“Who is that…that woman?”
Eric’s whispered question sounded like he wasn’t too sure.
Which, I guess, made sense since he was asking a question and all.
Which, I guess, meant maybe I’d hit my sensible limit as far as my alcohol intake was concerned.
I would take a go at his blowalyzer later and see if it was high enough to get my ticket punched.
But since we were sharing a chair and I was sitting on his lap, I had to turn around to look at his eyes to see whose gender he was questioning with his question.
“Maxine,” I replied, sounding a little unsure myself once I’d followed his line of sight. And because I knew he had to recognize the other woman she was with – Gran – I sounded more certain when I added, “Fortenberry.”
Then nodding my head towards where her son was standing in the yard – politely listening to one of Aunt Lin’s – no doubt – pot-fueled paranoid rants, I explained, “She’s Hoyt’s mom. I’m sure you’ve met him by now.”
Hoyt and Jason were like peas and carrots growing up, but they’d grown apart some over the years.
Because Maxine wouldn’t let her little boy completely grow up.
I would even bet dollars to donuts he was still a virgin.
In fact, I was sure the ‘Fresh. Hot. Now.’ sign at the local Krispy Kreme was the closest he’d ever come to a warm hole.
“Has he ever mentioned having lost a sister before?”
And because his question was making me question his sensibilities, I turned back around and asked my own question of, “Why?”
“Because I’m pretty sure she’s wanted for questioning in the disappearance of a young boy and his sister,” he answered seriously. “The name is different, but his started with an ‘H’ too.”
And likely seeing the alarm on my face, his expression gave nothing away when he deadpanned, “She’s suspected of luring them into her gingerbread house in the middle of the forest.”
I couldn’t stop the giggle snort that left my lips or my thinking out loud when I said, “Well that would explain her love of baking.
And then I nearly fell out of his lap when he acted like he was going to get up as he said, “I need to go check his pockets for breadcrumbs. It could be the break in the case we’ve been waiting for.”
Locking my grip on the arms of the lawn chair we were sharing, to keep him trapped beneath me, I snickered and waggled my eyebrows at him, while I repeated his early suggestion of, “If you’re feeling frisky, we should head back to the car.”
“Sookie!” he playfully admonished. “Are you trying to distract me from my sworn duties as a police officer with sex?”
“Worked the first time, didn’t it?” I giggled.
I couldn’t really remember much of anything from the first night we’d met, but it was a safe assumption.
I mean, really.
Just look at him.
So when all he did was stare back at me with an amused glare aimed my way, I took out the big guns.
By moving my bullseye over his big gun.
Purposely moving my ass against his lap, like a stripper with a massive amount of student loans to pay, I nodded innocently and said, “For Gran. She’d be heartbroken to lose her bridge partner for twenty-five to life. So is it working?”
Grabbing onto my hips, I detected more than just the truth coming from him, when he said in a low seductive voice, “You tell me.”
Oh, it was working alright.
You could even say that we worked well together.
So well that I had to remind myself that fucking him in my grandparents’ backyard was a bad idea.
Although I was sure it would earn us our own Stackhouse Family Award, if we did.
But visions of my various family members holding up score cards after our performance was enough to dampen the urge to have my way with him right then and there.
I ignored the fact the words ‘dampen’ and ‘urge’ could also be used when describing my panties and what they contained.
The dampened proof of my urges.
To strip him bare and ride him like the world was about to end.
“Rule number one,” Jason interjected, as he plopped down in the chair next to us. And then unrolling an invisible scroll – and spilling beer on himself in the process – he said, “No dry humpin’ my sister in front of me.”
“Where was this rule when you were all over my sister, like Chris Hansen was filming your prime time TV debut from a van parked around the corner?” Eric laughed.
Waving him off and spilling more beer on himself in the process, Jason scoffed, “She’s of the legal age to consent.”
And then tapping the side of his head, with the lip of his Sam Adams, he added, “I put that magic number in the vault at the academy.”
“Pam might be old enough to consent, but what made you think that she would when you already knew she was a lesbian?” Eric chuckled.
“Just makes her hotter, in my book,” Jason replied with a shrug of his shoulders, like it was somehow her fault her sexual orientation turned him on.
I’d known from Jason that Eric had a younger sister, but he’d never said much about her.
I wasn’t too surprised though.
Jason’s vault was mighty small.
But since he seemed hell bent on giving us a hard time, I thought now was a good time to remind him of his sister.
