Текст книги "All It Takes"

Автор книги: Sadie Munroe

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Chapter 15

Ash

“Hey,” Star whispers to me, and I turn from my seat on the front step to look at her. She’s all wrapped up in a hoodie now, the sleeves tugged all the way down to cover her hands. Only the dark-painted tips of her fingers are visible. She shifts from foot to foot, and I can see the muscles shifting beneath the tanned skin of her long, fucking gorgeous legs.

“Hey,” I say back and take another drag of my cigarette. I’m down to my last one. I blow out the smoke slowly, watch it as it dances in the night air.

“Can I . . . I mean . . . Is it okay if I join you?”

God, she looks so scared now, like she expects me to say no.

I don’t think I’m ever going to say no to this girl.

I slap the palm of my hand down on the step next to me. “Pull up some wood,” I tell her, and turn back out to look at the road. I only barely hear her footsteps as she approaches. She sinks down onto the step next to me, and stretches her legs out in front of her. Her feet are bare, I notice. Her toenails painted white, her star tattoos dancing up her left foot. I want to reach out and touch her, but I won’t.

I can’t.

So instead I tuck my own hand into the pocket of my hoodie, leaving only the left one, the one farthest away from her free to hold my smoke.

We sit there in silence for a few minutes, watching as the streetlights start to blink on as the darkness finally arrives, covering the neighborhood. I hear Star’s intake of breath beside me, and I know she’s about to speak, about to talk about what happened. And I’m just not ready for that yet, so I spit out the first thing that comes to my head.

“How’s your hand?”

She kind of blinks at me for a second, as though she has no idea what I’m talking about, but then she looks down and tugs up the sleeve, and I can see the stark white of the gauze against the black fabric of her hoodie. It’s tinged a little with blood. I shove my smoke back between my lips, and reach out for her hand. “Let me see.”

“It’s fine,” she says, but holds out her arm, anyway, sitting quietly as I turn it this way and that. It’s only bleeding in that one spot, and by the looks of it, it’s slowed way down. So that’s good. When she’d first cut it, I’d been worried she’d snagged an artery or something, or that she’d need stitches, it had been bleeding so bad. She’d stood there, wincing and swearing as I held her hand under the running water of the tap—thank god that hadn’t been turned off like the power had been, otherwise I’m not sure what I would have done. When I’d been certain it was clean, I’d pulled it away to examine it, only to have the blood just well right back up again.

I had grabbed a stack of paper napkins out of the package we’d left on the kitchen counter, and pressed them against the cut, telling her to hold it there good and tight, as I went rooting around for the first-aid kid we’d found earlier and had thrown . . . somewhere. I finally found it in the dining room, sitting on one of the tucked-in chairs like it was a guest at some fucked-up dinner party. I’d gone a little overboard with the gauze when I began wrapping her up, but it wasn’t like I had any stellar first-aid skills. Plus, I figured that too much was better than not enough. At least it looks like the bleeding has stopped.

I tell her so, and she kind of smiles at me, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and pulls her hand back.

“Is it still hurting?” I ask, and she shakes her head.

“It’s a little sore,” she says, picking a little at the edge of the gauze. “But I’ll be fine. It’s my pride that has taken a beating more than anything.”

I can believe that. She’s always been so cool and collected. Having me see her like that must really be messing with her head.

She lets out a sigh. “I’m really sorry, by the way. About what happened in there.”

I take a long drag on my cigarette and reach over to tap the ash into the little empty soup can that Star gave me when we couldn’t find a single goddamn ashtray in the house. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” I tell her. And it’s the truth. “It’s those assholes who should be sorry for talking about your mom like that.”

“Yeah,” she says, and turns away from me to look out at the street. It’s quiet right now, not that this block ever really bustles with activity. I suppose people pay a premium to live in a neighborhood like this. Not that the one I grew up in was so different. The houses were a little smaller, the cars a little older. But overall, not so different. “But the worst part about it is that they were right.”

I turn to look at her. She lets out a breath and tugs the sleeves of her hoodie back down over her hands, covering them completely this time. She wraps her arms around herself, and pulls her legs up, planting her feet on the step directly in front of her. She leans forward, and it almost looks like she’s curling herself into a ball. God, she was really affected by that shit.

“I loved my mother. I really did. It’s just…when I was little, things were great,” she says. But she’s chewing at her lower lip, and staring off into space, like just the act of remembering is wearing on her. “But then my dad died and…my mom, she just stopped, you know?”

