Chapter Twenty-Five - OLIVER
“I’m outta here,” I say, calling to Ariel as I make my way down the stairs to go home. “Longest two fucking days of my life.”
“OK,” she calls back. “See you tomorrow.”
I wish I could take tomorrow off. I wish I could take the rest of the week off, to be honest.
Ever since the guys left I’ve been checking my window for signs of Katya. Relentlessly.
Not even a light on in that place. In fact, I don’t even know if that’s her apartment, so spending an entire afternoon pining for her is stupid.
When I get outside I remember I drove the Camaro instead of the bike and a wave of disappointment rolls over me. I love the car and all, but the bike always makes things better.
I get in, start it up, and make my way down the alley. My house is less than two minutes away, so I turn right and start rumbling down Jefferson. I’m just about to get in the left lane so I can turn into my driveway when I catch a glimpse of a girl sitting at the bus stop bench across the street.
“Katya?” I ask out loud. I swerve the wheel and pull up next to her, tabbing the window down. “Kat?” I call.
She smiles.
And then I realize what she’s wearing and I smile too. Her makeshift Parson School for Girls uniform—complete with unauthorized tartan skirt, white knee socks, and blue blazer.
“Do you need a ride?” I ask. It’s almost dark but there’s an orange-red sunset off in the west that makes her whole face glow.
“I’m waiting for my brother to pick me up from school. And if he sees you talking to me, he’ll kick your ass.” She twists her hair and bites her lip as she says this.
“Is that right?” I say, trying not to laugh. “What if I said your brother told me to come get you and take you home and keep you safe?”
“He did?” Kat says, standing up and straightening out her skirt.
“He did. Get in,” I say, leaning over the passenger side to open the door for her.
She grabs her purse and slips into the seat. I rev the engine as I drive off and then go around the block so I can enter my place from the back.
Maybe I do get lucky every once in a while. I could’ve picked her up on the bike, but it’s not nearly as sexy as the Camaro.
“So you were waiting for me, huh?” I ask.
“I was hoping for dinner. Did you already eat?”
“No. I just left work. What did you do today?” I cut the engine and look at her in the approaching darkness.
“Painted. Took some photos. Sold one online. Packaged it up to mail tomorrow. What about you?”
I smile at her. “Same old shit. Sister meeting. Mister meeting. Paperwork. Stalked your building from my office window hoping for a shadow in the curtains. Assuming that’s your apartment.”
“Peeper,” she says, sliding her hand onto my leg. It’s hot. Or maybe it’s not. But it feels hot through the denim of my jeans. I look at her hand for a second and then find her eyes. “Can I stay here tonight?”
“You bet,” I say, placing my hand over hers.
“Not afraid of me?”
I shake my head. “Never.”
“Did you talk to Ariel this afternoon? About me?”
“No,” I say. “Why?”
“If you do,” she says, ignoring my question, “don’t make any rash judgments before talking to me first.”
I pat her hand. “Deal. Wanna eat out or in?”
“In,” she says. And even though she usually has an air of strength and control about her… tonight Kat just looks… vulnerable.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“Not yet,” she says.
“But you’ll let me know if something does go wrong?”
“You’ll be the first, I swear.” She crosses her heart with a finger.
“OK,” I say, giving her hand a final squeeze and then getting out of the car. Kat gets out too, and follows me towards the back door of the building. We stop so I can disarm the alarm, and then I wave her inside and flip on the lights.
“Don’t you feel exposed in here?” Kat says. “With all these massive garage-door windows?”
“They’re mirrors at night,” I say, taking off my jacket and throwing it over the seat of a barstool lined up next to the kitchen island. “You can’t really see in. Unless you put your face right up to it. So what do you want to eat?”
Kat looks at me with a sly grin. She walks forward slowly, her little skirt swishing against her long legs. “You first,” she says. “Food later.”
When she gets directly in front of me her hands are on my belt buckle, making it jingle as she flips it open and goes for the button on my jeans.
I let out a long breath and lean back against the counter as she drops to her knees. “What if your brother finds out?”
She laughs, a real smile that warms me up even more than I already am. “Don’t worry,” Kat says, busy pulling my cock out of my pants. “You can take him.”
And then she puts her mouth on me. Her wet tongue and hot breath. Her hands squeezing my shaft. Pumping up and down.
“God,” I say, my fingers automatically going to her hair. I fist it tight. Urging her to take me deeper. “I’ve missed you.”
She pulls back just enough to say, “‘You express me better than I express myself. You shall be more to me than my poem.’ Everything is OK for now.”
“Katya,” I say, touched when she recites the last words I ever put on her body.
“Just let me have my way with you,” she says. And when her mouth resumes on the tip of my cock, I let her have her way.
She is more to me than my poem.