First off: YAY! I've been waiting for this moment since the beginning of the season, it seems. He's not back to tip-top shape yet, but practicing is a good sign!
Okay, second, you know I love you guys. Which is why it pains me to say this. Despite the fact that it's frickin' OCTOBER, I was stung by a wasp or hornet or some other ghastly winged demon. And I'm pretty allergic, meaning I'll live but I just have to pop antihistamines like candy for a few days. I can't exactly think straight while hopped up on large amounts of Benadryl, so there may or may not be new chapters for a while, depending on how my body reacts and if the fog on my mind dissipates. I'm sorry, because I truly do love writing for you, but I don't want the quality to suffer because I can't focus. Hope to see y'all soon.
Soundtrack Song - Chris Young, Gettin' You Home
I have mixed emotions as I watch Charlotte pull her jersey over her head, first revealing how her tight jeans conform and mold to the curves of her hips and her voluptuous ass. As she continues to pull, she unveils the top half of her body in a dark shirt, which hugs the shape of her waist and the mounds of her full breasts. I lick my lips as the jersey comes completely off, and her hair falls back into place around her face and shoulders. It's like it happens in slow motion.
"You look hot. Really great." The words don't adequately express what looking at her does to me. I'd really like to grab her, put her back in my car, and speed off for home, but I've got something to prove to my teammates. We have to make an appearance.
"Thanks," she says with a smile. She looks so damned pleased with herself, like she got dressed up just for me. And I'm very pleased by it.
The freezing November air whips by, and I can practically watch her skin prickle and explode into goosebumps. "But you're going to be cold." I throw my suit jacket over her bare shoulders and arms.
She grabs the sides and pull them around her, effectively enveloping herself in my jacket. "You're such a gentleman."
"My mother would be happy to hear that," I chuckle. Offering a jacket is a textbook gesture that any decent guy would do for his lady. Like sending those flowers. Joe Schmo knows to do something like that to earn some brownie points. It makes her disproportionately happy; I suppose I should just go with the flow and not question it. When you get the lucky bounces, you should be thankful for them.
Once inside, I ask her what she'd like from the bar. Charlotte tells me that she's fine with whatever as she slides the jacket off of her shoulders and hands it back to me. "Here you go."
As much as I enjoy the view, I can't stand the thought of other guys looking at her. Charlotte usually wears baggy clothes, concealing the soft, curvaceous body underneath. I used to wonder why she did, but right now I don't care; I'm just wishing she was wearing something less revealing. It's selfish, I know, but I can't help it. I don't want anyone else to see what I had to work so hard for. "You should keep it on."
Her face falls. "I thought you told me that I looked good."
"You do. Too good. Every straight guy in this club is ogling you, and I don't feel like sharing tonight," I explain, kissing her so she knows just how much I like the way she looks. "I'll get our drinks. I think everyone else is here." I point to the rest of the guys that had already arrived, all gathered in the corner with the couches. She wanders off in that direction as I step up to the bar.
I glance back to where Charlotte is sitting. My jacket may be covering her bare arms and concealing her curves, but her ample cleavage is still clearly visible. I think about how I want to.... My train of thought is ruined when I see Tanger sit down beside her. The bartender walks over to me and I order two rum and cokes, but I can't stop myself from staring at those two.
He's not too close to her, but he's closer than I want him to be. I don't know want him anywhere near her. I don't know what his deal is or why he's been acting like such a jerk lately. Tanger's always been a good friend to me; I don't know why he's suddenly being so antagonistic. But until I figure it out, he should stay as far away from us as possible.
Once the bartender prepares the drinks, I take them and head toward Charlotte. Tanger stands and says one last thing before he walks away from her. As he walks by, he claps his hand against my back and says, "Jusqu'à maintenant ça va bien. Qui aurait pu le croire?"
Stupid jerk. I told him. Everyone wants to doubt me. I told them all; it's not like I'm incapable of relationships. They just never happened for me. I'm no expert, but I know I can do it.
I hand Charlotte a drink and sit beside her. Tanger's still watching us, as if making sure that I wasn't lying or worse, waiting for me to screw up. I look him in the eyes as I kiss Charlotte. She kisses me back—I've proven my point.
She breaks the kiss and turns around, ruining the moment. "What are you doing?" She notices that kiss was for more than just her benefit.
"What were you two talking about?" I ask her.
"Me and Kris? I don't know. It was weird, actually. Something about pushing you."
What an understatement. "If he meant pushing my buttons, then hell yeah he's pushing me."
"Is there something going on between the two of you that I need to know about? Because if so, I—"
"I don't know what his problem is." I finish my drink and set the empty glass on the table. I showed the guys. They shouldn't have had any doubt; they know once I set my mind to something, it's only a matter of time. This isn't about them, though. This is about her and making sure she's happy. I forget about them and concentrate on Charlotte. "But right now, that doesn't matter. Do you wanna dance?"
She lets out a deep belly laugh. "I need more alcohol before I do that."
"Oh." I'm a little disappointed. When I go out, I don't go out to hang out in the corner and be a wallflower. I go to talk with my friends and burn off the extra energy that's left over from the game.
"If you want to, go ahead. Don't let me hold you back," she urges.
"No, it's fine. Whatever you want to do, baby." I reach out and caress her arm.
She smiles and leans in close to me. I feel her hand on my leg, sliding upward. "I can think of lots of things I want to do, but none of them here."
"Then why are we waiting around? Is Gina home, or are we going to my place?"
