I helped her wiggle down my body and sat up, holding her on my lap, her knees on either side of me. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks were pink, and she couldn’t catch her breath. “You OK?”
“Yes. I think so.” She shivered. “That was intense.”
“Good.”
She pressed her lips to mine. Then she giggled. “Your face smells like my essential oil.”
“I fucking love it. I can’t get enough.”
Tipping her head onto my shoulder, she buried her face in my neck. “I know the feeling.”
Jillian
I threw on some jeans and a top and met him up in the kitchen, where he was unpacking the grocery bags. This is so nice, seeing him at home in my kitchen. My romantic history involved a few short flings, one extended disaster, and the occasional one-night hookup, but I’d never lived with anyone or gotten so comfortable with someone that he’d stayed over a lot. Watching Levi work in my kitchen gave me a little kick.
“Hope there’s no ice cream in here,” I said, peeking into one of the brown paper sacks.
Levi pulled out a loaf of French bread. “Nope. I like ice cream cones, but they are not beard-friendly.”
“I never thought about that. You could eat it in a bowl,” I suggested, grabbing the bottle of whiskey I’d bought for tonight and breaking the seal.
“What’s the point of ice cream in a bowl?” He set a package wrapped in white butcher paper on the counter. “That’s boring. But I will eat it with pie.”
“What kind of pie do you like?”
“Jillian pie.” He threw me a grin over one shoulder. “But other than that, I’m not picky.”
“Well, you’ve already had your fill of Jillian pie for the evening, but I have—”
“Not true,” he said, pulling out a package of bacon, a bag of greens, and some other vegetables. “My appetite for Jillian pie is never-ending, and it goes so well with bacon-wrapped steak bites. But go on.”
I grinned and pulled two glasses from a cupboard. “I was going to say, my mother gave me a cherry pie this week. She bakes them constantly. Did I tell you I grew up on a cherry farm?”
“No. Did you really?”
“Yes, on Old Mission. Not too far from Abelard Vineyards.”
“I’d love to see it sometime.” He stuck a few things in the refrigerator.
My heart fluttered. “Sure. We could bring Scotty if you want.”
He closed the fridge but stayed facing it, and my brain went a little haywire.
Oh shit. I said the wrong thing. I’m moving too fast. He doesn’t want me to meet his son. He just wants to keep this casual. Friendly. Nonromantic.
But then what was he doing here with bacon and steak? That wasn’t like coming over with a pizza and a six-pack. Bacon and steak said romantic. Bacon and steak said serious. Bacon and steak said couple.
He turned around and looked at me. “You want to meet Scotty?”
“Of course I do.” I twisted my hands together. “If you want me to.”
He walked toward me, and my stomach knotted. I couldn’t read his expression at all. “Jillian. I do want you to meet Scotty.”
“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ there.”
His jaw twitched, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I wish there wasn’t. I want this to be so much simpler than it is.”
“Talk to me.” I leaned back against the counter, my hands gripping the edge, feeling unprepared to deal with whatever was coming. “I can take it, Levi. I’m a big girl. If you want to keep your son separate from us, just say it. I mean, I don’t even really know what ‘us’ is.”
He reached for my hands and held them between us, staring at them. “I don’t either. But I’ve been thinking about this all week, and I know what I’d like us to be.”
“Which is?”
His eyes met mine. “I want us to be together.”
“As in … romantically?”
“Yes.”
Warmth flooded me, and I rose up on tiptoe. “I want that too.”
“But Jillian.” He squeezed my hands. “I have to be honest—I’m a seriously shitty boyfriend.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I can’t give you what you deserve.”
“Which is what?”
“All of me.” He shrugged as if he had a load of bricks on each shoulder. “I can’t give you all of me.”
“Because you have a son?”
He nodded, his dark eyes sad. “You deserve someone with more time for you. Someone who can make you his first priority. Someone who can offer you all the things you want in life.”
A lump formed in my throat and I swallowed hard, the reality of what he was saying sinking in. My gaze fell to our hands. His hands. They were so big compared to mine. I loved how mine fit inside them—it made me feel warm and protected. I loved that he was being honest with me and not trying to string me along just because the sex was good. I loved his sense of humor and his dirty mouth and his concern about being a gentleman. And maybe it was superficial or sexist, but I loved how tall he was and the way he carried me around and took command of my body—it made me feel beautiful and feminine and cherished. And I loved the way he loved his son with all his heart—even if it meant there was less of it for me.
But what was I willing to sacrifice for it?
I met his eyes again. “Levi, I won’t lie and say this is an easy decision, because I know what you’re telling me. And I’ve been avoiding this conversation because this feels so good with you. So easy.”
“It does.” He squeezed my hands again. “The feelings I have for you …” He shook his head. “It’s crazy. I feel like I’ve known you so much longer than just the last couple weeks, and ten times a day, I catch myself staring into space, lost in thoughts about you. And I don’t want to ruin this, but I don’t want you to hate me when I disappoint you. Because I will.”
I shook my head. “Levi, stop. I could never hate you for putting your son first. I understand. He needs you to do that.”
