by Lexi Scott
“No, no, it’s fine. It’s not as exciting as you might think. Um…” She holds out her palm like she’s about to start counting on her fingers, and a wave of nausea that has nothing to do with seasickness washes over me.
The reason I asked the question in the first place was to counteract an imminent hard-on, but now, grasping the reality of Gen with anyone else makes my stomach turn. It doesn’t help that the sky is getting darker by the minute. I scan the lake and there are a few scattered boats left, but most everyone has made their way to the dock.
Shit.
“Just me, right?” I say to cover, trying to make a joke.
“Well, no, before you there was—” Gen glances up and sees the pained expression on my face. She takes my hand, her wedding ring clicking against mine, and her voice drops, coming out low and firm. “Before you there was no one that mattered.”
“Good answer.” I pull her close, my mouth hungry on hers for a few explosive seconds. Then she moans and I realize that, as satisfying as death on this lake after sweet, hot sex with her might still be, repeated sex in the cabin coupled with the promise of a long life would be even better. “We should probably head in. the sky is looking pretty crazy.”
I turn the key and pull the throttle, but it feels different this time. The water is choppy now, and I push the tiny boat as much as I can to speed toward land.
“You should slow down. We don’t want to flood the engine,” Genevieve pipes in.
“It’s fine.” All of the paranoia I kept wrapped tight for the duration of this trip slams back into me and drives me to get to land as quickly as possible.
The engine takes on a new sound, a loud buzz from the stress of the waves and the speed, but I’m determined to get Gen and me to the dock and be done with this day. The waves lap against the boat, threatening to breach the sides and fill the boat with cold lake water. The engine struggles until it’s quiet. Completely quiet.
Because the boat has stopped.
“What’s going on?” Gen’s eyes are wide as she looks from me to the dock about a mile away. “Why did we stop?”
Fuck.
“I don’t know.” I swallow back the panic that’s making it impossible for me to think the problem through. “It just stopped. Shit. I must’ve flooded the engine.” I’m waiting for her to say I told you so, but she doesn’t. “I’m sorry, Gen.”
I try the key, praying for a miracle, but the motor won’t turn over. I try again. Nothing. The engine is dead.
I reach for the cord to manually start the boat, like I’ve seen people do in movies, but Genevieve bumps my hand away from it.
“Watch out.” She pushes past me and pulls up the backseat of the tiny boat. She twists her hair back into a quick bun and mutters something in Spanish.
“What?” I ask before I realize I probably don’t want her to repeat whatever she just said.
“I told you to slow down,” she bites out, her words clipped with irritation. “You go that fast on choppy water, you’re sure to wiggle the battery cable loose.” She slams the seat back down, rolls her eyes at me, and grins. “You’re lucky you have me here, you know that? Try the key again.”
I do as I’m told, and this time the boat starts right up. It’s the second most beautiful noise I’ve ever heard. The first was the sound of Genevieve begging me not to stop last night.
“You’re a goddess,” I say to her as we pull up to the dock. If I wouldn’t look like an even bigger tool, I’d kiss the concrete.
She shrugs her tiny shoulders and pulls her tank back on. “It’s not a big deal. I sort of had the feeling you didn’t know what you were doing.”
J.D. is waiting for us. I happily turn over the keys, and he advises us to hurry back to our place because we’re in for some massive storms through the night. We take his advice, stopping only to grab a few things for dinner and some wine from the tiny market near the cabin.
Once we’re back inside our cabin, and the rain is battering the roof like it might rip the damn thing off, I come to the conclusion that there are much worse things than being stuck inside this mildly dank place with some cheap wine, a few candles, and this woman who I want to know every detail about.
“So, why’d you let me take over, if you could’ve handled the boat on your own?” I ask, heaving the grocery bags onto the single countertop.
“I didn’t know if you’d be scared if a woman got the best of you.” Gen grins.
I fake my best cocky grin. “Does it look like I’m worried about anything or anyone getting the best of me?”
