The Fear of Falling

by B. Cranford

  The noise she made had me laughing. “Rowan, please. Can you see me on The Bachelorette? I’m definitely more of a Love Is Blind type.”

  “Good point. Um . . . you got the job,” I guessed after a brief pause, knowing I was right before she even had a chance to confirm it.

  “How did you know?” she grumbled as if annoyed, but I could hear the excitement in her voice, nonetheless. “I was beginning to think they weren’t going to, but they ended up calling this morning. I wanted to talk to you, tell you, earlier, but I knew it was going to be a busy day.”

  “I’d have made time for you. Even without the good news.”

  Silence greeted my words, and I wondered if I’d overstepped the mark. “Lenny?”

  “That’s really sweet. The sweetest thing I think anyone’s ever said to me.” She was smiling, I could tell from the way she spoke. Which prompted my smile.

  So, there I sat, looking like a grinning idiot in the middle of the parking lot at my practice, wishing like hell I could wrap my arms around her and spin her around in congratulations.

  Uh-huh, you read that right. I was thinking—and acting—like a lovesick fool again, and I was surprisingly okay with that.

  “Can I come by tomorrow?” I asked because I needed to see her, and because I was worried if I didn’t say something, I’d reveal way too much to her about how I was feeling. “Congratulate you in person. Maybe give you another driving lesson?” Maybe pin you to your door again, this time without the untimely interruption?

  “Actually, I need to head that way tomorrow to hand in some paperwork and get started on everything. I have a ton to do if I’m going to be ready for the start of the school year.”

  Cock blocked again. I wanted to grumble and complain, but I resisted the urge. Barely. You have to understand, I’d been picturing getting this woman naked for nearly two whole weeks. “No problem, I get it,” I replied instead, aiming for amiable good guy and not grumpy asshole who’s desperate to get into your panties.

  “You . . . get what?” She sounded puzzled, which in turn puzzled me.

  “That you’re going to be too busy for a while to—”

  “I’m not,” she cut me off, which thank god she did. I’d felt like shit just trying to say it, I don’t think I’d have been able to finish with “to see me and finish what we started.”

  “You’re not?” I repeated. Clearly, this chat was an epic for the ages. “Too busy?”

  “No, unless you are?” Awkwardness had presented itself as the third party to our conversation, and wow, did it know how to take over.

  “I’m not. Maybe we could . . .” Trailing off, I hoped she’d offer up a plan because I had no idea what was acceptable to suggest. Dinner? A movie? A free dental exam, with a side of hanky-panky in my chair?

  To be clear, I didn’t offer that to just any patient. But for Lenny, yeah, I’d make an exception.

  “I have a lot to do tomorrow, but since Willa is flying out early, I figured I could get it all done, and then maybe we could grab a bite to eat? After you’re done for the day too?”

  “Yes. Good, yes. Okay, yes.”

  She laughed in my ear. “Question, are your hands flailing right now?” she asked, humor dripping from her every word.

  “No. Just my brain.”

  “Ah, okay. Because you sound like I felt the day we met when I couldn’t get my hands to operate normally. Actually, anytime I can’t get my hands to act normally.”

  An apt comparison. Something about thinking she was too busy for me, even momentarily, had collapsed my ability to think, converse, or generally act like the mature human being I allegedly was. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. It’s kind of a relief not to be the only weird one in this . . . whatever this is.” The brief respite from awkwardness, which had started when she’d lightly asked about my hands, ended. It was obvious she wasn’t sure what we were, and that was something I figured I should correct.

  And quickly.

  “A relationship. That’s what this is.”

  No response beyond a quiet hmm. Did she think I wasn’t serious?

  “Lenny, I told you I wanted to do this thing with you. I meant it.” Clearing my throat, I laid it out for her. “You’re my girlfriend, which makes me your exceptionally good-looking boyfriend.”

  “Exceptionally good-looking with perfect teeth boyfriend, you mean?”

  “Exactly, see, you know what we are.” Slumping back into my seat, I exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. But still, I wanted to make sure there was no confusion going forward. “Even if you weren’t moving here to take that job, Lenny, I’d still want you. Flailing hands, to-do list, and all.”

  Quiet greeted my declaration before she let out a giggly noise that sounded breathless. “I take back what I said before.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, to protest, but she kept talking before I had the chance.

  “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  Dinner the next day started off almost as awkward as our phone conversation had been. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on had built a barrier between us that hadn’t been there before. Whether that was because of Willa’s impromptu visit—and what she’d interrupted—or something else, I didn’t know.

  But whatever the reason, it sucked.

  “So, it went well?” I inquired, despite having already asked a variation on the question. “The school tour, meeting the other teachers who were there.”

  A nod, a slight smile. Did she find tonight as uncomfortable as I did? “Very well, actually. It felt, I don’t know . . . good being there, seeing my room, getting to know some of the other staff.” She didn’t say it, but I could tell she was thinking about her friend that she’d lost.

  “You miss her, huh?” Setting my knife and fork on my plate, I leaned back in my chair. “The woman who you dyed your hair for.”

