Where One Goes(43)

The corners of his mouth are turned up as he pulls back, and I know he’s laughing at me on the inside. I did look obvious. Son of a bitch.

“Not yet, Charlotte, but soon,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. Is he implying he plans to kiss me soon? That has to be what he means. Before I can play dumb and ask him what he meant he turns to leave, calling over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow, Charlotte.” Then he climbs in his Bronco and drives away.

There’s still no sign of Ike when I enter my room and guilt slithers through me. He really is mad at me. Shit. My heart twists at the thought. I just want to help him by helping George. I should’ve told him my plan. He’s right. George could have been really hurt. Shit. He was hurt. With a few hours to kill and no one to talk to, I decide to take a nap before heading over to the Mercers’ house for dinner. But my sleep is unsatisfying. It’s the kind of sleep where you dream so vividly it feels like you’ve never slept a wink.

I don’t remember the entire dream, but what I do remember is George walking up to me, his dark eyes hungry with desire. My body instantly reacted; my breath coming out in quick pants, my sensitive nipples hardening, wetness pooling between my legs, and heat blanketing me everywhere his gaze lingered on me.

When he whispered, “Charlotte,” and pulled me close, I whimpered. Yes, whimpered. And when his lips met mine, something in me ignited. His body pressed to mine, his arms holding me close as I threaded my fingers in his hair and ran my hands down his back. But when he pulled away, everything came to a halt. It was Ike staring back at me, smiling in that way he does that makes my insides liquefy.

And then, I woke up.

Even though it was only a dream, my mouth feels swollen as if the kiss was real. Touching my fingers to my lips, I brush them softly.

“Hi,” Ike says, and I gasp, jolting upright on the bed. “Dude, you have got to stop sneaking up on me like that. You scared the bejesus out of me.”

“Sorry,” he replies and smiles slightly. He’s sitting in the pleather chair, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced before him.

“Where have you been?” I pull my legs up and sit cross-legged.

“Why? You miss me?” He waggles his brows and I snort.

“I was worried you were still pissed at me. Ya know. Over me leaving that letter for Roger. I’m sorry, Ike. I should’ve told you before I did it.”

Ike sighs and rubs his hand over his head, his dog tags jingling as he moves, slouching back in his seat. “I’m not mad. It looks like it worked. I’m madder at myself.”

“For what?” I question.

“Because I never asked about your story. I never asked what you’ve been through. I’m an * for asking you to help George when you’re going through so much yourself.”

I fidget with the edge of a pillowcase, flicking the material back and forth between my fingers. My story is so . . . depressing, I’m not sure I want to tell him.

“I’d like to know, Charlotte. Tell me. Please.” When I look up, I meet his gaze and nod.

“Well . . .” I start and sort of snort. “Where the hell do I begin?”

“I want to know everything,” he answers, and I take a deep breath.

“Well . . . I grew up in Jackson County in Oklahoma. My mother’s a school teacher, she works in special education,” I add, “and my father is a pharmaceutical rep for a company called Lincoln. And I had an older brother, Axel,” I nearly choke as I say his name. I’ve rarely said it out loud in years, and I forgot the emotion speaking his name evokes from me. “He was three years older than me,” I finally manage. “We weren’t twins, but we were close. I don’t think anyone cried harder than me when he left for college,” I laugh and meet Ike’s gaze. “I suppose I was more enamored with my big brother than he was with me. I saw him as my confidant, my best friend, and he saw me as his baby sister he had to protect from everything. But he wasn’t overbearing or anything. I think he knew if he tried to tell me what to do, I would stop confiding in him. He was smart that way.” I stand and stretch before moving to the dresser where I have a half-filled bottle of water, taking a large swig before I continue.

“So of course, when I graduated, there was no other college I wanted to go to other than the one he was at. I’m not sure how he felt about it, but he never said anything to deter me, so off I went. Six years ago I was a freshman at Oklahoma State University. At the beginning of the second semester, I had joined a sorority and made some friends. I hung out with Axel every chance I could, but his fraternity kept him busy. One night, I was at this mixer, a paint mixer,” I laugh sadly. “Drunk off my ass and covered from head to toe in fluorescent paint several college boys had graciously rubbed all over me.”

“Lucky bastards,” Ike chimes in with a smirk.

“There was this girl, Melissa, I was friends with that had a huge crush on Axel. Somewhere along the evening she managed to grab my phone and take a picture of me dancing, sandwiched between two guys and texted it to Axel.”

Ike snorts a little laugh. “Let me guess. Axel showed up?”

“Yeah. But he didn’t try to drag me out or anything. I found out later any guy he saw talking to me got a very stern threat to remain two feet away from me at all times,” I laugh. “I couldn’t understand why guys started avoiding me.” I sip my water again, my hand trembling as I bring the bottle to my mouth. “So eventually I got bored and asked him to take me home. He rode this badass Harley, spent his life’s savings to get it. He’d only had it a year, and the purchase had definitely caused a rift between him and my parents. But Axel was . . .” My gaze moves to the ceiling as I search for the best way to describe him. “He was loyal to a fault. A good son, always had good grades, played football, yada yada. He rarely went against the grain, and when my parents threatened to stop paying his tuition, I was surprised he wouldn’t budge. He loved that bike.”