30 Days Too Late

Heart Smashing

Rudy

I add the final touches to my marmalade chicken, the rich aroma filling the kitchen. The door chimes and in comes Dexter. "How was your exam?" I ask. He sighs, removes his hat, and runs his hands through his hair in frustration. "What's wrong?"

"I ran into some reporters on the way back. It wasn't great," he says.

"Tell me about it," I request. He glances at the living room TV, and there he is on the screen. He turns it down and walks over to me.

"Stop watching the news," he states, and I sigh. I fill my bowl with lettuce and start massaging it with my hands. Dexter squeezes my waist and presses his chest against me, pinning me to the counter.

His hands grip my waist, feeling how small it is in his grasp. I lean into him as he places kisses on my nape. A breathless gasp escapes my lips. His mouth reaches my ear, and I now struggle to break apart the lettuce.

His hands graze my abs and settle below my abdomen. "Do you have time for lunch?" I ask, my voice trembling.

"Maybe," he replies, a playful glint in his eyes as he steps back, waiting behind the island.

"Dexter," I call out. He flips through yesterday's newspaper headlines, still not finding what he's looking for. "Dexter." Still nothing. He remains lost in his thoughts, and I hate when he gets this way; it's like his mind is too loud for him to hear anything else.

I sneak up beside him. "Wayne," I say, surprising him. I hug his side, and he wraps an arm around my neck. "What's on your mind? Talk to me."

"Marco recognized me and tried to kill me with his hockey stick. He couldn't have known it was me without doing some research. I need to know who we're playing next," he says.

"Coach Johnson should tell us tomorrow, don't worry about it for now. Marco is a jealous asshole, he could-

"I didn't see him coming, Rudy," he expresses his concern.

"Marco pulled an illegal move; you couldn't have seen him coming," I scoff. But his face hardens, and so does mine. "Are you doubting yourself, asshole?" The curse slips out before I realize it.

He slowly lowers the newspaper. "What did you just call me?" he asks. I smirk, and he throws me over his shoulder, making me thrash in surprise as he carries me to his bedroom. He sets me down carefully, and I catch my breath. He searches his room until he locates the remote on top of his 9-foot-tall alien statue.

He's either pent up or overly excited; it's hard to tell. He's moving a mile a minute, shifting from one thing to another. "Quick, Rudy, get the chicken and pie; we're going to watch a movie," he declares.

"O-Ok," I stammer. Exactly what I mean, I could've sworn he was going to wrestle me but now we're going to watch a movie. Somethings up.

...

"Hmm," Dexter murmurs as our lips connect, his body pinning me to the bed. I spread my knees, welcoming his hips against me. Our tongues tangle without warning, and I open my eyes just a little to see his, hidden by his hair. His hand cups my blushing cheek, deepening the kiss.

He suddenly pulls away, and I clutch the back of his shirt as he lifts up a bit. People pass by our door, shouting and causing a ruckus, but his focus remains on the window. "Dex," I call softly, biting my bottom lip and squeezing his hips with my knees. No response. "Wayne," I whisper, tickling his birthmark.

His attention snaps back to me, and he sighs in relief. "Rudy," he breathes.

"I'm right here," I reply, our foreheads touching as his eyes close. I continue to massage his head, and he eases into my touch. "Rudy, Rudy, Rudy," he repeats in a breathless sigh.