Where is he going tonight, and what is he doing this weekend?
I have no right to need to know, but every part of me that aches to be with him equally stands on end, hesitant to get involved with anyone who has secrets.
* * *
That nightafter I get Jett to bed, I call Dustin. It goes to voicemail after two rings because that motherfucker silenced me. He’s made it clear that he doesn’t care about his son, but I won’t stop wanting him to care–for Jett’s sake.
His first birthday is right around the corner, and even though asking Dusty to come feels as good as a gynecological exam with no lube, I have to invite him.
For Jett.
11
Beau
No matter who I end up being, at this moment, I know exactly who I am. Theirs.
“It takes a couple of weeks to get the results, right?” Delane asks while popping sour cherry balls into her mouth.
Delane and Miller think I’m taking a genealogy/DNA test to find out more about my mother, who I never knew.
“How can you eat that much sugar first thing in the morning?” Miller asks, watching Delane’s jaw work with a glint of envy in his eye. I bump my shoulder to his.
“Wishin’ you were a sour cherry ball?” I ask privately, then wink.
Miller looks shocked, his fiery hair a mess as he pulls at the ends. “What? No.” His response is private as well, which gives me the real answer to the question.
“Well,” I say, returning my focus to Delane. “Normally, yeah.”
Her head tips back slowly. “You greased the gears?”
I volley my head, considering her words. “I took the mail-in test kit to the lab in Willowdale and paid them two grand to run it. Said it would still be two days.”
Delane smacks her palm against the Plexiglass, making her phone and Earpods case rattle. “Two grand and you still have to wait two days?”
“Science doesn’t understand money,” Atticus deadpans before taking a sip of piping hot coffee from his paper cup. He drinks a fuck ton of coffee here at the shop but for whatever reason, refuses to buy a coffee pot and make it at home.
“There’s probably more sugar in your foo-foo coffee than in that tubs of balls,” Atticus adds, catching up on the conversation awkwardly like he always does. Miller lifts his own paper cup of coffee.
“It’s just milk and sugar, man.”
“So much fucking sugar,” Delane grins, popping another large red candy ball into her mouth. Miller sucks down a too-hot gulp of coffee and pretends not to notice how his eyes water painfully from the burn. Or maybe he’s just trying to be unaffected by Delane.
“If you use a higher milk fat percentage, it’ll taste creamier and you won’t need as much sugar,” Atticus explains to Miller.
The rest of their banter falls on deaf ears because all this talk about milk has me dreaming of Beck and our date tonight.
Considering it's our first date, I don’t expect to touch heranywhere. I don’t even want to. Okay, that’s bullshit. I want to discover every inch of that bangin’ hourglass body of hers with my tongue. But for now, that’s not the most important thing; I want her to know I want more than one date.
I want todateher.
Though the idea of closing my mouth around one of her heavy, milkful breasts has my lower half humming. I’ve never been with a woman who had big tits like hers. And even though I’ve never touched them or even had the cruel pleasure of grazing them with a hand or shoulder—I’m kind of obsessed.
I bet the skin along the underside is fucking smooth and soft. And before I can talk myself out of it, I envision her unclipping her bra, letting it tumble to the floor in silent anticipation. Her breasts, replete with milk, are so engorged that my mouth waters taking in the tiny puckered tips. She brings her hands to her breasts, rubbing herself gently and soothingly. When I reach down and palm my cock, she pinches her nubs, white bubbling at the surface a moment before streaming down around the luscious curves of her tits.
“Yo,” Atticus snaps me from my daydream, leaving me awkwardly looking my friend in the eye with a massive boner. Great.
“What?”