Homewrecker Read online

  On the other hand, though, I surprisingly want more time.

  I want to get to know him.

  I want him to stick around.

  Obviously, he can’t. He has a film to get back to.

  But I’m not exactly opposed to him coming back next weekend.

  Sighing, I flip the page in my magazine, and try to focus on the words in front of me.

  I turn the page again, and this next article is about fellatio techniques and God, I’m glad Cade isn’t out here right now. Curiosity wins out though, and I read through the article and testimonials for the different acts. I don’t even realize I’m biting my lip until I feel the corner of my mouth getting wet.

  Good God, I’m literally drooling.

  All while I’m reading and picturing and…

  Yep.

  I can almost feel what it would be like, to be with Cade.

  I tell myself that the reason why I’m suddenly interested in him is simply because he’s the first guy I’ve spent longer than ten minutes with, in the last six months.

  That has to be it.

  It has nothing to do with his handsome face.

  His kind smile.

  His ability to listen.

  Not judge.

  Because I honestly don’t think he’s judged me once today.

  With my finger holding my place, I close the magazine and look out over the patio and to the lake. I’m not really seeing the lake; my mind is on Cade.

  And yeah, it’s imagining what he’s packing below the belt.

  Which leads to not-so-PG thoughts of what he can likely do with it.

  The girly part of my brain imagines he’s a hand holder. A neck kisser. I imagine him being a slow lover, and I find myself wanting to know what it would be like to just be in his arms.

  PG or not.

  I’m not sure how long I sit there, staring out into nothing, but eventually the sun begins to set and I’m getting chilled. It probably hasn’t been longer than twenty minutes but unless I go inside to throw on a sweatshirt, I’m going to be too cold to move soon.

  I roll the magazine in half and hit it against my leg before standing.

  I think I’m going to go watch a movie…

  Not wanting to change my mind, I head inside and drop the magazine off on the kitchen counter. My guess is, Cade is in the home theater downstairs, but I check the living room first.

  Not there.

  I make my way to the open staircase that leads to the lower level and, cautiously, I make my way down the dimmed stairwell. I can’t hear the movie, exactly, but the base of the surround sound can be heard.

  As I step into the room, I introduce myself.

  This room isn’t like a traditional movie room.

  There are no individual seats; it’s just a giant pit of cushions and pillows. It’s very…

  Cozy.

  And not really a place for two not-really-friends to hang out.

  Cade reaches to his side and then points the remote to the projector behind him. “Hey. You wanna join?”

  I look from him to the screen, seeing Chris Hemsworth in all of his fine Australia glory.

  “12 Strong,” Cade says. “Have you seen it?”

  I shake my head, only to realize he may not be able to see the action well. The only light is coming from the screen. “No, I haven’t. Wanted to but didn’t get to it.”

  “Well, come on in. Have a seat.”

  I walk to the front of the cushion pit and make my way carefully over the softness and toward the back; near Cade, but not right next to him.

  “I don’t bite,” he says, as I lower myself carefully, in this sort of, right-lean fashion. I’m sure it’s a sight.

  “It takes me a minute to get comfortable sometimes,” I kind of lie.

  I mean, that’s mostly true, but I also am still high on the vivid pictures of what I think his dick looks like and how it might feel inside me, so I’m really just better off sitting over here with a good two feet between us.

  I know I have it bad when my thoughts take a sarcastic turn.

  I’m partially expecting him to say something like, “Suit yourself,” because the devil on my shoulder is still routing on Cade being a bad guy, but of course he doesn’t.

  Shoot, the guy gives me my space and, ten minutes later when I haven’t moved from my spot, he moves closer.

  His shoulder is nearly brushing mine, as he leans into the pillows stacked along the back of the pit. “This okay?” he whispers, hardly legible over the sounds of the movie.

  I can smell him. He still smells like his earlier shower, but also faintly of the grill.

  I can feel the heat coming from his body.

  I ache to lean over just…a little…bit.

  I nod. “Yeah,” I try to say but am met with resistance. I clear my throat and try again. “Yes, it’s fine.”

  I keep my gaze fixed to the large screen, but I know without a doubt he’s looking at me, and not at the movie.

  I struggle with keeping my gaze forward but end up giving in and looking to my left where, why yes, he is looking at me.

  Licking my lips nervously, I swallow hard.

  But he just smiles at me.

  Winks.

  Then turns his attention to the screen.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cade

  I managed to keep my hands to myself.

  Well, the next eighty minutes.

  I tried hard; really, I did.

  But when Dylan shifted, and a small moan left her lips, I couldn’t help but want to help her find a new comfortable spot.

  “Here,” I say, lifting my arm and reaching it around her shoulders. “Lean into me.”

  I’m really smooth.

  I know.

  Shit, I was better at this when I was fifteen, I chastise myself.

  Dylan hesitates, but then moves so her ass is nearly flush with my hip, leaning back into my side. Wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it’s also the closest she’s been to me, and I’m going to take it.

  She rests her head back on my shoulder and I ache to sift my fingers through the hair she recently pulled down from the confines of her bun.