“He does.” His eyes shone. “But what about you? I’m bad at this, Jillian. The balance. I’m afraid I’ll fuck it up.”
My heart ached. “You’re so hard on yourself, Levi. How do you know what will happen unless we try?”
“I guess I don’t know for sure. I just know that you deserve more than I can give you, and you’ll realize that eventually. And yet I don’t want to give you up.” He kissed my hands. “I’m selfish.”
“You’re not selfish. I don’t want to give you up either.” Needing to feel his arms around me, I slipped my hands from his and twined them around his waist. He wrapped me up in his warm, solid embrace, and I laid my cheek on his chest. “I want this, Levi.”
“I want it too.”
I loved the way I could feel the vibrations of his low, quiet voice in his chest. “Then let’s try. I struggle with balance too, between my work and my personal life. Maybe we can help each other.”
He stroked my hair. “Will we ever see each other?”
“Of course we will. I don’t need all of your time, and you don’t need all of mine. It’s about quality, not quantity. And I don’t need to be your first priority, either. You’re a father, and I know that comes first. But Levi …” Growing nervous again, I pulled back so I could meet his eyes. I didn’t want to ask this question, but I had to. If I were twenty and didn’t know myself so well and just wanted a good time, things would be different, but I was thirty and self-aware and wanted something more.
I wanted a love story. With a happily ever after.
“I do need to feel like there’s the possibility of a future for us, at least somewhere down the road,” I said, willing myself to be brave and say the next part. “If you truly feel like we can never get there, even taking our time and going slow, I need to know now. I don’t mind being just friends, but the way I feel about you, I can’t—I couldn’t … keep doing what we’re doing.” I’ll fall in love with you. And you’ll break my heart.
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He took a breath. “Jillian, a year ago, I’d have said there was no way. I thought putting Scotty first meant I had to sacrifice those things, so I never even considered it. If I ever felt alone, I told myself that was the price I had to pay to be a good father to him. But now …”
“Now?” I echoed, feeling like I was dangling off the edge of a cliff.
“Now there’s you.” He took my face in his hands and kissed me. “Without making specific promises, I’m up for seeing where this takes us—if you can put up with me … with us. We’re sort of a package deal.”
Relief and affection for him made me smile. “I’ll try. Let’s go slow—one step at a time.” I grinned at him. “So we don’t lose our balance.”
He kissed me again and pulled me into his arms. “I don’t deserve you, Girl Friday. But I want to.”
While Levi made dinner, I mixed two Old Fashioneds. “Do you like this whiskey?” I asked, showing him the bottle. “My guy at the liquor store said it’s awesome.”
He looked up from his tray of bacon-wrapped steak. He’d cuffed his sleeves, which meant I could see his watch, which meant I might have drooled a little bit. “Journeyman? I love it. I’d like to visit that distillery.”
“We should go sometime,” I said, putting a little sugar in the bottom of each glass. “I looked it up, and it’s pretty much a straight shot down ninety-four. Then we could go to Chicago!”
“Is that before or after our ski trip?”
“Hmm, we do have a lot of big plans, don’t we?” I wet the sugar with some bitters and a splash of soda, swirled it around to coat the bottom, then added an ice cube. “Maybe we should start a little smaller.”
“I was thinking the same earlier today,” he said, sliding the tray of steak bites into the oven. “I’d like to spend a night with you somewhere.”
I poured the whiskey into the glasses as my stomach flipped. “Like a sleepover?”
“Yes, a sleepover.” He shut the oven and turned around, laughing. “Although I have never called it that before.”
I handed him his drink. “I’d love that. Open invitation here, whenever you can work it out.”
“Thanks.” He took a sip and raised his eyebrows. “This is perfect. My God—she’s beautiful, smart, and mixes a proper cocktail?” He clapped a hand to his chest. “I’m in love.”
I knew he was teasing me, but my heart stopped just the same, and I nearly dropped my drink. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll admit, I had to look it up,” I said, hoping he couldn’t tell how flustered I was by his words. “Is that cheating?”
“Not at all.” He came closer and kissed my forehead. “You’re a very good student.”
“Especially when the subject is you. Guess what else I did?”
“What?” He took another drink and licked his lips.
“Rented The Shawshank Redemption so we could have our movie date.”
“Did you?” He set down his glass and opened up the bag of greens. “Hey, can you grab two dinner plates for me?”
“I think I have the movie for twenty-four hours,” I said, reaching for two plates in the cupboard. “But if we don’t get to it tonight, we can always rent it another time.”
“We might have to.” He took the plates from me and set them down. “Because it’s after seven already, I told my sitter I’d be home around eleven, and I want to give you at least two more orgasms before I go.”
I giggled. “You’re going to spoil me.”
He picked up his drink again, tapped it against mine, and took a sip. “As much as fucking possible.”
Levi
“I’ll help you with the dishes,” I said, bringing our plates and silverware over to the sink. There was hardly a crumb left—Jillian’s appetite at the dinner table was just as voracious as it was in the bedroom, which I found delightfully sexy. It was almost funny watching her devour everything on her plate, given how thin she was.
“Don’t you dare.” She poured the rest of the wine in our glasses. “You cooked the entire meal. The least I can do is the dishes.”