"I didn't even finish my drink, Max!"
I keep tugging on her arm, leading her toward the door. We've made our appearance, and now it's time to go home. There certainly are perks to having a girl of my own. "I have alcohol at my place. But trust me, you won't need it," I promise her, nodding and saying goodbye to Flower, Staalsy, and the rest of the guys, making it perfectly clear what's going on and why we're leaving so urgently. Tanger's looking at us, too, but I ignore the smirk on his face.
When we get outside and to my car, I pin her against the passenger-side door before I open it for her. I kiss the spot right below her clavicle as I cup the vee between her legs over her jeans. "Max," she cries quietly, sounding breathless. She pushes against my shoulders gently. "We're in public!"
"No one's watching," I assure her, but I move my hand northward to appease her.
Charlotte's still squirming. "How about we go somewhere more private?" she asks. I open the car door and let her in my beemer, and then I trot to the other side, slide in, and start the car. She turns in her seat, placing her right hand over mine on the stick shift and tracing the shape of my ear with her left. "And you're the one who calls me impatient," she giggles.
"And usually you're not such a tease," I say back. Her touch is giving me goosebumps.
"Are you telling me I should be more assertive?"
"I guess I should start now," she says, reaching down to my belt buckle.
"Wh-what are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" Charlotte undoes the buckle, button, and zipper, and then tugs on my pants, reaching for my growing hard on. As her fingers wrap around me, I grip the wheel harder.
"But I'm driving." She leans across the center console, and I feel her mouth take in the head of my dick. C'est dangereux. Je devrais lui demander d'arrêter. "I can't reach the stick shift." But it feels too good to ask her to stop.
"Then pay attention to the road and stay in second gear."
I can't believe I just did that. I have no idea why I did that, or where that even came from. I don't do stuff like that. We could have gotten into an accident. There's just something about Max that inspires the wild side of me. I have to admit, though, it's a nice change from the bore I had become.
"Charlotte, you're crazy. Do you know that?" he asks me, but he does so with a smile.
"Oh, come on. Like you've never done that before." I roll my eyes. In fact, he's probably done worse.
"No. Not while driving," he confesses. We stop at a red light, and he looks over at me. I give him a sheepish smile. Max reaches over and threads his fingers tightly through my hair, pulling my face toward his as he kisses me deeply. I can't believe he'd want to kiss me after doing that, but he doesn't seem to mind. "I can't wait to get you home."
A car honks behind us, alerting Max that the light has turned green. He chuckles to himself and lets go of me so he can put the car into gear. I lean back into my seat as we complete the distance to his house. Normally, we'd have made it there by now, but he drove at a snail's pace since he was so distracted.
When we make it to his place, Max makes it clear that he'd like to continue with our activities. "You don't have to," I tell him as he kisses my neck, his hands under my shirt on the button of my jeans.
"What?" he asks, pulling away to look me in the eyes.
"I'm just saying, you don't have to do this."
"Don't you want me to?" There's concern or worry visibly stretched across his face. "Don't you want to?"
I smile at him and place my arms around his neck. "It's not that I don't like it, because I do. I'm just saying that you don't have to feel the need to reciprocate. I'm okay with that. We don't have to do that for me to feel close to you."
He furrows his brow, still obviously confused. "You don't want me to go down on you?"
How can I explain it to him that what happened in his car was like a gift from me to him? That I just wanted to show him that I cared, since I didn't know how to put it into words? And to have him pay me back now would just take away from the emotion I was trying to convey to him? "I didn't do that just because I wanted you to do it to me. I wanted to do it because I wanted to. Does that make sense?"
"Um, I guess so. Uh, so, what do you want to do instead?"
Max is staring at me like I'm crazy. And I'm starting to think that maybe I am, since I'm turning down sex with him—and you'd have to be crazy to do that. I know that if we went at it, it would be amazing. But this isn't supposed to be just about sex between us. There's supposed to be something more than that. After all, we started out as friends. What would friends do? "Let's just watch a movie or something."
"If that's what you want," he says with a shrug, as if that's the lamest way to spend a Saturday night. "We can watch up in bed."
We go upstairs and into his room to watch T.V. in bed. He throws a wife beater at me to change into. "Don't you think I'm going to be a little cold in just this?" I ask, shaking the tank top in my hand.
Max waggles his eyebrows at me again, making me laugh. "You're going to be under the covers with me. Believe me, baby, I'll keep you plenty warm."
I snort and giggle at his reply, turning my back toward him as I remove my shirt, cover myself with the top, and then take my bra off underneath the tank top. Then I peel off my jeans and slide in between the sheets.
"Why did you do that?" Max asks, down to his boxers and stretching out beside me under the covers, turning on the television set with the remote in his hands.
"Do what?" I question back as I snuggle up against him and rest my head on his bare shoulder. His arm snakes around my waist, and I feel his fingers slide a little under the waistband of my panties. He's not doing it to be sexy or to make a move; it's just a way to be close to each other.
"Nothing," he replies, shaking his head and focusing on the screen. We watch an episode of Family Guy, one that I've seen a million times before. I stay awake until my favorite part of that particular show, when Stewie and Brian argue over the pronunciation of ruined. After that, I feel myself start to sink into slumber. Max kisses my forehead and says, "Fais de beaux rêves." I'm asleep before I can ask what that means. Maybe we are becoming a little predictable despite the relative newness of our relationship, but it just feels comfortable and right.