Tripp (18 page)

“I already do.”

Those words slam into me, and without thinking, I’ve pulled her off the couch and into my arms. I remember to ask if her mom is home, and then I give her an out and ask about Gracie. When she assures me her mom’s gone and the baby’s asleep, I take her lips with mine and carry her down the hallway to her bedroom. My body is raging—a solid ball of sensitive nerves and need—but as much as it screams at me to throw her on the bed and take her, a vision of Rachel after the last time I was in here with her slams into me. I set her down reminding myself this isn’t enough…this time, I need her to be certain.

I ease the door closed and stand memorizing her—her pink lips swollen from mine, her chest heaving as she gazes back up at me. In this moment, I feel like I’m seeing her for the first time in our lives; she’s finally let me in, and I’m not seeing the strong Rachel, but the one who loves me as much as I love her.

I step closer to her, my hands going to her hips as my mouth descends on hers. I stop a beat before our lips meet. “I want to touch you, Rachel, but I need you to be sure.”

She tilts her head up, enough I can brush our lips together before I take a journey over her face, her jaw, down her neck—my lips absorbing her flavor at the same time my fingertips discover her texture.

I brush underneath her shirt, bringing the material with me as I trace my fingers up the sides of her slim hips and waist, further to her ribs and the outside of her breasts. As if she can read my thoughts, she raises her arms so I can slip the cotton over her head where I let it fall behind her. I take a small step back to look at her. I take in the slight curve of her waist, her small breasts encased in black fabric the same color as her hair, her flat stomach, and the threadbare shorts riding low on her lean hips. The fire inside of me that’s always at a slow burn when I’m next to her ignites to a raging blaze.

But I don’t move.

I grip my hands tightly into fists and I wait—my eyes on hers—letting her know I can’t go any further until she tells me. It’s her choice, and goddamn do I ache as I wait for her.

She doesn’t say anything; instead, she steps up to me and mimics the process I just went through with her shirt—only she doesn’t just skim her fingers across my abs and chest, she follows the path of my shirt with her lips, suckling at my skin, darting her warm tongue out when she gets to my collar bone. The minute she drops my shirt, my arms are banded around her and I’m touching her everywhere I can—one of my hands squeezing between us so I can lower the zipper of her shorts. Never to be outdone, Rachel immediately does the same to me; I swear I see stars.

She laughs, as amused by her power over me, as she is aware of it. Before I can retaliate, she’s launching herself at me, toppling us onto the bed where I roll until I can pin her arms and take the upper hand. She says my name, her voice urgent and a little breathy, but I stay where I am—staring at her.

“I don’t know when I fell in love with you,” I say and she stills. For whatever reason, hearing her laugh, seeing the want inside of her has me crazy to make her know just how much I love her, and exactly what that means. “I don’t know when I realized you were everything I’ve ever wanted, but I know now. I love you, Rachel. I swear I’ll never make you doubt it again.”

Her eyes get damp and she cusses at me, but she doesn’t give the words back. I need to hear them. “You love me, too, Rachel. I know you do.” She tries to shake her head in denial, but I won’t let her. I can be just as stubborn as she is. To show her, I find the sensitive skin of her neck with my tongue, prepared to torture both of us until she gives me what I need.

I ask her to tell me, and she refuses again. I use my teeth, eliciting another reaction.

Then I ask her if she’s afraid.

“Of you? Please.” Her words are tough, but I raise my head and I can see she’s bluffing. Her skin is covered in goosebumps; she’s shaking enough I feel her trembles all the way through me. She’s terrified. She knows I’m serious. Everything she is—all she’s ever been—it’s all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ve ever needed. I can’t go forward until she tells me.

“Then tell me. Tell me you love me, Rachel, so I can tell you again.” Using every trick I have, I lower my head until I can tease her nipples through the fabric of her bra. Her breath catches, but I don’t stop there. My fingers slide into her shorts, easing them down as my lips blaze a trail from her breasts to her stomach, down farther—until I can place my mouth on the most sensitive part of her.

