Page 23 of Just Playin'
“Yep!” –I am now— “It’s right across from your university. I don’t even have to pull into the parking lot to drop you off. You can just get out at Mickey’s and walk across the street. What do you say? That sounds fair, doesn’t it?”
She rocks on the balls of her feet while contemplating. I really wish she wouldn’t; every rock forward brings her fantastic tits within touching distance. If she doesn’t hurry up and make her decision, I’m about to face charges for sexual misconduct.
After what feels like an eternity, she finally relents. “Okay, but. . .” She takes five seconds to settle the redness creeping up her neck before murmuring, “If you at any stage hang your head out the window like a dog, I’ll do more than slam a cue stick into your balls.”
My nuts tuck inside myself, the threat in her tone too ominous to ignore.
Confident she has me scared, she returns to Dalton’s driveway, slides into the passenger seat of my car, then closes the door without the slightest bang. My entrance is nowhere near as sleek as hers. The panic buzzing in my crotch has me on high alert, and it’s weighing down my movements.
Unfortunately it also has me thinking recklessly.
Willow stops fiddling with her belt when I ask, “Before we head out, can I ask you something?”
Her brows furrow in confusion, unsure what has caused the crackle in my usually smooth timbre, but she nods all the same, too curious to let a flare of panic stop her from discovering what’s caused the quick change in my composure.
I bet she wishes she weren’t so damn inquisitive when I ask, “When was the last time you ate Chinese? The new car smell is finally returning, and I don’t want to risk ruining it.”
CHAPTER NINE
Willow
My attempt to peel myself out of Elvis’s chub-holding car is thwarted by him splaying his giant arm across my chest. His arms are so long, his fingertips could brush the window next to my head, but he’d rather use them to pin me in his car, so he keeps them curled around my side boob.
“I’m just playin’. I know, poor timing, but I swear I was only trying to lighten the mood.”
“Lighten the mood. . . or intensify it?”
When my eyes lower to his inappropriate grope of my breast, Elvis’s eyes bug out like they did when they took in my body earlier.
“Oh fuck, sorry.” He yanks his hand back to his side of the car as if scorched by my touch. “I wasn’t going for a feel. I’m not like that. I’d ask before grabbing. I don’t just help myself.”
Realizing he’s rambling like a pimple-faced virgin, he pushes the automatic start button and reverses out of Dalton’s driveway. We travel the first five miles with his eyes forward and his mouth tightlipped. I don’t mind the silence. It gives me a chance to settle my erratic heart rate from his closeness.
I thought the patter of my heart against my ribs was because of Becca, but it didn’t taper when she left with Dalton. It grew astronomically. That could only mean one thing: Elvis is the cause of my heart’s stutter.
I don’t know whether to be pleased or annoyed by my notion. Elvis’s cell phone number has been burning a hole in my pocket the last three weeks, and just when I thought I had a hold of the situation, it blows up in my face.
Don’t get me wrong; I wanted to call him—only to thank him for the products that helped me emerge from hell days earlier than I expected—but my pride wouldn’t let me. I’ve never been more mortified than I was the night he drove me home, and I’ve had some ripper blunders in my short nearly twenty-two years. Add that to the fact everyone at my university watched my video on YouTube, and I simply ran out of time. The last three weeks have been a blur. Not necessarily a good haze, but a blur nonetheless.
It’s funny how people enter your life at the right time. If I hadn’t defended Becca three weeks ago, I wouldn’t have a video on YouTube with close to two hundred million views, but then I also wouldn’t have needed her maturity to keep my head out of the clouds the past three weeks.
Skylar has been great, but Becca was the only one who remained quiet regarding my supposed “stupidity” for not accepting the numerous requests for an interview. No one but Becca couldn’t understand why I didn’t want the publicity. She understood my worry about how quickly the tables can turn, and how it would feel if I were the one on the receiving end of the backlash, so she constantly reminded me no monetary amount could replace my values when the offers grew exceptionally with everyone I rejected.
That’s why I was visiting Becca today. She was helping me draft a letter to have my details removed from the original video that started this all. I love the messages of support I receive multiple times a day, but they do little to soothe the sting of the handful of hateful ones I get.
Loathing the silence between Elvis and me, I attempt to end it. “What do you think Becca will have?”
Any tension left brimming between us ends when Elvis answers, “I’m hoping a baby, but who knows these days.”
“Ha ha, smart ass. I meant a boy or a girl. Becca said they kept the gender a surprise.”
I swivel in my seat to face him head on, taking in his casual yet scrumptious jeans and fitted shirt as he discloses, “It’s a secret to Becca, but Dalton knows.”
“What? How?!”
I give him a sympathetic look when my squeal shreds his eardrums. He’s not concerned. His chuckle has my nipples paying him as much attention as they did when his arm was splayed across my chest.
“He bribed the sonographer for the results. Becca was happy to wait until the birth, but Dalton is an impatient ass. He wouldneverwait to find out something he could know months earlier.”
