The Reason I Stay

by Patty Maximini

  “Money is overrated.” She laughs, and kisses my lips. “Now, wanna go home and celebrate?”

  My reply is a long, deep, lustful glance, and a teasing bite to her delicious lip.

  It takes us less than five minutes to gather up our stuff and be on our way to Lexie’s. The celebration starts as we walk, which makes the three-minute trip a whole lot longer. By the time we reach the front door, my shirt is completely unbuttoned, and the straps of her dress are falling down her shoulders. The moment we close the front door behind us, both shirt and dress are on the floor and Lexie is where she belongs, in my arms with her legs around my hips.

  Our celebration stays in the realm of bare chests and covered bottoms—though hers has only the tiniest bit of pink lace over it. I have no doubt that if my pants were to come off she’d be ready and willing to go all the way, but weirdly enough, I’m not.

  Sex has never meant shit to me, but with her it does. With Lexie it means too much, and I want to make things right. I want it to be as special and perfect as she is. I want it to happen on a happy day, one with no bad memories. I want that day to be one that when things get hard—which I know they eventually will, because she’s stubborn and I’m explosive—we can look back, and find strength in that memory. And I know in my heart that today isn’t that day.

  So I just enjoy the smell of her skin, the feel of her tits molding perfectly in my hands, and the taste of her nipple in my mouth. I enjoy the pressure of her body moving over mine, the little moans that escape her throat, and the way her eyes glisten like they’re made of diamonds as I make her come. I enjoy the sight of her putting on my shirt, and smelling the collar like it’s her favorite scent in the world. I enjoy the last kiss we share at her front door, and the fight she puts up when I try to get my shirt back. And finally, I enjoy the warm salty breeze blowing across my naked chest as I walk to the inn, dreaming of the day I won’t leave.

  Vacation season started exactly two weeks after my and Matt’s first date. Due to the influx of people in town, the diner has been busy, and therefore, my work hours have become longer and more tiresome. Combined with that, Matt’s been getting more and more gardening clients and his days are also getting fuller, which is great for him and his really new business, but also makes matching our schedules a lot harder.

  We try hard to squeeze a few hours each day to just be together. Sometimes we go for a swim. Sometimes we stay on my porch, playing songs on my old Gibson acoustic, and other times we hang out with Kodee and the Valentines, and Tanie and Eric. Every once in a while we have a stupid fight because we’re fire and dynamite. He can’t stop crap from coming out of his mouth, and I can’t help blowing up when it happens. But every night we end up making out in my bed.

  Although we haven’t had sex yet, that’s pretty much the only thing we haven’t done. Each night we discover a bit more of each other’s bodies and the secrets they hold to the eyes, the touch, and the taste. Each night we fall in love with those little details only we know, like the way Matt stretches his neck when I kiss down his stomach, and the drumming sound that comes all the way from his chest when my lips slide down his length. And each night I fall in love with every detail, and every sound, and every breath he takes.

  There are, however, those few, God-awful days when we’re so busy we can barely manage a phone call. Today is one of those.

  My contact with Matt today has consisted of four text messages this morning, and a five-minute phone call during my lunch break. That, combined with the fact I just worked breakfast, lunch and dinner shifts—meaning my feet are killing me, and I’m exhausted—means that by ten thirty p.m. when I finally arrive home, I’m grumpy and dying for my bed. But just when I’m about to call this day a disaster and go die in my mattress, I see Greta parked my driveway and I can’t hold back the grin on my face.

  Last week I told him where to find my spare key, so expecting him to be waiting for me inside, I gather the last bits of strength I have left and run to the front door, ready to jump in his arms and not let go. However, the moment I open the front door, my house is dark and empty. The only sign that Matt has been here is the flickering light of a candle inside a mason jar placed over the dining table.

  I walk toward it, a smile already forming on my face. Beside the jar I find a red rose and one of my bikinis with a sticky note on it. I unglue the note from the fabric, and bring it close to the candle.

