Page 24 of Cross + Catherine: The Companion

He didn’t make it a regular thing.

“I don’t want to think or feel anything at all,” Cross said.

The guy nodded. “Yeah, it’s good for that, too.”

That was all Cross needed to hear. He snagged the joint, and took the first drag. He didn’t cough or choke, and instead, chased the smoke back with another drink of burning whiskey.

Numbness was the goal.

He needed it.

Something shifted beside Cross, and his drug and drink induced brain was slow to react. He should have been down for the count—a foggy memory of Zeke pulling him off the couch and guiding him to the bedroom lingered in the back of his mind.

Wasn’t he in bed?

Soft.

Warm.

Comfortable.

Yeah, he was definitely in bed.

Another shift beside him, and Cross finally opened his eyes. He glanced over; his vision still swam with a high and drunk that had not quite let him go, yet. He couldn’t have been in bed for very long. He could still hear the party going on outside the bedroom.

Music.

People laughing.

Someone shouting.

All those thoughts registered to Cross first, and the woman staring at him registered second. He stared at her for a long while wondering what in the hell she was doing in the bedroom with him. He felt her hands first—gliding over his bare chest, and then beneath his boxer-briefs.

Zeke had made him get undressed.

Puke on your clothes, man.

“What the—”

“Hey,” the girl said.

Then, she was on him.

Cross barely even got a word in, or understood what happened, and the chick was in his lap, and looking down at him. Her hands stroked his dick, and because he couldn’t control the reaction of his body when somebody just rubbed on him enough, he hardened.

“Like that, do you?”

No.

She was pretty enough, sure.

Blonde.

Brown-eyed.

Not Catherine.

All things that worked in her favor.