Stitch, page 7
She replies and I snatch up my phone.
I guess I’ll see you soon, then.
Next comes a picture of a half empty wine glass sitting on her bare legs, which are stretched out on the couch in front of her.
Midnight.
I want to leave now, but I have appointments I can’t cancel. My mood is immediately lifted at just the thought of seeing her again. It has me walking out of my office a new man. I see the looks Tank and the guys give me. Happy that Kaden seemed to disappear because he wouldn’t hold back asking why I look so…happy. I finish my appointments and as soon as my last one walks out the door, toss Tank the keys to lock up and hop on my bike.
The drive levels me and makes me not as anxious. Honestly, I have no fucking clue what I’m doing tonight. I just need to see her.
When I pull in front of her house, I take a deep breath. I know this isn’t sex. It can’t be sex, I wouldn’t do that to her.
She opens the front door as I’m hanging my helmet on my bike and smiles at me as she leans against the doorframe. Her legs long, lean, and only covered with a tall pair of socks.
“I feel like I’m becoming nocturnal,” she says as I walk towards her.
“Why’s that?” I can’t tear my eyes from her legs. “Do you have pants on?” Her shirt goes halfway down her thighs and there is no sign of shorts under it. “Not that I’m complaining. I like this.” I take her hand and spin her, admiring the goods. She giggles and falls toward me, her hands resting on my chest and her lips finding mine immediately. “So why are you feeling nocturnal?”
“Because I’ve been finding myself wide awake at night. Not tired at all.”
“Interesting.” She steps inside her house and I follow, closing and locking the door behind me. There’s music coming from a room down the hall and she grabs a wine glass off the foyer table.
“I’m happy you texted.” She grins and pulls me down the hall into her kitchen.
“Me too.” I watch her refill her glass. “How much of that have you had?”
“This is only my second glass. I just started when you said you were coming over. I’ve been binge-watching Hulu.” She giggles and I can’t help but smile at her.
This girl’s too pure for me.
“Yeah?” I step closer to her. “What show?”
“The Handmaid’s Tale. It’s so good, but the wine was needed.” She brings the glass to her lips and pauses. “Oh god, I’m terrible. Do you want something?”
I chuckle and rub the back of my neck.
“Nah. Thanks though. Don’t want to have anything in my system when I drive home.”
“You’re on the bike tonight?” She asks it like I have another option, then I realize she still thinks I have a car.
“Yeah. It’s all I’ve got. The car the other night was my friend’s,” I admit sheepishly and she gives me a look I can’t place.
“You borrowed a car to take me out?” Her eyebrows push together and I shrug.
“You wouldn’t ride on my bike and I really wanted to hang out with you.”
She looks at me with a sad expression, then her face breaks into a huge smile and she wraps her arms around me.
“That’s probably the coolest, nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” She hugs me tight and I can’t help but slide my hands around her. Her oversized shirt wrinkles under my hands and I fight the urge to slide it up her ass to answer my own question about the whole shorts thing.
I wouldn’t think a girl like her would forgo pants with company coming over.
Maybe I don’t know as much about this girl as I think I do.
“That’s pretty pathetic,” I joke, not letting her go when she scoffs and tries pushing me away. “I mean, I borrowed a car. I didn’t spend any money or anything.” I laugh. “Actually, I kind of bullied the guy into letting me use it.” I laugh again thinking of the look on Kaden’s face when I asked to use his car.
It’s a nice car. He bought it about six months ago when he got a bonus at work and he’s so proud of it just touching it can bring out his bad side. Asking to use it…more like telling him I need to take it…almost caused the kid to have a heart attack.
Thank god he can’t tell me no.
“It’s just nice, okay?” She pushes away and grabs her glass again. “So.”
“So.” I don’t try to hide the fact that I’m admiring her legs again.
“Twenty questions!” she blurts and my eyebrows shoot up.
“I’m sorry, how old are we?”
“Thirty. Ish.” She shrugs and takes a drink of her wine. “But I like you a lot, and I feel weird liking you a lot and not really knowing you.”
“Okay.” I laugh, rubbing my jaw. I fucking hated shit like this growing up. But now I’m agreeing to it easily. “Shoot.”
“Siblings?” She watches me and I nod.
“One. An older sister. We haven’t talked in years.” I grin. “My turn.” I step closer to her. “Profession?”
“Social media specialist for Zanelow downtown. We sell camping shit.” She smiles. “I hate camping, but it’s a job. My turn.” She hums and taps her lips before narrowing her eyes at me. “What was your childhood like?”
“Wow, okay. We’re going there.” I laugh. “Uh… Not terrible. My sister was the wild one between us, if you can believe it. Only had a dad, never knew my mom. He died years ago so really it’s been me the majority of my adult life. Trigger and Tank are the closest thing to family I’ve got.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers and frowns.
“It’s fine. Life happens. I’m in a good place now.” He smiles at me. “My turn. Are you wearing panties?”
“Seriously, that’s one of your questions?” She laughs. “Um, no. My turn!”
I growl, wanting to flip her over this counter and fuck her right here. But I fuckin’ can’t!
