Page 63 of Yours Truly

Again, my cock aches and I let a quiet groan free. “Fuck,” I whisper, my heart racing. She makes her way to me in long strides.

“Hey, Firecracker.” I smile, slipping out of the booth to stand until she sits too.

Dropping her purse into the booth, she eyes me cautiously. She’s got blue cat eye liner on today, and it’s hot as fuck. Blue cat eyes, black lips, her gauges switched to black. My caged dick howls for her. “You stood for me,” she comments, sliding into the booth.

“I didn’t know I was gonna do that,” I admit, sitting again. “But it felt right. With you.” She stares at me as she plucks a sweet potato fry from the plate. “You want to roll your eyes at me, don’t you?” I smirk.

Another fry, followed by a sip of water. “Kinda.” And then I’m blessed with a smirk, the sassy one I’ve recently been thinking about in the shower when my hand is wrapped around my cage.

I stare down at my plate of food, unable to eat anything with so many unsaid things between us.

“I’m sorry,” I admit, and as soon as I say it, make the admission, my chest lightens. I don’t apologize often, and definitely not enough, but it feels good. I am sorry, and telling her feels like a massive leap in the right direction.

My greasy burger with crispy bacon poking out looks more appetizing. “I’m very sorry, Ivy.”

She takes a bite of her chicken sandwich and the blob of special sauce at the corner of her mouth makes my balls pulse. God, I’d love to lick that sauce from her lips then cram my cock into her mouth.

“You’re sorry because you want the key back,” she says around a mouthful of sandwich.

“You talk with your mouth full, huh?” I tease her but I like it. I like how comfortable she is, and nothing is disingenuous either.

“Need I remind you that you passed out naked? Because talking with my mouth full,” she says, making an apothecary scale with her palms. “Versus having my genitals out in public.” The hand representing my naked penis sinks. She grabs her sandwich and takes another bite. “You really aren’t in a position of judgment.”

I can’t help but smile. “I wasn’t judging, I guess I just commented because I knew it would get under your skin, and I love seeing you riled up.”

She rolls her eyes. “I thought you were apologizing.”

My first instinct is to argue that I did, but I know there’s more to be discussed. I clear my throat. “I am.” I hold her eyes, hoping she feels my sincerity. I’ve never been more sincere. And that has my stomach tight and my palms sweaty. “I’m sorry, Ivy. I’m sorry for lying because what you overheard me saying to Deuce was absolutely a lie.”

Her lips part and her hands, clutching half of her chicken sandwich, stay steady over her plate. “It was?”

I nod. “It was a lie. Because lies, for me, are easier than the truth. Alcohol and women have been another way to avoid the truth.”

She sets her sandwich down and waves Lucy off as she appears with a pitcher of water, asking about refills. “What’s the truth then?”

“Mr. Calhoun,” a voice interrupts us, someone approaching from behind me. Ivy’s eyes lift to the person approaching, and a smile curls her lips.

“Hey, Dash,” she says. A moment later, a police officer appears, his uniform pressed, his hair neatly styled, one hand resting on his belt, the other tipping his shades up.

He says hello to Ivy then turns to me. “I hardly recognized you with your clothes,” he grins.

Ivy leans over the table, lowering her voice so other patrons don’t hear. “Dash came to Ink Time two nights ago when the— well, you know what happened.”

I shrug. “Deuce told me but I didn’t watch the footage.” I wipe my hand on the paper napkin draped over my thigh and extend mine to his. He looks at my hand. “Thank you for your help. I was in a bad state, and I appreciate as a new citizen of Bluebell knowing law enforcement is solid.”

Dash looks a bit startled by my words and just like standing when Ivy walked in, I’m a little surprised, too. But I mean every word. He came and helped and while yes, cops should always help, I’ve known some bad ones. In fact, in the next town over in Willowdale, I’ve met a few unhinged ones.

I know they’re just people, and the badge doesn’t automatically make them good. But Dash was good to Ivy, and Ink Time, and therefore, I like him.

“And by the way,” I add, while I still have them both in stunned silence, “Calhoun is my middle name. It’s what I went by on the show because… well, they liked it better. But… I’m going by my real name now.” I extend my hand again, for another shake. “Trace Wade.”

Dash shakes my hand again, this time smiling. “Trace Wade,” he repeats. “Good to meet you.”

“You, too.”

Dash looks at Ivy, and it gives me a moment to read his nameplate. FOSTER. It’s important to take note of the people around me that matter. That’s the recipe for laying roots.

They talk a little while I catch up on my burger. There is talk of Juniper, Ivy’s older sister, and her jam delivery. Dash asks about getting an appointment with her to get some new ink, he compliments me on my boots, then he’s gone.

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