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“Oh, that’s fine, I just wanted to make sure you got home safe. Anything you want from the store?”
“Um, blueberry Eggos.”
“Can’t go wrong with those.” It sounded like her mom left after saying, “Be back in a bit.”
Charlie waited by the door, and then she left the room, I assume to make sure her parents actually left the house. A few minutes later, she came back to her room and said, “They’re gone. You can come out now.”
Now, you’d think, after being stuck beneath that bed for so long, I wouldn’t have done what I did next, but you’d be wrong.
I tried to sit up.
Yeah, yeah. I tried to sit up while still underneath the fucking bed, which meant I hit my head on the metal framing beneath the box spring. “Fuck,” I whispered as I grimaced, reminding myself to lay as flat as I could while shimmying out.
By the time I crawled out, Charlie was standing next to the bed, a worried look on her face. “Are you okay?” she asked, studying me intently. “Did you hit your head?” I was on my knees, about to stand now that I was free from that claustrophobic space, but she decided right then would be a good time to reach out and touch my forehead, right where I’d hit it.
I had to stop myself from sucking in a breath when those fingers touched me. I also had to stop myself from closing my eyes and losing myself to the soft, tender touch.
“That might bruise,” she told me.
“Yeah, I think I’ll be fine,” I said once I managed to regain control of myself. I got to my feet, which made her hand fall back to her side.
Hey, at least she wasn’t touching me anymore. After that dream, with cum staining my fucking underwear, the last thing I needed was for her to get all handsy with me.
“Okay, um. You can shower. I’m going to go eat something.”
“Great. Have fun.” At least I could wash off my fucking dick.
I walked around her, needing to get to the bathroom as quickly as possible, but Charlie stopped me by asking, “Are you okay, Brett? You seem… I don’t know, upset this morning. Are you mad that I asked you to stay?”
I stopped near her door, and I tossed a glance over my shoulder at her. Something in my chest tightened as I looked at her, and the memory of that dream was so vivid it hurt. This girl was a means to an end, nothing more. I was using her, and she was using me. A mutual taking advantage of.
“No,” I eventually told her. “I just had a bad dream.”
“A nightmare? I didn’t know serial killers had nightmares.”
“It wasn’t a nightmare.” I didn’t say anything else as I walked away from her, heading across the hall to the bathroom and shutting myself inside.
No, it wasn’t a goddamned nightmare, because it wasn’t a bad dream. That had been a lie, because I sure as fuck couldn’t tell her that I’d dreamed of crawling on top of her and making her mine. And no way would I ever tell her that the dream had gotten me so worked up I’d literally come in my pants, without the use of a hand or anything. Spontaneous ejaculation.
I couldn’t tell her any of that. If she knew the truth, she might turn those big brown eyes on me in real life and give me the same look her dream self had given me… and then I’d be lost.
Chapter Sixteen – Charlie
Brett was moody all weekend, and I didn’t know why. Maybe it was because of everything that happened Friday night. The kiss, the almost second kiss, the call from my stalker, and then me asking him to sleep in my bedroom that night because I didn’t want to be alone. I supposed it was a little much, although I would argue that most of it was his fault.
The kiss and almost second kiss, anyway. The stalker and the rest was all on me.
But, back to the kiss and almost kiss… I was trying to act like everything was fine. Everything was normal. I didn’t kiss a serial killer and definitely didn’t want to kiss him again. I acted like I had no clue what his lips felt like on mine.
Let’s just say it was harder than I thought it would be, especially with how moody he was afterward.
I bet he regretted it. I bet he wished he wouldn’t have done all that in front of Zak. And the almost kiss near the treehouse—the only way I could explain that away was the adrenaline pumping through both our systems after the confrontation with Zak and our little argument about it.
I mean, it was clear he didn’t like me that way. He’d said multiple times I wasn’t his type, and I didn’t think he’d say it if he didn’t mean it. Brett didn’t seem like the type of guy who ever sugarcoated anything.
I went out, bought more hair dye for him—I’d have to wake up early Monday morning to help him re-dye it—and I basically struggled the rest of Saturday and Sunday to keep the guy off my mind.
Obviously it didn’t work. Brett took up all the space in my head, whether I wanted him to or not.
