He lets out this growl, but before he can come at me again, I put my hand down his jeans and start rubbing him, making him pant, his body going rigid as I grip onto him and move my hand up and down.
“Dammit, Violet,” he moans in my ear, nipping at my skin, teeth piercing the skin and making those butterflies flutter in my stomach again. Huh? I guess it wasn’t the jager and vodka.
With his body over mine, his arms struggling to hold up his weight, I stroke him, not even sure what the hell I’m doing, but just going with it. No disgust. No shame. Just want. So much want.
I think he’s about to reach the edge and I’m smiling to myself because technically I sort of won, at least in my head. But then someone knocks on the door and my hand instinctively pauses and Luke lets out a groan in protest.
“Luke we gotta go!” His uncle hollers, pounding on the door again. “Or else we’re going to be late and they won’t let us in tonight.”
“Just a second!” Luke shouts back, sounding pissed. His eyes shut and he presses his face to the crook of my neck as he grips onto the blanket, trying to calm himself down.
“Not just a second!” His uncle bangs on the door repeatedly. “We’re already pushing our luck!”
Shaking his head, Luke grinds his hips against my hand one more time. “I’m going to fucking hurt him for this,” he mutters. Then with another grunt of protest, he pushes away from me. My hand leaves his jeans and he adjusts himself as he sits up, looking like he’s in pain.
“You okay?” I’m trying not to laugh, but it’s difficult.
He narrows his eyes at me. “You think this is funny?” he asks, then slants toward me with a dark, hungry look on his face. I think he’s going to kiss me, but then he says in a husky voice, “Just wait until I get back. I’m winning the next one.” With that, he gets up, grabs his wallet from the nightstand, and tucks it into the back pocket of his jeans, looking pretty pleased with himself.
I roll onto my stomach and rest my chin in my hands as I stare at him. “You’re really going to leave me here?”
“Well, I don’t really have a choice anymore,” he says, gripping the doorknob as Cole continues to knock on the door from the other side, chewing Luke out. “I have to go now, but I probably wouldn’t have let you go anyway.”
I give him a dirty look. “Let me go? Seriously? What is this? 1950?”
“No, I just care about you too much.”
I get out of bed and cross the room to him, noting he looks a little pale again. I saw him give himself another injection this morning, so hopefully it’ll help with his paleness and exhaustion. I don’t know enough about diabetes though to know for sure. I’m starting to worry more and more though. I’ve seen him so drunk once that he needed my help checking his blood sugar and giving him pills.
“Fine, I’ll let you make me stay here,” I say, which gets him to smile. “Now go win big.” I press my lips to his, giving him a quick kiss, then pat his ass. “That is how they do it on the football field, right?”
He shakes his head, trying not to laugh at me. “Please stay out of trouble,” he says as he turns the doorknob.
Rolling my eyes, I give him a salute. “Yes, boss.”
A thoughtful look rises on his face. “You should start calling me that more. I like it,” he says and as I shake my head, and playfully pinch his side. He laughs and opens the door all the way.
Cole is standing there with his arms folded, looking annoyed, mad, and drunk, amongst other things. “I know I seem cool and everything,” he says to Luke sternly. “But not with this. If I get you connections, you better follow through or else I’ll drop you.”
I can tell it irks Luke, and he probably has to bite his tongue really hard to stay calm. “Well, I’m ready now, so lets get going.”
Cole glares at him then glances over his shoulder at me. “Ryler’s staying if you want to go hangout downstairs with him.”
I nod while Luke scowls at Cole. “I’ll get dressed and head down.” Then I wave at Luke and shut the door before he can freak out more.
I get dressed in a tank top and jeans, wishing I’d brought shorts, but didn’t think it’d be this hot. Then I go downstairs to see if I can stomach any sort of food. I haven’t had too many hangovers in my life, but I’m learning quickly that it makes my stomach super queasy.
When I get downstairs, Ryler is sitting at the kitchen table, eating a sandwich, music playing in the background as he plays a game of solitaire. He seems really into it, twisting around one of his eyebrow piercings, lost in deep thought. When he notices me, he fights back a grin. Feeling better?
I sigh and make my way over to the table. “Yeah, sorry about last night. I get a little intense when I’m drunk.”
You were fine. He flips a card over and then studies his next move. Amusing more than anything.
“Well, I’m glad you think so,” I say, then point to his plate. “Mind if I make one for myself?”
He nods, setting the cards aside and getting up. I’ll make you one.
I shake my head and motion for him to sit back down. “Thanks, but I’m good.” I open the fridge. “I’m totally self-sufficient.”
Yeah, I can kind of see that. He picks up the deck, but then looks like he wants to tell me something as I get out the mayo, lunchmeat, and cheese. Finally, he puts the deck of cards back down. So how did you learn sign language? I tense and he must see it to because he adds, You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.
“No, it’s okay… I guess.” I grab some bread from the loaf on the counter and a paper plate. “I learned it from one of my foster brothers.” I don’t look at him, not wanting to see his face when I reveal that I’m parentless, and keep my attention on making my sandwich. Mayo on bread, meat, cheese, topped off with more bread and done. When I finally turn around with the sandwich in my hand, I discover he’s staring at me.
And then his hands move in front of him. I grew up in foster homes too.
I’m in mid-bite and it’s a good excuse not to respond right away, but really I’m trying to pull myself together. This is a heavy subject, which I don’t like to talk about—my time spent being passed between families. “How come?” I finally ask after I swallow the bite and sit down at the table.
Parents couldn’t take care of me. It’s signed so casually but I can see the pain emitting from his eyes.
“But you’re with your dad now?” I pick some of the crust off the bread.
I know, but he didn’t want me until I was eighteen and could pretty much take care of myself.
I feel bad for him. I lost my parents and was forced to live with other people. Ryler’s parents gave him away by choice. “What about your mom?”
He shrugs. Lets just say she was never ready to be a mom… then again, quite honestly, I still don’t think my dad even is ready to be a parent right now. He acts like a kid sometimes and is hard to trust… sometimes I feel like the parent. He pauses, shaking his head at his own thoughts. What about you? Where are your parents?
I hesitate. God, how the hell did I end up in this conversation? “They died when I was five…” My voice cracks and I clear my throat.