Can't Let Go (11 page)

It’s nice to have Ivy dealing me the cards, but my companions couldn’t be worse. Stench number one to my right keeps leaning my way, barely able to hold his body up. While Stench number two to my left keeps checking me out from the corner of his eye. I take a drink and wince at the enormous amount of alcohol burning down my throat. Hank was being easy on me out in the common bar.

Ivy deals the cards and everyone antes up. The first couple hands come my way, ‘blessing’ me with a small windfall. Even though the guilt still remains, with the chips stacked in front of me, my lips begin turning up, over confidence building inside of me. Then jackass number two orders me another drink and begins chatting in my ear. Obviously, he’s a newbie because most people around here know my dad. No one messes with someone else’s child. Note to add, rule number three is you never lean into someone after the cards have been dealt.

“Hey, why don’t we get out of here?” he whispers in my ear, nudging my drink closer to me.

“Nah, I’m good right where I am.” I give Ivy a small smile, and she snidely raises her eyebrows.

“Hey, Chuck, why don’t you take a break?” Ivy says to him dealing the cards out.

“I’d love to, as long as this fine Sheila joins me.” His finger brushes along my leg, and I jerk it the other way.

“Um … I wasn’t aware we’re in Australia,” I remark, and Ivy tightens her lips, withholding her laughter.

Tossing my chips in, I attempt to disregard him, but the lingering scent of dime store cologne mixed with cinnamon brings an incredibly nauseous sensation to my stomach. Trying to appear unfazed, I drink my vodka with nothing but a splash of cranberry and focus on my cards.

Five hands later, my chips are slowly disappearing into the hands of the others. My ‘blessings’ slowly blessing the tall lanky guy at the end of the table, who consistently mocks me by winking every time his hand slides the chips his direction. He’s kind of cute, college kid most likely. Hat on backwards, vibrant jade-colored eyes, t-shirt with some sarcastic comment too faded to read. You have to know someone to get into Len’s games, so the curiosity to who he knows keeps my eyes focused on him.

An hour later, my last chip clinks into the center pile. It’s small, but I need it to stay in the game. It’s all about staying in the game, because once you’re out, you’re finished. Unfortunately for me, Len let me slide two nights ago with being short a couple hundred. Biting on my lip with my foot bobbing up and down under the table, I turn the corners of my cards one more time. Eyeing college stud, who glances down at the empty spot in front of me and then back to his cards. His lips slowly turn up into a Cheshire grin.

“Fold,” he says, pushing his cards toward Ivy.

I allow my eyes to narrow toward his as I grab my miniscule winnings. He gives me a full smile and winks again. If I wasn’t so desperate, I’d chuck them in his face. Thanks to good ole Dad, I’m as desperate as a life-sentenced prisoner in front of the parole board.

“Glad to see you can continue playing.” Sleazebag next to me moves a little closer, his gold ringed hand placing another drink at my side.

Giving him a small smile, I concentrate on Ivy. For the next two hours, I stay afloat barely. College stud throws me some bones, and I’m ashamed that I allow him to do it. I finally stop drinking, but it’s too late, the vodka weighs heavy in my bloodstream already.

The flirtatiousness between college guy and myself begins becoming more heated and since the spot next to him just opened up, I debate changing seats. He nods his head, insinuating that I do just that before his eyes dart to the center of the room. Then as though I spit in his face, a sour look crosses his mouth and he sits up straighter in the chair. Confused on what happened, I play another hand in my current seat. Sleazy to the right leans in to me, his hot breathe connecting to my neck.

Sliding my head away, I attempt to concentrate on Ivy, who looks up and behind me, placing the cards down on the table. Tilting my head to her in confusion, she says nothing, but then a firm grasp wraps around my upper arm and yanks me from the chair.

Thrown off kilter, my eyes blink a few times before I’m out of the room and into the bar. The guy pushes me onto a bar stool and signals for Hank, the bartender. When I meet the pair of blue eyes that knows my complete past, I debate if I could outrun him.

“What the hell? I had them.” I yank my arm away.

