After We Collided (The After Series) (46 page)

Yes, I have fucked plenty of girls, but that was just about the thrill, about the bragging rights—it was never about being closer to them the way it is with Tess. With her, it’s about the sensation, about the way these small bumps raise on her skin from my touch, the way she’ll complain that having goose bumps makes her have to shave more frequently, and I will roll my eyes at her even though I find it humorous, the way she whimpers when I bring her lip between my teeth and it makes that noise when it snaps back, and, most importantly, the way that we’re doing something that only her and I share. No one has or will ever be close to her in this way.

Her small fingers move to unclasp her bra as I suck on the skin just above the cup.

I stop her. “We don’t have long,” I remind her and she pouts, making me want her even more.

“Then hurry and get undressed,” she softly demands. I love the way she’s becoming more and more comfortable with me as the days pass.

“You know I don’t have to be told twice.” I wrap my hands
around her hips and lift her off, moving her over on the couch a bit.

I remove my shorts and boxers before gesturing for her to lie down. As I grab a condom from my wallet on the table, she slides her pants off—those damn yoga pants. I have never, in my entire twenty years of life, seen anything so sexy. I don’t have a fucking clue what it is about them, maybe the way they cling to her thighs, showing every heavenly curve, or maybe because they display her ass perfectly—but either way they’re going to have to become what she wears around the house at all times.

“You have really got to get on birth control; I don’t want to use these anymore,” I gripe and she nods, staring at my fingers while they roll the condom on.

I mean it, though: I’m going to remind her every morning.

Tessa surprises me by pulling my arm in an attempt to force me to sit down on the cushion next to her.

“What?” I ask, catching onto what she’s doing, but I want to hear her say it. I love the innocence she possesses, but I know she’s so much dirtier than she allows herself to admit—another trait that only I am aware of.

She glares at me, and time is short, so I decide not to taunt her. Instead, I sit down and immediately pull her onto me, wrapping my fingers in her hair and attaching my lips to hers. I swallow the moans and cries coming from her lips as I lower her onto me. We both sigh and her eyes roll back, nearly making me come on the spot.

“Next time will be slow, baby, but this time we only have a few minutes left. Okay?” I groan into her ear as she rotates her full hips.

“Mm-hmm . . .” she moans.

I take that as my cue to pick up the pace. My arms wrap around her back and pull her close to me so that our chests are touching, and I lift my hips at the same time she’s rotating hers.
The feeling is indescribable; I can barely breathe as we both move faster. We don’t have long and for once I’m desperate to finish quickly.

“Talk to me, Tess,” I beg, knowing she will be shy, but hoping that if I slam into her hard enough, tug at the ends of her hair hard enough, she will gain the courage to speak to me in a way she has before.

“Okay . . .” She pants and I move faster. “Hardin . . .” Her voice is shaky, and she bites her lip to calm herself, turning me on even more. The pressure begins to build in my stomach. “Hardin, you feel so good . . .” She gains confidence, and I curse under my breath. “You are already whining and I haven’t said anything,” she boasts. Her smug tone brings me to the edge and pushes me over.

Her body trembles and stiffens, and I watch her climax. It’s like she’s just as—if not
more
—captivating each time she comes. This is why I cannot get enough of her and never will.

A knock at the door brings us both back from our postorgasm, almost sedated state, and she jumps off me in an instant. She grabs her shirt off the floor as I remove the spent condom, and pick up my clothes from the floor.

“Give me a minute,” I call out. Tessa lights a candle and begins to rearrange the decorative pillows on our couch. “What is with the candle?” I ask as I dress and make my way toward the front door.

“It smells like sex in here,” she whispers, despite the fact that the maintenance worker can’t hear her.

She frantically runs her fingers through her hair; my only response is a chuckle and a shake of my head just before I pull open the door. The man on the other side of the door is tall, taller than me, and has a full beard. His brown hair touches his shoulders, and he looks to be at least fifty.

“Heat’s out, right?” his raspy voice asks. He has clearly smoked too many cigarettes.

“Yes, why else would it be twenty degrees in this apartment?” I reply and watch as his eyes land on my Tessa.

