Page 20 of The Last Key
If it feels that good imagining her, what would it feel like to be with her?
Don’t.
There’s no time for another hard-on right now.
Getting on with it, I finish my shower, get dressed, and head downstairs.
“Hey,” she says, as I walk into the kitchen and plop down on a stool. “Breakfast sandwiches are almost done. Are you… okay?”
Is she asking me if I fucked my hand?
Pretending I don’t know what she’s talking about, I ask, “Okay?”
“Yeah. I thought I heard you calling for me. I was worried maybe you needed something.” She says it with such a straight face, she has to know. She’s not that fucking innocent. Especially after what I heard yesterday. She knows.
She turns around and flips the eggs in the pan.
How do I answer that?
Yes. I needed you against the shower wall, water beating down on us as I fucked you from behind.
Then I smile, and I take a page out of her playbook. “No. I was just singing.”
She’s in the middle of flipping one of the eggs when I say it and she nearly drops it and the spatula. I’m wearing a cocky smile when she spins back to look at me, eyes wide.
“Singing?” she chokes out.
“Yeah. I guess we both likesingingin the shower.”
Her eyes are massive and locked on me.
Still grinning, I hop off the stool, stroll around the counter, and flick the burneroff, then croon the titular lines from Brett Young’sIn Case You Didn’t Know.
Maybe it’s a little heavy-handed, but I do like the song.
She continues gaping at me until the toaster oven beeps. Then she turns her attention to getting the bagels out, buttering them, and assembling the sandwiches.
When she finishes adding the eggs, she turns and shoves a plate in my hand, then says,“Not Like I’m in Love With You.”
Now I’m staring at her with wide eyes.
She smiles devilishly. “It’s a song by Lauren Weintraub. My shower go-to.”
She turns and flits past me, plate in hand, and sits down at the island.
Damn, she’s good.
“That should be fine.I’ll be here anyway, so I can?—”
“Relax and enjoy yourself,” Gladys says sternly. “It’s your high school reunion. Youwillenjoy yourself.”
I’m sitting next to her at the check-in desk, talking through the details of the reunion next weekend. While our senior class president is in charge of the planning and logistics, since we’re holding the reunion here, we have to oversee the details.
Although, apparently, I’m not allowed to help.
“I know it’s my reunion, but?—”
“No buts. All you are going to worry about is having fun. Especially if it’s with a certain sweet brown-haired girl.”
