In the Middle of Somewhere (Middle of Somewhere, #1)(106)

“Fuck, baby,” he moans against my neck, and he slides out of me in a rush of heat, leaving me feeling empty in his wake.

I feel wrung out, my opening still spasming a little as Rex’s come slides out of me. I have the absent thought that I should find that disgusting, but actually it’s really hot to feel evidence of his pleasure still inside me.

Rex spins me around and pulls me to him, kissing my mouth. I put my arms around his neck and kiss him passionately, trying to communicate how good he made me feel.

Our kisses turn lazy and we get out of the shower shakily, our eyes meeting in the mirror as we pull our clothes back on. It’s only as we leave the bathroom that I realize we didn’t even wash our hair or anything. Not that I could possibly care about that now. I’m so warm and satisfied, as if Rex f*cked the stress right out of me.

In fact, I’m in such a postorgasmic haze that I barely notice Rex asking if I want breakfast, just mindlessly trailing after him into the kitchen.

“I need to do laundry and go to the store,” I say, half to myself. “I haven’t done anything but grade all week and I have no clean clothes, nothing to eat at my house.”

“You can do it here, if you want,” Rex offers, pushing a mug of coffee I didn’t see him make toward me across the counter. I sink onto one of the stools to drink it and immediately change my mind as my tender ass meets the hard wood.

Rex must see my wince because he kisses me in a way that would be creepy and possessive if he were someone else but, because he’s Rex, is possessive and hot.

“Okay,” I say. “If you don’t mind. I’ll go to the store and drop my stuff off, then grab my laundry and bring it back?”

“Sounds good,” Rex says. He’s looking at me closely and his eyes are soft.

“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head and kisses me on the cheek. “You want some breakfast before you go?”

I shake my head and go change back into my gross, dirty clothes from yesterday.

“Okay,” I tell Rex. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

He smiles and kisses me, his hand falling to rest on Marilyn’s head, where he strokes her absently.

My phone rings as I close the door behind me, and I grab for it, assuming it’s Ginger, since no one else really calls me except Rex. But it isn’t Ginger; it’s Sam.

“Listen, Dan,” Sam says when I pick up. His voice sounds thick and weird. Nasal. “Pop’s gone.”

“What?” I ask stupidly.

“Pop’s dead,” Sam says, and it sounds like he might be crying. I’m not sure. I’ve never heard him cry.

“What do you mean?” I ask. I’ve read about this in books but never experienced it: the feeling of being unable to process a simple sentence even when you know what all the words mean. Vaguely, I wonder if this is what Rex feels like when he tries to read—grasping after meaning and finding only nonsense.

“Damn it, Dan, Pop’s dead,” Sam says, as if I’m being intentionally obtuse. “He had a heart attack and died.”

“When?” I hear myself ask, as if at the other end of a tunnel.

“Yesterday.”

Momentarily, fury pushes aside some of the fog in my head. Yesterday. I look at my watch. It’s almost noon.

“Why the f*ck didn’t you call me?”

Sam’s talking, but I barely hear him. There’s a roaring in my ears so loud that I look around, wondering if someone’s riding a motorcycle down the street outside Rex’s house.

“Dan! Dan?”

“What,” I say.

“Did you f*cking hear me?”

“No,” I say.

“I said you don’t have to come if you’re busy or something, but—”

“Are you f*cking crazy? Of course I’m coming. I’m leaving now.”

I close my phone and slide it into my pocket, staring at the snow-heavy branches of the fir tree next to the driveway. Little lumps of snow drop off it onto the hood of my car as the wind sways its boughs. It’s beautiful. When it snows in Philly the trees are all bare.

I jump when I feel a hand on my arm.

“Hey,” Rex says, “I thought you were going to—baby, what’s wrong?”

“What?” I ask.

“You were just standing out here. What’s wrong?” Rex cups my face and I try to blink away the weird black spots at the edges of my vision.

“Um,” I say. “Um. My dad died. I have to go home now.”

“Oh no,” Rex breathes, and he looks so sad.

“I have to go home,” I say again, fumbling for my keys.

“Let me just grab my keys and I’ll drive you,” Rex says.

“No, I mean I need to go home. To Philly.”

But of course my damn car won’t turn over. I pop the hood and start automatically going through the list of things that are usually wrong with it. Honestly, there’s no way the thing is going to last the winter. It started okay for me yesterday, but now it’s just dead.

“Fuck,” I say, kicking at the tire.

“Baby,” Rex says, coming back outside with his keys. I shrug him off and slam the hood. Rex reaches out a hand to me. “Let me drive you,” he says.