Crap. Every guy knows the first sign of a clingy chick is the “missed you” line. Soon, she’ll talk love and moving in together. In my nightmares, the conversation will turn to a ring and babies. I blew off Pax when he teased me earlier, but he clearly noticed something about Shay that I hadn’t.
Pulling my lips away, I frown down at her. Her teeth begin chattering almost immediately. The pillows are soaked from her hair. The whole bed is damp like our bodies, leaving Shay to shiver even with me resting on top of her.
“You’re cold,” I say like a fucking idiot. I figure it’s better than saying I don’t want an old lady or even a girlfriend.
Shay wraps her arms tighter around me. “I touched myself thinking about you tonight.”
My cock twitches, thickening inside her. She smiles then wiggles around under me.
“Warm me up.”
“You missed me,” I say, unable to let those words go.
“How could I not miss all this hot manmeat?”
Shay laughs at her choice of words and I realize she isn’t looking to pick out drapes. At twenty, she’s wants to play. I’m her toy as much as she’s mine.
Bracing myself on my elbows, I move inside her slowly while studying Shay’s smiling face.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” I whisper.
“Right back at you,” she murmurs then sighs when I adjust my hips and press just right again her clit. “Ford.”
I smile at the sound of my name in her tired pleasured voice.
“I’m going to make you come then we’ll warm up and sleep,” I say, moving faster. “Trust me, you’ll need energy for tomorrow.”
Shay’s eyes light up. “Learning is so much fun.”
Even laughing at her enthusiasm, I hate the fucking nagging pain in my chest. Something inside me wants to make Shay happy and keep her safe. I promise myself the feeling is from going so long without a new toy. I’ve just forgotten how it feels to have one. Underneath my promises, I know I’m screwed if Shay proves to be more.
21
Shay
Bad Dreams
Ford changes the damp sheets before we climb under the blankets and doze off. I’m exhausted after the last few days. Ford seems tired too. It’s strange to see him vulnerable. I even find myself feeling protective of him. That’s when I know I’m loopy. No way can I do anything to protect Ford.
My dream is a mess of monsters and screaming. I run and run, but never find my way out of danger until I wake up shaking. Terrified, I look around and remember I’m in Little Memphis. With my home so far away, homesickness overwhelms me.
Leaving a sleeping Ford, I grab my damp shirt and panties then leave the room and hide in the bathroom.
I miss my brothers. My mom too. Our little two bedroom apartment with the Spanish-style kitchen tiles and ugly brown carpet. I miss our neighbors, even the ones with the yappy dogs. I miss my grandparents who’ve been dead for years. I miss high school friends I was never close to and hadn’t spoken with since graduating. I miss everything about Hawthorne. Mostly, I miss the bedroom I shared with Donnie Jr. and Devin.
I don’t know how long I cry before my tears turn to sniffles. My head hurting and eyes burning, I hate being at Ford’s house when I feel so bad.
Why am I playing with a guy like him? I think I’m so funny and tough. I can handle the ride, but here I am crying in his bathroom like a kid.
“Shay?” Ford’s sleepy voice says through the door.
I don’t respond immediately. He sounds tense, angry maybe. If he yells at me, I might cry again. I don’t want to talk to him. I just want to go home.
After washing my face, I answer the door and try to seem casual. Ford looks menacing backlit by the hall light. His big hand tilts my chin up as he studies my face.
“Why?” he asks rather than what’s wrong.
“I had a bad dream.”
I don’t know why I tell him the truth. I guess I’m too tired to lie. A part of me hopes he’ll get annoyed and take me home.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“For what?”
“I don’t know,” he says, scratching at his beard. “We could talk or something. Better than you crying in here.”
“When I had bad dreams at home, I’d crawl in my brothers’ bed. They shared a queen size and I’d get between them then turn on the TV. I miss that.”
Tears blurring my vision, I say the words. “I think I made a mistake coming to Little Memphis.”
Ford doesn’t react. A moment passes before he steps back and gestures for me to leave the bathroom. I obey with the assumption that he’ll take me to Darby’s house. Instead, we get to his bedroom and he locks the door.
“You shouldn’t wear wet shit,” he says softly, opening his dresser. “This will warm you up.”
After stripping out of my damp clothes, I slide the long sleeve jersey over my head. The shirt is way too big, but comfortable.
Ford pulls back the blankets and waits for me to climb in. Once he joins me, he turns on the TV and flips to the History Channel. I watch him and wonder what he’s thinking.
“When I have nightmares,” he finally says, “I put on this channel and it bores me back to sleep.”
“You have nightmares?”
Ford frowns at me. “I’m a human being, so yeah.”