“But you are with him.”
“I mean in high school.”
“Okay that’s just crazy.”
“I know. I just get so jealous of all the other women he’s been with and sad that he ever felt rejected and lonely.”
“Okay that’s…You know what I actually called to talk about me this time.” She actually looked stressed-out. My sister never looked stressed-out. Except at family gatherings.
“Is it Mom?”
“She’s driving me bonkers! She’s trying to meddle with all of my wedding arrangements and she wants me to invite like thirty of her friends and everyone from Daddy’s office. It’s too expensive. She says they’ll pay for their guests of course, but we can’t go over 150 guests because it’s not that big of a venue, plus it’s a freaking island and there are a limited number of rooms! She’s being a control freak.”
We both smirked, because we both knew that Aubrey was the control freak in the family.
“Why don’t you let me arrange a separate pre-wedding family event? We’ll explain that it’s because of the limited accommodations on the island. Or better yet—let mom arrange it. Give her something to do. Make it the same weekend as the bridal shower so I don’t have to come up twice, and you can get all that stuff out of the way all at once.”
“That’s actually a great idea.”
“I do have them, on occasion.”
“Have you tried on the dress yet?”
“I don’t want to try it on until I know it will fit. But I am down a jean size.”
“You look really good, Viv. Oh hey—are you bringing him?”
“Who?”
“Brad. To my wedding.”
“Oh?”
Oh.
Shit.
“You know what, it never even occurred to me to ask him. Should I ask him?”
“I mean. I would.”
“Really? But I don’t think he’d want to.”
“Well. Just ask, who cares.”
“I guess. When do you need to know by?”
“If you want him to be seated at dinner then you have almost a month to lock it down, I guess.”
“Okay. I will. Need a month, I mean.”
“Ugh. Just ask him! I’m gonna call Mom now—love you.”
“I love you.”
She ended the call.
I wiped my eyes and went back to proofreading the annual meeting minutes that I’d been working on for a client.
I was about to take an Epsom salt bath when I got a text from Brad, asking if I wanted him to come by my place after work with some Cheat Day food. I had just had Cheat Day yesterday, but of course I said “yes.”
I had an hour to tidy up my little house, give myself a “French bath,” and change my outfit seventeen times. I ended up in a casual scoop neck dress that hung loose. It hid my curves but made everything very accessible. I barely remembered a time when I didn’t make outfit choices based on how easy it would be for Brad to get to my lady parts.
He arrived exactly when he said he would.
He was wearing a grey V-neck T-shirt and jeans and looked like a movie star. He was holding a big takeout bag and I didn’t wait for him to put it down before shamelessly running my hands through his hair and kissing him.
When I finally pulled my lips from his, he asked: “Should I take off my shoes?”
“Up to you.”
He slipped off his shoes. The color of his socks matched his T-shirt. I don’t know why I found that so hot, but I guess every freaking thing about him was just unbearably attractive to me.
“I like your place. This is a good street.”
“Yeah, I like it.”
“It’s very pink in here.”
“Well. I needed to make a statement after the ex moved out. Also, I find it soothing.”
He seemed uncomfortable with the mention of “the ex.” I liked that.
“Let’s get this stuff into the kitchen. What’d you bring?”
“Donuts from Tonalli’s and ice cream from Salt & Straw.”
I fucking love you. “For dinner? You are definitely sending me mixed messages as a personal trainer.” And in every way imaginable.
“I’m not your personal trainer anymore. Cheat big or go home.”
I grinned. “In that case…why don’t we have hot fudge sundaes?”
“Don’t push it, Sparks.”
“Gimme that.” I couldn’t believe he brought me ice cream. He got my favorite flavors. He remembered.
“Here, take a probiotics supplement and a digestive enzyme first.” He handed me two little plastic pill boxes that he kept in his jacket pocket.
“You carry those around with you? That is so hot.”
“Shut up. I have a world class digestive system.” He patted his stomach and it sounded like slapping a wall.
“It’s my favorite thing about you.”
He brought spoons and napkins so I didn’t have to do anything but eat. We ate in front of the TV and I gobbled up one of everything, promising to get up early to jog again tomorrow, but knowing that I wouldn’t and not feeling bad about it at all.
Eventually, Justin Timberlake came out to see who this other man was. Brad got very still and waited for my cat to approach him. “Wow,” he said, quietly. “He really does look like Justin Timberlake. That’s insane. Hey buddy.” He held his hand out, palm down, like I showed him, and waited for JT to come over and sniff his fingers before patting him on the head. My cat leaned into his hand, and I was so relieved.
I almost asked him if he wanted to go to my sister’s wedding with me then. But I didn’t.
Once JT got used to Brad’s smell, he crawled under the sofa for the rest of the night.
Brad watched me scrape the bottom of the sea salt and caramel ice cream container, amused. I was shocked and impressed that he didn’t criticize me for the fervor with which I consumed all that artisanal junk food. “Good, huh?”
“I’m glad I didn’t wear jeans tonight.”