  Three things pop in my head simultaneously. One, Matt went through my underwear drawer; two, I no longer feel tired; and three, what the hell does that ILY stand for? Logically, I know that L means like, since that’s what we say to each other all the time. But emotionally, I’m hoping it means love, since it’s what I feel for him.

  Anxious to see him, I run to my bedroom to change. The bikini is a string, teal and purple one that Tanie convinced me to buy. I’ve yet to wear it, and as I look in the mirror, I’m reminded why. My nipples are a mere centimeter inside each triangle’s inner edge, and my butt looks as though it tried really hard to fit into bikini bottoms four sizes too small. I wonder if Matt hoped it would be this ill fitting, and made his selection accordingly. I pull my hair in a messy side bun as I make my way back to the living room, pick the rose up from the dining table, place it in my hair, blow the candle out, and make my way to the back door.

  As soon as my feet touch the sand, I feel like I’m walking through a dream.

  A shirtless Matt leans on his elbows on a blanket. On his right, there’s a mason jar with a candle flickering inside and a picnic basket—my picnic basket?—is on his left. He’s looking up at the patch of sky over the ocean where the biggest moon I’ve ever seen is shining silver.

  Not able to take my eyes off the moon, I take few blind steps in Matt’s direction. I guess I’m standing right over him when I hear his voice. “Breathtaking.”

  I look down at him. His eyes are no longer on the moon, but on me. All over me. They are also heavy lidded.

  “It’s the prettiest one I’ve ever seen,” I say shyly as I sit between him and the candle.

  He gives me one of his signature smirks, and as always, I melt. “I wasn’t talking about the moon.”

  Flustered, I giggle, and wonder what’s wrong with me. For the past two weeks, all parts of this man have been all over me, and now I’m shy? Now? I mentally roll my facial balls of goo at myself and try to salvage my pathetic situation. “Thanks, but I think you’re only saying that because I’m half-naked.”

  Matt chuckles and raises a cocky brow. He leans in for a kiss, and my fingers roam over his shoulders, tracing the lines of his tattoos that I already have memorized. His hand comes slowly up my exposed neck in a way that makes hairs rise all over my body. And suddenly, I’m all too aware of how little fabric I have on, and how public of a place we’re at.

  I pull my flushed face away from him, and look into his gorgeous eyes as he looks into mine. I comb my fingers through his hair. “So, what’s all of this about?”

  He shrugs. “Missed you today.” I smile. “And then, I saw that today was a super moon night, and thought it’d be a good night for a picnic and a midnight swim.”

  “A super moon?”

  Matt nods, and bends his head toward my neck. He gives me three little kisses—one on my neck, one on collar bone and the last one on my shoulder. “Yep, though the correct term for it is perigee-syzygy.”

  I bite my lips and take a deep breath. “And now I know you’re making shit up.”

  He props his chin on my shoulder and laughs. “C’mon, Lex, we both know I’m not that creative.”

  I steal a sideways glance at him. “Then explain. Why is it so big?”

  His thumb comes up to graze my bottom lip. I kiss the pad as he speaks. “Because the sun, the moon and Earth are all in alignment, and the moon is at its closest proximity to Earth.”

  Good heavens . . . Who knew I’d ever find astronomy sexy? I sure as hell didn’t, but it is. It so is.

  “And how come you know so
much about perigee . . .” I raise my brows, asking for some assistance.

  Matt chuckles. “Syzygy. Perigee-syzygy.”

  I widen my eyes at him, and open my mouth in an “ah”.

  He nods.

  I laugh.

  He kisses my nose, and picks up the picnic basket and places it in front of me. From it he removes a bottle of red wine, and a couple of my fancy glasses, subs on paper plates, and a Sweet Myriam—the town’s bakery—Styrofoam container with my favorite fudge brownies. It’s the strangest and most perfect picnic basket.

  He hands me one of the sandwiches. “I had a big thing about botany and astronomy between the ages six and sixteen. It was deep.”

  “I’d never have imagined you were a dork,” I tease.

  “Not a dork. The hot, brainy guy you want to tutor you after school.”