Of course she would be bending over to retrieve her cellphone charger from the basket under the table. And of course she would be wearing the fucking yoga pants while doing so. And of course this greasy man with a damn beard would be checking out her ass. And of course she would stand back up and be oblivious to the entire exchange.

“Hey, Tess, why don’t you go in the bedroom until it’s fixed,” I say. “It’s warmer in there.”

“No, I’m okay. I’ll stay out here with you.” She shrugs and sits down on the chair.

My patience is wearing thin, and when she lifts her arms behind her head to tie her hair up and she’s practically giving this asshole a show, it takes everything in me not to drag her into the room.

I must be staring angrily at her, because she looks over at me and then says, “Okay . . .”—clearly puzzled. She gathers her schoolbooks in her arms and stalks into the bedroom.

“Fix the fucking heater,” I snap at the old perv. He gets to work silently—and stays quiet—so he must be smarter than I assumed.

After a few minutes, Tessa’s phone vibrates on the end table, and I take it upon myself to answer it when I see that the screen reads
Kimberly
. “Hello?”

“Hardin?” Kimberly’s voice is so high-pitched, I have no idea how Christian can stand it. It must be her looks that drew him in. Probably in a club when he couldn’t hear her very well.

“Yes. Lemme get Tess . . .”

I open the bedroom door to find Tessa lying across the bed with a pen between her teeth, her feet kicking in the air behind her.

“Kimberly is on the phone,” I explain, tossing the cell on the bed next to her.

She snatches it up and says, “Hey, Kim! Is everything okay?” A few seconds pass before she says, “Oh no! That’s terrible.” I raise my brow at her, but she doesn’t notice.

“Oh . . . okay . . . let me speak to Hardin about it. It’ll only take a second, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She removes the phone from her ear and covers the bottom with her hand. “Christian caught some sort of stomach flu and Kim needs to take him to the hospital. It’s nothing too serious, but his babysitter isn’t available,” she whispers.

“So?” I shrug.

“They don’t have anyone to watch Smith.”

“Aaaaand you’re telling me this because?”

“She wants to know if we can.” She chews on the inside of her cheek.

There is no way in hell she’s suggesting that she wants to babysit that child. “Can what?”

Tessa sighs. “
Babysit
, Hardin.”

“Nope. Absolutely not.”

“Why not? He’s a good kid,” she whines.

“No, Tessa, this isn’t a day care. Not happening, tell Kim to buy him some Tylenol and some chicken soup and call it a day.”

“Hardin . . . she’s my friend and he’s my boss—who is sick. I thought you cared for him?” she asks and my stomach turns.

Of course I like him, he was there for me and my mum when my father was fucking up, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch his kid when I already have to go to a hockey game with Landon tomorrow. “I said no,” I say, standing my ground. The last thing I need is some annoying kid with a Kool-Aid mustache messing up my apartment.

“Please, Hardin?” she begs. “They don’t have anyone else. Pleeeease?”

I know she’s going to say yes regardless; she’s just entertaining me. I sigh in defeat and watch a smile grow on her face.

W
ould you stop griping? You’re behaving worse than he will—and he’s five,” Tessa scolds me, and I roll my eyes.

“I’m just saying, this is all you. He better not touch any of my shit. You agreed to this, so he’s your problem, not mine,” I remind her right as a knock at the door heralds their arrival.

Taking a seat on the couch, I let Tessa be the one to open the door. She glares at me but doesn’t make the guests—
her
guests—wait long before plastering on her biggest and brightest smile and throwing the door to our place open wide.

Immediately Kimberly starts rambling, practically shrieking. “Thank you so much! You have no idea how much of a lifesaver the two of you are right now. I have no idea what we would have done if you couldn’t watch Smith. Christian is so sick, he’s throwing up everywhere, and we—”

“It’s okay, really,” Tess interrupts her, I assume because she doesn’t want to hear the gory details of Christian’s vomitousness.

“Okay, well, he’s in the car, so I better get going. Smith is pretty independent, he mostly keeps to himself and will let you know if he needs anything.” She moves to the left, revealing a small boy with dirty-blond hair.

“Hey, Smith! How are you?” Tessa says in a strange voice I’ve never heard her use before. This must be her attempt at baby talk, even though the kid’s five. Only Tessa.