“I like what you are wearing,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
I licked my spoon and put everything on the coffee table, while Brad put his hands on my thighs. I shivered, because his fingers were still cold from holding the ice cream containers, but also because Brad touching my bare skin always made me quiver.
“Whatcha got on under this?”
“Why don’t we move to the bedroom before I reveal that. I don’t want to rock this sofa with JT under it.”
“Lead the way,” he said.
“Fuck, what are you wearing?”
Under my easy-access swing dress I wore a pair of black lace bikini panties that I’d recently purchased at a local boutique. It was a “peek-a-boo” bikini that made my lower lady bits easily accessible too.
With one swift move, he had me on my back with one leg up over his shoulder, and he was kissing me through my peek-a-boo panties.
I stared up at the ceiling, from the same place on my bed where I had been agonizing over the fact that Brad Mitchell refused to kiss me, just a month earlier. All good things to those who wait.
When he got up to take off his shirt and pants, I told him to lie back. He seemed confused. He was so used to being a doer.
“Just lie back and close your eyes. Let me do this for you.”
I kneeled on the bed next to him, removed his underwear and started to work his shaft with both hands. I went slowly, eventually inviting his balls to the party. We were always so hungry for each other when we had sex, I wanted to make a meal out of bringing him to the brink for once. I didn’t expect to be so turned on from watching him enjoy what I was doing to him. I basically massaged his genitals for about ten minutes, before finally stroking his perineum with the fingers of one hand.
He immediately groaned and his whole body tensed up. “Oh God, that feels amazing. Keep doing that. Oh my God, Viv. Oh, Baby.”
It was the first time he had called me “Baby” and I loved it.
In the moonlight, I
watched the muscles of his torso tense and release, tense and release. He was so achingly beautiful. The look on his face—his eyes still closed—was so sexy and strong but also vulnerable.
He growled as he sat up and rolled over to get a condom out of his jeans. “I need to come inside you immediately.”
I wished he wouldn’t use a condom, but I wasn’t going to bring it up again.
I stayed on my hands and knees, facing away from him, and he was inside of me within seconds. He sounded so relieved, and he was more urgent than usual.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he said. His voice was hoarse, so deep and masculine.
He was slamming into me with tremendous vigor, holding onto my shoulders. I didn’t have a headboard so I put my hands onto the wall for resistance. I was so wet, but the size and hardness of him, the pressure of it was almost too much. I cried out.
He started to come. He was groaning but I could tell he was restraining himself.
“You can be loud—no one will hear us.”
“Oh God I want to scream.”
“You can scream! My neighbor’s hard of hearing!”
He let loose, with a resounding sexy barbell powerlifting kind of release, and we were both so loud, our voices echoed around the room.
He collapsed onto my back, holding onto my breasts, his face buried in my hair.
It took a long time for us to steady our breathing rates.
He kissed my shoulders. “Holy shit,” he said.
“Yeah. Holy shit.”
Later, in bed, I lay my head against his beautiful chest, his arm was wrapped around me, absentmindedly stroking my bum. I loved that he had gotten so comfortable with touching me.
“You’ve had a lot of sex, haven’t you?”
“Well. I was a late bloomer, as you know. I guess I made up for lost time.”
“Who was your first?”
“A woman at college.”
“At Lewis & Clark?”
“Yeah. My college.”
“A woman or a girl?”
“A grad student.”
“So, older than you?”
“I was still eighteen, not quite nineteen, she was twenty-three.”
So you were still chubby.
“Were you dating?”
“Not really. No. She was a T.A.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“It was sex with a woman who wanted to have sex with me, what do you think? She was nice. It was good.”
“Well, good then. I’m glad.”
I went quiet and then I couldn’t stop myself from crying. Again.
“Are you crying?”
“No. Yes. I keep doing this. It’s probably some form of detox. That happens when your body is changing, right? Aren’t tears a form of detox?”
“Maybe. Are you sad?”
“No, I’m so happy. I’m really really happy.”
“Obviously.”
Don’t say it.
I’m not going to say it.
Shit, I have to say it.
“I just wish it had been me. I should have been your first. You should have been mine.”
I could tell he didn’t know what to say. He closed his eyes and stroked my hair, kissed the top of my head.
My words just hung there, and I had to break the silence with a joke.
“And not just because of your big magnificent penis.”
He laughed.
“Because of your big magnificent heart.”
He groaned, and not in the way I had gotten used to hearing him groan. “Okay, well now I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t?”
“Nope. I’m an asshole. Has that not come across?”
“Nope. You’re still a big ol’ softie.”
“Nope.”
He slapped my ass.
“I just—can I ask you one more question? Then I’ll shut up about it.”
“What? I’m not telling you how many women I’ve slept with.”
“Good because I don’t want to know. But have you ever had a serious girlfriend?” Have you ever been in love?
“Oh. That question. No. I tried to date this girl in college. I liked her at first, she was cool, but at that point I was…I had started to look like this.”
“Insanely hot.”
“Thank you. And she was just all of a sudden so jealous. Like crazy-jealous. And possessive. It was like a switch had been flipped. She wanted to be with me all the time, to keep an eye on me, and I had to work out a lot and she didn’t like working out, so she’d get mad, and she didn’t understand why I needed to keep getting in shape if I already had a girlfriend…”
I snort-laughed. “Did she actually say that?”
