, while Eric eyes me every so often, but I don’t care. I could talk to her all night like this. And I do. Even during Friday night dinner with Dad and E. I have to revert back to my phone when I’m at the table, which makes for more typos than the history of typewriters has ever seen (so Riley says). But now I know what lol, lmfao, omg, k, brb, btw and w00t mean. Though I’m still a little confused on the last one.

I skip the “Friday night insert random sport here” and opt instead to lock myself in my room with the computer Eric has generously let me keep.

Dylan:
Hey. Can you send pictures through this?

Riley:
Yep.

Dylan:
Send me a picture of yourself.

Riley:
A random picture or you want me to take one?

Dylan:
Take one of you right now. I want to see you.

Riley:
You send me one first.

Dylan:
You seriously think I would even know how to do that?

Riley:
lol. True. It’s a little weird, no?

Dylan:
No, it’s not. Unless you’re naked or something. Then send me 80 pictures. Please and thank you!

Riley:
You’re such a goof. Okay. Hold on.

She sends me a picture of her in her room. She’s sitting in bed, her back against the headboard just like I’m sitting. It’s dark, but I can make out her eyes, still clear, still perfect. Her nose is scrunched a little and her lips… God, her lips. They’re wet, a little pouty and fuck she’s beautiful.

Riley:
You there?

Dylan:
Yeah.

Riley:
What are you doing?

Dylan:
Taking off my pants. That picture does something to me.

Riley:
Wow, you’re brave when you’re talking through texts.

Dylan:
Yeah, well you can’t throw anything at me from all the way over there.

I wasn’t kidding. That picture really did do something—to my cock. Now hard in my pants.

Riley:
God, I wish you were here.

Dylan:
Me too.

Riley:
What do you think we’d be doing if you were here?

I think a moment before responding, trying to ignore the sensation building below.

Dylan:
What I think we’d be doing and what I’d want to be doing are two different things, Riley.

For a while, she doesn’t respond. Maybe I’ve pushed the wrong buttons. I seem to be good at that.

Dylan:
Sorry?

Riley:
For what?

Dylan:
I don’t know. Did I say something wrong?

Another long wait.

Riley:
No.

Riley:
Are you in bed?

Dylan:
Yeah.

Riley:
What are you doing?

Dylan:
Thinking about you. You?

Riley:
Same.

Dylan:
What exactly are you thinking about?

Riley:
You don’t want to know, Dylan.

Dylan:
I think I do.

Riley:
Maybe we should stop.

Dylan:
Stop what?

Riley:
I’m going to try to sleep.

Dylan:
Okay.

Riley:
Good night.

Dylan:
Good night, Riley.

I don’t go to sleep. Instead, I let my mind continue the conversation. One hand slipping beneath my boxers, the other on my phone, I look at the picture she sent through—my eyes focused on her lips—lips I’ve tasted. Devoured, almost. They drift shut when my hand circles my cock. I picture her in her bed, her sheets around her waist, one hand on her breast, the other down her panties…
fuck
.

I start to stroke myself, remembering the sounds she makes when she comes, wishing I was there to hear it—or better—be the reason she’s moaning, her lips pressed against her pillows and her hand working her to climax.

It doesn’t take long for me to blow, and when the buzz fades I heave out a breath and look at her picture again.

With my mouth dry and breaths heavy, I reach for a dirty sock and clean myself up, then smile when my phone sounds with a text.

Riley:
Are you still awake?

Dylan:
Yes.

Riley:
What have you been doing?

Dylan:
Lying in bed.

Riley:
Me too.

Dylan:
So.

Riley:
So…

Dylan:
What are you wearing?

Riley:
Nothing anymore.

Dylan

I
spend the
next morning in my room talking to her through a computer screen. We don’t talk about what happened last night and how close things got to becoming appropriately inappropriate. In the afternoon, Dad and I go out and look for shells for the engine again. We decide on a white ’97 Honda Civic and make plans for it to be towed to our house. We also go to the store and get food and drinks for the gang’s visit tomorrow. Riley doesn’t text as much when I’m out because she says it takes longer for her to try to decipher the messages I type on my phone than it would to actually wait until her mom goes back to work and she can see me again.

As soon as
we’re home, I go straight back to my room and get on the computer.