“Stopped?”

She sighs and reaches up to tug at the end of a lock of hair. It’s distracting, all long and half-curled. I keep wanting to bury my hands in it, to see what it feels like for myself. “Stopped being a mom,” she says. “I mean, she was there. She didn’t abandon me or anything. I was still fed and clothed and dropped off at school on time. But it was like she’d just checked out, you know? She was there, but at the same time she wasn’t.” She drops her hand back down, and her fingers curl into fists. “That’s when she started bringing home the stuff.”

Shit. It had been her dad’s death that had set her mom off. That made sense. She’d lost not only the guy she’d loved, she’d also lost the one person who would have actually been able to stop her from bringing all this shit into the house in the first place.

“And at first it was great,” she says. “I had all these new toys to play with, and all this new star stuff. I loved it. But . . . ”

“But then it didn’t stop,” I say, because that’s what happened. It just kept coming and coming, burying Star and her mom alive.

She nods. “And soon it didn’t matter that I had the newest toys, because there was nowhere to play with them. There were these paths through the piles, and my mom tried to pretend it was a game, like we were living in a maze or something. And that was fine at first, too, but eventually people noticed. And then she had to choose between having me and keeping her things and, well . . . ” She’s still staring off into space, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s seeing, if that day is playing over and over in her mind in full color. “Well,” she says after a moment, seemingly shaking it off, “you know the rest.”

I can’t help it. I reach out and wrap an arm around her shoulders and tug her just a little bit closer. “That blows,” I tell her, and take another pull on my cigarette before I can say anything else.

I can feel her nod against my shoulder, lean into me, just a little. “Yeah,” she says. “It really does. It’s just . . . She was a shitty mom. I know that. She chose her stuff over her daughter, over me. But . . . ”

“But she was still your mom,” I say. And I get it. I do. Because even after they kicked me to the curb, my parents will always be my parents, and I don’t think there’s anything they could do that I wouldn’t forgive them for, at least a little bit. They’re the reason I’m here.

Star shifts against me, and I’m doing everything I can to not pull her closer. “Yeah, but it’s more like she was a person, and people keep forgetting that. They just keep talking about her like she wasn’t. Like all she was was this,” She reaches a hand out and kind of waves it around us, gesturing to the house, the car, all the stuff. Everything.

“Look,” I say. “Screw them. Seriously. Those people? The ones from earlier and anyone else who says that shit? They don’t matter. Not to you and not to me.” I take one last puff of my smoke and finish it off, dropping the butt into the soup can.

Only you matter, I want to say, but I keep my mouth fucking shut. She doesn’t need my problems, not right now.

We sit in silence for a minute, just breathing in the night air, until finally Star turns to me. “Come on,” she says, pulling out of my embrace and getting to her feet. “We missed dinner and I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

I don’t even think. I just follow her inside.

I’m pretty sure I’d follow that girl anywhere.

***

Now that we have the power back on, dinners are less of the college food experience extravaganza and a bit closer to the look at me, I’m a grown-up kind of thing. The meals aren’t fancy, but they are tasty. Spaghetti and meat sauce, tacos, chicken and potatoes. Simple stuff, really. But considering I have no clue what I’m doing in the kitchen, I still think it’s pretty damn good. I’m even starting to reconsider my stance on vegetables. When Star adds them to stuff, they taste good. I’m starting to think that it’s not veggies I hate, but my parents’ cooking. After all the drama we’ve been through lately, it feels good to just sit down with Star and eat. And she was right. I was ravenous.

But eating dinner with her, cleaning up afterward . . . it’s nice.

I’m not used to having nice in my life. I’m used to shitty. I’m used to disappointment. I’m used to people being let down by me, by the way I act and speak and fucking look. Everyone’s just always so disappointed in me and with me and just—ugh.

But when I look at Star, I don’t see disappointment in her eyes. Not when she looks at me.

She’s standing next to the counter now, drying the last of our dishes from dinner. It was my job to wash since she couldn’t with her injured hand. And she’s just smiling at me, talking about something that she’d seen Bruiser do today when I’d been out taking a load of stuff down to the dump. But I can’t even make out the words she’s saying.

I don’t even hear them.

All I can do is look at her, at how fucking gorgeous she is. How her eyes fucking light up when she smiles at me, when she tells me about her day. And suddenly all I can think of is the way she looks at me, and the chance.

The chance that she feels the same way about me as I do about her. The chance that we could be together. That it could be good.