Genevieve giggles. “Right, I forgot. You know all the things, professor.”
“That’s right. And don’t forget it.” I slip my arm around her waist and pull her into me. Her skin is still warm from the day in the sun. Genevieve pushes her face into my chest. “Do you really want to know why I didn’t tell you I’d never driven a boat?”
She doesn’t answer but I continue on. “I didn’t want to let you down. You’re this tiny, gorgeous spitfire who is so damn brave, and I just didn’t want you to think I was a total moron. Because I care what you think of me, Gen. I’ve never wanted to impress anyone the way that I want to impress you. And you’re my wife. And—”
“You know what sucks?” She wiggles out of my embrace. “I didn’t see a corkscrew anywhere! What are we going to do with all of this wine if we can’t even get it open? Ugh! I can’t believe I didn’t think to grab one.”
She pulls away from me and lets her hair fall over her face so that I can’t see her expression. “I mean, there’s got to be one somewhere, right?” She opens and closes each drawer frantically, like finding that corkscrew is the most important thing in the world.
I start to replay the conversation in my head, trying to figure out what I said wrong, but decide to just help her instead.
“Here, let me.” I reach over and take the bottle of wine she’s holding from her, pull out my pocketknife, and flick it open.
“What are you doing?” Gen asks. I plunge the thin, serrated blade into the cork and twist and pull until it pops from the bottle.
“Problem solved,” I say, handing her the bottle. “Though, I didn’t see any glasses, either.” I pick up another bottle and tap the neck to the one she’s holding. “So, cheers.”
“Thanks.” She presses her lips to the bottle and tips it back, taking a long gulp. “So, what should we do?”
I uncork a bottle for myself and take a swig. “What do you feel like doing? I think it’s a safe bet the TV doesn’t work.” As if on cue, the lights flicker. “Let me light some candles while you come up with something.”
I line up rows of candles along the mantel and on the kitchen counter and light each wick methodically while Genevieve digs through the hutch in the living room.
“Cards?” she asks, holding up a blue deck. “You want to play poker?”
“Yeah, we can play. I should tell you up front though—I will beat you. Every time.” I turn to smile at her, but my face freezes when I watch her body move, graceful and sexy as hell in the flickering candlelight. Every time I’m sure I’ve seen her at her most beautiful, I get a glimpse of her in a new light, or in a private, quiet moment, and I’m shocked by how she has levels of gorgeous I haven’t even touched on yet.
Genevieve laughs and takes another drink from her bottle. The sound of it is light, and it feels like the awkwardness stemming from whatever I said wrong a minute ago is gone as suddenly as it came on.
“There are three things that I’m 100 percent certain I’m better at than you. One is poker.” She sits down at the tiny table and starts to shuffle and deal the cards without even looking, her fingers unbelievably quick and agile. “Hold ’em is good, right?” she asks with a smug smile.
I nod, impressed by the rapid flip of the cards and the confident way she moves. It’s going to be bittersweet to crush her. But I’ll definitely make up for it by being incredibly generous in bed later. Because I’m a nice guy like that.
“Well, operating a boat, for one,” she says, her voice sweet and so deceptively innocent. I realize that this may be part of an elaborate poker strategy, and fear I might be in way over my head already.
“And the other?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice even.
Instead of answering, Genevieve reaches across the table, her shirt strained tight against her tits, and dumps the box of matchsticks that I used to light the candles onto the red tablecloth.
“Raise you two,” she says, tossing two matchsticks into the middle of the table and licking her lips.
I glance at my cards then back at Gen. “I see your two.” I reach down with one hand and grab her foot, rubbing my thumb along her arch.
Other than a slight jerk of her lips, Gen’s expression is unchanging as her eyes dart from me to the cards. “I see your two, and raise you five.”
“The other thing, Gen?” I ask, keeping my voice quiet and running my fingers over every sensitive part of her foot.
She takes another long drink of her wine, and I notice how rapidly the pulse in her neck is beating. “Stop trying to distract me.” She presses her lips together as I rub her heel.
