Page 13 of Bring You Back

“They can,” she insists. “It happened to my mom.”

My grin fades to mock concern. “Oh. Damn. Should I send flowers?”

Reyna scoffs a laugh and smacks my arm right as I realize the implications of what I just said. You send flowers to dead things, to people left living. I’ve come to the conclusion that Camille isn’t going to wash away, not tonight. So I stop trying, and rub my arm with a laugh at the girl Iwantto be thinking about.

“Get in. I’ll take you home.”

She pushes off the door and scurries around the car to climb onto the passenger seat. Her seat. Camille wasn’t so easy, as I can’t help but remember. I tried offering the seat to her the few times I found her walking about, but she was stubborn and wouldn’t accept the ride. I liked that quality about her then, but it’s not one I want to deal with now, and I tell myself I wouldn’t offer again as I pocket my phone before Reyna can sit on it.

Her smell fills the Jeep—cookies with a hint of turpentine. She must’ve been wrapped up in a project before abandoning it to look for me. I’m always there, inside her head. She’s never tossed me aside. Never made me question.

She doesn’t have the power to hurt me.

She smiles at me and guilt keeps me from smiling back.

I don’t deserve her, but I need her.

Valerie’s car is in the driveway when I pull in, parked next to another more beaten down looking car. Probably belongs to another more beaten down guy she’s fucking. Reyna’s mom wouldn’t know a good guy if he was recommended by God himself.

I was already going to ask Reyna if I could follow her inside, but now I’m definitely following her inside. Who knows what sort of shit is inside those walls tonight.

She doesn’t protest as I walk right behind her, up the steps of the porch, through the blue door, and around the corner to her bedroom. She reaches back and takes my hand when we hear the faint moans coming from behind Valerie’s closed bedroom door, the woman doing exactly what I knew she would be. She cries out to God, and I laugh.

I didn’t exactlywantcompetition tonight, but Reyna winks as she pulls me into her room, and I tell myself I’m going to win.

I kick the door closed as she flicks the light on, then I slide her dress up and over her head in one motion. Her hands drop to my shoulders and glide to rest at my neck as I walk her backward toward the bed. I kiss her, because I know she wants me to. Don’t get me wrong; Reyna is great with her mouth. But I don’t want to just kiss her. It’s a means to an end, and I can’t make it more.

Her tongue finds mine, and I give willingly, take greedily as I pull her into me. The backs of her knees hit the bed and we fall, meeting again at the pillows.

To her surprise, I keep kissing her. I’m trying really hard to get myself to feel something. I have a beautiful girl who’s also a good friend half-naked beneath me, who claims she loves me, who takes care of me, whowantsto be in my arms, and I can’t feel a damn thing.

But one look at Camille, just outside my door, and I was flooded with feelings. Not all of them were good, but the burn that ignited in my chest is undeniable.

I move my kisses elsewhere—along her jaw, down her neck, and a long, encouraging sigh meets my ears. I’m lost in Camille, in her sighs, quickening breaths, delicious skin as I make my way down her body until my mouth is level with her panties, stopping once I hear my name.

“Julian.”

A beg.

FromReyna.Not from Camille.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I growl against Reyna’s skin as she lifts herself to my face, urging the thought of Camille’s out of my system.

“What’s wrong?” She leans up, watching me with equal parts concern and impatience. The question has a double meaning. She wants to know if I’m okay and why I’m stopping here, again.

“Nothing that matters,” I say, climbing back up her body to be greeted with disbelief.

“Julian—”

“I just have a headache.” It’s not a lie. Right now, everything aches.

“You get an awful lot of headaches,” she says, unconvinced. “Next time, come with a doctor’s note.” She’s trying to tease, but the accompanying smile doesn’t stretch enough to bring out her dimple.

Rather than try to explain myself—nothing good will come of that—I part her legs with my hands and settle between them. She spreads wider and bites her lip as I give the friction we both need. I grind against her until she comes. The sight of her writhing and feel of her wetness almost makes me come with her.

We take off the rest of our clothes, now in a hurry, and she hands me a condom from her nightstand drawer and I put it on.

---