He nodded. “That lasted like two weeks.”
“Two weeks?”
“I mean, I was exclusively with her for two weeks, and believe me it was a long two weeks. And then as soon as I graduated I was getting my personal trainer business off the ground, and I was doing house calls back then, plus working for a gym, so I was really busy. I had to be available for my clients, so I couldn’t commit to dates. Like, ever.”
“So you just had one night stands?”
“Not exactly. Sometimes. But there are women who are cool with just fooling around whenever, and I made it clear to them what my priorities were.”
“And they still slept with you anyway, huh? Wow. What a shock.”
“But, I mean…you’re special.”
I hit him with a pillow.
“You are though. I’m not just…”
“Okay okay we don’t have to talk about this anymore.”
I made a mental note to never appear even remotely jealous or possessive of him. I didn’t think I had yet. Well, there was the “Blonde Ponytail Buttgirl” comment. Maybe the “I should have been your first” comment. Hopefully he didn’t take it that way. I was glad I hadn’t invited him to the wedding yet. It was too soon. Or maybe it was too late. I didn’t know anymore.
I was so in my head, all of a sudden.
Fortunately, he got me out of it almost immediately.
He didn’t stay the night, of course. He said he didn’t want to leave LB alone for too long. But when he left, he reminded me of an actor playing a soldier who’s leaving his lover to go to war. He was reluctant, but noble and determined. I wondered who he thought he was defending—himself or me. I myself had never been so unguarded with a man. It had been that way when we were teenagers too. I had always felt safe with him. If only I had recognized that as a quality I should be looking for in a boyfriend all along.
Chapter Seventeen
BRAD
Before I knew it, it was May, and Vivian had to spend the entire weekend up in Seattle for her sister’s bridal shower and the wedding luncheon that her mom had organized.
I had found myself offering to drive her to the airport, but her flight was Friday evening and I had back-to-back appointments that I couldn’t reschedule. Regardless, I’m not sure which of us was more surprised that I had even offered. The only women I had ever taken to the airport were my Mom and my Grandma.
I kept myself busy at the gym all day Saturday. If I wasn’t training someone or talking to my employees or an air purification system technician, or eating, I was working out. She’d texted me when she got to her parents’ house the night before. In the morning, she sent me a picture of my old house on Mercer Island. The current owners had remodeled it until it was sleek and contemporary and Instagram-worthy—virtually unrecognizable from eight years ago. Kind of like you and your body… she wrote.
By nightfall, me and my body missed her, and my brain knew that I had to get through another forty-eight hours without her.
I had gotten so used to seeing her almost on a daily basis. I wasn’t expecting it to be so difficult to get through one weekend without her. It was so dumb. Without realizing it, I had let her become my best friend again. She was the person I most wanted to talk to. Whenever s
omething funny happened, or I heard a song that I liked, she was the first person I wanted to talk to about it. Almost every night we would Netflix and Chill while making out on my couch, kind of like in junior year, but way, way, waaaaayyyyyy dirtier.
I often wondered what Little Badass thought. Ever since I’d brought her into my home, Vivian and I had been like cats in heat. In fact—the one night that Vivian and I didn’t have sex was the night I’d brought LB home from being spayed, because I wanted to devote all my attention to her and keep things mellow at my place while she recovered.
I took a picture of Little Badass napping and sent it to Viv, telling her that she missed her. She immediately wrote back: Awww! Give her a big kiss for me!
Vivian: Oh BTW! Tried on bridesmaid dress yesterday! I can wear it now!
Me: High five.
Vivian: But it’s still too tight :-(
Me: You have to tell Sebastian you need to ramp things up. Maybe do a one day cleanse. Or stop eating donuts and ice cream just because some guy brought it to your house. Or let me buy you a bigger dress.
Vivian: Oh so that was a test! Damn you, Mitchell.
Me: Hah. It wasn’t, I promise. Our metabolisms really do kick into high gear if we have one cheat day a week. But only one a week.
Vivian: Hey, I have to go. Have a great night. Xx
So I wouldn’t be communicating with her for the rest of the night. Agony. I almost succumbed to filling the void with pizza and ice cream. But I didn’t. I did about a month’s worth of laundry, because I had been spending so much time with Vivian lately I just ordered a bunch of new workout clothes. I started reading a biography of Winston Churchill, because I figured there was nothing sexy in it, nothing that would remind me of Vivian. One of my all-time favorite quotes was his: “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” A lot of the quotes I had used for motivation—for myself and my clients—were from him, in fact.
I got to the part about his Finest Hour speech, wherein he said: “If we open a quarrel between the past and the present, we shall find that we have lost the future.”
That made me think of Vivian. I realized I had finally stopped thinking about the past. I didn’t care about any of it anymore, I only cared about what was going on between us now. Aside from the fact that she wasn’t actually with me in that moment—now was good. Now was amazing. I just had to make it to Monday night, when I could touch her and smell her and kiss her all over.
Every Inch of You Page 11