Bending down to pick up my jeans, I chance a glance in Brian’s direction again and catch him staring at me.
“What?” I ask, biting my lip. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He shakes his head, a smile climbing into the corners of his mouth, and takes a quick step in my direction. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he pulls me to him, pressing me against his chest in a hug that allows my heart to speak directly to his.
“You know,” I say into his neck, a giggle escaping my mouth, “this is kind of how things got out of hand a little bit ago.”
“I’m okay with that if you are,” he says, grabbing my hand as he pulls away and leads me out of the bathroom.
Brian stops at the fridge on our way through the kitchen and grabs out bottled water and a container of cannoli I didn’t know he was hiding. My mouth starts watering at the thought of that sweet, cheesy filling. I reach for the container, but he pulls it out of reach.
“No, ma’am. These are all mine, you’ll have to find your own,” he says.
“That’s not fair, Brian. I have loved cannoli since birth. You have to share. I’m your guest and you have better manners than that,” I spout off and turn away from him, sticking my bottom lip out in a mock pout. “And if you don’t share, I’ll call your mom and tell on you.”
A Cheshire grin forms on my lips when I hear him gasp dramatically.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would, Bri. Remember all those school lunches you promised to share? So many cookies! And you usually gave them to the other boys you sat with. I totally told your mom about that, too.” I turn my head slightly so he can see the humor in my eyes.
The playful look has been erased and replaced with a very serious one; his bright eyes now cloudy like the sky when a storm is rushing over the horizon.
“Do you know why I used to give up all those cookies to the other boys?” Setting the water and container of cannoli on the counter Brian reaches for my face, caressing my cheeks and tucking my hair back behind my ears. I don’t know where he’s going with this, and I know I shouldn’t speak, but he has to know what I’m thinking.
“They were just cookies. I’m not mad anymore,” I try to say, but he touches my bottom lip with his thumb and shakes his head at me, quieting the thought before I can say anymore.
“It was a bribe. They all thought you were pretty and wanted you to be their girlfriend — hold your hand before school started in the morning, walk you to the bus circle, all that — and I wouldn’t let them.”
His eyes dance between my lips and eyes, above my head to something on the wall, and back to me.
“Even in second grade, I wanted you to be mine. You were my Stella then, and I’m back here to make that happen now, again,” he says quietly. “So, if sharing this container of cannoli with you will keep you from calling my mom and telling on me, I guess I can do that, too.”
He gently kisses my lips and before he can break away, I reach over and snag the container off the counter.
“Come with me and I’ll show you what I can do with these treats,” I say coyly, walking back toward the door that leads to the front of the house and the stairs that no doubt will take me to his bed. I catch a glimpse of the hunger in his eyes as I round the corner, the bottom of his jersey lightly brushing the backs of my thighs with each step, and a shiver creeps up my spine.
I find the stairs in spite of the darkness shrouding the room, and begin my ascent to the second floor. Nearing the top of the stairs I hear the creak of a foot stepping near the bottom and my heart begins to race.
“First room on the left,” he whispers, and I quickly disappear from his view as I step into what, at first glance, could be described as a dimly lit man cave. My eyes adjust quickly and I see how wrong I was to assume it would be a cavern of dirty laundry and unmade bedding.
You can tell a lot about a person by the appearance of their intimate space.
This is not a typical man’s bedroom, but Brian isn’t like most of the men I know, past or present.
Centered between two north facing windows is a queen size bed, perfectly made to military precision — the bedspread taut and firm — with four pillows stacked along the headboard.
A large homemade quilt covers the sheets. I recognize the pattern right away, an intricate rendition of the Irish chain, done in a variety of blues and greens.
“Wow,” I whisper, as I run my hand over what must have taken months of work to complete. I’m marveling at the hand stitching when I hear him approach from the top of the stairs across the hall.
“My mom made it,” Brian says, his voice thick with emotion. “She started working on it when I told her I was moving back north. Said she needed to make sure I’d stay warm if I was going to live somewhere it snows seven months a year.”
I laugh because it’s both mostly accurate and sad. We do get a lot of snow.
“But all that snow just means more snuggling, right?” I say as his arms come around me from behind. I close my eyes and lean back into him, enjoying the closeness of a man, something I haven’t admitted to anyone has long been missing from my life. Long before Keith left.
“How about we get that snuggling started now? You know, practice makes perfect. By the time it starts snowing for the season we could be experts,” Brian says softly close to my ear and my legs weaken at the huskiness in his voice.
I place a knee on the bed and swiftly move to the center, waiting for him to join me.
***
“So, let me get this straight, he left you six months ago but you guys hadn’t been intimate in almost a year?” Brian’s incredulity at the situation is endearing, and a little unnerving. I don’t respond right away, instead taking my time to suck the filling out of another cannoli.
Sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, Brian’s lying next to me on his back staring at the ceiling as I slowly polish off my half of the container. I refuse to attempt eye contact after my admission. Yet. The vulnerable feeling is going to pass eventually, but it’s still kind of raw and to openly admit there was nothing happening in my bedroom for longer than anyone could have imagined rubs that rawness back to bleeding.
