My mom died when I was nearly three. Aneurysm. Her name was Gloria. I don’t really remember her much, but I know all about her because my dad and Rick talk about her all the time, still. She grew up here and went to high school with Rick, then met my dad in college; after she died, her best friend and her widower spent a lot of time together and eventually started dating. I’m pretty sure that “started dating” is a polite euphemism for something else, but I’ll never ask, and anyway, they’re married now.
The other person who loved to talk about my mom was her mother, my Grandma Millie, whose house was full of doilies and throw pillows and ceramic figurines. She always had cookies in a jar, chocolate milk in the fridge, and let me watch as much TV as I wanted. Grandma Millie wasalsocasually bigoted and racist in a way that I wouldn’t realize until years later, when she found out from Gideon’s parents that my dad and Rick were together and tried to have the state take custody of me away from them because of it.
Not the best time in my life. I had nightmares about being dragged away from my parents because my best friend had betrayed me. My dad lost his job teaching eighth grade science. We moved to New Jersey, where my dad’s family is, the moment the court case with Grandma Millie was over, and I never saw her again. I didn’t go to her funeral. I hope no one did.
I wouldn’t be mad if I never saw Gideon’s parents again, either, but for his sake I could probably force three or four minutes of politeness if I really had to. Maybe five if the situationreallycalls for it.
But right now, I’m leaning against him and he’s half playing with my hair and talking to Silas about some movie I don’t think I saw and Kat and I are trying to decide on our derby names, and this, I think, is what I want for him.
* * *
“You look good like this,”I tell Gideon two hours later. I’m standing behind him on the bottom riser and I’ve got both my arms slung around his neck, pulling him back against me. It’s dark in the gym, just the emergency lights on, the scent of beer and sweat and too many people slowly fading.
“Sweaty and a little tired?” he asks, voice buzzing through my palms where they’re flat against his chest.
“You look happy,” I tell him, the thing I’ve been thinking all night when I haven’t been coming up with a derby name or lowkey ogling him because he’s wearing a button-down plaid with the sleeves rolled up that is, frankly, very slutty.
Gideon reaches up and puts a hand around my forearm, then slides it down to my wrist, touching me like he’s thinking. It’s fascinating, the way I’ve learned his minutiae since we met again.
“I am,” he says, and the words hang in the air.
We’re still here because roller derby is a community activity as much as any church potluck, and if you know anyone on the team, you’re getting roped into helping with cleanup. That means I got to peel tape off the floor while I watched Gideon and his friends stack chairs, carry them to a storage room, put away sound equipment, and generally lift heavy things in a way I found very pleasing.
“Where the hell did Silas and Wyatt go?” he huffs after another minute. “I’d like to get out of here.”
“We could just leave,” I point out, shifting a little closer. “Didn’t Reid say he was getting another ride home?”
“Silas has a scratching post in his car for me,” Gideon says, and I don’t even ask why. Men.
I put my lips right next to his ear, because a scratching post? Is he serious?
“It’s a long drive,” I murmur, my mouth directly on the shell of his ear. “We should get started.”
Gideon’s whole body tenses, and he takes a careful breath.
“Especially if Reid won’t be back until later,” I go on.
“Why?” he rumbles, turning his head so our mouths nearly meet. “You got plans?”
Yes, I have plans. I’d like to get railed over the kitchen table while still wearing my garter tights, for example, but I physically can’t make myself say that out loud, so instead I lick his ear and listen to the way he hisses.
“Andi,” he says, and sounds a little pained.
“Mmm?”
Gideon doesn’t answer, but he turns around, tilts his head up, and kisses me with a hand around the back of my neck. The angle is weird because I’m taller than him like this, sort of bent over, and I take my face in his hands and come down on his mouth with more force than usual.
Hegroans. It’s quiet, but holy shit. I pull back and slide a thumb along his lower lip and he watches me, eyes mottled in the dark. I remember him on his knees, unlacing my boots, how he looked like this then, too.
“God, you’re pretty,” I whisper, and I don’t really mean to, but Gideon swallows hard and pulls my mouth back to his. It’s gentle for a second and a little feral after that, his teeth on my lip and my thumb gently tracing down the line of his throat. He presses himself against me then his hands are on my hips, my thighs, under my skirt. His hands are warm and calloused, and they scratch a little as he strokes the skin right above where my tights end, then finds both garters and snaps them.
It doesn’t hurt. I can barely feel it, honestly, but Iknowit and then he snaps the ones on the backs of my thighs too and holy fuck, his house isso far away.
“You like the tights, then?” I murmur, my lips barely leaving his.
He frowns slightly. “Of course I like the tights,” he says, very seriously. “I haven’t thought about anything else since we got here.”
“Nothing?” I tease, nipping at his lips again.
