The Deal Dilemma

Every year, I request the week after finals off, and usually, I spend the time doing absolutely nothing productive but stimulating my mind with some serious binge-watching. During the school year, I won’t start shows because I know myself and my teenage, angst-loving heart can’t simply walk away after an episode or two, and pick up later like a normal person. No. I watch the sucker from episode one to the bittersweet end. It’s honestly the best.

But this week is different, my life will now be different.

With the drop of a pencil, that was it.

My final, final. My very last, last day of school.

I am freaking done, and I am so damn excited about it.

Willie’s stand at the Brews and Barbeques Festival couldn’t have come at a better time. I’m juiced. Beyond so because, holy crap, I have somewhere fun to go and people to go with.

Layla took away any nerves I had seconds after telling me I should come by, shouting that I was coming, and she didn’t even have to break it to Crew he’d be my partner in sleep for the weekend. He insisted before she could get a word in.

So, this fine Friday afternoon, we’re standing behind a makeshift bar under a giant cedarwood tree. Layla explains the process of brewing, sharing the flavor profiles in the hops they use and different ways of approaching the bitterness versus the citrus options. Half the people want to know every detail she’s willing to share, my nerdy little science self included, and the other half nod politely, while waiting for me to pour them their liquid fun.

It’s not until closer to seven, when the vendors shut down for the night, and the partying begins. Most people start out in their own camping areas, eating and drinking the leftovers of their day’s production and listening to music of all kinds coming from every angle based on preference.

Tucked behind our serving and cooking stations is a giant see-through netted tent, the kind meant to keep the bugs away, and inside are two tables arranged in an L shape, paper products, utensils and all the goods spread out along them. I grab a plate and start shoveling a little of everything onto it. Unable to help myself, I stick the pad of my finger into the gravy oozing over my meat and bring it to my lips.

“Good?”

Setting my plate on the table before me, I look to Crew, smiling. “So good. You were right. Layla can cook.”

Crew begins serving himself, and my phone beeps in my pocket, so I wipe my hands on a napkin quickly and pull it out.

Jess: Put me out of my misery. Come over. It’s been too long.

Shaking my head, I text him back.

Me: It’s been approximately twenty-seven hours. You’ll be fine.

Jess: That was a quickie. Didn’t count. Come celebrate with me.

A laugh spurts from me and then my phone is yanked from my hand.

“Hey!” I frown at Crew, reaching for it, but he holds it over my head like a teenager. “What the heck?” I slap my hands on my thighs.

“What the fuck’s he talking about, a quickie? And when did you see him yesterday? I was with you all day.”

“I had coffee with him in the morning. He has this cool machine and all these sweet syrups and—”

“You were with him while I was asleep?”

“Uh… yeah? I’m not much for coffee, but like I said… syrups and he always has whipped cream.”

Crew scoffs, glaring at the screen when it beeps again. “Bet he fucking does. What’s he mean, celebrate? Celebrate what?”

“Graduation.”

Crew’s head snaps to mine, creases forming along his forehead. “What?”

“Thursday was my last final. I’m done.” I smile, dragging my shoulders up in a long shrug.

His eyes hold mine for a long moment, and slowly, the tension in his muscles eases, a shadow flickering over his features as he glances away briefly. “You didn’t even tell me.”

“Oh, I’m not having a party or anything. I’m not even going to walk across the stage next week.”

“Why? Your parents will want you to. I can’t believe they’re allowing that.”

“I’m an adult, and it was my decision,” I tell him. “They know walking across the stage isn’t something I want to do, all those people staring at me while I try not to trip on the carpet. No way. I’m just happy I did it. There were times I really wanted to go home, but I stuck it out. And they’re proud.”

Crew’s lips form a tight line. “This is fucking dumb. You shouldn’t be here working. You should be out partying with friends.”

He glares, and I look down.

What friends, I want to say, but don’t, instead following with a different truth. “This is how I wanted to spend my weekend, and you’re here so…” I meet his gaze. “It’s a celebration better than I could have expected.”

