16: I Wonder

      "What do you mean?" he asked her with confusion written all over his face.

    "Do you think I'm fucking blind?" she nearly yelled back to him, completely aggravated by his lack of seeing what was right in front of him. "Have you been bullshitting me this whole time? Yeah, you told me you weren't seeing anyone, and now I understand what you meant. No, you're not 'seeing' her, you're just sleeping with her!"

      "Clara? The nanny? Is that what this is all about?" he asked, desperately trying to catch on to what Leandra meant when she said that she didn't think that their relationship was working.

      "Yes, fucking Clara!" she answered. Then she giggled in sarcastic, ironic mirth as she said, "Yes. Fucking Clara. That's what she's there for, right?"

      Angry now, he approached her and growled, "No. I hired her to take care of Amy when I'm unable to because of work. You know that."

      "She hates Amy."

      "No she doesn't."

      "You're not sleeping with her?" she asked, starting to calm down a little.

      "No. Where did this idea come from?" he asked. He figured he needed to get to the bottom of Leandra's insecurities before he could address the topic that she thought that Clara hated Amy.

      "You don't see the way she looks at you? She wants in your pants so bad it's a wonder she hasn't dropped to her knees to undo them herself." 

       Lance quickly put his hand over his mouth to hide the huge grin that covered his face without warning. The very idea that Clara thought of him that way felt ludicrous.

      "It's not fucking funny, Lance!" Leandra snapped at him.

      Lance uncovered his mouth for a minute so he could be heard as he said, "Yes, it is. It's hilarious."

      My computer blinks out on me for a minute before I can have a chance to write more about Leandra's ridiculous, but legitimate, jealousy. No! Come back you stupid machine! I think as I hit the side of it with my hand. It blinks back on. Phew!

       I'd been unable to go immediately to sleep, for obvious reasons, once I'd recovered for the most part from what Bryce told me tonight. I just can't wrap my head fully around the idea that he loves me. So, I decided to sit and write, avoiding thinking about him for a few hours. Or, at least, that's the plan. However, my computer has a different agenda. It must feel suicidal tonight.

      "What am I supposed to think?" she asked him. "She's always here. When you're not around she's belligerently rude to me and cruel to Amy. I'm sure Amy would tell you about it except she's afraid of her!"

       Lance walked up to her and

        My computer makes a small popping noise, and I start to smell burning circuitry as smoke eeks out of it. Damn it!

       Busted. It's completely busted! I'm never going to finish this damn thing! I think as I slam my head down on my piece of shit keyboard. A few keys pop off again and clatter to the floor, but I don't care enough to pick them up. My machine has failed me for the last time. It's dead. Not only merely dead, but really most sincerely dead. It's not coming back. May it rest in pieces! It's bucked the kickit.

      Now what? Now I have nothing to distract me from trying to keep from thinking about Bryce. It was so much easier when I could escape to Lance and Leandra's world. 

       Damn it!

       I give up and go to bed after unplugging my computer. Luckily, I'm so exhausted that I fall asleep within minutes of my head hitting the pillow.

      In the morning, I wake up and look at my alarm clock with... alarm. Eleven o'clock! Holy crap! Bryce said come by as early as I want and it's almost lunchtime! He's going to think I'm blowing him off! I immediately reach for my cellphone and call him. He sounds relieved. Damn it. He was worried. Oh, what am I going to do?

       I hurriedly shower and quickly fix my hair after I get dressed. It's already shaping up to be a very hot day, so I dress appropriately for the weather.

       I ring the doorbell at Bryce's house, and it's not long before I see him dart out of the kitchen and walk down the hallway towards the door. Please don't be weird. Please don't be weird. Please don't be weird. I think in rapid succession. I hate how I feel nervous again.

       He opens the door and stands there, wide-eyed, for a few, long, seconds as I watch his eyes rake me from head to toe before he finally says, "Hi.... Erin." Then he shakes his head almost imperceptibly and motions me inside.

      I apologize again for sleeping as late as I did when he'd expected me to come by earlier than now as I walk in the door. 

      He closes it behind me, turns to me and says, "I'm sure we can find a way for you to make it up to me."

