Beautiful March

by Christy Pastore

  My eyes roam over her face. “Me too.”

  I’m in fucking deep with her. So deep, it makes my chest ache.

  Haven

  I awake to the most glorious smell. Buttercream? Maple? Bourbon?

  Sunlight spills through the room. His room. His bedroom. Wooden beams span across the ceiling. Three walls are painted a gray color with a couple of paintings anchored to them. A wall of bricks sits behind the massive king size bed that has a chrome headboard.

  The bedding is white and gray too. His sheets might be softer than mine. This room is masculine and modern. It smells like Tyler.

  My eyes swing to the hardwood floor. There’s a cat looking up at me from the dark gray rug that spans the middle of the room.

  “Hello there,” I say and roll out of bed. When my feet hit floor, he jumps up and races for the door. “Bye, Harley.”

  My dress is hanging up in the closet. My bra is neatly folded on top of his dresser, my clutch sits beside it and my shoes are in the corner by the chair.

  I smile at the thoughtful care he took with my clothes as I stand naked in his bedroom. I walk to the closet and my fingers dance over the hangers. Neatly pressed shirts, organized by color. His closet is walk-in and it’s huge. Half of the space is empty.

  I could fill it. Hmm. My head tilts to the built-in dresser drawers. Pulling one open, I peek inside hoping to find a t-shirt.

  “Whatcha doing?” Tyler’s voice startles me and I jump. “Oh, do that again, I could watch you jump up and down naked for a little while.”

  He looks so good. He’s wearing black mesh shorts and a vintage Aerosmith concert t-shirt.

  I laugh. “Stop it.”

  He stalks toward me and pulls me into his frame. “Your body feels so good against mine.”

  I lift up on my tiptoes to kiss him. Weirdly, I’m not worried about my morning breath. Tyler tastes like coffee and sweetness.

  “I was looking for a t-shirt,” I confess.

  He steps away and pulls open a drawer. “Here you go, wear this.” Tyler hands me a white Vanderbilt shirt. “At least I’ll be able to see you through the fabric.”

  “Funny, I’m going to put my underwear on.”

  “No, you’re not. My house, my rules.” He smirks. “And in my house, Haven shalt not wear any undies, panties or anything that covers her gorgeous pussy.”

  “You’ve got a dirty mouth in the morning too, I see.”

  “I’m charming, aren’t I?”

  This guy. I’m . . . I don’t know what I am. Right now, I feel so blissfully happy. I like him. I like waking up like this. Waking up and talking to him.

  I slip the t-shirt on and it covers my ass and hits me just below my thighs.

  “Come on”—he nods toward the door—“breakfast is ready.”

  I grasp his hand in mine. “Lead the way.”

  “How do you take your coffee?”

  We walk down the hallway to his kitchen. Everything is white and grey with some splashes of beige and pops of navy.

  “I like a bit of sweetener. Do you have Splenda?”

  He nods. “Of course. Here have a seat and I’ll grab you a mug. I hope you’re hungry.”

  Smiling I take a seat at his table, which is already set up for our meal. It’s a cute wooden square table on wheels with two barstools. The kitchen is mostly white with lots of wood and metal décor. It’s definitely a chef’s kitchen—large counters, larger stove and a ton of pots and pans hang on the wall.

  “Here you go,” he says, placing the mug and a packet of Splenda in front of me.

  “Thanks.” I roll the package between my fingers and then tear it open. “What’s for breakfast?”

  “Buttered pecan french toast.”

  “I’ve never had that before,” I admit. “But it smells divine.”

  He busies himself at the stove and then crosses to the oven. “How did you sleep?”

  I blow the steam away from my coffee. “Well, really well. Thanks.”

  I stand and traipse to Tyler’s living room. There’s a large sliding glass door that overlooks a beautiful porch that links to a pool. Miles of green pastures and fields. It’s lovely. My gaze swings to the left, and in the distance there’s an old farmhouse. Must be Sawyer’s place.

  “Do I smell bourbon?”

  Tyler wraps his hands around my waist from behind. The scratch of his barely-there beard teases my skin.

