by Scott, S. L.
The bartender tells me it will be another fifteen minutes for my food, so I order a beer. I need to take the edge off. My nerves are frayed from the last few days. I need to calm the fuck down.
It’s funny how nervous I am to spend time with a girl that I spent years with before. But we’re different.
I’m different.
Jules is different.
We’re who we are now, not naïve like we were back then. I won’t screw us up this time. I promise I won’t fuck this up. I grab the order and walk the three blocks back to her place. Right when I arrive at the front door, she comes out. “Perfect timing,” she says, “I’m all ready.”
In the cab over to my apartment, she says, “The food smells good. I’m starving.”
What I love is that she’s sitting right next to me even though there’s plenty of room on the other side of her. I take a chance and put my arm around her shoulders… and she lets me.
“I’M SO FULL,” I say, rubbing my stomach while leaning back to relieve the pressure on my belt.
“So am I,” she replies, exhaling. “I’d like more wine. Do you mind if I get it?”
“No, go right ahead. Please make yourself at home.”
She was standing from the table when the last part of what I said makes her hesitate. Home. Then she whispers, “Thank you,” before going into the kitchen.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
Simple.
The truth.
Plain.
Honest.
With the wine bottle in hand, she tops our glasses off. After setting it down, she stands next to me, then slides onto my lap sideways similar to how we sat on the train. She kisses my forehead, then says, “I want,” kissing my temple, “to be here,” my cheek and finally my lips, “with you.”
She tugs me even closer. “I want you,” she adds, just a whisper in my ear, her hand over my heart and I wonder if she realizes where her hand landed.
Fireworks.
We look toward the large window in the living room, the dark sky lights up. Jules rushes from my lap before I can stop her with excitement on her face. “It’s New Years Eve,” she proclaims as if she just realized, looking at the clock. “It’s not midnight yet?”
“Pre-fireworks at eleven-thirty to get everyone in the spirit. The ball drops at midnight.”
“Turn on the TV. I want to watch.”
After turning the TV on, it blares nonsense about New Years past. I watch her instead. She’s much more interesting.
“Jules?”
“Yeah,” she responds so naturally, still watching the TV, as if we do this all the time.
We don’t. It feels good though. “I missed you so much,” I say.
When she looks back at me, her smile falters. Just a bit, but I see it. She comes back over, standing in front of me, arm reaching forward, offering to help me off the couch. I take her hand and stand when she says, “Come with me, babe.”
It’s an offer I can’t refuse.
She leads me into the bedroom and strips her top off, revealing the most innocent of white cotton bras. For some reason I like that it’s not lingerie, or lace, or satin. It’s pure, innocent, and sweetness all in one.
I pull my own shirt over my head, following the silent instructions her eyes give. We don’t stand there long before she moves closer, hands on my chest, fingers in the light hair she finds there. When her eyes meet mine, she says, “I love a man with chest hair.”
Resting my hands on her ribs, I notice now while remembering then how small she really is. Delicate in so many ways but strong in others.
I lean down and kiss her. She returns the kiss with equal passion. But I have questions and I need answers before this goes any further. “Hey, pretty girl, what’s going on between us?”
With a shy smile, she says, “I was trying to seduce you, but I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of it.”
I grin, lightly chuckling. “You don’t have to try. I’m yours already, but are you sure? A lot has happened in the last twenty-four hours.”
“I don’t want you to make me forget or to replace any bad memories. I just want to be with you because you make me happy. You make me feel things I haven’t felt in years.”
“If we do this, there’s no sneaking out of the house in the morning. I didn’t like waking up and finding you gone, Jules.”
“One day at a time, remember,” she murmurs against my neck while kissing me there.
I pull away, stepping back, leaving her alone in front of me. I have to or she’ll end me completely. “I can’t do that.”
“But our talk earlier?”