  Her hair smelled like mint.

  Her skin, like coconut.

  I’ve been sporting chub since the moment she made her way onto this over-grown pillow fort, and the blood has only continued to move south which each move she makes. Dylan seems to be comfortable again, so I avoid adjusting my own hips, even though I need to adjust myself.

  Just when I think I’m going to survive the rest of the movie, Dylan moves again, this time so her weight is shifted to her left side but when I look down, my arm raised to try and allow her to find a more comfortable position, I see that she’s actually sleeping.

  She sighs contentedly, and I look around. I can try to lay her down; surely that would be more comfortable.

  I don’t want her to topple over if I move, so I hold up her upper body before going to scoop my other arm under her legs. She can’t way more than a buck…I don’t know…forty? Assuming that the kid she’s carrying is taking on thirty pounds of her frame.

  Carefully, I adjust as so she can lay on her side.

  I should leave her.

  That would be the gentlemanly thing to do.

  But screw being a gentleman.

  I lay down too, my arm under her neck and my chin to the top of her head.

  And even though there are still a few minutes left in the movie, I allow myself to close my eyes.

  To feel this moment.

  To live in this moment.

  To have this moment.

  ***

  A beach.

  A hammock.

  A pretty girl in my arms as the wind blows her hair around.

  The smell of coconut surrounding me, as the tropical theater relaxes us; the wind in the palms, the crashing of waves on the shore. It’s exactly where I wa
nt to be.

  I don’t need to look down to know that my pretty girl is Dylan. I can sense that it’s her.

  The moment feels so real. I can practically taste the salt in the air.

  But where’s the baby?

  My dream-thoughts have me opening my dream-eyes, looking at the beach. There’s no one here, and when I look down at Dylan in my arms, she’s simply smiling at me.

  “Where’s the boy?” I ask. How do I know she’s having a boy? Did she mention it? No, I know she didn’t mention it. She must have used ‘he’ and I just never had her elaborate on it.

  “He’s playing,” my sleep Dylan tells me, as she pokes me in the stomach. If she keeps that up, I’m going to take her right here.

  Sex in a hammock would be a new experience.

  She pokes me again, this time it’s like she’s rubbing her hand hard over my stomach, only to do it again.

  The feeling is too real, and it pulls me from my dream.

  Something moves against my stomach again, and it forces me to wake up completely.

  The room is cast in a blue glow from the Energy Saver mode of the projector and I look down to see Dylan is still sleeping. In my own sleep, I’d turned toward her, and she’s pressed to me in every place possible.

  Again, there’s a rolling and I realize…

  It’s her belly.

  The baby is doing crazy acrobatics in her small stomach and I inch back, curious. My eyes shoot to Dylan’s face as I gently place my large hand over her stomach. Hell, my hand damn near covers it.

  The baby stills, whatever body part pushing against the womb sticking out, so Dylan’s stomach is lopsided.

  How cool…

  I wish the baby would move again, but it doesn’t seem to want to.

  Cautiously, I rub my hand over the bump and even though a voice in my head is telling me to move my hand, to leave Dylan in here by herself, I can’t make myself move.

  “If you poke my side, he’ll roll again.” Dylan’s sleep-thickened voice startles me, and I snatch my hand back.

  She opens her eyes slowly and yawns, quickly bringing her hand up to her mouth as she does. “He’s an early riser,” she finally manages. She rolls to her back before reaching for my hand. Skin connects with skin, and my already morning-hard cock jerks in my pants.

  Dylan lifts her hand—did she feel the jolt too?—but then puts it back.

  “Here,” she says, bringing my hand to its previous spot on her stomach. “Wait for it.” She lets go of my wrist and I’m torn between watching my hand and watching her face.

  Within seconds, she has the baby moving again.

  She may not look like it, but this is an actual baby—a real sized baby—inside of her. I don’t know what I’d thought, but as it moves and causes her stomach to ripple, it’s evident that this isn’t some small five-inch baby.

  “Where the hell do you put the baby?” I find myself blurting and Dylan laughs lightly, even though the sound is still sleepy.

  I wonder if she’s completely aware of what she’s doing right now.

  God, I hope she is.

  I feel like this is some important hurdle, and if she’s not completely on board, if she’s doing this is some sort of dream state, I don’t know how I’ll go on without moving back to this.

  To this moment.

  I want to keep my hand on her stomach all day, just to feel the baby move.

  “My midwife says I’ll probably do more growing in the stomach over the next few weeks,” she answers softly. I don’t know if I’m supposed to move my hand from her, but I don’t want to.

  So I don’t.

  “He’s going to grow more and run out of room,” she laughs.

  “You’re having a boy?” I finally muster up the courage to ask. I don’t know why it’s a big deal, why asking that feels like another hurdle.

  Maybe it’s because Dylan is so open right now.

  I don’t want it to change.

  She nods and, voice at a whisper, says, “I am.”

  “Are you…are you keeping him?” I force my eyes from my hand and her stomach, to her gray ones. Damn, I wish this room had windows. A way to turn on the overhead lights without getting up.

