Brittney cared about him. She was genuinely attracted to him— infatuated almost, which, coming from a girl like that…
Once back in his room, he clenched his fists and forced himself not to go down the hall and kiss her. He was emotional, and he still hadn’t officially broken up with Ashley. It wouldn’t be right to her. He didn’t want her to just be some rebound. She was better than that. She was special. He couldn’t. Definitely shouldn’t do it.
It was four hours before he went down to her room. He popped in a stick of gum to hide the alcohol on his breath, and knocked.
Mercedes answered in her pajamas, blinking sleep from her eyes in the bright light of the hallway. “Oh. Hi.”
He peered into the room, but it was dark. “Is Brittney in?” (Did she look relieved he wasn’t there for her?)
“Nope—she set off for home a couple hours ago. She’s got her cell if you need her.”
Damnit! “Oh. Naw, it’s cool. Thanks.”
“Sure. And, look, I know it’s not my business or whatever, but I heard about Ashley. What a bitch, man. Too bad.”
“Thanks, Mercedes.”
“Brittney was just saying how she hopes you find somebody new. She said she knew a girl in her history class you might like.”
“She said…? Oh. Well cool. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to sleep. Sorry to wake you.”
“’Sall good. Night, DJ.”
She wanted to set me up with… Back in his room, he slumped down in his bed. Girls didn’t offer to set you up with someone if they wanted you for themselves. The entry he’d read was over a month ago; obviously her feelings had shifted. Maybe he should’ve read the rest of the journal after all to see where he lost her.
But what did it matter now? He’d lost Ashley, lost Emily, and now he’d lost Brittney.
It was time for a fresh start. This weekend would be just what he needed.
DJ arrived at his step-mom’s house mid-day Thursday. The last time he’d seen the place had been in the side-view mirror as Brittney drove them back to school. It had been a wreck after the prior night’s party; a crashed schoolbus had been the pièce de résistance. Presently, the house looked lovely and inviting. The yard was raked. A fall-themed welcome mat sat on the front step.
He entered without knocking and dropped his bag. The scent of turkey cooking was already thick in the air. “I’m home,” he called out.
Morgan rounded the corner from the kitchen, looking surprised to see him. “DJ! I’d thought you’d said you’d decided not to come home after all.”
“I did?”
“Yeah, you texted the other night.”
He got out his phone and checked; sure enough, there it was. God, he’d been so drunk he didn’t remember canceling. “Oh. Um, yeah, I guess I changed my mind back.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Well, I didn’t get things set up for you.”
He looked her over, remembering the last time he’d been home, where he’d dressed her like ornamentation, used her like a servant. “I see you couldn’t dress yourself appropriately, either. Mom jeans and a sweater? Are you my step-mom or my great-grandma?”
Morgan sighed. “So we’re going to be like that again?”
DJ opened his mouth, then stopped. You ruin lives like it was a fucking game! “Um, no, it’s fine. I’ll just… put my things in my usual room.”
Her frown intensified for some reason. “Fine then.”
He spent a little while getting settled in. Lauren evidently wasn’t in, so it was nice and quiet. He popped out a bit later, bored. “Need a hand with dinner?”
“What, you’re offering to help?” She looked flabbergasted.
“Sure. I don’t wanna be a burden.”
She gave him a hard look. “Fine, you can peel the potatoes.”
They worked in silence for a while; Morgan bent over, basting and stuffing the turkey on the oven shelf. Her ass looked amazing in those jeans—he couldn’t help remembering it in the skimpy outfits (or non-outfits) he’d been having her dress up in over fall break. He could grab it. Just a little feel. No harm in that, right?
Emily’s face, enraged beyond reason.
He kept to mashing the potatoes, that womanly posterior shaking tantalizingly only feet away.
Suddenly she whirled around to face him, stamping her foot and sighing. “OK, DJ. What the hell is going on here?”
“Um… what?”
She advanced on him, pinning him against the counter. “Last time you came home, you dressed me like a little tart, took over my home, made me your servant, and spanked—then fucked—my ass.”
“I know—and I want to explain! I didn’t—”
“No! Now you come home and you’re all ‘yes ma’am,’ ‘sorry ma’am,’ ‘need a hand ma’am?’ Did that school turn you back into a pussy or something?”
“Morgan…?”
“That was the hottest sex I’ve had in… I don’t know how long. Do you know how much I’ve been fantasizing about that since you left? A lot, actually. I was all set for you to come home, and I was going to be not quite moved out of my room, and make the deviled eggs without pepper just to annoy you, maybe drag my feet a little, until you got fed up and bent me over the arm of the couch and hate-fucked me senseless.
“Instead, you come in here and whine like a little limp-dicked pussy. ‘Durrr, I wanna explain, mommy!’ What the hell, DJ!”
His jaw worked soundlessly as his brain raced to catch up. Had she really…?
“That’s ‘what the hell, master.’”
Her lips turned up slightly at the corners. “Too little too late.”
“I tried to be good to you, Morgan. Tried to be understanding. You just threw it in my face. Now we do things the hard way.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “And what’s the hard way? Master,” she added with an eye-roll.
“Take off your pants.”
“No.” She looked away.
“Fine.” He reached over and unsnapped and zipped her jeans, tugging them down roughly. “These? Seriously, I leave for a month and you swap out for these ugly granny panties?”
“I wasn’t expecting anyone to see them!”
“Well no one else is going to—off with them. Now.” He snapped his fingers imperiously.
“No. This is my house and I’m not going to just strip for your amusement. Again.”
He smirked. “It looks like you forgot our arrangement, Morgan. I tell you what—I saw the newspaper at the end of the driveway. Go get it for me.”
“What, in my underwear?”
“Good idea, let’s go just your underwear.” He lifted her sweater up at the waist. Her bra matched her underwear, but the body beneath them was more than adequate to get his lower half’s attention—especially after more than two days without sex, the longest he’d gone in months by a huge margin.
“Now you can either get me the newspaper, or I can drag you out there with me and spank you with it like the naughty little bitch you’re being in front of the neighbors. Come to think of it, it’s a holiday, so make that the neighbors and their families.”
“You… you wouldn’t.”
“Five.”
“What, a countdown?”
“Four.”
“Get serious. I’m not—”
“Three.”
“—leaving the house in my—”
“Two.”
—I’m going, I’m going!”
In a huff, Morgan stormed to the front door, took a deep breath and stepped out. Through the peephole, he watched her scamper out to the end of the driveway, her wide rear end rolling enticingly. She bent to get the paper, then jogged back to the house. Across the street, he saw Dillon, home from college like himself, almost drop his rake as he stared at his half-naked neighbor lady.