by Marie Sexton
“All summer, we had so much fun together, and I was so happy to have you. And that happiness just kept growing. It got bigger and bigger until it was all I thought about. Every day when I woke up, I couldn’t wait to see you again. It was such a great feeling. And I guess I’m an idiot, because I truly didn’t recognize what it meant.” He stopped, but I knew he wasn’t done. “And that would have been okay too, except then, just out of the fucking blue, there were the, well, the urges that went with those feelings. Strong urges. And that was something I honestly hadn’t expected. They caught me completely off guard. Well, I don’t think I need to tell you, it freaked me right the fuck out.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“I’m sorry about what I did. The way I behaved after your birthday… God, I did everything wrong. I wish I could go back and undo it all, but I can’t. I was just so scared.”
At least he could admit he’d screwed up. “And how about now? Does it still freak you out?”
“A little. Not as much. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it the past few weeks. It’s been hard for me to get used to the idea of being with another man, but….” He stopped for a second, and I could hear a smile in his voice when he went on, “I think last night helped quite a bit.”
I smiled too. “I’m glad I took that chance, then.”
“Me too.” I could tell by his voice that he was blushing. “But I don’t mean just that. I woke up a couple of hours ago, and my first thought was that I should leave before you woke up. Not to be an asshole, even though it would have made me one. But just because it seemed easier than facing it. Easier than facing you, after everything I’ve done. But I realized I didn’t want to leave. I realized….” He paused, took a deep breath, and said, “I really like being here.”
“You’re always welcome at my house. You know that.”
“No. I mean”—and I felt his hand on my arm, where it was wrapped around him—“I like being here.”
“Oh.” Here in my bed. In my arms. Was that really what he was telling me? My heart was suddenly racing.
“You make me happy,” he said, his voice full of amazement. “Happier than I’ve ever been. And I’m tired of running away from that.”
Once I thought I could keep my voice level, I asked, as casually as I could, trying to hide the insane hope that was suddenly flooding through me, “Are you saying that you want to be with me?”
A pause, and then, “I think maybe I want to try.”
I held him tighter, my forehead against the nape of his neck, and tried to just concentrate on breathing. He lay against me, so big and strong and yet so vulnerable. Could this really be happening? Could I trust him not to walk out on me like before? I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell him I loved him, or to beg him to reassure me. I wanted so much to kiss him, to touch him everywhere, to shed what little clothing was between us, to spend the whole day in bed with him. But I also knew this was a big step for him, and I didn’t want to push him, especially if meant losing him completely. My erection, which had gone down as we talked, was suddenly back, and I didn’t know if I should be trying to hide that fact from him or not.
“Jared, say something.”
My voice was shaking. “I’m afraid it will all go wrong and you’ll leave me again.”
His back stiffened, his shoulders suddenly tense. “Are you saying you don’t want to try? That I’m already too late?”
Was that I what I was saying? God, no. “I just worry you haven’t thought it through.”
He chuckled. “Are you kidding? I’ve thought it through plenty. It’s the only thing I’ve thought about for months. I’m sorry it took so long to figure it out. I’d understand if you were still angry.”
“I’m not.” I never had been, really. And now? I was amazed and overwhelmed at his sudden surety.
He touched my wrist but didn’t turn to face me. “Jared?”
“What?”
“I’ve told you what I want. But what do you want?”
“Matt.” I tightened my arms around him, kissed his neck, and slid one hand up his smooth stomach to his chest. “All I’ve ever wanted is you.”
He sighed and relaxed into my arms. I kissed his neck some more and let my hand explore his chest and then his stomach. I found that amazing trail of hair leading down from his navel and let my fingers follow it. His breath caught, but he didn’t stop me. I reached down and put my hand over the bulge in his briefs, felt his erection jump against my hand. And suddenly, before I even knew it, he jumped out of bed like he was spring-loaded and started putting his pants on.
My heart sank. “Shit. Matt, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be sorry.” His cheeks were red with embarrassment, but he looked right at me, so I knew he meant what he said. “You don’t need to be sorry. Just… not yet, okay?”
The words “not yet” sounded so much like a promise that I smiled, my misgivings melting away like ice cream on a hot August day. “Okay.”
“I’ll make coffee. You can have the shower first.”
There was a cup of coffee waiting for me on the counter when I emerged from the shower. He stood staring into the fridge with a frown on his face.
“Why do you have so much mustard, anyway?”
“It’s Eddy Mac mustard.”
“What?”
“You know—Ed McCaffrey. He used to play for the Broncos. He makes mustard now, and the money goes to some charity. I was trying to do my part.”
He gave me the pseudo-grin. “You’re such a philanthropist.” He closed the fridge. “Seriously, what do you have to eat? I’m starving.”
“There are Pop-Tarts in the cabinet. And Froot Loops. Although I wouldn’t use the milk if I were you. And I have some peanut butter, but I’m out of bread.”
He leaned on the counter, looked in my eyes, and said, “We’ll definitely need to do something about this kitchen. Are you working today?”
“Yes. I get off at five.”
“Do you have an extra house key?”
“Yes.”
“Can I have it?”