  But I have to make due with the soft blue glow.

  I can see enough.

  But I want to see more.

  She nods again.

  “Are you scared?” The question is out of my mouth before I can think about it, and her answer is an unexpected guffaw.

  “I’m terrified.”

  I absently rub my hand over the bump, and the baby shifts a little. “Who knows?”

  “The Whites. My agent. You.”

  “Your parents?”

  She’s quiet a moment before answering. “They do, but they don’t know the full story. They were upset I didn’t go home for my birthday, and my mom was hurt when I told her I didn’t want a shower.”

  I’m not a complete idiot and know that showers are how first-time mothers do most of their prep for the upcoming baby. If Dylan has been hiding out here…

  “Where are you, I mean, how…?” I stop, not sure how to word what I’m asking. Finally, I manage, “What are you bringing him home to? You have a place? A rom for him?”

  “Charleigh’s helping me.” She leaves it at that, and I decide to let her.

  She’s already opened up far more than I would have guessed she would this weekend.

  Speaking of…

  “I’d like to come back next weekend. If you’re okay with that.”

  My hand is on her stomach, so of course, I can feel her deep breath.

  But more than the physical, I feel it inside me.

  “I think I’d like that.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dylan

  After Cade left on Sunday, the house felt empty.

  Sitting on the patio didn’t fill me with the same comfort.

  I attempted to watch a movie in the theater on Monday afternoon, but I couldn’t take my focus off remembering him in there.

  Monday night was quiet, and I debated calling him.

  Texting him, even.

  Tuesday, I still hadn’t heard from the man, and I thought maybe he’d decided it was all too much.

  That freaking devil on my shoulder started his whispering again.

  He got what he came for.

  You told him everything.

  It’s only a matter of time before your story is blasted on every cover.

  So, when Charleigh came tearing down the driveway on Wednesday afternoon, I was afraid of what she had to say.

  Whatever it was, she couldn’t tell me during our phone call.

  She had to be here in person to break the news.

  I meet her outside, and she immediately brings me into her arms. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

  Confused, I nod against her shoulder. “Yeah?”

  She leans back, her hands on my shoulders as she looks down at me. Charleigh was blessed with height, at least in comparison to my five-two stature. The frown on her face has me concerned.

  “You haven’t seen the news?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “No?”

  “Oh my God. C’mon.” She grabs my hand and pulls me back into the house, where she brings me to the living room. Immediately, she has me sitting and is pulling her phone out. “I can’t believe you didn’t see…” Charleigh mutters.

  “Well, considering I’m not a fan of false reporting,” I answer, likely snarkier than is called for, but Charleigh is making me anxious. Whatever she saw, whatever she needs me to see, was big enough for her to need to come here.

  To be my person.

  I know who I want to be my person, and he hasn’t exactly reached out…

  I shut off thoughts of Cade, because they just confuse me. Hell, for all I know, the reason why Charleigh is here is because of him.

  My phone rings from my back pocket, and I pull i
t out to see Cade’s name; it’s as if he could sense me trying to forget him.

  The first call from him since he left Sunday afternoon.

  I debate letting it go to voicemail but decide that would be rude of me. Besides, I could have called him, but I didn’t. I’d tried telling myself it was because he was the one with the grueling schedule, and for the most part, I let myself believe that was the reason I was letting him go silent.

  It had nothing to do with the fact I was still slightly nervous about the things he made me feel.

  The easy way I opened up to him.

  Charleigh is still frowning over her phone, trying to find whatever it is she’s looking for, so I take the call.

  “Hello.” If I thought I was snarky with Charleigh, I’m downright cold to Cade. I decide it’s a defense-mechanism.

  Turning slightly on the couch, I give Charleigh my back.

  “Are you okay?” His voice is almost as frantic as Charleigh’s, and now I’m concerned.

  Before I can answer, he goes on. “The news just broke. It’s all over.”

  I shake my head, looking over my shoulder at Charleigh. “What news? What’s all over?”

  “Found it,” Charleigh mutters, at the same time Cade says, “The feds just busted a sex party ring, one with ties to trafficking. Grant and Aja Maxwell are part of it.”

  My body grows cold, and I turn to Charleigh as she thrusts her phone in my face. I look at the article, not really computing it, as I mindlessly hold my own phone to my ear. Cade’s talking, but nothing is connecting.

  After several tips, the Federal Bureau of Investigation and local authorities raided the home of actor Grant Maxwell, finding incriminating evidence…

  “Oh my God,” I mumble, frowning, as I continue to read. Hundreds of local girls had gone missing over the last two years, and the common denominator was an invite to a party; a party that was always attended by Grant Maxwell.

  “I’ll…” I shake my head. “I’ll call you back.” My voice is detached; hell, I feel like I’m having an out of body experience. I hang up on Cade and take Charleigh’s phone, reading through the rest of the article.

  “This means you’re free,” Charleigh says. “Make your post public. Share your story. Help bring that bastard down.” She’s pointing at the phone as she talks, and I can feel the intensity of her words.