Strays

Chapter 30

"Can I borrow a t-shirt and a pair of boxers?" Lindley called from the bathroom. Normally after a night of blacking out, Lindley would err on the side of escapism. She would leave, avoid communication, disappear for a couple days reaffirmed that in her plot to leave town soon she would be leaving all of the embarrassing stories in her wake. Despite this, she made a deliberate choice to not dwell on why Wren's trailer seemed more appealing than turning off all of the lights in her room and dead-bolting the door.

Although it didn't play a role in her decision-making, standing in that trailer bathroom was comforting. She knew just how far to turn the handle to get the water to be the right temperature. A knock at the door startled the absent smile from her lips and she cracked it open. Her eyes peered out cautiously while her body stayed hidden behind the door.

"Thanks," she said softly, taking the black t-shirt and black boxer briefs. Setting them down on the edge of the sink was a natural movement, and she stepped into the heat of the shower. Seeing Wren's shower materials rather than the grocery store variety her mother was partial to felt alien to her, but when she massaged her scalp under the water, she could almost pretend it was her mother's sharp fingers cleansing her hair.

The water grew cold, and Lindley knew better than to savor the shower so long. Now, the cold woke her from the nostalgic daydream, and she hurried to get ready. She threw the clothes on and felt as though wearing Wren's clothes was something else worth savoring.

Without knowing exactly why, Lindley picked up Wren's cologne and sprayed the neck of the shirt once.

--

"I hope it wasn't too bad." Wren was relaxed against the head of the bed, body splayed out in a manner of complete ownership of his space. The fantasy of the trailer being the home she shared with her mother once again was replaced with other fantasies that Lindley battled indignantly. "I know it's not much."

"I used to live here, remember?" The words weren't said unkindly.

"I did forget, actually," he admitted, standing up and gesturing toward the bed. "Mind if I take a quick one, as well?"

Lindley nodded her assent. There was something in the air, born when she sprayed his cologne on the shirt. As their bodies passed each other in the tight space, she found herself not stepping aside to give him room. Wren's chest brushed against hers, and suddenly the thought of Lindley in his clothes seemed entirely more erotic.

A snarky comment sat just within the cage of their lips, but their lips seemed to have another plan. Lindley's eyes floated up to his only for a moment, before lowering again as she brushed her lips against his. With this invitation, Wren's hands flew to her jaw and pulled her closer. Lindley responded in kind, pressing forward with her face but pulling back with her hands to direct their entanglement toward the bed. Wren's body fit seamlessly into hers as though they were born with the same rhythm. His leg fit between hers, his elbows on either side of her face. Their kisses stirred something within him, and he shifted his weight to rest on one elbow so that his left hand could find her hipbone. His thumb traced the curve of it, hovering at the edge of where the hem of his shirt had ridden up.

"We should--," Lindley's words were stifled with a gasp. Wren had taken the opportunity of her words to find her neck with his lips. Her limited experience in love and dating had prevented her from knowing the sublimity of a what a tongue could do to an ear.

"We should...?" Wren prompted teasingly. His effect on her at the moment was intoxicating, and he felt a sense of control that Lindley had yet to afford him in any other arena of interaction.

"Slow down," she mumbled the end of the sentence. Wren slowed his assault on her neck, transitioning from nipping at it to dotting a few kisses in a line toward her jaw. From her jaw, he made his way to her lips, placing one last, delicate note there.

"I'm sorry," he told her, moving his body off of her and to the side. Placing one elbow on the bed so that his hand could support his head, his other hand was free to trace the length of her arm to her hand, which he took in his, bringing the knuckles up to his lips as he murmured, "You just looked so good in my clothes."

"Don't be sorry," she answered, her eyes mesmerized by her hand in his. Wren's eyes followed their suit before something caught his eye just behind her hand. Dark purple interspersed with yellowing green was peeking out from his sleeve. It seemed to be an old bruise fading, which explained why Lindley had forgotten it when she accepted Wren's short sleeved t-shirt.

At the clench of his jaw, Lindley followed his eyes and jumped when she saw the bruise. Her hands instinctively pulled the shirt sleeve down lower before realizing how suspicious the action was.

"Must be drunk bruises," she laughed weakly, knowing she was caught but hoping he would do her the kindness of playing along with her excuse. "Um—bumping into stuff and all."

Wren took the hand that held hers before she had snatched it away, and he raised the sleeve gingerly. "Lindley, that's a hand. Someone grabbed you."

She was tempted to continue with the excuse of alcohol, that someone must have not known their own strength, but it seemed so obviously fake that it would have been an insult to suggest it. Instead, she went with, "It's nothing."

Gently, yet firmly, Wren asked, "Are there any more bruises on you?"

Lindley shook her head, though she honestly couldn't have given an honest answer. She didn't know.

"Come here," he whispered, and he pulled her body against his, wrapping his arms around her. Lindley didn't know what this was or what she was supposed to do. There was no plan for this. She never dreamed that she would be comforted by a man, and if she had they would have been nightmares.

But this wasn't anything like any man Laura Lynn ever brought home.

"Don't—Don't tell Wyatt."

Wren didn't say anything, but just stroked his thumb back and forth over her skin until he felt her drift into sleep.