“Yup. Crazy isn’t it?”
He lifts his head to look at me, wide-eyed. “Crazy doesn’t even begin to explain the things wrong with that man.”
The silence is heavy. I don’t like it and I can’t help the need to fill that void.
“Between his business trips and me always working late — either out of need or because I didn’t want to go home, I’m not sure — we just lost that part of each other. When I was home early, he wasn’t. When he was home early, I wasn’t. When we were both home early? I just stopped waiting for him to come to bed.”
The truth hurts. It’s painful, like a thousand shards of glass are being shoved under my skin. But the pieces of me are already starting to get glued back together and I can look at the situation a little more clearly. It certainly doesn’t hurt as much as it did two weeks ago; six months ago feels like a blow I took forever ago.
“Let’s put it this way,” I say, lying across Brian’s chest to look at him closely so he doesn’t miss a word of what I’m about to say. “My marriage started out filled with love, or I thought it did, and mostly ended with me sharing a last name with a roommate. I can see that now, and I still probably wouldn’t admit it to him, but that’s what it feels like the last few years have been. However, if it hadn’t ended? This” — I motion to the minimal space between our bodies — “wouldn’t be happening.”
He sighs, the deep rise and fall of his chest lifting me along with it, and he pushes his fingers into my hair, tipping my head to look into my eyes, searching.
“I know. And we may have been able to have a friendship if he hadn’t left you, but, still, just a friendship? I don’t know if that’s something I could have survived. Not without wanting more. I’ve loved you for too long,” he says, his mouth going slack and his eyes widening, like he
realizes he just said something he didn’t mean to.
“Loved. Like, past tense?” I ask, staring back at Brian, because it’s entirely possible to want someone without loving them still. “As in, you used to love me?”
His tongue darts out, leaving a glistening trail in its wake along his bottom lip.
“No. As in, ‘I have loved you for too long.’ As in, you were my best friend and I loved you then for being by my side when we were kids. Present tense. As in, you’ve only been back in my life a couple weeks, but it’s that feeling multiplied by thousands,” he says slowly, softly, sensually. “I love you in the present tense, Stella.”
I kiss him. His hands in my hair and a half-eaten cannoli in my hand, I find his lips like they’re the lifeline I need to make it back to the surface — he’s been a beacon in the dark and I know he’s a safe harbor, so when I come up gasping for air I focus on him time and time again.
“Don’t get cannoli on this quilt. My mom will kill me,” he says, lips still connected to mine, and I feel him smile underneath me as he slips his hands down the front of the jersey and pops the top button free.
“Then you need to let me move so I can get rid of it,” I say back to him as he drops his head onto the bed.
“That right there is about the sexiest thing I have ever seen. I can’t believe you just shoved that entire thing in your mouth,” he says, releasing another button as I struggle to sit up and straddle his hips, feeling him thicken between my thighs.
I chew enough to swallow without choking. “I don’t waste food. Family rule.”
“Well in that case we should definitely eat the rest of these,” he says reaching out to grab the container. The empty container. “Did you eat all of those?”
“Maybe. You can make me more tomorrow. You’re supposed to be kissing me now. There might be a little sugar right here,” I say pointing to the corner of my mouth.
“Right there?” he asks, pulling me down to his lips.
“Yeah, right there,” I reply, breathily, as he licks the crease of my mouth before taking my top lip between his, pulling it in with his tongue to deepen the kiss.
I feel the jersey start to slip off my shoulders and tighten around my body, holding me snug within the fabric, as Brian lifts his hips and rolls us over so he’s settled between my legs and taken control.
His kisses land gently on my jaw as he works his way back down my neck, nuzzling under my ear, setting off a reaction that leaves my back arching and a low moan escaping my throat.
“Stell, not that I want to stop,” Brian says, trailing his nose from my ear down my neck. “But ...”
He doesn’t even have to finish.
“Fuck. We ... oh my God.”
“You’re not on any birth control, are you?” he asks, timidly, and judging by his reaction to my reaction he’s already aware of the answer.
I cover my face with both hands; I can’t even let him look at me.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I say into my hands after a moment of trying to pull myself together. “I was on the pill for the longest time and then it just seemed pointless, so I didn’t renew my prescription. Brian ... I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
I can feel the tears welling up behind my eyelids and I will them to go away. I’m so tired of crying about everything; I’m stronger than this.
“No it’s not. Nothing is your fault. I was down there with you. I remember it well,” he says with a smile, then dropping a kiss to my lips he moves to lie beside me. “I’m just as responsible as you are. I wasn’t exactly using my brain, so I think it’s safe to say we have chemistry since I don’t do much without thinking it through all the way. Nothing trips me up like you do.”
He has a way of putting me at ease. I laugh through the tears because he’s right — he probably thinks before he acts with most things and plans everything out — and turn into his chest to feel his warmth.
