Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
How can she be the worst person when she feels so right here?
I stop fighting my desire. I stop thinking of the blonde princess, the center of my fantasies.
I move with Deanna, in reality and in tune with her, with myself, with every beautiful thing in the universe.
She gasps as my hard-on presses against her ass, but she doesn’t stop. She keeps the same perfect, torturous rhythm, grinding against me again and again, until I’m not sure if I want to beg for mercy or more.
We stay there for a few songs, then she releases me, brings her lips to my ear. “Bathroom. Be right back.”
I feel the loss of contact immediately. My body wants hers. It needs hers.
It’s not happening.
It doesn’t matter.
Sure, I watch her walk away, but that doesn’t mean anything, either. Only that the teal fabric of her dress hugs her hips just so.
I’m a man.
And an artist.
I notice shapes. Lines. Colors.
The pink flush on her cheeks. The color of wine on her lips. The patent black of her boots. Say, as the heels dig into my back.
Fuck.
I rush to the men’s room and splash cold water on my face. It doesn’t work.
A million memories hit me at once:
Deanna, diving into the pool in a simple black swimsuit.
Sweat dripping from her skimpy jogging outfit.
The sparkle of her eyes as she listens to Carole King in the backyard, sure no one is watching.
Yes, she’s gorgeous. So what?
After one more splash of cold water, I gather my jacket and meet her on the dance floor.
I don’t have to ask what she wants. It’s written all over her face: the fun is over.
“Lexi is on her way,” she whispers in my ear. “She hasn’t been drinking, so she’s good to drive. She’ll be here any minute.” She takes my hand and leads me outside and I can’t help but wonder if she texted Lexi so nothing more could happen.
The air is cool. The temperature drops so quickly here. I forgot how that feels. The loss of the day’s warmth.
Deanna’s Tesla is already here. And there’s Lexi, wearing a pink dress and a smile, waving for us to come inside.
“I guess this is it?” Deanna asks. “Destiny. Right?”
Right.
This is what I want.
Everything I want.
Exactly what I want.
Deanna is the one who doesn’t belong in this picture.
Not Lexi.
And not me.
Chapter Eleven
River
Deanna tries to insist on sitting shotgun, but Lexi insists harder. After they debate, I take the seat, and the two of them talk outside the car.
It’s strange to watch the most willful woman I know (besides Grandma) bend.
Is this a common occurrence? Does she bend for Lexi all the time?
For some reason, it’s easy to imagine. It’s easy for me to imagine most things. But not things where Deanna Huntington is a reasonable, caring, compassionate person.
Reasonable? Absolutely. Certain she knows what’s best for her sister? Obviously. But loving?
From a certain definition, maybe. A sort of fifties father, sitting in his study drinking scotch (neat, of course), calling her kids (sister) in to explain what they’re going to do. Not what they should do. What they will do.
In a menswear-inspired pinstripe suit.
A sexy version, with nothing under it.
Suddenly, the image comes to life in my head. Only there’s no kid. Instead, Deanna climbs onto the desk, undoes the button of her pinstriped jacket, motions for me to come here.
And then she’s on the desk and I’m on top of her and I’m tasting her lipstick—
No.
What the hell is wrong with me? This is Grandma’s influence. She’s only willing to watch sci-fi or fantasy films if they include an enemies-to-lovers trope.
We watched the original Star Wars trilogy about a million times.
And then Grandma and Fern and North argued about whether Harrison Ford was sexier as Han Solo or Indiana Jones and—
Fuck, Deanna would make a sexy Han Solo, wouldn’t she? Or an Indy. I can see her in nothing but a vest, pointing a blaster at an enemy. Or in that open-shirt, fedora, whip-wielding pose of Indy’s.
The whip. That’s why so many people prefer Indy.
And it suits her.
“Find My Phone was your idea!” Lexi’s loud voice pulls me into the moment. She slides into the car and smooths her suit jacket. Then her pink dress. “You did step into your role, Dee. Drinking too much to drive home.”
Deanna slides into the back seat and slams the door. “Uh-huh.”
Lexi ignores her attitude as she turns the car on and pulls out of the parking lot. “And I’m taking your role. Only one drink. All the responsibility.” Lexi turns to me with a wide smile. “I hope you didn’t miss me too much.”
The attention warms me. She’s still the sun, her intensity still overwhelming. Only now, between streetlights and neon signs, its brightness feels wrong. Out of place.
“When did Willa leave?” Deanna sits up straight. She looks to the rearview mirror, pulls her lipstick from her purse, applies another coat of deep red.