“Of course.”
“I need to go home and change, and then I’ll do some shopping and meet you here after work.”
And that sounded a little bit like a promise too.
Chapter 21
WHEN I got home, he was in the kitchen putting water on the stove to cook spaghetti.
“Here.” He tossed me a yellow bell pepper. “Cut that up for the salad, will you? I got an avocado for you too.” He hated avocados.
“What are you gonna do?”
He winked at me. “Supervise, of course.” He leaned against the counter next to me, and I started chopping. “I feel like I owe you an apology for the whole tutoring thing. I heard the dispatcher give the call to Grant. I knew you’d never do anything inappropriate, but if a call comes in, we have to respond, even if we know it’s bullshit. I knew Grant would be a dick about it too. I thought I’d help by coming with him, but in hindsight, I might have made it worse.”
I understood. I was more annoyed at the mom who’d made the complaint than I was at him. “It’s fine. You were just doing your job, as loathsome as that may be.”
“You’re still doing it, then? The tutoring, I mean?”
“I am.” I told him about Ringo, and the encouraging letters I’d received from parents, and about the visit from Alice Rochester. I don’t cook, so it took me a ridiculously long time to cut up the pepper and avocado. I noticed he was moving closer as I talked, but I kept my eyes on the cutting board in front of me.
Then I felt that gentle tug on the back of my head, and it felt like my heart stopped beating. Such a tiny, innocent thing as he pulled gently on my curls, but it hit me all at once that he really had come back to me. I realized I’d stopped talking, stopped moving; maybe I’d even stopped breathing. I almost wanted to cry but fought it. I made myself take a breath and found that I was shaking.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered, almost in my ear.
“I missed this,” I said quietly.
“I missed you.” He stepped closer. “Jared, I want to try something. Like an experiment. Is that okay?”
“Last time you asked a question like that, it ended with you not speaking to me for almost two months.” I tried to say it lightly, but I didn’t quite pull it off.
He lightly wrapped his arms around me and put his face in my hair. “I know. I’m sorry.”
I thought about it for a minute. I had an idea what he had in mind. “I don’t want to be alone anymore. Whatever you want this to be between us—whether it’s just friends, or something more—I can handle it. Just don’t leave me again.”
“Never. I promise. I learned my lesson.”
I took a deep breath, tried to slow my speeding heart, and turned to face him. “Okay.”
He pulled me close, then took my face in his hands, and looked into my eyes. I started to put my arms around him, but he tensed up. “No. Don’t do that.”
“I’m not allowed to touch you?”
“Not yet.”
“What do you want me to do, then?”
“Stop talking.” He was so serious I might have laughed if my heart wasn’t pounding so hard. I closed my eyes and tried to relax.
He combed his fingers through my hair, and I remembered my birthday—his hands in my hair and his weight against me, his lips against my neck.
And then him walking out the door.
“Relax, Jared,” he whispered, like he was reading my mind. “I was drunk that night, but I’m not now. I won’t leave you like that again, no matter what.”
I pulled my mind away from that night. It would not end like that. I chose to believe he’d keep his promise.
He leaned closer. His breath warmed my lips, and then the faintest brush of his, soft and warm against mine. It was all I could do to keep my hands at my side. Then he actually kissed me, firm but gentle, his lips just barely parted.
He never said I couldn’t kiss back.
I opened my mouth, leaned into him, and brushed the tip of my tongue against his lips.
Whatever wall he’d been trying to keep between us crumbled away at that slight touch. He moaned, and suddenly he was really kissing me, his arms tight around me, his tongue touching mine, his body pressing hard against me. This time, he didn’t object when I put my arms around him.
An eternity later, he pulled back a little. One hand was tangled in my hair, his other arm around my waist, his forehead resting against mine.
“Was that the result you were expecting?” I asked breathlessly.
He closed his eyes but didn’t pull away. He took a deep breath and just barely shook his head. “No.”
“You didn’t think you’d like it.”
This time, a slight nod. “At the very least, I thought it would be like some of the women I’ve kissed: pleasant but uninspiring.”
That made me smile. “And instead…?”
“Oh God.” His breath was shaky. He looked into my eyes and smiled back. “Very inspiring.”
I pulled him to me and kissed him again, and his response was fierce and urgent. It felt almost like an attack that I couldn’t quite fend off. His tongue pushed into my mouth. He had a handful of my hair, gripped so tight I couldn’t move my head without hurting myself. The counter behind me dug painfully into my backside. I put my hands under his shirt, started to feel the hard muscles on his chest. He stopped kissing me just long enough to pull his shirt off, and mine off as well. Then his arms went around me, one hand back in my hair, his mouth warm and insistent against mine. His skin was smooth and feverishly hot, his body strong and solid and perfect under my hands. I couldn’t remember the last time a kiss had felt so passionate and arousing.
His hands moved to the fly of my pants. He tore them open and shoved one hand inside. His grip was hard and rough, not quite painful, and I wanted more of it. I gasped, arching against him, hoping I wouldn’t embarrass myself by coming before we even got our clothes off.
“Jesus, Jared.” His voice in my ear sounded a little frantic. “I don’t really know what to do.”
