ME
That makes sense.
It doesn’t feel strange to bond over the fact that we’re both members of the Dead Moms Club. Everyone in this particular club just gets it—in a way others never will—and it makes you feel okay about it.
I get out a fresh needle and some black ink, then freehand a small butterfly in the space on my knee.
Maybe it won’t make sense to anyone but me. And maybe Lyric. But she feels like a person I should remember. And it also makes me feel connected to her mom and, by extension, my mom. I can’t explain it beyond that.
Roughly ninety minutes later, my freshly inked skin is wrapped up, the shop is locked up, and I’m on my way home. And I’m definitely not thinking about Philip.
CHAPTER 11
LYRIC
I’m just pullingthe banana bread from the oven when Waylon walks in. The pan slides over the cooling rack as I kick the oven shut behind me.
“What’s that delicious smell?” he asks, walking into the kitchen.
“Banana bread.” My back is to him as I slowly flip and release the bread from the pan. He moves closer to me, crowding over my shoulder to look down at what I’m doing. But he’s too close. I can feel his breath on my neck.
I whirl around, causing him to step back. “Do you want some? Let me just get a tab of butter for it.” I move around him, grabbing the butter dish from the other side of the counter.
I removed a butter knife from the drawer and spread it over the freshly sliced bread. The aroma is to die for. Cinnamon and spice mixed with that deep fruity, banana scent—they should bottle and sell it.
Waylon accepts the thick chunk of baked goodness and immediately takes a bite. His whole body sinks as he chews and hums.
“This is delicious,” he says.
“I’ve been craving it.” I sink my teeth into my own piece and do a little happy wiggle. “I started my period.” I give Waylon a look, hoping to convey I’m very unhappy about it.
“I’m sorry. Do you want another bath?” he asks, then takes another bite. And isn’t he sweet for offering. Ew.
“No, I’m okay right now, thanks.” I take another bite too. “I was more just telling you because of our arrangement.”
“Oh, right,” he says. “No sex for a few days then. Got it.”
“There is… something, though, that I could do for you.” I put my banana bread down on the counter and take a drink of my sweet tea.
“What do you mean?” Waylon asks.
I step toward him, placing my hands on his chest. I push until his back hits the pantry door behind him.
“This might be a good time to tell you that there’s something I really like to do.” I tell him this in a hushed tone as I sink to my knees in front of him.
“What are you doing?” His hands fall to his sides like he doesn’t know where to put them.
“I want to put your cock in my mouth, Waylon.” I reach up and unbutton his jeans, then pull the zipper down. He moves against my brief touch, arching ever so slightly.
“You do?” Waylon presses his shoulders back, hips jutting out.
I hook my fingers into the top of his jeans and yank them down. Through his dark red boxer briefs, he’s getting harder as my hand slides up his thigh. I run my palm over his shaft. He presses against me and closes his eyes.
My fingertips graze him as I pull his cock free and watch it curve upward. Without warning, I run the tip of my tongue from the base to the head and swirl my mouth around it.
Waylon sucks in a breath, baring his teeth.
“Fuck me, Lyric,” he whispers. “Your mouth feels so good around my cock.”
