Soft Shock (14 page)

Maybe that’s not what you’re really afraid
of. Maybe you’re afraid he’s right when he says he’s not wrong about you.

In an attempt
to shut up her thoughts and get some for the first time in an aching,
frustratingly long six weeks, she said, “Get back here.”

Owen settled
over her and pushed her thighs open wider with his. Resting his forearms on
either side of her head, he put most of his weight on them and his elbows. His
penis rubbed against the sensitive skin between her legs, and she arched her
hips in anticipation and frustration.

She let out a
rich moan and closed her eyes as he filled her for the first time with a long,
slow stroke.

“Just fuck me.”
She tilted her hips toward his, needing to be closer.

But he didn’t
listen. “This is why I wanted to be on top.” That tone thrilled her and
surprised her coming from him. That tone said he was in control, and he was
going to give it to her the way he wanted to give it to her. He lowered his
head and whispered, his lips against her ear, “I’ve waited too long for this to
rush it.”

He lips closed
over hers in a deep kiss while he kept up his slow, steady rhythm inside of
her. When he pulled back, she looked up at him to see him staring down at her
with eyes like liquid silver.
Or, no, quicksilver.
She
had to remember the dangers of falling in too deep.

His lips were
at her ear again. “What do you like?”

She was caught
off-guard by the question. No one had ever asked or otherwise bothered to
figure it out. Not either of her serious boyfriends—albeit they’d barely
known what sex was at the time, especially with the high school one. Certainly
none of the string of one-night-stands between them and Owen had asked. She
usually took care of that part herself.

When she didn’t
answer, he said, “This?” He gently pinched and tugged at her nipples. She
gasped and once again tried to increase their speed. However, his hips remained
steady over hers, creating a slow burn that was building a delicious
anticipation in her. “How about this?” He slid his hand between her legs, just
above where he was inside her and manipulated the sensitive skin there in ways
that made her beg him not to stop. But he did. Next, he grabbed her hips and
changed their position several times until she uttered a rich, low moan.

“Right there?”
he asked, his voice husky, just above a whisper.

She couldn’t
answer with words. If she opened her mouth, she would scream out for him, and
their secret would be out almost before it began. So she bit her lower lip and
dug her fingernails into the flesh of his waist.

Owen pulled her
close, capturing her lips once again. She moaned into his mouth between kisses
as waves of pleasure rocked her body. She forgot herself, lost her mind, with
him inside of her. It was scary how much she liked losing all control and
giving herself over to him completely.

Afterwards,
Owen got up and stretched before heading off to the en suite bathroom that was attached
to Marci’s room. When he came back, Marci stared at him boldly. She didn’t try
to hide the fact that she liked what she saw—from top to bottom.

“What?” he
asked. He slipped back into bed, and she turned onto her side and propped her
head up on her arm, which was bent at the elbow. She traced one blood red nail
over the skin just under his collarbone, down between his pecks, and back up
again. He shivered a little, and she looked down to see goose bumps rising in
all the places she’d just touched him.

“Just
thinking,” she said although the extent of the thoughts running through her
mind was,
that was beyond incredible.
The things he’d done to her body—and with no help from toys or anything
but his own two hands, his hips, and that huge thing between those
hips—had been surprising in the best possible way.

“About what?”
he asked.

“Have you seen
your brother lately?” she asked casually, only mildly interested in the answer.
Asking about Jeremy was a good way to change the subject. She certainly wasn’t
going to stroke Owen’s ego by telling him he’d blown her mind.

He made a
strange little face that was somewhere between a frown and an expression of
confusion. Then he blew out a breath and said, “No, not recently. Why?”

“He was over
here the other day, talking to Ronnie. I didn’t hear much of their
conversation.” And it hadn’t been for lack of trying. “But I think they were
talking about a guy named Wes.”

Owen closed his
eyes for a moment, and his nostrils flared. He gave a little shake of his head,
and his hand curled into a fist. When he opened his eyes again, his expression
had cleared and he gave her a brief smile before saying, “Oh. Okay.”

“Is everything
okay?” Marci asked.

“You don’t want
to be bored with details of my family life.” Owen made a circle around her
navel with his index finger, and her stomach flipped behind it.

“What do I
want?” Marci asked.

“This.” Owen
rolled on top of her and pressed his lips to hers in a hard kiss while burying
his hands in her hair.

Well. She
couldn’t argue with him there.

#

When Owen
rolled off her for the second time night, they lay there in relative silence
for a moment as their breathing slowed. He was exhausted in the best way
possible. He’d given a hundred and ten percent, the half-threat, half-joke
she’d made earlier about tricking him into a one-night stand making him
determined to give his debut performance everything he had.

