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“All you need is practice,” he murmurs before his lips cover mine.
The heat from his body instantly whips mine into a frenzy. I grip his shirt to keep from swaying as the ground slips and slides under me. Lost in my intense lust, I’m shocked people can walk around feeling like this all the time.
When Ike’s lips leave mine, he studies my reaction. I smile at his concern.
“More, please,” I whisper, already addicted.
His tender smile says what words can’t.The magic between us didn’t die in the woods.
IKE, AKA BIG BRAIN STRUGGLING WITH LITTLE BRAIN
Oana’s a differentchick when we return to the hotel. Not only with her appearance after she switches into a Def Leppard T-shirt, a pair of flared-bottom jeans, and black-and-white canvas sneakers. She also moves differently. Struts, I guess.
We grab bathroom items like deodorant and toothbrushes before picking up snacks. I also buy her a black, short half helmet like mine.
I somehow manage to shove all our crap into my hog’s storage, though the chips get crushed. Oana likely won’t notice since she’s never eaten Doritos before.
At the hotel, she walks with a new bounce in her step. I notice the bitch at the front desk gives her a different look. Yep, just like that, Oana is no longer the weirdo. She suddenly has value.
Oana doesn’t react to the way people look at her. She’s probably used to the gawking.
Of course, our families are the real threat to Oana’s self-esteem. I’ve been avoiding my family’s texts since I fled with my dream girl. Now, as the sun goes down on our day and we heat Hot Pockets, I use the excuse of getting ice to check my messages.
In the hallway, I look over the several dozen texts from my family.
“Son, where did you run off to?” Pa-Donovan asks, sounding more worried than upset. “Let’s talk.”
Ma-Journey texts, “Don’t marry the wacko! Even if she’s knocked up, just wait!!!!”
“Ignore your mother’s evil words,” texts Auntie Justice, who was clearly messing with her older sister at the time. “Babies shouldn’t be born in sin. You should marry the wacko.”
I can imagine the blonde sisters shoving each other, full of irritation and maybe a little good-natured fun.
“Son, before you do anything rash, call me,” Pa-Donovan adds later.
“What the fuck are you doing?!?!!!!” my sister, Edith, texts seven times before adding, “Please don’t ruin your life.”
