by Abby Jimenez
The apartment was dark and stale smelling.
“You didn’t reply to my texts so I decided to make sure you were alive,” I said, looking around, feeling an instant urge to throw open windows and start cleaning. “This place looks like you’re losing a game of Jumanji. What the hell happened in here?”
He leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms over his chest, watching me as I put the bag of food down. I walked over to him and put a hand on his cheek to feel if he had a temperature. He closed his eyes at the contact and breathed through his nose, grimacing like it hurt to have his head touched.
“You don’t feel hot. Do you have a headache?”
He opened his eyes and stared at me.
I had to be honest—I’d hoped for a happier reunion. I thought…
I don’t know what I thought. I shouldn’t be thinking anything. I shouldn’t be hoping for anything either.
“Stomach?” I asked.
Silence.
“Voice box?”
He flexed his jaw. “It’s not a good idea for you to be here right now,” he said flatly, his voice cold.
I gave him a crooked smile. There was nowhere I’d rather be. I didn’t give a shit if he was contagious. “What hurts?”
It took him a moment. “Everything.”
I snorted. “Wow. A man cold. Okay, I’m equipped to deal with this. Come on. Get in bed.”
“Kristen, you should go. You should look for another carpenter,” he said.
“Wow. Are you dying?” I laughed, opening up my purse and taking out my Aleve. I shook two into my hand and handed him the Coke I brought him.
“It’s funny that you bring up getting a new carpenter.” I handed him the pills, and he stood there looking at them in the palm of his hand, passively.
“Guess who showed up at the butt crack of dawn this morning begging for his job back. Miguel.” I shook my head. He’d seen my carpenter ad on Craigslist. “Lost his job at Universal.”
I put my hands on my hips and peered around his apartment. God, it was a mess. Clothes everywhere. His duffel bag from Vegas was still plopped next to the bed. He probably had two weeks of laundry to do.
Looks like it’s my time to shine. This place was getting an exorcism. I’d get on it as soon as I got the patient in bed.
I turned back to him. “I don’t even want to know what that dude did to get fired. He was always a little creepy. Like, Silence of the Lambs, ‘it puts the lotion on its skin’ creepy. And he came over, and I was in nothing but a robe.” I shivered as it gave me the heebie-jeebies. “To be honest, it was too bad you weren’t there. I could have used a bouncer.”
His eyes bored into me, his messy hair over his forehead. He stared at me just long enough for it to be weird and then set his soda down. In a single fluid movement he gathered me in his arms and folded me into his chest, burying his face in my neck. It was so unexpected I froze.
And then I melted.
I’d missed him. So much. And I loved it when he held me. It was something I couldn’t allow outside of sex because it made me want to never let go. But this hug took me by surprise, and once I was in it, there was no getting out. My heart just wasn’t that strong.
He clutched me to him so hard that for a second I got worried something was wrong. Really wrong. I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him back, wondering if he’d gotten some bad news. He didn’t look well, and he never broke my no-affection rules.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered.
He shook his head in the crook of my neck. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
He dragged his face from my neck and looked like he might kiss me, but instead he put his forehead to mine and closed his eyes.
I gave him a breathless smile. “Well, we’re friends with benefits, right?” I said, my lips an inch from his mouth. “This is the friends part.”
And I missed you. Couldn’t stand not seeing you today. Wanted to take care of you. Needed to make sure you were okay.
He put a hand to my cheek and ran a thumb along my lips. Then he leaned in and kissed me. It was tentative and soft, and I dissolved into it.
It was like the space I’d put between us made me need more of him to make up for it, and I couldn’t get close enough or soak up enough of him.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him harder, pressing against him as he started to walk me backward toward the bed. We tripped over the mess, our mouths never breaking contact, our feet tangling in discarded clothes and boxes. I knocked into his lamp and it fell sideways with a crash, but we didn’t stop. We peeled off each other’s shirts, slamming back into each other before they touched the ground.