“I’m not.” I put the cards down and grab her other foot just to watch her pull her bottom lip in. Just to fluster her. “And there’s also no way your hand is better than mine, either.” I push my entire pile of matchsticks into the center and lean back, rubbing her feet with gentle, relaxed pressure while she wiggles her toes and squirms. “I’m all in.”
She tries to pull her feet away, but I hold tight. Her mouth curves into a sweet smile that has a bite of cockiness around the edges. It’s a huge turn on. “That’s a pretty aggressive move, professor. I’ll take that bet.”
I pull one hand up and flip my cards in a single, lazy motion.
Three of a kind.
“Damn. That’s where all of the threes went.” Her mouth pulls down into an adorable pout, and I almost feel guilty for beating her. Almost. “Oh, and for the record? The third thing I’m much better at is making people—like you—squirm.”
She gives me a little wink as she sets her cards down, leaning forward so I get a clear view of her perfect cleavage. “Straight flush.” She lays the cards out with a proud flourish.
“Well done, Mrs. Abramowitz.” I feel a rush of pride for my smart, savvy wife. “I don’t know, I did a pretty decent job of making you squirm in the kitchen earlier.” I mean it as a joke, but somehow, it comes out too serious.
“Oh, yeah. I guess you did. It’s not like…I didn’t…” Genevieve sighs, her fingertip tracing around the edge of her cards. “I didn’t mean to get weird about what you were saying.”
“It’s fine, Gen.” I gesture at her cards. “I was just trying to make a joke after getting my ass handed to me. That was a fantastic play by the way.”
“Thank you. And, about before…it’s just that… I sort of think that you’re building me up in your head to be something that I’m not.” She pulls her feet from my hands and lets them drop to the floor, then grabs at every card on the table, rounding them up with shaky fingers, her eyes cast down. “I feel like there’s no possible way that I can avoid disappointing you, and I promise, it won’t be a one-time deal.” The sudden shake in her voice matches the shake of her fingers. “I’ll figure out new ways, all the time in fact, to let you down. Not because I want to, just because that’s what I do. Ask anyone who knows me.”
She clips the pack into a neat pile and riffles the cards to expel some of the nervous energy that transformed her from supremely confident to unbelievably vulnerable in a few short seconds.
“Genevieve.” She’s staring down at the mound of matchsticks she just won. “Gen, look at me.” She slowly raises her head, those steely gray eyes even darker in the candlelit room. “I know you. You could never do anything to disappoint me, baby.” I reach over and pull her chair closer to mine so that I can scoop her out of it and onto my lap. “And you can’t let me down. Because every damn day you’re giving me new reasons to fall in love with you. Even when you’re swearing at me while I’m driving up a mountain or schooling me on how to start a boat. Even when you infuriate me by skipping class, you still leave my dinner on the stove. You aren’t perfect, Gen. And neither am I, not by a fucking long shot. But you’re so damn perfect for me.”
She doesn’t say a word. She presses hard against me, her mouth, her hands, her body, all searching for a way to tell me just how perfect we are together. Not that I had any doubt. Not that I mind being so thoroughly reminded.
Chapter Sixteen
Genevieve
“I should have done this the day we moved in,” Adam says when we finally pull up at our place. He unlocks the door to our apartment and scoops me up in his arms then pushes the door open with his foot and carries me inside, over the threshold.
“I forgive you. The weekend more than made up for it.” I wrap my arms tighter around his neck, unable to remember ever feeling more loved than I do right at this moment. “Thank you. And you can put me down now.”
Adam kisses the tip of my nose, then sets me on my feet and lets the bags from his shoulders slip off to the floor.
“It feels good to be home,” I say, breathing in the combination of cooking spices, old books, new paint, Eros balm, nail polish, coffee, pine cleaner—smells that mark the place where he and I have started to make our life together. It’s a complex perfume I love completely.