      He surprises me when he suddenly pulls me to him and kisses me. I can't help but notice how warm his hands feel against my exposed midriff as my arms slowly work their way around his neck. This is okay. Yeah. This isn't weird at all.
     Wait a second... 'make it up to me'? Just what does he mean by that? This? Or more? What is he expecting? I realize, belatedly, how the clothing I chose to wear today must look to him. Crap, I just wanted to be comfortable. What was I thinking? No wonder he just stood there like that when he answered the door.
      He, um, must really like my outfit because his hands are all over me. I feel like such a bonehead. Bone.... Yeah.
      He moans into my mouth before his arms wrap themselves tighter around me, squeezing me to the point of pain. I whimper a tiny bit as I squirm against his too-tight hold of me, which he immediately slackens.
      I remember yesterday when he had gripped me this tightly while he was thinking... about what he told me last night I guess. I wonder if he has some kind of abandonment complex thing going on and that's the reason he holds on so tight. It makes sense. Oh, my sweet Bryce, if I ever meet that cheating Ashley bitch...! Oh well, if she hadn't been a cheating bitch then you wouldn't be available and that would be a shame.
      Fine, go ahead and hold me as tight as you need, I think now as I myself squeeze him to me. He lets out a moderately-shaky exhale as he kisses me with renewed vigor and squeezes me again, this time not quite to the point of being painful.
      Then, his hand moves to my butt as he pulls me hard against him. Yes, I know, Bryce.
     Oh shit, that feels so damn good! I think as he starts massaging me, and I hear myself groan uncontrollably. The man has magic hands! I think as my knees actually buckle for half a second before I can recover. The hand that had been holding my face only moments before moves to the buttons of my shirt. Now, I'm wearing a swimsuit underneath my clothes, but he doesn't know that. He successfully undoes two buttons at an incredible speed before he gets stuck on the third since the tie underneath it causes the fabric to pull the fastenings tighter.
      Time to stop, I think as I hear him growl in frustration.

      I succeed in taking a step backwards with an apologetic look on my face. I can't look him in the eyes right now as I try to figure out how to say that we'd taken that far enough. I feel as first one, then the other of his hands get hold of my waist before he closes the gap between us again. I think he's grinning at me as he tilts his head down to try to put his face in my line of vision. It's like we're playing tag or something because he keeps trying to get me to look at him and I keep looking away.
      "Bryce..." I whine, close my eyes, and crash my forehead into his chest. He just chuckles and wraps his arms around me in a simple fashion.
       "So what do you want to do today?" he asks.
       "I need to go computer shopping," I mumble into his shirt and wonder what detergent he uses.
       "Huh?" he asks, obviously not expecting that answer.
     "My computer died. It's not getting better; it's completely stone dead. I think the hard drive melted," I explain. "And I can't very well write without one."
       "You could use mine," he offers unexpectedly.
       I lift my head up to look at him and ask, "Really?"
       He shrugs and says, "Yeah. Why not? I only use the thing to balance the books and play random games sometimes."

       He reaches up to try and brush some of my hair out of my face, but it falls right back to where it was almost immediately.
       "That's very nice of you to offer, but I really need to buy one of my own," I say quietly.
      "But if you wind up using mine all the time then that's just one more reason for you to be over here more often," he says with a triumphant smile.
       "But I do all my writing when I'm not around you."
       "You don't have to stop writing just because I'm around, you know. I know you're worried about not finishing your book or something, so don't worry about it."
        But I don't want you to accidentally see what I'm writing about.
       "Oh that reminds me. Can I read it?" he asks out of the blue.
        I don't know, can you? The voice of my eighth grade language arts teacher sounds off in my head. Then I think, Shit, no you can't.
        "No," I say quickly. His mouth drops open in shock. "I'd be too embarrassed," I explain just as quickly.
        "Embarrassed by me?" he asks incredulously.
       "Yes."
       He playfully rolls his eyes and mumbles, "Artists." I lightly punch him in the stomach. He laughs, and I rest my head on his shoulder.
      I don't know how he does it, but he can go from making me extremely nervous and bashful to totally at ease within minutes. I ponder this as we stand here in the entryway quietly with our arms around each other and my head still on his shoulder. I thought for sure he would try to have a go at the last button on my shirt again. I wonder what he's thinking.
      I can't help it, so I ask, "What are you thinking about?"
      He groans, and I feel him throw his head back to look up at the ceiling. Then he brings his mouth down against the back of my neck and responds, "Do you really want to know?"
      Uh oh. "Um, maybe?" I ask, looking out the window.
      "I'm thinking... that I really don't want to go computer shopping today. Use mine."
      "But I need to," I mumble.
     "Okay, so tomorrow," he says and starts kissing the nape of my neck. I feel his very-short beard scrape against my skin as he works his way down to my shoulder. Then he mumbles into it, "I don't want to go anywhere today. Adele has an after school activity today, some study group thing to get her grades up, and I want to spend that extra time with you... here."
     "Where is your computer anyway?" I ask, not remembering seeing one downstairs. I lift my head up to see him grinning at me before he pulls me towards the stairs.