By the time we hit the mattress and he glided over me, I was ravenous. I tugged at his sweatpants, but he shook his head and dragged my hands up to hold them against the pillow. “No.” His lips trailed down my jaw.
I tipped my head back while his mouth moved along my skin. “What do you mean ‘no’?” I breathed.
He smelled incredible, his heady masculine cedar scent like an evocative pheromone. Heat came off his chest, and the way he had my hands imprisoned, I was cocooned in his body, nestled between his strong arms.
“You’re in trouble,” he said into my collarbone. “You’ve lost dick privileges.”
I snorted. “What? Why?”
He came back up and ground himself against my core, shooting electricity through my body, and my need intensified.
“You didn’t talk to me for two weeks.” He sucked my lip between his teeth. “You’re on punishment.” His tongue plunged into my mouth.
I was practically panting. I tried to work my hands free, and he held them firmer to the bed, smiling wickedly against my lips. He shook his head. “No.” He pressed into me, hard as a rock.
So it’s to be torture, then.
I made an impatient noise. “Well…how do I get my privileges back?” I wiggled my hips seductively and his breath caught in his throat. I smirked and he squeezed his eyes shut, clearly struggling with his boycott.
“You have to apologize for ignoring me.”
“I’m sorry.” I nipped at his lip.
“And tell me you missed me.”
I nodded. “Yes,” I whispered. “I missed you.”
He opened his eyes and looked at me. “Say it again.”
I held his serious, brown-eyed stare. “I missed you, Josh.”
His eyes moved back and forth between mine, like he was trying to determine if I really meant it.
I really did mean it. I missed him even now, and he was right here.
He nodded, something softening on his face, and he released my hands.
I went straight to his pants again, but he got off me, stripped, and kneeled between my knees. Then he grabbed the waist of my shorts and pulled them down. “Are you bleeding?”
His hooded eyes were dark with desire, his breathing ragged. He was famished. No way he’d slept with someone else these last two weeks. He was on the same sex drought I was.
I shook my head. “No, I’m not bleeding.”
He lowered his face between my legs and gripped my hips, pulling me to his mouth. I gasped. His tongue went to work, and my hands flew to his hair.
Oh my fucking God…
He’d never done this before—I was usually spotting. And holy shit—he was an oral virtuoso. I don’t know what he was doing down there, but it was obvious I was in the hands of a professional. Fuck, is he good at everything?
My knees started to shake. I moaned, and like he knew I was about to lose it, he came up and lowered himself over me. “I don’t have a condom.”
Nooooooo! “What? Why? Where are they?”
His mouth descended my neck, kissing me roughly. “At your house, where I leave them,” he said huskily.
I’m the only person he’s sleeping with? I mean, I know he said his dates didn’t usually…
My favorite plaything pressed against my stomach, teasing me, and I lost my tra
in of thought.
Fuck it. “No condom—I don’t care,” I gasped. “You’re the only one I’m sleeping with too.”
He jerked up and looked at me, his shallow breath rolling over my face. He studied me for a second, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he crushed his mouth to mine and slid into me.
There was something deeper about the sex this time, more emotional, desperate. Both of us were frantic, like we’d thought we were never going to see each other again, and the lack of a condom, the absence of that barrier, elevated everything, made us hungrier.
Neither of us were going to make it very long. There was no way.
His forceful thrusts launched me into spasms within seconds. My moaning pushed him over the edge and he poured inside of me, growling and gasping.
He collapsed and we clutched each other, catching our breath, his forehead to mine in a light sheen of sweat. It took me a solid minute to muster the ability to speak. “I thought you were sick,” I breathed. “Faker.”
His chuckle rumbled against my breasts. “All part of my ploy to get you to come over.”
I laughed and he squeezed his arms against my sides and smiled down on me, kissing me softly, his heart beating against my chest.
I love you, Josh. I wish I could tell you. I wish I could keep you.