Crew opens his mouth, but Layla slides up.

“Move over, brute. I’m starving again, and turn on the lights on your way by, would you?”

Sliding my phone into my back pocket, he nods, grabs his plate, and off he goes.

Moments later, soft-blue LED lights flick on around us.

My eyes slide toward Crew, and he looks back at the same moment.

“And someone thought you wouldn’t come,” Layla whispers, drawing my attention.

We share a low laugh and eat our plates of food in silence before making our way to the “pillow pad,” as Layal explained it—it’s what every camper sets up at the edge of their site come nightfall, helping make the large, open circle more complete.

It’s basically a picnic-style setting, blankets and pillows organized however you want, creating a chill spot to people-watch.

The sun is almost set now, the grassy hill area nearly lit by nothing but string lights for those who thought to bring some, and a few standard ones lit up with generators.

I drop down beside Layla, and we watch as camper after camper migrates toward the middle, the four-hundred-yard clearing between all of us becoming one giant-ass party.

I imagine the campus parties this weekend are the exact opposite of this—a lively kind of mellow. Dramaless.

It’s the perfect way to celebrate the end of one stage of my life and welcome the next. If the next looks anything like this, I’d have more than I thought possible.

Sneaking a glance at Crew, I find him watching me, and I swear, he can read my mind.

He doesn’t look away, and neither do I, but this time, he’s the one who smiles first. It’s small, one sided, but it’s there.

“Man, I wish I could get drunk,” Layla pouts, attempting to tug her sweater over her bump, but it won’t stretch beyond her belly button. “You guys seem so chill. I want to be chill.”

Willie drapes his arms over her, and she grabs on to his forearms. “You are chill, babe, but you’re also getting cranky. Let’s get my girls to bed, hmm?”

Layla smacks him as she sits up, waiting for him to stand behind her. “Cute. Say something to get you cut off and follow it up without something worthy of a king’s chair.”

“I will pack this shit up right now, girl. Don’t tease.” Willie hauls her to her feet with a smile. “Night, guys.”

“Start breakfast at seven, so we can prep by eight?” Crew asks, looking up at him.

“Make it nine, my man. Davis brought these little donut rings, a bunch of giant waffles, and those little peanut butter cup things. We’re set.”

Crew looks my way, a playful groan pushing past his throat. “You brought treats and didn’t tell me?”

“You would have eaten them by now.”

“Fuck yeah, I would.” He grins, and it’s a little loose. Adorably so.

Tonight was the first night I’ve seen Crew have a drink. It was no more than half a cup of chilled whiskey, just enough to relax him and not a drop more.

I hadn’t thought to ask him if he still drank, when he asked me about the subject, but I imagine working at a bar is the ultimate example of strength for him. It’s good to know he trusts himself enough to do as he pleases. I always wanted that for him, him to find confidence and faith in himself to help him believe he can be whatever kind of man he wishes to.

“By the way, if you have sex, do it in my truck, if you don’t want us to listen… ’cause we will!” Willie shouts over his shoulder, and Layla laughs at his side. “And Davis, honey, don’t make him wrap it up, all right? My poor kid ain’t gonna have no friends if you do.”

Before I might have blushed or rambled about how I want him to slide in, but he’s refusing a trip down the brand-new Slip ’N Slide. That’s not what happens, though.

I don’t grow bashful at all; in fact, I laugh, and when I roll my neck along the blanket, I catch Crew laughing too.

Seconds later, it’s just us.

“He’s an ass but that means he likes you.” Crew smirks, tossing an ice cube in his mouth. “And that means Layla likes you.”

“I hope so, considering she’s the one who invited me.”

“She’d never invite you if she didn’t know for sure I’d want you here.”

“Is that right?”

Nodding, he folds an arm behind his head.

“And how would she know that?”

“She asked and I told her.”

A chuckle pushes past my pursed lips. “Just like that, huh?”

“Asking what you want to know is always the cleanest route.”

