The Imperfections

“Did,” I correct, sliding a stern look her way.

Grinning and rolling her eyes, she says, “Fine, did. My point still stands.” Her tone turns a little more teasing as she says, “You were a bit of a bad boy, weren’t you, Brantley Morrison?”

“Jeeze,” I mutter, rolling my eyes at her.

“You were,” she insists. “And I need a copy of this picture—just you, though. I don’t need everyone else, but I have a bit of a crush, and I want to be able to look at your gorgeous face from time to time.”

“Sitting right here. You can look at me any time,” I assure her.

“I intend to,” she says flirtatiously. Then back to normal, she states, “I still want a copy of the picture. Boat-stealing, panty-dropping young Brantley. I wish I would’ve known you back then. I would’ve saved you from stupid, skanky Nicole. I would’ve never let you be lonely.”

A trickle of peace starts pouring through me at first, then all of a sudden a whole wave of it washes over me. Once in a while this girl opens her mouth and the exact right words tumble out of it, words I didn’t even know I wanted to hear, bridging chasms within me I thought no one would ever get across.

I look over at her, but her attention is back on my family photo album, a little smile still playing around her lips.

I do love her. How could I not? She’s fucking perfect. Not everyone else’s version of perfect, but perfect for me? Absolutely.

I’m not sure why, but I don’t tell her yet. I just shift my attention back to the road and drive us the rest of the way home.

When we get there, Alyssa follows me inside with the album tucked under her arm. Scout’s awake now, so I feed him and let him out one more time before we head up to bed.

“I wish you didn’t have to work tomorrow,” Alyssa tells me.

The door’s open, so I can see her in the bathroom in just her bra and panties, looking in the mirror as she takes her hair down and shakes it out.

“Yeah, so do I. I’ll do something about my schedule soon. I’m gonna need some time off during the day to help you move in anyway, but now that you’re here, I’ll change it so I’m working a bit less.”

Alyssa turns off the bathroom light, not bothering to grab a nightie. Still in just her bra and panties, she approaches my side of the bed. I cock an eyebrow at her as she climbs on top of me, straddling me and leaning in to wrap her arms around my neck.

“I appreciate that,” she says.

Looking down at the swell of cleavage pushed right up against me and then back at her face, I inform her, “And I appreciate your chosen sleepwear.”

A glimmer of mischief in her eyes, she says, “Bras aren’t really all that comfortable to sleep in.”

“No?”

She shakes her head.

“Well, maybe I should help you with that, then,” I tell her, reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra.

Sighing dreamily, she teases, “You’re such a gentleman.”

“I do what I can,” I murmur, pulling the fabric away from her body and tossing it on the floor by my bed.

I drink in the sight of her, my cock hardening now that her perfect little tits are just right here in front of me like this.

I want to fuck her. She clearly wants me to fuck her. I could definitely fuck her right now, so I don’t know why instead of doing that I open my mouth and out tumbles, “Did Bri tell you about the night Nicole died?”

Shock flits across Alyssa’s face. She unlocks her arms from around my neck and slouches back a little, also clearly not expecting that in response to her offering. Her brow furrows then her frown deepens and she drops her gaze. Finally, she climbs off me and over into her own spot.

Well played, Morrison.

My cock isn’t too happy with the choices I’ve made, and Alyssa doesn’t appear to be either. She moves the sheet aside so she can slide under it, then pulls it up to cover her breasts, like she doesn’t want to be so exposed.

“You really want to talk about this now?” she asks.

“I have to know.”

“All right,” she says slowly, like she’s trying to come to terms with it. Maybe she’s just trying to figure out what to say. Shooting me an uncertain look, she says, “I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Don’t ever lie to me,” I reply. “I won’t be mad at you, I just need to know what was said about me. In the truck on the way home, you referred to me stealing a boat. I never told you about the night I stole a boat.”