With a twinge of dread, I wondered how I would live without these moments when it all came to an end. I’d have to enjoy every second of the next week and a half with him. Absorb it, store it up.
And then hope it was enough to last a lifetime.
* * *
We’d been in his bed for hours. We never did that at my house. There were always too many excuses I could come up with for why we had to go back to friends-only mode. Emails to check, deliveries to sign for, orders to work on. And once we left the bed, my rules dictated that the affection had to stop. But here, we had nothing to do but stay between the sheets. Josh didn’t have a sofa or a TV, so we hung out under the covers, and technically, according to my own rules, that meant that kissing and affection were okay.
I was enjoying the loophole. I needed every second of it.
Josh didn’t seem to object either. We’d been having sex all day. After our quickie, we’d had a long, slow marathon, full of deep kissing and gentle rocking, followed by a giggling and playful romp with Josh tickling me mercilessly before he took me from behind. After we wore each other out, we’d lain there, our legs tangled together, talking about everything we did over the last two weeks. He told me about the strike team and how much he liked being in the woods and not running medical calls. How beautiful Sequoia National Park had been and how much I would have liked a band that played in a bar they went to in their off-hours.
I told him all about the wedding errands I’d been on with Sloan and dropping off a large order at Dale’s mansion and how Stuntman had bit the FedEx guy again.
He didn’t bring up calling me from Vegas, thank God. He probably didn’t remember.
He ran a knuckle along my cheek. “I’m going to get a drink. Are you thirsty? Want something?”
“Water.”
He got up and I propped myself up on my elbows to watch him walk naked to the kitchen. You could bounce a nickel off the man’s ass. God, he had a great body.
Mine, not so much.
I had to make my own naked walk to the bathroom in a minute, and my little stomach bulge had no business strutting around uncovered. My clothes were strewn all over the place. I had no idea where my shirt was.
I sat up, pulling the sheet to my chest to look for something to put on. Then I eyed a Burbank Fire hoodie draped over one of his unpacked boxes nearby. I leaned over and grabbed it before he turned around from the sink.
“Do you mind if I wear this?” I asked, pulling it on before he had the chance to answer. I tucked my nose into the neck and breathed in, closing my eyes.
He climbed back in bed, handing me a glass of water. “You can keep it if you want.” He grinned at me.
“Really?” God, I would never wash it. I would wear it like a warm hug. “Are you sure? That’s a slippery slope, Joshua. Hoodies are gateway clothes. Soon I’ll be stealing your shirts and your jackets.” I took a sip and then set the water down next to the bed and looked back at him.
He leaned in and kissed me, his smile enormous. “I’m sure,” he whispered against my lips. “Take whatever you want.”
I gave him a raised eyebrow. “Why are you so happy about me stealing your clothes?”
“I’m just happy because I like it when you call me Joshua,” he said, smiling. His fingers brushed the hair at the top of my forehead and he kissed me gently.
There was something so intimate in the way he was with me I had to change the subject.
“What’s this, Joshua?” I asked, looking away from him, picking up a dog-eared copy of Under a Flaming Sky from the upside-down box he used as a nightstand. I flopped onto my back. “I didn’t know you like to read.”
He scooted down to lie next to me and propped himself on his elbow. “I like to read about fires.”
I held the book over my face. “Is it any good? What’s it about?” I smiled at him. “Will you read me a chapter?”
He took the book from me and leaned over the other side of the bed. “It’s about a firestorm in Minnesota, back in 1894.” When he came back up, he was wearing glasses.
I blinked at him as he flipped to the dog-eared page, scooting to sit up against his pillows.
“Shut the fuck up,” I said, staring at him.
He looked over at me. “What?”
“You wear glasses?”
“Just for reading. Why?”
Just when I thought the man couldn’t get any more attractive, he goes and puts on motherfucking glasses.
“This is a joke, right? You are not allowed to get hotter than you already are. I forbid it.”
He set the book down across his lap and grinned at me. “You like the glasses, huh?” He bounced his eyebrows. “Want me to keep them on the next time?”