He got up to go
dispose of the condom and then walked around the bed, running a hand through
his hair and looking for his pants.

Marci looked
over her shoulder at him and murmured sleepily in a sexy low voice, “What are
you doing?”

“Looking for my
pants,” he answered.

“Why are you
doing that?”

“Isn’t it time
for you to kick me out?” Ah. Found them. He grabbed them from under the edge of
the bed as they’d somehow gotten kicked under there.

She seemed to
consider this for a moment, watched him holding his pants and standing at the
foot of the bed. Then she said, “You can stay if you want to.”

Surprised, he
dropped his pants. Jumping back into the bed before she changed her mind, he
slid under the covers and toward her until her back was pressed to his chest.

“I’m not used
to this,” she said. “Sleeping with someone all wrapped around me.”

This didn’t
surprise him. “I can give you space if you want.”

“No,” she said.
“It’s okay.”

This was
progress. And way more progress than he’d expected to make in one night.

“Can I use your
arm for a pillow?” she asked.

“Sure,” he
said,
shock making him answer
her slowly. He slid his
arm under her head, and she nestled against it and snuggled closer to his back.
His arm was probably going to fall asleep, but he didn’t care. Hell, it could
fall off and that would matter little to him right now.

If Owen had
known that night that his phone, which was in the pants he’d abandoned at the
foot of Marci’s bed, was blowing up the way it was with missed calls, it
might’ve made a difference to him. But it probably wouldn’t have. He was so far
gone in what he and Marci had finally gotten going, he could think of little
else.

Chapter Eighteen

Owen smiled to
himself and hummed all the way home the next morning. Marci had snuck him out
of the apartment. Tyler had an audition in New York that weekend and wasn’t
getting home until late Sunday evening. Ronnie was the only obstacle. While
they waited for Ronnie to leave for work, they had some really good breakfast
sex. Marci muffled her shouts into a pillow so she wouldn’t give herself away
to Ronnie.
After Ronnie left, Owen left, too.
Marci
had walked him to his Jeep with no one around to see and even allowed him to
give her a kiss goodbye. And she’d asked if he’d be at the writing center
Monday. All this was progress indeed.

Owen abruptly
stopped humming when he got to the outer door of his apartment building and saw
Brynn pacing in front of it.

“Hi, Brynn,”
Owen said, confused. “You can’t get in? Is Dante not here?”

Brynn hugged
her arms tightly, and Owen noticed that there was a chill in the air for the
first time. He’d been oblivious to everything about his surroundings since
leaving Marci’s place. It was unseasonably cold for early November. The
temperature had to be in the high forties, and it was a little after noon. He
zipped up his black fleece.

Brynn stopped
pacing. “I’m not sure. I’m not here to see Dante, so I didn’t check. I was just
standing out here, thinking.”

“Thinking about
what?” Owen asked.

She picked at
the front of her orange fleece vest with a gloved hand. “Something that’s been
driving me crazy for the past few weeks.”

“And that is?”

“Whether or not
to give you a second chance.” She shook her head and laughed. “Getting
attention from guys has never been a problem for me.
Until
you.
And I don’t know whether that’s what got under my skin or if
something else did, but I can’t stop thinking about you. Maybe I can get this
out of my system or find out if there’s more than just a passing attraction if
we give this another shot.” She looked up at him with her light blue eyes as she
adjusted her brown scarf. “I think we should give this another chance. That is,
if you want to.”

Owen was
speechless. Her timing couldn’t be worse if she tried. Brynn was a beautiful
girl. And Dante had made it clear that he’d made a huge mistake blowing Brynn
off at The Hops. She was brilliant—had graduated magna cum laude last
spring and was taking some time off to build her credentials before applying to
graduate business schools. She was apparently very funny, according to Dante.
And the deal he’d struck with Marci—was almost positive he’d struck with
her anyway—didn’t have any restriction against dating other people.

Besides, with a
girl like Marci, it’d be just plain foolish not to have a backup plan. Marci
would walk away from whatever they had when the mood struck her.
Maybe even tomorrow.
He certainly hoped not, but he knew
better than to put it past her. And being completely single was not in the
least enjoyable for him. In fact, he’d recently learned it could be quite
dangerous.

“Owen.” She
gave a small, fluttery laugh. “You’re so quiet. You’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry.” He
smiled. “Sure. I’d like that a lot, Brynn.”

“So we’re
starting over?” Brynn asked.

“Yep.”

“Good. What are
you doing tonight?” she asked. Clearly, Brynn was not a time waster.

