I open the door.
“I didn’t want to let her in, in case you weren’t alone.”
“Though you didn’t mind risking whoever I might be in here with knowing someone else was here for me?”
Adrian winks. “Only because party girl seems different.”
“Her name is Cheyenne.” I don’t know why in the hell I just said that. Pushing around Adrian I head for the door. “You closed the door on her? You fucker.”
A laugh is his only reply. I pull the door open. She looks different than usual—her hair is a tied back and she’s wearing faded shorts and a t-shirt. This doesn’t look like the kind of clothes she’d ever let someone see her in. I don’t know why, but it makes my skin feel tight.
“Back to give me more shit?” I ask, leaning my hand against the doorframe.
“No. I came to tell you its over.” Her voice cracks slightly.
“Shit,” I ground out. “Let’s go in my room. I don’t like other people in my business.”
I’m surprised when Cheyenne pushes past me. I ignore the room full of people who watch as we walk by. “Last room on the right.” Once we’re in, I close the door behind us.
“It’s really clean in here…and white.” She has her back to me.
“What? A guy like me can’t like his shit clean?” I don’t care how I look, but I like my stuff to be in order.
“The rest of the house was trashed.”
“I don’t have control over the rest of the house. I doubt you came here to talk about my white sheets though.” I lean against the old desk in my room. Mom got for me at a yard sale, all stoked because she knew I’d need somewhere to do my homework.
“I already told you what I came here to say. It’s over. The charade.”
I laugh and scratch my head. “Yeah I figured that out when you got all pissed at me the other day and then didn’t give me my next assignment.”
Which should be a fucking blessing to me, but for some reason, I find myself annoyed about it. “You still owe me money though. I played your little game for a few days.”
Cheyenne snaps her head toward me. For a second, I think she might cry, but instead she rips open her purse. “How much do you need, Colt? Is this enough?” She tosses a wad of cash at me. “Or do you want my credit card too?” The plastic rectangle bounces off the wall as she throws it. “Is there anything else I can give you? What else do you want from me!” she screams.
I have no idea what the hell is going on here, but it’s obvious something’s up.
“Feel free to take it all!” I dodge her purse that flies at my head. She’s not crying, but it looks like she wants to. Her chest rises and falls with big surges. Something twists in my gut.
“Hey. Is it me or did we just step into the Twilight Zone or something?” I take a step toward her. The look of rage—or pain, maybe both— in her eyes slices through me. “What’s wrong?” Another step.
“You mean besides the fact that my mom is dead, I didn’t know and I’ve hated her for years? Nothing,” she snaps, her voice like acid.
Those words slam into me like nothing else she could have said. Nothing else anyone could have said. My body wants to tense up and slacken at the same time. “Fuck,” I run a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry.”
I’m not good with words. I’ve never cared about it before, but in this moment, I wish I knew what else to say.
Cheyenne shrugs. “It’s not like you did it. Can’t change it now.” Another shrug. “So yeah. I blamed her for leaving me, wanted to prove I didn’t care about anyone else leaving me again, when the whole thing was a lie. Needless to say, I don’t need that anymore.”
Her words grate on me the wrong way. She wants them to be real, but like everything else she does, they’re fake. “So…you’re all tough then? You’re just pretending this isn’t a big deal? Eh, I found out my mom’s dead, but I’m just going to go about my business.”
“You smug son-of-a-bitch.” She tries to slap me, but I grab her wrist. Like always she didn’t hold back. It was a full swing. “Don’t do that. You’re not better than I am, hiding behind the fact that you’re an asshole.”
“There’s a difference because I’m not in denial about it.” The way her eyes dim, sad and acknowledging my words, does something to me. I feel them on me…in me. It’s fucking ridiculous and I’m the last one who should be consoling this girl, but I grab her hand and pull her to me. “Come here.”
She comes. Her arms wrap around my neck and mine around her waist. She feels small—smaller than usual, but soft and feminine tucked against me. “Life’s shitty sometimes.”
I expect her to cry. Wait for it. Mom’s always been a crier. Real emotional about stuff, but there’s no wetness seeping through my shirt from where her head rests on my shoulder.
No sniffling or shakes. Just…nothing.
Damn, this girl is shutdown tight. Which I should be thankful for, that way I don’t have to deal with it. I find myself running my hand up and down her back though. Her grip on my neck tightens, the only sign I have she’s comprehending anything.
“Your mom…what’s wrong with her?”
Her question is a vise-grip, squeezing the life out of me. “Cancer. What else?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, looking up at me.
“Me, too.”
She dips her head and I know what she’s going to do before she does it. Her lips brush against my neck and I squeeze her waist. Christ, this is fucking dumb. All kinds of dumb, but I don’t pull away when her lips skate over my throat again.
I don’t let myself think, but tilt her head up and take her lips. I’m not slow about it either. I’m hungry, needy for her. My tongue pushes into her mouth. A little groan escapes from the back of her throat and damn it turns me on.
Her nails dig into my skin and it only spurs me on more. I kiss her deeper, studying every part of her mouth. With my lips on hers, nothing else matters, but what we’re doing. I lift her up and her legs wrap around my waist. Stumbling, I walk to the bed, our mouths never parting.
Cheyenne makes a little “umpf” when we fall onto the bed, but she’s still kissing and I’m still kissing her and all I can think is that I want more. I’m not stupid. I know what this is. She wants to forget about her mom and I like the way she feels and I’ve wanted to know how she tastes. Knowing should make me stop, but I’ve never really been that kind of guy, so I keep going.
My mouth slides down her neck. My tongue licking that little hollow spot I didn’t realize until this second, I wanted to taste. Cheyenne’s hands are in my hair as I keep kissing my way down.
I push the top of her t-shirt down, taking my tongue across the swells of her breasts. I move far enough away that I can push her shirt up this time. Her bra is satin, but still not as smooth as her skin. I cup one breast, teasing the other through the fabric.
I’m on fire. Inside and out. My hand moves to the top of her pants. Before I go any farther, I look up at her. The heartbreak on her face—the pain in her eyes, douses my wildfire.
Fuck. What the hell am I doing? I sit up and pull away from her. I ache from wanting her so fucking bad, but I say, “We need to chill out.”
If anything, my words make the darkness in her eyes worse.
Cheyenne pushes off the bed, fixing her shirt as she goes. “I gotta go.”