Page 120 of Stroked Long
“Hey, are you okay?” Ruby asks, sensing something wrong.
I run my hand over my face and pull out of her. “Yeah, let me get a washcloth.”
In the bathroom, I wet a washcloth and stare in the mirror. Despite being inside Ruby in the most intimate way possible, I look like crap. The pressure to be perfect for Ruby, to show her I can be a man she may want to be with has become tiring, and it shows in the dark circles under my eyes.
When I return, Ruby is sprawled across the bed in all her naked glory. She is so open and honest with me. Does she hate that I’m not as open with her?
As I hand her the washcloth the alarm on my phone goes off. Eight thirty. Time to call Eva.
My need to check on my sister is something I haven’t spoken to Ruby about, so I put on a pair of shorts, grab my phone and say, “I need to make a call. I’ll be right back.”
She sits up on her elbows, her face deeply concerned. “Did I do anything wrong?”
“No,” my brow creases, “why would you think that?”
“It just seems like you’re retreating. I know you, Bodi, and you normally spoon me right after.”
Hating the look on her face, I walk over to her and place a kiss on her lips. “I will be right back, give me a second, Rubes.”
“Okay.” She still seems uneasy, but I can’t reassure her now, I have to call Eva.
Stepping into the other room, I place my call and wait impatiently for Eva to pick up.
“Hello?”
After the fourth ring she answers, only for me to barely hear her. “Eva? Where are you?” My anxiety picks up as someone screams in the background.
“Out living up Rio,” she slurs.
“Are you drunk?” Anxiety turns into anger.
“I don’t know, are you drunk?”
I practically hiss into the phone. “You know damn well I’m not drunk. What the fuck are you doing, Eva? Where are you?”
“I’m out with Lauren, calm down. We’re fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re in a fucking foreign city, drunk, and no idea how to get around.”
“Settle down,” she says in a condescending tone. “We are walking distance from our place and we know what we’re doing.”
“You’re supposed to be back at your place, locked up and sending me a picture,” I bite out.
“I have a life, unlike you, Bodi.” The way she says my name isn’t like her. The alcohol is controlling her inflection.At least that’s what I tell myself.“I’m in Rio; I’m not going to tuck myself in at eight thirty. Stop being my dad and worry about yourself.”
Pain ricochets through my chest.
Stop being my dad.
My palms turn clammy.
Stop being my dad.
I can’t help the nervous jitter that takes over my legs.
Stop being my dad.
“Eva,” I speak softly. “Please go home.”