  I chuckle, and trace the bumps of his abdomen. “In a tatted up bad-boy package.” He cocks a brow, and I raise mine in return. “It’s a damn good package.”

  He winks. “Do you want some astronomy tutoring?”

  God, yes! “Sure.”

  He pecks my lips, and we eat our sandwiches and drink our wine as he tells me more about the perigee-syzygy phenomenon. When we exhaust that topic, we lay on the blanket, the container with the brownies on his stomach, and my head on his chest. We munch on the fudgy goodness as he moves on to constellations and galaxies, planets and suns, red and white dwarfs, the different kinds of novas and how each would look from Earth, and I start to think I may go supernova soon. Damn geeky talk.

  By the time Matt quiets, all the brownie squares are gone, and the huge moon has moved a little in the sky. “How was the tutoring?”

  “Pretty good. I feel smarter already.”

  Matt laughs and kisses my forehead. “Great. So how about we go get ourselves wet, and discuss my other tutoring specialties?”

  I bet that the “yes, please” belting in my mind shows on my face, because Matt gets up and pulls me with him. We walk hand in hand to the ocean. In comparison to the awful summer heat we’ve had all day, the water is wonderfully cool. We go in until the water reaches Matt’s bellybutton, and pretty close to my chest. The breeze carries the wonderful scent of home into my nostrils, that of seaweed, sunkissed skin and a distinct sweetness in the air that blends perfectly into the salty overtones of the water. The sublte spiciness emanating from Matt is just as intoxicating. I breathe in deeply, relishing in the combination as our bodies sway together in the relaxing back and forth motion of the sea. He holds me tight when the waves crash on us, jumping over the waves and taking me up with him like he did on the day I first started liking him. I can’t help but to smile at the almost month-old memory. It doesn’t feel like that much time has passed.

  “What are you smiling about?”

  A wave passes by us, broadening my smile. “I was thinking about that first Sunday. A lot has changed.”

  Matt raises his brows and chuckles. I don’t blame him, because that’s the understatement of the century. But then his face goes serious, and his fingers curl a bit tighter on my lower back, and he adds, “Not everything, though.”

  For some reason, my lungs malfunction, and my eyes forget how to blink. Actually, I think my whole body forgets how to operate. All it knows how to do is stare at Matt, and count every breath leaving his body until he gives me some explanation.

  As if he knows and enjoys the anticipation I’m feeling, he stares deep into my eyes, and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. My lungs start to burn from oxygen deprivation, and I know I’ll go blue in the face if I don’t breathe soon, so I tap my index finger on his shoulder, hoping that’ll be encouragement.

  Luckily, it works. After a quick smile, he takes in a deep breath—the show-off—and calmly says, “I’m still in love with you.”

  Suddenly, my lungs remember how to be lungs and start breathing again. Unfortunately, that happens at the same time that my brain forgets how to be a functioning twenty-two year-old brain, and can only form one thought: ohmygodohmygodohmygod . . . Oh. My. God!

  Forget the very important, but still secondary bit of information implied in the word “still,” Mathew Ian Rogers just said he’s in love. With me. Oh my God!

  Matt looks at me with the expectant eyes of someone who just said that for the first time ever, but my brain is still stuck on that embarrassing OMG loop. So, in order not to lose my boyfriend—who is in love with me—I resort to non-verbal communication and wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him in a way that tells him that I, too, am SO in love with him.

  His lips mold around mine and his tongue dives inside my mouth, taking the words I wasn’t able to say. I give them to him with all the emotion and joy and angst and passion I’ve been harboring over the past weeks. He smiles against my lips as his arms curl around my waist and pull me even closer to his delicious body.

  My sluggish brain finally starts working again, and I want to pry my lips away from his for just enough time to say the words, but he won’t let me. And knowing I’ll have a whole lot of chances in the future, I don’t mind.

  I fist my hands in Matt’s wet hair as his hands slide down my waist to my barely covered bottom. Instinctively, my feet leave the sandy ground and wrap around his hips. The thin fabric of his shorts can’t conceal the substantial erection rubbing against me.

