by Tawna Fenske
Sarah squeezes my thigh under the table. “I was so homesick that first term,” she says. “Ian went out of his way to make me feel more comfortable. We lived in the same dorm, and he was one of the only guys on our floor to have a microwave in his room.”
Dana laughs. “That’s a hot commodity in college.”
“Right?” Sarah takes another sip of her water. “I was too broke to afford the fancy organic frozen dinners all my friends were buying, but I insisted I loved Top Ramen better anyway.”
“They are pretty great,” I put in. “I actually still dig the chicken mushroom flavor.”
“You eat instant ramen?” Walter studies me appraisingly, and I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. “I don’t know that I would have pegged you as quite so—”
“Cheap?” I smile so he knows I’m not offended, but Walter shakes his head.
“Down to earth,” Walter supplies, and I cross my fingers that’s a good thing.
I can’t believe they all want to hear me ramble about Sarah’s yellow sweater and cheap instant noodles, but they seem interested in what I’m saying.
So I keep going.
“I had a pretty sweet dorm room, if I do say so myself.” I keep my tone jovial so they know this isn’t a brag session, just me being real, which maybe I don’t do often enough. “I had this big brown beanbag chair and red chili pepper lights around the window and my favorite poster of dogs playing poker.”
Trevor laughs across the table. “I had that same poster.”
“It’s great, right?” I say.
Sarah rolls her eyes. “He also had this hideous comforter that was supposed to resemble a slice of pepperoni pizza.”
“I forgot about that.” I laugh, remembering how Sarah used to pretend to chew on it when she was hungry. “I know you liked me best for my ramen.”
“This is true.” She sips her water, but the way she’s watching me makes me feel like I’m glowing from the inside out.
“Anyway,” I continue, “we were friends our whole freshman year, and we were both dating other people. But I split with my girlfriend our sophomore year, and I decided it was finally time to make a move with Sarah.”
Her gaze lifts from the water glass as surprise flashes in her eyes. “When was this?”
“April eighth,” I tell her, then wonder if remembering the actual date makes me a big dork. I should have just said spring. “You’d just broken up with that guy, Michael whatshisname.”
“Sullivan?”
“I think so.” I take a sip from my own water as I realize everyone’s eyes are on me. But part of me feels like I’m just talking to Sarah. Like we’re the only two people in this room. “I made this romantic ramen dinner,” I tell her. “I picked a bunch of daisies in the commons and had them sitting in water glasses all over the room.”
Water glasses I may or may not have borrowed from the dining hall, but there’s no need to include petty thievery in this story.
“I had this cheesy tuxedo T-shirt left over from a Halloween party, so I wore that and put on the soundtrack from that Drew Barrymore movie—”
“Music and Lyrics?” She rests a hand over her heart. “I love that movie. That’s like my favorite romantic comedy of all time.”
“I know.” I swallow hard, not sure she’ll want to hear what comes next. Or if I should say it out loud. I glance at the others at the table, and they’re all watching me expectantly. Like I’m the most fascinating guy in the room.
But it’s Sarah’s expression that keeps me going. Like she can’t believe what she’s hearing, but she wants to hear more.
“I had this letter I’d written that I planned to read to you,” I tell her. “You were going to come over at seven to watch movies and eat ice cream and talk trash about Michael.”
Her forehead crinkles in a frown. “I don’t rem—wait, did we—?”
“Nah, you and Mikey ended up getting back together earlier that night.” I smile to let her know I’m not heartbroken. Not now, anyway. “It was for the best, though. That wouldn’t have been the right time for us, would it?”
She stares at me for a moment, too dumbstruck to respond. “I—you’re right, I guess. We weren’t ready then.”
“Exactly. Neither of us had achieved our goals or become the person we needed to be.”
And I hadn’t hardened my heart yet. Not the way I needed to do to survive the sort of losses life tends to throw at people.
Sarah licks her lips and glances at the others. We have an audience, and she knows it. “I’m glad the time is finally right,” she says, resting a hand on mine. “That we found each other again.”
Applause breaks out at the other end of the table. I turn to see The Rock—er, Dana’s husband, Kellan—clapping with great enthusiasm. “Bravo,” he says. “Awesome story, man.”
“Hear, hear.” Trevor lifts his wineglass, and everyone else follows suit. Even Sarah, who’s looking a little shaky.
“I’m glad you finally got your girl,” Dana says.
“Me, too,” I say.
I know they’re imagining something different. A future of love notes and flowers and mushy romance, but that’s not our reality now. Our reality is more concrete. More stoic, more reliable, more solid.
It might not be the fairytale they’re all picturing right now, but it’s enough, right? Of course it’s enough, it’s better.
As I squeeze Sarah’s hand, I’m grateful she feels the same. Grateful we’re on the same page about keeping love out of our equation.
It’s better this way, I’m sure of it.
Chapter Nine
Sarah
I’m still reeling from Ian’s story as he leads me to the car after dinner. My brain is a little buzzy from the two glasses of champagne I drank after Trevor insisted we toast our engagement.