Twisting my body, so it faces his, I fold my hands beneath my face and lean on them. “So, the dirty route is trickled with muddy assumptions?”

“Exactly.” Small creases form along his temple, as he says the word, and I know something’s on his mind.

“So, why not take a power washer to the one floating around in your mind tonight, clear that baby up?”

He watches me closely, and I know I’m right, he does have something he’s been sitting on. “It’s not all that simple.”

“Why not?”

“I already know the answer to the question.” He speaks surlily. “But it leads to one I can’t fucking figure out.”

“Oh, this sounds juicy. Do tell, Mr. Taylor.”

He studies me, and then he lays it out. “You’re not attracted to Jess. Not physically. Not like you are to me. He’s attracted to you, but you’re thinking, right now, that that’s not true. It is. No damn doubt.”

Talk about a veer left, when you expect a right.

Oddly, or maybe not so odd, considering Crew’s always been able to read me as if he had a crystal ball on his side. He’s not wrong, but like he said, he knew that already.

I’m not attracted to Jess, not sexually or emotionally or any other “jump my bones, neighbor” kind of way and I most definitely don’t believe he’s attracted to me. But…

“And this little palm-reading session leads to what unanswered question?”

“Why?” He asks it so simply, as if it truly makes no sense to him.

Why? I mean, it is a good question, I guess, but the answer I would think was an obvious one. Clearly not, though, if the scowl etching its way across Crew’s features indicates anything.

“I don’t want him and I don’t know that there’s a reason why. He’s my friend. Never once have I looked at him and thought of anything other than that. He’s just Jess, my neighbor down the hall. My study buddy, or former study buddy now. That’s all.”

“That’s what I mean. You’ve never thought of him differently. I know because, if you had, there’s no doubt in my mind he’d have jumped on your first hint of interest. Now, though, you’re starting to see what you didn’t before. Your eyes are opening, Sweets, and pretty soon, you’ll look at men a whole lot different than you do now.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I know so.”

And I know I’ll always seek you out, even in a room of hundreds. Just you.

“Maybe you’re right,” I admit, and a deep line dents the space between his dark brows. “Maybe I will or do notice the look in a man’s eye in ways I didn’t before, but when they look back into mine, they won’t see the same thing,” I promise.

Crew’s lips press together, his eyes flicking to my mouth and back, and my stomach swirls, dips, and twists. Vulnerability is common when staring into my favorite hazel eyes, but tonight, it runs a little deeper because I know he can read between the lines.

They won’t find in my gaze what he will.

Want. Need. Trust.

“You know we’re celebrating graduation, right?” he says suddenly.

My grin splits fast. “This weekend feels like a celebration. I’ve never done anything like this before.” I adjust slightly, looking out at the last of the crowd in the clearing. There’s at least a quarter of them left mingling.

“Tell me you didn’t plan to do something else before Layla invited you.”

See? He knows me well.

“I totally want to be bougie and go to Napa, pretend I can afford it and pay an obscene amount of money for a bottle of wine, internally praying it’s a sweet, sugary one I’ll actually drink.” Smiling, I face Crew. “I’ve saved all my tips since March.”

“Then we’ll go.”

“We?”

“Am I not invited?”

“Oh please.” I roll my eyes. “You’d be the only one invited and you know it.”

Crew chuckles then, and when he faces the crowd, I do the same. “We’re going on that trip.”

Don’t cheese too hard, Davis. Play it cool.

“Okay, two o’clock.” I steer us away from plans of the future before I embarrass myself. “The pixie-cut brunette and the Leo DiCaprio stunt double.”

Crew looks for the pair, falling right back into the game we used to play all the time, but haven’t had the chance to in years.

He considers the duo a moment, gaze narrowing in thought. “She’s laughing at what he’s saying, but she’s not reaching out to touch him when she does, and look. His head turns toward the chicks outside the tequila hut every time he takes a drink.”

It totally does.

“I say they fuck when they feel like it,” he decides. “But their friends don’t know it, and they still hook up with other people.”

