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“You’re not going to win this time,” I tell him through gritted teeth.
“You’re gonna go first.”
“Bear,” he sighs in my ear, his voice having just the right timbre, the right amount of love and cadence that I jerk my hand once up my shaft and spill over my hand, a strangled noise bursting from my throat as my hips buck, knocking against the sink. I try to curb it so he doesn’t hear, but he hears it anyways, chuckling deeply as he listens to me finish.
“How the hell do you always win?” I snap at him, leaning over to catch my breath, my hand sticky and warm. “You totally cheat, don’t you?”
“Jerked off before I called you,” he says, laughing louder now.
“That doesn’t count!”
“Otter, nine. Bear, zero.”
“I’m going to get you back, you know.”
“Really?” he says, sounding way more interested than he probably should, given what we just did. “And what would that entail?”
“Oh, you’ll find out,” I promise him, a sneer on my lips. “And you’re going to regret ever trying to fuck with me.”
“Jesus.” He sounds like he’s squirming. “You know how much I fucking love you, Papa Bear?”
I do. But I’m an ass. “How much?”
“More than anything,” he says softly.
So not fair. “I love you too,” I mumble back, ignoring the blushing Bear in the mirror.
“Wanna go again?”
My phone beeps. Another call coming in. I glance down at the screen.
“Shit, I gotta take this. It’s Erica.”
He sobers instantly. “I thought we weren’t supposed to hear from her until next week?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“What if….” I don’t know how I’m going to finish that, but somehow Otter knows what I’m trying to say.
“You answer it, Bear. Answer it, listen to what she has to say, and then call me back. It’s going to be fine. You’ll see. She probably has some good news.” Otter, the eternal optimist.
“When can you come home?” I ask him, hating how I sound, but suddenly needing the big guy here with me, to protect me from what, I don’t know. It’s strange to think how fiercely independent I used to be before I traveled to the safer lands of Codependency. I was never one for middle ground, it seems, as I’ve gone from one extreme to the other. But it has to do with the fact that I know Erica doesn’t call early. She’s a stickler for a set schedule. If she said she would call next week, then that’s when she was going to call. Something had obviously happened. It’s the only reason she’d call before she was supposed to.
“Talk to her,” he tells me gently. “Then call me back, and if you need me, I’ll come running. You got me?”
“I got you.” I clicked over. “Hello?”
“Derrick, it’s good to talk to you again,” Erica says, in that tone of voice that says she doesn’t have time for bullshit. Strangely, she’s one of the few people in my life that I make an active attempt to keep my mouth shut around. “How’s things?”
She’s not really asking to get a response, just out of politeness. One might think that she comes across as kind of a bitch, but I suppose you have to sound like that if you’re going to be a lawyer.
“Good,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “You weren’t supposed to call until next week.”
“Are you freaking out?” She sounds amused. Okay, maybe she is a bitch.
“Should I be?”
“You are, aren’t you? You’re totally freaking.”