She cries out, unintelligible murmurs. I make sure she’s barely coherent as I bring her as close to the edge as I can without letting her spill over. Making my way back up her body, I take her lips again, but this time I’m gentle, the polar opposite of who I was a minute ago.

“I didn’t want to love you,” she says against my mouth and my whole body surges. I pull away enough to meet her eyes. “I hated that you could be with someone else when I was right here, and all I wanted was you.”

“Say it,” I demand, the throb inside of me deep and aching for her as much as her words.

“I love you, Tripp, but I swear…I’ll kick your ass if you hurt me again.”

I barely let her finish before I’m all over her again, and this time I don’t stop. I kiss her desperately, almost savagely, as my fingers trail down her hip and then inside, seeking that fire that’s only for me. She cries out when I touch her, but I swallow it down and keep my pace, the need inside of me only fanned greater by her response. When I know I’m on the brink, too close to wait much longer—I grab a condom from my jeans and roll it on before I tug her to sit up with me, wrapping her legs around my waist so I can look into her eyes.

I love you
. I don’t know if I say it or if it’s just a thought, but when I push inside—while our bodies move together, her legs locked tight around my waist, her eyes blurry with passion—I repeat it over and over, even after we throw ourselves from the cliff.

25

Past

I’m brushing my teeth when my phone begins buzzing in my pocket. It’s an incessant
buzz
instead of a single one indicating a text. I take it out and look at the screen. Rachel’s name shows, and I click
ANSWER
.

She’s speaking the minute I press the phone to my ear.

“Are you seriously trying to tell me your truck conveniently broke down on the first day of school? The same exact day you’ve been pestering me about all month—the one you’ve been suggesting we go to together? The one I
assured
you I was capable of handling on my own.”

I mumble through the toothpaste for her to hold on, bending to spit and slurp some water, ignoring her comment that my social life would improve if I were a swallower. It’s a dead giveaway she’s not feeling herself when she resorts to cheap humor.

“Hey, Captain Liar, are you done grooming yet? I asked you a question.”

“Good morning to you, too, oldest and best friend. And no, I’m not trying to tell you anything. I sent you a text explaining—as usual, I might add—that Betty is acting up and I don’t have time to look at her and see how serious it is. I need a ride so I called you—which is also nothing new.”

Rachel scoffs over the phone; I roll my eyes as I leave my bathroom and grab my backpack from the floor near my desk.

“Give it up, Tripp. You’ve been asking me all week if I was ready for today—covertly offering to drive me, ride with me, get a coffee before school,
blah blah blah
, anything so that I wouldn’t be alone. I denied all of those because like I said—I. Do. Not. Need. A. Chaperone.”

“Great, but I still need a ride. Any reason you’re being such an asshole about it when you normally don’t care?”

She’s silent for a minute and then she blows out a breath. “Be outside in two minutes. I have to drop Gracie off with G—not that you didn’t know that.”

“I’m already standing on the curb.”

Less than two minutes later, Rachel’s white Explorer jerks to a stop two inches from my Vans
.
I raise my brow when I pull open the creaky passenger door and slide in.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

“I still don’t believe your bogus story.” She floors it away from the curb at warp speed, and I grab my ‘oh, shit’ handle and hold on.

“I told you it’s not a bogus story. Is there a reason we’re going almost forty-five in a neighborhood?”

Being the perverse creature she is, she presses harder on the gas pedal. It’s either I keep my mouth shut or lose my man card—I whimper like a girl and remind her she has a baby in the backseat. When she takes a corner, I swear we’re on two wheels.

“I got your text at seven o’clock this morning, Tripp.”

“Yes, I know, Rachel, as I’m the one who sent it. I thought you’d appreciate the jumpstart you had to get me since it was last minute.”

“
Or
you knew I was leaving earlier than normal to drop Gracie off. My question is why were you even starting your car before seven this morning?”

Busted
. Suddenly sweating from more than the warp speed we’re driving at, I slide my eyes to hers and back to the road.