  “Gale. Yeah.”

  “Tell me about her.” Yes, I sounded like a therapist. No, I didn’t care. All I wanted was for our conversation to start flowing again, like it had on that first day—easily, naturally, without too-long silences and repeated questions.

  “She loved reading about mountain climbing and wanted to see Mount Everest from base camp. She worked at our school for nearly thirty years and remembered everyone’s names like that”—she snapped her fingers—“whereas I needed name tags for the first two weeks. She always knew the right thing to say, even if it was also the hard thing to say. And she told me it was time I got out there and lived.”

  The way she emphasized “lived” felt important. I opened my mouth to ask, but Lenny was already talking again.

  “She already knew by then that she was sick. Maybe not that it would take her so fast, but she definitely knew that she was in for a hell of a fight.” Lenny’s eyes filled with tears, leaving me no choice but to reach out and put my hand over hers. Well, not no choice, but I didn’t think getting mad that she was sad would be helpful in any way.

  She smiled sadly down at our hands before continuing, “I got into the car one morning, and she was more adamant than she’d ever been. I thought nothing of it at the time, but . . .”

  “She was looking out for you.”

  “Definitely,” she agreed immediately. “That’s just the kind of person she was.”

  “For the record, it’s really hard to sit here and not say ‘I’m sorry,’ but for you, I’m doing it.” I grinned, not above using the memory of our Island Heights meeting to try to lighten the mood a little.

  It worked. Lenny’s eyes cleared, playfulness taking the place of her grief. “Oh, yes, of course. The day you found out my dark, dirty secret.”

  “That you’re Canadian, yep.” I shook my head. “Such a cryin’ shame.”

  She leaned a little closer, the movement brushing her breast lightly on the back of my hand where it was still linked with hers. It was a struggle, but I held back a groan at the softness accompanied by an electric feeling that made me
want to stand up, ditch the check, and get the hell out of there. “I’d say don’t hold it against me, but something tells me I’d like it and that you should, in fact, hold it against me.”

  “It” means my dick, right? My brain was sure that’s what she was implying. The dick in question was also 100% certain that was her intention. Only my heart—the sappy, already-totally-into-the-woman organ that it was—wasn’t convinced.

  Probably because it wanted more than just what was under her very cute floral skirt.

  “I will hold anything against you that you want, Challenger. Say the word.” There, I thought, pleased with my response, that’s a nice compromise. I’d made my intention known without directly referring to anything south of my belt.

  “I’m kind of happy to hear that because I have a little confession to make.” She bit her bottom lip and looked at me with hooded eyes. Whether or not she’d done it intentionally, she was seducing the hell out of me with that look alone, ensuring that whatever I held against her was rock hard.

  “Uh oh,” I joked, “should I be worried?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what exactly?”

  “How you feel about sharing your bed?”

  Though it sounded like a question from the way her voice rose at the end, I didn’t treat it as such. “Oh well, in that case, I’m not worried. Because I feel very good about sharing my bed with you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Lenny

  Inwardly, I cheered. Outwardly, I remained as cool as a cucumber.

  Assuming cucumbers were as cool as everyone always thought they were—such a weird expression. And so not the time to be thinking about it.

  It was confession time. Time to cross “Invite yourself to someone’s else place for a night of hot and (hopefully) dirty sex” off my list.

  It was amazing how many sexual things were being added to my list since meeting Rowan.

  “I brought an overnight bag but didn’t book a place to stay.” Nibbling at my lower lip because it was less obvious than throwing my hands around, I waited a beat before adding, “Since I’m your girlfriend and all, I figured I didn’t need to wait for an invitation.”

  Rowan blinked at me five times. I know because I counted, The absence of his glasses making it easier to track each raising and lowering of his lashes. The slow movement amping my nerves up and causing my fight or flight instinct to rear its head to see if it was needed.

  It was not.

  “You have a standing invitation to stay at my place whenever you want. For however long you want.”

  “Good to know.”

  He nodded, strain obvious on his face. Briefly, I wondered if it was as evident below the table but kept that musing to myself. Something told me Rowan was on the edge.

  Rowan was that something, in case you were wondering.

  “I’m getting the check, and then we’re getting out of here.”

  “No dessert?” I asked, only to tease. I didn’t want dessert. I wanted him.

  “No dessert. I’ll make it up to you in other ways.” He lifted his one eyebrow in a very cocky manner, leaving no doubt what he meant.

  I was getting another in-person orgasm from him—finally—and I couldn’t wait.

  After he’d successfully made eye contact with our server, requesting our bill, and refraining from begging them to hurry, he turned back to me, eyes brimming with desire.

  “You okay, Row?” I asked, more just to break the building tension and silence.

  “Yes. No? I don’t know.” He swiped a hand across his mouth. “I’m aware of the fact I’m acting like a sex-crazed idiot right now, but . . .”

  I picked up where he trailed off, “We’ve waited long enough already.”

