And I’m the man beside her the whole time.
The size of this event makes me think hard about being with a woman that brings in more money than me—a lot more. I’m a teacher, so that’s not difficult to do, but the difference in my income and Sterling’s is not even in the same galaxy. Can I handle that?
She looks at me from across the yard, a little smile on her lips. There’s my answer, right there. I can handle anything as long as she looks at me like that. She walks over, her hips swinging, her tits jiggling enough to let me know she’s not wearing a bra.
“I’m sure you can feel my crazy,” she says, giggling a little.
I take her hand, pulling her inside her parents’ house. I still haven’t kissed her. For days, I could tell she was waiting for it, and that’s just what I wanted, to make her think of nothing else, to make her want me, crave me. Because if there’s one thing I know about Sterling, it’s that when she decides she wants something, there is no stopping her. I needed to show her that what she wants is me. But anticipation only works for so long, then you run the danger of being too late.
My body presses against hers, pinning her to the back door. Her eyes roam the edges of my face, her fingers gently playing with my hair.
The first time we kissed, she did the same thing. We’d escaped to the barn after the funeral, and she’d been crying. From up in heaven, Levi must’ve been egging me on, because I wrapped my arms around her, and held her for what seemed like hours. A few tears in my eyes, she pulled back, studying my face, and ran her fingers through my hair. When I kissed her then, I had no idea where it would lead. I could’ve never imagined. Okay, I could imagine. I’d imagined it many times, but never thought it would actually happen.
I know exactly where I want this kiss to go now. We don’t even have to move from this spot. I can take her right up against the door. My lips hover over hers, her chest rising and falling, my cock hard as a rock and pressed against her stomach. The warmth between her legs calls to me, and I bend my knees, pushing into her. She grinds right back.
“Just a kiss,” I whisper, unsure whether I’m telling myself or her.
We never just had a kiss. We went from kissing to sex in the same breath. And while I want her naked in my bed, I want her for more than one night this time, more than just this summer. I want that more. I’m not going to make it easy for her to dismiss me, dismiss this as a one-night stand or a summer fling.
I’m not going to make it easy for her to leave me. I’m going to make it damn near impossible.
Winding my hand in her long brown hair, I lower my head, letting my breath tickle the skin of her neck. Her body trembling, gently I trail kisses up her neck, letting my tongue linger ever so slightly. She tries turning her head down to me, desperate for my lips, but I grip her hair a little tighter, controlling the moment.
“Rorke,” she begs breathlessly.
I know she’s used to being in control. Hell, the woman is responsible for more orgasms than any man could ever be. Lifting my head to look in her eyes, I say, “I know you’re used to being in control of your pleasure. But that ends right now. When you need an orgasm, I’ll provide it. When you want a kiss, I’m your man. You may be the woman on top, but I’m the man holding you up there.”
She smiles, saying, “Then kiss me.”
Leaning down, I plant a sweet kiss on her forehead, feeling her smile widen. And when my lips touch hers, her mouth opens slightly. Taking it slow, savoring this moment, our tongues softly find each other. It’s familiar but new at the same time. Telling myself we have more than this moment, more than this night, I kiss her deeply, trying to control my greed. Her hand slides over my chest. Silently, I curse the fabric of my shirt, wanting to feel her skin on mine, yearning for her touch. My craving to fuck her is only tempered by my thirst for her taste. And she’s got no idea what that her innocent little gesture is doing to me.
As soon as I think she’s about to end the kiss, she pulls me tighter. If she leaves it up to me, I’ll never stop.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
STERLING
Women have a unique ability to go from thinking they look cute to heinous in five minutes flat. And with over fourteen hundred minutes in the day? Well, you can do the math. So the blue maxi dress I thought would be perfect for the hot Alabama night suddenly isn’t looking so perfect anymore. I know it’s because I’m tired and still have a long night ahead of me, but I’m not going to look back at pictures of myself at my parents’ anniversary party in that thing. I refuse.
Pants will be too hot. I can’t wear a short dress because the breeze from the water may blow it up, and it’s too damn humid to wear anything tight. I pull out a see-through mesh top designed to wear a bra underneath. It would be cool enough, but I don’t want to give off a sexy vibe. I’ve caused enough trouble for my parents.
I hear a knock on my door, and Rorke’s voice right behind it. “Sterling, guests are starting to arrive. ETA on our parents being here is twenty minutes.”
“Ugh,” I groan, prompting Rorke to peek in. “I’ve got nothing to wear.”
“What’s wrong with what you have on?” he asks.
What a stupid man he is! You never ask a woman in the middle of a clothing crisis that question, unless you want a dissertation on every body insecurity in her repertoire. “I don’t know. I hate it.”
“Then why’d you buy it?”
“I didn’t hate it then.”
Chuckling, he pulls me to my feet. “You look beautiful, as always. You’re just nervous.”
Giving him a little nod, I go back to my closet. Rorke starts to roam around my room a little bit. He’s never been in here. I probably should’ve exorcised my teenage paraphernalia. He picks up my Magic 8-Ball. I think that thing was vintage when I got it at a thrift shop, but my girlfriends and I used to have so much fun with it.
