Page 20

“ L otte, wait!” I knew she was hot. I knew I wanted her, but that. That … was … intense.

The best boobs.

The best kiss.

The hottest make-out of my life.

Watching Lotte’s cute little ass slip away, while I lie here hard and bordering on tears is disappointing, but Lotte freezing up, then running scared is tragic.

What happened?

To avoid a painful injury, I tuck my still throbbing boner back into my jeans as carefully as I can, then give a hobble chase. I had initially planned to do the zipper as I ran, but when I hit the lounge and see Lotte, I forget all about it. Pink light from her handmade chandelier colors her face as she stands behind the kitchen island. She’s painted a soft lemon color since I was last here. Tears are sliding down her cheeks as she peels a potato as big as her hand.

“Lotte, I’m so sorry if I pushed you too far. I never meant to—”

“You pushed the absolute perfect amount, Noah.” She sniffs without raising her eyes. “I very much enjoyed all the pushing. Your pushing skills are second to none.”

Not going to lie, my chest just puffed. “Okay. That’s good, I guess. So why did you take off like that? And don’t tell me it was the potatoes, because I was lying beneath you just now as you ground down on me and I can all but guarantee root vegetables were the last thing on your mind.”

Lotte scoffs, “And how do you know that?”

“Your nostrils flare when you fib, and right now, under that light, with that nose, you kind of resemble Peppa Pig. It’s very cute.”

“Really?” Her face screws up further as she wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand and looks up from the bench. The second her eyes land on me both her mouth and the peeler drop. “Oh my God! How are you like this?” She sobs. “Look at your arms … your stomach for fuck’s sake! This is ridiculous.”

The girl is crying. I think she might even have a snot bubble, but I can’t stop the hearty chuckle from bursting free. “Why? What is so ridiculous?”

“Us. You. Me. That.” She points to the bedroom then thrusts her hips a few times. It’s adorable. “I’m this weirdo, pig-girl that talks to no one, and you’re like this super-hot, sexy jock-type who would be comfortable dining with Hannibal Lecter. You’re beautiful and you’re going to be a big star and you’re leaving and—”

Leaving. My laughter dies a quick death. “You’re not freaking out because I’m popular or hot, you’re worried about me leaving, aren’t you?”

She picks up the peeler and resumes her work. “Not sure what you’re talking about, Marky Mark.”

“Me and myCalvinstake that as a compliment, but you’re still lying.” Lotte continues her aggressive assault on the food and falls silent. I hate it. “Please say something, Lotte.”

“Ugh.” Once again, she drops what she’s doing, but this time she scoots around the cabinet and strides towards me, her pretty tits bouncing with every step. Now toe to toe she stands on the balls of her feet and releases an epic OINK right in my face.

“Fuck you’re incredible.” I grasp her cheeks in my hands and pull her onto my lips, throwing her, then me off balance. We stumble backwards, our fall conveniently broken by the back of her sofa. Without breaking the kiss, I hold her to me and slide over it, till I’m on my back and she is once again on top of me. We stay like that, lips locked, bodies sandwiched together, a moaning, sweating tangle of limbs on her patchwork sofa.

I could happily fool around with this girl till the day I die. Her touch is unbelievable. The feel of her on top of me, awe inspiring. My heart pounds against my ribs each time her tongue sweeps over mine, fucks mine, and my cock is so hard I fear it may implode.

A breathy whispered, “I want you,” tickles my ear, but before I can reply and give her what we both want, the timer on some appliance I will gladly smash to pieces later, really does begin to chime.

After one last tug of my hair, Lotte whines and pulls away, and slides further back down my thighs, collecting herself with several slow, shaken breaths that jiggle her boobs deliciously.

“As much as I would like to stay right here and take this further, you and your magic tongue have put me way behind schedule. I really do have to cook all that food.” Beginning her dismount, she leans forward, giving me enough room to bring my hand down on her pert ass, rejoicing in the stinging slap and nice red welt I can’t help but smooth over again, and again, and again.

“Let’s get to it then … right after I kiss you some more.”

In between lively conversation, laughter, and a shit ton of heavy petting, fifty plus servings of baked chicken, three pot roasts, and more vegetables than you could poke a scarecrow at, have been prepared for the building’s elderly residents. And me. I’m even more enamored by this girl than I was walking in the door a few hours ago.

This night has been a blessing. I’ve heard stories about her mum, and her wacky old-time neighbors, her adventures at work with Claire, watched and enjoyed more episodes of the Brady Bunch and My Little Pony than any man has any right too, and loved every minute of it.

I never want the night to end.

It’s a thought that should scare me, but instead, it warms me from the inside out.

“And you do this every week?” I ask, watching as she pops the last container inside a cooler box, then slides that into the refrigerator.

“Yep.”

“And why? How? Not how, as in physically, but financially. There are hundreds of dollars in produce here.” It’s obvious to see she’s uncomfortable with that question as it is that she’s hardly rolling in cash. How could she be with an income derived from a part time paid internship.