The chance that I keep letting pass me by every single fucking day that I don’t open my mouth and say something, don’t do something about it.

My heart is racing in my chest, and the thoughts that are racing through my brain must show on my face, because Star’s voice trails off and just looks at me, that same little furrow digging deep between her eyebrows.

“Ah, fuck it,” I say suddenly, striding toward her. I grab the dishtowel from her hand and toss it on the counter beside her as her eyes widen with surprise.

“Ash, what—” But that’s all she gets out before I surge forward and press my mouth to hers.

For a minute, she stands there frozen, and all I can think is that this is the end. I’ve fucked everything up. But just as I’m about to pull away, her hands come up and I feel her fingers against my face. It’s the softest damn thing I’ve ever felt, and I can’t stifle the moan that rises up out of me as I press forward, and slant my mouth against hers. My tongue glances against her lip, and then she’s pressing back against me, her mouth opening beneath mine, her fingers tightening in the fabric of my shirt.

Fuck.

My arms come up around her, my palms flat against her sides, my fingers touching, trailing everywhere I can reach. And she fucking whimpers and starts writhing her hot little body against mine, and what little control I have snaps, and I’m wrapping her up in my arms and leaning her back against the kitchen counter.

Star

Holy crap.

Holy.

Crap.

This is actually happening. God, for weeks I’ve wanted Ash, wanted to press myself against him, touch him all over. Now that it’s actually happening I don’t even know where to start.

So I do the only thing I can. I touch him everywhere. Up his arms, under the hem of his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin against mine. I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck, tugging him closer. I slide the fingers of my good hand through his hair.

A million years pass; a single second. I can’t tell anymore.

And then all of a sudden, we’re moving.

His hands are rubbing up and down my sides as we kiss, making our way, together, step by step, toward my makeshift bedroom. When we’re just inside the door, Ash spins us so that my back is up against the door jamb, and his hands smooth down my sides to my legs. Then, without warning, his hands clasp behind my thighs and he hauls me up. The jamb digs into my back and I wrap my legs around his waist without thinking, a rush of heat shooting through me. I rake my fingers through his hair and jerk his head closer as he presses against me. His body rubbing against mine. Back and forth. Back and forth. It’s driving me crazy.

Moaning, I lick into his mouth one last time, getting lost in the kiss before I pull away enough to drop my legs back down and push him toward the mattress. He stumbles back a bit, grinning at me all cocky. But I can see the way his chest is heaving, the way the muscles of his chest shift and move beneath his skin.

He wants this as badly as I do.

I reach down and grasp the hem of my tank top, and begin pulling it up over my head. The cool air against my overheated skin is delicious and I shiver a little as I shake my hair free and drop the shirt to the floor.

There’s a whimper, and I freeze.

That sound wasn’t from either of us.

I whirl around and find Bruiser just outside the door, staring at me with big eyes.

Ash lets out a laugh behind me, and I look over my shoulder and glare at him before turning back to the dog.

Bruiser’s tail wags back and forth, his doggie smile widening as he realizes he’s gotten my attention. His tail thumps against the wall beside the door, and he pulls himself up out of his seated position just as I smile down at him.

Then I reach over, grab the door and close it gently in his face.

Ash

I bark out a laugh as Bruiser lets out a tiny whimper of confusion on the other side of the door, and turn to Star, raising my eyebrows.

“What?” she says, leaning back against the door, all long limbs and glistening skin. “I’m not letting your dog watch us, you perv.”

“Hey,” I say, and take a step toward her. I want to touch that skin, run my hands all over it. It’s irresistible. “I’ll have you know that Bruiser is a gentleman and a scholar. He would never—” But Star cuts me off before I can finish bullshitting.

“I caught him trying to hump the blow-up Santa in the backyard yesterday,” she says. She’s rolling her eyes but she’s still reaching for me as I get closer. The second my hands touch her skin, rub against it, she seems to almost melt. I press my lips against her throat and her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling at it. God. Damn. This feels good. But it’s Star, and like hell I’m going to give up a chance to bullshit with her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, kissing my way up her neck, lingering at her jaw. “Bruiser would never do such a thing.”

She tugs harder on my hair, hard enough that I pull back to look at her. She’s smirking at me. “I also caught him humping the stuffed frog you threw out on Tuesday. Your argument is invalid. Now take off your pants.”

Okay. Maybe I’ll let the bullshitting go. Just this once.

I reach for my belt. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

“Wait,” she says, and suddenly my hands aren’t alone, they’re tangled with hers, and her sweet mouth is pressing against my throat. “Let me help.”

