Page 24 of Make My Heart Malt

“And then he told me as soon as I came in.” Nora hikes her thumb at Lach. “See, I knew as soon as you two talked you would eventually bang it out and everything would be fine.”

I roll my eyes. “We didn’t bang. We accomplished nothing, actually.”

“Because you were too busy banging,” Nora sing-songs.

“I would consider a bang an accomplishment,” Lach chimes in.

I blowout an exasperated sigh. I’m not winning this battle. With my white flag waving, I’m stepping away from this conversation.

“What’s today’s drink going to be called?” Lach asks. “Banging in the Storage Room?”

“Sliding into Home?” Nora quips.

“Oh, that’s good.” Lach points his chalk marker at Nora. “You got the baseball in there.”

Nora smiles and nods proudly.

“Or Bang-Bang Play,” Lach says.

“Rounding the Bases,” Nora adds.

“What about Backdoor Slide?” Lach wiggles his eyebrows.

“How about You Both Suck?” I shrug.

Lach contemplates my answer by bobbing his head back and forth. “It’s not really the vibe I’m going for.”

“Wait!” Nora’s eyes widen. “Was there backdoor action? You can tell us. We won’t judge you.” She playfully nudges me with her elbow.

“No! And if there was, I still wouldn’t tell you.” I shake my head. Not wanting to listen to them any longer, I strut across the bar and down the hallway to the employee room. I’m sure I’ll have to hear about it for the rest of my shift. At my locker, I throw my purse inside. I was hoping for some reprieve from Garrett today, but that won’t be happening. Damn Jake and damn Garrett for kissing me.

TWELVE

WELCOME! DID YOU BRING BOOZE?

Garrett

Last night was not how I envisioned our talk playing out. Don’t get me wrong, it was fucking fantastic, but it’s like I took a giant step forward and two enormously awkward steps back. Now I'm confused. Does she hate me? Hates me but wants to fuck me? Or maybe we could move past all of this and go straight to fucking me. The latter would be ideal, but now I have to approach this more cautiously than before.

I loved her sweet lips on mine. Honey and vanilla. Her body was so responsive to my touch, especially when I wrapped my fingers around her throat. Her needy moans and whimpers are engrained on my brain. Fuck. My dick twitches from the memory. I slide a hand under the blanket and wrap my fist around my shaft. Slowly, I pump up and down as I replay last night in my head. Her hot breathagainst my ear as her moans grew louder and louder. I squeeze the tip of my dick, and a bead of pre-cum pools at the top. With my thumb, I spread it around and slide down my shaft. Her begging me to touch her might be my new favorite thing.

“Garrett!” My mom’s voice echoes up the stairwell. “I’m going to the store. Do you need anything?”

My eyelids snap open, and my hand freezes on my now hard dick, a sudden terror coursing through my veins. My fantasy dissolves into nothing as I’m shoved back to reality. I’m lying in my too-small bed at my parents’ house. Fuck. My hand gripping my dick falls to the mattress.

“No, I’m alright!” I yell back.

I blow out a frustrated breath. I should’ve kept the hotel room. Wait. I should do a take two with the cookies, except I won’t make them this time. I jump out of bed and open the door wide enough to poke my head through. “Actually, could you make some chocolate chip cookies for me?”

“Sure thing!”

On my way home from an afternoon workout at the gym I found when I arrived in town, I drive past Porter’s and I don’t see Dessa’s vehicle in the parking lot so I’m assuming she’s at home. Now my plan has an entirely new set of problems. Where does Dessa live? After I return to my parents’ and shower, I meet my mom in the kitchen. Waiting for me on the counter is a tray of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, their warm aroma filling the room. I snatch one off the top and shove half of it in my mouth. I moan. Oh yeah. This is way better than the ones I made.Still soft and chewy. No wonder she fed the ones I baked to the raccoons. Leaning my hip against the counter, I finish chewing. Then, as nonchalantly as possible, I ask, “By chance, do you know where Dessa lives?”

She pulls out the last sheet of cookies from the oven and sets it on the stove. “When I ran into her at the grocery store, she mentioned a townhouse on Chestnut Street.”

I wrack my brain trying to remember where Chestnut Street is. It’s been a while since I’ve wandered the streets of Harbor Highlands. But I guess that’s why every phone now has a GPS. “Do you have a house number?”

She taps her chin with her oven mitt covered hand. “Five oh two.”

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