By punching him just shy of his baby maker and saying, “What did I say about running your mouth?”
“Cheater,” he accusingly coughed out, curling into a ball over his balls.
“Your mom’s a cheater,” I taunted. “That’s why you look like the mailman.”
“UPS,” Mom piped up on her way by, pausing for long enough to waggle her eyebrows at us and add, “I found out just what brown could do for me.”
“Nice,” Jason teasingly glared. “You kiss your husband with that mouth?”
“Oh honey, I do more than kiss him with my mouth,” she laughed. “He raised you as his own without any complaint, didn’t he?”
And we all snicker-groaned hearing my dad say, “Your mom’s maiden name should’ve been Hoover.”
“Dyson!” she corrected, with her affronted glare fixed firmly on him.
And seeing the writing on the wall – the one that said her sucking days would be over if he didn’t agree with her – he was quick to nod with, “Yes, baby. You’re the Cadillac of vacuums.”
I could only shake my head, wondering – for the umpteenth time that day – why Eric wasn’t running for the hills.
But he was the first one to laugh when my dad looked back at Jason and offered, “But you’re mine in name, if that makes ya feel any better.”
“Tons,” Jason deadpanned, while rolling out of his seat and hobbling towards the cooler to get himself another beer.
He’d lost the rest of his when I pwned his balls.
But speaking of pwning…
I still didn’t know what to think about Eric and our maybe-relationship. Five towheaded grandkids notwithstanding, we hadn’t talked about it at all.
We’d joked plenty, but was that all it was?
He’d said he wasn’t going anywhere and he didn’t seem intimidated by my less than conventional family. But were we really going to try and make our less than conventional relationship work?
Waking up hungover in his bed, without any recollection of him the morning after we’d met, did not a solid foundation make.
But Yoda-isms aside, it was on par with the rest of the Stackhouses’, ‘How I Met Your Mother’ stories.
So it was probably that thought that made me verbal vomit, “Are we really doing this?”
I hadn’t meant to ask the question out loud, but my lips had had other ideas.
My lower set of lips had their own set of ideas too.
“Yes,” he replied without any hesitation and without needing me to explain.
And then pressing his only set of lips against my temple, he added, “We’ll figure out the finer points of our relationship over breakfast tomorrow, but I’m in it for real Sookie. I can’t explain why, but I know we’ll be great together.”
Well, I suppose I got my answer.
And it was good enough for me.
Seventy-two straight hours together and already I didn’t know what to do with myself now that Sookie and I were forced to return to the real world.
One with jobs and responsibilities and shit.
I hated it.
Monday morning snuck up on me, like a gun wielding perp with a heroin addiction to feed, and I’d been forced to leave her side and return to my job on the force.
My shifts were twelve hours long. Three days on, three days off, and rotated between days and mids. It didn’t give me a lot of free time on the days I was working, but the thought of not seeing her at all didn’t sit well.
Was it too soon to ask her to move in?
Logically, I knew it was.
But logic hadn’t played a role in our relationship from the get go, so I didn’t see why it had to rear its ugly head now and try to dry fuck us in the ass.
Since my last shift was mids, seven PM to seven AM, I’d been forced to leave her warm body in my bed around five-thirty that morning.
It was only eight AM and already it felt like an eternity, since I’d last seen her.
It only made the idea of living with her all the more appealing and knowing she should be up and getting to work right about then, I sent her a quick text to feel her out on the idea.
Me – How big of a moving truck should I rent to haul your stuff over to my place?
She hadn’t argued with any of my highhanded asshattery before, so I was hoping that truth would still hold true.
Sookie – We could do it in two trips with Jason’s pickup.
That was why she was perfect for me.
But since we seemed to joke around as much as we fucked, I couldn’t be sure she knew I was serious. I was almost afraid to find out she was kidding around because it would put a damper on the rest of my day.
I’d likely be pissy enough to write tickets for jaywalking.
Especially if I had to hear Jay talking shit to me about his baby sister.
But just as I was about to check my crotch for the pussy I must have grown overnight, my phone vibrated with a new text message from the owner of the pussy my dick was addicted to.
Sookie – We could do it in one trip, if I don’t take any of my furniture. Your stuff is nicer anyway and while you could get your jollies in my bed, your jolly green giant body wouldn’t fit on it comfortably.
Me – I’ll be at your place by 7:30.
Sookie – Then I guess I’ll be naked at our place by 8.
