He’s filthy, just like he was the first time I met him. Now that I think of it, he was kinda dirty over the weekend, too.
My thighs tingle, and my pussy clenches as I get a flash of his finger in my ass and his tongue buried deep inside me as he feasted on me last night.
That’s how I’d describe it, too. He feasted.
I wanted it, too.
I’ve never wanted a tongue between my legs that bad. And he’s so good at it. Better than I imagined. AndI imagined.
“Hi,” I say, lifting my hand. His eyes flick to mine, face impassive, tone dry when he says, “What’s up,” then returns his gaze forward.
He’d literally rather stare at the side of Beck’s head than look me in the eyes? He had his thumb in my most private place, and now I’m getting “what's up?” like I’m a fucking bro?
Rage seethes inside me, but I know it’s because I’m still hot over my Mom. I’m in a bad headspace, and therefore, everything is heightened. I recognize this.
“Pass me a beer, please,” I say to Beau, pressing a hand to my forehead as I exhale the stress of the moment away. Atticus doesn’t have to look at me. Hell, he practically ran out of my apartment last night.
Whatever.
I got a job. Fuck Atticus. Fuck my Mom. I got a job, and we’re celebrating.
After my first drink, half my ale is gone. Beck blinks at me. “I heard some of that.”
“It was kind of hard not to since I was screaming like I was on an episode of Maury,” I say sarcastically as I drain the other half of the incredibly strong beer. I catch a hiccup with the back of my wrist. “Sorry.”
“No,” Beck says, keeping her eyes on me as she passes plates to both Beau and Atticus. She’s one of those multi-talented moms who knows what she’s doing without even looking. Jett’s certainly lucky. “Don’t apologize. I meant, I heard some of that, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry she’s still hassling you about the Brutes.”
Beau and Atticus freeze around the island, shredded lettuce falling from Beau’s pinched fingers and a drop of salsa splashing to the countertop from the spoon in Atticus’s hand. Beau knows something happened there, and I left, and that’s pretty much what I’d explained to Atticus too. And I trust Beck when she tells me she didn’t share what happened with Beau. She has no reason to lie.
“I got fired; it’s okay, don’t be weird,” I wave them off and get them to continue building their tacos. Tacos–the great unifier.
“And yeah, I’m sorry, too, because… she is clueless.” I wiggle my fingers on an outstretched arm, asking for another beer. Beck pops the cap on one and hands it to me. I take another long drink before continuing. I don’t check to see where Atticus’s focus is. Because I’m tired of not reading the signs, if you want me, you will make it known. Ignoring me tells me what I need to know, and I’m no longer playing the fool.
“If she really knew, the thing is, I don’t know that her response would be that much different, and that’s maybe why I’m already on beer two.”
Atticus and Beau finish their taco building and head to the table. I watch her internal battle, rolling her lips together as she puts Jett in his high chair, gaze unfocused. “You, um, may be mad at me about this, but… you know what you told me before? About wanting to start therapy?” she asks, keeping her voice private.
I nod. “You don’t have to whisper.”
She looks at me, puzzled. “You don’t care if Atticus and Beau hear or know?
I sigh. “I probably would have a month ago.” I take another swig of beer, finally feeling its effects, my angry demeanor softening. “But you know what? I’ve been pretending to be happy for so long, and pretending is what kept me from actually being happy.”
Beck raises her eyebrows. “Maybe you don’t need the therapy.”
Another swig. Another burp. “Well, Constance Berry has pumped me full of good content, so phoniness aside, I think therapy still suits me.”
She smiles as she passes a soft taco to Jett in the high chair. He begins ripping it to shreds, grabbing chubby fistfuls of cheese while excitedly bouncing in his chair.
A moment later, Beau is carrying the high chair to sit next to him, and Beck smiles fondly across the room at them. I watch Beau feed Jett bites of taco as I take another drink of beer. This ale is strong. My lips feel a little numb. And yet my stomach is still sour.
“I got the number of a great psychiatrist here in Oakcreek. Delilah’s family friend has been seeing him for years. His name is Dr. Longo.” She motions to the side of the fridge. “Take his card when you go.”
I didn't ask when she went to Delilah’s because I noticed the freshly baked rolls on the counter when I came in.
“Thanks, I will,” I tell her, and I plan to. A local therapist would be good for me.
Beck and I make plates and sit across from Beau and Atticus. There are rumblings from Atticus that he didn’t know it was a celebration dinner. He was doing a favor for Beau, and it ran late, and Beau promised him dinner in return.