Bait (Wake, #1)(70)

That's what I told myself, I that I wanted her away from her family and to be somewhere with me. Deep down, I knew that wasn't true at all. What I wanted was to be sharing those holidays together with our families.

Maybe we would have spent Thanksgiving here and she could have met my mom, Dad and Carmen, and the girls. We'd have Thanksgiving dinner with my mom and Cory, and Micah now, too, since they were expecting.

My mom would want her to cook, fearing that her dinner wouldn't be worthy in front of a trained chef. Blake would gush over the food. My mom was a great cook and Blake loves food. She was probably one of the least picky eaters I'd ever met.

Then we'd go to my Dad’s and play games with the girls and eat crappy pie that they'd made themselves. Special for the holiday. The girls would love Blake and ask all sorts of questions. Carmen would pretend to be cool like her for my father’s sake.

My dad would probably be more in love with Blake than I was.

She'd play cards with us. Probably drink too much, but still win every hand. She had those kinds of powers. Her ability to will things her way potent. I was no stronger than a deck of cards.

In my fantasy, that really wasn't a fantasy at all, we'd spend Christmas with her family up north. I'd try my damnedest to make her Dad and older brother like me. I'd bring them all cases of beer, which was the key to making friends—if Bay’s profit margin had anything to say about it.

I'd court her mother every chance I'd got. I'd compliment her telling her that she should be proud of such an independent daughter. I'd tell her that she'd get along with my mother, and pray that they would.

Reggie and I would talk about travel and cars. I'd ask to take his car for a ride the next time I was in Chicago. He'd surprise me and say yeah.

We'd watch movies and fall asleep early.

In this alternate universe, I'd sleep on the couch to solidify my respect for her dad and their home. Of course, as soon as I was certain they were asleep, I'd sneak up to her room and find her in the hall sneaking down to me.

We'd kiss in the light of a snowman nightlight and the twinkle of their Christmas tree. She'd walk me back down to the basement and we'd try our damnedest at being quiet. And we'd fail.

She'd go back upstairs after telling me that that Christmas had been her favorite.

These were the kinds of perverted thoughts I had. Not just ones of her spread eagle and touching herself for me, like I asked her to do on the phone that night before the Christmas Eve that wasn't our first.

She'd do everything I’d asked.

She'd push a finger into herself under my direction and I'd watch her beautiful hip raise to meet it. The look in her eyes begging me to do it myself.

Okay. Maybe I thought about that shit, too.

I guess that's how those dirty phone calls started.

That's right. It was usually me starting the explicit dialog. Just like that night.

After she'd told me she was, in fact, touching herself, I gave her things to do that I was positive she liked. I told her exactly how to do them and listened to her breathing. We both knew she wasn't the best at the dialog part. She said, “Keep talking to me. I'm so close.”

Listening to her labored inhales and exhales, I stroked myself and told her all of the ways I wished my hands were taking care of her.

When she'd said, “Ahhh, yes,” I knew she was finding her release and mine was on the way. My eyes shut tight and I pulled a long breath, through my teeth, as my hand squeezed my cock. The sensation of cool air over my teeth sent a shiver down my spine and propelled my orgasm into present tense.

“Did you just come?” She lightly laughed on the other end, having listened to my release as hers subsided.

“Yeah,” I laughed, too. “Is there a problem with that?”

“No. I'm surprised, is all. I didn't really say much.” Her tone was half shy, half sorry.

“It doesn't take much, honeybee.” I laughed. “You did plenty. Trust me.”

We talked a little longer than normal. Neither of us had to work the next day, but we'd be spending time with our families for the next few days and wouldn't have many opportunities to connect.

“Okay, I'm falling asleep,” she growled through another yawn. Even over the phone, hearing her yawn made me do the same.

“Good night. I'll talk to you soon. Okay?” My eyes were heavy, too.

“I wish things were different,” she said. I heard the sleepiness in her voice and wondered if she was completely lucid, or if she was half-way awake and half-way asleep.

Did she want me to offer her an alternative? Was that what she wanted? Did she still see me as the f*ck-and-run guy, only worthy a good time in bed? I wanted more with her, but did she want more from me? Maybe she didn’t think I was capable of that?

What the f*ck was she thinking when she said she wishes things were different?

I should have asked her which things, but I didn’t.

“I do, too. Let's work on that.”

“I'm going to marry him and—” she whispered and then her voice trailed off.

“Don't,” I said, and then I pressed the end button. I wanted to talk to her more, since it was one of the few times we actually talked about what was happening. But then I didn't want to hear what else she was going to say. I wasn't ready for her to say no. I wasn't ready for her to tell me that this wasn't going to pan out. That I was going to be the one left hanging.