“Oh yeah?” I take a swig of beer. Truthfully, I barely remember. “Didn’t all those college guys keep you too busy to think about me?”
“Some guys are unforgettable,” she says with a flirty grin.
I tip back the bottle for another long drink.
“Do you care where I sit?” she asks.
“Nope, help yourself.”
“I’ll pick my favorite seat then.” I don’t get her meaning until she hikes up her skirt and slings one leg over me to straddle my thighs.
Whoa.That’s not what I meant, but her body’s warm and the lust that hasn’t found an outlet in almost two weeks fights to break free. I set my beer down on the deck. Screw being alone. Screw my black mood. This is what I need. Something meaningless to take the edge off.
Tamara slips her arms around my neck and wiggles up my lap. Need coils low in my belly, and I look into her brown eyes, but they’re not flecked with gold. I close my lids to block out the images. But all I see is Dee’s face. She kisses me and all I feel are Dee’s soft lips. I taste her and it’s only Dee’s sweet flavor on my tongue. I grip her hips and feel Dee’s lush body.
She rides me through my jeans, and I’m buried deep inside Dee, sheathed in her tight creaminess, her muscles clamping my dick like a silken vise as she slides up and down, fucking me slow, loving me so good, crying out my name…
“Mick.”
It takes a moment for my muddled brain to send out the alert that it’s not Dee’s breathy moan I hear or her supple body I feel beneath my hands. Jerked out of my fantasy, my eyes spring open. “Shit!”
Tamara stares at me in dreamy confusion.
Shit. Shit. Shit.The fog clears and I jump up, almost dumping her on the deck. Before she hits the ground, I catch her arm to right her, but quickly let go.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. “I thought you were into it. You seemed into it.”
Aw, fuck!I drag my fingers through my hair. What the hell have I done? Thinking about the girl I love while I let a girl I hardly remember ride my lap? That’s not who I am anymore. Being with Dee made me better than this. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have let that happen.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” I say feeling like a world class dipshit. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I did.”
“Oh.” She smooths down her skirt.
“You should go back inside.” I try not to make it sound like the dismissal it is, and fail.
Tamara shoots me a dirty look, which is less than I deserve. She turns on her heel to stalk back into the house, while I stand against the railing, shaking and hating myself.
“Mick?” Victor’s voice punches through my guilty haze as he steps out onto the deck. I can’t quite meet his eyes as I brace for the confrontation. “Everybody’s been looking for you, man,” he says. “Tamara said you came out here, and then she left with Christa all in a huff. Don’t know what crawled up her butt.”
I feel sick and relieved at the same time. Sick with remorse, but relieved that Tamara was probably too embarrassed to say anything and that it was too dark for anyone to have seen us. Victor may think my relationship with Dee is doomed, but if he knew what I’d done, his loyalty to Dee would take over.
“You’re shaking, man. Did you drink too much?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, preferring to deal with hisI told you sothan tell him the truth. “I need to shut the party down.”
As soon as we get everyone out—with gripes that it’s not even midnight—Victor leaves me to sleep it off. But I go straight to the bathroom, yank off my clothes, and step under the steaming hot water.
After toweling off, I brush my teeth and rinse twice with mouthwash. Reverting back to old behaviors wasn’t my finest moment. The truth is, I’ve been an ass all week, lying around my house, drinking, and partying—anything to avoid talking to Dee. But I’m done being an ass.
I have to see her. Now. I’ll do anything to fix whatever’s causing her doubts. Beg, plead, stand on my fucking head—whatever it takes.
I pull on sweats and a T-shirt. Heedless of the late hour and the questions my sudden presence will raise, I cut across the yard, my strides long, my pace determined. When I reach the house, it’s all lit up. An uneasy feeling moves through me. I clear the steps in one leap and burst into the kitchen.
Papa T’s on the phone, pacing, his face harried. Eleven-year-old Maria is sitting at the table cuddling little Gabi on her lap, and Mama T is crying in Victor’s arms.
Fear chills my blood. “Where’s Dee?”