“You didn’t have them. You’re under by over five bills. You’ll never make it up, and pretty soon Len will come in and stop it himself. Why the hell are you here, anyway? Aren’t you the one who hates this scene? Everything and
everyone
who’s involved?” He sneers my own heated words I spoke to him once upon a time.

“I do. Just let me go back in there.” I start digging in my pockets, as if I actually have money in them.

“Hell no, you stay here.” Dex signals to Hank again to get me a drink. Already feeling a little wobbly, I don’t really think it’s a good idea. But, hey, what else do I have going for me?

“Give her a water, will you Hank?” Dex asks, but when Dex disappears through the red door, Hank places a shot and refill of my drink in front of me. Slamming the shot glass down on the bar top after I pour it down my throat, I quickly chase it with my Stoli and seven.

Leaning my head in my hands, I figure Dex might be in there saving me from tonight, but he can’t save me from everything. Not that I would ever tell him exactly why I’m here.

Then all the alcohol and exhaustion of my day overtakes me and my head falls to the hardwood before blackness surrounds my vision.

“DEX?” SHE WHISPERS staring at me standing in the doorframe.

“Hey, Chrissy, it’s me. Sleep tight, I’ll just be next door.” When the door clicks, I take a deep breath and rub the back of my neck.

Thankful the house is empty from my roommates’ interruptions, flicking the lights on in the kitchen, I make a beeline to the fridge to grab a beer. Although, it’s not nearly strong enough to calm the amount of anxiety currently raging through me, it will have to do. Trey was always the one keeping the hard stuff around. Inhaling and exhaling, I lean against the counter, debating all the questions I’ll have to answer when everyone returns home. There were enough inquisitive minds the last time she called and showed up out of the blue.

I venture out to my truck, grab her suitcase of clothes from the back of her car, and think about her and I. Not seeing her for four years and now twice in four months, something isn’t right with her, and there’s only one person that would have more information. The problem is he could also be associated with the reason. I’ll wait to talk with Chrissy first when she wakes up in the morning.

An hour later, I toss another beer bottle in the recycling bin and retreat back upstairs. Just as my foot hits the landing at the top of the stairs, a sudden urge to check on her comes over me. To double-check that nothing happened in the time I was downstairs. My hand lands on the doorknob at the same time my phone rings in my pocket. “Fuck,” I mumble to myself. Fumbling it in my hands until I have a solid grasp, Sam’s name shines across the screen.

Sam is Jessa’s sister, and last spring break we started a friends-with-benefits relationship. Although we aren’t exclusive in any shape, or really much friends, the benefits are what we both enjoy.

I press the answer button and scramble to my room. “A little early for you tonight,” I whisper into the phone while shutting my bedroom door and then walk over to do the same with my bathroom door.

“Why are we whispering?” she quietly asks, and I chuckle lightly.

“It’s late here,” I lie, and she probably knows it.

“Ooookaaay,” she draws out. “Anyway, I skipped going out in order to stay in and watch a movie, but now I’m wishing I was in Western instead of alone in my bed.

“I could go for another trip to Boulder,” I agree, as flashes of our naked bodies all over every square inch of the hotel room boom to mind. I’m pretty sure my dick has never been so sore, but Sam’s thirst never gets quenched.

“Did I mention, I’m wearing those purple sheer panties and tank top?”

“No you didn’t,” I remark, already kicking off my shoes. “Give me a sec,” I say, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it to the floor. “All right.” My voice soft while positioning myself on the bed.

“Dex, you have to talk louder. You know what gets me going.” I hear the muffling of her own bed. Squeaks I know all too well.

“I’m pretty sure I can get you there whether I’m whispering or not.”

“But I have the house to myself. I can be as loud as I want, and I know you like that,” she coyly says, making me shift my lower half. “Come on, Dex, make me come,” she begs in the most innocent school girl voice. My hand rushes to unbutton my jeans. Lowering my zipper, I stuff my hand in my pants, freeing junior for some playtime.

“You know I love to hear you scream my name,” I tell her, keeping my voice low.