He gives it a little shake, asking it, “Will Sterling find something to wear?”
Rorke cracks up reading the ball’s response, “That is hazy. Try again later.” I try to steal the ball, but he holds it up, asking another question. “Do I love Sterling Jamison?”
I stop struggling to get the ball away from him, staring at him in disbelief. Did he just say love? And he’s counting on the Magic 8-Ball to tell me? Holding my eyes, he gives it a hard shake, then turns it to me, revealing its answer.
It is certain!
“In case you didn’t know, let me make this real clear,” he says. “I’ve been in love with you for most of my life. I was made to love you.”
I’m not sure why, but I start to back away from him. He places the ball down on my dresser, stepping towards me. Like a scared kitten, I continue to back up until my legs hit my bed, forcing me to stop.
“It seems fast. I know that,” he says. “But for me, it seems like forever. I’ve waited over a decade to tell you how I feel. I’ve never been able to say those words to any other woman, except my mother.” He flashes me a little grin. “Sterling, you look scared to death.”
“I am.” All I can think is that I’m not staying in Alabama. That my life is in New York. That he can’t possibly love me. That this is too fast. “Aren’t you?”
“Not even a little bit,” he says. “For years, I never told you how I felt. I promised myself if I got another chance, I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I always regretted not telling you the morning after our night in the barn. The morning you went back to college. I always wondered if things would’ve been different if I’d told you then.”
“It would’ve changed everything.”
His eyes close like it hurts him to hear that. I swallow hard, remembering our goodbye the morning after. He was going back to college and so was I. We’d be thousands of miles apart. We’d never even been on a date, yet we’d just slept together, lost our virginities together. Of course I wanted more. Of course I wanted him to say he loved me, to promise we’d make it work. Instead, we promised to stay in touch. It wasn’t awkward or sad, even. We sta
yed together until the last possible second. And when I had to go, we kissed and hugged. We didn’t make promises we knew we couldn’t keep. I simply ran my fingers through his hair one more time and walked out the door. I didn’t know it then, but I left some part of me behind that night. It wasn’t my virginity. It was my heart. And he’s kept it safe all these years.
Music starts up outside, the Shirelles’ song, “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?” I pull away, having completely forgotten about the party. He captures my hand. “Don’t freak out on me,” he says.
My head shakes. “I’m not used to this, Rorke. Part of the reason I came home was because I’d forgotten what it felt like to be surrounded by people that love me. I don’t have that in New York. The more successful I got, the lonelier I got.”
The air leaves his chest in one big swoosh, like I just punched him hard. “So you need to get used to it again. Being loved. What that feels like.”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
“I’m going to keep telling you,” he whispers, pulling me close. “Until you trust it. Let me love you.”
My heart is pounding out of my chest. Aren’t you supposed to be excited when someone loves you? Shouldn’t you feel peaceful and safe?
My heart worries. Worries that for one reason or another, this won’t work out. And while it hurt to lose past relationships, this is different. Losing Rorke would wreck me. I know it. I’ve held him in a safe place in my heart all these years. He represented hope, love, youth, a dream. And if I lose him, then I lose all that.
“It’s like you and these clothes,” he says, pulling something out of my closet. “You have to try it on, see what feels right. See what you’re going to like, even though you’ve worn it a hundred times.”
I start laughing. “You’re an English teacher, and you can’t think of anything more romantic to compare love to than a girl’s closet?”
He chuckles. “I thought the Magic 8-Ball was pretty romantic.”
“It was,” I whisper, still trembling.
Pulling me close, he whispers a Margaret Mitchell quote from Gone With the Wind, “You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how.”
*
RORKE
Every tree in the backyard is streaming with white lights. One whole side of the yard is flanked with banquet tables of food. There are two bars set up, a makeshift dance floor, and every white flower Sterling could order in the state of Alabama.
The band is playing, the backyard is full of people, the stars are out, and Sterling is the only thing I see. She’s across the yard making small talk with the guests, while I’m standing in a group of guys, mostly my buddies, some from as far back as high school, others I play baseball with for charity, even a coach from school. But I’m not paying attention to them. How can I?
She’s wearing a purple . . . Well, I’m not sure what it is. It’s one of those things where the top and shorts are attached. Like a baby onesie for women. I think she called it a romper. She looks sexy, her long legs seemingly endless, but that thing is a guy’s nightmare. We prefer easier access. I’m not sure how to go about getting that damn thing off her. Houdini couldn’t figure it out.
Her green eyes are sparkling as she glances around the party at everyone having a great time. Her parents are dancing and laughing alongside mine. The drinks are flowing. Plates are filled with food, and everyone has a smile on their face.
Sterling’s smiling, too, but hers is different. Guarded. She doesn’t stick with any group of people too long. It’s polite, cordial, but not meaningful in any way. Yes, she’s busy with the party. But it’s more than that. She knows she’s on display, the topic of all the whispers and speculation. Ours is a small town, so when the local vibrator inventor comes back home, it’s big news.
