Page 4 of Bring You Back

“That’swhat you’re freaking about?” He falls back into the mountain of pillows, but I don’t let him go back to sleep.

He hasn’t even seenfreaking.

I hit him again, releasing the pillow on impact and he grabs it.Fight back, asshole.He scrambles up, finally taking aim. I jump to the side, but he manages to swipe my knee. “It was shining through my window! I couldn’t sleep—Hey!”

My hands are flinging pillows off the bed, his hands are reaching to try to stop me. I’m filled with aggression, and Banks is the perfect person to take it out on. I’m as loud as I want and need to be—Papa and Mama Collins too doped up to decipher sounds—and so is Banks, his cold, bony fingers grasping to save pillows as he yells protests that I shut out.

I move to the sheets and pull, but he pulls back right before I can yank them off. We’re in a tug of war. He maneuvers to his knees for more leverage, and my boots slip against the floor. A look passes over our faces, a matching thought, but I’m quicker to act on it. I let go and he flies back, hitting the wall with a grunt and a mesh of limbs tangled in sheets.

“Ow! What’s the big deal?” he calls out to me as I slam the door on his voice.

Not worth it.Banks isn’t getting inside my head. He doesn’t hold my pieces.

I think to tamp down my anger now that I’m out of that room, but I’m not out of this house, so I decide to use it as fuel to leave. I yank my things off the dirty floor, the dirty couch, the dirty table—taking care with Grumbles as she meows through our exit. We reek of Banks, and I apologize to us both as I direct my thoughts to my next stop.

I’m not sure why I thought I had to come here first. Call it what you want; I was testing the waters. I’m a chicken. Bawk, bawk.

I had to make sure this—being back—wouldn’t kill me.

Life takes, and it has taken too much from me. Life manipulates, gives the illusion of choice to maintain control. I didn’t have a choice. Now I do, and I won’t be controlled. I’m holding the gavel, setting things in order, balancing the scales.

Losing the person you love the most is the worst way to die. I’ve already died once in this life. The rest is cake.

2

Hot and Cold

Julian

My father once told me to tell a good lie, you just have to believe it. I don’t believe anything anymore, which makes me a bad liar. Unfortunately for Reyna, she is really good at believing lies.

She moans beneath me as I move inside of her, every push sending her head sliding against the door of my Jeep. I squeeze the back of her thigh with one hand, lifting her leg against the seat for better access, a moan drawing out to join hers when I hit deeper. My other hand presses into the window to hold my weight. This cramped backseat is not at the top of my list of places to fuck, but when Reyna finds me in the cab and palms me through my shorts, showing me exactly what she wants, I give it to her.

But the thing about sex with Reyna—she can’t get off through penetration alone. I have to bring her there with my hands, or with my mouth, something I haven’t used on her in a while, a fact she doesn’t let me forget. I’m getting close, and if she wants to come with me, she’ll need to touch herself. I can’t get to her this way.

“Touch yourself,” I say between breaths. “Now.”

She reaches down between us and rubs, her hand movements matching the speed of my thrusts. When she clenches around me, we both tumble over the edge. She’s loud and uninhibited, and I’m not much quieter. I like that she’s not afraid to let go.

I pull out of her before she can pull me into another make-out session I don’t have time for, then start taking off the condom.

“Panties.”

I stop my tugging long enough to realize I’m sitting on them and lift up so she can make a grab for the white cotton. I watch her slide them up her legs in a slow drag that lets me know she knows I’m staring. She has to shift to finish the job, which proves difficult, and without meaning to, I’m laughing at her struggle.

She pulls her dress over her head next and laughs with me. “It’s not funny.”

“Okay,” I say on a final laugh, disposing of the condom behind the front seat, reminding myself to take care of it later.

My blue shirt with the Curl & Crest Surf Shop logo drops from Reyna’s hands to my lap and I tug it on, then slip into my shorts, my neck and back craning against the roof, and it’s her turn to laugh. I climb up to the cab first to help her maneuver to the passenger seat, then reach back to ball up the towel. I don’t need bodily fluids staining my seats.

When she settles in, she runs her fingers through her hair, the strands falling down her back and over her shoulders. I’m still staring, my eyes and thoughts roaming. Reyna is a surfer’s dream without the surf. With her wavy, blonde hair and long, tan legs that stretch from the hem of her light green dress, the soft material resting loosely against her equally soft thighs. . .

I adjust myself in my shorts before I’m tempted to move us to the back for round two.

Reyna’s been one of my best friends since middle school. She’s always had feelings for me, and she’s always been open about them, but I couldn’t quite get there, no matter how attracted to her I’ve been. So I never pursued her in a romantic sense. Until recently, for reasons both out of and within my control, when I decided to explore the attraction. My body loves her body. If only my heart and mind could catch up.

As of last month, we’ve transitioned to fuck buddies trying to resemble a relationship. She sees it as being more, but I’m still unsure if it can be.

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