Page 26 of Legally Mine

"Jesus Christ, Skylar, I can't keep up with you! Did you call me just so you could berate me again for being a nice guy?"

Brandon yanked off his cap and threw it across the car into the front passenger seat. David picked it up and handed it calmly back over his shoulder to his boss. The car didn't swerve an inch.

"Keep up?" I asked. "I haven't exactly been jerking you around here. Okay, I sent one dumb, drunken text by mistake. Those girls literally fell on me, and my thumb pressed send. No one asked you to get in your Batmobile to save me!"

"You don't get to make me out to be the bad guy here, Skylar!" Brandon erupted. He pulled his hat between his hands so hard I thought it might split apart. "You wanted out, I got the message, and I let you go, didn't I? Even though the breakup made absolutely no fuckin' sense! And there has been no word from you until tonight. None!"

His South Boston accent, which tended to appear only when he was upset or emotional, was now out in full force. I tensed against it, even though at the same time it turned me on. I had been seeking that feeling all night, and was only finding it here. With him. While we were fighting.

How fucked up was I?

"That's because it hurts too much, Brandon!" I yelled back, not even caring that David was sitting in the front seat.

A quick glance revealed that he had thoughtfully put in headphones. I kicked ineffectually at the bottom of the seat in front of me, not caring that it made me look even more like a child. Brandon watched for a few beats, then hurled his baseball cap onto the floor of the car.

"FUCK!" he shouted. "Goddamn it!"

We stared at, bristling under the streetlights that flashed through the windows. Then, before I knew it, we were falling toward each other. I was scrambling across the seat and grabbing at the collar of his shirt; his long arms were yanking me into his lap.

We attacked, desperate to get closer, to consume one another right there in the back of the car. My fingers clawed at the muscles under his thin T-shirt; his own hands were just as savage, clutching desperately at my waist, back, ass, any place he could use to pull me so that I was straddling his lap. Soon my dress was hiked up nearly to my waist, and Brandon growled again as one hand found bare skin and squeezed hard enough that I'd probably have bruises in the morning. Another grabbed my ponytail and pulled. I moaned aloud against his lips. The pain felt good. It was exactly what I needed.

"What the fuck do you want?" he snarled in between angry, forceful kisses. "Is this what you want?" He wrapped my ponytail in his fist and pulled again, even harder this time.

I didn't say anything, just kissed him back, biting at his lips while both of us groaned, desperate to get closer, desperate to get beyond the thin layers of clothing. I slid my hands under the hem of his shirt, wanting to feel his smooth, ribbed muscles. My fingernails dug in, and Brandon groaned. He kneaded my ass and thighs forcefully and ground his obvious desire through the meager material that separated us.

Then the car pulled to a stop. We broke apart, breathing heavily, and caught in a mutual stare as our chests heaved. Brandon's hand tightened on my thigh, but the other dropped from my hair. I loosened my death-grip on his collar. My gaze dropped to his lips, now swollen and reddened. No doubt mine looked much the same.

David cleared his throat. Oh fuck, I thought as a massive flush immediately covered my body. What the fuck was I doing? I slid off Brandon and hastily tugged my skirt back into place. Ducking my head (I couldn't even think of looking at David), I quickly clambered out to the sidewalk in front of my small brick building. The street, one of the quieter in the North End, was deserted, although sounds of merriment still filtered through the brick corridors leading to Hanover Street.

Willing myself not to turn around, I dug clumsily through my purse for my keys. When I looked up, another car door slammed shut. David pulled the car away, leaving Brandon in the middle of the deserted street, hands fisted at his sides.

His brow was a bit sweaty, as if he'd been exerting himself, and his hair, which had already started to grow out a little since I'd last seen him, stuck out in several directions. He had a slightly crazed look in his eyes, which I had a feeling was mirrored in my own.

"Wha–what are you doing?" I asked as he approached, shoulders moving with the grace and intention of a predatory cat.

The glare of the street lamp caught the ends of his hair, lighting them up like a halo, although the single-minded expression on his face was anything but angelic.

"Which one is your house key?" Brandon demanded as he plucked my keychain out of my hands.

"What the fuck? Let me do it!"

I snatched the keys back from him and fumbled to the correct one, dropping the set twice before finding it. Before Brandon could argue back, I had unlocked the door and charged into the small building, a six-foot-four lion on my heels.

I took the steps of the walk-up two at a time, Brandon hot on my tail. It felt like a race, but no one was having fun. The urgency between us in the car was back, building with every step we took. All I could think about was having his hands on me again, having his lips on me. But I was angry too. Angry that he made me feel this way. Angry that I couldn't stop myself. Angry that we had done everything we had to each other, and angry that things couldn't go back to the way they used to be.

Full of that animal anger, I kept going past the third floor, where my apartment was. I didn't want him to see that space I'd worked so hard on all day––that space that had nothing but a futon and piano sitting in it, but which I'd inadvertently painted the exact color of his eyes. I didn't want his pity. I just wanted to fuck him and be done with it so I could get him out of my system and move on.

We charged straight to the top of the six-stories and out the heavy fire door to the rooftop. It wasn't exactly the posh roof of his massive townhouse––just a concrete slab bordered by a creaky metal railing. A few rusted lounge chairs that some of my neighbors had apparently donated to the building were clustered in one corner. Two taller brick buildings shot up on either side of us, eclipsing the roof in their shadows.

"What are we doing here?"

Brandon's deep voice echoed across the roof. The heavy metal door banged closed behind us, and I turned around to look at him. His eyes drifted down my body, resting briefly on my bare legs––what had once been his favorite part of my anatomy. I was suddenly very aware of just how much skin I was showing. I normally wore this dress like a tunic over leggings; the hem barely reached the bottom of my ass.

"What do you think we're here for?" I retorted, not feeling the slightest bit gracious.

His hungry blue gaze snapped up to meet mine, sending another shock of yearning through my center. His eyes flashed so much they practically sparked. I still felt furious. Furious and full to the brim of naked lust.

He didn't answer. I stared. He stared. All of the pain and torment of the past few months was bubbling to the surface. The intense desire. The yearning.