Adult-FanFiction.org : Celebrity

You May Drown	By : redqueeninwonderland Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Green Day Views: 2031 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Green Day. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Title: You May Drown II
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Yeah. I own them. Not!
Notes: Comp’s still MIA so I’m on the office one again. Hope you guys like. Judging from the reviews of this one, nobody’s reading, so who knows.
@-------------------------------@
I woke up in a hotel room that wasn’t my own, wearing a shirt that definitely wasn’t mine and had a moment of absolute disorientation. I remembered dancing. I remembered that encounter with Billie. I cringed. I’d gone to the hotel bar…
“Oh sweet Mother of Grandma’s lace, don’t let me have fucked a stranger,” I moaned, covering my face with the blankets.
“I didn’t think I was a stranger…” I jumped, the attractive man from last night. I thought his name was—but if I’d screwed one of the band members I’d never forgive myself. “I had breakfast brought,” He offered. “You don’t look like a coffee person, so,” he jerked his chin at a tea service and then grinned boyishly, “I told them to bring a little of everything—I thought you’d pick what you wanted.”
“Thanks,” He was sitting on the edge of the bed and he looked so pleased with himself I sighed, shame coloring my cheeks. “Tre… I don’t want to—well… did we…?”
“He drew his breath, seeming trying to figure out a way to put things delicately. “Well,” My stomach roiled and I must have gone faintly green because he grinned, putting a hand on my knee he shook his head. “No, we met up in the lobby outside the bar and you were a little… off, you said you’d—“
“Taken a Xanax. Right.” Suddenly I remembered and I felt better. I don’t like prescription drugs. They fuck with me. But my mother swears by her tranqs, so there’s a bottle stashed in the bottom of my makeup bag for emergencies. Relief flooded through me. I was stupid to chase one of mother’s pills with tequila shots, but then I’m noting if not a tad self destructive.
“Feel better?”
“Mm. No offense.”
“None taken,” he reached for the remote on the bedside table. “Feel like breakfast?”
I grinned, “I could do with something.” He ripped the blankets away and extended his hand. I got up and looked at the room service carts in the suite. “You weren’t kidding. A little of everything?”
“You could stand to eat a big meal,” he tweaked my side. I shivered and rolled my eyes. I hate being ticklish. I piled a plate with a bit of everything, pancake, waffle, butter, sausage, bacon, scrambled egg, and then covered the whole mess with maple syrup and helped myself to fresh fruit in a bowl as well. He stood to the side, amused, and when I indicated the teapot with my chin he laughed, pouring me a cup and putting it on the bedside table for me.
I sat back down on the bed, perched the overflowing bowl precariously on my lap and cast around for a fork. Finding none I stared up at him mournfully. He burst out laughing at my expression and made a show of first piling his own plate and then returning to the bed, orange juice and forks in one hand and food in the other. He literally stood on the bed and climbed over me, then settled in. It was only after he’d settled in completely, reached over me to put his OJ on my bedside table and sat back that he handed me the fork.
I stared at him balefully for a moment before digging in with abandon. He watched me for a minute and laughed, “I can’t decide if you remind me more of my dog or my daughter.”
“You got a daughter?” I asked around a mouthful of egg. He grinned. style='mso-tab-count:1'>
“Yup, lives with her mom,” he indicated the cartoon on television, “she loves this show.”
I swallowed the egg. Dexter’s Laboratory was blaring on Cartoon Network. “What’s your real name?”
“What’s yours?”
“I asked you first.”
He rolled his eyes. “Frank. Now, what’s yours?”
“Who says Fatimah’s not my real name?” I took another sip of his orange juice and he shot me a reproachful look.
“Honestly? The look on Billie Joe’s face when you were introduced.”
I sighed, he plucked his orange juice from my hand and took a long, considering sip. I rolled my eyes, briefly outlining the weekend he and I spent together. When I was done he looked intrigued.
“So is Scarlett your real name?”
“I don’t know, is it?”
He rolled his eyes, “What’s your real name?”
I shifted to look him full in the face and contemplated him for a moment. Then grinned, “I’ll never tell.”
He laughed, “Well, I’m not going to call you Fatimah, so give me a name.”
I shrugged, biting delicately at a slice of bacon. “I don’t know, pick one.”
“You serious?” I nodded, “Okay…” He grinned wickedly, “Bruhnhilda.”
“Something decent, thank you.” He laughed at me and made a show of examining me.
