Missionary Position

by Daisy Prescott

  I let his words settle inside my brain, allowing them to dissolve against my skin. “What is this?”

  “Dating?” he asked.

  “Dating.” The word hung between us. “Okay.”

  “You’re not mad?” He sounded relieved.

  “I wouldn’t go that far. You’re like one of those Russian dolls.”

  “How so?”

  “You keep revealing new layers, new secrets.”

  “Isn’t that the joy of dating? Getting to know someone?”

  “I thought the joy of dating was having sex on a regular basis.”

  “Maybe you weren’t doing it right.” His smug grin returned.

  “Watch it, cocky. I’m still mad at you.”

  “Let me make it up to you when we arrive at the hotel.” His hand moved up my thigh, leaving a trail of heat behind it.

  Sex was easy. The everything else, when it came to Kai, made my head hurt. At home I avoided complications and history, never sticking around long enough to have to deal with someone else’s baggage, let alone my own.

  KAI PULLED OFF the main road and parked along a dirt shoulder, promising food and an amazing view for lunch. I hoped the view came with booze. After his revelation, I needed a cocktail. And a cigarette. I clawed inside my purse for my gum, ruing the stupid idea of quitting smoking.

  The restaurant sat perched on a low bluff overlooking a narrow cove where waves crashed against dark rocks. Beyond the shade of the thatched umbrella above our table, the sun beat down, water sprayed from each large wave cresting the rocks, and unseen birds squawked in the nearby palm trees.

  A thousand thoughts flickered and fought for attention.

  Ex-wife.

  He ordered grilled fish and beers for us while I stared out at the ocean.

  Kai had been married.

  Of course a man like Kai would have been married. He probably wanted to be married again.

  Our beers arrived and I sipped mine, still silent and stewing. The calming effects of nicotine from the gum slipped into my bloodstream.

  Barely visible through the hazy air, an enormous white structure loomed above the water in the distance.

  I gestured to the ghost building. “Is that Elmina Castle?” It did resemble a castle with its parapets and towers. However, beneath its whitewashed exterior lurked the ghosts of slavery’s horrible history.

  Kai turned and squinted into the sun. “It is. Built by the Portuguese, but occupied by the Dutch for over two hundred years when this area was called the Gold Coast.”

  Two hundred years of slave trade. Thinking about the enormity hurt my heart, yet looking around, life went on along the coast. Fishing boats bobbed in the water and crowded the shore; resorts lined the beach. Modern life surrounded the vestiges of past atrocities. Death, love, horror, sickness, birth, and happiness coexisted in this place as they did everywhere.

  “Strange to think about the horrors of history while sitting in the sun, eating and drinking.” He frowned, his forehead furrowed.

  “History is odd that way.” I gazed at the crashing waves.

  “Odd how?”

  “Buildings and places hold memories. We imbue them with human emotion and memory. A rock, a field, a building become vessels for our memories. The rock on a battlefield is no more special than a rock on a beach. It’s easier to hold onto something in the past when you can still see, taste, or smell the memories.”

  He stared at me for a beat or two.

  I continued, “The need for memorials, to mark, to say ‘this happened’ or ‘this person lived’ is as old as humans. We celebrate our triumphs and mourn our defeats and failures with physical reminders.”

  “That’s true on personal levels.”

  “Very much. It’s universal, from a ring to demonstrate your love to arches celebrating the dead no one living can remember.”

  “The history still exists in stories and books, even if the physical evidence disappears,” he argued.

  “True, but memories fade. We need tangible reminders—places to visit, to touch—in order to feel.”

  “The same could be said for love.”

  “Not a believer in absence making the heart grow fonder?” I asked.

  “No, not really.” He lifted his sunglasses. “I think love can die from neglect. Not think, know.”

  “Speaking from experience?”

