“Trick or treat!”
I stare at the woman on the other side of my door. “What the fuck are you supposed to be?”
She balks at me. “Seriously? You don’t know?”
I blink, stepping aside so she can enter. Cheddar is already yowling with excitement at a new person to love and pet him. “No, I don’t. Hence me asking.”
She sighs in a way that shows her complete and utter disappointment in me. “I’m a Dementor from Harry Potter. Duh.”
“How was I supposed to know that? You look more like the grim reaper.”
“I’m truly offended right now.”
“Um . . . sorry? Don’t most people dress up as, I don’t know, Harry Potter himself or Hermione?” I wave a hand at her black, hooded garb. “I hate to break it to you, but my brain didn’t go to Dementor.”
“You’re a party pooper.” She scoops up Cheddar into her arms, which is quite a strange sight with her in costume. She cocks her creepy head to the side. “Do you have sweet tea?”
I ease toward the kitchen. “I might,” I lie, pretending to search the fridge before coming up empty. “Um . . . bad news?” I turn around to find her watching me with crossed arms. Cheddar purrs, rubbing his body between her legs.
“Why did you frame it as a question?”
“Because there are other liquids?” I grab a bottle of water and hand it to her.
She takes it, twisting off the cap. After a few swallows, she asks, “You definitely don’t have sweet tea?”
“No, I don’t like it.”
Her mouth gapes, equal parts shocked and annoyed. “Then why did you pretend to look? You might not like it, but you’d think you’d at least have it on hand for the woman who is carrying your child.”
“Um,” I say, feeling a tad chagrined, “I didn’t think to buy any.” I close the fridge, rubbing my jaw. “I can run down to the store and get some if you really want it.”
“I really want it, Beckham.”
“Okay, then.” I swipe my wallet off the kitchen counter. “I’ll be right back. But I’m cutting you off after one glass. Eight ounces—I’m measuring it.”
She narrows her eyes on me but surprisingly doesn’t argue.
“Before you go, can I use your shower? And maybe borrow something to wear? As fun as this all is”—she does a spin in her gray-and-black robes—“my face is itchy, and I want to be comfy.”
Tucking my wallet in my pocket, I stifle a sigh. “Yeah, come on.”
She follows me to my bedroom. I wonder what she thinks, how it adds up in her mind to what she’d expect of me. Her room certainly wasn’t what I predicted.
Searching my drawers, I find an older tee that shouldn’t completely drown her and a pair of lounge pants that she’ll be able to tighten with the drawstring. I carry them to the bathroom, and she follows behind me.
We haven’t spoken all that much since I went down on her at work, which makes her showing up here all the more surprising. Or maybe that’s why she’s here? She wants a round two?
I don’t think I’ve felt this rattled by a woman since . . . well, since her, back when we were both clueless teenagers and feelings were weird.
“Everything you need is in here. Try not to destroy my bathroom with your—”
She glares at me, hands on her hips. “Stop hating on my costume. You know it’s brilliant and just don’t want to admit it.”
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go with that.” I just know I’m going to come back to my white sink covered in black-and-gray face paint. “Is there anything else you want besides tea?”
“Popcorn. Some chocolate too. And maybe pizza? Yeah, pizza too.” At my shocked expression, she pouts. “Don’t judge me, I skipped dinner.”
“I’m not judging.” I totally was. I mean, she can have whatever she wants; I don’t care. But it’s a weird combination of things.
“Sure, you’re not. Now go get my drink and all the other stuff.”
She shoos me from the bathroom.
I think I’ve become Lennon’s bitch boy.
Surprisingly, I don’t even mind it.
Is this what it means to be whipped?
I struggle to hold on to everything in order to let myself inside the apartment. I’m not about to set something down either. That’s for quitters.
When I finally manage to get inside, the lights are dimmed and a movie plays in the background.
“I’m so glad you’ve made yourself at home.” Sarcasm drips from my voice.
She tosses a pillow from the couch in my general direction. It lands nowhere near me. “I knew you’d want me to get comfortable.”
I sigh, scratching at the stubble on my jaw. I did invite her over. It surprised me when she started texting me earlier in the evening. At first it was just randomness that was kind of amusing, mostly texts about what everyone was up to at the party she was attending, but when the messages kept pouring in steadily, I deduced that she was bored and invited her over.
I’m not sure what it is about this woman that possesses me to do such stupid things as invite her into my home. I never have anyone over except my parents.
I carry everything into the living area, where I set the pizza box and the bag of other things on the table. “I’ll go pop some popcorn.”
“Wait.” She grabs my fingers loosely before I can walk away. “Thank you. For letting me come over, for feeding me.”
I stare at her for a moment, something sappy on the tip of my tongue. I don’t let it slip. “You have some face paint caked around your nose,” I say instead.
She gasps, launching her body from the couch to hurry down the hall to the bathroom.
I only seem to know how to ruin moments. Self-Sabotage should be my middle name. I bet a therapist would have a field day with me, not that I’d ever give them the chance.