“I think I’ll call you… Legs.” He looked incredibly pleased with himself and I had to laugh.
“Legs?”
“What’s wrong with Legs?”
I shrugged, sipping from the nearly empty glass of orange juice. “It’s not really a name, is it?”
“Well, from what I’ve heard, you’ve already got several, names that is. Besides, you’ve got great ones.” He leered and I laughed.
“Thanks for the shirt. But where are my clothes?”
He nodded at a pile of red and black and silver on a chair. “You were pretty bombed last night. You needed some help getting out of that thing.”
I put the empty breakfast plate on the bedside table. “Thank you,” I faced him, my hands in my lap. “I don’t usually do… that. And, well, the last time it happened it was a pretty nasty situation, so, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. How long are you staying in Cali?”
I shifted my legs under the blanket. “I’m not sure, to be honest.” I shrugged, “I don’t have another gig any time soon so I could stay for weeks if I wanted, but I don’t know.”
He arched an eyebrow, “It’s a big state, you know, you wouldn’t have to see Billie.”
I blushed. “Am I that obvious?”
“Why are you so afraid of him?”
“I’m not—I just… I feel guilty.”
“Do you have a reason to be?” He reached over my body and stacked his empty plate on top of mine.
“I don’t know. I feel like—like I’ve lied. I guess.”
“Why, because you gave him the wrong name? You did. But he lied to you too, you know.”
“Yeah,” I laughed softly. “It would have been nice to know he was married.”
“Did you have any idea who he was?” Tre was watching me intently and I shrugged. His concern was touching, but misplaced. I didn’t feel like the wronged party, but I felt guilty for something and I wasn’t sure why.
“No. But it really didn’t matter at the time.”
“You just wanted sex?”
“At first. But he was funny and we actually talked, so he stuck around for a few days.”
“Had you heard from him since?”
“No. And I hadn’t really expected to. But seeing him again—well. I dunno.”
“Threw ya for a loop, did it?”
“You could say that,” if you consider a near panic attack a ‘loop’. He reached around me for the bowl of fruit and popped a cantaloupe piece in his mouth.
“You still want him,” he announced, sliding his legs under the blankets and settling back against the mound of pillows I’d been leaning on.
I sighed and leaned back too, my head practically on his shoulder. “Yeah. I think that’s why I feel guilty. I mean, neither one of us talked about it being other than it was, but—and this is sounds so trite—we connected, you know?” I grabbed a strawberry out of the bowl and popped it in my mouth. “And then I find out he’s married and I have to pretend like I don’t know who the fuck he is, when what I really want to do is knock the hell outta him for not telling me in the first place.”
“Would you have slept with him if you’d known?”
I thought back to that night. The laughter and the chemistry. “None of it would have happened if he’d acted married. That kind of tension… you can’t just ignore it and no truly married man creates it.”
“Unless he’s lookin’ for something.” Tre shot back and I shrugged.
“Then why get married if you’re still gonna go lookin’?”
“Billie’s… funny. He’s totally devoted to Adrienne, but he has cheated on her,” Tre rolled his eyes, letting the obviously go unsaid. “Our lifestyle—hard not to, really. You’ve got plenty of opportunity and the mindset sex is just sex is really easy to have. But if he stayed… then… I don’t know. He’s doesn’t do that.” He shook his head.
“What?”
He reached around me for a strawberry, “Nothin’,” he stared at it for a second and then offered it to me. I shook my head. I was beyond full. He glared. “Eat it.”
“If you don’t want it, put it back.”
He shook his head, “I want you to eat it.” He waggled his eyebrows, “You’ll like it…”
“I don’t want it.” I clamped my mouth shut and he made airplane noises, swooping the thing at my mouth. He held it against my clamped lips and I shook my head harder. He pulled it away for a second and hopped over me, straddling legs.
“You’re worse than my kids, it’s good for you…” He wheedled and I glared.
“I’m not eating—don’t come at me with that thing!” I clamped a hand over my mouth and he laughed, shmooshing it against the back of my palm. “Eeew! Squishyyyyy!”
We were laughing so hard he collapsed on top of me, his forehead against mine. He lifted his head and grasped my wrist, inspecting my hand. “Well somebody might as well eat it.”
With no further preamble he lifted my hand to his lips and went about eating the mashed berry off of it. His teeth scraped my knuckle and I felt my breath hiss through my teeth. After he’d made short work of the fruit he used his tongue to lick my skin clean of the juices, his eyes never leaving my face. I suddenly didn’t care one whit for the cartoon on TV and when his fingers gently spread mine I felt my stomach plummet, adding to my already pounding heart.