  “I don’t know how much you want, or need, to know about my past, about my life with Anita, or about my mistakes.” He waited for me to nod, then continued, “The short version? I’ve grown up a lot in the last five years.” He laughed. “That’s an understatement. In my teens and early twenties, I believed I could do no wrong. Anything I wanted, I had. Anyone I wanted, I had.”

  That I could believe.

  “I split my time between Europe and America, acting spoiled on two continents.”

  “How many continents have you visited?”

  “Six. You?”

  “Five. I’m interrupting. Sorry, continue.”

  “No, it’s okay. I love that you enjoy traveling.” He met my eyes. “Sure you want to hear this?”

  I motioned for him to continue; he’d piqued my interest. I wanted to learn about Anita, and what went wrong.

  “Anita’s parents were friends with mine, but we didn’t see each other often. I attended boarding school in the States.”

  Boarding school? Holy rich boy.

  “One summer during college while I was home for a month, Anita and I met again at a party. Turned out, she’d been going to Brown.”

  Damn super humans with their super human smarts.

  “We started dating. Everyone approved.”

  “Approved?”

  “Her parents, my parents.”

  “Ah. The golden couple.”

  I thought of my friends Ben and Jo. Despite fooling around with me freshman year, Ben was destined to marry someone like Jo. They were the perfect couple with the perfect life and perfect kids.

  Kids.

  Suddenly something Anita had said at JFK flashed in my mind.

  A teen daughter.

  “You have a daughter.”

  KAI NEARLY CHOKED on his beer. “Anita told you about Cibele?”

  “She told me she had a daughter, but not her name. I’m guessing that means you’re Cibele’s father?”

  He gave me a tiny smile. “It does.”

  I nodded, my ears ringing. My brain swam with beer, nicotine, and revelations.

  Not only was Kai the marrying type, he was the daddy type.

  Kai was a DILF.

  Or in my case, a DIF.

  I didn’t do kids. For the most part, they didn’t like me and I didn’t like them, especially the little ones. And babies? No way. Too much screaming and shit. Literal shit. Too many babies born the last two decades. When my friends had outgrown their baby-making phase, the gays started adopting. Or breeding. My best friend Quinn and his husband had a baby. Or surrogated a baby. I didn’t know the lingo. Lizzy had joined our motley family of friends and brought along non-stop regurgitation and pooping. And cuteness, I reluctantly admitted. She’d be much better in a few years. Or decades.

  A teen daughter.

  Kai had a daughter.

  “You have a daughter.”

  He nodded. “You said that already.”

  “I’m in shock. Be nice.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve fucked this up with my lack of honesty when we met in Amsterdam.”

  “Do you normally talk about your ex-wife and daughter when you first meet a woman?”

  He shook his head and chuckled. “No, but then again, I’m not normally introduced as a brother. This whole meeting has been …”

  “Unexpected?” I used his description of me.

  “To say the least.”

  I turned away to find our waitress. Once I caught her eye, I made the international hand gestures for another round of large beers. After I resettled into my chair, I found Kai regarding me with wariness, his thumb
rubbing the scruff on his chin.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “So tell me about your daughter.”

  He continued to scan my face.

  “Or not.”

  Our beers and food arrived, disrupting the staring contest taking place at our table.

  “Anita got pregnant senior year at Brown.”

  “Planned or unplanned?”

  “Unplanned. I didn’t handle it well at first.”

  “Bastard behavior?”

  “Pretty much. I got drunk the following weekend and mourned my life.”

  “You thought your life was over? At twenty-one?”

  “Having a baby wasn’t our plan—at all.”

  “Ever?”

  “We had a great relationship, but the distance and our ambitions didn’t lend themselves to the idea of marriage and a young family.”

  I understood completely. Earning my doctorate held priority over other aspects of my life for a decade.

  “But you did get married? What changed your mind?”

  “I did the right thing. When we told our parents Anita was pregnant, we received pressure to marry. I realized I was acting like a spoiled child, thinking only of myself. But I loved her.”

  “Who? Anita or the baby?”

  “Both. Cibele owned me from the moment her little heartbeat appeared on the monitor.”