I laughed a little at that. I should have realized I’d need to take the lead.
I unbuttoned his pants and slid them down just far enough to free his erection. He followed my lead and did the same to me. He was taller than me, so I wrapped one arm around his neck, pulled myself up a little while pulling him down, until our cocks were even, then wrapped my hand around both of them, and started to stroke us off together.
The look on his face might have made me laugh, any other time. He looked so surprised as he looked down at my hand pumping away on both of us. “I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
I really did laugh then.
But then his hand stopped mine. “I want to do it.”
Not like I was going to argue. I wrapped my other arm around his neck, which allowed me to hold myself up at his height a little easier, propped against the counter. I kissed him again and let his big strong hand start to work. I really wished we had our pants off, that we were somewhere other than in the kitchen with the counter digging into me from behind, but there was no way I was going to stop him now. He was moaning into my mouth, his fist moving faster, and—
His phone rang.
The whole world stopped.
“Shit!” he whispered, without pulling his mouth from mine.
“Matt.” His hand was still in the same place, although it’d stopped moving. “Please tell me you’re not going to answer that.”
It rang again. He’d left it on the coffee table in the living room. Technically, it was the property of the Coda Police Department. I’d only seen him use it a couple of times.
“I have to.” He rested his forehead on my shoulder, trying to catch his breath. “You’re the only person besides the department who has that number. And since it’s obviously not you calling….” Another ring. “Shit!” He took a deep, shuddering breath and pushed his face into my hair for just a second, and then he seemed to tear himself away from me.
He went in the living room to take the call. I didn’t listen. I stayed in the kitchen, trying to get my breathing back under control. I pulled my pants back up, although I hoped they weren’t going to stay there for long. Water boiled madly in the pot on the stove. Half of it had boiled away, and we’d been too distracted to even drop the noodles in. Were we still planning on eating dinner, or would that come later?
But when Matt came back, I knew we wouldn’t be eating dinner or continuing with the distraction caused by his “experiment.” He was deathly white, and his hands shook as he put his shirt back on and started searching for his keys.
“Matt, what’s wrong?”
“Cherie’s dead.” His voice came out flat and emotionless, as if it was just business, but I could tell by the tension in his shoulders and around his eyes that he was upset.
“What?”
“She was murdered. Somebody shot her last night. I have to go.”
I was stunned. People aren’t murdered in Coda. People die, of course. We had our share of teenagers killed in drunk-driving accidents or middle-aged men killed in hunting mishaps. But murder? That didn’t happen.
“But… how?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know much, actually. I have to go in for questioning.”
“What?”
I couldn’t believe how calm he was. “As far as any of them know, I’m her boyfriend. Remember? Even if they knew I broke it off, which they don’t, I’d still be a suspect.”
“Holy shit.”
“Jared, listen to me. I told them I was here last night with you. One of them will be by to talk to you to confirm my story.” He stopped now, looked right at me, and I knew what was coming. “Don’t tell them everything. I had a hard enough time convincing them that we weren’t lovers last summer, and now they’ll all know I spent the night here too. Just tell them I came here after we broke up, and I had one too many, and that I didn’t want to drive home,
and so I crashed on your couch.” He looked so scared, and part of me understood, but part of me resented him for it. “Please?”
But then I realized: Cherie is dead. Cherie, who obviously wasn’t my best friend or anything, but still, I’d known her most of my life. And suddenly it felt awfully petty to begrudge him a little privacy from his coworkers.
“I promise.”
IT TURNED out to be the chief of police who came to question me.
“So that’s it? Officer Richards arrived at your house at around nine o’clock, had a few beers, didn’t want to drive home, and slept on your couch the rest of the night?”
It was funny that he was saying, “That’s it?” He’d been questioning me for more than two hours. “That sums it up, yes.”
“So he slept on the couch?”
I hated the stupid smirk on his face when he asked that question. What I really wanted to say was, What does it matter? If he was here, what does it matter if he was on my couch or in my bed? But I’d made a promise.
“Yes.”
He looked a little disappointed by the flatness of my response. “Okay, well, I guess that’s everything, then. Thank you for your time, Mr. Thomas.”
“You don’t really think Matt had anything to do with Cherie’s death, do you?”
He pursed his lips, maybe debating how much to tell me, but then he sighed and said, “No, not really. One of the neighbors heard a shot, and when she looked out, she saw somebody running away. She thinks it was Dan Snyder, Cherie’s ex-husband. It was dark, and she couldn’t tell for sure. But certainly the description she gave matches Dan more than it does Officer Richards.”
I thought of Dan, who was shorter than me and had a beer gut, and I thought of Matt’s tall, muscular body. It’d be hard to mistake one for the other.
“That, along with Dan’s history of violence toward his ex-wife, makes him a much more likely suspect.”
“Then why go to all this trouble?”
“The fact that Matt and Cherie were dating means I have to question him. If I didn’t, it just wouldn’t be due diligence. And the fact that he’s also a police officer means I have to be extra careful so as not to show favoritism. I don’t want anybody saying he got away with murder just because he’s an officer of the law.”