My eyes land on Ozzie’s mouth, and I lick my lips, shaking my head no. This sends him into another fervent bout of kissing, groping, and petting. His hand on my ass squeezes so hard I inhale sharply, and my body is slammed against him. His kiss is almost too rough, and yet my pussy is so freaking wet for it.
The next time he pauses to speak, it’s directly in my ear. “Do you know how fucking hard you make me, Mila? Do you know I was rock hard the second I saw you get stuck in the turnstile?”
I huff out a weak laugh at the fantasy he’s created in his head. “I didn’t get stuck. I forgot to use my keycard because some guy with a tent pole in his jeans was distracting me.”
“You wore that shirt with your tits bulging out like it’s two sizes too small; what do you expect?”
“You’re wrong; it’s three sizes too small.”
“Are you trying to get men’s attention?”
“No, I wear it for myself.”
“Do you know how men stare at you when you’re dressed like that?”
“That’s not my problem.”
“No, it’s not. It’s entirely my problem. I want to obliterate everyone who looks at you.”
“Obliteration sounds like an activity that might be too loud for a library.”
He growls, catching my bottom lip between his teeth. The vibration reaches under my skin and rattles my bones, pricking my nipples. An unreasonable amount of arousal is climbing up through my body.
“Forget the campfire; I think those two can roast our ’mallows for us by the heat they’re radiating,” a woman’s voice can be heard a short distance away up the hill.
I freeze, and Ozzie feels it.
He removes his hands from my rump and wraps me in a warm bear hug. It’s not enough, but it’s safe.
Late that night, full of s’mores, we all drift off to our rooms. Ozzie’s parents’ house is starting to resemble an emergency shelter, with air mattresses on the floor, children’s cots, and blanket forts in the den and the dining room. Leela, Crosby, and the rest of Beta Beta Psi who came down to Asheville today are staying together in one of the family bedrooms. The tweens and littles are camped out on the floor in the dining room.
I almost feel guilty about occupying space in Ozzie’s attic bedroom, but everyone seems happy for the extra company. It’s incredible to me how easy his family is. Every moment I spend with them, I love them more. How could I not fall in love with a family that was so wildly different and wide open compared to a gated compound with security guards at every turn? They do volunteer work together like that’s a normal thing to do. Is it? I wouldn’t know. How could I not love a family who welcomes my friends with no questions asked?
How could I not fall in love with a family that made Ozzie?
As I remove my makeup in the tiny bathroom mirror tonight, I marvel at the woman who looks back at me. I never thought much of myself. But I’m here because people believed in me. Khaz figured I would not only be safe at college but that I would thrive. He saw something in me that I never saw.
Ozzie helped me after the would-be assault incident when I was in trouble because he saw something special in me.
Yesterday, they all hugged me and welcomed me just because I existed. Today, they treated me like I was some kind of phenom.
I feel good here. I feel like I belong here. And all of that makes me feel horribly guilty. None of their goodness outweighs the fact that I’m lying to them. In fact, it only makes it worse. The things they don’t know about me would change their tune. The mere fact that I’m lying would turn the tables so fast.
If they knew what I did…if Emmeline and Carl find out I’m a murderer…not only will I be immediately rejected, but it will hurt both ways.
These are the last people I would ever want to deceive. They are good, honest, generous, and kind. Is this what ordinary families are like? Or is this a cosmic joke?
I slide between the covers, my body still tingling from where Ozzie had been stroking my back and sides all night. He’d doted on me, kissed, and held my hand in front of his family.
“You make an excellent fake fiancé,” I tell him, gazing over to where he stands in the adjoining bathroom, brushing his teeth.
He chuckles, finishes brushing, spits, rinses, and turns to me with the brightest boyish smile ever while dabbing his chin with a towel.
“You think so?”
“Yeah…it’s almost like you mean it.”
I don’t know how many seconds pass while we let what I’ve said sink in.