Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Her body slackens.
My pulse spikes. “Luna.” I pull out of her quickly. “Luna.” I lean over her, tapping her cheek. She’s unconscious. I wipe her sweaty hair out of her face and throw the hot comforter off her body. She’s cognizant less than thirty seconds later.
It’s not the first time she’s blacked out from sex. Her neuro-doctors say it’s fine. Nothing related to her amnesia.
She gives me a weak thumbs-up and gathers oxygen inside her lungs.
Quickly, I cover her breasts with her nightgown. “I’m gonna get you something to drink.” I kiss her cheek, then move fast out of the bunk. Careful not to open the curtain too much. And yeah, I’m naked.
O’Malley is waiting in the aisle. “Jesus…fuck, there are clients around,” he whisper-hisses, seeing me in my birthday suit.
“Or are they asleep?” I fling back, not slowing my hot stride to the front section. It’s empty, besides Novak behind the wheel. I’m guessing Epsilon’s meeting is happening in the rear lounge.
“What are you doing?” O’Malley has followed me.
“Searching for your funny bone.”
“Your dick isn’t funny,” he says flatly.
I find strawberry Pop-Tarts in a cabinet, then snag a PuraFons water bottle. “Don’t really care about making you laugh, to be honest.” I ignore him on my route back to Luna. Squatting at the bottom bunk, I hand her a Pop-Tart and uncap the water for her. Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to stay. I hate leaving her when she just blacked out from sex.
She’s gulping the water. “It’s okay.”
“What’s okay?”
“If you have to go.” Luna places a quick kiss on my cheek, then my nose. “You’ll be back.” She’s certain.
Her belief makes me feel good. My heart is so deep within this girl, and I never want it back. “Yeah, I will be.”
Her eyes veer past me. “Whose legs are those?”
O’Malley is standing behind me.
“No one’s,” I say lightly. “I won’t be long.” I grab my pants before I shut the curtain. Stepping in them, I face O’Malley’s irritation. I’ve been waiting for him to bring up Luna. It wouldn’t take a brainiac to see that I just had sex with her.
He’s quiet, and I can’t understand his expression. Barely even one-fourth of it.
“What?” I ask him, straightening up as I pull the band of my pants to my waist.
“I’m no one,” he states. “Just never thought I’d hear you say that about me.”
I hold his gaze. “‘Cause I’m the nobody. The waste of space. Waste of a life.”
He opens his mouth, then shuts it. Taking a beat to say, “I don’t think that.”
“But you did.”
“Yeah,” he admits, swallowing hard. “Yeah, I did.”
I don’t know what I’m feeling. My stomach overturns like a waffle-iron being flipped in succession with no stop. I’d rather endure this Epsilon meeting than stand here and try to process my emotions. So I say, “Let’s do the thing.”
58
PAUL DONNELLY
Group therapy.
That’s what I’ve walked into. Would’ve acted like I had black lung or a sinus infection if I knew beforehand. Maybe that’s why no one told me.
The circular booth is crammed with the Wreath brothers, O’Malley, me, and Oscar. The latter of which shouldn’t be a part of the Epsilon meeting, but they’re being “inclusive” they said. If this strange union between Epsilon and Omega means I can spend more time with my best friend, then I’m not throwing a stink about it.
Chris Novak is exempt from this get-together since he’s keeping all our souls alive by driving the bus. Never have I wished I passed a driving test more, but I flubbed it before coming on tour. Failed it back before the FanCon too. I can’t even be mad at myself that I’m not qualified to drive this beast. It is what it is.
But I have no “get me out of this group therapy” card to play at the current moment.
Somehow, I ended up wedged between O’Malley and Oscar. I actually like when O’Malley tells me, “You smell disgusting.”
‘Cause I have a full right to say, “You look disgusting.”
Oscar stiffens like I’m not being myself.
Granted, if I liked O’Malley a smidge more, I would come in less hostile and just say, “If the scent of an angel disgusts you, you’re gonna have a serious problem in heaven, man.”
I don’t love being a big jar of salt. It’s bad for my cholesterol. But I still don’t like him. I don’t even care that he’s my cousin. I might never like him. He might never like me.
“I’d rather look it than smell it,” O’Malley says under his breath.
Which I can hear. “Well, I think you’re full of shit,” I mutter.
Oscar offers me his snack-sized bag of Lays. There aren’t enough chips to share, so I know he’s worried about me.
“I’m good.” I exhale the heat in my chest.
“Rise above,” he whispers.
“Don’t know what you’re looking at, but I’m a flotation device.”