     His computer is in his... bedroom. He apparently wants to make me as comfortable as possible with using his machine, so we work on setting up a user profile for me right away. I also wonder what he's hiding, but I don't press it. Probably his little black book.
      Then his phone rings. "Hey, Jesse," he says into it, and my head snaps in his direction. He looks at me apologetically and pantomimes him walking out of the room to go talk to his friend. I shrug and nod, telling him that's fine with me. He, quiet as a mouse, lightly kisses me on the forehead and walks out of the room. "Yeah man, what the fuck?!" I hear him ask before he closes the door.

     So, I log on to my online account to add a little to my book while he talks (argues probably) to his so-called best friend.

     No, I don't like how I made Lance react to that. That's not him, I think as I hit enter about twenty times to put a huge break in between what I wrote and what I'm going to replace it with so I don't have to delete it yet. Then, my mind goes blank.
     Honestly, all I can think about at the moment is what happened with Jesse, and I wonder what he and Bryce are talking about. I wonder why I'm not privy to that conversation. It's probably about me for Pete's sake.
      I growl, close out the browser, and get up to walk out on the balcony.

       I prefer being outside anyway. My next computer is definitely going to be a laptop. Maybe I can get one of those notebook things if they're cheaper.
       It's gorgeous out here, I think as I look out over the ocean. Then I remember my dream and my saving golden cloud. That was Bryce?
       I lean down on the railing with my cheek in my hand, my hip cocked out at an angle. I glance over at the house next door. Whoever lives there is home right now, and I randomly wonder who they are.
       I wonder how long Bryce and Jesse are going to argue? I wonder how long it'll be before I don't feel weird around Jesse? I dread seeing him again, but I know it's inevitable. I sigh and stand up straighter as I look almost longingly down at Bryce's pool. It's really turning into a hot day.

        Bryce has been talking to Jesse for a solid half hour now probably. I wonder if that's normal or if it isn't. I find it strange that I really have no idea if it is or it isn't... strange that I know so little about him yet I think I've fallen in love with him. He told me he loves me. I don't know if I can handle that right now.

      Suddenly, warm hands wrap around my middle from behind me. I gasp in surprise, but then I smile when I consider how he successfully sneaked up behind me.
       "I thought you were supposed to be writing," he teases me as his arms tighten their hold.
       I laugh quietly and say, "I got stuck on this one part. I may have to go back and delete almost a whole chapter so that I don't back myself into that corner that I backed myself into."
       "You know... I might be able to help. But, oh that's right... you won't let me read it!" he says, and I can't quite determine if his voice sounds irritated, teasing or both. "What on earth would embarrass you if I read it?" he asks, now with a moderately pouting voice. "What's it about anyway?"
       Oh shit, I think in a mild panic as I feel myself blush. "Bryce, don't worry about the book. It's a fail anyway. I'm going to publish it under a different name and make absolutely nothing off of it. Then, I'm going to write a few children's books that will hopefully be more successful."
       "You're trying to distract me from my question; I know this tactic. You don't want to even tell me what it's about, do you?"
       I let out a huff. "Why do you even want to know?"
       "Because I was just being nice earlier when I asked if I could read it, but then you said no which made me curious. Now you won't even tell me what it's about, so of course I'm dying to know." He kisses the back of my neck as he pauses and I scramble inside my brain for something to tell him that won't give too much away. I feel him jerk his head up suddenly before he asks, "Wait a minute. Under a different name? Why would you do that?" He mockingly gasps and mumbles into my ear, "Is it one of those trashy romance novels?"
       I can't help it. I jump a little and turn slightly to look at him in shock to see him grinning at me triumphantly.
       "It is, isn't it?" he says as his grin gets wider.
       "Um, well, I don't know if I'd call it 'trashy' per se, but um... " That's because I haven't gotten to that part yet. "Um..." I look up at him. "Stop looking at me like that."
       "How do you want me to look at you?" he asks, acting like he's just itching to crack up laughing but holding it in.
       "Bryce..." I whine, and I hate the way it sounds.
       He licks his lips for a split second before he says, "Of course, now I really want to read it."
       "No," I say and shake my head to emphasize my point. "But now I have an idea how to not delete the chapter and get myself out of the corner I painted myself into."
       "Oh, so I helped!" he says with a mischievous grin. He's not going to let up on me now that he knows what kind of novel it is, is he? I walk around him and back to the computer as he continues, "Just let me know if you need any more inspiration. I'd be all too happy to help."
        I groan as I sit down in the chair, and he laughs.

       My fingers move a mile a minute as the ideas happily flow out of my head. Bryce gets a book out of his bedside table and starts reading. I think he's only doing it to annoy me, but he's actually helping me (little does he know). I'll bet he thinks if I see him reading that I'll give in and let him read my book, but it's not happening.
       Still, just to make him feel better, I ask, "So, what are you reading?"
       I can almost hear him grinning as he answers, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
     I glance out of the corner of my eye and see he's reading a cookbook. A cookbook? "Find any good recipes to try?" I ask and bite my lip to hide my smile.
     He doesn't miss a beat and answers, "Actually, I found one for a mac and cheese casserole that I might actually be able to cook. Pam gave me this thing years ago. Today's the first time I've cracked it open." He turns a page.