“Tre—“ I shifted beneath him and he leaned forward, hands shoved into the pillow on either side of my head. His nose was touching mine, his eyes skimming my face.
“What?” His voice was soft. I blinked, slow. Languid.
“…I don’t remember.” When his lips touched mine it was soft. My eyes fluttered closed and I leaned into the question of it. Answering by opening my mouth to him, my fingers sliding up his chest to grasp the front of his tee shirt.
I could feel the thud of his heart under the Agent Orange logo. The solidity was comforting but the speed astonished me. My eyes snapped open and I found him watching me. I was disconcerted at the intensity I read in his eyes. Our gaze held.
The kiss continued.
Somehow, without breaking the kiss he was under the covers. His body above mine, his hands roving. We were on our sides, under blankets, boldly staring into each other’s faces as we explored. His hand had slid under the shirt and when his palm settled on my breast I gasped, my entire body jerking. My lips broke contact with the slightly prickly skin at his neck and my hips bucked involuntarily against his.
I’d thrown a leg carelessly across his hips and I could feel him through the soft cotton of the pajama bottoms. I wasn’t wearing underwear.
Suddenly things seemed very urgent and I found the waistband with trembling, suddenly clammy fingers. I jerked at it. Getting him free of the material and I gasped at the feel of him, hard and demanding, against my thigh. “Tre-!”
His name was half gasp, half plea, and I wasn’t sure why, but suddenly everything seemed to center on getting him inside me. It was all happening so fast!
My fingers brushed him, urged his hips forward and his breath left him in a heavy rush at the same time his fingers closed over my wrist. “Legs, stop-“
In that dizzying second his hands left my body, resituated himself and he sat up. I stared up at him, panting, watching him fight to catch his breath and living in frustrated desire. He looked down at me, still prone on the bed and he cursed, throwing the blankets off himself he got up.
I could still see his arousal and I sat up. Confused.
He went to the carts, poured a glass of orange juice. He looked back at me on the bed and cursed again, draining the glass in a large, chugging gulp.
Waiting was harder than it looked, but I was half afraid to break the silence. I hugged my kneesa nd rested my head in the hollow, staring up at him, waiting.
“Dammit Legs, you just—fuck!” He put the glass back on the cart and flopped in the easy chair by the window.
“Do you not trust yourself to be by me?”
He rolled his eyes and rose. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to me he looked in my eyes, his head turned to me. I didn’t comment on his hands, fisted and crossed over his chest.
“I wasn’t planning on that,” he murmured, I assumed by way of apology.
“Tre—“
“Legs let me finish. See, we all knew last night you and Billie had a thing,” he snorted, “Hell probably Adrienne too, she doesn’t miss much.”
I flushed a deep and steady crimson.
“But see—okay, so I got you back up here and you were asleep and I was thinking.” His eyes flared and I didn’t dare open my mouth. “See, thing is I spent a good deal of last night thinking about what it would be like if something like this happened. And,” he muttered a pretty colorful curse and I lowered my legs, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder.
“You don’t have to-“
“See the thing is, in all the time I was thinking about this, it was always you and me.” His eyes glittered, “Billie never really fit into the equation.”
Oh. Oh, Tre.
“So, I’m thinking it’s a bad idea just now. ‘Cause, well- you know.”
“I should go,” I slid out of the bed and he followed me, watching silently while I pulled the skirt back on. I pulled the jewelry together and wrapped it in the top with my room key and turned back to face him at the door. “Thank you for breakfast.” I glanced downward and he grinned.
“Keep the shirt.” He cupped my jaw, “I do want to see you again.”
I sighed. I was all mixed up and I didn’t want to think about why. “I’ll be here for a bit.”
“How long?”
“Until the wind changes,” I shrugged, his eyes were warm. Something in the way he looked at me made me feel better, made some of my inner flirt come back. I lifted my shoulder, affecting a smoky voice, “Why don’tcha come up and see me sometime?”
“What room’er you in?” “If you really want to see me you’ll figure it out.” I stood on tiptoe, brushing his lips quickly before waltzing out the door.
I was keyed up by the time I got back to my room. Disappointed desire sitting heavy in my stomach. I was unlocking my door, my back to him when he spoke.
“Where were you last night?”
I jumped, violently. “God-dammit, Billie!”
