Page 85 of Praising the Pitcher

Once my bowl is empty—well, besides the milk because no way in hell would I drink cereal milk—he turns toward me, swiveling his stool so his knees are around mine. I expect his usual smirk, telling me he’s up to something. Only, he wears a serious expression.

“Have you heard from your dad at all today?” He treads lightly, like he isn’t sure if he should ask the question at all.

He catches me off guard, but I shrug. “No,” I reply. “Why would I?”

The truth is, I wondered if he’d reach out. I know he shut my phone off, and maybe he thinks I have no means of communication, but I thought maybe he’d try anyway, just in case. Why would he though? I’m obviously never going to be enough for him to be proud of me, so I think he finally gave up.

“I don’t know.” Noah’s words come out softly. “Do you want to hear from him?”

Of course, my first reaction is to become defensive. But when my shoulders tense and my jaw clenches, I remind myself this is Noah in front of me. He’s not asking to hurt me. He’s asking because he cares.

“I …” My voice trails off. “I’m not sure what I want.” I admit the words I’ve been keeping inside. “I guess part of me feels bad. Like he’s all alone and it’s Christmas.” I shake my head at my own insanity. “I know it’s stupid, after everything he’s done.”

His hand reaches for me and he cups my cheek. “It’s not stupid, Smoke,” he says evenly, and I know he means it. Even if he doesn’t agree with it, he isn’t trying to dismiss my feelings. “You said he doesn’t live too far from campus, right? So, if the snow stops, we can go there later.”

I stare at him, not believing someone so sweet could not only exist, but be here, with me. “What about your parents?” I whisper. “I thought … won’t they want to see you?”

“We can go there after. Or, if you don’t feel up to it, we can just come back here.”

“You’d do that?” I feel my chest warm. “You would take me over there, even though he’s obviously an asshole who doesn’t deserve it?”

He leans forward, kissing my cheek. “I told you—ask me for anything and I’ll probably give it to you.” He grins, his playful side coming out. “Though you know what’s at the tippy top of my Christmas list?”

“What’s that?”

With a smirk, his eyes dance with both amusement and need.

“I want you to sit on my face and ride my tongue while gripping the headboard.” His words come out so confidently, without an ounce of shame in asking for what he wants.

My heart races in my chest, and heat pools between my thighs. Even though I’m sore, I’m still eager for more of him.

I lean closer, brushing my lips to his. The next words from my mouth sound out of character, and I hardly recognize my own voice when I hear them, but I know it’s a huge step.

“Only if you let me suck your dick again,” I murmur to his lips, and I swear, I hear him whimper.

“Deal,” he growls. “But be prepared, Smoke. I went easy on your throat last night. Now that I know how good you suck dick, you won’t be so lucky.”

And of course, instead of growing nervous, I find myself wanting to grind against him right now. And without answering, I take off running toward my bedroom, happy as hell he’s chasing me.

THIRTY

GIGI

A whooshing sound pounds in my ears, making me question if I’m under water as I look through the window beside the door, my eyes taking in what’s in front of them. Light snow falls on my head and wets my hair, but I can’t process that. Instead, I continue looking into the house.

My house.

Or, it was. But deep down I know the day my mom left this earth, it stopped being my home. The only reason it ever felt like home was because she was here. I never understood why she stayed—why we both had to stay, especially when my father always treated us so shitty.

My eyes stay locked on the woman and my dad as they sit on the couch, laughing at something the boy or girl across from them said.

I know her. I know them too. They’re her children, and they are a little younger than I am. I didn’t expect them to be spending Christmas with my dad though …

“Smoke,” Noah’s voice rasps beside me, and he touches my shoulder.

I don’t know how long we’ve been here, but I still can’t bring myself to move. I haven’t knocked, but I also haven’t run to the truck.

As the woman—Kathy—puts her hand on my dad’s cheek and he looks at her sweetly, wearing a look I’ve never seen on his face, the backs of my eyes sting, and something I either forgot or my mind had tried to push out for years hits me like an absolute freight train.