More or Less

Chapter 21 • Bonnie

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Alisha's POV

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Brandon's lips brush against my bare shoulder, sending an unwelcomed pang of guilt through my bones. I stare absently past the small passenger window of his pick-up truck, unsure of the tangle of emotions brewing within me.

The moment was great while it lasted, even a little magical, but now that it has passed, I feel emptied. It lacked... Connection? It seemed pleasure driven, not at all authentic.

"You're okay?" he asks against my skin and its contact almost causes me to cringe. He seems satisfied, to say the least, his heart pounding against his chest and sweat beaded across naked flesh.

I barely nod my head and continue to stare out into the shadows of the parking garage, wondering if anyone was watching us, two lovers who, just moments ago, was in a passionate, kind of forbidden, act. I'd be horrified, not for being caught in the action, but who I was caught with.

Brandon hooks his hands under my thighs and gently lifts me off of him, just enough so that he could withdraw from within me. I wince slightly as he carefully sets me back down on his lap and I try to ignore the annoying wound up feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"What's wrong?" he quietly asks me and traps a lock of my hair between his fingers, his other hand slowly caressing the length of my arm.

I shrug and dig my chin into the crook of his neck, trying to find a more comfortable position. I'm straddling him, my arms bent and wedged between our bare torsos, as if to keep them from touching each other.

"Are you thinking about him?" he questions and I take a deep breath.

"No." At the moment I wasn't, but now I am. I didn't want to because it'll only drown me. It always does. His name alone chokes me, but in the greatest way. I've grown fond to the way he kissed me, so deep that I felt like I couldn't breathe.

"Are you thinking about her?" I ask because I feel like I have to. Just hours ago, it killed me to know that he was intimate with her. Now I almost don't care.

"No."

"Did you ask her to come visit you?"

"Definitely not," he surprises me by saying, scoffing like I've just insulted him. "I asked her to drop my car off, considering my foster mom wouldn't do it."

"Oh." How did you guys end up having sex then?

Brandon seems to know what I'm thinking. "I'm not sure how it happened, it just did," he murmurs and trails his fingers down the deep curve of my spine. "I'm never going to see her again, I promise."

The promise should make me smile and grow warm, but it doesn't. I barely heard him say it, my mind miles away from my body and circled around a boy with brown eyes and tattoos.

"Okay?" he asks and grabs a fistful of my hair, gently pulling my head back to look at my face.

I offer a small smile and he returns it almost immediately. "Okay."

"We should get back," he muses, chuckling. I shake my head and let out a deep breath of exasperation.

We both know who awaits us: A very pissed off doctor.

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Stephon's POV

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Fulton Park looms before me, dark, quiet, the perfect place for a murderer. Past the trail, lake, and the play jungle sits a white, wooden Gazebo, its paint chipped from age. Little Penelope will be there, safe, alive.