“You’re not playing fair,” I huff.
“You asked. Now…” she thinks for a moment. “Did you always want to be a tattoo artist?”
“No,” I say, laughing. “I got in it because of a buddy of mine. Believe it or not, I wanted to be a fireman, but it turns out I’m terrified of running into fires.”
She laughs and cocks her head. “You’d be a hot firefighter.”
“I’m not a hot tattoo artist?” I tease and she laughs again. Fuck, that laugh is magical. “Okay, my turn. Pants? You’re not wearing anything under that massive shirt are you?”
“God,” she laughs. “One track mind. I swear.” She shrugs. “It’s more comfortable without shit rubbing between my legs right now.” She frowns a bit and my alert meter starts ringing.
“Is it infected?” I step closer to her and bring my hand to her skin. She doesn’t have a fever so there’s probably no infection. But it shouldn’t be hurting this late in the healing process.
“It’s fine,” she blurts, shrugging me off and heading down the hall. “Come on, game over. I was just finishing up an episode of this, you can watch it with me.”
I watch her walk, worried something’s going on that she’s not telling me about. She’s not walking weird but she’s not stupid. She wouldn’t baby it right now anyway with me watching.
“Bryce,” I blurt, walking down the hall after her and watching as she slowly sits on the couch. “Is it infected?” All joking aside, that shit isn’t something to mess around with.
“It’s. Fine.” She pats the couch next to her. “Now shush. I need to finish this episode.” She grabs the remote and I snatch it away from her and stare into her eyes.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
“You’re lying to me,” I growl.
“I am not.” She reaches for the remote. “Give me the remote, Stitch.”
“Open your legs,” I blurt. Pissed she’s lying to me.
“What!” She looks at me like I have three heads.
I fucking feel like I do!
“Spread your legs, Bryce. I hate repeating myself.”
Her eyes go wide and for a moment I fear I went too far, but this has nothing to do with sex. This is purely business and she doesn’t see it that way.
“Get the hell out of my house.” When she stands off the couch I catch the wince on her face and almost lose my fucking mind.
“You want some stranger at the hospital poking and prodding at an infected piercing instead of me? Fine!” I pace. “If it’s infected, that’s what you’re about to get.” I head towards the front door. Pissed that I even care this much. But she’s fucking with the one thing I’ve been dying to have ever since I was face to face with it and couldn’t play with it.
Fuck!
“It’s not infected, okay!” She pushes her hands through her hair, just as frustrated as I feel. “I’ve been doing everything right. And I’d rather have a stranger help me if it were!”
“Oh just great. Spread them for every stranger you fucking see!” Seething doesn’t cut it and it makes no sense because she’s not mine. She can have anyone she wants!
“Fuck you!” She throws a pillow at me, her face red with anger.
“Right. Sounds fucking perfect.” I head out to her porch and she follows me, right on my goddamned heels and throws another pillow at my head.
I spin before I make it to the steps, full of rage which brings out the beast in me. I grab her and push her against her front door, my hand wrapping around her throat and the rage turning into an intense need to have my way.
Which isn’t safe right now.
“Never. Do. That. Again.” I slam my lips to hers and the kiss is met with an even stronger, more forceful kiss from her. It’s a battle to see which one of us will come out on top. Who will be the victor. The… fuck, she’s trying to Domme me without even realizing it.
I yank myself away and cock my head at her as I swipe my mouth with the back of my hand. What the fuck is she trying to pull?
We stand there staring at each other for too many pounding heartbeats. My ears are ringing. My rage has subsided the more I look at her but now what? Now what the fuck do we do?
“Stitch,” she starts but I cut her off with a head shake before storming off her porch and straight to my bike.
I don’t look back. I can’t, because I’ll break and walk back up there. Apologizing.
And I don’t fucking apologize when I do nothing wrong.
***
“What the fuck’s wrong with him?” I hear Trigger ask but I ignore it. He’s not in my office so I don’t have to pretend to be okay.
I’m not okay.
It’s been three days since the spat between Bryce and I. Days without talking to a girl I’ve only known for a couple weeks shouldn’t be that big of an issue. But it is.
She’s texted. But I refuse to text back. I can’t bring myself to crawl back to her, it doesn’t feel right. I’ve never had to crawl back to any woman because I’ve never cared for a woman like this before. It feels wrong. Sickening.
“Bitch problems,” I hear Tank mutter. I slam my fists to my desk out of anger. No one talks about her like that.
“Really?” Trig’s voice sounds about as shocked as I feel right now. “Interesting.”
God, I wish he would just go home. Maybe I could just sneak out of here without having to talk to him.
“Hey, man.” He walks into my office. “Come on, let’s go grab some grub.”
I glare at him.
“I’m not hungry.” My fingers click on the keyboard like I’m working, but I’m not. There’s no work to be done.
“Don’t really fucking care right now. Get in the car or I’ll put you there myself.” He walks out of my office after giving me a look that sums up my options.
Pissed, I storm out of the room and straight after him, not taking my eyes off the floor as I walk through the shop.
We drive silently to wherever we’re going. He’s letting me sit and wallow in self pity. He’s also amping up for a lecture. I can feel it.