I groan and let my head fall back. Fuck. This girl is going to be the death of me. My belt loosens and my jeans drop to the floor next to her shirt. I tilt my head forward and catch her mouth with mine again, tangling my tongue with hers as I reach up and slide my fingers into her hair. It’s thick and silky and it twists between my fingers, almost like it has a mind of its own, like it’s drawing me in. And goddamn, she tastes good. Like the lemonade she was drinking with dinner, and the spearmint gum she chews until it seems like her jaw will crack from it. And something that’s just Star and Star alone. I’ve never tasted anything like it. I’ve always been shit with words, but I’m pretty sure this is what intoxicating means.

It’s rivaling every high I’ve ever fucking had.

Goddamn.

My cock is hard enough to pound nails, and I know she can feel it, the way she’s rubbing her belly against it. I just want to reach down and pick her up, toss her on the mattress behind me and fall down there after her. But she’s two steps ahead of me, and I’ve just barely felt the brush of the mattress against the back of my ankle when I’m suddenly horizontal and she’s standing over me, looking gorgeous and goddamn triumphant.

Jesus.

“So,” she says, reaching down and popping open the button of her cutoffs. I want to chase her fingertips with my teeth, but she seems to be enjoying putting on a show for me, so I lean back on my elbows and watch instead. Her hips wiggle a little as she tugs down her shorts. They slide down her legs like magic and I can’t help but fucking groan at the sight. She’s in her bikini top, her little nipples sticking through like hard candies, and she’s wearing these little panties that look like undies that I wore when I was little, all blue and white with stitching made to look like the front flap. They’re riding low on her hips and look so hot on her I could bust. “Any preferences?”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “That’s a loaded question,” I say and she laughs, taking a step and moving forward until she’s got one knee on the mattress, directly between my damn thighs.

Yeah, I’m definitely going to bust. But if I’m lucky, I’m going to make her bust first. I’m reaching for her before I can even decide where to touch, flat on my back, wrapping my hands around her face and tugging her down so I can press my mouth against hers. She’s leaning over me now, her body pressing down against mine, and I can feel her pulse hammering as I slide my hand up her neck. Goddamn. If this is what sober sex is like, I just found another reason not to touch a drop ever again. My hands are in her hair again, and she’s kissing and rubbing up against me like her life depends on it. That’s when my fingers touch the little bow at the back of her neck.

The bikini top.

I grin against her mouth and start working the knot apart with my fingertips. It loosens way easier than I was expecting, and the strings fall from her shoulders without me even having to touch them. I want to touch, though, so I slide my hands down her neck, down her shoulders, until I have my arms wrapped around her. I want to see her. I want to see every single inch of her, but I suddenly feel like it’s a choice between holding onto her or dying, and I can’t make myself stop touching enough to pull back to look.

She’s a million miles ahead of me again, and her other knee shifts so it’s pressing into the mattress at my side, and she’s clutching at my shoulders, pulling me with her as she rolls over.

Suddenly I’m on top of her, pressing down into her hot little body, and somehow that feels better. Like if I pull away she won’t disappear on me. Like she wants me there, on top of her. And I’ll be damned if I’m not willing to give this girl whatever she wants.

Getting my knees under me, I pull back, smiling as she leans into me, chasing the kiss, and look down.

God. Damn.

Her tits are amazing. I’m leaning down and pressing my mouth to them before I can even think. By the way Star moans and arches into me, she has no problem with my actions. She presses closer to me, and I lap at her breast and suck the tip into my mouth as I reach around her body to tug at the knot at her back. I can feel it come loose, feel her bikini fall away, but she’s moaning and writhing, her fingers pulling at my hair as I suck at her, and I’m so hard I’m dripping through my boxers.

I’m going to die from this.

But goddamn, what a way to go.

Star

We kiss, chest to chest, and it feels like too much and not enough, all at the same time. I run my hands over his shoulders, cup my palms over the back of his neck, thread my fingers up through his hair. I want to touch everywhere. And all at once.

I’m torn between touching forever and rushing full force to the main event, and I press against him as we kiss and kiss and kiss until I can’t stand it anymore. I press my palms against his chest, reveling in the warmth of his skin against mine, and push him away.

He blinks down at me, confused, but I smile and shove him a little farther away, so I have room to move. I turn over onto my belly, and reach across the mattress for the box that I’ve stashed on the other side, the box my no-good interfering roommate sent me. Who I shall love forever and will be given cookies the next time I see her.