“Nothing, I
don’t think.” Owen took his phone out so he could double-check his calendar.
When he did, he saw that he had a lewd text from Marci that made him grin. He
also realized he had 26 missed calls. His grin faded when he saw
who
they were from. Kristin. Shit. 26?

“Everything
okay?” Brynn asked.

“Yeah.” Owen
forced a smile and stuck his phone back into his pocket. “Tonight’s fine. I’m
completely free.”

Brynn’s face
lit up with a smile. “Great. Where should we go?”

“I feel like
The Hops would be fitting.”

Brynn laughed,
a pretty, tinkling sound. “I think so too. Pick me up at seven?”

“Sure. If you
give me your address.”

“Okay. If you
give me something to write with.”

Owen had his
backpack because he’d had it yesterday when he went straight from class to
Marci’s place. Slipping the straps off his shoulders, he opened it up and
grabbed a notebook and a pen. Brynn recited her address to him, and he scribbled
it down.

“I better get
going,” Brynn said. “I need to finish my run.” She was dressed in black running
tights and wore a long-sleeved T-shirt under her fleece vest.

Tapping his
notebook against his open palm, he nodded. “I’ll see you this evening.”

“Looking
forward to it.” Brynn jogged off.

It was a good
thing she hadn’t wanted to come up. He needed a shower much more than he needed
to make awkward small talk with Brynn while trying to get his head together
after all that’d happened last night—and that morning.

#

Marci sat on
the couch all day and graded papers. Her students had been asked to write a
reaction paper to a few excerpts from a film the professor had made them watch
in class the previous week. Most of them had done a piss poor job on it. Most
of them had probably dashed the paper off the night before it was due or a few
hours before coming to class even. She grinned to herself. Sounded like
something she’d do—had done—as an undergrad.
Especially
this close to Thanksgiving break and finals.
There were a few diamonds
in the rough and no surprises among them. Her go-getters had turned in the best
papers as always.

Marci looked up
when Ronnie walked into the apartment. She shrugged off her black pea coat,
revealing her black Schaffer’s polo shirt sporting the restaurant’s logo. Her
apron was still tied around her waist.

“Hey,” Marci
said, her eyes drifting back to the paper on her lap.

Ronnie didn’t
answer right away. After a pregnant pause, she said, “What’s up?”

“Just grading
papers.” Marci held up a paper as a visual.

Ronnie nodded.
“Okay.”

“You’ve been
awfully distracted lately.” Marci knew there had to be something going on.
Whenever Ronnie was around these days, which wasn’t often, she was quiet and
mostly stayed in her room, which wasn’t Ronnie.

Ronnie freed
her dark brown hair from the knot she usually wore it up in at work and slipped
the rubber band she’d been using as a hair tie around her wrist. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure
everything’s okay?”

“What about
you? That boy didn’t go home last night.” Ronnie was famous for turning the
tables when she didn’t want to talk about herself.

“He went home,”
Marci said.
Just not
last night
.

“Uh-huh,”
Ronnie said in a tone that connoted she wasn’t buying it, not even for a
second. “Right.”

“We worked on
his paper until late, and then he went home. After you went to bed.” Marci
picked up her brown earthenware mug to take a sip of tea.

“He was putting
in work all right.” Ronnie snorted. Are you doing Jeremy’s brother?”

Marci nearly
dropped her mug. Placing it on the coffee table, she tried to play it off.
“That’s ridiculous. Really. He’s a terrible writer. That paper needed a lot of
work. I mean seriously. Did you see him when you left this morning?” Marci gave
the window a worried glance. She hoped she wouldn’t get struck down by
lightning for all the lies she’d just told in a row.

“Nope,” Ronnie
said simply. “And I didn’t see you, either.”

Marci picked up
her mug and took her time sipping her tea, considering how to answer this. “I
was up late. You know I like to sleep in on Saturdays.” At least she’d said one
true thing. Well, technically two true things. She
had
been up late after all.
Just not alone.

“Girl, you can
be a vault when you wanna be,” Ronnie said.

“So can you,”
Marci said. “Apparently.” Marci’s phone chimed. She looked down and saw an
alert for the reminder she’d set for herself. “Ah yeah. I meant to remind you
that I’m going to mail the rent checks tomorrow. You have yours ready?”

Ronnie’s face
blanched. She grabbed the front pockets of her apron like her tips were still
in there—even though she always dumped them into her purse right after
her shift—and like Marci was going to reach in there and try to take them
away from her. Biting her lower lip, she took a seat in the armchair diagonally
across from the sofa where Marci sat. Well, more like she stumbled into it.

“Are you still
going to try to tell me nothing’s wrong?” Marci asked.