“Sounds fair.” I nod. “Oh! Ten o’clock, blonde girl in a baggy hoodie and scruffy-haired skinny guy.”

“Got ’em. Your turn.”

“Okay.” I stare at the two a moment, sneaking a quick look at the others around them. “I think she likes him, and he knows it, but she’s softer than what he’s used to. She came with her friend, hoping this guy would be here, but now that he is, she has no idea how to act.”

“Because she doesn’t want to seem forward, but forward is what he likes.”

“Exactly.” We stare some more, and the poor girl. “Aw, she’s just waiting for his attention, and he won’t give it to her until she demands it.”

Crew laughs, and I flip on my side again, facing him.

“What should she do?”

Crew watches me closely, and after a few seconds, adjusts so he’s positioned the same as me. “She should make the first move.”

“But what if he doesn’t want her?”

“Trust me.” His eyes bounce between mine, then he says. “He does.”

Crew

A silent beat passes between us, and slowly, the corner of her mouth lifts. She loves this shit, getting the smallest insight into a man’s mind.

Into my mind.

Crazy as it might seem to others, the girl legit feels like she’s sitting front row in her class of choice, pen and paper ready.

Her eyes damn near dance under the lights. “So how do you know when someone’s making the first move? Like what are some signs they want you?”

“You’d know.”

“Humor me.” Her scowl is far too playful.

Playful Davis is dangerous. Shit, smiling, pissy, breathing Davis is dangerous.

I like all her colors, but the sexually intrigued version is a fucking killer.

Call me Sherlock, ’cause I want to catch her. Keep her.

Punish her, oh so fucking good.

“Crew,” she prompts.

Okay, Sweets…

“Staring into someone’s eyes with a long pause. Shifting around so your skin is touching theirs.” I slowly and intentionally lower my gaze, so she knows to follow, and witnesses with her own eyes where her knee has lifted on the blanket. It’s hiked up high and pressed to mine.

Right now, with her attention held on the spot our bodies are linked, she’s thinking about the way she stared into my eyes seconds before asking her question. Even under the midnight sky, nothing but LED string lights a few feet away, I spot the flush working its way up her neck, feel the deep inhale she pulls in—deep in my fucking groin.

“You’re a woman, Davis, your body knows what it wants. It will lead you if you let it.”

“Can I?”

I frown. “Can you what?”

“Let it lead?” Her tone is so low, so damn husky.

Finally, she looks up, and the motherfucking expression on her face.

Goddamn.

Her lips are parted with need, her eyes low and swimming with hunger, a neediness she can’t hide. Not from me.

Not that she’s trying.

It’s more than that, though. It’s the sense of desire radiating off her, and not of the sexual kind. Desire to take control. To be the one leading and discovering where it takes her.

Can she let her body lead, right here, right now?

I don’t say yes.

Don’t say no either, and slowly, so. Fucking. Slowly, the velvety pads of her fingertips find the exposed skin of my left bicep. They drag lower, back, until she’s gripping my muscle firmly, and her lips part when I make no move to stop her.

Without warning, her leg loops over me, and in a single, swift move, she hauls herself on top.

My back flattens on the blanket, and the second my eyes meet hers, hooded and hovering over me, my cock twitches in my jeans.

I want to touch her, tug her, push against her ass.

I don’t.

Little Davis, though, she’s got ideas of her own, and she’s determined to test them out.

She lowers her hips with caution, bringing them flush to mine, right over the zipper strained against me. Her shorts trek a little higher as her legs stretch around me, her knees pressed firm into the blanket at my sides.

“What now?” A soft, sweet shyness wraps her words in a whisper.

“Your body is leading, remember?” I keep my tone as neutral as possible, when I’m using far too much mind power to keep from grinding up into her.

I know she feels me; it’s why she froze the second she planted.

My cock is lined at her center. Right where it wants to be.

Anticipation draws through my veins when a sly, naughty smile pulls at her lips, her lashes fanning along her cheeks as she points her attention to my throat. Her knuckles glide along the vein, pressing against it. “Do whatever it wants?”

