After I ransacked my room, the laundry, and my car, I saw on the edge of my bed and realized that my favorite sweatshirt was gone. How in the fuck did I lose it?
My attention was normally great, but it has fallen apart since the afternoon I went to Peyton's house to end things with him and wound up kissing his father. The last two days have been so much worse. Since sleeping with Anthony, he was all I could think of. Jasmine wasn't helping. She insisted we should get dinner together after work, mostly so I could tell her everything.
Describing the memory to her made it more intense, but she'd been great about not judging me. A big part of that was probably her hate towards Peyton.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd worn the hoodie. I hadn't been chilly in weeks. All I needed to do was think about Anthony, problem solved. Heat flushed through my whole body, leading straight between my legs...
I groaned as I realized my sweatshirt was. I spilled a glass of water on the sleeve and hung it on a hook on the back of the bathroom door.
Not my bathroom, but Peyton's.
I considered reaching out to Peyton but only one person popped up in my mind. I scrolled through my contacts to Dr. Lowery, and sent a message before I even had time to realize this was a bad idea:
Riley: Hey, it's Riley. Sorry to bother you, but I left my hoodie hanging on the door of Peyton's bathroom. Can I come by to get it? Maybe sometime when he's not there?
I tossed my phone on the bed, realizing what I just did. As time ticked by with no response, I began to panic.
Was he in surgery? Had he read the text and wasn't sure how to reply? Or was he upset I left without saying goodbye? God damn it, why Riley.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when the phone chimed:
Dr. Lowery: He's at work if you want to swing by now.
I read the message over and over again searching for a hidden reason. "Swing by" implied quick. He wasn't asking me to stay. Why the hell would he? I'd run away like a coward again.
At least he didn't say he'd leave the door unlocked for me, because that would be a clear sign that he doesn't want to see me.
I was a nervous wreck on the drive over, I didn't realize I turned on the radio until I entered Anthony's street. I'd driven there in silence, running different scenarios in my mind of what was going to happen when I got to his house.
It was near dark when I parked in the driveway, and I followed the brick path up the front step, staring at the doorbell. If I rang it, seeing Anthony face to face would be torture. But wasn't that what I wanted? What I craved?
I took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell. I looked up and saw a figure approach, but not his face. The lock slid with a click, and the door swung open.
Anthony wore jeans, a grey t-shirt that clung to him perfectly, and an unreadable expression. Memories of his hands on me, his body inside me, made me weak inside.
"Hey." He pulled the door open wider and stepped back, allowing me to come in and before I could say anything, he closed the door and headed to he kitchen, leaving me. "I brought your sweatshirt up for you. It's on the counter."
I followed him, my gaze down in pure shame. My hoodie was neatly folded on the counter, in the same spot he bent me over two days ago and put his hands down my shorts. I could still feel him inside me.
He appeared unfazed by my arrival. He moved around to the other side of the counter, putting a barrier between us, and set his hands on he counter. His expression was impossible to read. He didn't look mad, but he didn't look happy either. If anything, he looked like he was trying very hard to hide whatever he was thinking.
My gaze fell from him, down to my sweatshirt. "Are you mad at me?"
"For what? Leaving without saying goodbye the other day?"
His tone wasn't accusatory, but the words were. "I'm sorry. It was about to rain and you looked so peaceful sleeping, I didn't want to wake you."
"I would've appreciated it, if you had."
If he wanted honesty, I'd give it to him. "I didn't wake you because I was scared. I didn't know how to say goodbye after we... and I didn't want to."
His posture straightened and I could finally read his expression. Surprise.
"I'm sorry," I said again.
"When I woke up and you were gone, I didn't know what to think. I worried maybe you were freaking out."
Guilt filled through my mind. I didn't mean to hurt him. "No." I took a step closer, wanting him. "That came later. I don't regret what happened. I mean, I know I should, but I don't."
I took a deep breath before asking my next question. "Do you?"
A crease formed on his forehead. He looked conflicted, making my heart drop.
"No, I don't regret it, but that makes me the worse father in the world, right? A terrible person, at the least."
"Yes, it does. Especially when I want to do it again."
Anxiety released its hold on my shoulders, and I leaned against the counter. His eyes were locked onto mine.
"But we can't do it again," I said, my words unsteady. Jesus, I can't believe I just said that. I hadn't meant it one bit. I issued it as a challenge.
"No, absolutely not." I looked down in pain and sadness.
"Hey, before I forget. As long as you're here, maybe we should go to my room and get you naked."
My mouth dropped in shock, and before I could say anything, his hands wrapped around my waist. His mouth lowered to mine, and when our lips connected, I leaned up into his kiss.
His hands slid beneath the hem of my t-shirt and were warm on my back. "I thought I might never see you again," he mumbled against the side of my mouth.
"I'm sure we'd run into each other somewhere."
He stopped moving and locked his arms, trapping me in his embrace. "I meant like this. And I didn't like that idea. I fucking hated it."
"I'm tired of telling myself I don't want this. Yes, you're supposed to be off-limits, but that doesn't stop me from thinking about you all the damn time. I can't stop thinking about the things I'd like to do to you, or things you'd do to me, or the way we looked together in my mirror."
"Tell me," I asked eagerly, "what do you want to do to me."
"You want to hear about my fantasies, Riley? Because there are a lot, and they are very, very bad."
Just like me.
"Tell me. I bet I want to do them all."
His mouth slammed into mine, his tongue pushing past my lips and invading. This kiss wasn't like the others. It was blistering and punishing and rewarding. He shoved a hand up my t-shirt and gripped my bra-covered breast, all while his mouth wrapped with mine.
We'd stopped in the living room, halfway to his bedroom, and we weren't going to make it. I wanted him here, and now. I fumbled my fingers over the button of my shorts, my urgency making them useless...
A loud, mechanical rumble came from behind the door to the garage.
We froze, and the sensation felt like a bucket of ice water being dumped over us. Fuck. Peyton was home.