After removing the plastic wrapper from the popcorn, I stick the bag in the microwave. Cheddar hops up on the counter, meowing. I swear he’s telling me how much he likes Lennon.
“Me too, Cheddar.” I scratch him behind the ears, then dig through my cabinets for a large enough bowl.
Lennon’s been the one girl who’s ever gotten to me, and there are a multitude of reasons why. She’s insanely brilliant and quick witted, a talented writer, confident, and beautiful inside and out. It sounds cheesy, but it’s true.
I remember the first time I saw her after I was adopted. There was this instant recognition, like I’d known her forever, when in reality I had never met her. But she made me feel at ease immediately. When I saw her, I knew everything would be okay.
As I’m emptying the popcorn, Lennon tiptoes into the kitchen, carrying the pizza box. “God, that smells amazing. I’m so hungry.”
“You could’ve had a snack while I was gone.”
She lifts the lid of the pizza box and plucks out a slice. “I didn’t want to go through your stuff.”
“You know I wouldn’t have cared.”
She arches a brow. “But wouldn’t you have?”
“Maybe a little.”
She laughs as I follow her into the living room. “At least you admit it.”
“What are we watching?” I sit down on the couch, peering at the screen to try to figure it out.
“Beetlejuice,” she responds, sinking into the couch cushions. “It’s one of my all-time favorite movies.”
“Wow, I haven’t watched this in . . . a long time.”
“I can tell. You didn’t even remember it.”
“There’s a lot I tried to forget from that time in my life.”
She watches the side of my face, not the movie. “Why is that?”
Because it hurt too much.
“A lot of reasons.”
“We had good memories.”
“We did.” Almost all my good memories center around her.
“Do you remember . . . ,” she begins before trailing off, almost like she’s scared to know the answer to whatever it is she wants to ask. Finally, she must decide to just go for it. “Do you remember that camera I got you for your fifteenth birthday?”
I’m mildly offended she thinks I could forget. “I remember.”
That camera has a place of honor on my bedroom dresser. I’m surprised she didn’t spot it when she followed me in, or maybe she did but thinks I forgot she was the one to give it to me.
“You kept saying you wanted to take photos, to be a photographer.”
“And you got my first camera. Well, film camera anyway.” I stuff my face with popcorn. “There were things I wanted to forget, but that was never one of them.”
“How did things end up like this?” She looks at me with pleading brown eyes, trying desperately to understand how things fell apart, but looking back now, it’s difficult for me to put it into words.
Sure, I never felt welcome in that elitist world she was born in, and her brother had no problem reminding me of my place the minute he noticed I was interested in Lennon. But it all seems so trivial now that I sit beside her in my apartment. I was young, a fool. I didn’t know better and had so much to learn about myself and the world.
“Life, I guess.” I don’t have another explanation for her.
With a wistful smile on her face, she says, “I can’t believe I’m sitting here right now with you. Pregnant, of all things. Twelve-year-old me would’ve been stoked. Of course, she thought we’d be married.”
I can’t believe she’s telling me all this. It’s like she’s swallowed some sort of truth serum. It’s interesting to hear what she has to say, how different it is from the assumptions I’ve had.
“You thought you’d marry me?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not surprised you’re flattered by that.” She adjusts the pillow behind her back. Cheddar cracks an eye open to check out what she’s doing but goes back to sleep as soon as she’s still. “I was a kid, and you were my brother’s hot best friend. How could I not make up some fantasy happy ending for us?”
She places her hand on her stomach. I watch the gentle way she splays her fingers over the tiniest bump. “Have you felt her move yet?”
Lennon’s brows shoot up in surprise. I can’t help but grin. “Her?” she accuses.
“Her. It’s a girl. I feel it.”
“And if it’s not?”
“I’ll love a boy just as much. I don’t care what our baby is, but I have a gut feeling it’s a girl.”
She rubs her hand in small, slow circles over her belly. I know that shouldn’t fill me with so much satisfaction, but knowing I did that, that I put my baby in her, makes me feel powerful.
“How can you have a gut feeling, and I don’t? I’m the mother. What happened to mother’s intuition?”
“I guess you’re lacking, honeybee. Time to catch up.” I snap my fingers.
Her hands shoot out, capturing mine before I can snap again. “Don’t rub it in my face.”
I give her a funny look. “You’re really upset about this?”
“Yes!” Her eyes fill with tears. “What if I have no motherly instincts at all? God knows my parents weren’t the loving, caring people they should’ve been, so what if I’m somehow defective?”
“You’re not.” I say it with the utmost confidence.
“How can you be so sure?”
“My gut.”
She pokes my side. “If you say something about your gut one more time . . .” She leaves the warning hanging in the air, not letting me know what the threat is.
“What?” I laugh, grabbing her hand before she can poke me again. “I’m being honest. You’re kind, and caring, and so many other things. You’re everything our kid will be lucky to have.”
