Page 31 of Don't Speak
“Wha—” She’s cut off abruptly and squeals when I hoist her up, standing up from the couch.
“I said, wrap your legs around me.”
She hooks her legs tighter around me, and we’re still connected at the center. I walk with her to her bedroom, making my way into her bathroom. I gently set her on the counter before slowly pulling out of her, immediately missing her warmth. I grab her shorts by the band. “Lift,” I command. She lifts her hips just far enough so that I can slide her shorts and underwear off of her before setting her bare ass down on the sink counter.
I grab a washcloth from the towel rack and soak it under water before squeezing it out and returning to my position between her legs. “Open,” I demand, and she does, allowing meto clean her. “I have to say, seeing me inside of you is now one of my favorite sights.” She giggles, her eyes staring into mine with every move I make between her legs.
Once I’m satisfied that she is clean to my liking, I hand her some new clothes. I pull my pants up, fastening the zipper and button. She’s sliding on her shorts when she says, “With your apartment flooded, where are you going to stay?”
“There’s a hotel down the road from the bar, so I figured I’d get a room there.”
“That shitty old place?” She grimaces in disgust.
“Well, I don’t have any family here, baby. My options are limited.”
She frowns briefly and drops her gaze to the floor before her brows furrow as if she’s contemplating something. It only lasts a moment before she looks back up at me, biting her bottom lip. “You… could… stay here?” she offers, curling the ends of her hair in her fingers.
“You askin’ me to stay, baby?” I grin.
“Well… yeah,” she responds, still biting her bottom lip, only this time hiding a smile.
“Well, good. I was hoping you would. I have a bag already in my truck.” I’ve been keeping a bag in there tucked in the back seat on the off chance I found myself in this position.
“Well, then bring it inside.” She smiles.
I fetch my bag, bring it inside, and change into relaxing clothes. “Do you want to order a pizza?” I ask.
“Good god, yes, please. I’m starving. I’ll have a large pepperoni and add mushrooms, please.” She groans as if she can already taste it. I laugh, calling in the order to the nearest pizza place. When I’m off the phone, I return to the couch, where Nikki is already sitting, scrolling through a list of movies.
“Care to join me for a movie?” she asks, never taking her eyes off the TV.
“There’s nothing I’d love more,” I respond.
“Oh, I love this movie,” she says excitedly, hitting play and cuddling up to me with her blanket. It looks like an older movie. Something about a Goblin King and making it to the castle before time runs out. There are quite a fewinterestingcharacters. Just as our main character stumbles upon a little caterpillar, she looks up at me, and I look down at her. She hesitates for a moment, thoughts visibly swirling in her mind. She takes a few more moments before asking, “Tell me something about you, Dean. I feel like I told you so much about myself, but I don’t know anything about you. Where is your family? Mom? Dad?”
I feel the vulnerability in her voice. It’s quiet for a moment, my own thoughts swirling in my mind. I suppose there are some things I can tell her.
“Well, my dad left when I was eighteen. My mom went into a severe depression after that, and she never quite pulled herself out of it. She drank all the time, often intoxicated on a daily basis. She was able to take care of my sister for the first six years of her life before I had to check in on them daily to ensure she was okay. My mother still resides in my childhood home. I haven’t talked to her in six years. My sister…” I trail off, the pain of her loss simmering at the surface. It still feels as fresh as the day it happened. “My sister passed away when she was 14.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry, Dean.”
I glance at her and smile, not quite reaching my eyes. “Thanks, baby. But it was a long time ago.”
She looks at me like she wants to ask another question, but there’s a knock on the door, ending the conversation. I walk over to the door and open it to find the pizza delivery guy standing before me. He hands me the goods, and I tip him before he’s on his way.
I return to the living room, setting the pizza box on the table in front of the couch. She settles between my legs as we eat slice after slice, enjoying the food and movie. One of the characters is currently in a very smelly bog, it looks like.
Just as we’re finishing up the pizza, her phone rings, and my heart drops at the reminder of what I did earlier. Not because of what I had to do, but because our perfect night is about to be soiled with bad news. She looks down at the Caller ID and says, “Hmm. I wonder why Sarah is calling me so late.” She hits the green button and puts it on speaker. “Hello?”
“Nikki, oh thank god I got a hold of you,” she says, frantically crying.
“Sarah, what is it? What’s wrong?” Nikki asks, her alarm bells ringing based on Sarah’s tone and the emotion in her voice.
“It’s Ben. He’s dead, Nikki.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“It’s Ben. He’s dead, Nikki.” The words ring in my head as her wails pierce my ears.
