Page 46 of Hero Hair
Dating wasn’t something I was ever interested in when I lived in my parents’ house. Oh, I fucked all right. Under the bleachers, in the locker room at the high school, the playground equipment at the local park in the dark of night, but they never saw girls in my world. I went stag to all of the mandatory dances like prom and homecoming and took advantage of opportunities to get off in between. I was a dog. I am a dog. My parents don’t know that. What could my mother possibly caution her against? My schedule?
I force a laugh. “Everyone can see the caution tape around my body, Mom. Teala doesn’t need any warnings.”
Teala nods and stands next to me. I notice she doesn’t brush against me. She keeps her distance. We eat lunch and drink fruit punch and try not to gaze fuck each other. She excuses herself to use the restroom, and I tell her I’ll show her where it is even though she’s already been once right when we arrived. I follow her into the upstairs bathroom and close the door behind us.
“Your parents know we’re in here together,” she says dryly.
I waggle my brows. “As much as I’d love to fuck you in the bathroom where I was potty trained, I merely wanted to ask if anything was wrong? What did my mom tell you?” I feel a little panicked. I’m worried about something small and insignificant. That’s not my way. It’s never been my way. Give me a large problem and let me give you ten ways to solve it effectively.
Teala smiles. “She was joking about warning me, Macs. She regaled me with funny tales from your childhood and asked a whole bunch of questions about my studio. I think she wants to take a class.” She looks down at her nails and starts smoothing her nail beds with her thumb. “What she said about the warning merely brought me back into reality.” She looks at the wall. A photo of a beach stares back at her.
I sigh. I can deal with this. “The reality is I’m away much of the time. Even when I’m home, I’m not fully here and I’ve never had to worry what that means for someone else. She was joking, but it should be a warning,” I deadpan.
Her eyes meet mine and for the first time I see a vulnerability there. Something that isn’t inherent to her, a guard down and an open heart begging for something I can’t give. “It’s worth trying?” she asks.
I think about our chemistry and remember what it feels like to have her skin burning against mine. “Yes.” Closing the distance with one step, I take her in my arms. I don’t want to remember what she feels like. I want it right now. “I have no idea what that means.”
“I don’t either,” she admits, pressing her face into my chest. “I should ask my friends.” Teala laughs, and her shaking body gives me a hard-on. She stiffens when she feels it.
“If you ask them they’ll give you the dictionary version. We’re doing this our way. No rules. No preconceived notions about right or wrong.”
A little definition would be nice, but it’s too late for that. Clutching the sides of my T-shirt she looks up.
“It’s wrong we’re hiding in a bathroom,” Teala whispers, her hand sliding down to cup my cock.
“What’s wrong is that your hand isn’t inside my jeans,” I counter.
“I have a valid question about something first,” she says, pulling her hand away.
Sighing, I nod.
“What happens after we have sex and you lose interest?”
I shake my head. “What if you lose interest after I fuck your brains out?” Turn it around if you can’t answer honestly.
“There are hundreds, maybe thousands of women lining up to take my place. It’s a lot of pressure. I don’t have that draw.”
She always seems confident, so much so it never occurred to me to reassure her of anything. She’s beautiful. I’ve never wanted a relationship with anyone but her, or even that her business’ success is extremely impressive for someone her age. Surely she knows these things.
I kiss her instead. Her arms twine around my neck the way they always do when I kiss her. She presses against my body so our every curve and muscle are pressed together. Her tongue slides inside my mouth as the kiss deepens into something a little more—something that shouldn’t be happening in this bathroom. I pick her up and set her on the edge of the counter and reach behind her to turn the water on.
Hand washing seems a suitable activity in here if my mother has any questions. I realize how ludicrous it seems moments later when Teala lets out a moan against my lips. She pulls my lip with her teeth and lets it slap back into place.
“We should go,” she whispers.
“Conversations in bathrooms always mean more than any place else. No rules?” I remind her.
Sliding her hands under my shirt, she lets her fingertips glaze over my abs, one by one. “Agreed.” A shiver runs up my spine from the coolness of her fingers. Slowly, she scoots off the counter and picks up her cell phone. She snaps a photo of the framed beach on the wall. “This is proof,” she explains.
And I sort of get it. Why she thinks photos mean more than words can. She summed up our relationship discussion with one low quality image stored in her phone that will reside there for God knows how long. We enter the living room looking guilty, but it doesn’t matter. Neither of my parents even know we exist. They’re transfixed with the news and the horror scrolling across their screen’s quicker than the news anchor can speak. Another terror attack happened overseas.
“It’s so awful. You won’t be dealing with those people on your next deployment, will you?” my mother asks, turning to face me with wide, terrified eyes. Is that a joke question?
I speak so little of my actual job that I force her to hang on to every word I do give her. “Mom. You know I’m always safe. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
Distractedly, I brush a piece of lint off my jeans. Teala watches me and not the television when my gaze finally wanders back to find hers. The questions in her eyes mirror my mother’s sentiment, but she’s not taking the Kool-Aid I’m offering.
I shrug. My mother has already turned back to the TV, my statement all but forgotten, or written off as a harmless lie told to placate a scared parent.
