Loving Lucas (19 page)

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“Taking a shower.”

I can’t take my eyes off her as she bounces across my bedroom. Our intimacy has changed her attitude. That’s what I need to see; it lets me know I’m getting inside her head and heart. I fold my hands behind my head, sucked into a fantasy world where Karlie and I are married—living that white-picket-fence dream. Everything men make fun of but want.

The sound of my shower turning on shakes me from my daydream. She didn’t say anything about wanting to bathe alone. I climb off the bed and pad into the bathroom. She’s humming a Gwen Stefani tune. After I open the shower curtain halfway, she drops the soap. Then she turns her ass my way, glimpses over her shoulder, and exaggeratedly bends over to retrieve it.

Lust pumps through me, my veins on fucking fire. “You shouldn’t have done that.” I climb in, uninvited. I grip her hips, my groin crashing into her bottom. “Mine,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Prove it.”

She spreads her arms above her head, her nails digging into the tile as I pound into her. I cover her tiny hands with mine and our fingers lace together.
Fuck.
My head is reeling with love and possession.
Mine.
I hit her again, and she screams.
Bang.
My hips spiral mercilessly, then it’s short, rapid strokes. She’s panting, our slick, wet bodies sliding all over the place.
Bang.
Deep penetration this time—the kind that steals my goddamned breath, maybe even my soul. I throb inside her, knowing we’re both about to succumb to the pleasure.

“He asked
what
?” Marie stops at the entrance to Party City and stares at me.

“I didn’t mince words, Marie.” She heard me. “If I want children.” She opens the glass door and I step inside the store.

“Maybe we’ll have a double wedding.”

I wish she’d quit making such a fuss over Lucas. We’re dating and just happen to share the same living space. I don’t sleep in the same bed with him every night. I still have my own life. We don’t discuss finances or politics. “Getting way ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “He loves you, Karlie. Isn’t that reason enough to suspect he might want to take your relationship to the next level?”

“Can we look at costumes?” End of the conversation for now. I refuse to make any connection between Lucas’s declaration of love and marriage. I’m in no position to contemplate anything long-term.

We stroll down a few aisles, looking at masks and miscellaneous Halloween items. I spot a pair of pink satin opera gloves that remind me of Marilyn Monroe. I casually pick them up, checking the price tag: thirty dollars. I roll my eyes and return them to the shelf.

“Wait,” Marie says, retrieving them. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Damn it,
we’re like twins sometimes. “
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes,
” we say together.

She giggles. “Wigs are on aisle six. And I bet we can find a pink evening gown at Macy’s.”

Because Marie is obsessed with everything Disney, the evil queen costume, reminiscent of Maleficent, satisfies her taste. A few minutes later we check out and head to her car.

“Brandon isn’t going to like that costume,” I warn her. “That miniskirt covers less than a bikini bottom.”

“I have great legs.”

Where does she get that confidence from? Her mother is hot—the answer should be obvious. We drive across SPID and park outside Macy’s in La Palmera mall. She drags me to formal wear and the hunt begins. We meticulously search for the right shade of pink. And like magic, forty-five minutes later, Marie rushes over with a
very
pink dress draped over her arms.

“Found it.”

“Where?” I run my fingers over the satiny material.

“Does it matter? Go try it on.”

This time, I stare in the mirror as I step into the gown. I struggle with the side zipper, sucking in a breath to get it to close all the way. The end result? I want to take it off. It fits like a second skin—a ridiculously feminine, Lucas-is-going-to-rip-it-off-my-body kind of dress. I love it. As I start to unzip it, Marie opens the fitting room door.

“Oh. My. God.”

“I can’t.”

“You will.” She shows me several clear, glass bead necklaces she must have picked out while I was changing. “Not diamonds, but I think they’ll work.”

I shake my head and gaze in the full-length mirror again. The gown leaves little to the imagination: the stiff, strapless bodice is so tight that my breasts are practically lifted to my neck. Marie steps behind me and hooks one of the necklaces around my neck. Just as she suggested, the glass beads and rhinestones sparkle like diamonds. Combined with the gloves and curly, blond wig I purchased, no one will doubt who I’m dressed as.

“You deserve a night of fun.” She smiles. “And if Lucas doesn’t agree, tell him to call me.”