Her hand stills in mine, her lower lip trembling slightly. “Don’t you dare make me cry. I’m already hormonal enough.”
I chuckle, amused. “What if I kiss you instead?”
Her eyes widen in shock. I don’t spare a breath before I loop my hand behind the curve of her neck, drawing her lips to mine.
She sinks into me with a slight mewl, like she’s fighting against herself, fighting against wanting me.
I beg her with my tongue to give in.
To give in to what, I’m not even sure.
I’m not good for her.
I’m not boyfriend material.
Certainly not the kind of guy who could be the husband she deserves.
But we have this attraction, and right now, can’t that be enough?
“Beckham.” She gasps my name. It has me grabbing her by the hip to haul her onto my lap. Her breath is shaky as my erection presses against her core. I can’t help it when it comes to her.
I cup her cheek, rubbing my thumb over her soft skin, still reddened from when she scrubbed her face clean of that atrocious makeup. “What do you need, baby?”
She sits back on my lap slightly, hands on my chest. Her eyes are hooded, lips pink. She hesitates, not sure if she wants to voice what we both know to be true. “You.”
I look her over, searching for any sign of regret at her admission. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. But for the record, this isn’t why I came over.” Her eyes flick down to my lips and back up. It’s so quick I don’t think she meant to do it. I can’t help but smile, drawing her eyes to my mouth again.
“For the record, I don’t fucking care.” With my arm around her waist, I grab on to her ass and haul her up and into my arms. “I’ve needed to be balls-deep inside you since I tasted your sweet pussy this week.”
She laughs, kissing my neck, then sucking the skin there. “You could’ve fucked me on that table. I wouldn’t have minded.”
I groan at the memory of her spread on the table, and how easy it would’ve been to sink inside her. “Don’t tease me like that.”
She kisses the other side of my neck. “It’s not a tease when it’s true.”
I kick my bedroom door closed behind us. Cheddar’s going to be pissed, but the orange demon will have to deal with it.
As I lay Lennon down on the bed, I take a moment to look at her. She’s in my T-shirt and baggy pants, and the word sexy shouldn’t be what comes to mind, but it’s exactly what she is.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you’re gorgeous.”
She sits up on her elbows, looking me over with a challenge in her eyes. “Then show me.”
I take my time undressing her, which is difficult since she’s completely bare beneath the shirt and cotton pants. It helps me to go slow by kissing every inch of skin as it’s gradually unveiled to me.
“Beckham.” Her fingers curl against my shoulder, her nails biting into my skin through the fabric of my shirt.
“Lennon.” My mouth curls around the letters of her name with amusement. I spread her thighs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of each leg.
“You’re torturing me.”
“If this is your idea of torture . . .”
“Shut up,” she says in a needy, begging kind of voice. I fucking love hearing her so desperate for me.
“Are you sure you want me to shut up?” I stroke her folds. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet. You love for me to touch you, don’t you?” She wiggles beneath me, but I use my shoulders to keep her in place. “Do you want me to put my mouth here?” I slide my fingers inside. “Do you want me to make you come with my tongue?”
She rises up, peering down at me between her legs. “Stop talking and put your mouth to good use.”
I grin up at her. “Yes, ma’am.”
I put my tongue to work, and in no time she’s squirming beneath me. I’d like to think it’s a compliment of my skills, but something tells me that being pregnant has her way more sensitive down there. Her thighs squeeze against my head, but I refuse to let that deter me.
Within a shockingly short amount of time, only a few minutes, her body is shaking as her orgasm shatters through her. She covers her eyes with the crook of her arm. While she’s recovering, I yank my shirt off, and then my jeans are gone. Stroking my cock, I wait for her to peel her arm away.
Her eyes widen, watching me touch myself.
“You want this?” She nods, eyes hooded from that postorgasm glow. “I need you to say it. I need you to tell me you want my cock.”
She whimpers, wiggling on the bed. “Beckham.”
I stroke myself harder. “Say it.”
“I need you to fuck me.” Her voice is broken, pleading, desperate, just like I want her to be. “I want your cock.”
“Good girl. That’s all I wanted to hear.”
I pull her closer to the edge of the bed, lining my dick up with her entrance. Sinking inside her, I moan at the feel of her warmth wrapped around me.
My hips pump into her, and I try my hardest to keep it slow, to be gentle and not be too much.
Her nails dig into my ass cheeks, pulling me into her harder. My strokes are rough as my self-control begins to slip.
“Give it to me,” she begs, the words ending in a moan. “I want it.”
“I’ve never been in a woman bare before,” I admit, my breaths choppy. “This is . . . fuck, it’s so fucking good, Len, you have no idea.”
Her cheeks warm. I’m not sure if it’s from my words or the nickname that I haven’t used in so long, and only once before now. I was inside her then too. We were young, clueless. But now I fuck her like I mean it.
Her cries of pleasure fill my room, spurring me on.
I get lost in her.
I’m drowning.
And I don’t want to come up for air.