Ronnie stared down
in the direction of her hands, which were still in her apron pockets, for a
long time before saying anything. Still looking down, she said, “I’ve been
meaning to talk to you about this.” Not only had Ronnie’s tone changed,
but
Ronnie was using a tone Marci rarely heard her use. It
was so foreign coming out of Ronnie. Way too small to sound like any tone
Ronnie would use.

“What is it?”
Marci asked.

“I’m going to
have a little trouble coming up with rent this month.”

“Is that all?”
Marci laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll spot you.”

Ronnie jumped
up from the couch. “I hate talking about money with you. You always treat it
like it’s not a big deal.”

“Because it’s
not.”

“To some of us,
it is,”
Ronnie
snapped.

“Oh, Ronnie.
You have to know I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I just wish
you’d stop rubbing it in our faces, throwing your
mom’s
cash around all the time. Tyler and I didn’t happen to come into
the world with silver spoons in our mouths. A lot of us didn’t.”

“I
don’t—at least I’ve never meant to throw it around,” Marci said. Had she
been a jerk about money? If she had, she’d never realized it. She’d always
thought of money as mattering to Glenda King too much, but she’d never dreamed
she was anything like that woman. Was she? Had she become just like her mother
while trying to be the exact opposite of her? If so, how the hell had that
happened?

“Well, you do.
You’re always trying to treat us like money is nothing. You’re always offering
to pay for things. Like we can’t handle our own.”

“I know you can
handle your own, Ronnie,” Marci said quietly. “In fact, you’re always so good
with money,” she added carefully because it was true and because she was trying
to find a way to calm Ronnie down enough to have a rational conversation with
her. “What happened?”

Ronnie waved
off Marci’s words and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m sorry,
Ronnie. If I’ve hurt you in any way, it was unintentional. I could give less of
a crap about money. But I do care about my friends. A lot,” she said. “I love
you, Ronnie. And whatever’s wrong, I want to help if you’ll give me that
chance.”

Ronnie crossed
the living room and stopped in front of the balcony doors. Staring out at the
downtown Richmond skyline and facing away from Marci, she said, “I’ve been
trying to help someone out. Financially.”

“A friend?”

Ronnie
shrugged.

“Is it…Jeremy?”
Marci was almost afraid to ask.

Ronnie looked
over her shoulder and gave Marci a death glare. Marci held her hands up to show
that she came in peace. Marci let Ronnie stand at the window and fume in
silence. If Ronnie wanted to talk about this, she would talk. Marci didn’t
think words would be helpful any longer at this point. In the meantime, Marci
went into the kitchen, made Ronnie a cup of tea the way she liked it—far
too much cream and sugar—and brought the tea out to her. After handing
Ronnie the mug without saying a word, Marci made her way back to the sofa.

Eventually,
Ronnie came and sat next to her on the sofa.

“My uncle has a
gambling problem.” Ronnie stared into her mug as she spoke. Ronnie’s uncle had
raised her from the time she was three years old because her mother hadn’t been
able to take care of her kids after a bout of post-partum depression pretty
much destroyed her. Her mother’s brothers and sisters—Ronnie’s aunt and
uncles—had taken Ronnie and her brothers and sisters into their homes and
raised them. Ronnie’s uncle meant a lot to her. For all intents and purposes,
he was a father to her.

Ronnie let the
whole story about her uncle’s addiction tumble out. When she was done telling
it, Marci asked her if she thought she should try to get her uncle some help.

“I know you
think I’m being an enabler,” Ronnie said.

“I’m not saying
anything except that you shouldn’t be trying to take on this huge burden all by
yourself.” Marci twirled her dad’s class ring between her index finger and
thumb, barely aware she was doing it. “Sometimes…you have to realize there’s
nothing…nothing else you can do. And that the bad things happening to the
people you love are not your fault.”

“I’m not by
myself. The family knows about it,” she said. “And my uncle is in trouble with
some pretty bad people, Marci. They aren’t the type who are going to go away if
he goes to gamblers anonymous or whatever recovering gambling addicts do and
files bankruptcy or something.” Ronnie put her mug down and wrapped her arms
around herself. “I just don’t know what to do anymore, Marci. I don’t know.”

“Oh, Ronnie.
You’ve been carrying this around and not telling anybody? You should know you
can
tell me anything.” Marci hugged Ronnie to her.

“You know the
full extent of my family’s trashiness now, huh?”

“How could you
even dream I’d think that?” Marci squeezed her tighter.

“My brothers
have a plan, but it’s one I’m trying to stop them from putting into action.
They’re going to get themselves killed.” Ronnie pulled back from the hug a
little. She laughed, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. “Still want to
come up for Thanksgiving?”