Dylan:
Home.

Riley:
Yay.

Dylan:
What are you doing?

Riley:
I just finished reading one of those books you got me.

Dylan:
Oh yeah? I didn’t know you started.

Riley:
I started when you left earlier today.

Dylan:
Those are full-size books. Are you a speed-reader or something?

Riley:
I am, actually. I used to love reading but I hadn’t had enough focus (sobriety) since you know…

Dylan:
That’s cool. You and my friend Lucy would get along well.

Riley:
Lucy?

Dylan:
My buddy Cameron’s wife.

Riley:
Wife?

Dylan:
Yeah. They got married last November.

Riley:
Your friends from school? Aren’t they seniors in college?

Dylan:
Yeah.

Riley:
A little young, no?

Dylan:
Love is love, Riley Hudson.

Riley:
That’s true.

Riley:
I’m actually pretty mad at you.

Dylan:
Uh oh.

Riley:
Yep.

Dylan:
Should I ask why?

Riley:
That book you got me ends on a cliffhanger, and now I don’t know if the couple will ever get back together. Do you know how frustrating that is? When’s the next one out?

Dylan:
No clue. I just picked random ones from the romance section.

Riley:
And why romance?

Dylan:
I don’t know. Cam’s always talking about Lucy reading romance books. Gets her turned on or something. Was hoping for the same effect with you…

Riley:
You’re such a guy. Lol.

Dylan:
I’m sorry about the cliffhanger.

Riley:
It’s okay. It was more of a pause than a cliffhanger.

Dylan:
A pause?

Riley:
Yeah. A pause. Like, sometimes in life you just need a pause before you start to play again.

Riley:
Like us.

Dylan:
Us?

Riley:
Exactly like us. You deployed and I… de—something’d. And now we’re playing again.

Dylan:
Playing?

Riley:
And you’re my favorite toy, Banks.

Dylan:
I am?

Riley:
You and the vibrator under my bed.

Dylan:
?

Dylan:
!!

Dylan:
??

Dylan:
????!!!!!!?????!!!!!

Dylan:
aehfaincgfiqehrusdlkfjlsdhflkjasdhflkasjhdf

Dylan:
I mean, what?

Riley:
LOL. Such a guy. I gtg eat dinner with the mumster. I’ll message you later.

Dylan:
You’re mean.

Riley:
Says the guy who walked out of his house shrugging on a shirt. Nice abs, by the way.

Dylan:
Stalk much?

Riley:
Not the first time, Banks. You’ve always been the boy next door. ;)

She has me looking at the clock. All day. All night. Even when I try to sleep I wake up every fifteen minutes, checking my phone, hoping for a message. How the hell did I live without this kind of technology for so long? Now it’s four in the morning and I can’t get back to sleep, my mind running wild with thoughts of her.

Dylan:
Are you awake?

Riley:
Now I am.

Dylan:
I wake you?

Riley:
It’s fine. You okay? Did you have a bad dream?

It dawns on me that I haven’t had a nightmare in the past week. Not since I’d been seeing her more and more. Since I spoke to her about it, I guess. Maybe all those years of silence were a waste. Maybe I should’ve spoken up more.

I switch from my phone to my laptop and sit up in the bed.

Dylan:
No bad dream. Just thinking about you.

Riley:
Funny. I was dreaming about you when you messaged me.

Dylan:
oh yeah? What kind of dream? Need me to leave you to play with your other favorite toy?

Riley:
Lol. No. Not that kind of dream.

Dylan:
So?

Riley:
I dreamt we were in your truck. You were driving. I was in the middle of the front seat. The sun was out and the warmth of it tickled my skin. You were driving and your hand was on my leg and you were talking to me about the engine in your garage.

Dylan:
Doesn’t sound that exciting.

Riley:
It was. And you were. You were happy telling me about it.

Dylan:
And you were bored, right?

Riley:
No. Why would I be bored?

Dylan:
Because it’s an engine, Riley.

Riley:
It’s also your passion, Dylan. If it excites you, it excites me.

I think about Heidi and all the times I’d tried to talk to her about cars. She’d shut me down every time. Sometimes it wasn’t even verbally, she’d just tune out, grab her phone and ignore me.

Riley:
You okay?

Dylan:
Yeah. Just thinking.