Or maybe it’s from learning something I’d never known before. How did I not have a clue Ian was interested in more than friendship back then? Call me an idiot, but I never saw it. I was focused on the immature frat boys I dated one after the other like interchangeable chess pieces, and Ian—well, he always had Julie. True, he never seemed serious about the long-distance girlfriend, but I chalked it up to age and miles.
Was there more to it than that?
And is he right that it’s a good thing we didn’t hook up back then? I sure as hell wasn’t ready for anything serious, and it sounds like he wasn’t, either.
“You have that look,” Ian says as he opens the passenger door for me. “That one you used to get when you were trying to puzzle out international trade flows and comparative economic systems.”
“I do?” I settle into the car, buying myself some time as he closes the door behind me and strides around the front of the car to the driver’s side.
Part of me is hoping he’ll forget by the time he gets behind the wheel, but no dice. “You seem like you’re deep in thought,” he says once he’s in the car and buckled up. “Did I say something wrong to Dana or Walter or”—he hesitates, brow creasing—“or you?”
“No, definitely not.” I shake my head as I grip the little sparkly Prada clutch Lisa loaned me. “You were great. Everything was awesome.”
“So what’s on your mind?”
I fiddle with the zipper on the clutch, stalling. “Was that story true? Did you really have feelings for me back when—back before—”
Back when you had feelings.
Back before Shane died.
Neither of those is the kind thing to say, so I settle for the benign. “Back in college,” I finish. “Were you really interested in me that way, or was that just a story you told to seem—”
“Human?”
I nod, not trusting myself yet to say anything more. To admit how shaken I am by the thought that nineteen-year-old Ian cared for me as more than a friend.
But thirty-year-old Ian is a different man. A man who’s sitting silently beside me, saying nothing as he eases out of the parking spot. He doesn’t speak
until he’s merged onto the freeway, cars swishing past us in splashy puddles. “It was true.”
I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until that moment. It comes out in a whoosh, and I’m grateful for the splash of standing water on the road to mask the sound.
But I don’t know if it’s relief or sadness I’m feeling. How did I not know?
“How did I not know?” If we’re saying things out loud, I might as well put that one out there.
He shrugs and signals right, taking the 205 exit. I’m only dimly aware that this isn’t the way to my house.
“I’ve never exactly worn my heart on my sleeve,” he says. “Not even when I had a heart.”
“But you do have a heart.” I don’t understand why he insists he doesn’t. “It’s still in there, Ian. You can’t just shut off that part of your life because some horrible things happen.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. Just drives silently along the tree-lined highway as the sun starts its lazy descent over the horizon. After a few miles, it’s clear he’s not going to respond. Not to that, anyway.
I try a different question. “Are you driving me out into the country to murder me and bury my body in a shallow grave?”
That gets a smile. “Don’t be silly,” he says. “I know to dig the grave nice and deep.”
“Seriously, Ian, where are we going?”
“Wyeth Airways.”
“Really?” I didn’t know they were all the way out here.
“Their headquarters where I’d be working, that’s downtown,” he says. “This is where they make the planes.”
A sign comes into view up ahead. Wyeth Airways Manufacturing. He keeps driving, though, headed for what looks like an abandoned lot on the adjacent property. His face is etched in concentration as he steers us to a hidden spot tucked at the back of the property beside a cluster of pine trees. It’s not until he’s parked that I glance up and realize why he’s brought me here.
“Oh my God, Ian—it’s beautiful.”
I’ve never seen a sunset like this one. Pinks and golds and reds and little wispy cotton candy clouds. The Columbia River chugs lazily in the background, reflecting the bright splotches of color. In the foreground, airplanes in all shapes and sizes hunker on the pavement like prehistoric animals slumbering against bright slashes of color on the horizon. It’s like something from a postcard.
“I used to bring Shane here,” he says. “There’s an airstrip over there that’s not used anymore, but when it was, we’d come here at sunset and watch the planes take off and land. It was one of his favorite things.”
Tears prick the backs of my eyelids, and I reach across the console to grab his hand. I know he’s uncomfortable with tears or overt displays of affection, so I breathe deeply to get myself under control. The fact that he brought me here at all means everything.
“I’m sure he loved it here,” I say. “I know he loved you.”
Ian turns and holds my gaze with his. I’m still gripping his right hand, but he turns in the driver’s seat and threads his left hand into my hair. When his lips meet mine, the kiss is achingly soft. The heat is still there, but there’s something else this time. Something gentle and fragile.
He breaks the kiss, but doesn’t let go of my hair. “Thanks for being there tonight, Sarah. I couldn’t have done that without you.”
“You’re welcome.” My heart thuds in my ears, and every nerve in my body prickles with an urge to be touched again. “Kiss me some more.”
He laughs and lowers his mouth to mine. He’s still gentle, but there’s an urgency this time. An energy that buzzes louder when I let go of his hand and grab his shoulders. I press my nails against the solid muscle, a silent cue that I want more. That I need to feel him.
Ian responds like I’ve spoken the words out loud. He deepens the kiss, hands still tangled in my hair. I slide my palms down his back, hungry for the bunched muscles in his arms, the solid heat of his chest against mine. If only this stupid console weren’t in the way—
“Backseat,” he growls as he breaks the kiss. The heat in his eyes makes me shiver. “You first.”
