Page 53 of Uncovered
“What did you say?” ask Booker.
“I told them all to go to hell and I got my ass out of there.”
Whit comes to stand next to me, puts his hand on my shoulder and offers a comforting pat. “Come out tonight. We’re going to the LAX house. Nothing major, just some drinks with some friends. You need to blow off some steam.”
“I can’t. Phoebe’s coming over.” Her name hangs in the air.
“Shit.” Whit winces. “You sure that’s a good idea? Look, I think she’s awesome, and she makes you happy. But tonight? Do you, you know? Need some distance?”
“What am I gonna say, Whit?Sorry, baby. I need to bail on our date so I can get shitfaced with my friends. I hope you understand. I realize you despise alcohol and partying in all its forms, but trust me, this is necessary. I spent the afternoon listening to my mom whine about how my brother is a victim. Oh, I never mentioned my brother? Yea. He killed yours.” My angry words punch the air, sarcasm dripping from them.
“Uh, no. Just tell her you’re not in a good place. Tell her you need a night with us. She’ll understand.”
Booker clears his throat. “Or, and I know this is an unpopular opinion, you could tell her the truth,” Booker volunteers, and we both look at him like he’s lost his damn mind. “Seriously. Definitely choose your words more carefully, but Ty, she deserves to know.”
“No fucking way. Not now. Not until she passes this class. She needs help and for some reason, she thinks I’m the only one qualified and available to give it to her. The one time I bailed and sent her to Katie? Disaster. I can’t quit on her now. And if she finds out? Jesus. She’ll lose her mind, and rightfully so. And she’ll be done. She’ll stop going to that class altogether, and I will not do that. I can’t take one more thing from her.”
I can tell Booker disagrees with me, but he nods in acquiescence, and that’s all I can ask.
The fight has gone out of me. Adrenaline is leaving my body and I slump into a chair at the table, picking at the sandwich Booker made. “When are you guys leaving? And where’s Knox?”
“We’re leaving as soon as Book puts some fucking clothes on. And Knox’s been pre-gaming at the LAX house for the last couple hours.”
I take a bite of the sandwich. My appetite is returning and the food is good. “Thanks for this,” I tell Whit as Booker takes the steps two at a time.
“Always. You sure you don’t want to join us?”
“Nah. Strange as it seems, I need Phoebe right now. It’s unfair as fuck, but she centers me, you know?”
“I can imagine,” he shrugs, “but I can’t relate. The only woman I really want to spend quality time with doesn’t center me. At all. She pisses me the hell off. And fuck me sideways, but I like it.”
“But lucky you, you’ll get to spend the rest of your life sitting across from her at holiday dinners,” I tell him.
“Yep,” Whit answers as Booker bounds back down the stairs wearing shorts and holding a clean hoodie. “In one month, three weeks, and 4 days, Lucy Alavarez will be my stepsister. Christ. You ready, Book? I need a damn drink.”
***
Phoebe is sprawled out on my bed. Her hoodie is somewhere on the floor, along with my t-shirt. Today’s bra is bright purple lace and I’m dying to know if her underwear matches. Her hair is down and it fans across my pillows. Tomorrow morning, my sheets will smell like her, and it will be sweet fucking torture. I lie alongside her, one hand tangled in her hair, the other toying with her left breast. I soothe the soft flesh there, then alternately tease her nipple, and it’s driving my girl crazy with need.
“Does that feel good, Phee?” I whisper as I move my hand lower, skimming across the soft, flat flesh of her belly and right to the waistband of her leggings. God bless this girl and her love of easy-access clothing. Her whimper spurs me on.
“Yes. Please,” she pants.
“More of this?” I ask, trailing that same hand lower, barely touching her cloth-covered center. She arches up, as if her body craves my touch.
“Can I touch you, Phoebe? Can I touch you here?”
“God, yes,” she tells me, shimmying out of her leggings. The lace of her underwear is a bright turquoise and I’m not surprised--my girl is not the matchy-matchy type. But she looks incredible. I skim my fingers along the thin, decorative ribbon that runs along the waistband of her panties. I take my time, dragging my fingers lazily, the touches getting just a bit firmer with each pass until she’s practically writhing in my arms.
“Please, Ty. You’re torturing me. Just--”
“Just what, Phee? What do you need, sweetness?”
She has no time for words. She takes my hand in hers and presses it against the lace--the very fucking wet lace--that covers her mound. “I need you to touch me, Ty. I need your hand here. Your fingers, God. I need your fingers inside me.”
Holy hell.
I slip my fingers down and slide her panties off. She spreads her legs wide, and god help me, but she’s beautiful. I tease the soft flesh of her folds, skimming my finger up and down her seam. She glistens for me, her arousal both evident and intoxicating. “Can I kiss you, Phee?”