God-style='mso-bidi-font-weight:normal'>dammit, Billie!
Title: You May Drown II
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Yeah. I own them. Not!
Notes: Comp’s still MIA so I’m on the office one again. Hope you guys like. Judging from the reviews of this one, nobody’s reading, so who knows.
@-------------------------------@
I woke up in a hotel room that wasn’t my own, wearing a shirt that definitely wasn’t mine and had a moment of absolute disorientation. I remembered dancing. I remembered that encounter with Billie. I cringed. I’d gone to the hotel bar…
“Oh sweet Mother of Grandma’s lace, don’t let me have fucked a stranger,” I moaned, covering my face with the blankets.
“I didn’t think I was a stranger…” I jumped, the attractive man from last night. I thought his name was—but if I’d screwed one of the band members I’d never forgive myself. “I had breakfast brought,” He offered. “You don’t look like a coffee person, so,” he jerked his chin at a tea service and then grinned boyishly, “I told them to bring a little of everything—I thought you’d pick what you wanted.”
“Thanks,” He was sitting on the edge of the bed and he looked so pleased with himself I sighed, shame coloring my cheeks. “Tre… I don’t want to—well… did we…?”
“He drew his breath, seeming trying to figure out a way to put things delicately. “Well,” My stomach roiled and I must have gone faintly green because he grinned, putting a hand on my knee he shook his head. “No, we met up in the lobby outside the bar and you were a little… off, you said you’d—“
“Taken a Xanax. Right.” Suddenly I remembered and I felt better. I don’t like prescription drugs. They fuck with me. But my mother swears by her tranqs, so there’s a bottle stashed in the bottom of my makeup bag for emergencies. Relief flooded through me. I was stupid to chase one of mother’s pills with tequila shots, but then I’m noting if not a tad self destructive.
“Feel better?”
“Mm. No offense.”
“None taken,” he reached for the remote on the bedside table. “Feel like breakfast?”
I grinned, “I could do with something.” He ripped the blankets away and extended his hand. I got up and looked at the room service carts in the suite. “You weren’t kidding. A little of everything?”
“You could stand to eat a big meal,” he tweaked my side. I shivered and rolled my eyes. I hate being ticklish. I piled a plate with a bit of everything, pancake, waffle, butter, sausage, bacon, scrambled egg, and then covered the whole mess with maple syrup and helped myself to fresh fruit in a bowl as well. He stood to the side, amused, and when I indicated the teapot with my chin he laughed, pouring me a cup and putting it on the bedside table for me.
I sat back down on the bed, perched the overflowing bowl precariously on my lap and cast around for a fork. Finding none I stared up at him mournfully. He burst out laughing at my expression and made a show of first piling his own plate and then returning to the bed, orange juice and forks in one hand and food in the other. He literally stood on the bed and climbed over me, then settled in. It was only after he’d settled in completely, reached over me to put his OJ on my bedside table and sat back that he handed me the fork.
I stared at him balefully for a moment before digging in with abandon. He watched me for a minute and laughed, “I can’t decide if you remind me more of my dog or my daughter.”
“You got a daughter?” I asked around a mouthful of egg. He grinned.
“Yup, lives with her mom,” he indicated the cartoon on television, “she loves this show.”
I swallowed the egg. Dexter’s Laboratory was blaring on Cartoon Network. “What’s your real name?”
“What’s yours?”
“I asked you first.”
He rolled his eyes. “Frank. Now, what’s yours?”
“Who says Fatimah’s not my real name?” I took another sip of his orange juice and he shot me a reproachful look.
“Honestly? The look on Billie Joe’s face when you were introduced.”
I sighed, he plucked his orange juice from my hand and took a long, considering sip. I rolled my eyes, briefly outlining the weekend he and I spent together. When I was done he looked intrigued.
“So is Scarlett your real name?”
“I don’t know, is it?”
He rolled his eyes, “What’s your real name?”
I shifted to look him full in the face and contemplated him for a moment. Then grinned, “I’ll never tell.”
He laughed, “Well, I’m not going to call you Fatimah, so give me a name.”
I shrugged, biting delicately at a slice of bacon. “I don’t know, pick one.”
“You serious?” I nodded, “Okay…” He grinned wickedly, “Bruhnhilda.”
“Something decent, thank you.” He laughed at me and made a show of examining me.
“I think I’ll call you… Legs.” He looked incredibly pleased with himself and I had to laugh.
