Page 63 of Make Me Dream of You

With one eye open, I check my phone. It’s almost nine in the morning. And I have a message from Angel, from only a few minutes ago. I grin.

ANG3L:

Maybe…we should meet?

Holy shit.

2Horned:

Tell me when

I can’t tell if the speed of my pulse is from excitement or anxiety at the thought. The three little black dots pop up.

ANG3L:

I’ll be out of town next week over the Fourth of July weekend (it’s also my birthday) so maybe after that?

2Horned:

I’m going out of town next weekend, too

so that works for me

Also, happy birthday! 22, right?

It’s kind of a crazy coincidence, Livvy’s birthday is over that weekend as well. It’s on the fourth, actually. That’s probably not a very common birthday. I ignore the urge to ask Angel which day is hers—I don’t want to push for too many specifics too soon.

ANG3L:

Yes! Thank you

I walk downstairs to the scent of bread filling the apartment. Wood is in full-apron mode, oven mitts on both hands as he pulls two loaves of bread out of the oven to join the—Jesus Christ—five other loaves on the counter.

“That’s a lot of bread.”

Wood smiles, wiping some flour off his forehead with the back of his arm. “I’ve been baking since five-thirty. It relaxes me. There’s sourdough, wheat, rye, banana bread, banana bread with chocolate chips, zucchini bread, and a cinnamon swirl loaf. Be careful, that one’s hot.”

“Wow, it smells so good out here.” Livvy comes out, a sleepy look still in her eyes, her light brown hair tousled, barefaced, the tiny freckles across her nose more visible than usual.

She’s wearing my T-shirt again.

“Thanks.” Wood beams. “I just got the urge. Takes my mind off stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

Wood looks at her with his lopsided grin but his eyes dodgy. “Um…just stuff and things. Here, let me get you some.”

As he’s slicing each loaf of bread, Livvy and my eyes meet.

She instantly flushes and my cheeks start burning as well as memories of last night come flooding back. Not only because of what she saw me doing last night in the loft, but also because of what I did after.

I got off with Angel, that wasn’t new, and the picture she’d sent had me going immediately. It was hot, it was perfect, just like I knew she would be.

But then I’d found myself thinking about Livvy. How she looks in her little white shorts and tank top. How the tips of her nipples clearly strain against the thin fabric when they’re hard. How her pouty lips were parted, and she let out a little gasp when she saw me with my cock in my hand.

My cock had throbbed when I saw her watching me. Looking at me, looking at it. I’d wanted her to stay. The words were dancing around my tongue. Don’t go. Come here.

Of course, I didn’t say that. And after she’d left, I’d tried to focus on Angel. On her words. On her picture. But since I don’t know what her face looks like, my brain kept filling in the gaps—with Livvy. Livvy’s face was on that body. And then it was Livvy’s naked body under mine. Her scent. Her moans.

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