“It is home, isn’t it?” Adam wraps an arm around my shoulder and kisses my temple. “What do you think about Chinese for dinner? We have all of those gift cards to that kosher place on Brookline. I hear their Szechuan Crispy Beef will change your life.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say, tugging on his collar and kissing him on the lips. “Do you mind going solo to pick it up? I’d love to take a shower in a bathroom that doesn’t have the distinct smell of lingering mold.”
We had a fantastic time in Big Bear, but I am so thrilled to be home, where I know the shower is always clean because I scrubbed it myself just a few days ago, and the mattress is always perfectly comfortable and covered with sheets that smell like my husband when I bury my face in them. Most of all, I’m so happy to be here, building this, making this all real with Adam.
I feel like we’re finally settling into our real life. That this is the true start of our marriage, and there are no limits to how amazing our future together will be.
“I hear ya there.” He pulls me close and nuzzles my neck. “That sounds good. You get cleaned up, I’ll grab dinner, and maybe we can pick a movie? Anything you want to see?”
“Surprise me.” I lean in and press my lips to his. He bites on my bottom lip and draws it into his mouth. My body goes slack, and he wastes no time pulling me into him, his sturdy hand anchored on the small of my back.
Adam reaches for the zipper on the back of my sundress, but I reach back and swat his hand away.
“We’ll never eat if we get started with that,” I scold. He lets out a low growl in my ear, but relents, kissing me quickly then grabbing his keys.
An hour later, I’ve showered and dried my hair just enough to pull it back into a messy ponytail. I skip the makeup and throw on a worn V-neck T-shirt of Adam’s that—even though it’s washed—smells like him, and a pair of cotton shorts.
I’m pulling out plates to set the table when Adam walks in.
He wordlessly drops the two plastic bags full of food onto the table, then tosses his keys and a stack of unopened mail onto the kitchen counter.
He’s still holding a single envelope, though, and his face looks pained.
“What’s up?” I ask, slowly unpacking the hot container of wonton soup and fortune cookies, crinkling in their c
ellophane wrappers. Adam is unmoving. “Adam?”
He looks up from the envelope he’s been staring at. “I thought you said you were checking our campus PO box?”
My stomach drops. Shit, I’m always screwing something up. Like that time I forgot to pay my cell phone bill until it was two months behind, and I had to borrow the money from Cohen the day it was going to be shut off. Or the time I planned a trip to Jamaica with the girls the same week Dad needed an all-hands-on-deck emergency inventory for an upcoming audit. Or the time I dropped my final paper in the wrong drop box and almost flunked my class for the semester.
“Was I supposed to do that? I-I don’t think I’ve checked it since we’ve been here. I’ve just been using our home mailbox. Isn’t campus mail usually just fraternity flyers and campus parking tickets anyway? Who even pays their campus parking tickets, right?” I ask, looking at his wary face. Panic sets in. “Is it something bad? If it’s a bill, it’s okay, we still have some money left from the wedding, and I get paid next Friday, so we’ll manage. Hey.” I nudge Adam’s arm to try to draw him out of this mood. I want to go back to the lightness of a day ago—hell, an hour ago. “Come on, let’s eat before your life-changing beef gets cold. We can talk about whatever it is over dinner.”
I finish arranging the dishes and containers as Adam slumps into the chair across from me, his face unchanged.
I scoop some rice onto his plate, expecting him to stop me. To tell me that I don’t need to wait on him, because he always likes to do for himself and for me. Right now, though, he’s turned into stone.
“You’re freaking me out. Can we just talk about whatever it is? Can I see the envelope?” I reach for it, wondering what the hell could have stripped the life out of our home so completely.
Adam opens the flap of the envelope and unfolds the single piece of paper inside.
“It’s from the Office of Citizenship and Immigration Services, Genevieve. They sent the notice to our campus PO.”
I try to swallow the piece of beef I was chewing, but it’s suddenly lodged in my throat. I gulp down the glass of wine I’d poured and then count to ten in my head, like Adam told me he does when he needs to calm down.