        He continues, "I just wanted to show that I do occasionally like to read. Especially if it's a topic that interests me. You know, for instance, like what's going on inside your head for that trashy romance novel you're writing." I roll my eyes, but he doesn't see so he keeps going. "I don't usually read those types of books, but I think I could make an exception."
        Ignoring his intended topic, I ask, "So what kind of books do you like to read?"
       "Science fiction and fantasy mostly. Though, not the kind of 'fantasy' that you're writing about. I mean like Dungeons and Dragons type stuff." He turns another page. "Maybe I've been missing out."
       Well, you're not starting with this one, I think as the two of us get quiet again. It's not long before his presence begins to wear on my nerves. Why does he have to want to read it? Why does he have to be so damn persistent about it? I get so caught up in wondering why he's so desperately wanting to read it that I lose the line of thoughts I had before I can type them up. I hate it when this happens.

      With an exasperated sigh, I rest my head in my hand and pick at the bottom of his monitor absently. What the hell am I going to do about Clara? She's gotta go, but I don't know how. Maybe Lance could come home early from his business trip and find her being cruel to Amy... but where does Leandra fit into this? Or does she even have to? This book is really starting to piss me off. Leandra just needs to fucking tell him she loves him already!
      But she doesn't know how. 

       Oh boy, how's that for an obvious parallel? I really hope this doesn't mean I'm Leandra. And the worst is Lance is getting farther removed from Bryce all the time... he's... Sean. Damn it, he's based around fucking Sean! No wonder Leandra doesn't want to tell him.
       I am so messed .... up. No wonder this book is turning into shit! I may as well scrap the whole thing and start over. I mean, I started it without any clear plan or developed characters. I was just happy I was writing. Great. Another failure in my life. Maybe I should just say fuck it and go get a real job. A tear escapes my eye and runs down the length of my nose.

       I move to wipe it away and Bryce is immediately on his knees next to me.
       "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice full of concern. I'd almost forgotten where I was. I'm sitting here crying in Bryce's bedroom, having a pathetic pity party.
       "I hate it. I should just delete the whole thing from existence... do the world a favor." I reach for the mouse and Bryce reaches out to stop my hand with one of his, and with the other, he turns the computer off. Crap. It's on standby and this'll be the thing that comes up when it's turned on again. I reach for the power button.
        "Oh no you don't!" Bryce says in his parent voice as he gains possession of both of my hands before turning me to face him.
       I take in a calming breath before I request, "Bryce, let me turn the computer back on so I can at least close it out."
       "Later, when I know you're not going to delete it," he promises.
       "I'm going to start it over," I decide right here and now. "Now that the characters are developed better, I can fix it."
       "Maybe what you need right now is a break."
       "That's all I do!" I exclaim as he stands up and tugs on my arms, trying to encourage me to stand. With a small huff, I do as he asks.
       "Forget about it for now. Besides, I don't know what I was thinking when I mentioned you could use my computer. I should've told you that at the end of the day." He grins. "I was getting jealous of it."
       "Jealous of an inanimate object," I state.
       "Yes, because it was getting all of your attention," he answers first with a grin, but then his face takes on a more serious look to it just before kissing me.
        Jealous of a computer?! It's not like I was... like I was chatting with someone online. 
     He knows that's not what I was doing, that's ridiculous that he would make that connection.
       A tiny gasp comes flying out of me when both of his hands move to my butt and his tongue dips into the little hollow between my shoulder blades. The magic hands are back, I think and groan as he walks backwards, pulling me with him towards his bed.

       Well, I have to admit this is more comfortable than the ground. I think and jump a little when his tongue starts playing with my earring. Oh, that's good weird... and apparently he likes doing that... ... .... he won't quit and it's driving me insane! I whimper and try to turn my head, but he acts ready for that and stops me by holding my head in place. I hear myself cry out when I feel his teeth lightly graze me. As I squirm, I think, Oh my god, if this man can do this with just my freaking ear, imagine what he could do with the rest of me! I start fighting a little harder to make him quit so I don't end up screaming from the bizarrely pleasurable sensations it evokes. He just laughs quietly, almost pissing me off as he effortlessly keeps my head right where he wants it.
      "Bryce, please!" I rasp out. He laughs quietly again, obviously having way too much fun with this. I feel his free hand travel to my breast, and I'm shocked to discover that he somehow managed to get his hand up under my swimsuit top. A whimper escapes me again as his thumb starts toying with my nipple.
      Then, we hear a quiet, little voice ask, "Daddy?"