“Two hundred dollars is more than a night of fun for me,” I complain about the price of the dress.

“Get over it,” she counters. “Pull out the checkbook and enjoy it. Charles will.” She jabs me in the side with her elbow.

Charles. I always forget he’s a frat brother and one of the hosts for the party. We’re just friends. After all, he met Lucas in uniform and hasn’t flirted with me since. “I’m sure he’ll have a couple of cheerleaders hanging off his arms.”

“Until he gets an eyeful of Marilyn.”

My gaze returns to my cleavage. I groan. Breast reduction surgery never appealed to me until now. “All right.” I give in because she’s right—I want to have fun. It’s been a terrible month for me, dealing with Connor and attempting to get my life back. “Just this once,” I say, slipping out of the gown and hanging it back up. Once I’m dressed again, we head to the cash register.

We grab Orange Juliuses before we leave the mall, dodging crazy drivers that forget to yield to pedestrians in the crosswalks. The temperature has dropped considerably; a cold front blew in a few hours ago. I shiver as we reach her car. There’s a white envelope tucked underneath the passenger-side windshield wiper blade.

“Probably from Brandon,” Marie says, swiping it off her vehicle. She opens it, pulling out a piece of paper. “Not for me.” She offers the note.

Ms. Karlie Augustine,

We need to talk. I’ve tried to approach you before, but you’re never alone. Please don’t be alarmed if I reach out again.

Sincerely,

S.

“Sexy or creepy,” Marie says. “Take your pick.”

My gaze zigzags around the jammed parking lot. Someone is following us—me. Should I remain vigilant or blow it off? Probably some pervert from school playing a joke. I crumple the note into a ball, stashing it in my purse. “Forget it.”

“Sure that’s a good idea?” She unlocks our doors.

I climb in. “Remember that guy who ran around campus a couple of years ago leaving photos of his penis on girls’ cars?”

She nods.

“Turned out to be a hazing prank.”

“That was
on
campus,” she reminds me.

“If I show this to Lucas, he’ll put me on lockdown.”

“Probably.” She starts the engine. “What about Connor?”

“Not his handwriting.” I consider it further. “But he could get anyone to write a note.”

We hit South Padre Island Drive right before rush hour and make it to my house in twenty minutes.

“Staying for dinner?” I ask.

She checks her watch. “Nope, hot date with Brandon.”

I grab my bags from the backseat. “See you tomorrow.” I blow kisses at her and go inside.

Lucas’s house phone rings when I get to the kitchen. I pick up. “Hello?”

Silence.

“Anybody there?”

The line goes dead. I hang up and look inside the fridge. My foster mother used to make a quick dinner with franks and beans. I sauté chopped onion in butter, then add sliced hot dogs, beans, pepper, spicy mustard, and brown sugar. I let it simmer for five minutes, then transfer the mixture to a casserole dish and place it in the oven for half an hour. There’s a package of croissants in the pantry and I warm those in the oven. Add a couple of beers and we have the perfect Lucas meal.

Like clockwork, he rolls in by six, kisses me, then heads upstairs to change his clothes and joins me back at the table. He eyes his plate and laughs. “What’s this?”

“Hot dogs and beans.”

He shovels a forkful into his mouth, clearly delighted. “Once again, you’ve transformed slop into something wonderful.” He takes a sip of beer. “I have some bad news.”

I huff in frustration, prepared to hear something about his son.

“Half the department is working overtime Halloween night.”

“No party?” I’m disappointed.

“No. But I want you to have fun still—go with Marie.”

I circle the mouth of my beer bottle with my pinkie. “You don’t mind if I dance?”

He smiles. “As long as you don’t get dipped and kissed.”

“Maybe you’ll get off in time to stop by.” I hope he does; I want to introduce him to everyone.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Pissed I can’t attend the Halloween party with Karlie, at least I managed to get a split shift, so I’m home until seven, happy to see her before she leaves. Marie is in her bedroom helping her get dressed. After getting an eyeful of Marie’s body in her evil queen costume, I’m worried Karlie chose something as provocative. But I won’t say anything; she’s entitled to wear whatever she wants.

Until the door opens.

