Read Online Never Can Tell by C. M. Stunich - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: C. M. Stunich
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staring down at the flame and salivating at the thought of lighting my cig. An older couple walks by and gives me a pair of looks that could kill. I flip them both off and tuck the lighter back in my pocket. I might've been raised by a white trash mother, but I'm not about to smoke a cigarette with one baby strapped to my chest and another inside my belly. I take my cig out from between my lips and tuck it into my pocket, just in case I need a pacifier later. You never know.
“Back,” Ty says, coming around the corner. His unlit cig is still in his mouth. I smile and step forward, running my hand up his chest. He looks down into my eyes and I see an apology burning there. I don't know what it's for or why, but I can see that he means it, genuinely and from the bottom of his heart.
That's when I smell the cigarette smoke.
“Ty,” I begin, raising an eyebrow. He laughs, low and deep, masculine and dark. God, I just want to fuck the shit out of him. “That's a bad boy,” I whisper, drawing his cigarette from between his lips. I stick it into the left front pocket of his jeans, burying my hand in as deep as I can get it, caressing his leg through the fabric.
“That's right, baby,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to our son's head and then a filthy, immodest one to my lips. “I'm just downright naughty.”
We press just a little bit closer, Noah heated between our chests, keeping us apart but pulling us together, yawning like a little butterfly, breath as soft and sweet as the flutter of wings. Ty's tongue teases mine and I heckle him right back, tasting, finding, feeling each other, having a discussion without words. We kiss for what seems like forever, standing there with people staring, wondering who these two young idiots with the weird hair and the tattoos are, why these punks with the baby are lip locked in the middle of the parking lot. What they don't know, but what they should, is that you Never can tell when something is going to go wrong, when life is going to fuck you in all the worst ways. So we take each moment and we treasure it; we take each moment and we stretch it out to forever.
11
I sit in the backseat with Noah and the cat, even though I feel like a tool for doing it. I crawl back there and for the first time ever, kind of, sort of feel like a … a mom.
“I'm a mom,” I tell Ty randomly as we pull out of the parking lot and start down the highway towards my childhood home. “I have a son.”
“Well put,” Ty says, no sense of mockery in his voice, just a sprinkle of good humor. He tries to look at me in the mirror, but I'm too focused on Noah's face. He's smiling at me and drooling like crazy. I push the end of my sweatshirt up to cover my hand and wipe his chin off with a sleeve covered in bloody skeletons. He doesn't seem to mind so much, blowing happy bubbles when he hears his dad's bangles ringing as he spins the wheel and flips a bitch, turning us back towards the exit we just missed. I have to admit, I'm impressed that he remembers the way. “Don't forget, you're a wife, too.”
“Are you trying to piss me off?” I ask, leaning back against the seat and touching Noah's booted feet. Ty's got him dressed in a ridiculous outfit today – well, he dresses him a ridiculous outfit pretty much everyday, but this is the worst – a red and black striped tee with a snarling wolf face on it, a pair of black jeans, and faux combat boots. “Our kid looks like a biker gang reject,” I say, noticing for the first time that his pants have fake chains embroidered on the sides. I change my mind; this outfit is probably what got us searched by airport security.
“He's a stud,” Ty says, glancing in the rearview again and throwing me a wink. “Just like his daddy.”
“I'm dressing him starting tomorrow,” I say and when Ty's gaze catches mine for an instant, I can see that innocuous statement means something to him. His smile gets soft, and I have to look away.
“I think he'd love
“Back,” Ty says, coming around the corner. His unlit cig is still in his mouth. I smile and step forward, running my hand up his chest. He looks down into my eyes and I see an apology burning there. I don't know what it's for or why, but I can see that he means it, genuinely and from the bottom of his heart.
That's when I smell the cigarette smoke.
“Ty,” I begin, raising an eyebrow. He laughs, low and deep, masculine and dark. God, I just want to fuck the shit out of him. “That's a bad boy,” I whisper, drawing his cigarette from between his lips. I stick it into the left front pocket of his jeans, burying my hand in as deep as I can get it, caressing his leg through the fabric.
“That's right, baby,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to our son's head and then a filthy, immodest one to my lips. “I'm just downright naughty.”
We press just a little bit closer, Noah heated between our chests, keeping us apart but pulling us together, yawning like a little butterfly, breath as soft and sweet as the flutter of wings. Ty's tongue teases mine and I heckle him right back, tasting, finding, feeling each other, having a discussion without words. We kiss for what seems like forever, standing there with people staring, wondering who these two young idiots with the weird hair and the tattoos are, why these punks with the baby are lip locked in the middle of the parking lot. What they don't know, but what they should, is that you Never can tell when something is going to go wrong, when life is going to fuck you in all the worst ways. So we take each moment and we treasure it; we take each moment and we stretch it out to forever.
11
I sit in the backseat with Noah and the cat, even though I feel like a tool for doing it. I crawl back there and for the first time ever, kind of, sort of feel like a … a mom.
“I'm a mom,” I tell Ty randomly as we pull out of the parking lot and start down the highway towards my childhood home. “I have a son.”
“Well put,” Ty says, no sense of mockery in his voice, just a sprinkle of good humor. He tries to look at me in the mirror, but I'm too focused on Noah's face. He's smiling at me and drooling like crazy. I push the end of my sweatshirt up to cover my hand and wipe his chin off with a sleeve covered in bloody skeletons. He doesn't seem to mind so much, blowing happy bubbles when he hears his dad's bangles ringing as he spins the wheel and flips a bitch, turning us back towards the exit we just missed. I have to admit, I'm impressed that he remembers the way. “Don't forget, you're a wife, too.”
“Are you trying to piss me off?” I ask, leaning back against the seat and touching Noah's booted feet. Ty's got him dressed in a ridiculous outfit today – well, he dresses him a ridiculous outfit pretty much everyday, but this is the worst – a red and black striped tee with a snarling wolf face on it, a pair of black jeans, and faux combat boots. “Our kid looks like a biker gang reject,” I say, noticing for the first time that his pants have fake chains embroidered on the sides. I change my mind; this outfit is probably what got us searched by airport security.
“He's a stud,” Ty says, glancing in the rearview again and throwing me a wink. “Just like his daddy.”
“I'm dressing him starting tomorrow,” I say and when Ty's gaze catches mine for an instant, I can see that innocuous statement means something to him. His smile gets soft, and I have to look away.
“I think he'd love
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