“I’m not going to scream unless you at least talk in a normal voice, Dex,” she says, with frustration evident in her tone.

Debating in my head, I contemplate if I should end the call or not. It seems—awkward with Chrissy right through the bathroom doors. But having her around and not being able to touch her has been frustrating, in more ways than one. Figuring she’s probably barely coherent with the amount of alcohol she consumed, I place my hand around myself and begin sliding it up and down.

Clearing my throat, I begin talking normally. “All right, girl, let’s get this going. Stick that hand down those panties. Do not, and I say again, do not take them off. I want to imagine your hand buried in the between the wet fabric and your soaking pussy. It is soaking, right?” I ask her, getting only a moan back.

“Yeah, my fingers are sliding,” she informs me, and my palm starts stroking faster.

“Like a damn Slip ‘n Slide. Come on, Sam, stick those fingers inside. How warm are you?” I egg her on, and her heavy breathing muffles across the line.

“I wish it was you that was feeling how warm I am.” She says the same things every time. Her wanting me there, but that lasts until my dick is out of her, then she’s onto something else.

“Your fingers are me,” I command. “In and out, baby … in and out. Push up that tank top and show me your tits.” Her breathing hitches, and I hear the muffled movement of her body shifting. “Pinch those nipples and squeeze,” I instruct.

“Dex,” she moans loudly over the phone, making my dick harder. My own arm quickens its movement as I close my eyes, imagining her naked body.

“Do I feel good?” I ask her.

“Always,” she stutters, and I swear I can envision her back arching up, pressing her tits into her hand.

“Move your thumb and rub that swollen clit,” I say, and her erratic breathing flows over the phone. “Faster.” I use a more demanding tone that I’ve already discovered gets her off.

“I am. God it feels so good.”

“I feel so good,” I remind her.

“Yes, you, Dex, always feel so god damn good.” Her words have me gripping harder at myself. “Fuck,” she moans. Crap, I may not last.

“Come on … scream my name … make us come.” I keep her going through groans, grumbles, and moans on both sides of the receiver.

“DEX!” she screams, and her voice begins to lower as one whimper squeaks out. “Fuck, you’re good.” My fist beats faster. She knows I hold out until she’s done. “Keep going. I’m so damn wet, you’d slide right in me,” she adds. “Come on, Dex, get in me. Feel how warm I am, touch my tits and feel how soft.” I can barely think of anything other than her naked body below me as I thrust into her. Pretty soon, I can’t hold it any longer.

“Shit, Sam,” I say loudly, releasing all of that build up.

“That a boy.” She laughs, and I chuckle back into the receiver. “God, I need to make a trip out there,” she remarks, and my whole body stiffens with the thought of Chrissy in the next room, leaving me with guilt of what I just did.

“You coming when Jessa has the baby?” I ask, calculating the math in my head of how many weeks I may have to get this Chrissy thing handled.

“You know it, and I only have two places I want to go. The hospital and your bed.” Her footsteps echo over the line, and I realize she’s already done like usual. She’s more of a get her pleasure and leave than I am. Before she says the words, I sit up to get myself together. “Well, big boy, I gotta go.”

“Talk to you soon, Sam,” I say back, grabbing my towel.

“Bye, Dex. It’s been fun as always,” she finishes, in a much more hyper mood now. I’m glad I can make her happy, but it’s odd being the one wanting a little more than a quickie phone sex call. Not to say that didn’t always fulfill my needs—it did, but now that Chrissy’s come back, somehow it all feels empty and senseless.

The phone goes dead, and I place it on my nightstand. My time with Sam was a good distraction from the problem in the next room, but now that’s it over, it occupies me again. Shrugging off my jeans, I step out of them and into the bathroom. Turning on the water, I step in and allow the hot water to cascade down my body.

Once I’m done, I wrap the towel around my waist and brush my teeth. Tossing a pair of basketball shorts on, I go downstairs and fold her laundry. Opening the door to Trey’s old room, Chrissy is curled up in the fetal position under the sheets. Hearing her light breathing assures me she’s okay, so I quietly place the stack of clothes on the chair and shut the door.