It’s probably a lot easier for her to blend in up in New York. But a woman like her shouldn’t just blend in. She glances at me, giving me a little smile. At least she doesn’t look scared out of her mind anymore. She didn’t say she loved me back. I didn’t expect her to. It’s too risky for her right now, and I get that. I’ll just have to teach her to trust her heart, to trust my love for her. This may be the greatest teaching job I’ll ever have to do.
Sterling reaches down, playing with the branches of the honeysuckle bush, pulling off a flower. Sucking the nectar of the honeysuckle plant is a favorite pastime of most children raised in the South. Her delicate fingers snap the end, pulling on the long string. I watch her lift it to her mouth, the small drop of nectar falling to her tongue.
“Think you can handle her?” one of my buddies asks. I must be giving him one helluva mean look because he holds his hands up. “I just meant, how good does a guy have to be to get with her? She developed a fucktool, for God’s sake. That’s a lot of pressure.”
“I’m not worried about it,” I say. She’s already admitted that nothing can take the place of being with the right man. And I know that’s me.
Sterling continues to be the topic of conversation. How she must really like sex. How wild she must be in bed. How much money she has. How many men she’s screwed. And this is the talk among guys I consider my friends.
“She’s a woman. A girl. Just like any other,” I say, hoping they’ll shut up.
“I heard she’s a lesbian,” one of them says.
“She’s not gay,” I say, rolling my eyes.
All eyes turn to me. “You’ve fucked the Clit Queen?”
Something in me snaps, and I lunge at the guy. If it weren’t for the other guys holding me back, I would’ve laid him on his ass. But it just took that brief second of hesitation for me to collect myself. I’m not about to cause a scene at her parents’ anniversary party.
The guy starts laughing. “Lighten up, Rorke.” I walk off, hearing the fucker say, “I guess hers isn’t the only pussy she whips.”
I know those guys don’t realize how I feel about Sterling, but I can’t just shake it off. A couple of my other buddies try to follow me and apologize. I appreciate it, but need a few minutes alone with my beer. Standing on the outskirts of the party, I’m reminded of all the times in high school I had the same spot. But it’s welcome tonight.
A couple hours ago, I was certain I could handle this, but now I’m not so sure. Do I let comments roll off my back? Do I kick the shit out of everyone who talks about her? What am I supposed to do?
Sterling gives a toast to her parents, and I wonder if she can hear the snickers from a few guests or if she long ago learned to tune them out. Maybe she’s just learned to focus on the good. Most of the guests are smiling and having a good time, seemingly uncaring about the occupation of their host. Perhaps the saying that one bad apple can spoil the bunch isn’t entirely true. Perhaps it’s just what you choose to focus on.
She pulls her parents aside and gives them their gift—a month-long vacation to Ireland and Scotland. Her father has always wanted to go, and Sterling is making it happen. Their plane leaves right after the party, in just a few hours.
Maybe being able to do that kind of thing for someone you love makes up for all the other bullshit.
The party’s winding down, and Sterling glances around the yard. The fireworks should be starting soon. I start for the dock when her arms slip around my waist. “Don’t,” I snap, sliding her hands off me.
I can’t believe I just did that. I’ve waited years to feel her hands on me again.
Holding back tears, she glances around the party. All her hard work, paying off. The party is a huge success. Then her eyes land on the group of men still talking, still obviously gawking at her.
“Oh,” she says. “It’s not as easy as you thought, is it?”
A loud firework shoots into the sky, causing all the partygoers to move closer to the water. Sterling and I don’t turn our heads to watch the explosions of color. Instead, we just stare at each other.
*
Glancing over my shoulder, I see Sterling saying goodbye to guests as they head out. Ms. Mirabelle f
rom the bookstore seems to be twisting her arm to come to book club. The party is basically over. Everyone is almost gone. Her parents are on their way to the airport, and I’m helping her clean up, but feeling like a fucking fool. I catch my own reflection in the window of her house and hate the look in my eyes. I know she’s probably seen it from every other man in her life.
Doubt.
I don’t doubt how I feel about her, not one bit. I doubt my ability not to get thrown in jail every time I hear someone talk about her that way. Sighing, I lean my head against the window, hating being a moody bastard. Maybe I need to cut myself a little slack. I wouldn’t say I handled it well, but I did what I had to do to get through the night. It’s not like I actually punched the guy, but I was a shit to her, avoiding her and snapping the way I did. This was my first time thrown into this position. Sterling will understand that, right? She’s had years to get used to this. Perhaps that’s all I need, too? Time to get used to this. The best thing to do is to talk to her.
At the very least, I want her to know I’m not leaving her. That if I have to walk away from a situation, it’s not that I’m leaving her. I’d never do that. But I’m not sure she knows that. Hopping off the back porch, I start for the side of the house. It’s dark. She must’ve unplugged the twinkling lights. Quickening my pace, my gut twists a little.
Ever have that sense deep in the pit of your belly that something isn’t right? I’m having it. Probably because I’ve been such a bastard to her tonight. Then I hear her cry out a little. A thousand things go through my head. Is she crying because of me? That thought hurts my heart. Did she hurt herself? That thought hurts my stomach.
As I round the corner of her house, Sterling is heading right for me, her cheeks stained with tears. She tries to walk past me, but I take hold of her waist. “Why are you crying?”
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