I giggled. “Yes, please.”
He pulled the glasses down and then put them back on. His eyes got wide. “Oh, wow. Look how pretty you are!”
I laughed and moved his book, climbing over his lap until I straddled him. His sweatshirt rode up my thighs. Then I held his cheeks in my hands and peppered kisses all over his face. He closed his eyes and let me, beaming like a happy little kid.
I smiled at his upturned lips. “You know, it’s Tarantino Trivia at Malone’s tonight. You wanna go? I’m getting kind of hungry.” Josh had nothing in his fridge, and we’d eaten the burgers I brought hours ago. I looked at my Fitbit. “But we’d have to leave in, like, ten minutes.”
“Sure,” he said, his hands on my thighs. “Do we invite Brandon and Sloan?”
I shook my head. “They’re going to Luigi’s for dinner. It’ll just be us.”
He gave me a soft peck on the lips, his eyes warm. “It’s a date—let’s go.”
It wasn’t a date, but I didn’t correct him. He’d just roll his eyes and say it was just an expression and he wasn’t trying to slip a date past me, the way he always did. I didn’t need the reminder.
I wished it was a date.
He followed me home in his truck so I could get ready and let Stuntman out. Then we took an Uber so we could both drink.
On the ride over to Malone’s, I checked my emails.
He peered over at me as I tapped on my phone. “Wait until we’re stopped. You’re gonna get carsick.”
“No I won’t.”
“Yeah you will. You get nauseous when you look at your phone in the car,” he said.
“That’s only when you drive, because you drive like a lunatic,” I said, typing in an email about Pug Life sweaters on back order. “Braking, hitting the gas too hard, taking the turns too fast. And on top of that, you don’t even swear.”
He chuckled. “What does swearing have to do with driving?”
“If you’re not pisse
d off when you drive, you’re not really paying attention.”
I gave him side-eye and caught a dimple on his cheek. I smiled down on my screen. Then I swallowed. I did feel a little dizzy, actually. I set my phone on my lap and closed my eyes.
“I told you,” he said in the darkness behind my lids. “So stubborn, all the time.”
“No. Sometimes I’m asleep. And anyway, you don’t know my life.”
He laughed. “Yeah, actually, I do. I know all about you.”
I scoffed. “Mm-hmm.”
“What? I do. I know you can eat a whole sleeve of Thin Mints by yourself.”
I snorted. “Who can’t?”
He went on. “I know your favorite thing is having your back scratched after you take off your bra. You’re in a better mood when you go to bed at eleven thirty and wake up at seven than when you go to bed at twelve thirty and wake up at eight. You like purple. You love the smell of carnations but hate it when guys buy you flowers because you think it’s a waste of money…”
I opened an eye and looked at him. He was talking to the window, watching the road.
“You like to argue when you think you might be wrong. When you know you’re right, you don’t bother. You hate sharing your food, but you pick at my plate every time. That’s why I always order extra fries.” He looked over at me and smiled. “And you’d rather give me shit for my driving than admit you get carsick when you’re on your phone. See?” He arched an eyebrow. “I know you.”
My heart felt like it might crack in half. He did know me. He’d been paying attention to me. And I knew him too. I knew him inside and out.
I could tell what work had been like by the set of his shoulders when he came over, and I knew it helped him to de-stress to talk to me about a bad call. I always listened, even though sometimes they were hard to hear.
When he got quiet, it meant he was tired. He’d choose pistachio ice cream at Baskin-Robbins every time, but at Cold Stone he got sweet cream instead. I knew he liked Stuntman, though he’d never admit it. And he secretly liked it when I gave him shit. I could tell by the sparkle in his eyes.
And I also knew he hoped he had more sons than daughters. That he liked the name Oliver for his first boy and Eva for his first girl. He planned on teaching all his kids to hunt and had a collection of camo baby clothes. He wanted to build the cribs himself from wood in the forest around his grandparent’s house in South Dakota.