The boy doesn’t say anything, just gives her a small smile and walks past Kimberly into the living room.

“Yeah, he doesn’t talk much,” Kimberly tells Tess, noticing the sad look on her face.

As humorous as it is that he didn’t respond to Tessa, I don’t want her to be upset, so the little shit better knock it off and be nice to her.

“Okay, I’m really leaving this time!” Kim smiles and closes the door after giving Smith one last wave.

Tessa bends down a bit and asks Smith, “Are you hungry?”

He shakes his head no.

“Thirsty?”

Same response, only this time he takes a seat on the couch opposite me.

“Do you want to play a game?”

“Tess, I think he just wants to sit here,” I tell her and watch as her cheeks flush. I flip through the channels on the television, hoping to find something of interest to keep me occupied while Tessa is babysitting.

“Sorry, Smith,” she apologizes. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

He nods rather robotically, and I realize that he actually looks an awful lot like his father. His hair is practically the exact color, his eyes are the same shade of green-blue, and I suspect that if he were to smile he would have the same dimples as Christian.

A few minutes of awkward silence pass during which Tessa stands next to the couch, and I can see her plans unraveling. She had assumed he would come in here full of energy and ready to play with her. Instead, he hasn’t spoken a single word or budged from his spot on the couch. His outfit is as immaculate as I figured it would be, his small white tennis shoes look as if they have never been worn. When I glance up from his blue polo shirt, his eyes are on mine.

“What?” I ask.

He looks away quickly.

“Hardin!” Tessa groans.

“What? All I did was wonder why he was staring at me.” I shrug and turn the channel from the garbage I’d accidentally stopped on. The last thing I want to watch is the Kardashians.

“Be nice.” She glares at me.

“I am,” I say and shrug my shoulders like
what’s the big deal?

Tessa rolls her eyes. “Well, I’m going to make dinner. Smith, do you want to come with me or sit with Hardin?”

I feel his gaze on me, but I choose not to look. He needs to go with her. She’s the babysitter here, not me. “Go with her,” I tell him.

“You can stay in here, Smith, Hardin won’t bother you,” she assures him.

He stays silent. Surprise. Tessa disappears into the kitchen, and I turn the television up louder to avoid any possible conversation with the rug rat, not that that is likely to happen anyway. I’m half tempted to go in the kitchen with her and make him sit alone in the living room.

Minutes pass and I begin to grow uncomfortable with him just sitting here. Why the hell isn’t he talking or playing, or whatever the hell it is that five-year-olds do?

“So what’s the deal? Why don’t you talk?” I finally ask.

He shrugs.

“It’s rude to ignore people when they’re talking to you,” I inform him.

“It’s more rude to ask me why I don’t talk,” he fires back.

He has a slight British accent, not strong like his father’s, but not completely watered down either. “Well, at least now I know you’re able to speak,” I say, kind of thrown off guard by his cheeky response and not really sure what to say to him.

“Why do you want me to talk so bad?” he asks, seeming much older than five.

“I . . . I don’t know. Why don’t you like to?”

“I dunno.” He shrugs.

“Is everything okay in there?” Tessa calls from the kitchen. For a second, I consider telling her no, that the kid is dead or injured, but the humor is lost with the thought.

“Everything is fine!” I yell back. I hope she’s finished soon, because I’m finished with this conversation.

“Why do you have those things in your face?” Smith asks, pointing to my lip ring.

“Because I want to. Maybe the better question is, why don’t
you
have any?” I say to turn the tables on him, trying not to remember that he’s a kid after all.

“Did they hurt?” he asks, ducking my question.

“No, not at all.”

“They look like it.” He half smiles.

He isn’t so bad, I guess, but I still don’t like the idea of babysitting him.

“Almost finished in here,” Tessa calls out.

“Okay, I’m just teaching him how to make a homemade bomb out of a soda bottle,” I tease, which causes her to poke her head around the corner to check on us.

“She’s mental,” I tell him, and he laughs, dimples showing.

“She’s pretty,” he whispers into cupped hands.

“Yeah, she is. Isn’t she?” I nod and look up at Tess with her hair pulled up into some sort of nest on top of her head, her yoga pants and a plain T-shirt still on, and I nod again. She’s beautiful, and she doesn’t even have to try.