Out of Love(45)

“Upstairs. She jumped into the shower because she had too much wine.” I managed to get my normal speech back. “Go on up.”

Without any introduction, Corbin squeezed past me and Slade. It had been five days since I’d seen my menacing lover. I had so many questions, like how did he expect to pass his classes if he missed them so often? Of course, I wanted to know where he’d been and if Miss Lexus was with him.

But … mostly I just wanted to feel his arms wrapped around me, smell the cedar and spice in the crook of his neck, and taste the mint on his tongue.

“I didn’t send you the text, dumbass.” I smirked, grabbed a handful of his shirt, and tugged him inside the house.

“Dumbass?” He raised an eyebrow.

I lifted onto my toes, keeping my hand clenched to his black tee. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Something unreadable ghosted along his face for five seconds before he gave me his mouth. My arms wrapped around his neck as his hands slid to my ass, lifting me up to hug him like a bear in their favorite tree. He pressed my back to the entry wall, void of anything on it yet, and angled his head, deepening the kiss on a low groan.

When he tore his lips from mine, they moved down my neck. I drew in a harsh gasp from that kiss.

“You taste like peanut butter.”

My fingers laid claim to his hair, slowly working up the back of his head, as his scruffy face tickled my skin, lips teasing my shoulder. “I love peanut butter.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then you may never kiss me again.”

His head snapped up, putting us nose to nose, but he didn’t say anything. I rubbed my lips together, and if he couldn’t see the sparkle in my eyes, then he had to be blind. Wylder lit up every inch of me. I wasn’t sure which I feared more: him reading my clear feelings or him missing them.

“Where were you?” I whispered, hoping for something. Hoping he’d give me another inch into his life.

He shook his head slowly, gaze glued to mine.

A labyrinth.

An uncrackable code.

“Wylder …” I leaned my forehead against his, my palms pressed to his face. “Tell me something. Anything.”

“I missed you,” he whispered before lifting his chin to brush his lips over mine.

It wasn’t an explanation. It wasn’t the inch I wanted.

But … it was something.

Being missed by Wylder made me feel pretty fucking special because he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who missed anything or anyone.

My mouth curled into a grin against his. “Well … I missed Jerry. Where is he? And where are you taking me? It’s nearly midnight.”

“Grab your wet suit. We’ll be back in the morning.”

“You stealing me for the night?”

He set me on my feet, rested his hands on my shoulders, and turned me toward the stairs. “Go,” he said, giving me a gentle nudge.

Three steps up, I turned. “Don’t you want to see my new room? My new bed?”

“You’re wasting time.” He leaned his shoulder against the wall and slipped his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans.

I didn’t take time to protest or even offer a frown because I was too excited.

Knock. Knock.

I softly rapped my knuckles against Missy’s door. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Wylder is here.”

“K …” she mumbled in a groggy voice.

After throwing stuff into my backpack, I slung it over my shoulder and floated down the stairs, failing to contain a single ounce of my excitement. “Ready.”

He remained in place, propped against the wall. Hands in pockets. All of Wylder’s expressions involved an underlying concentration. Even when he made the rare move of smiling, his brow held onto a certain amount of tension. It felt like every decision he made was somehow life or death.

“What?” I tilted my head, slowing my last few steps to him.

And just like that … he let a flicker of happiness settle along his face.

For me.

“Nothing.” He pushed off the wall and lifted my backpack from my shoulder, carrying it in one hand as I shut and locked the front door.

Then, in pure Slade Wylder-style, he showed his romantic side without saying a word by taking my hand and leading me down the driveway. It was the most intimate thing he had done to me, and that said a lot because his mouth had touched me everywhere.

“Where is your car?”

“Home.”

“We’re walking five miles?”

“No.” He stopped at a sprinter van with surfboards on top, released my hand, and unlocked the doors.

“Whose is this?”

“A friend’s.”

“You have friends? Aside from me and Jericho?”

As he grabbed the handle to the sliding door, he gave me a look. The darkness prevented me from seeing it well, but I felt it. He wasn’t amused by my comment.

“An acquaintance let me borrow it.” As he slid open the door, Jericho popped his head up from his bed nestled under the raised bed in the back. A tiny sink, single burner, and a shelf with a few hooks occupied the middle of the van with a boho rug on the floor.

“Hey, Jerry. I missed you.” I hopped in and kneeled by his bed, which was behind a secure gate for travel.