“Most of the food is donated by Collisions Market, you know the greengrocer on Washington?” Too many questions over the logistics fill my mind to pluck one from, so I keep my mouth shut and nod in agreement. “As for the residents, most here have no one to take care of them, which means home cooked meals are few and far between. These people have sheltered and cared for me when on one else did. Cooking for them is the least I can do.”

Not knowing what to say to express the pride I feel in her, I nod and bite on a stray piece of carrot. “And what about the cleaning?”

“What cleaning?”

“Ryan said you clean for his gran, and the others.” Lotte stills as a blush travels up her neck.

“Sometimes I do, yeah. Mostly when I drop off the food.”

“And that’s how you spend your Saturdays?”

“Sundays, too.” She nods.

The pride I was feeling earlier catches in my throat, begins to sour. “Surely not everyone here has no family, though. I hate to mention him again but take Ryan for instance. He’s close by and could help his gran all the time, but you’re the one trapped inside cleaning her apartment and killing her spiders. Do you ever think that some people might be taking advantage of you?”

“I’m not trapped, I enjoy it. If anything, I’m taking advantage of them. I live in an apartment reserved for over sixties. Any one of them could have me thrown out at any time.”

“Right, and they know that, hence them taking advantage of you.” On a sigh, Lotte shifts her weight onto one leg and sighs.

“I see what you’re getting at and appreciate that you are looking out for me. But no, I don’t think anyone is taking advantage. Now, either drop it or go. I’m covered in chicken guts and it’s too late for Spanish inquisitions.”

Hmm. It’s almost one am. Claire will be wondering where the hell I am, and I agreed to meet Brady at nine for a weight session. I should go, but I really don’t want to.

Drop it, it is.

“So, that Green Line Ice tee that you were rocking earlier. Where can a feller get his hands on one of them?”

Lotte winces and shakes her head dismissively as she pops a string bean into her mouth. “Sorry to disappoint you, but Marty’s wife Donna makes them on herCricut. That vinyl’s very expensive. Staff only … Oh my God. STAFF ONLY! Oh my God.” She’s panicking, literally running on the spot while flapping her hands. “I didn’t lock the doors, Noah. I left the place unlocked. Oh my God, I have to go.”

“What doors? What are you talking about … Shit!” The answer hits me, and internally, I’m panicking as much as Lotte. I’m just trying not to let it show. So when I grasp her shoulder and hold her still, I speak as calmly as I can. “No, we have to go, and I will happily drive you, but you have to calm down first. I’m not taking you anywhere like this.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down. Who does that ever calm down? And also, don’t tell me what to do.” She wriggles free, and stomps to the door, collecting her coat and bag as she goes. Of course, I follow. “I will panic and scream, kick and yell all I want, and if you don’t like it, boo to you. I’ll get there myself.”

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

“Why do you have to be so helpful yet bossy?”

“Because I care about you, Lotte … a lot.” The words are out before I can stop them, leaving Lotte frozen on the spot, the coat she’s only managed to slip one arm into swinging lifelessly at her back. After a debilitating beat or two, she blinks, then jiggles till she can slide the other in.

“Thank you but now is not the time. Marty has been the only consistent in my life other than my mom and grandma. He taught me to skate, drove me home from the hospital when Gran died. Donna made me dinner every night for weeks. He took me to my first day of college, then returned five hours later to pick me up. If anything has happened to the Green Line, I will never forgive myself.”

I watch as she nervously pulls her teeth between her lips, and chews, her eyes darting between me and the door. I’m tempted to demand she call Marty and keep her here safe and warm and wrapped in my arms, but she’s already made up her mind. Nothing I can do or say will change it.

“Okay, Little D. Let’s go.”

Silence descends as we storm down the hall, the shortest, blondest one of us in the lead. Being the man I am, my eyes fight hard to maintain focus on her ass, while my brain demands I take the situation seriously. This is a major, possibly catastrophic, fuck up. Lotte exists on the edge of nervous, but she’s scared now, and I don’t like it.

I hate it, in fact.

Sweat seeps from every orifice. My palms are slick, the shirt clinging to my chest is drenched by the time we make it to my truck. White-knuckling the wheel, I drive with one eye on the road, the other on her as she mumbles, wringing her hands till the skin forms welts, angry and red like the glow of traffic light reflecting on her porcelain skin. With every tear she sheds, my insides knot and morphs into agony.

The happiness of this girl means too much to me to allow the kind of pain etching her face. The kind that will only worsen if we get to the Green Line and find the worst.

“You doing okay, Little D? Is there anything I can do?”

Looking over at me, she frowns, and I see the exact moment the mask I’d only just begun to see behind, slides back into place, “No.”

Tonight, the very attributes that made me the youngest captain in BC hockey history are the very things I hate about myself. The need to take charge, to lead, to make everything better is tearing up my insides. How can I ease her suffering, make her better, light the way when she won’t let me?

I can’t help but think of the similarities my sister and I share, checking out female asses for one, but apart from that we share the same eyes, hazel but almost black when determination strikes. Then we have the hair, the same annoying wave that turns into ringlet- like curls when grown that little too long, and of course, possibly the strongest genetic marker - the need to fix.