  “You definitely smell bourbon.” His lips press to my neck and my heart drums in my chest. He pushes his hands beneath the fabric of my t-shirt gliding his fingers up to my breasts. Tyler’s thumb coasts over my nipple. The slow stroke of his touch coaxes them into tight points.

  “If you don’t stop that, I’ll be forced to get you back into bed,” I whisper. I tease him a little by wiggling my bare ass against his cock.

  “I won’t argue with you.” He kisses my neck again and the timer for the oven goes off. “Won’t even fight you on the matter.”

  I turn and push him back. “You have to feed me, Mister Nichols. It’s rude not to feed your guests.”

  He chuckles. “All right, let’s do this. You sit.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The oven opens and the smell of buttered pecans and warm bread spills out. My mouth waters and my stomach growls.

  Tyler slides a plate with four pieces of brioche topped with pecans in front of me.

  “There’s butter and syrup, if you want.” He points his knife to the middle of the table.

  “Yes, please.” I drape my napkin over my lap and then dive into the tub of butter. Tyler slathers on the syrup.

  I drizzle a little of the golden goodness over the beautiful buttery, eggy bread concoction. “Tyler, this smells fantastic.”

  “I hope you like, it,” he says and pops a piece of french toast into his mouth.

  Smiling, I cut into the bread. “I’m sure I will.” My mouth closes over the tines of my fork, and per usual, it’s fucking delicious. “Yummmmm,” I drawl out. “I’m normally not a fan of syrup, but, holy shit, this is fantastic.”

  His eyes meet mine. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, really good.”

  Hum. Sigh. Moan.

  He goes back for another bite. “Well, I’ll tell you a secret, I made the syrup from scratch. My own recipe.”

  My eyes pop wide. “Really?” I can’t stop shoveling the food into my mouth.

  Cut. Cut. Chew. Chew. Swallow.

  He nods and swallows. “Yep, I’ve been working on this for about a year now. I finally perfected the flavors and ratios. I want to manufacture it and sell it at the restaurant.”

  I stop chewing and look up at him. “Are you serious?” My words are muffled by the mouthful of bread.

  “As serious as I am about getting you back into my bed.”

  “That’s pretty serious.”

  He winks at me. “It’s happening. You eat as much as you want because you’ll need your strength.”

  My stomach clenches at the thought of having sex with Tyler again. He’s an animal in the sack. I’m ready for round three . . . four? I lost count of how many times we had sex last night.

  “You sure you have enough condoms?”

  He impales another piece of bread onto his fork “I’m sure. In case you need to know though, I’m clean and healthy.”

  I curl my fingers around his wrist and tug him closer to me. “I am too and I’m on the pill.” I wrap my lips around his fork and take a bite.

  “That’s it.” He drops his fork onto the table and hauls me up off the stool. “Back to bed we go.”

  He drags me down the hallway toward his bedroom where we stay for the rest of the afternoon. We talk. We eat. We have sex—really great sex.

  For the first time in a long time, I don’t want to leave a man. I never gave much thought to it before, but as I lie in bed with Tyler, I mentally catalog my past relationships. And I come to the realization that they were all lacking one thing—substance.

  Tyler has s
ubstance. Tyler has purpose. I really like him.

  He kisses the top of my head, twining our fingers together. “I had a great time today,” he says.

  “Me too, but I better get going. I have to shower and change for ladies’ night.” I sit up and he pulls me back to him.

  “I need a few more minutes before I let you go.”

  “Me too.” I snuggle into his chest. Just a few more minutes is all I need. There’s an ache that blooms in my chest and it scares the hell out of me.

  Tyler

  Jace pushes through the front door of my house carrying bags of food. Aaron’s three steps behind him.

  “I’ve got the wine,” he announces proudly, holding up two bottles.

  “Wine and baseball, that’s a new one for me.”

  I close the door and walk into my kitchen where Jace sets up all the food.

  Aaron turns to face me. “Wine opener and a glass, please. I need a drink—ASAP.”

  “Did you work today?” I ask, pulling a stemless glass from the cupboard.

  “Yes, I think everyone in this town has a grass or pollen allergy.”

  I grab the wine bottle opener and set them both beside the bottle he brought. “Seriously?

  “Wrote a ton of scripts today,” he says, popping the cork. “I don’t remember having allergies like this when I was kid. Every kid I meet seems to have a food allergy too.”