“Legs?”
“What’s wrong with Legs?”
I shrugged, sipping from the nearly empty glass of orange juice. “It’s not really a name, is it?”
“Well, from what I’ve heard, you’ve already got several, names that is. Besides, you’ve got great ones.” He leered and I laughed.
“Thanks for the shirt. But where are my clothes?”
He nodded at a pile of red and black and silver on a chair. “You were pretty bombed last night. You needed some help getting out of that thing.”
I put the empty breakfast plate on the bedside table. “Thank you,” I faced him, my hands in my lap. “I don’t usually do… that. And, well, the last time it happened it was a pretty nasty situation, so, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. How long are you staying in Cali?”
I shifted my legs under the blanket. “I’m not sure, to be honest.” I shrugged, “I don’t have another gig any time soon so I could stay for weeks if I wanted, but I don’t know.”
He arched an eyebrow, “It’s a big state, you know, you wouldn’t have to see Billie.”
I blushed. “Am I that obvious?”
“Why are you so afraid of him?”
“I’m not—I just… I feel guilty.”
“Do you have a reason to be?” He reached over my body and stacked his empty plate on top of mine.
“I don’t know. I feel like—like I’ve lied. I guess.”
“Why, because you gave him the wrong name? You did. But he lied to you too, you know.”
“Yeah,” I laughed softly. “It would have been nice to know he was married.”
“Did you have any idea who he was?” Tre was watching me intently and I shrugged. His concern was touching, but misplaced. I didn’t feel like the wronged party, but I felt guilty for something and I wasn’t sure why.
“No. But it really didn’t matter at the time.”
“You just wanted sex?”
“At first. But he was funny and we actually talked, so he stuck around for a few days.”
“Had you heard from him since?”
“No. And I hadn’t really expected to. But seeing him again—well. I dunno.”
“Threw ya for a loop, did it?”
“You could say that,” if you consider a near panic attack a ‘loop’. He reached around me for the bowl of fruit and popped a cantaloupe piece in his mouth.
“You still want him,” he announced, sliding his legs under the blankets and settling back against the mound of pillows I’d been leaning on.
I sighed and leaned back too, my head practically on his shoulder. “Yeah. I think that’s why I feel guilty. I mean, neither one of us talked about it being other than it was, but—and this is sounds so trite—we connected, you know?” I grabbed a strawberry out of the bowl and popped it in my mouth. “And then I find out he’s married and I have to pretend like I don’t know who the fuck he is, when what I really want to do is knock the hell outta him for not telling me in the first place.”
“Would you have slept with him if you’d known?”
I thought back to that night. The laughter and the chemistry. “None of it would have happened if he’d acted married. That kind of tension… you can’t just ignore it and no truly married man creates it.”
“Unless he’s lookin’ for something.” Tre shot back and I shrugged.
“Then why get married if you’re still gonna go lookin’?”
“Billie’s… funny. He’s totally devoted to Adrienne, but he has cheated on her,” Tre rolled his eyes, letting the obviously go unsaid. “Our lifestyle—hard not to, really. You’ve got plenty of opportunity and the mindset sex is just sex is really easy to have. But if he stayed… then… I don’t know. He’s doesn’t do that.” He shook his head.
“What?”
He reached around me for a strawberry, “Nothin’,” he stared at it for a second and then offered it to me. I shook my head. I was beyond full. He glared. “Eat it.”
“If you don’t want it, put it back.”
He shook his head, “I want you to eat it.” He waggled his eyebrows, “You’ll like it…”
“I don’t want it.” I clamped my mouth shut and he made airplane noises, swooping the thing at my mouth. He held it against my clamped lips and I shook my head harder. He pulled it away for a second and hopped over me, straddling legs.
“You’re worse than my kids, it’s good for you…” He wheedled and I glared.
“I’m not eating—don’t come at me with that thing!” I clamped a hand over my mouth and he laughed, shmooshing it against the back of my palm. “Eeew! Squishyyyyy!”
We were laughing so hard he collapsed on top of me, his forehead against mine. He lifted his head and grasped my wrist, inspecting my hand. “Well somebody might as well eat it.”
With no further preamble he lifted my hand to his lips and went about eating the mashed berry off of it. His teeth scraped my knuckle and I felt my breath hiss through my teeth. After he’d made short work of the fruit he used his tongue to lick my skin clean of the juices, his eyes never leaving my face. I suddenly didn’t care one whit for the cartoon on TV and when his fingers gently spread mine I felt my stomach plummet, adding to my already pounding heart.
