“Such a handsome boy,” I coo at Captain Jack as I finish pouring his feed. He struts over to the little bowl and pecks at it happily. I have to admit that B set up a pretty cute little cozy nest for him.
I leave the shed, wiping my hands on my pants and walk back toward the cabin when something silver on the ground catches my eye—a gum wrapper. I stare it at, my stomach turning and glance around.
Nothing in the forest moves.
I pick it up, and the smell of cinnamon makes my mouth water. Dennis used to chew cinnamon gum. I gag, ball it up, and toss it into the fire pit. I hate that something so small is so triggering. It’s like the bastard is always following me. Haunting me.
I shudder, walk inside, and remove my coat and shoes. The guys are still in the kitchen talking quietly. I take a seat at the counter to finish my food, but my appetite is gone. I push away the barely eaten sandwich, and Seb frowns. B looks at me hopefully, and I nod. He grabs it, takes a huge bite, and finishes it off quickly.
Seb shakes his head, stacks our plates, and takes them to the sink. He starts to warm water, but B stops him with a gentle hand on his forearm.
“We’ll do that. You cooked.”
Seb’s eyes soften, and he acquiesces, stepping back and handing B the dish towel. My heart flutters at their interaction.
Seb wanders over to his laptop and sits down with an audible sigh. I roll up my sleeves and start washing plates while B dries them. Seb’s clacking keyboard is the only sound for a while, and my intrusive thoughts about my psycho stepdad start bouncing around in my head again, making my heart race erratically.
He’s coming. He’ll always find you.
His heavy footfalls. The smell of old food in his mustache. His bony fingers gripping my skin. The drawl of his accent.
Fuck. Stop thinking about him.
B looks at my shaking hands, which have been scrubbing the same spot on the last plate incessantly. His fingers graze my hip as he walks toward the tape deck and punches the Play button. He gives me a lopsided grin and turns the volume knob. Brantley was over the moon when we found the soundtrack fromRomeo + Julietearlier this week, so I’m not surprised when Garbage’s “#1 Crush” sounds over the staticky speaker, filling the space with a gritty riff.
My thoughts snap back to the present and I breathe out a shaky sigh of relief. I place the last plate on the counter, turning to face B as he waltzes toward me and grabs my hand, spinning me into his chest. His hips sway seductively as he grinds into my lower back, and it reminds me of college when dirty dancing at parties was a form of foreplay.
I giggle and melt into him, matching his rhythm. The distraction feels good. B guides my body in a circle until we’re facing Seb. He’s leaning back in his chair with his legs thrownwide as he watches us with hooded eyes, his work clearly forgotten.
I give him a sly smirk and hold out my hand.
Seb shakes his head. “I’m not really a dancer.”
I shrug. “Suit yourself.”
One of B’s hands skates down my side, grazing the curve of my breast. I shiver, running my hands through my hair, which is starting to stick to my neck as sweat erupts all over my skin.
I turn in Brantley’s arms, my taut nipples grazing the planes of his chest through the thin cotton of our shirts. I twist my hips, my core pressing into B’s quickly hardening erection, and he groans, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Jesus, this is hot. It’s so intense—like the old days, before…
As the song fades, it’s like a bubble bursts. We stop, panting heavily, our eyes dilated as we stare at each other.
“Sorry,” Brantley says with an easy smile. “I was just trying to distract you.”
“It worked,” I croak. “I need some water.” I stumble away from B, grab a cup, fill it, and chug down the cool liquid. B stops the tape, and in the awkward silence, my swallowing sounds so loud.
Seb clears his throat, and I catch him adjusting himself under the table. “What was the book from earlier? I could hear you reading it through the door.” I feel like he’s trying to break the tension. “It was a good distraction. For me, at least.”
“The Sword of Shannara.” B walks over to the bathroom door where the book still sits with our bowl of discarded cereal and picks it up.
I’ma few more chapters in, sitting next to B on the soft shag carpet in front of the fireplace with our backs to one of the love seats. Seb is lying on the floor in front of the fireplace, his armbent behind his head and his legs thrown across our laps. Every so often, his soft wool socks graze the underside of my tricep. When B starts rubbing his foot with mine, I slam the book shut.
I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my hormones, which are already on high alert, thanks to B’s impromptu dance party earlier. I take a sip of my tea.
For a moment, all I hear is the fire crackling mingling with a lazy Counting Crows tune.
Seb lifts his head. “Why did you stop?”
