Maybe she’ll never be happy with me.
I grip the steering wheel with both hands, knuckles turning white. I won’t believe it. I won’t let myself assume she can’t be happy with me. Not until she says so herself. One word from her, and I’ll leave her alone, but until then I’m going to keep trying.
Before I turn onto the main stretch of highway that’ll lead back to Blue Ridge, Brie leans over the center console, bracing herself with one hand on my thigh. The action sweeps away all my thoughts, and my cock roars to life when her lips skate up my neck.
“We can’t go to your house.” She nips at my ear.
I inhale. “No.” Sheetrock dust somehow made its wayeverywhere, and I’m staying at Will’s until the drywall is all done.
“And you can’t come home with me.” She kisses along my jaw.
I’m rock hard.
“Right,” I croak.
Her mouth feathers over mine as she says, “Is there somewhere we could go and . . . park?”
She squeezes my dick through my pants. I cradle the back of her neck and crush my mouth to hers, thrusting my tongue into her mouth.
“Yeah,” I heave, “let’s go park somewhere.”
I frantically try to think of an empty lot between here and Blue Ridge as I turn onto the road.
“Where’re we going?” Brie asks.
She’s retreated back to her side of the car, but her hand is still distractingly on my leg.
I glance over and squeeze her knee. “I’m not sure yet.”
“You don’t have, like, a spot?”
Her skin is so soft. That’s distracting too.
“A spot?” I ask.
“Yeah, a spot. Somewhere you used to go . . .do stuffwith girls.”
I look at her out of the corner of my eye. She has that same shifty look I’ve come to understand means she’s uncomfortable.
“No, I don’t havea spot,” I tell her, keeping my tone light.
She angles herself so she’s facing me in her seat. “You say that, but I know you took Melanie Crowe to homecoming once. Anna Ludwig another year. And there were rumors you had sex with Linda Flowers when she was a senior and we were sophomores.”
Suddenly, this feels like an ambush. “That’s all true,” I say carefully.
“So?” she prods.
I rub the back of my neck, but she takes my hand and puts it back on her knee. It’s a small relief that she wants it there in spite of the turn the conversation’s taken. It centers me.
“So,” I say, “they were all really nice, pretty girls. But I went out with them because . . .” I search for the right words. I won’t do what Brie’s been doing, I won’t hide parts of myself from her. I did that for far too long already. “I went out with them because I was a horny teenager and I couldn’t have you,” I blurt.
Her hand freezes on my leg. After a moment I look over, not sure what I’ll find.
She’s looking at me with a thoughtful expression, brows furrowed, mouth bunched to one side.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing, I?—”
