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Chapter Six – Jess
As soon as I hang up from my call with Chris, I throw my phone on the couch and happy dance around my small living room. Careful to avoid some of the papers I hadn’t scooped up when Chris brought me home last night, I start belting out a song about walking on sunshine and shake my head as my arms and legs follow the beat. Chris said he had two left feet last night, but honestly, if he did, I didn’t notice because of all the chemistry between us.
I have never experienced a man being hard for me in public, nor have I experienced feeling completely worshiped like I did last night. The memory of the way Chris looked at me as he went down on me makes me clench all over again, and I flop down on the couch, squeezing my thighs together. I don’t want to get myself off. Not now, so soon after I had the best orgasms of my life. Don’t get me wrong; Paul, my ex who dumped me, was great in bed, but he’d never devoured me the way Chris had—like he couldn’t get enough of the way my pussy tasted. The way his gaze met mine as he lapped at my juices had to be the hottest thing I’ve experienced.
Well, until he literally picked me up like I was a bag of flour and positioned me over his cock…
Okay then, I need to get off this horn-train right now, or I will end up taking care of myself. I figure since I’m in such a good mood, I should stop in and see my parents. It’s always risky business visiting them. Ninety-eight percent of the time, I leave feeling pissed and frustrated, but with the way I’m feeling now, nothing can spoil my mood. I’m not gonna lie; when I put my number in Chris’s phone, I thought he was just being polite, so hearing he wanted to see me again was a pleasant surprise indeed. Even if I might have to wait a while. I guess that’s the thing with being a marine—you never know when you will be around.
Am I ready for that? To date a soldier, a man like Chris, who I can already tell is fiercely loyal?
Whoa, whoa, whoa, Jess. Calm the hell down, girl. You literally have only been on one date with the guy.Let’s not get ahead of yourself.
I sprint through the shower, energized by Chris’s call and the buzz I still have from last night’s sexcapades, and grab my keys. I don’t bother taking my purse—I don’t anticipate this being a long visit—and lock the door, walking down the path to my silver Toyota Camry. I’m kinda glad we drove to Halo with Wendy last night. If I’d had my car, I wouldn’t have needed the ride, and who knows if Chris and I would have hooked up. Honestly, I don’t think so since the guy is massive, and when I’d first chatted to him, he seemed like he was wishing I was anywhere but on the seat next to him. When Wendy ditched me, I was too frustrated to care if Chris wanted me next to him or not.
My parents are a couple of blocks away, so I arrive seven minutes later to see a moving truck outside their home. What the hell?
I pull alongside the curb so I don’t block the truck in and walk across the grass to the front door, dodging two guys carrying my grandma’s old grandfather clock. I always loved that clock. My mom inherited it when Grandma died of a stroke three months after my grandfather died in a horrible work accident. He was an electrician by trade and got electrocuted when his apprentice failed to switch off a circuit breaker. I missed them so much. As an only child with distant parents, losing them had taken away my sense of family. I’d lie in bed at night and listen to the clock chime the hours. It made me feel less alone.
I knock on the front door, waiting for one of my parents to let me in. My mother has a strict no-entry rule unless you’re actually invited into the house. It was a far cry from how all my friends lived. From visiting Wendy’s house, I knew my family was different. Wendy has two older sisters, both married with kids, and a brother off at college. I’d watch their family dynamic and know there was something very wrong at my house. Whenever her older siblings arrived home, they would all just barrel in, raid the fridge, and be completely at ease. Family dinners consisted of open conversations about their day, asking for advice, and confiding in each other. It wasn’t like that in my home.
Well… calling it a home was a stretch. In my house, I had to ask before eating anything, and when my parents were having a conversation, I was never allowed to join in. They still went by the “children should be seen and not heard” mantra.
“Jessica, what are you doing here?” My mother pushes back her hair, naturally the same color as mine but lightened by a L’Oréal color two shades too bright for her skin tone, and looks at me as if I’m intruding on her day.
“What’s going on? Are you moving?”
Two guys with a bunch of empty boxes wait behind me to enter the house. My mom reaches over and grabs me by the elbow, tugging me inside. “You’re blocking the doorway. Get out of the way.”
As I obey her, I look around my childhood home. Everything is in disarray, with boxes and bubble wrap all over the place. Men in royal blue overalls are packing my parent’s belongings with more care than my mother just used to handle me.
“Sugarcup,” my dad bellows as he enters the room. I take in his gray hair and worn face—his bulbous nose a dead giveaway that his number-one means of carb intake is through his beers—and he gives me a kiss on the cheek. “This is a nice surprise.”
“Dad, are you guys moving?”
“Sure are.”
“Where? Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”
My dad shoots Mom a look. “Your mother felt it best to tell you once everything was done and dusted. She didn’t want a fuss.”
A fuss? A fuss? “So what was the plan? Were you going to stick a note on the front door with your forwarding address?”
“What did I tell you, Jim? She always overreacts to everything. I’ve got the kitchen to pack.” My mother huffs and walks out of the room. I stare after her, shocked despite myself. This is unbelievable. Pain swells in my chest, and I blink back tears.
“Now, c’mon,” Dad says as he wraps an arm around me. Your mother means well. She’s just trying to save you from worry.”
“Worry about what? Dad, what’s going on?”
“Come on into the kitchen, and I’ll update you.”
I follow him. So much for the good mood.
He goes to the fridge and opens it. I look around; it’s nearly bare in here. About the only thing left is the small table with its light blue teapot tablecloth. Multiple cigarette burns, from when my parents have games nights with their friends and get drunk, dot the otherwise pretty—if somewhat cheesy—fabric.
“Beer?” Dad offers.
My eyes immediately flick to the wall clock. It’s a quarter to ten. “Dad, it’s not even ten in the morning.”