I raise a brow. “Within reason, and without forgetting, there’s a gang of people staring at you straddling me.”

“Reason is boring.”

An unexpected chuckle pushes past my lips, and my dick decides to twitch.

Her eyes snap to mine, widening as my length grows beneath her.

“Our bodies are in control,” I remind her, reminding myself to do the exact opposite.

Her nod is almost unnoticeable, and then she dares to move. Her hips, they roll forward. Once. Twice.

My hands shoot to her waist, and she freezes.

“I’m sorry,” she rushes.

My teeth clink shut before I can tell her she’s got it wrong, that I grabbed her out of need, and how the last thing I want her to do is stop, but this is good.

She had to fucking stop.

Can’t dance on my dick.

Can’t rip the reason from my mind with her deep forward rolls and slow backward ones.

Fuck me, that’s how she’d ride.

Again, I need her to stop, so why do my palms play as a guide, my fingertips pressing into her lower back, leading her to lean forward until her hands are forced to plant on my chest?

Because at this angle, her clit will be worked…

Davis rolls once more, and when her lips part with a sharp gasp, my teeth clench.

God, she’s discovering the simplest of touches, testing them in subtle waves.

The sounds I would earn from you, Sweets…

Desire kicking up, I clamp my lids closed, and seconds later, I’m struck with a hot, wet tongue across my neck.

A groan slips free. It’s chest deep and any hope I had to stay at half-mass is out the fucking window.

I’m hard as a rock. Aching.

“This is a horrible idea.” The huskiness in her tone is almost unbearable, but the words she spoke slap at my sense, shaking me from the haze she’s got me in.

Davis is close to dry fucking me right here, where who knows how many can see.

Our gazes lock.

Her hands push down, and I wait for her to climb off before I’m forced to move her, but then she says, “Can I have the tepee alone for a few minutes?”

All the blood in my body rushes to the tip of my dick, swelling, begging for the release she’s in need of.

So fucking brazen, my sweet, innocent Sweets.

Only for me, my mind screams, but I cut the bitch at the collar.

“You want me to wait out here, knowing you’re making yourself come in there?”

“Considering you said no when I asked you to watch, yes.” Her chest rises and falls rapidly. “This whole, first move, let your body lead lesson is sweet, sweet torture. So yeah. I’m fine with torturing you for a minute or two. Or maybe more.” She thinks better of it. “I didn’t exactly think to bring my toy.”

My brows crash. Her toy.

That’s right, she took batteries in her room.

Possessiveness prickles along my spine, and my body jerks upright, arms flying around her back to keep her against me, and then she’s right fucking there. Eye to eye. Lip to lip.

“You slide a fake cock inside this virgin pussy?” My hands drag down her ass, and I can’t stop them, jealousy burning me up from the inside out. “Answer me, Sweets.”

Her headshake is slow. “N-no. It’s just a little… vibrator thing, clit stimulation and all that. My fingers they…”

“Aren’t enough for you anymore?” I guess.

She nods.

Of course, she needs more.

This is Davis Franco, my sweet little pipe dream.

A queen in her own fucking right.

Only a man who knows what she’s worth can satisfy her needs.

“Please?” she whispers, her thighs quivering around me.

“No.”

Her face falls, and I stand with her in my lap, holding on before slowly allowing her feet to meet the blanket. Her neck is cranked all the way back, eyes sloped and on me.

“I won’t give you the room alone. I won’t watch.” My knuckles find her chin before it can hide from me, and I hold her there, stepping in closer, my fingers pressing into the sides of her throat. “But I will listen, and if we hurry, there’ll be something for you to listen to, too.”

She doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t shy away.

Davis grabs my hand and leads me to the teepee.

To the death of me.

To my ruin, because I know once I hear her come, the need to see it, taste, to be the one to trigger it will eat away at my restraint. And that bitch is already as thin as the paper her little offer was printed on.

It would dissolve between my lips.

Just like she would… if I let her.