thing—they want to be the one I remember out of the vast ocean of pussy.” He closed his eyes for a second, shaking his head. “Sorry.”
He met her eyes. A tiny smile formed on her lips. “It’s okay.”
“And I know you only know about me the things I’ve told you, so it might not seem realistic to you when I tell you how much you mean to me, but it doesn’t matter. You do. And, much as I want to take you up on your offer—and I will , by the way—I’m not ready yet. I just want a little time to enjoy you as my friend first.”
His appeal worked. He saw her eyes soften before she nodded her assent. Her eyes dropped to his hands and then she said, “So…what do we do?”
He hadn’t premeditated any of it but it seemed like the perfect answer. “How about we lie down here on the bed and I hold you and I just talk for a while? Maybe tell you some of the shit I’ve never said in an email?” Not only had emails been woefully inadequate, he wasn’t much of a typist, and he’d grow tired after a while. Their emails had mostly consisted of plans for the future (both of them) and funny stories about their days…or shitty stories of things they needed to vent about. Heather might not have realized it, but she’d not only been his sounding board but his pressure valve as well. He’d likely have ripped Sage a new one a long time ago had Heather not been there to listen to him and give him sound advice.
He was relieved when she nodded and he lay back on the bed, his back supported by the headboard. He held out his arms and felt his heart swell when Heather lay her head on his chest, resting her right hand next to her head. He could handle the heart swell right now and was grateful that his cock had since chilled out. Her voice was quiet when she said, “So what’s all this stuff you couldn’t say in an email?”
His smile was small. “I never said I couldn’t . I just said I didn’t .” He took several deep, slow breaths, contemplating how to explain his thoughts. “Would you really have wanted to read long, depressing emails from me all the time?”
He could hear the smile in her voice even though her face was turned away from his. “Don’t friends do that?”
“Yeah, but I was afraid of scaring you off.”
She was quiet for a few seconds, and he could feel her finger swirling a pattern on top of his t-shirt. “I don’t think you could scare me off.”
Kiefer chuckled. Man, if she knew how messed up he was inside. He’d go ahead and tell her some, but no way was he going to hit her with both barrels. “Let’s just say I had a shitty childhood and this might sound cheesy and stupid, but Johnny took me away from all of it.”
“Tell me that story—how that happened.”
“Well…I was kind of a bum. I worked little jobs here and there, just enough so I could afford more weed, but I had no real direction, and I didn’t care to. I didn’t have any real friends. I had some friends I called the ganja guys . They were around when I had shit and gone when I didn’t.”
“Fair weather friends?”
“Yeah. Something like that. They didn’t care about me ; they cared about if I had any pot or not. And that was okay at first, because it was just nice having people around, people to talk to and hang with, and I was stoned most of the time, so I was pretty mellow about it. As long as I stayed high…it didn’t bother me. But when I’d sober up, I’d realize what a bunch of losers I was hanging with. So I decided to stay high all the time. I made that my goal. Until one day it just didn’t feel right anymore. I felt like my brain was somewhere else, like I was empty inside, you know? If you don’t think that was stupid enough, I started drinking to escape that feeling, and it was night three in my new alcohol strategy when I met a guy who went by the name of J. C. Gibson, and he started chatting with
He met her eyes. A tiny smile formed on her lips. “It’s okay.”
“And I know you only know about me the things I’ve told you, so it might not seem realistic to you when I tell you how much you mean to me, but it doesn’t matter. You do. And, much as I want to take you up on your offer—and I will , by the way—I’m not ready yet. I just want a little time to enjoy you as my friend first.”
His appeal worked. He saw her eyes soften before she nodded her assent. Her eyes dropped to his hands and then she said, “So…what do we do?”
He hadn’t premeditated any of it but it seemed like the perfect answer. “How about we lie down here on the bed and I hold you and I just talk for a while? Maybe tell you some of the shit I’ve never said in an email?” Not only had emails been woefully inadequate, he wasn’t much of a typist, and he’d grow tired after a while. Their emails had mostly consisted of plans for the future (both of them) and funny stories about their days…or shitty stories of things they needed to vent about. Heather might not have realized it, but she’d not only been his sounding board but his pressure valve as well. He’d likely have ripped Sage a new one a long time ago had Heather not been there to listen to him and give him sound advice.
He was relieved when she nodded and he lay back on the bed, his back supported by the headboard. He held out his arms and felt his heart swell when Heather lay her head on his chest, resting her right hand next to her head. He could handle the heart swell right now and was grateful that his cock had since chilled out. Her voice was quiet when she said, “So what’s all this stuff you couldn’t say in an email?”
His smile was small. “I never said I couldn’t . I just said I didn’t .” He took several deep, slow breaths, contemplating how to explain his thoughts. “Would you really have wanted to read long, depressing emails from me all the time?”
He could hear the smile in her voice even though her face was turned away from his. “Don’t friends do that?”
“Yeah, but I was afraid of scaring you off.”
She was quiet for a few seconds, and he could feel her finger swirling a pattern on top of his t-shirt. “I don’t think you could scare me off.”
Kiefer chuckled. Man, if she knew how messed up he was inside. He’d go ahead and tell her some, but no way was he going to hit her with both barrels. “Let’s just say I had a shitty childhood and this might sound cheesy and stupid, but Johnny took me away from all of it.”
“Tell me that story—how that happened.”
“Well…I was kind of a bum. I worked little jobs here and there, just enough so I could afford more weed, but I had no real direction, and I didn’t care to. I didn’t have any real friends. I had some friends I called the ganja guys . They were around when I had shit and gone when I didn’t.”
“Fair weather friends?”
“Yeah. Something like that. They didn’t care about me ; they cared about if I had any pot or not. And that was okay at first, because it was just nice having people around, people to talk to and hang with, and I was stoned most of the time, so I was pretty mellow about it. As long as I stayed high…it didn’t bother me. But when I’d sober up, I’d realize what a bunch of losers I was hanging with. So I decided to stay high all the time. I made that my goal. Until one day it just didn’t feel right anymore. I felt like my brain was somewhere else, like I was empty inside, you know? If you don’t think that was stupid enough, I started drinking to escape that feeling, and it was night three in my new alcohol strategy when I met a guy who went by the name of J. C. Gibson, and he started chatting with
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