“Tre—“ I shifted beneath him and he leaned forward, hands shoved into the pillow on either side of my head. His nose was touching mine, his eyes skimming my face.
“What?” His voice was soft. I blinked, slow. Languid.
“…I don’t remember.” When his lips touched mine it was soft. My eyes fluttered closed and I leaned into the question of it. Answering by opening my mouth to him, my fingers sliding up his chest to grasp the front of his tee shirt.
I could feel the thud of his heart under the Agent Orange logo. The solidity was comforting but the speed astonished me. My eyes snapped open and I found him watching me. I was disconcerted at the intensity I read in his eyes. Our gaze held.
The kiss continued.
Somehow, without breaking the kiss he was under the covers. His body above mine, his hands roving. We were on our sides, under blankets, boldly staring into each other’s faces as we explored. His hand had slid under the shirt and when his palm settled on my breast I gasped, my entire body jerking. My lips broke contact with the slightly prickly skin at his neck and my hips bucked involuntarily against his.
I’d thrown a leg carelessly across his hips and I could feel him through the soft cotton of the pajama bottoms. I wasn’t wearing underwear.
Suddenly things seemed very urgent and I found the waistband with trembling, suddenly clammy fingers. I jerked at it. Getting him free of the material and I gasped at the feel of him, hard and demanding, against my thigh. “Tre-!”
His name was half gasp, half plea, and I wasn’t sure why, but suddenly everything seemed to center on getting him inside me. It was all happening so fast!
My fingers brushed him, urged his hips forward and his breath left him in a heavy rush at the same time his fingers closed over my wrist. “Legs, stop-“
In that dizzying second his hands left my body, resituated himself and he sat up. I stared up at him, panting, watching him fight to catch his breath and living in frustrated desire. He looked down at me, still prone on the bed and he cursed, throwing the blankets off himself he got up.
I could still see his arousal and I sat up. Confused.
He went to the carts, poured a glass of orange juice. He looked back at me on the bed and cursed again, draining the glass in a large, chugging gulp.
Waiting was harder than it looked, but I was half afraid to break the silence. I hugged my kneesa nd rested my head in the hollow, staring up at him, waiting.
“Dammit Legs, you just—fuck!” He put the glass back on the cart and flopped in the easy chair by the window.
“Do you not trust yourself to be by me?”
He rolled his eyes and rose. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to me he looked in my eyes, his head turned to me. I didn’t comment on his hands, fisted and crossed over his chest.
“I wasn’t planning on that,” he murmured, I assumed by way of apology.
“Tre—“
“Legs let me finish. See, we all knew last night you and Billie had a thing,” he snorted, “Hell probably Adrienne too, she doesn’t miss much.”
I flushed a deep and steady crimson.
“But see—okay, so I got you back up here and you were asleep and I was thinking.” His eyes flared and I didn’t dare open my mouth. “See, thing is I spent a good deal of last night thinking about what it would be like if something like this happened. And,” he muttered a pretty colorful curse and I lowered my legs, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder.
“You don’t have to-“
“See the thing is, in all the time I was thinking about this, it was always you and me.” His eyes glittered, “Billie never really fit into the equation.”
Oh. Oh, Tre.
“So, I’m thinking it’s a bad idea just now. ‘Cause, well- you know.”
“I should go,” I slid out of the bed and he followed me, watching silently while I pulled the skirt back on. I pulled the jewelry together and wrapped it in the top with my room key and turned back to face him at the door. “Thank you for breakfast.” I glanced downward and he grinned.
“Keep the shirt.” He cupped my jaw, “I do want to see you again.”
I sighed. I was all mixed up and I didn’t want to think about why. “I’ll be here for a bit.”
“How long?”
“Until the wind changes,” I shrugged, his eyes were warm. Something in the way he looked at me made me feel better, made some of my inner flirt come back. I lifted my shoulder, affecting a smoky voice, “Why don’tcha come up and see me sometime?”
“What room’er you in?” “If you really want to see me you’ll figure it out.” I stood on tiptoe, brushing his lips quickly before waltzing out the door.
I was keyed up by the time I got back to my room. Disappointed desire sitting heavy in my stomach. I was unlocking my door, my back to him when he spoke.
“Where were you last night?”
I jumped, violently. “God-dammit, Billie!”
God- dammit, Billie!
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

You May Drown