Tate: Head?
CHAPTER 39
Tate
Pitstop: Shoulders, knees, and toes?
My teammates have no idea why I’ve cracked up laughing. And to be honest I have no intention of sharing it with them. They don’t need to know I have a hard-on for my girl. At least I hope not. If they do, they’re politely ignoring the stretch in the crotch of my pants.
It’s been a few hours, the twins and I are both sweaty, both my car and my parents SUV are stuffed so full with bags there’s only room up front for a driver, not even a passenger.
We’ve done good work. We’ve cleared out most of my parent’s clothes, shoes, jackets and winter gear, and over half of Mom’s bags and shoes have gone into bags for Goodwill.
My car has mostly things that aren’t fit for other people to wear, or underwear. They’ll be going to a clothing recycling bin. But everything in Dad’s SUV will be going to charity.
There are a couple piles of things for Pitstop to go through. She might not want any of it, but I wanted to give her the option to have something of Mom’s if she wanted to. Some of those bags are really fucking nice. And I don’t speak fashion.
Apollo, Artemis, and I are sitting out on my folks’ back deck. The fire pit’s lit, we’re bundled up in some of my winter gear, and we’re sipping frosty cold beer from bottles.
So much about the past six weeks has felt broken, shit, destroying, consuming, and as though I’d never be able to pull in a full breath to my lungs for as long as I live.
This is the first time the tension in my ribs has eased, even just a little. I don’t know if it’s because Penelope has gone to do something for herself for the first time in over a month. Or if it’s because I’ve made progress on my parents’ house, or maybe it’s because I’m starting to let myself believe that the guys have got my back now that my folks have gone.
Either way, sitting here, the weight pressing against my chest and weighing down my shoulders feels a bit less. And that’s something I’ll drink to.
By the time Penelope comes back, I’m showered, the kitchen is picked up, and the twins have helped me get my parents’ house in some kind of order. I feel... steadier.
“Satan? Where are you?”
“I fucking love that she calls you Satan.” Artemis pushes up to his feet from the couch. “He’s in here, Penelope.”
When she appears in the doorway, she’s got a bag from Get the Fork Out in her hand. My girl brought me pie. At least she better have brought me pie, or I’ll be stealing her pie.
“That’s our cue to skedaddle.” Apollo joins his brother, standing and moving toward the door.
“Get over here, She Devil.” I curl my finger at her but she places the bag on the end of the couch.
“I’ll see our guests out.”
Ugh. I hate that she’s such a good hostess, because in truth, that’s what at least one of us should do, but I just need my hands on her.
Artemis reads the room. “It’s all good. We’ll see ourselves out.”
And they do, but Penelope stands staring at me, worrying her lip between her teeth, uncertainty in her eyes.
“It’s not going to suck itself, Pitstop.”
That makes a smile flicker across her face. “Don’t make me stab you, Satan.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t want it.”
From the way she licks her lips, I’m on to something.
“Maybe I’m just hungry for pie.” She shrugs.
“Maybe I’m hungry for that juicy pussy of yours.”
She’s still hesitating. I don’t blame her, it’s been an emotional week where we haven’t had much by way of physical intimacy.
