A girl with the logo of the place we’re at approached then and my father excused himself. “Excuse me. We’ll talk later. I’ve got to get things rolling. Let’s make some time this weekend.”
***
And now I’m home. It’s after laser tag and that kiss, that fuckin’ k
iss…
I’ve just pulled in to the parking spot in the garage and I’m heading upstairs to wait for my roommate, my employee, the girl I kissed tonight and felt hunger for like I’d never felt hunger for anyone. Not ever.
I’m fuckin’ starving for her. And tonight, I’ll be doing my damndest to have her.
She responded. She might’ve thrown sass. She might’ve pushed me off and threatened to call the cops on me, but she kissed me back. And when she whimpered and bit my lip, then squirmed against my erection, it sealed it for me. She sounded better than I’d imagined she’d sound, whimpering into my mouth while I was kissing her, hands on that perfect ass.
I’ve had her mouth and I want more. I will find out what the rest of Carly Adler tastes like. Hopefully tonight.
***
Only, she doesn’t show up.
At all.
I crash on the couch after two glasses of bourbon, in case she comes home. Look at me, living with a girl. Living with a girl I’d like to fuck. And waiting up for her to come home like a lovesick puppy dog.
Fuck me.
I text Ally at ten thirty Saturday morning.
“Hey Pinky. Carly stay with you last night?”
She answers
Yes. Why?
Figured as much. I get a stab of relief. I reply.
Good. She didn’t come home and I wanted to make sure she was alright. Have a good weekend. Give me her number.
She responds with the number and says
“Don’t say I gave this to you. She’s a bit miffed at you. She won’t say why yet but I’m about to ply her with chocolate chips and maple syrup until she spills. I saw you 2 going at one another in the laser tag hall so guessing it’s to do with that. The girl is a hard nut to crack. Me? I’m rooting for you to win the girl. The girl is awesome and I can’t share what she’s said about her story, but she’s been hurt a lot so handle her with care. AKA don’t be a douche.
I roll my eyes.
I bet she is miffed with me. And I shouldn’t give a shit about it, but I still feel her against me. I still have the taste of her in my mouth. And I’m gonna get more of it.
Once I’m up, showered, and dressed, I text my brother to say I’m hitting the bank and then coming by.
I’m psyching myself up for this. The moment of truth. Time to get this monkey off my back now. Whatever will be will be. Whether I’m Quentin Carmichael’s son or Mitchell Carmichael’s son.
***
It’s in my pocket. I’m at my brother’s house, knocking on his door.
Austin lives in a ridiculous McMansion in a gated community about three blocks from Adele. Adele talked him into buying it earlier this year. Can’t imagine myself in a place like this. I get a shock when my father answers the door, wearing a Nirvana t-shirt and a pair of what looks like Austin’s Adidas jogging pants.
I’m unable to hide my shock. Dad waves me in.
“What’re you here for?” I ask.