''Tell me how it feels,'' he whispers.
"Good," I gasp, my entire body trembling. Deeper. Harder. Perfect -- like we've been doing this for years.
His hand finds my jaw, fingers firm as he tilts my head up, making me look at him. And that's it.
Wav...
"Fox, Tommy said my two dads are unnatural and I'm not their daughter. He's wrong, right?"
"Tommy's brain is a pea. Of course he's fucking wrong."
"Fox! No cussing! Ms. Hickens is gonna—"
"Want me to punch Tommy at recess?"
"Yes, please."
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ｃｈｒｉｓ
The laundry room smells like detergent and warm fabric, the air heavy with the constant hum of machines. These ones are fancy. New. Expensive.
I fold my warm shirts slowly, smoothing the soft cotton between my fingers.
Whitney's been busy the last few days. Walker this, and Walker that. He's stealing her in my time of need. But I've been trying to stand on my own two feet, at least a little. So I tell myself two things over and over.
Fox is not Little Fox.
I'm not Little Me.
The washer beeps. I lift the cover and take the damp clothes out, tossing them into the dryer with a few sheets.
The door creaks open, and just by the way my scalp pricks, I don't have to turn around to know who it is.
"Busy night for laundry?"
I glance over my shoulder. Fox leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over a loose white shirt, the light catching the sharp angles of his jaw.
I promptly turn around, gulping. "Figured I'd get it done."
He steps further into the room, closer. I feel it. My hands grip the edge of the vibrating dryer, a quiet storm building in my chest.
"How long are we gonna do this? This avoiding thing."
The words I want to say get stuck somewhere between my ribs.
Fox steps closer, spiced and warm. "We both know there's tension here, Chris. We don't have to dance around it."
He's so matter-of-fact, so practical, it makes my heart ache even more.
"Why don't we just make it simple? You don't have to avoid me. Hell, we live together—it makes sense. I don't do relationships, but I like sex. And you..." His voice lowers, a breath against the back of my neck. "You seem like you need it."
I blink, my mind spinning. "You... You think that would solve everything?"
"Yes." Heat radiates from his body. "It's practical. No strings, no drama. You want me, I want you—why make it harder than it has to be?"
I shake my head, my hands fumbling as I try to fold another shirt on the table. "I can't do that."