  “Probably all those hormones and chemicals in the food,” Jace offers. “Our generation, we’re mostly immune to it, but the kids these days not so much.”

  Aaron tips his wine glass. “That’s funny. These kids aren’t eating Wonder Bread and bologna with processed cheese. They’re gluten free, sugar free, lactose free, and eating a steady stream of vitamins. For the record, they should be taking vitamins. But they’re always sick, despite the ‘healthy eating.’ Saw it in New York on the daily.”

  I reach into the fridge for a beer and hand one to Jace. He takes it from me and we pop our caps at the same time.

  “Load up your plates,” Jace instructs. “Peaches wrapped in prosciutto, nachos, pot stickers and grilled cheese with fig jam. And for dessert, blackberry cobbler. Those blackberries were delivered just this morning.”

  “Damn, Jace”—I slap his shoulder—“this looks good.”

  “Thanks, man,” he says, and scoops some nachos onto his plate. “I’m definitely adding the grilled cheese with jam to the menu. Lukewarm and it’s fuckin’ tasty.”

  “I got the game on out on the porch,” I say, piling food onto my plate.

  We adjourn to my back porch and Harley greets us with a loud meow. He stretches and yawns then prowls off into the house. Cheers erupt from the television screen.

  “Damn it, Braves strike first,” Aaron shouts.

  “Come on, Cubbies,” Jace yells at the TV and takes a seat at the table.

  All three of us are Chicago Cubs fans. Jace and I get together every so often for beers and food when they play. Aaron and I happened to be talking about baseball the night at the strip club. I would have cancelled tonight if it had meant I’d be seeing Haven again.

  I know exactly how much time we have left before she heads back to L.A. Too bad it’s on a constant loop in my head—I have a countdown app on my phone. Yeah, so I know when she’s leaving right down to the minute.

  Having her here and in my bed, it is surreal. I’m outta my mind for this woman.

  Jace and Aaron clap bringing my focus back to the game and the food in front of me.

  “Am I the only one who had to work today?” Aaron levels his gaze at me.

  “I worked until three, then Maria took over,” Jace comments.

  I smile. “I spent the day with Haven.”

  “Hot damn, that’s my girl,” Aaron says. “So, she woke up here, right? Dish, now.”

  I tip my beer at him. “Are we really doing this? Dishing like women?”

  “Oh, that ball is gone,” Jace says. “So gone and going right onto Waveland.”

  Home run. Sweet.

  “If you’re not going to tell me, I’ll just go to Haven.” Aaron tips his glass in my direction. “We’re having lunch on Wednesday.”

  “You’re going to ask her anyway,” Jace tosses over his shoulder. “Don’t even try to deny it. Is your girl a baseball fan, Tyler?”

  “Dunno,” I say and shovel one of the peaches into my mouth. The juice slides down my thumb and I lick it off.

  Mmmmm. Peaches. Haven. I can’t wait to taste her again.

  “You should invite her over,” Aaron suggests.

  “I would, but she’s playing bunco at her parents’ place.”

  “Ladies’ night,” Jace acknowledges and his head bobs from side to side. “Maria’s been to those parties a few times. She says they get pretty wild.”

  “Are you and Maria dating?” Aaron asks Jace.

  Jace wipes his mouth and takes a swig of beer. “Nah, man, she’s outta my league.”

  We eat mostly in silence through the inning. Then Jace leads us into a rousing discussion about the best shows on Netflix, which leads us to compare the rules of Groundhog Day against the rules of Russian Doll. It leaves us with more questions than answers.

  Aaron carries on about his man crush, Richard Madden, and the show Bodyguard. “You have to watch it. I just can’t believe you haven’t even heard of it.”

  “Is he Kevin Costner’s character?” Jace asks.

  “Wrong Bodyguard,” I say and toss back my beer. “One has nothing to do with the other.”

  Jace shrugs and goes back to the game.

  I tap at my phone screen. Not a single message from Haven. She must be having a good time. I fire a text off to her during the fifth inning. Usually, baseball and conversation can hold my attention. Not even the beer is doing anything to make me feel less . . . edgy. My foot taps against the floor when Rizzo steps up to the plate.

