Beckett
“Then we did the Yellowstone River…”
I nod along, like I’m listening, but I’m not.
I don’t know why this fuck thinks I give two shits about places he’s fished. Just because I know how to fish doesn’t mean I want to talk about it for 45 minutes straight. Or ever.
“Oh, we did that one a few years back,” one of the other dads chimes in.
I don’t need to be here for this conversation. I’ve shown zero interest, but they continue talking, nonetheless. I shove the last bite of my dinner into my mouth, and continue to ignore them. But at least sitting here gives me an excuse to watch Elouise. The flames of the firepit dance between us, hopefully distorting her view of me so I don’t look like a total stalker by staring.
Miss Hall has been surrounded by students since everyone gathered ‘round with their skewered hotdogs. It’s clear that even the kids who aren’t in her class like being around her, and since kids are good judges of character, I’m even more certain that she’s the good person I remember.
“Right?” the guy to my left bumps my shoulder.
I nod, pretending to know what he’s talking about.
“Beckett, what’s your preferred way?” another dad asks.
Aw, fuck.
What’s the nice way of saying I wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to your boring ass conversation.
A feminine shout saves me from answering, and we all turn as one towards the sound.
Amused, I watch Elouise jump back from the bonfire, the hotdog at the end of her skewer completely engulfed in flames.
“Oh no! Oh no!” She tries to blow the fire out, but the roasting stick is too long, and she can’t get it close enough to her face. Not that she could blow out that amount of fire. “Shit!” She shouts, making kids laugh. “I mean, crap!” she corrects herself.
I start to rise from my seat, and the dads on either side of me move to get up at the same time. I put my hands on their shoulders, pushing myself up while keeping them seated, “I got this.”
“Crap! Crap!” Elouise’s chants are getting more frantic, the hotdog clearly doomed with the amount of fire it’s still putting off.
As I move around the pit, she starts to wave the flaming wiener around. Probably hoping the wind will help, but it doesn’t. Instead, the hotdog – having held on for as long as it could – comes free from the poker. Trailing flames, bits of burnt meat fly from the hotdog as it soars through the air. There’s a cacophony of shouts, some from the kids, most from Elouise, and we all watch the poor abused wiener land in a pile of small sticks and dried moss that I collected earlier and stacked off to the side. It’s my pile of “fire starters” and it does its job well.
In a woosh, the pile ignites.
This time Elouise skips past cursing and lets out a squeal.
I almost start laughing, but then she starts to hop around.
Elouise is hopping around, and her tits are bouncing, and I no longer care that there’s a fire. What fire? Tits. All I see are tits.
Her sweatshirt is unzipped, the thin material of her shirt is doing nothing to hide the jiggling with each small jump she makes.
I want to recreate that jiggle, by pounding my cock in her-
Elouise lets out another shriek and I’m snapped back into reality.
Continuing my stride towards her, I see I’m not the only man that has noticed her bouncing around. That motherfucker Adam basically has his tongue on the ground. And Mr. Whistle looks like he’s about to have a damn heart attack.
“Lou!” I snap her name more forcefully than I mean to, but it works to get the attention of the other men as well.
She doesn’t act offended by my tone, instead, she steps away from the little fire pile and clasps her hands in front of her chest. “Beckett! Oh god… Please!”
I bite back a groan.
Add that phrase to the list of things I want to hear while I’m buried inside her sweet-