And that reply was the reason why I was a smiling asshole for the rest of my shift.
At least all the way up until the end of it when I got sent out on a disturbance call. One of the local drunks was getting into it in the park and I had to go calm her tits, so I could get the fuck outta there. I didn’t want to arrest her unless she left me no choice because the paperwork alone would keep me at the station for a couple of hours. But having dealt with her before, I knew it might take a while to calm her down, so I shot off another text to Sookie, telling her I might be a little late.
Me – Out on a disturbance call. I might be late.
Sookie – Sounds disturbing…
Me – You have no idea. Drunk Jane is at the park yelling at a squirrel for leaving the oven on.
It wasn’t the first time either.
You’d think the squirrel would know better by now.
Sookie – Aww…I like Drunk Jane! She reminds me of that homeless woman from Home Alone 2 because she’s always covered in bird shit and breadcrumbs.
Me – Now I’m a little disturbed that you know her so well.
It wasn’t even a lie.
All of the cops knew who she was, but I didn’t realize Jane had a civilian following too.
Sookie – If anyone’s at fault, it’s the squirrel. Leaving the oven on is a serious thing!
Me – Her “oven” is a magnifying glass and sunlight.
Or – on a good day – a can of Sterno, but whatever.
Sookie – Are you always such an oven snob? Just agree with her and give the squirrel a stern lecture on cooking responsibly. She’ll be happy and you’ll get away from her that much quicker.
I stared back at my phone, both amused by her idea and disgusted by the shit scent wafting over from Jane, so my expression was likely a combination of the two when I finally approached her.
And wouldn’t you know it?
Sookie’s idea worked.
Normally Jane could be unpredictable at best, but standing beside her and getting stern with the squirrels about Sterno had her smiling and quietly walking away with a look of vindication on her face.
I actually got to clock out on time and didn’t waste any time changing out of my uniform, so I was knocking on Sookie’s door by 7:15.
And my dick was knocking against my zipper when she opened the door, wearing nothing but a roll of bubble wrap.
Putting on a look of pure innocence, she gasped, “Oh my! I’m sorry officer. Was I making so much noise that the police were called?”
I didn’t know what to say.
I couldn’t form a single thought – much less a single word – so Sookie filled the silence by saying, “I just got so hot when I was packing my things, so I turned the air on high and I’m afraid my nipples may have popped a few bubbles.”
Then she reached up and popped a few bubbles right over her nipples.
Those same words could be applied to either one of us at that moment.
Something Sookie must have thought too because her eyes fucked me from head to toe before coming to rest on my crotch, as she fanned herself and repeated in a breathy voice, “Oh my…I see I’m not the only one who’s packing.”
I was on her a split second later. The sound of the door slamming behind me was quickly replaced by her giggles when I pounced on her and a steady stream of popping bubbles filled the air when I threw her down onto the floor, with me on top of her.
The couch was only five feet away, but even that was too far for me to wait to have her.
As soon as I ripped the plastic away from the front of her body, she laughed out, “Thank god you got here when you did. I was sweating my ass off.”
But I didn’t care because as soon as I was sure sweat wasn’t the only moisture covering her body, I waited only as long as it took me to get my zipper open before I was in her. I’d fucked her more times than I could count over the last three days and yet it still wasn’t enough.
Something else Sookie must have thought too because her laughter was replaced by a moan of, “Thank god you got here when you did.”
Me and my dick couldn’t agree enough.
Finding her the way that I had, I didn’t have the fortitude for this to be sweet or gentle. So I was glad for the little bit of padding the bubble wrap provided her back when I started pounding into her, feeling some sort of caveman need to claim her.
The popping sounds coming from the bubble wrap made it sound like a 1940’s mob hit was underway, so I sat up on my knees and pulled her with me. But seeing her like that, naked and glistening and in the throes of passion, I could only hope that I would last long enough to pop her bubble before my Tommy Gun rained down its own barrage of bullets.
Wrapping her arms around my neck, she pressed the front of her body against my own and I silently cursed the Kevlar still covering my chest that kept me from feeling all of her. But then, pulling my lower lip in between her teeth, instead of kissing me like I’d expected, she just stared into my eyes and let me watch as she fell apart around me.
The intensity of it all – the sight of her, the sounds she made, the sensations she made me feel – was all it took for me to fall apart with her.
I should have been afraid of the intensity of everything else she was making me feel.
But I wasn’t.
Not one bit.