Page 41 of Dire Straights

Our trudge up the stairs was silent but once he’d tossed his bag onto the bed in the guest room and we were safely barricaded behind my closed bedroom door, Ren gave me an incredulous look.

“I can’tbelieveyou asked her how old she is,” he said, shaking his head at me.

“I know, I know,” I answered, rubbing my temples with my fingers. “It just came out. I’m an asshole.”

Ren looked sympathetic, but he didn’t disagree with me. “Well, maybe she’ll just forget if we’re nice to her for the rest of the night.”

I smiled, despite feeling like a huge jerk. His suggestion was just so sweetly innocent and blindly optimistic. It was so him.

Hooking my fingers into his t-shirt, I pulled him toward me, sliding my hands up into his hair as I kissed him. He made a little noise of surprise against my mouth, but didn’t back away.

“Are you sure we should be doing this here?” He asked when we had to breathe, glancing toward my closed door.

“The middle stair squeaks if someone tries to come up,” I said. When I tried to kiss him again, he dodged my mouth.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to go down to lunch with a boner. It’s kind of hard for me to hide it.” I glanced down between us, and he was already hard, the thick outline of his cock mostly visible through his shorts. I was too, but mine was a lot easier to tuck up into my waistband if needed. “I don’t want your dad’s girlfriendto see my dick,” he added, sounding somewhat terrified by that notion.

Groaning, I flopped down onto the bed. “Fine, fine. But you owe me tonight.”

“I owe you?” He repeated, sounding amused. “Maybe you owe me. You’re the one who got me all horny and now we can’t do anything.”

“Okay,” I agreed. Either way, I’d be getting what I wanted. “I owe you, then.” Throwing my arm over my forehead like a fainting princess from a cartoon, I sighed. “What kind of dirty, naughty favor are you going to force me to perform for you?”

He groaned, adjusting his dick in his shorts. “Come on, Maddy. I’m trying to make it go away.”

“I could make it go away,” I offered slyly, running my tongue over my bottom lip.

“Stop,” he whined, deliberately turning to face away from me. “You’re torturing me.”

In truth, I knew I looked good. I’d been hearing that most of my life, basically. And girls had never shied away from trying to get with me. But I’d never really relished having this kind of power over someone. Teasing Ren and turning him on and being sexy for him was like this new drug I’d only just found out about and couldn’t get enough of. And then getting each other off was yet another kind of addiction. Part of me wondered if he felt the same way about me, but I knew it wasn’t exactly a good time to ask.

Right on cue, the middle stair squeaked, followed by the sound of my dad pounding on the wall like he always did to alert us to come down.

“Lunch is ready,” he called out, before stepping back down.

“See!?” Ren said, sounding just anguished enough that I had to hold back a laugh.

“Just chill in here for a few minutes and calm down,” I advised him. “I’ll tell them you’re in the bathroom.”

“Oh, great.” He threw his hands up in frustration. “I’m so going to get you back for this.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared,” I murmured, making a kissy face at him as I strolled out, clicking the door shut behind me.

Once I’d made it down to the table and explained that Ren would be just a minute, I surveyed the lunch spread. Everything was arranged just perfectly so on the plates, and even garnished with little sprigs of herbs.

“This looks pretty fancy,” I commented.

“Missy’s an amazing cook,” my dad said, with obvious pride in his voice. I’d never heard him sound like that when talking about my mom. Was he actually really fond of this girl? Or maybe hehadfelt that way about my mom in the early years, before the stress of marriage and kids had gotten the best of them.

“Looks like it,” I said, giving her what I hoped was an encouraging smile. I wasn’t too good at portraying that particular emotion. “Are you a chef, or…?”

“Oh, not really,” she answered. “I just play around in the kitchen.”

“She’s being too humble,” he piped up. “Missy’s a very accomplished food blogger. She’s even won some web awards for her videos.”

“Wow, that’s impressive.” I could see this kind of food getting lots of likes on Instagram for sure.

“I made this recipe because your dad told me you’re so serious about your diet,” Missy added, increasing my guilt over the rude question. It also made me want to laugh. Sure, I mostly watched what I ate. I didn’t have a choice if I was swimming every day. But the pizza and soda I occasionally indulged in, a little more often since meeting Ren if I was being honest, kind ofbetrayed that wholeseriousidea. But she didn’t really know me. She only knew my dad’s vision of me.

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