Dirty Promise

by Penny Wylder

  “Game of Thrones,” I say. It’s the only one in the series I ever read, but I loved it so much I read it twice.

  He looks at me, wide-smiled and open-mouthed. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No, I’m not joking. Have you read it?” I thought I would have to defend it to him, but then he comes back to bed and lies next to me, exposing his inner arm.

  Up close to his armpit there’s a passage that reads, ‘Once you accept your flaws no one can use them against you’.

  “Tyrion Lannister!” I say, sitting up and leaning in closer for a better look. He has several other tattoos on his body that are sayings and I wonder if they are from other books.

  “He’s my favorite character and that’s one of my favorite quotes,” I tell him.

  “I never would have pegged you as a fantasy buff,” he says.

  I give him a sideways glance and smile. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

  “Like what?” He rubs the skin of my inner thigh, tickling me, but in a soothing, wonderful way.

  “Like, under all the makeup and hair dye lives a supernerd.”

  He props himself on an elbow, his smile taking up most of his face. “You? There’s no way.”

  I lift an eyebrow. Challenge accepted.

  “When I was in high school, I read every book in the Forgotten Realms series,” I say.

  “As in Dungeons and Dragons?”

  “That would be the one.”

  His laughter shakes the bed.

  “Kia used to tease me relentlessly about it. She thought I was the biggest geek in the world until she jumped on the Harry Potter train and finally understood. The struggle is real,” I say.

  He shakes his head, laughter trailing off.

  “I wish you could’ve met her,” I say.

  “Me too.”

  We sit there, quiet for a moment when he asks, “Do you cosplay too?”

  “No, but I’ve done makeup on friends who do. I’ve been to a ton of conventions.”

  He takes my hand, holding it and playing with my fingers. “You’re officially my favorite person on Earth.”

  “You’re mine too,” I say.

  8

  A few days later, once Max has gotten his passport and ties up all his loose ends at work, we have everything we need to travel and we leave for Peru. I’m so glad he’s with me. There’s not a single boring moment when he’s around. Even on the long plane ride. Sometimes we read, sometimes we play Mad Libs or other games like Scrabble and Boggle. Mostly we just talk. The more I learn about him the more I want to know.

  We finally land in Peru. It’s more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen. Max insists on paying for everything, even though I tell him I can pay my own way. He’s not having it. We stay in luxury hotels, but on the hike, we sleep in a tent and that’s the most romantic part of the whole trip. Every night, even though we’re both incredibly exhausted from miles of walking, we make love. Not sex. This isn’t two naked sweaty bodies thrashing together. What happens in that tent is sensual and lovely and makes me feel more whole than I’ve felt in a long time. We look into each other’s eyes, and he whispers to me, telling me how beautiful I am and how much he wants me. It truly is making love on my part because that’s exactly how I feel. I love this man. There’s no denying it anymore. I won’t be the first to say it out loud, but I might be the first to admit it to myself.

  After two weeks, we leave Peru and go to Scotland. Jet setting is more tiring than I thought it would be. We arrive in Edinburgh and go straight to the bed and breakfast we booked. It’s an adorable little country home surrounded by gardens and Scottish Highland cows roaming in the fields around it. They are the cutest things I’ve ever seen, all long-haired and fluffy with long horns. Our cab driver, in his thick accent, tells us that they are a protected animal kept as pets only and are treated better than most dogs in the states.

  Max and I both get some much needed sleep before we set off to see the sights. I could live like this, every day lying next to him, breathing in that scent I’ve come to know and love, waking up to that face every morning. The way he looks at me makes me certain he feels it too, but he hasn’t said it. Maybe he’s waiting for me to say it first. Maybe he’s as afraid of getting his heart broken as I am.

  When we wake up from our nap, it’s still early. The sky is overcast and it’s cold out. That’s the weather in most of Scotland on a daily basis. They basically have two seasons: cold and colder. I really liked Peru, but I love Scotland. I can feel this place in my bones, like I belong here. Just being here makes me feel healthier and happier, both mentally and physically.

  The first day we do the usual touristy stuff. We go see the Falkirk Wheel that lifts the ferries in the canal, and visit the Edinburgh, Dunnottar, and Sterling Castles.

  The next day we go to the royal gardens and then, the whole point of the trip, Loch Ness. Loch Ness is a giant lake that looks more like a still ocean. You can’t see the other side even with binoculars. Only steamboats are allowed on the lochs to keep from polluting the water. Max and I ride one of the boats, a large white barge that reminds me of something out of a Mark Twain novel.

  The wind on my face numbs my cheeks and I can’t feel my fingers, but I love it. There aren’t many people on the boat and we’re alone on the deck. Max stands behind me, his arms around my waist, keeping the rest of me warm. He lays his chin on my shoulder.

  “Do you see it?” he says.

  “What?”

  He points into the distance. “Over there.” I strain my eyes, but all I see is a lump of wood floating on the surface. “It’s Nessie.”

  I give him a playful jab in the stomach with my elbow and he makes an exaggerated “oomph” sound before laughing.

  I watch the smooth gray surface, waiting for any kind of ripple or disturbance in the water. According the tour guide, this is where most of the sighting of Nessie have happened.