Reclined on the couch watching the local news, I catch a flash of pink. I grab the remote and press mute. My gaze roves lustfully up Karlie’s body. From the thigh-high slit in the front of her gown to the blond curls topping her head, I don’t know where to focus. She’s gorgeous. And just when I think I’ve seen everything, I spot the tiny mole on her left cheek.

Marie laughs. “Better close that mouth or something is going to fly in.”

I run my fingers through my hair, scooting to the edge of my seat. “Not what I was expecting.”

“Do you like it?” Karlie seeks my approval.

How is an overly protective, insanely jealous, lucky-to-have-a-girlfriend-as-hot-as-I-do man supposed to honestly answer that question? “If you were locked in my bedroom.”

“See . . .” Karlie turns to Marie. “It’s too revealing.”

“No-no,” I say, not wanting to ruin the moment. I adjust myself and stand, hard as a rock already. “I’m speechless, baby. You’re beautiful.” For the first time since I met her, Karlie accepts my compliment. But she chews on her lower lip, suggesting she’s unsure. “Follow me upstairs?”

She nods. “I’ll be right back, Marie.”

Karlie kicks off her black heels and gets to the stairs before me. Because the dress is so tight, she takes measured steps, her little round ass in my face. I’m drooling all over myself by the time we reach my office. That’s when I flip her around, nibbling her exposed shoulder, licking my way up the back of her neck. If she’s going out dressed like this, I’m going to give her something to look forward to when she gets home. I lock her against me and trace the curve of her hip with my hand.

She leans into me and I slip my hands down her bodice, filling them with her creamy breasts. “Mine,” I whisper.

She shudders in response and I remind her again.

It’s a good five minutes before I let go and she faces me. Her full lips hypnotize me as I tackle her mouth with mine. “I want to be inside you, Karlie.” I kiss her earlobe.

“If we do, I’ll never make it to the party.” She stands on her toes, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Teasing me isn’t helping—Marie is waiting.”

“Let her,” I say nonchalantly, cupping her ass. “Something tells me she’d get turned on if she heard you scream.”

She giggles. “Do I make a convincing Marilyn?”

“Incarnate.”

That makes her smile. “It’s time for me to go. See you after work?” She kisses my cheek, then turns to go.

“Wait.” I grab her hand. “Cell phone?”

“In my purse.”

“Good. Be safe.”

She departs, and now I wish more than ever I’d been wearing a Joe DiMaggio costume.

Alpha Delta House is located on Ocean Drive, a few blocks from school. We find a parking spot blocks away, then start the perilous high-heeled walk over asphalt and gravel. We encounter a wide assortment of costumes, including that psycho clown from
American Horror Story,
which makes me completely uncomfortable. As we approach the three-story, somewhat dilapidated mansion with nothing but windows and chipped paint on the façade, I notice the long line. Not wanting to carry anything, I didn’t bring a jacket, now realizing that was a big mistake.

Cold wind whips off the Gulf of Mexico across the street, chilling me to the bone. Even the palm trees in the front yard are shivering. Temperatures are expected to drop into the low 40s by midnight.
Great,
I’ll catch pneumonia and die dressed like Marilyn.

“Marie,” someone calls from the wraparound porch.

She waves, taking hold of my arm. “Our way in.” She drags me around the people in line and we meet a guy dressed like Julius Caesar at the steps.

She hugs the blond Roman, then introduces me. “Meet Karlie—or should I say, Marilyn?”

He smiles. “I’m Tim, but call me Caligula tonight.”

We shake hands.

“Want to go inside?” he asks. “It’s too cold to stand out here.”

“Please,” I beg, hugging myself. “And something good to drink.”

Once inside, I’m impressed with the interior. The great room is spacious and opens into a formal dining room with a wood-burning fireplace. Stairs are to the left of the entry and people are draped over the banister, dancing and drinking themselves stupid. Speakers are mounted on the walls, and “The Beautiful People” by Marilyn Manson is playing.

“Where’s the DJ?” I ask over the noise.

“Upstairs,” Tim answers, ushering us through the crowd and into the kitchen.

There’s half a dozen girls mixing punch and dumping chips into bowls. Tim plants a kiss on the lips of a brunette dressed as a naughty nurse. “Marie and Karlie,” he says. “Meet my girlfriend—Donna.”

We exchange smiles.

“Name your poison,” he says.

“Rum and Coke,” I respond.