Page 38 of Finally Moore
“I heard that!” Letty scolds from her seat, not taking too kindly to my dig at Harper’s.
“Come on, Scott!” Jake hollers. “Flirt on your own time.”
“Sorry. Good luck.” I’m stunned as Scarlett presses a kiss to my cheek. The group collectivelyawslike a bunch of immature teens during lunch period.
I grab my ball, but instead of focusing on my lineup, I keep thinking about Scarlett, her lips, that kiss, how hypnotizing her breasts are when she jumps for joy…
“Dude!” Jake whines.
“Oh, leave him alone,” Letty chimes in.
I ignore their bickering, and not because I’m trying to concentrate on my roll. No, because I honestly don’t care. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, allowing muscle memory to kick in, and just like I have done hundreds of times before, I launch the ball down the lane.
Except, at the last minute, I hear the beautiful music of Scarlett’s giggle, aim too far to the right, and roll a straight gutter ball. Jake and Robbie groan their disappointment.
“I guess it’s true,” Letty snickers. “Scotty doesn’t know… how to bowl.” She practically falls over laughing at her own lame joke. I hate that stupid movie. Not that it isn’t funny. But ever since it came out, people take whatever opportunity they have to sing out the lyrics like it’s the first time I’ve ever heard them.
Still, I’m not mad at Letty or bummed about my gutter ball. No, I’m all smiles as Scarlett’s face is the brightest I’ve ever had the privilege of seeing it. We have a lot to do, and a long week ahead of us. But this brief reprieve, seeing how visibly happy she is… it’s beyond worth it.
Chapter sixteen
Scott
Great,evenonmyday off, I find myself waking up at three in the morning. At least, I assume it’s that early. My eyes flick over to the window, where not even a stream of sunlight is peeking out. Then I reach over and grab my phone. Yup, three-fucking-fifteen on the dot.
I guess it’s not in vain, seeing as I need to stop by the orchard and load up the apples Eli keeps in his cooler for me. I could store them at the café but it’s better this way, ensures they don’t get bruised or anything in my tiny fridge. I need to prepare the apple filling for the coffee rings so I can start assembly tomorrow.
Resigned to the fact that I have too much to do to lie around and stare at the ceiling in hopes I fall back asleep, I sit up and glance over at Scarlett, who is fortunate enough to be knocked out cold. Then, careful not to wake her, I slide off the bed and make my way across the room. My hand clutches the curtain, about to tug it back and head to the bathroom, when I’m suddenly rooted to the spot at the sound of Scarlett…moaning?
No, there’s no way—
“Please… don’t stop…” she whispers in her sleep.
Common sense decides to speak up for the first time since this whole fake relationship started. It tells me to leave. As desperate as I am to hear her moan again, it’s wrong…so very wrong.
“Scott,” she calls out, and I freeze, assuming I’ve been caught being the perverted bastard I’ve apparently become. “I want to come… I’ve been such a good girl.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck…
I’m fucked. Because common sense only made a brief appearance before it decided to leave the building. And now everything inside me is telling me to stay, watch. Because, holy fuck, Scarlett Valentine is having one hell of an intense dream—and it’s about me.
I’ve been standing in the dark long enough that my eyes have adjusted, allowing me to see that she has the blanket pushed down to her waist. I watch as one of her hands slinks across her stomach and, yup,I’ve just secured my seat in hell because when she slips her fingers beneath the waistband of her sleep pants, instead of giving her privacy, I take a step closer to get a better look.
Her back arches off the bed slightly as I assume she found her own sweet spot. What I wouldn’t give to be able to see where that is. I mean, if I’m already damned, might as well get the full picture. As stupid as I am for intruding on this moment, at least I have retained enough sensibility not to attempt to join in. That’s what I tell myself anyway.
My feet remain cemented to the floor as she continues to pleasure herself, grinding her hips and moaning my name. It takes every ounce of restraint I possess to keep from taking care of the painful morning wood presently tenting my pants. Although doing so would solve one of my problems, the truth is… good intentions aren’t what’s holding me back—no, it’s the fact I don’t want to miss a single fucking moment of what’s going on in front of me.
“Oh, Scott… I’m going to…”Scarlett cries out her release, and I no longer care about earning myself a permanent spot on Santa’s naughty list, because it was the most magnificent thing I’ve ever heard,seen too. The only thing that could have made it better was if I had been the one to do it for her. But I guess knowing the dream version of me was along for the ride will have to be good enough.
Before I make a bad situation worse, I leave. But not to the bathroom. No, I go home because one more second in that cabin and I’ll be beyond fucked.
Do you know what I love about peeling apples? Getting lost in the repetition of the action, how you get into this groove, which then allows your mind to open. I’ve come up with some of my best recipes while in the zone like this. Today, though, it’s a fucking curse. Because my thoughts can’t help but drift back to Scarlett. My imagination is running wild, conjuring up images of her fingers thrusting in and out of her—
“What are you doing?”
I jump at Logan’s question, like some teenager whose mom walked in on him watching porn. “Nothing,” I say a little too forcefully as guilt has my heart racing in my chest. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
Logan crosses his arms over his chest and studies me. “Really?” He lifts a pierced brow as shame boils over and drips down my forehead. “Because it looks like you’re in here cooking when you’re supposed to be on vacation.”