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  It was strange, really, thinking about how long I’d known him. Because timewise, it really wasn’t all that long. Especially factoring in that I’d only seen him twice since the day at the park. For the past few days, we’d been limited to short phone calls—not even enough time to recreate our day-after phone sex sesh that was forevermore ranked among my top five sexual experiences.

  I was absolutely certain of that.

  It was now just a matter of adding four more experiences to round out those top spots.

  Experiences that I wanted to have with Rowan.

  “Talk to me,” he all but demanded, his voice even deeper than usual, his happy crinkles somehow joining the rest of his face in looking completely worked up and borderline lascivious.

  Borderline because I enjoyed seeing on his face how much he wanted me.

  “About what?” I asked in reply, determined to not let my mind lead me away.

  “Anything. Something. I don’t know.” He shrugged before looking around the restaurant, eyes not focusing on any one thing before returning to me. “How was Willa when you put her on the plane this morning?”

  Touched that he’d asked—even if only to take his mind off sex—I grinned as an insidious voice in the back of my head whispered, “Why is he asking about her? Does he wish she was in your place?”

  I pushed back against the voice by reminding myself that one, Rowan was here after making a point to tell me what he wanted from our relationship; two, he was anxiously awaiting the return of the bill so we could, you know, go back to his place and bump uglies; and three, even if he wanted her, Willa would never, ever betray me like that. Fixing my smile back in place, I told myself that I needed to be strong enough to believe in myself and Rowan if this was ever going to work.

  And damn, how I wanted it to work.

  “Sorry,” I said, making sure to look Rowan in the eyes so I could soak in the obvious desire there. “I got distracted. What was the question?”

  His eyes flamed—did he think I’d been distracted by dirty thoughts? Wouldn’t be the first time around him, no doubt. “I asked how Willa was at the airport this morning.”

  “Right, right. She was her usual self, talking non-stop about how she was swearing off men for the foreseeable future, maybe forever. And that she wasn’t going to get sucked into some relationship going nowhere ever again.”

  “You believe her?”

  “I believe that she believes that. Look, I adore Willa, but she’s always been a little scattershot in her approach to life. It works for her, for the most part. But with men, she doesn’t always make the best choices. So I’m all for her swearing off them for a bit.”

  “The guy she’d left to come here. Did you get the story?”

  Nodding, I remembered Willa telling me how great he seemed until he’d run off with her diamond pendant necklace. Our parents had given us one each for our graduation present, mine hanging around my neck at that very moment. “He was another deadbeat thief.”

  “Another one?” Rowan frowned. “How many has she encountered?”

  “You probably don’t want to know. She’s smart, though. She usually keeps her valuables locked up when she’s not around, so none of them have ever really taken off with something of value.”

  Stupid Lenny. I knew it sounded like I was making excuses for her, but I didn’t know how to explain her to him. Which sucked because it felt like betrayal—like the part of me that resented her or was jealous of her was getting one back by making her sound . . . stupid.

  Which, to be clear, she absolutely wasn’t. She was Willa—and that really was the only way to explain her.

  Rowan looked like he wanted to say something but refrained, taking the black folder the server was handing him and sliding his card back into his wallet. He must have already dropped it off and returned it for Rowan’s signature, and I hadn’t even noticed.

  “She kind of lost her head over this one. Between that and the fact her roommate was in on it.”

  “Shit, really?”

  “Yeah, she told the girl to get the hell out before she left to come here, so hopefully, she’ll be heading back to a nice, empty apartment and a brand-new start.”

  “She didn’t g
et the police involved?”

  I shrugged. “She has her reasons for not doing that,” I replied, somewhat defensively.

  Rowan didn’t say anything as he signed the credit card slip, though I sensed that he wanted to. I tensed, waiting for him to speak.

  “Fair enough.” His mouth tightened as he spoke, his hand coming up to rub against his jaw. “You ready to get out of here and”—he cleared this throat, eyes practically incinerating me—“share my bed?”

  My eyes widened. Of all the things I thought he’d say, for some strange reason, that wasn’t on my shortlist. I guess in the talk about Willa and what she had and hadn’t done, I’d forgotten about the reason he’d asked about her in the first place.

  To distract himself.

  From what was about to happen.

  Oh. Hell. Yes. I was ready to get out of there. Did a little part of me perk up and try to remind me that I was the chickeniest chicken that ever was a chicken and that I shouldn’t leave with Rowan? Of course. This is me we’re talking about.

  Did I listen? Absolutely not. #Progress.

  I was finally getting the hang of the “living in the moment, facing my fears” thing. I might’ve expressed my pleasure at that in some capacity but one, I drew the line as public displays of embarrassment, and two, I was too busy nodding vehemently at Rowan. “I’m definitely ready.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Rowan

  Lenny looked tense. Ever since I’d asked about her sister—something I was doing for one reason, and one reason only, and that was to distract myself from the increasingly filthy thoughts filling my head—she’d looked, well, tense.

  Seated in my passenger seat, her hands clasped in her lap, the same position she’d been in since I’d escorted her out of the restaurant and into my car, I wondered briefly at the thoughts running through her head. And then realized that thinking about it was stupid when I could just ask her. “You okay, Challenger?”