My phone buzzes again with another text. The fourth in three days.
Please just reply so I know you’re not dead.
I groan and toss my phone into his glove box.
“Fuck, man.” I let my head fall back and sink into the anger boiling inside me.
He parks the car and opens his door, getting out without saying a word. I don’t move until he opens my door and shoots me with a look that says get out or I’ll get you out myself.
I feel like a fucking child right now.
We walk into the bar and he heads for a back corner, signaling for two beers as we pass by the bartender.
“You gonna talk yet?” He asks as soon as I slide into the booth.
The bar's empty, probably because it's the middle of the day, but I still don't feel like spilling my guts here. He’s watching me carefully though, and it’s looking like I won’t have much of an option.
“What’re you wanting to talk about exactly?” The bartender sets our bottles on the table and I grab mine quickly, bringing it to my lips.
“Well we can start with what crawled up your ass.”
“Nothing.” I pull out a cigarette and light up, taking a long drag. I’ve gone through too many of these this week. I know it, and the look he’s giving me tells me he knows it too. He pulls his phone out, types something, and sets it on the table.
“We’re not leaving here until you talk.” He leans back in his seat and focuses his eyes on the TV across the room.
And there we sit for at least three beers.
Two stubborn men.
“I’m leaving,” I finally huff. As I start to slide out of the booth his fist comes down hard on the table, stopping me in my tracks.
“Don’t be a fucking idiot, Stitch. I was in your shoes once. Trust me. It’s not fun forcing yourself to be miserable.”
“I’m not forcing myself,” I snap. “It’s how it has to be.”
“What’s how it has to be?” He points to me. “You’re in control here. You’re the one making yourself miserable.”
“She’s too good for me,” I growl and his eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t.”
“She’s…” He laughs. “Jesus, it’s worse than I thought.”
“She’s not into the scene, Trig. I don’t even have a car to drive her around in. And…” I curse. “I think there might be a possibility I fucked up the other night.”
He leans back in the booth and grabs his bottle, nodding for me to go on. So with a resigned sigh, pissed at myself and this entire situation, I sit back and attempt to spill to the only person that could possibly begin to understand what’s going on. From the initial meeting. The stalking. The making out like teenagers. The date with a borrowed car. The explosion a couple nights ago. Everything.
“You’ve stalked her?” He seems stuck on this and I shake my head.
“Nothing bad, man. Just checking to make sure she’s safe at home. Only once to her work.” That’s not one I’m proud of but I had to know where she worked.
“And then you tried forcing her to spread her legs for you to what, again?”
Fuck, even Trig’s having a hard time understanding this. Which means I’m royally fucked.
“Yeah, I know I screwed up.” Everything was going okay until I went completely batshit crazy on her. “It’s for the better. She’d never be okay with my style. Ever.” I felt it in the final kiss. My goal to get her on her knees probably isn’t the smartest with someone as strong willed as Bryce. I should have known the minute she left the note on my car. “There’s not a submissive bone in her body.”
Trig grins and watches me sulk before setting his beer down and leaning forward.
“You remind me of myself, back when Sienna and I first met.”
“You two met in a club. You knew what she was into.”
“Yeah, but I still didn’t think I deserved her. Didn’t think she’d be okay with how far into the scene I was.” He shrugs. “She’s a strong woman, Stitch. Being submissive doesn’t make you weak. Subs can be the strongest of women in everyday life. That’s the beauty of it. It’s an escape for them as much as the power trip is one for us.” He lifts an eyebrow. “And what’s this bullshit about you not having a car? You make bank, Stitch. Where the fuck has your money been going?”
“I have no money issues,” I growl. “I just never considered any other mode of transportation than my bike. Mainly because who the fuck was I going to be carting around?
He smirks at me and I shake my head.
“Take it from me. Crawl back to her and apologize, because if I’m picturing it right you probably went completely caveman on her when you thought something could have been wrong with the piercing?”
I nod.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Not my finest moment.”
“So fucking apologize. And while you’re at it, go buy yourself a goddamned vehicle you can take your girl out in.” He slaps the table and stands, stretching. Apparently he’s done.
I grab my phone and look at all the messages from Bryce. Asking if I’m okay. Wondering why I’m not answering her.
And I type out a reply.
Are you busy tonight?
Everything up until now has been demands. And everything after today will be demands. But he’s right. I need to apologize.
Now how the fuck does one do that, exactly?
Chapter 6
Bryce
“How’s the boyfriend?” Alex’s feet are propped on my kitchen island and I walk over to him, shoving them off while ignoring his comment about Stitch. I don’t want to admit he’s not my boyfriend and never was, and I especially don’t want to talk to him about the shit that went down between us.
God, I was stupid.
I never should have mentioned anything about my piercing. He was fine until that went down, then everything went south. It isn’t infected. It doesn’t hurt. And I didn’t want to have to explain that the more stimulation it gets the harder it is to not jump his bones and have my way with him.
Less rubbing means less thinking about it.
Well. Kind of. I still think about him, the way his hands were all over me on the pier and the way his lips tasted woodsy and comforting. And soft. Fuck.
