I shrugged. Then turned to head back to my room to hide my newly acquired treasure. I had no doubt she’d search for them the second I left the house. I looked back over my shoulder and caught her eyes staring at my butt; could’ve been my back, but unlikely. Really, it didn’t matter which. I was just impressed she was eyeing me up.
“You can look, but don’t touch,” I said.
Her mouth dropped open then snapped shut. I disappeared around the corner, then heard her stomping down the hall. Haven wasn’t a stomper. She was graceful, elegant and controlled. Too controlled. And that part of her was coming down.
I laughed to myself, then hid her lace underwear in my room. I went downstairs, and grabbed coffee that I knew Kite had made because he had his mug sitting beside the coffeemaker.
Dana, who had slept on the couch, must have heard me in the kitchen. I saw her arms stretch above her, then her head popped up over the back of the couch. As soon as she saw me standing half-naked in the kitchen, her eyes widened in what looked like horror.
Luckily, I was pretty confident—okay, overly confident—about my body and there was no way that was what scared her. She frantically straightened her hair and clothes, keeping her body turned away from me. My guess, she was more concerned about how she looked hung-over first thing in the morning.
“You look like hell.” Girls were funny about how they looked in the morning. Most of the girls I’d been with didn’t stay the night, but a few had and not one of them was confident about their appearance in the morning. “How do you feel? Want some coffee? Kite will be back down any minute.” I smirked. She looked as if she idolized Kite more than me, and that got her moving faster as she darted around looking for her purse. “On the floor by the TV,” I graciously offered.
“Ahhh, yeah, thanks. Tell Haven I’ll talk to her later.” She darted out the door.
“Sure thing, beautiful.”
She was already gone.
I drank my coffee while I watched the news for a half-hour, then went and showered. I jerked off in the shower thinking about Haven in that little black number last night. I hadn’t planned on it, but fuck, she was in my head and my cock was aching, balls hurting. There was no way I could hang with her today without being in physical pain unless I got myself off.
I tugged on a pair of worn-out jeans and a t-shirt, tagged my phone off the dresser, then headed downstairs to meet Haven for her first driving lesson.
I glanced at the clock on my phone—9:06 a.m. gleamed in the middle of the screen. After the panty incident I put a load of laundry in, but it was more like threw them in, taking out my frustration on the clothes. Why was I frustrated? There was no reason to be, except Crisis was getting to me. In one day. One day.
Of course, he knew the panties were mine. There was no one else currently living in the house. And why would he take them? It was silly. I was unaccustomed to silly and childish games. My entire life had been about survival right from childhood.
But Crisis was slowly showing pieces of a life that wasn’t all about being productive and survival. It was about the simple joy of living. I never could equate the two together before. But even looking at a cucumber made me smile because I didn’t just see its mundane function of being food. I saw it as something silly and funny. It also made me think about Crisis.
I rested my hands on top of the washer as it did the final spin and my body leaned against it as it jostled and shook.
He unhinged me. He teased, played, talked about chicks like they were playing cards, at least he had in the beginning, and then he pulled shit like he did yesterday and held me when I freaked out.
Crisis was supportive and knew what I needed even if I didn’t, because I would’ve never let anyone hold me. But Crisis . . . he was comfort and safety. He didn’t push me and yet he told me what he thought at the same time.
“Ice, are you really doing that? Jesus, even I wouldn’t get off in the fuckin’ hallway.”
I shoved away from the washing machine so fast and hard I hit the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. Words lodged in my throat as I looked at him standing at the top of the stairs a few feet away.
“I wasn’t . . . it was almost done and I was . . .” Oh. My. God. I never stuttered. Ever.
But, he saved me from any further stuttering as he winked at me and turned away saying, “Come on, babe. Let’s get you driving.”
Facing my sexual desire was a subject I was still tackling on the confidence scale. To me, sex was cruel and vile and I never once enjoyed it.
This . . . the clenching between my legs, the butterflies flapping madly in my belly, it was new, well, new since Crisis, and to my mortification, it started over texts. Crisis’ texts. Words on a screen typed by him and they hadn’t even been sexual. It was just the thought of him sitting back with his long, lean legs outstretched, hair falling haphazard over his head while he typed on his phone.
“You coming, Ice?”
“Umm, yeah.” I straightened and pulled my shit together, except I couldn’t do anything about the butterflies; they were out of control.
I followed him downstairs. “Are we using your car?”
He came to an abrupt halt, eyes widening. “Fuck no. Do you know what kind of car I have? Shit, it’s not for learning to drive. It’s not for any chick to drive.”
Oh, my God, he was totally being a guy. I may have been sheltered from what most girls did growing up, but I still had ears and many conversations revolved around guys and their cars. It was like they were talking about the most precious stone in the world. My ‘work’ at the club had afforded Olaf a really nice Audi that he talked about all the time.