I shove the package of markers out of the way, dig past the package of labels and the box of garbage bags, fingers searching and fumbling as I feel Ash’s warm palms cup and squeeze my ass, sending a bolt of heat racing through my entire body. Then finally, finally I lay my fingers on what I’m looking for, and snatch it up. I pull myself up to my knees and turn around to face Ash, holding the condom out to Ash in victory.

“That’s what was in the box from Autumn?” Ash asks, laughing.

My face is on fire. “Shut up,” I say, and toss the condom at him. It hits his chest and falls into his lap before he can catch it. Leaning forward, I press my mouth against his one more time.

“You can either laugh at me,” I say, letting my eyes flutter shut, “or you can put that to good use. What’s it gonna be?”

Suddenly, he’s not laughing anymore. I open my eyes and find him staring down at me, an intensity in his gaze I’ve never seen before. My heart thuds in my chest, heat coiling in my belly, and he reaches out and wraps an arm around my waist, hauling me closer, drawing me into his lap.

This is such a bad idea, a voice in the back of my mind reminds me. It’s not going to last. All you’ll wind up with is a handful of memories and a truckload of heartbreak if you let this happen.

Shut up, I tell the voice as I press my mouth to Ash’s, tangling my fingers in his hair again. He flips me back over so I’m on my back again, his weight a solid, heavy warmth pressing me down into the mattress as he runs his hands over my body.

“You are so fucking hot,” he murmurs against the skin of my neck, trailing kisses as he begins to trace a path down the front of my body. I squirm beneath his touch, fisting my hands in his short hair and tugging.

“Yeah,” I say. “God. Yeah, you, too.” I can’t get enough of him, of his skin against mine. We’re a tangle of hands and arms and flesh gliding hot against flesh, whispered words spoken against sweat and skin.

Then he grabs the condom from where it has fallen in the tangle of blankets, and tears it open as I pull his boxers down his hips. He kicks them off and they go flying over the edge of the bed and disappear from sight just as he reaches down and rolls the condom on. .

And then he’s pressing into me, and it’s hot and slick and a million different feelings all at once.

“Yes.” I breathe the word against his mouth, and as we move together, his lips claim mine once again.

There is no more talking, after that.

***

“So . . . ” Ash says as we lay there afterward, flopped on our backs on the mattress. I’m panting so hard, I can hardly catch my breath. I turn my head and watch as he shifts around so that he’s lying on his side, gazing down at me.

“Mmmhmmm?” This . . . this was amazing. This wasn’t the adolescent fumblings I’d shared with Brick, or the handful of drunken hookups I’d had during freshman year at college. This . . . This was better.

He trails the backs of his fingers up my side. I’m still buzzing with sensation. It feels amazing.

“I just wanted you to know, that this wasn’t . . . that this wasn’t just . . . you know . . . a one-time thing. At least, for me.” He’s staring down, straight into my eyes, and I feel a warm rush through my chest, giving my heart a little lurch. “It wasn’t for me,” he says again, and reaches up and cradles the side of my head with his hand.

I raise my hand and let my fingertips slide across his cheeks, up to his hairline, to tangle behind his head. And I can’t stop smiling as I pull him down to me. I kiss him, and tug him closer to me, press my body up against him as our mouths move together.

Our lips part and my eyes open and I’m looking straight at him when I answer. “It wasn’t just a one-time thing for me, either.”

A little smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Promise?” he says, but it’s hesitant. Unsure. And his eyes drop from mine. His body tenses. And suddenly I realize that he’s bracing himself for me to shake my head or laugh it off. He’s bracing himself for rejection. My heart does something traitorous in my chest, and I struggle to swallow over the lump that’s forming in my throat.

“Hey,” I say, reaching out and touching the edge of his jaw, tugging his face back up so that he’s looking me in the eye. His gaze flickers back and forth across my face, catching my eyes over and over again as I do the same. I want to look at every bit of him, all at once. I feel like I could look forever, and it still wouldn’t be enough. I lean forward and press my mouth to his. “I promise,” I whisper as we part, and he smiles but even then it doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Hey,” I say again, because he’s not getting it. He doesn’t believe me. So I do the only thing I can; I bring my left hand up between us, holding my pinkie out to him. That makes the half-smile he was sporting turn full-fledged, and we’re both grinning like idiots as he reaches up and links his finger with mine and we waggle our linked hands back and forth, cementing the deal.

Then I kiss him again, just to make it official.