  “I love being here with you,” he says in my ear, kissing my earlobe. I lean into him, savoring the warmth of his breath on my cold skin. His thumb brushes the swell beneath my breasts. I’m not sure if he’s aware of where his hands are since I have a bulky jacket on, but I’m as aware of his touch as much as I would be if I were naked. It sends chills up and down my arms. My body wakes up, forgetting about the cold.

  I move my hips ever so slightly and he responds by pressing up against me.

  “Maybe we should head back to our room after this,” I tell him.

  “What about Nessie?” he asks.

  “Nessie has been around since 1933. I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

  I feel the low rumble of his laughter and him getting hard as he presses against me.

  As soon as the boat docks, we head back to the room. He doesn’t waste any time stripping me out of my clothes. This isn’t a romantic coupling like those we shared in the mountains of Peru. Right now we’re feeding a craving that our bodies need, a primeval desire.

  He’s rougher than usual, yanking my clothes off with brute strength, ripping at my panties and tearing them in half. I’m so fucking turned on as he slaps my ass and pulls my hair. He uses what’s left of my panties to tie my hands behind my back.

  Whatever has gotten into him is wild and desperate and I’m loving every minute of it. As soon as we landed, I’d bought a bottle of lube—it definitely wasn’t something I wanted to bring on the plane and have TSA question me about.

  “Look in the bedside table,” I tell him.

  He opens the drawer and pulls out the bottle. “You might need that,” I say. “Depending on what you’re planning.”

  He has a certain laugh when he’s excited that’s different than his usual life. It’s funny and adorable. “I like the way your mind works,” he says.

  We spend the next few hours having the best sex we’ve ever had together. For my part, it’s the best sex I’ve ever had. I have a feeling it is with him too because when we’re done, he’s full of compliments and cuddles
.

  Afterwards we go to dinner at a traditional pub. Both of us are starving after the bedroom Olympics we just put ourselves through.

  Max sips the foam off the top of his pint and licks the bubbly mustache it left behind with the tip of his tongue. The lighting is dim and makes him look mysterious and sexy. Why am I so turned on right now after everything we just did?

  He asks, “What are your plans after you’re done with the bucket list?”

  That calms the flame. I look up at the TV in the corner of the pub above the bar. There’s a soccer game playing—football as they call it in Europe.

  “I don’t know. I try not to think about it. I’m afraid once I finish the list, Kia will feel gone for real. Without her, I’m not certain of my future. She’s such a huge part of my past that I don’t know who I am without her.”

  He reaches across the table and grabs my hand. Holding it firmly in his. “We’ll figure it out together.”

  “I love you—” I say, then stop abruptly when I realize the words that just spilled out of my mouth. I was thinking them, but hadn’t meant to say them out loud. They just came out! Shit. I just told him I love him. I wasn’t going to be the first to say it. I’m never the first to say it. The few serious boyfriends I’ve had have always been first. Even then I was reluctant to say it because it was never like this, whatever this is between me and Max. This is the first time I’ve truly felt love for someone who wasn’t Kia or my family.

  He looks as shocked as I feel, and part of me wishes I could take the words back and forget it ever happened. But it’s too late now. Another part of me is glad I said them because it’s how I feel and I’m getting sick of bottling up my emotions. I know from experience that they don’t stay bottled for long and when they do decide to come out, it’s at the worst times.

  “You don’t have to say anything—” I start to say, but he cuts me off.

  “I love you too,” he says.

  I study his face, looking for truth. I don’t see any twitches or signs that he’s uncomfortable or lying.

  “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it,” I tell him. “You don’t have to say it just because I did. That word is important to me.”

  “I love you,” he says again.

  My chin quivers. I don’t know why I want to cry right now, but I do. I refuse to do it, though. He’s had to deal with enough of my tears. “Good,” I say.

  He nods and kisses the top of my hand. “Now that that’s settled, do you want dessert?”

  “I would love some.”

  “You would love some?” With exaggerated movements, he puts his hand to his chest, his eyes wide and dramatic. “Are you saying that your feelings for me are the same as your feelings for dessert?”

  I throw a beer nut at him because he’s acting ridiculous and he’s just so stinking cute when he’s like that. I love that his personality runs the gamut. He can be goofy and funny, intense and seductive, loving and wonderful. I never feel like we’re in a box and I have to act a certain way and be a certain way with him all the time.

  “Yes,” I say.

  He bows his head. “I’m honored.”

  I laugh. “You should be because I fucking love dessert.”

  He chuckles, but his laughter soon dies down and he sighs. “I have to be honest with you about something.”

  My stomach drops. Those are scary words.

  “Okay …” I say.

  I wait for a bomb to drop, for him to tell me he has a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or a kid. It figures that some kind of secret will come out and burst my bubble just when I’m about to start putting my life back together after losing Kia.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I saw you at the bar those nights when you were drunk with your friend and laughing and looking at me through the window of my shop. I knew exactly who you were when you came in.”

  I stare at him. “Are you serious?”