  “Come on, Rizzo,” Aaron yells out.

  My hands steeple together. Smack. The ball flies out of the stadium. One player crosses home base. Then another and finally Rizzo skips home.

  “Whoo, yeah, that’s my boy,” Jace hollers out with a thunderous set of claps.

  “That was thrilling,” Aaron says, before taking a drink of wine. “You guys want another beer?”

  Jace and I both nod.

  For a moment, I picture what it might be like having Haven sitting here with me and the guys. I allow myself the daydream—all of us crammed around the porch talking, laughing and cheering.

  But her life is out in Los Angeles and mine’s here. Soon we’ll be thousands of miles apart. What to do? Stop it now before we trickle further into one another’s life? Or enjoy the time we have?

  Aaron comes back into the room, dropping the beers to the table. They clang together, and the noise pulls me back to the present.

  “Hey, isn’t that Jenna Rae over there with your brother?” Jace asks.

  My eyes dart over the field toward Sawyer’s house. “It looks like her.”

  Aaron howls in laughter. “Yep, that’s her. What the hell are they doing?”

  “Well, it looks like they’re sliding into second base right now,” Jace mentions as he pops the cap off his beer.

  Aaron rolls his eyes. “Good lord, it’s just like high school all over again.”

  My head swivels to Aaron. “Did those two date in high school?”

  Aaron scoffs. “Jenna Rae has been on my brother’s dick since middle school. She’s in love with him and he’s in love with himself. I think that’s why Jenna Rae never married Butch Kline. She’s been holding out for Sawyer. He had a thing for Haven, though. She didn’t feel the same.”

  My thoughts drift to Sawyer’s not so favorable comments about Haven. It makes no sense, yet at the same time, all kinds. Big man on campus rejected by the girl he likes. Most guys like that take rejection as a blow to the ego. Toss in teenage hormones—classic recipe for disaster.

  “Any truth to the rumor that Sawyer’s screwed half o
f Mayfield and most of Smyrna Hills?” Jace asks, spinning his empty bottle against the tabletop. “No offense.”

  Aaron shrugs. “Listen, I’ve caught my brother with a handful of women over the years. He’s a manwhore, no doubt. But like most of us, Sawyer’s a work in progress.” He sighs and continues, “It’s never going to happen between him and Jenna Rae. Not the happily ever after, anyway.”

  “I kinda feel bad for Jenna Rae,” Jace admits. “She’s in love with someone who’s never gonna love her back.”

  “I told Sawyer to stop stringing her along,” Aaron mentions. “He argues, telling me it isn’t his fault she didn’t marry Butch back in the day.”

  “Yeah, it isn’t cool to lead someone on when you know for sure that it can’t and won’t go anywhere. It’s a dick move,” Jace says.

  I blow out a deep breath and peel the label off my beer bottle. Jace’s words hit me harder than I anticipate. Haven and I need to have a chat, I decide.

  Haven

  “Oh, good lord,” I mumble under my breath. She’s planned a theme night. Back to the 80s. Everyone’s dressed up in electric neon colors and there’s a lot of spandex in here. She’s got bite sized sloppy joes, a JELL-O mold and Totino’s Pizza Rolls. There are even cookies with Tom Selleck’s face on them from his Magnum PI days.

  “Oh, Haven, honey, you’re here, good.” Mom steps toward me wearing a hot pink blouse and a black miniskirt. Gold bangles decorate both her arms. Large gold hoops hang from her ears. She pulls me into a hug and kisses my cheek. I can smell the hairspray that she used to hold her poufy hair in place.

  “Hi, Mom. Where’d you ship Dad off to for this soiree?”

  She pulls a bag of Skinny Pop from the pantry. “Oh, he’s out in the tack house. Watching a baseball game and drinking a bourbon, I assume.”

  Mom introduces me to a few of the ladies standing in the kitchen. I shuffle through some more introductions and listen to two women carry on a conversation about the decorations and how my mom has outdone herself.

  “The place is really festive. Can you remind me again how to play?”

  “Thank you. It’s easy—roll the dice, chat and repeat. There are directions at your table. Grab a glass of wine or try the 7 Up rum punch.”