Page 46 of Pucked Up Plans
“Didn’t peg you as a religious girl.”
“Hardly. Premarital sex and teenage mom would have solidified my excommunication with any church had I been a churchgoing girl.”
I’m uncertain what words are coming out of my mouth right now. Being this close to Walsh—my pussy adjacent to his dick—jumbles all my thoughts. The comprehensible ones at minimum. The ones about rubbing myself against him run rampant through my brain. On a loop, taunting me to just slide myself back. Then forward. Back…
I jump off his lap, having to catch my breath again.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you should go. Home. To your house. Where you live. Not here. Where I live. Like now.”
Short of tugging him off the couch and shoving his shoes at his chest, I all but throw him out. Because I don’t have the willpower to guard against his sexiness any longer.
Hopefully, when I see him next, I’ll have calmed down. Given myself a few orgasms to stave him off.
Who am I kidding? I’ll be lucky if I don’t maul him in the parking lot of the preschool.
Bad idea, Tate. Terrible.
“Please, go.” Even to my ears, my plea sounds unconvincing. I try again after clearing my throat. “I don’t want you to leave, but I need you to leave. Because I have no trust in myself if you don’t.”
Walsh stalks over to where I stand. I retreat a step, but his arms land on my shoulders cementing me in place.
“I appreciate your honesty. That’s the only reason I’m leaving. Not because I don’t want to pursue more. Because you’re asking me to leave. And I would never put you in a position of doing something you’re uncomfortable with or don’t want. Even though I can sense how much you want it.”
I give him more truth. “So much.”
“Don’t take it off the table.”
He doesn’t elaborate. I know whatitis, but part of me wants to make sure. But I hold my tongue.
A brief peck to my lips, a squeeze to my shoulders, he moves away. Shoving his feet into his sneakers, the door opens, and he slips out.
The minute the door shuts behind him, a huge breath releases. One I’d been holding in for so long. It carries a weight off my shoulders, confirming that asking him to leave—not acting on my feelings—was the only choice tonight.
Quickly and quietly, I lock up and shut off the remaining lights before creeping to bed.
At least this time when I get myself off to images of Walsh, it’s a new day.
Saturday and Sunday pass quickly. My aunt invites us to her house for dinner Sunday night, and I finally accept.
It’s just her and a few cats. They somehow sense not to come near Aubrey, and leave her alone until she gets comfortable. And by comfortable, I mean her face isn’t a mask of fear if one of them comes in the room.
“She doesn’t like cats?” Aunt Marsha guesses, one eyebrow quirked up.
“It’s more of the unknown for Bree. She’s not used to being around them, so she’s squeamish about what they might do.”
“They won’t hurt her.”
“We know that, but until she feels completely at ease with them, it won’t matter trying to explain it.”
She’s got her quirks, but who doesn’t? And honestly, I’ll take her quirks over having a kid with bad behavior any day.
“She reminds me so much of you at her age. She’s your spitting image.”
I smile at the compliment. “Is it wrong of me to be grateful she doesn’t resemble her sperm donor?”
“Not one bit.”
Living so far away from Marsha and only visiting a few times, I wasn’t close with her. Since moving here, I’m getting to know her better, and I find myself opening up to her. I tell myself it’s to “repay” her for her kindness, but deep down, it’s much more. She listens attentively without judgment and gives solid advice,both things my mom isn’t great at. Much as I love her and how she’s always there for me, Mom and I don’t have a close-knit relationship, something I hope to improve between me and Aubrey.