  With long strides, he walks toward the shore and my house, carrying and kissing me all the way. As soon as the porch door closes behind us, my feet touch the floor, and Matt’s hands trace the contours of my body, which he knows so well. We walk toward my bedroom, kissing and leaving traces of sand, salty water and wet garments on my floor. When we finally reach my door, we’re both naked and panting.

  Matt lifts me to the bed, finally breaking the kiss. Instead of joining me, he stands in front of me, gazing at my face and body like people gaze at rare works of art. The intensity in his eyes is such that I finally feel like the moment is right. It’s natural and effortless like the bloom of the flowers, the pour of the rain, and the pull of the waves.

  “I’m so in love with you, Mathew.” The words spill from my lips, and the moment they do, Matt smiles the biggest and most glorious smile I’ve ever seen.

  He kneels on the bed and lets his body cover mine, wet and hot and wonderful. His lips trace a line from my stomach to my chest to my neck, until they finally reach the lobe of my ear.

  “I know,” he whispers all smug and cocky and Matt, before we lose ourselves in a tangle of passionate kisses, intimate touches and unintelligible moans.

  For the rest of the night, Matt and I take turns in tutoring each other in the things our respective sex lives have been missing. I teach him what it means to make love, and he teaches me what it means to love so hard you finally feel alive.

  As hard as I try, my eyes just can’t stay open.

  Either going a month without sex has made me extremely out of shape, or girlfriend-sex is more tiring than just a regular fuck—it sure is better. Either way, I’m not supposed to be this tired, even after going through a whole box of condoms. Starting tomorrow, I’m going on a red chili, chocolate, walnut and oyster based diet.

  Lexie seems just as tired, her movements lethargic, and her emerald eyes heavy as she kisses my lips. She lays her body next to mine, a smile on her lips, and wishes me goodnight.

  “Good night, love,” I reply, resisting the pull of sleep a while longer. This is my first night actually sleeping—and not just napping—beside a woman, and I want to enjoy it.

  Lexie nests her head over my chest, and cuddles into my side. Her breathing is peaceful and heavy, as the sleep of the deeply sated should be. I tighten my arms around her, and kiss the very top of her head one final time. Right before I follow her to dreamland, some words my mother used to say to me come back to me. Love turns us into who we really are. It sets us free.

  In the days following my first sleepover at Lexie’s, my mother’s words continue to echo in my mind. For the longest time, I tho
ught she was crazy for saying that. Freedom is doing what you want, and love is being at the mercy of someone else, therefore they are as conflicting as things can be.

  However, every morning when I wake up to see the love of my life in my arms, and each day I spend cutting grass, planting trees, designing backyards and getting myself covered in dirt, I realize just how right my mother was. I’m finally free. Free to be myself and do what I love.

  That freedom strips every tie I still have to my former life. I let go of my law degree that never brought me a joyful day at work, and of my father, who never looked at me as anything other than an employee. I forget about my apartment that was never a home. I bury with my guilt toward Lea, and with missing my best friend, Fitz. Even Greta, which at one point I considered to be the love of my life, seems to slip away from my heart, leaving it free and open to real happiness.

  Life has never been better.

  “I don’t want to sit there.”

  Arms crossed over his chest, a pout on his lips and a frowning brow. Those are all things you’d expect from a spoiled five year-old, not from my twenty-four-year-old boyfriend. However, that’s exactly what I’m looking at.

  I sigh, frustrated. “There’s no other place for you to sit.”

  “That’s ‘cause you didn’t save my booth.”

  I clutch the hostess stand, and groan.

  “Look around, Matt.” I point at the couple waiting at the restaurant’s entrance. “It’s dinnertime during vacation season. We’re full. We’ve been full for hours, and there are people waiting. Do you really think I can keep the booth free on the chance you might show up? You said you’d be playing poker at Wes’s.”

  Matt turns his face to the side, looking at the couple waiting and all the other new faces filling The Jukebox. He shakes his head, and in a voice loud enough to catch people’s attention, says, “Yeah, I don’t like all of these out-of-towners. It’s time for them to leave.”