  My own heart skipped from the love in his voice. Something deep inside of me flickered.

  He continued. “Even with the blessings of our parents and a lavish wedding, I didn’t feel ready. Twenty-two, newly married, and a father while working on my MBA created one cranky jerk.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Yikes is right. Anita is a saint. She postponed grad school while I finished, then agreed to move home for me to work with my father.”

  “Sounds very traditional.” I didn’t hide my disdain for the word.

  Kai frowned and tapped his fingers on the table. “We were young. All I focused on was ambition and making my own money before I hit thirty.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I hit thirty. And the shit hit the fan. I had achieved everything I wanted professionally. I made more money than I could spend in a lifetime; I had the office and the title; and I also had the ego.”

  “Sounds charming.”

  “Anita agreed.”

  “And your father?”

  “His disdain came later.”

  Another Russian doll to be opened another time.

  “And when the shit hit the fan?”

  “I woke up and realized I didn’t like myself. Or even recognize who I had become. I had everything I thought I wanted and realized it didn’t make me happy. My marriage had faded from lovers into roommates without me realizing it. Anita wanted more for herself. She deserved more.”

  “Good for her.”

  “Good for all of us. Anita is happy and that makes me happy. She loves Chicago and what she does. Cibele is happy.”

  “And you? Are you happy?”

  His fingers stilled. “Getting there.”

  “Do you visit Chicago often?”

  “A couple of times a year. Cibele joins me on my trips sometimes and visits our families in Amsterdam.” He frowned. “It’s never enough time.”

  My heart softened at his obvious love for his daughter. I recognized yet another side to Kai. “I can tell how much you love her.”

  “She’s my heart.”

  I hated to admit to myself, but there was something sexy about the love he had for his daughter. Not in a creepy way. Maybe the shock hadn’t worn off, or the beer had gone to my head, but I did something I never do when people started talking about their kids. I asked to see a picture.

  Kai took out his phone and tapped the screen. His wallpaper displayed a young girl with stormy sea-colored eyes and lavender streaking her blonde hair. Her black Cure T-shirt caught my eye.

  Be still my Robert Smith loving heart, Cibele was a twenty-first century goth girl.

  “The purple is new.” He chuckled. “My parents were not amused, but I love it.” His voice was filled with pride.

  “I love that band.” I pointed at her T-shirt. “I remember my first concert.”

  “You’ll be her idol.”

  His words implied I’d meet her someday. The idea sent cold waves of fear crashing against my legs, hinting at an undercurrent that could pull me under. Whatever warm feelings I’d had about Kai’s daughter minutes ago washed away. After a month of knowing each other—a month which included a handful of days together and a week of sex—this was too much, too soon.

  “Selah?” His voice snuck through the cold fog in my brain. Warm fingers intertwined with my own.

  “Sorry. Lost myself in memories of boys with black hair and red lips,” I fibbed.

  “As you do.” His voice teased.

  “Thanks for sharing about her.”

  “Thanks for listening.”

  The moment settled between awkward and polite. I poked at my fish; its dead fish eye stared up at me. My appetite disappeared. “Maybe we should drive to the hotel.”

  He eyed me warily. “You okay?”

  “Sure. Digesting.”

  “But you hardly ate anything.”

  “Figuratively digesting.”

  “Ah.”

  “Ah.” I covered my plate with my napkin. My stomach sank, not from the food, but from realization. Despite telling myself Kai wasn’t my type, it was me who wasn’t his. Nothing about me said golden or perfect. If anything, at best, I could have been Rizzo to someone’s Sandy. Spotlights and leading men were out of my reach.

  “Shall we?” He stood and extended his hand.

  Resolving myself, I met his eyes. We had now. A couple of months at best. Carpe diem.

  He laced his fingers with mine before bringing my hand to his mouth, kissing the skin, then gently biting it, sending shivers down my body.

