online from its hiding place. It came pre-wrapped. I keep it behind my back and climb into bed with her, ready for a lazy day of indulgence, lots of sex, and possibly a nap, if required. “I have something for you.”
Her eyes light up. “You do?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What is it?”
I hold out my hand. The box fits in my palm. “Open it and find out.”
Lily blinks and looks at the box, then at me, then at the box. Her eyes are wide. “Randy.”
“It’s just something small.” Literally, it’s tiny. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t expensive.
Since she hasn’t taken the box from me, I set it on her lap and wait. I’m nervous. Maybe she won’t like it. Maybe I guessed wrong.
Her hands are a little shaky as she pulls the red ribbon and the bow unfurls. I have to clasp mine together so I don’t start biting my thumbnail, which is a leftover nervous habit from when I was a kid and my parents used to fight.
Lily takes the long satin ribbon and wraps it around her neck. “Wanna tie that back up for me?”
I’m instantly hard. A few weeks ago Lily surprised me after an away game by answering my door with nothing but a ribbon tied around her throat. It was awesome, though Lance was with me, which was not awesome. But he’s smart enough not to have commented on it, ever.
Maybe it was the ribbon, or my irrational, but somewhat justified anger over Lance seeing her naked, or coming home to her after a long stretch away, or the combination of all three, but I’ve been fantasizing about that damn scenario a lot since then. I skim the column of her throat and tie it nice and loose.
“You better hurry up and open that, or you’re not gonna get to see what’s inside for at least another hour.”
She bites her lip and grins, but lifts the lid. “Oh, wow.”
“Is it too cheesy? It’s too cheesy.” I’m second-guessing my choice based on her expression.
She shakes her head. “They’re not cheesy. They’re beautiful.” She lifts the tiny skate-shaped earrings out of the box. One’s a figure skate, one’s a hockey skate—mismatched on purpose.
“They’re supposed to be charms, and I know they’re different, but I kind of like that it’s you and me and they’re different, but if you’d rather they be the same…”
“They’re perfect.”
“Or if you’d rather wear them as a necklace, we can put them on a chain—”
“Randy?”
I stop. “Yeah?”
“I love them.”
“Yeah?” I pull her into my lap. She’s naked; I’m in boxers. It won’t take much to make us match. “Guess what I love?”
Her eyes are soft and warm. “What do you love, Randy?”
I trace the edge of the ribbon around her throat, watching goosebumps rise along her skin. The words I’ve felt but haven’t spoken hang heavy in the space between us. “You. I love you.”
There’s no surprise. Just acceptance and reciprocation. “Just like I love you,” she whispers.
And then I show her how much, because words are only as deep as the actions we take to make them meaningful.
Pucked Over Outtake
The Fucking Cone
RANDY
I’M NOT EVEN a little bit on board with this scheme Violet has cooked up. What’s worse is that everyone else, apart from Miller, seems fine with it. Lily just got here, and already people are monopolizing my time with her.
My initial plan was to have one beer and then make up some lame excuse so I could hijack Lily and take her back to my place. Then we could have as much sex as we wanted without any interference or interruptions for as long as she’s here.
But clearly my night is not going according to plan, because Lily is now back at Waters’ house watching some dumb chick movie with the girls, and I’m sitting in Waters’ SUV, surrounded by the same guys I’ve been with for the past week. As a result, I’m in a shit mood.
Lance gets in beside me. “We should go to Mahoney’s to watch the game, right, Balls?”
“Whatever,” I grumble. Mahoney’s will be full of bunnies I’m not interested in dealing with.
Miller gets in on the other side, sandwiching me between them. Miller’s a tank and so is Lance, so I’m crammed in like a damn sardine. Or maybe my crappy mood doesn’t allow for much in the way of tolerance. The only physical contact I want right now is Lily all over me.
My balls are seriously blue—like, a raging, horrible ache that isn’t going to go away