“Because I was going to get a coffee first?” Lying isn’t my thing; it never has been. Rachel is the one person who can always tell. For a second, I flash to our past and the moments we’ve shared. I wonder why in the hell she can see everything else about me so clearly, but when it comes to my covert feelings for her—she’s oblivious. Or maybe, she’s trying just as hard not to look…

I’m brought out of my pondering as the girl of my dreams snorts in an unladylike fashion. “You’re such a bad liar. You always have been.” She screeches to a stop at the curb outside of her grandma’s house and turns to glare at me. “I told you I didn’t need some effing babysitter today.”

She slams out of her door. I roll my eyes before opening mine and stepping out as well. “Actually, you do need a babysitter today. That’s why we’re at G’s house, dropping Gracie off.”

She stops grabbing things from the backseat and stands to glare at me over the top of the Explorer. “Teen-mom jokes, really?”

“Too soon?”

She shakes her head and disappears into the backseat again, but not before I see a small smile cross her face. I open the door behind mine and stare at the wide-eyed baby sitting backward in her carrier. Because she’s her mother’s daughter, her legs are already almost too long to be seated this way. Her knees bent and her Converse-clad feet flat on the seat back, she cranes her neck around to look at me.

“Hey there, darling girl.” I keep my voice low; Rachel always makes fun of me for how I speak to Gracie—but I can’t help it. Something about this perfect face—and the eyes that remind me of her mother—makes my heart full and my chest hurt. As if she knows her power already, Gracie smiles and kicks her feet before crunching down on the rice cracker in her hand.

I laugh, grabbing the top handle on the carrier and releasing it from its base.

“I’ve got her,” Rachel says from behind me. I glance over my shoulder. She’s got two huge bags over one shoulder and an oversized teddy, Mrs. Beary, in her arms.

“I think I can handle her,” I say and turn back.

Once the carrier is unclipped, I lift it, momentarily surprised by just how heavy it is. I turn and come face to face with Rachel, who is still standing there like she’s deciding whether or not to try and take the baby carrier and baby from me.

Stubborn, I tell you.

“Are we dropping her off?”

She nods and turns, leading the way inside. I follow, smiling at Gracie as she munches her cracker and looks at me.

G is a breed of woman all her own. She’s nearing eighty, but she looks and acts sixty with her questionably inappropriate fashion choices and constant stream of callers. She’s like Rachel in so many ways—with her independence and her loud personality. Every time she sees me, she throws her arms around me and feels my shoulders. It’s as endearing as it is weird.

It takes Rachel a few minutes to explain everything in the bags. G already knows, but patiently listens, because she also knows that Rachel loves her daughter, and she’s at war with leaving her—even with family.

After five minutes of explaining how Gracie likes to be rocked before naptime, I grab Rachel’s arm and begin pulling her out.

“Wait, I haven’t explained about Lovey.”

“Yes, you did. Three times. We’re going to be late. G’s going to be comatose by the time you get gone. She’s good. You’re good. Let’s go.”

“Dammit, Tripp, stop pulling at me. This is why I didn’t want you to come with me today.”

“Why?” I ask and stop to look at her outside of the Explorer. “So you could prove to everyone you’ll never need help? That you can carry thirty-plus pounds of a baby and carrier and nine other bags of things she’ll need? That you could stay home and go to school online and be her mother?” When her face pales, I want to stop, but I know I can’t. “You aren’t alone, Rachel. Stop making it like you are. And stop thinking what you’re doing is wrong. You’re not wrong; you’re not selfish. You’re amazing and strong. We all know it. So let us fucking help.”

She’s staring at me with wide eyes. I’m glaring right back, my hand still wrapped around her arm. I want to keep going—to move into her space and grab her chin and beg her to see me, really see me—but I don’t, because that would make this about something it’s not. This isn’t a talk about
us
; it’s a talk about
her
.

I know she doesn’t want to go to school today, just like she didn’t want to go back to volleyball this summer. She’s scared and she’s torn. She can’t seem to admit either of those things. Instead of letting her feel trapped and alone and guilty today—I lied so I could be here and have this exact conversation. She knows this…just as I know this conversation may very well end with her fist in my face
because
she knows this.

She looks at me hard. I stay still, but out of the corner of my eye I see her hand clench and unclench before she nods.

“We still have time for coffee. If we hurry.”