“I know. I know what I’m saying is the opposite, but when you’re here, whether watching TV or talking, eating take-out, or almost naked, I realize I don’t want you for a day. I want you for always.” I take another step back, my body hitting the wall behind me, putting more distance between us, needing to think clearly. Looking down at my belt buckle that’s hanging open, remnants of what might have been, reminds me of what I might be losing by saying this. “If you need more time or…” I finally connect with her eyes. “…to leave, I’ll understand. There’s just no doubt in my mind. I won’t need months of dating to know what I have. I know right now. I know I want you.” I stand up straighter, confident in my desire. “I want you, Jules. Not just physically, but all of you. I want to see you on a normal Sunday morning with that messy bun on top of your hair while you do laundry. I want to see those tight black yoga pants you wear when reading a book or napping on the couch.” I take another step forward. “I like when your makeup is smeared after sex. You make me want to make love to you all over again and mess it up even more.”
Stepping closer, she reveals her own secrets. “I like watching you sleep in the early morning hours. You look at peace with the world. I like when you cook for me because you always put so much effort into it, which feels like love. I like when you walk on the outside of the sidewalk to protect me from I don’t even know what, but I like that you do it.”
One more step closer and I continue, “I like when you ask me to move the furniture around just so you can ogle my arms and ass as I do—”
“I do not!” She feigns offense.
“You did. Admit it!”
She grins, guiltily. “Yeah, I might do that. But in my defense, you do have a great ass and fantastic arms to ogle. Still.”
My smile remains firmly in place as we close the gap between us. Stroking her cheek, I sigh. “My funny, fantastic, pretty girl. What should I do with you?”
Pressing her cheek against my chest, she also sighs. “I wish I had the answers, Dylan. I don’t. I just know,” she says, tilting her head up, “that I don’t want to screw things up like last time.”
Grabbing her face gently between my hands, I make her look me in the eyes. “You did not do anything to screw things up. Baby, please believe me when I say, it was all me and fucked up thoughts of indulgence. If I could take everything back and do it over, I would. Believe me when I tell you that every great memory I have as an adult includes you. You are the best part of me in every sense. Please forgive me. Please love me again, Jules.”
Arms tighten. “I do.” Just a whisper, but heard.
A kiss binds us together. Our lips stay locked as I back her toward the bed. Undoing my pants is a hassle, but I do it quickly and step out of them. Her bra comes off easily and she sits.
So willing.
So beautiful.
So forgiving.
Leaning forward, she pulls my boxers down, then rises back up and removes her own underwear. She crawls backward onto the bed, her body an open invitation. I maneuver over her, admiring the woman she’s become.
Like lightning striking twice, she says, “I love you, Dylan.”
The power of her words are the catalyst to held back emotions, the realization that she’s thrown me a life jacket in the middle of a sea of uncertainty. The heaviness of the moment starts to take over. “You do?”
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br /> She lifts up and kisses me. “I do. I truly do, so much. I always have.”
Resting on my forearms, I kiss her hard, needing to own every second of this moment. “I feel like I’ve waited a lifetime to hear those words. Say it again.”
“I love you. I love you. I love you, babe.” She giggles, relaxing back down underneath me.
She’s beautiful as she smiles with not only her mouth, but her eyes.
“What happened to slow?” I ask, wondering.
“Slow went out the window.”
“I love you so much. So much.” I kiss her again, dropping my weight carefully down and sliding inside. I close my eyes as her heat takes over, clouding my mind with thoughts of love and lust, pain and pleasure. All worth it. Reality is the killer of pleasure. Against the soft skin of her shoulder, I breathe. “I don’t have a condom on.”
“I know,” she whispers. “I’m on the pill. Make love to me.”
I detect a hint of desperation in her tone as if I could stop. As if I was strong enough. Lifting my hips, I pull almost completely out, then slowly push back in—deep and slow. The pace is set when she meets me thrust for thrust, frantic. I grip onto her shoulders, plunging deeper, faster, eliciting the sounds of her pleasure.