  He nods. “I thought you were cute, and when I saw you at my shop, I thought you came in to ask me on a date but were just too nervous to say anything. That’s why I was messing with you about the fairy and butterfly tattoos, and kind of being a dick. I guess that was my terrible way of flirting.”

  I gasp, mocking outrage. “You thought I was cute? Cute is for puppies and newborns.”

  He smiles and comes over to my side of the table, sitting next to me. He kisses my check and neck, and finally, my lips. “You’re more than cute. You’re sexy as hell and I love everything about you.”

  I can’t help but wonder what Kia would’ve thought about all of this. Here was the man on her bucket list and now he’s in love with me, and I’m in love with him. This doesn’t feel like her bucket list anymore. I guess it never did.

  When Max and I get back home, all I want to do is go home and veg out for the next week. But there’s no time to sleep off the jet lag. My vacation time is running out and Max will also have to go back to work soon. Real life is crashing down on us, but there’s still one last task to do and one last envelope to open.

  We go to the town where Kia grew up and the ice cream shop she loved as a kid. It’s a little cold out for ice cream, but it doesn’t seem to stop anyone. The place is packed and there’s nowhere to park so we have to park on the side of the road and cross the street. The ice cream shop is in a rustic building nestled in the middle of a town with only three stop lights. We go inside. The décor looks as though it hasn’t been updated since the 1970s. Everything is covered in sun-bleached flowers, from the benches to the wall paper. It’s really hideous to look at but the ice cream is to die for. Max gets mint chocolate chip, while I order Kia’s favorite: rose. I’ve never tried rose flavored anything. Oddly enough, it’s delicious.

  We sit in a booth by the window, watching the cars go by. Max sits right beside me and I lay my head on his shoulder, thinking. I guess because this place was her favorite, it makes me think of her and of one of the last times I was with her. We were snuggled up in her bed and she was asking me questions about my plans after she was gone, just as Max had done at the pub in Scotland. I tried to change the subject then too. I hated the idea that Kia was going to die, but there was nothing anyone could do about it. In the back of my mind I held out hope that somehow, someone would figure out a way to save her. I was in total denial.

  She didn’t even seem upset about it. In the beginning she was, especially when her pacemaker wasn’t working the way it should have been, and after all the surgeries had failed. But something happened after that, I’m not sure what, but she changed. She had accepted her fate far more than the rest of us. Her family and I were the only ones still holding on. She kept telling me I needed to live my life when she was gone and find happiness anywhere I could. I told her there was no such thing as happiness without her and that was that. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She didn’t say anything after that, just sat there looking thoughtful. Actually, she looked like she was plotting. A week later she died.

  “Kia was up to something,” I say.

  Max looks at me, licks the green ice cream from his lips. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t think this trip was about her.”

  He smiles. “I never thought it was—at least not after I got to know you. When you told me about Kia, I knew that wasn’t her bucket list, it was yours.”

  “What, why didn’t you say that?”

  He shrugs. “This was obviously important to her, and to you, so it wasn’t my place to speculate.”

  “I’m reading the last envelope.”

  “Do it. You’re at the last place, having ice cream. You completed the task.”

  I pull it out of my purse. Max leans closer to read it too.

  Dear Fiona,

  I’m sure by now you’ve probably figured out that these adventures are more about you than they are about me. If this were truly my bucket list, you’d probably still be lost after spelunking in a cave right now. But this isn’t about me. My only regret would have been for you to
continue to mourn me after I’m gone and not live the most epic life you possibly could. Your heart is too big to keep it contained to little ol’ me. Spread that shit around. Bring joy and love to others the way you have to me, and make sure you get it in return.

  Love always and forever,

  Kia

  I put my fist to my mouth to hold in the sob that’s aching to get out. Max puts his arms around me. Everything about his touch is safe and comforting.

  “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

  EPILOGUE

  “How’s it feeling?” Max asks as the needle glides across the skin of my upper arm. We’re going on three hours of my tattoo.

  “I’m okay.”

  We’ve been married almost three years now and it never gets old watching him work, the way the front of his hair hangs down over his forehead, that deep focus he has. He really is a master of his craft and I love being around him when he’s being creative.

  He sits back and admires his work. “All done. Go to the mirror and check it out.”

  What a relief. I didn’t want to tell him how much it hurt because I didn’t want to look like a baby and be like the people his co-workers complain about. I’m glad he was able to do my tattoo when we were alone and the shop was closed.

  I stand in front of the full-length mirror. “Oh my God,” I say, trying not to cry when I see the stunning tattoo.

  It’s a heart with wings and roses and a banner going through it that says ‘Kia’. It’s dated two years ago when our daughter was born. I named her after my best friend. After all, I wouldn’t have a daughter by this lovely man had my best friend not encouraged it.

  Max steps up behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “You like it?” he asks.

  “I love it.”

  He kisses the bare skin of my shoulder, then trails kisses up my neck. I close my eyes and focus on the way his soft lips are so familiar and how they know exactly where to land. He has an intimate knowledge of every part of my body and knows what turns me on the most. His hands go under my shirt. He unhooks my bra so that it hangs loose. He then reaches around to cup my breasts and tweak my nipples, sending bolts of lightning to my clit as if those two body parts were one in the same.