“Why, so you can stare at my ass?”
He gives me a smoldering smile. “Damn right.”
I don’t have a problem with that, and I’m aching to feel Ian inside me, so I hike up my dress and clamber over the console.
There’s a throaty chuckle behind me. “I was thinking we’d use the car doors, but that works, too.”
“Doors are for amateurs.” I drop onto the backseat and turn to see him crawling after me. He’s a helluva lot bigger than I am, so his shoulders get stuck for a second. We’re both laughing by the time he flops onto the seat beside me.
“Did we just kill the mood?” I ask.
“Not even close.”
He grabs me roughly by the hips and pulls me onto his lap. I land with my thighs straddling him as my dress hikes up around my waist. The kiss he delivers is still soft, but the urgency is there in full force. I grind against the hardness between his legs, wishing we had a lot less clothing between us.
Breathless, I pull back to look him in the eye. The sun is almost gone now, and dusk edges around us like ink spreading on a tablecloth. But I can still make out the heat in his eyes. I’d recognize it blindfolded.
“I read through the paperwork last night,” I tell him.
Ian blinks, then trails his gaze down to where our bodies are practically joined. “You want to talk about legal documents right now?”
“Not about legal documents, no.” I shift a little on his lap, and Ian gives a stifled groan. I plant a kiss in the space beside his ear, and another right below it where his pulse is hammering. “I was thinking about what’s on page three hundred and forty-one.”
I draw back again to study his face. He looks even more perplexed, if that’s possible.
“You’re going to have to help me out,” he says. “Is that the section on life insurance or the part about trust accounts?”
“Neither.” I brush my tongue along the edge of his ear, giving a light nip when I reach his lobe. “It’s the copy of your recent medical exam showing you are 100 percent healthy and fit.”
I meet his eyes in time to see the flicker of understanding. Now he gets it. His throat moves as he swallows. “That’s right.”
“I’m guessing you haven’t checked your email since before dinner,” I say, “but if you had, you would see a copy of my perfect bill of health, including regular prescriptions. Like birth control pills, for instance.”
Even if I couldn’t see the heat flickering in his eyes, I’d still feel his hardness throbbing between my legs. It’s still in his pants, but not for long.
“Jesus,” Ian breathes. “Are you saying—”
I nod, but I don’t bother with words. I’d rather show him anyway. I reach between my legs and slowly undo his zipper. There’s no need to rid myself of any layers, since I did as he asked and skipped the panties.
My mouth waters as I take out his cock, gripping it tightly in my fist.
Ian gives a soft groan. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. Are you?”
He nods, and there’s an expression of wonder in his eyes. “I’ve never—not without a condom, I mean.”
It’s my turn to be surprised. “Really?”
“Really. I’ve always been 100 percent safe.”
A shiver of pleasure courses through me. It’s such a small first, but for some reason it feels big to me. Or maybe that’s Ian’s cock in my hand.
I don’t waste any more time. Gripping him at the root, I guide him inside me. I mean to go slowly, but he feels so fucking good that I sink down hard and fast.
“Holy fuck.” I gasp as he fills me completely, rocked by the pleasure of it.
Ian looks stunned, too, and more blissed out than I’ve ever seen him. He closes his eyes, his expression almost reverent as I start to move on top of him.
“Sarah,” he chokes out, gripping my hip
s. “Christ. I’ve never felt anything like this.”
Me neither, but I don’t mean the same thing he does. He’s hard and thick and yeah, that feels great. But there’s a different connection here. A joining that goes beyond our bodies, a connection that’s deeper than anything we’re doing physically. My eyes threaten to close as pleasure wraps me in a woolly cocoon, but I force myself to stay locked with Ian. Our gazes meld together, and in that moment we’re connected in a million ways I’ve never come close to being with anyone else.
I rock my hips faster, groaning from the delicious friction of my clit against his body. His shoulders are hard under my hands, and when his mouth finds my throat, that’s just one more contact point of pleasure. I breathe him in, wishing I knew what cologne he wears. It’s intoxicating, and even though I don’t recognize it from college, it’s familiar somehow. So is he, the way we fit together as I move on his lap with pressure building inside me.
The windows are getting steamy, and anyone seeing our car from the outside would notice it rocking. But there’s no one else. It’s just the two of us, gasping and grabbing and writhing against each other.
“Sarah, oh my God. You’re so soft. So—holy Christ. Sarah.”
I love how he keeps saying my name. Like he can’t believe it’s really me, that he’s doing this with me, with the friend he’s known for years. But we’re more than friends now. I don’t know what we are exactly, but the fire and connection between us is otherworldly.
Pleasure fizzes up inside me like that bottle of champagne we uncorked at the table. I feel myself bubbling over, and I cry out as I drive myself onto him.
“Ian.”
He thrusts up harder, needing no more direction than that one word. It’s enough, this is enough, and he pumps into me through each new starburst of pleasure. He’s a few seconds behind me, but I feel it the instant he lets go. There’s a ripple of tremors as he groans and fills me up completely.