But five words fill my ears and my heart when she says, “I missed you so much.” I cave under the weight of the simple phrase that means the world to me. As I come, my sudden burst sends her spiraling into her own. Mine ceases just in time to catch the end of hers.
“I missed you, Jules,” I pant, lowering down again.
I don’t want to move, but I know I must, so I shift off of her, feeling the cool air hit me hard. She rolls onto her side, sliding against me and my arm drapes over her, her thigh on top of mine, body curled onto me. “Happy New Year,” she says.
I turn to see the clock on the nightstand. 12:06 a.m. And I pray that the old saying that what you do at midnight is what you’ll be doing all year long tale is true. I kiss her temple as her racing heart slows, relaxing, and she finds sleep in my arms.
“Happy New Year, Baby.”
HIS SCENT IS calming and the absolute best smell to wake up to. I stir, refusing to open my eyes just in case this is all a dream. But the second and third best smells invade my world—coffee and bacon. In no particular order. I open my eyes reluctantly, feeling the empty space next to me, briefly lost in confusion.
I’m here… at Dylan’s place… in his bed… naked. Smelling him, bacon, and coffee.
Although I’m not happy about waking up to an empty bed, it’s his and by the amazing smells wafting from the kitchen, I know he’s near. I smile, not able to hold back. Stretching, I take advantage of the large bed, then pull the sheet over my face, revelling, closing my eyes, and breathing him in even more. That’s when I realize I can have the real thing in the kitchen. Not bothering with clothes, I scramble out of bed. Sauntering in, I look around the apartment—he once mentioned that he owned it. He wasn’t bragging, but just… I don’t know. It kind of hurts that he bought a place. Without me. Thinking I would never be here.
Stings.
I still rent. Afraid to truly commit to another apartment, although let’s face it, I’m pretty damn committed now since I’m still living there after six years. I probably should have moved but I couldn’t. It was the only tie I had left to Dylan.
After last night, I’m finally honest with myself like I have been with him. I deserve this. I deserve happiness. My heart was always his, even when I fooled myself into thinking it could be someone else’s. It couldn’t. It was Dylan’s all along. He’s the only one who can heal me and make my soul whole again.
I round the corner into the kitchen from the hallway, a smile plastered on my face and nothing else. But the smile drops when I see a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs next to the stove, but no Dylan.
“Well good morning to you too. Nice ass by the way.”
I spin around, startled and find his eyebrow cocked up high, smirk firmly in place, mug in hand. Suddenly I feel shy, exposed. My hands go to cover, but he sets the mug down and rushes me. “Don’t.” The word is harsh, demanding, but wanting. “Don’t cover up.” He takes my wrists in his hands, moving them down, out to the side, holding me open.
Coming closer, he places delicate kisses along my jaw, then up. Gentle turns passionate and heated. His hand slides over my jaw, angling me up before slipping into my hair. His other graces my side and up to squeeze my right breast. “Mmmm,” I so eloquently groan.
His cock is hard, pressing against my middle, the thin cotton of his boxers offering no support. I wanted him already just from the teasing. His grip tightens on my hips, fingers pressing as he pushes me onto the wall behind.
He’s rough, rougher than before. The heat from our bodies emanating and I lift my leg up. He takes it as I look into his eyes. One slight hip adjustment and he’s inside me. Visions of a life grander than a mere sexual encounter frequent my thoughts.
This is it. I feel it bubbling under the surface just like my orgasm. This life. Our life. We’ll be together, starting fresh, starting over. “I love you, Dylan,” I mumble and he thrusts harder.
He makes love to me with words like ‘love’, ‘forever’, and ‘mine.’ His words penetrate my heart like his body penetrates me, leaving no other option for us, but to wholly love each other.
We give and take, greedily. We come together then we fall apart. Tangled arms and legs, ragged breaths, and pounding hearts.
With a dip of his head, he leans his forehead against mine and says, “You really shouldn’t walk around naked.”
