AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“But I’ll go to every airshow with you if you say yes.”
“Damn. I forgot how much you like to play dirty.”
Her face splits into that mischievous grin I know so well. “Is that a yes? I mean, I’m good at taking photos and videos. Imagine having professional-level shots while watching the Thunderbirds and Blue Angels. Photos you can print, frame, and hang on your wall.”
“You know, you missed your calling as a lawyer.”
She giggles again and winks. “So, will you do me the honor of fucking me first? Or do you need me to get on my knees and beg?”
Even as I think about it, I know it’s a losing battle. I can never say no to Allie. She can ask me to jump, I’ll ask how high. She can tell me to walk over hot coals, and I’ll keep on smiling even with blistered and burned feet.
Allie always had this power over me—like when she wanted to sneak into the Seniors’ Ball as a freshman or watch the last full show even when her curfew was at 8 PM. I’ll always be here and do whatever she asks. If she calls me in the middle of the night and tells me we need to bury a body, I’ll show up in five minutes tops, complete with a tarp and a shovel.
It sounds pathetic, I get it. I’ve been in love with her since I was a fourteen-year-old, pimply, gangly kid who had bigger glasses than my face. Through the years, my skin improved and I gained enough muscles to fight off anyone who tried something funny with Allie. Only the glasses remained.
The day I realized I wanted her more than a best friend was when her cheerleading team won the championship, and, in full view of everyone, she ran to me and hugged me like nothing and no one else mattered. Like I was her whole world. For a moment there, it was just her and me.
Allie must sense she’s about to get her way again because she doubles down on her bribery. “I’ll even help you find that Air Force flight bomber jacket you’ve always wanted.”
I groan. “Bunny.”
I used to call her Bunny because of her two front teeth. She initially thought I was making fun of her, but I liked it. I still do actually. I love her smile. It’s pretty, so the nickname kind of stuck.
Allie sighs and begins to busy herself with inspecting her nails, which is funny because she doesn’t care about them. She’s a potter, so she rarely ever has her nails done. “I mean, you can say no and I’ll just ask someone else.”
Absolutely fucking not. “Fine, fine. I’ll do it.”
She smiles deviously.
Damn it all to hell. What have I gotten myself into?
* * *
“Listen, no matter what you say, don’t ever comment about her flushed, glossy skin,” Allie warns me.
We sit in my car, idling just outside her childhood home. Her ninety-year-old grandma, Lucille, is playing some kind of heavy metal music. “Why?”
“She started using Tretinoin or something, but she didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to use it every day. Now her face is irritated, so she’s irritated.”
My mouth curls upward, and I chuckle. Lucille is perpetually irritated. I’ve never seen her in any other mood. Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen her smile either. The woman has spent nine decades hating the world.
Allie sees me and grabs my arm, pulling me over the center console and closer to her. She weighs no more than a feather, but I let her think she can manhandle me like this. For someone who stands at a little over five feet, she can be intimidating when she wants to be. “I’m serious, Tristan. Don’t laugh or ask about it unless you want her to kick your ass to the curb.”
She’s not doing anything more than holding on to my arm, but my body reacts as if we’ve just started foreplay. This is always what happens whenever she touches me, and she touches me plenty, which is why I often find myself in awkward, uncomfortable situations—random erections when she hugs me (she’s a big hugger) or kisses my cheek or weaves her arm through mine.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat and nod. “Okay, I promise.”
I turn off the car and walk to her side, opening her door and helping her out of my Camry. Just as I reach the doorway and turn the knob, she holds onto my arm and presses her cheek to my bicep.
Ah, fuck. Here we go again.
I try to think of anything to distract me, and the only one that works is seeing Lucille sitting by the dining table and sipping her tea. Allie runs up to her for a kiss on the cheek and sprints to her bedroom upstairs to grab something. Following Allie’s earlier instructions, I swing my gaze toward any point in the kitchen except Lucille.
“Good evening, Mrs. Smith.” I bow to her, which is a weird thing to do. I am a grown man who’s on his way to becoming a surgeon. Hopefully. Yet Lucille still manages to make me feel like that teen with zero self-esteem.
I spot the glass kettle in the corner, grab a mug from the overhead cabinet, and pour myself some tea. It’s fucking disgusting, like I just swallowed leaves with soil.
“Tristan, how do you know where to find the mug?”
