“Love you, too, big brother. Night.”
The call disconnects as I turn into my driveway. I cut the lights and engine, then stare at the tan-painted single-car garage door. Let my eyes lose focus as I watch tree limb shadows dance over the house. House, not home. The only way it would ever feel like a home is if I wasn’t alone.
In my mind’s eye, I pictured what having a home would be like. How two people blended their lives together and became one. Similar to Gavin and Cora. On so many levels, I envy my best friend. Not that his and Cora’s journey was an easy one. Life ripped them apart. Obstacles stood in their way. But they persevered. Because they wanted each other more than anything else.
I would kill for that type of love. Love that bulldozes walls and eviscerates loneliness. Love that pulls you in, wraps its arms around you, and never lets go. That crushes all insecurities and makes you feel safe in your vulnerability. That is the love I want.
But after the bullshit with Rochelle, letting another woman near my heart scares the shit out of me.
Without realizing it, Peyton has unintentionally wiggled her way in. Staked a claim on my heart. And fuck… here I am, handing it over. No resistance. No second-guessing. Just willingly plucking the scarred organ from my chest and presenting it to her, in the hopes she will know how to handle it.
Fuck.
I exit the truck, check the mailbox—then remember the mail doesn’t run today when I see the box empty—before I amble inside. I flip the kitchen light on, empty my pockets, and grab a beer from the fridge. I pop the cap, chuck it in the trash and take a long pull from the bottle. After flipping the light off, I snatch my phone from the counter and wander down the hall to my bedroom, bottle at my lips.
Plopping down on the mattress, I don’t bother with the light. It isn’t long before I polish off the beer, strip my clothes, set the phone on the charger, and slip under the covers.
Alone in bed, the silence is deafening. I close my eyes and images of Peyton flash behind my lids like an old movie reel. In the last two weeks, I had seen her smile more often than not. And her smile is magnificent. Like sunshine after the rain. Blinding, yet you can’t seem to look away. Marry that smile with her radiant violet eyes and golden hair, she rendered me speechless more often than not.
When had Peyton become such a fixture in my head? In every waking—and sleeping—thought I had?
For more than a year, we were at each other’s throats. The constant back and forth. Her yelling at me and vice versa. She did it out of disgust and a hatred for her high school bully. I did it because I loved to work her up, to ruffle her mane. Can’t speak for Peyton, but for me, taunting her is the best version of foreplay. A lead-up to where we are now.
Unfortunately, I have no clue where we go from here.
Do I really want another relationship? Dates and intimacy and late nights filled with laughter. Shared time and small tokens of appreciation. A voice buried deep in my psyche screams, “Yes, idiot. We want all those things.” But another voice—one closer to the battlefield, one more recent—speaks up and reminds me of what I went through last time I traveled down that road. “You’ll just end up here again. Hurt and alone.”
My eyes snap open and stare up at the ceiling I am all too familiar with. “No,” I whisper into the darkness. “Peyton and Rochelle are nothing alike.” Peyton would never hurt someone she cared about. Not after all the bullshit she has dealt with.
Question is, does Peyton care about me? On any level?
Without a second thought, I blindly reach for my phone on the nightstand. I squint at the screen and open up the messaging app. Before I stop myself, I tap on the text history with Peyton and type out a message. Seeing as she works at the ALF tomorrow, she probably won’t answer. But this can’t wait.
Micah: Is this too much?
I stare at the blue bubble on the screen. The word delivered beneath it. Then I lock my phone, toss it on the bed and press the heels of my palms to my eyes. “I’m a goddamn fool.”
The words are barely out of my mouth when the phone vibrates the bed. I pat the blanket until I locate the phone and see a text alert. From Peyton.
Peyton: Is what too much?
How do I translate my thoughts into simple terms? My brain knows the words, but my fingers forget how to type them. My lips forget how to say them. But I do my best to spell it out.
Micah: Me. Us. Hugging earlier.
I hit send and close my eyes. The text is ridiculous. It explains nothing and probably confuses her further. Why does my brain turn to mush whenever Peyton Alexander is in the mix?
Peyton: The hug threw me off. But I won’t lie and say I didn’t like it.
Peyton Alexander just admitted to liking my arms around her. My body pressed to hers. My lips near her skin.
Micah: I liked it too. More than expected.
Peyton: Oh yeah. How much more?
Is she flirting? Or does my bewildered brain have me misconstruing her message? It’s late and she is probably in bed, half asleep.
Micah: Enough that I still feel your heat on my skin.
Fuck. I slip a hand beneath the blanket and grip my hardening cock. Eyes on the screen, I take a deep breath as the dots dance inside the little gray bubble.
Peyton: Where do you feel it?
Fucking hell. Is this seriously happening? In five simple words, Peyton has me virtually on my knees, begging for relief. Without hesitation, I would worship her like no other.
Micah: You really want to know?