She knows I’m full of shit, but she can’t prove it. She smirks, and I laugh. I have to admit, I’m quite good at cunnilingus, but so few have the opportunity to find out. I refuse to put my mouth on the easy pussy thrown at me. I’m selective in that regard. That pleasure is reserved for the woman I’m in a relationship with, and since that has been a while, so has the exercise of my oral talents. Hypocritical…maybe.
“Whatever. That’s not a talent.”
She’s obviously flustered at the thought of me pleasuring another woman, so I change the subject. “So tell me about growing up with Asher.” He has already told this story. I know his dad was her mom’s second marriage, and they were together for three years. She was in the sixth grade at the time, and he was in the ninth. Their parents split up his senior year. He went off to college for a bit, but they kept in touch. Even though I know most of the story, I want to put her back in her comfort zone.
It works. She tells me all about how even though he was the protective older brother and annoyed her at times, he was the best brother a girl could have. God, if he only knew the thoughts that ran through my mind about his baby sister—well, stepsister, but still. That is a fine line I will gladly walk, and another reason anything happening between us will definitely have to be her idea—or so she will think.
“What about you? I hear that you met Asher through Killian.”
“Yeah. Killian and I worked at this shitty bar in Birmingham. Our conversations eventually led to our love for music. We discovered that he played the guitar and that I sing as well as write music. He told me a friend of his was looking to form a band.” She listens intently as I tell her all about our formation. The food finishes cooking, so I fix her a plate. I can feel her looking at me as she takes a seat at the counter.
“Come on. I’m bringing your plate into the living room. I’m going to watch one of my recordings of American Horror Story.”
“I don’t watch scary movies,” she insists as she hesitantly walks behind me.
I set her plate on the coffee table as I take a seat on the sofa. I pat the space next to me and motion for her to come sit next to me. “Come on, pussy. It’s not that bad. It’s not scary the way you think.” She sits next to me, and I hand her the plate of food.
“I’m not a pussy,” she exclaims. She takes the food from me and takes the first bite. I’m scrolling through the recordings when a moan escapes her lips. My dick jumps to attention immediately. Holy fuck. I can’t help but imagine myself fucking her and having that sweet sound be the result of my cock buried so deep inside her.
“Sorry,” she mumbles when she realizes her mistake. “This is really good.”
“Orgasmic, I guess,” I tease. She rolls her eyes. “Hey, you’re the one moaning. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It’s amazing, and I helped.”
“Yes, you did.” I wink. She sighs, and I manage not to laugh. She is so cute, even with the Goth bullshit she’s trying to pull off. I have no problem with the look or people who are actually into the lifestyle. I can just tell that her impersonation is just that—an act. I’ve had friends who were truly Goth and were cool as shit. She is an imposter, but I won’t call her out on it. I finally find the “Curtain Call” episode. I fill her in briefly on the premise of the show. She comments on them calling themselves freaks, but other than that, she watches along with me and finishes her food.
She doesn’t make the whole hour without dozing off. I know I should either wake her up to go lie down upstairs or let her have the sofa, but I can’t help myself. I put a pillow on my lap and ease her head down until she lays on me. I lean back and flip to a recording of Key and Peele. This act is beyond what I’m capable of, but Harlow has been different from the beginning. I can’t put my finger on it yet. I watch as her breathing evens out. She’s so vulnerable at this moment with no pretenses. The door rattles on the first floor, and I know the guys are back. Ren’s hearty laugh confirms this. Shit.
Chapter Two
Harlow
A door slamming in the distance startles me awake. I look up into the eyes of Phoenix. Crap, I was lying on his lap. How in the hell did that happen? I let myself get too comfortable with him. I jump up and grab my plate. “Sorry,” I say.
“It’s no big deal, Harlow. You were tired,” Phoenix offers. He gets up and stretches, and I take my plate to the kitchen. The sun sits low in the sky now. Phoenix and I had an enjoyable day together. Who would have guessed? He had a few slip-ups, but for the most part, I got a chance to see another side to him besides the manwhore who encourages the women to be thirsty. Yes. I kind of like the Phoenix I got to spend time with today. Falling asleep in his lap was my mistake, and I’ll just have to be more careful. I hope he didn’t take that as me flirting. Although we made a few strides toward a possible friendship, I’m not fooled to think he is anything but a slut who enjoys all the pussy he wants. I’m not one of those females who idiotically thinks they have the power to change a man. A man only has the power to change if he wants to, and I don’t see that for Phoenix. He is gorgeous, and he knows it. He has the world at his feet, and when these guys make it big, because they will, the number of women who throw themselves at him will increase exponentially.
Asher, Ren, and Killian come into the kitchen and excitedly grab a plate.
“Chicken cacciatore. Hell, yes!” Asher fist bumps with Ren. “Hey, sis. Did you get to taste this masterpiece? It’s our favorite.”
“Yes. It’s quite good.” I giggle. “And I helped.”
“Well, it should be twice as good,” Asher jokes. Ren and Killian mumble in agreement with their mouths full. I can see the camaraderie among them. I rinse my plate and put it into the dishwasher before heading upstairs. I play around on my laptop for a bit, mostly looking to see what my old friends are up to on Facebook. The two-hour time difference from Los Angles is catching up with me. It isn’t long before I feel my eyes growing heavy. Maybe I’ll just take a small nap and then get up and plan what classes I’ll be registering for in a couple of weeks.
The sun shining brightly through my curtains is a clue that I missed the mark on a small nap. I sit up and feel around for my phone. It only has nine percent since I didn’t charge it last night. Damn, it’s almost eight. That was some nap. After plugging in my phone, I poke my head out the door but find the house completely silent. I wonder where the guys went this morning? I pull out a pair of Easy Rider sweatpants to wear with my combat boots and an extra-large plain black tee.
I bring it all to the bathroom along with some undergarments and set it down on the counter. I wash off yesterday’s makeup while the water in the shower gets hot. I step in, and the rain shower is heaven. I wash my hair and spend at least twenty minutes indulging in the warmth before finally showering and getting out. I’m toweling myself dry when Phoenix walks in unexpectedly. I have just enough time to back myself against the glass shower and cover my front with the small ass towel I had in my hand.