I laughed. “I’m used to doing both.”
“Too bad. I’ll get them done later. Come sit with me for our movie date.” She set our wine on the coffee table, turned off the lights, and got on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her.
I knew what was going to happen if we got on the couch in the dark, and it didn’t involve Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman. But she looked so excited about watching my favorite movie with me, I figured I’d humor her.
We lasted ten minutes.
At that point, my hand was up her shirt, her hand was down my pants, our tongues were tangled up, I was hard, she was wet, and the only prison we gave a fuck about was our clothing. We broke free of it a lot faster than Andy and Red, whipping off shirts and dragging down jeans and flinging underwear to the floor. I brought her to orgasm with my fingers first, even though she begged me to fuck her, because I couldn’t get enough of the sounds she made, the way she moved against my hand, the shape of her mouth when she came.
And it was something I could give her … there was so much I couldn’t.
When her climax was over, she pushed my hand away, panting and wild-eyed. I grabbed a condom from my pants and she took it from me, tearing open the packet and sliding it over my erection with quick hands.
Fuck, that was hot. Everything about her was hot—the way she straddled my lap and lowered herself on to me slowly, like she wanted to savor every inch. The way she took me in so deep, the expression on her face a mix of rapture and pain. The way she moved her hips over mine, in rhythmic, undulating motions that had me fighting the urge to come inside a minute.
The way she accepted me for who I was, didn’t judge me for my mistakes, and believed that I could make her happy.
I still didn’t know how we were going to do this, and the fear of disappointing her bit at the edges of my bliss. But I was going to try harder than I ever had to make it work.
“Oh God,” she whispered, her eyes locked on mine, her hands clutching my shoulders. I knew she was going to come from the way her breathing changed and the way she moved, tight and hard and fast against me, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. As soon as she cried out, her eyes closing, her pussy clenching around my cock, I came long and hard and deep, my fingers digging into her hips as I thrust up inside her, my breath escaping in ragged, primal sounds.
Afterward, I wrapped my arms around her and held her close, a shiver moving through my body. Burying my face in her neck, breathing her in, I spread my hands out on her back, feeling the bones and muscles beneath her satin skin. Somewhere underneath it all, her heart beat hard and fast against my chest, and I felt a powerful urge to possess and protect it, to offer her mine in return.
I wanted to say something to her, something to tell her how grateful I was, how swept away, how beautiful she felt in my arms. I wanted to stay here and hold her like this until that insatiable hunger burned in me again, and then I wanted to take her to bed and fill her body with mine, lose myself inside her. I wanted to make promises and keep them.
But I couldn’t.
“Jillian,” I whispered.
“I know,” she said softly, stroking my hair. “I know.”
“Monica, can I talk to you about something?” My sister and I were sitting in the living room at our parents’ house, drinking a beer and watching our kids and her husband Kyle play a board game on the floor. Her daughters—Emerson and Zoe, ages nine and six—were good with Scotty, and understood that he liked to play games exactly as the rules stated without any deviation. There was no letting Zoe win because she was the youngest, and there were no do-overs if you didn’t get the spin you wanted.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I wanted to ask a favor.”
On the hour-long drive to Charlevoix, I’d thought of nothing but Jillian, specifically the task ahead—how and when should I introduce her to Scotty? I was crazy about her, but maybe I was just crazy, period. Di
d she even realize what she was getting into? My life (my child) wasn’t easy. And I didn’t want to confuse Scotty by bringing her into our lives and then having to explain her absence if she didn’t have the feelings I did, or if she decided we were too much to handle.
She and I needed more alone time together, but how could I manage that? Friday night dates were fun, but seeing her only once a week for a few hours wasn’t really enough time to get to know each other—especially since we tended to spend half that time naked and sweaty. No, we needed real time together. And in order to have that, I needed to get Scotty accustomed to staying the night somewhere without me, or staying at our house overnight when I wasn’t there. I couldn’t ask Sarah to stay the night, so that left my parents or sister. Which one would stress Scotty out the least was anyone’s guess, since none of them really understood the way his mind worked. My mother could probably come stay at the house with him, which would be preferable to having him have to sleep in a strange bed, but I’d decided to go with my sister. One, I wasn’t positive how my mother would react to my leaving my son to go spend the night with a woman I’d only been dating a few weeks, and didn’t want any additional guilt about it. Two, I felt more comfortable talking about it with my sister—she could get judgmental too, but it would be less embarrassing at least.
“Ask away.”
“Do you think Scotty could stay overnight at your house some weekend?”
She thought for a second, tipping up her beer. “Do you think he’d do it?”
I frowned. “Honestly, I don’t know. It might be … difficult, because he won’t like not sleeping in his regular bed in his regular room, but maybe if we brought a few things from home, he’d handle it OK.” I tried not to think about how unsettled he became simply from adding something different to the nighttime prayers. Guilt pricked at me—was this too selfish?
“I’m certainly willing to try. Do you have to travel for work?”
“No.” I rubbed a hand on the back of my neck, trying to shake the feeling that I was doing something wrong. “The truth is … I met someone.”
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