“If that’s what I get every time I walk around naked, you will never find me clothed.”
He chuckles and my heart jumps, absorbing the sound, taking it in like fresh air. He sets me down carefully on shaky legs, holding me up until I’m stable. “I was worried you’d change your mind in the light of day.”
“About what?” I can’t help the slight pang I feel inside, hurt for both of us.
“Us,” Dylan whispers in a way that I can tell he’s afraid his fears, like mine, will become reality.
“I didn’t.” I want to say never but I can’t. I feel it, but I can’t say it just yet.
Knowing me as well as he does, he changes the subject. “You hungry?”
“Starved.”
MID-MORNING COMES and I’ve planted myself on the couch, pretending to read a book, but really I’m watching Dylan. I think he knows I am, but he hasn’t said anything. He continues watching a sports commentary show. I never minded his obsession with sports. It was something he really enjoyed, though sometimes I thought it frustrated him more. He turns, catching me staring.
I smile, he grins as he rubs my thigh, then turns his attention back to the TV. “This feels weirdly normal,” I state easily, comfortable here.
His hand shifts to my knee and he squeezes lightly. “Is it weird or normal?”
“Weirdly normal.”
He laughs, but I can tell he’s thinking about this more than he’s letting on. “Yes, it does feel weirdly normal. Like the old days.”
“Yeah, a lot like that.”
“How do you feel about that?” He gives me his complete attention.
“I feel okay with it. You?”
“I’m happy. It feels good to be with you like this.” Leaning over, he gives me three quick kisses on the mouth.
After another hour passes and the pre-show is in full effect. The weight of the situation has had time to settle into my bones. “Maybe I should go.” This shouldn’t feel as good as it does this soon, should it? Doubts start seeping in. Is it wrong for us to move this fast?
Walking with my empty coffee mug into the kitchen, I set it down, then feel his arms around me. His lips at my ear. “Do you want to go or do you want to stay?”
“I want what you want.” I don’t know why this feels so right, so easy. Is it too easy?
Spinning me around, he says, “I want you with me.”
“
I want that too.” I do. I just don’t know if I should. Am I giving in too soon?
“I can turn the game off. We could go for a walk?” He’s trying and I know it’s for me because in that moment right then, I see the man I’ve always loved—open heart, thoughtful, attentive, intuitive.
“I don’t want you to miss it. I remember how much you love football.”
“It doesn’t matter, you do.”
There’s no hiding my smile when he says such sentiments so freely. I hug him, absorbing all that is him into my senses, allowing myself this happiness because I deserve happiness in its purest form. That’s what he is to me. That spiteful hate crept away and left me happy. I don’t know when it happened and I don’t want to question it. I just want to enjoy this for a while.
“You’re lost in thought.”
“There’s a lot to think about,” I say, looking up. I pull back just enough to take him in. Strong jaw, handsome face, meaningful eyes. “I’m gonna go home and change clothes.”
Arms tighten around me. “Stay. Wear mine.”
I laugh. “Dylan, if I go, I’ll return. I promise. I know you’re worried. I can see and feel it. I’m worried too. I’m worried that if I step outside this bubble it will pop. That’s why I’ve got to do just that. I need to know this is real.”
Taking my hand, holding it against his heart, he pleads, “This is real, Jules. I need you to believe that before you leave.”
“I want to,” I whisper, not quite understanding why I’m suddenly so emotional. “I’m not running away. I’m just going to change clothes, pick up a few things. I’ll be back and if you’ll have me, I’ll stay the night.”
“If I’ll have you? Are you insane, woman!” He smiles. “There’s no if. You’re it, always.”
Leaning forward again, I just want to be closer though we’re pretty close as it is. “I won’t be long.”
“Okay.” He gives in, trusting I’ll return.
I leave him watching the game. Dylan seemed content, but I could see the worry in his eyes, by the crease in his forehead. Just outside his building, I walk to the curb, then catch my breath, breathing in the cool January air before I flag down a taxi.