“I’ve destroyed any mood there was now, haven’t I? Is the option to snuggle still open?”
“For you, it’s always open,” he says sleepily, setting his hand on my hip and cradling my head in the crook of his elbow on the other arm.
“Brian ...?”
“Mmmhmm,” he hums quietly, drifting off.
“I love you in the present tense, too,” I whisper, hoping my words make it home through the haze of sleep.
Brian
Chapter Nineteen
This is going to be the longest three weeks of our lives.
Her period is due around Halloween.
We’re giving it twenty-one days to show up before we panic.
That’s twenty-one long ass days that are going to move by slowly until we know if we’ve accidentally created a little person.
It’s only Saturday afternoon and I already feel anxious — we made love once twelve hours ago and I seriously want to go buy her a case box of pregnancy tests. Just in case she’s as anxious as I am.
What am I thinking? Of course she’s anxious. She has to be. It’s her body this is going to happen to if it happens.
What kind of asshole am I to not have condoms? Or to not even think about needing one? As if being celibate for damn near six years is reason enough to not have any stashed away. This is what happens when I let my penis do the thinking for me.
“Bride’s side or groom’s?” I ask, holding my arm out for the blonde stepping into the church.
“Uh ... bride. And you are?” Her voice has a hoarseness to it that tickles something in my brain, it’s sexy and unique and doesn’t quite fit her face and body.
“Brian. Friend of the groom and usher,” I say as she wraps her arm around my elbow so I can show her to a pew. “I’m at your service ...”
“Emily. Emily Long. Since you’re in the wedding, I assume you’ll be at the reception. Can I also assume you’ll save me a dance?” She asks the question like I have the option to say no, and I don’t want to. It’s been lonely being back in Tennessee and I plan to have as much fun tonight as I can.
“Well, Emily, I think that can be arranged,” I smile as she takes her seat and I head to the back of the church.
I was thinking with my penis then, but used protection that failed and resulted in the best gift ever. I may not have been in love with Emily, but there was a reason Britt was brought into our lives — into my life — and I hope I’m just overthinking things. Or thinking about how different Stella is from Emily.
I put three scoops of beans in the grinder and hit the button. The machine comes to life, the café fills with the whirring sound of the blades and the aroma of fresh ground coffee seeps into my pores, calming my nerves as I move through the motions.
“Hey, man, you okay?” Greg comes up behind me and I jump.
“What? Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“You were standing here staring at that machine like you could control it with your mind. Did you turn into a Jedi overnight or ... something’s up. Something happened after I left your place last night. You’re different.” Greg cocks an eyebrow at me and I try to play it off like nothing’s out of the ordinary with a shoulder shrug. “No. None of that.”
He leans in close, smells me, and stands up straight again.
“Nope. Kitchen. Let’s go.” He pushes my shoulder until I’ve turned and we start walking toward the kitchen, my fresh ground coffee in hand.
“For real, Greg, nothing’s up —”
“Liar. What are we, fifteen? I smell a girl on you. Stella stayed over, didn’t she?”
There’s no use playing around with Greg; he knows me way too well and was the master of knowing who in our fraternity got laid any night of the week even if he hadn’t been to the house or at the same party. It’s a gift, really. I fear for his daughters’ boyfriends if he ever has any kids.
“Yeah, she stayed, but please say nothing to anyone. Especially Caryn. If she wants her best friend to know she spent the night with me that’s her business,” I say, realizing just how horribly this c
ould end if he says something and Stell isn’t ready for people to know about whatever it is we are right now. “And nothing in front of Britt. No innuendo, no frat house routines, nothing. Please?”
“I wouldn’t ... okay, I would, but I won’t. So, what happened?” He wants information. He always wants details. I should have lied.
“You left. She stayed. Things got crazy. We went to bed. Slept. She got up early this morning to shower, left the house in a pair of my sweatpants and a thermal shirt before Britt woke up and could ask about our sleepover,” I hurry through the abridged version. “We agreed we want to take things slower in front of Britton to let him get used to the idea of a woman being in my life since she’s the first since, well, since his mother. He’s a really smart kid, though, and I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to keep up any sort of charade, so really, keep it to yourself.”
My cellphone starts ringing and gives me a way out of the conversation before he can dig further, so I excuse myself and head back out front to brew more coffee, answering on my way through the café doors.
“Hey, you, what’s up?” I ask after seeing Stella’s name on the screen.
“How late are you staying at the coffeehouse today? I’m making dinner and want to know what time I should have it ready if you and Britt are free to join me,” she says it nonchalantly, but even nonchalance sounds heaven-sent coming from her mouth. “And if you’re going to be late, I figured I would just come grab him and he can help me make dinner.”
I finish adding water to the machine and turn to watch Britt sitting at a table near the counter coloring. The kid deserves to go do something other than keep us company and color all day.
“Let me ask him,” I say into the phone before pulling it from my ear. “Hey, Britt, Stella wants to know if you want to go to her house and help make dinner? If you want to, I’ll be over after Greg and I shut down.”
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