  OUR HOTEL ROOM overlooked a pool and grassy area. Surf crashed beyond the white painted trunks of swaying palm trees. Although we were a few miles closer to Elmina, the castle couldn’t be seen from our resort. Still, its history shadowed my mood. Or perhaps it was the conversation at lunch. After arriving, I’d feigned sleepiness from lunch and a desire to nap. Kai took his laptop and sat on our balcony, giving me the space I needed but hadn’t asked for.

  I couldn’t turn off my brain enough to rest.

  Kai had a daughter. An ex-wife. A daughter.

  Last year I’d ended a relationship when the man wanted me to meet his children. It hadn’t been right to move forward when I never wanted to be a mother, let alone a step-monster. I rolled onto my side, staring through the screen at Kai’s long, lean body sitting in a chair only feet away from the bed. His tan, athletic legs were propped up on the railing. The bright sunlight highlighted the fine blond hairs on his arms and legs. I had a strong urge to run my nose along his limbs, feeling that hair against my skin, knowing he’d smell of sun and spice.

  Groaning, I rolled to the other side, my back to the golden boy.

  What about him turned me into an uncertain, insecure ball of girly doubt?

  Ugh, I sounded like Maggie last summer when Gil reentered her life.

  My hand punched the pillow on Kai’s side a few times, before grabbing it and putting it over my face.

  “Are you attempting to suffocate yourself?” His voice sounded muffled through the pillow.

  “Maybe,” I mumbled into the fabric.

  “I can’t hear you.” He lifted the pillow away.

  When I sat up and tried to grab it, we ended up tugging at it for a minute in some sort of lame pillow fight. I huffed and let him win.

  “I think that might have been my first pillow fight.” He grinned at me.

  “You call that a pillow fight?” I reached over and swiped his other pillow, whacking him on the shoulder.

  He didn’t duck. After a handful of seconds standing there with his mouth gaping open and t
he pillow hanging limply by his side, he responded with a full swing, aiming for my head.

  Falling backward on the bed, it was my turn to be shocked.

  No way would he get away with that. I knelt and let him have it, ducking from his attacks. Soon both of us were laughing and breathless. I collapsed against the mattress, keeping the pillow over my face for protection. When the blows ceased, I peeked up at him from under the corner of the pillowcase. He stood over me, a broad grin on his gorgeous face. Hair tousled, his laughter shaking his chest, he was glorious, irresistible.

  Damn him.

  “Come here.” I summoned him with my finger.

  The bed bounced where he landed next to me. “That was fun.”

  “I can think of more fun we can have on this bed.” I tugged him closer by his shirt.

  “Oh really?” he asked. “What did you have in mind?” A long leg moved across mine, pinning me down.

  “Something involving less clothing.”

  “I approve of that more than being whacked with a foam pillow.” His eyes sparkled as he shifted over me. Grabbing my hands, he pulled them above my head, holding both in one of his while his hips anchored me. “Now that I have you where I want you, will you tell me what’s happening inside that big, beautiful brain of yours?”

  I lost myself in the deep blue of his eyes for a moment. “Nothing.”

  He raised an eyebrow and squinted down at me. “Nothing is the wrong answer.”

  I closed my eyes to his intense gaze.

  “Hey, no hiding.” He released my hands to tap my forehead.

  “I’m not hiding.” I opened one eye. A single eyeful of Kai was enough. “Talking wasn’t what I had in mind when I said more fun than a pillow fight, just saying.”

  “I figured.” He rolled his hips into mine, showing me he had more on his mind than talking.

  My eyes fluttered closed at the contact while heat gathered in my center. “You can’t expect me to concentrate on thinking when you have me pinned to the bed.”

  “Should I get up?”

  “No!” I shouted.

  He chuckled as he gently bit the skin at the corner of my jaw.

  “Let’s make a deal. Less talking now, more talking later.” With both eyes open, I attempted to assure him I meant it.

  “Deal, but I won’t forget.” His steely gaze held the resolution of his promise.