Sometimes, at random moments, I’d feel a wave of guilt roll over me when I was with Anderson. Holding onto his arm reminded me of another arm I’d held onto for ten years.
Even though I’d been the one who walked away from our marriage, it didn’t mean I didn’t still think about him. I loved him, I always would, and maybe a hidden part of me wished we could have worked out. I wished he would have listened to me sooner, that he would have fought for me—for us—before it was too late. Before my heart had already checked out, leaving a messy, vacant room behind.
“Biggest weakness?” Anderson asked as we stepped over a particularly large rock.
“Oh, cinnamon rolls hands down. I can’t turn them down. Physically, I can’t.”
He laughed. “So cinnamon rolls and 90’s music.”
“And stray cats with broken meows.”
“You’re something else,” he said with a shake of his head.
“Thanks. I think.” I squeezed his arm a little tighter as we walked on a bed of smaller rocks. “What about you? Biggest weakness?”
“Old cult classics.”
I stopped. “I’m sorry, what? I didn’t even think you owned a television, let alone watched one.”
Anderson’s brows pinched together. “Come on, what do you think I am, a monster? Of course I watch TV. Well, movies anyway. And my go-to’s are the cults.”
“So like Pulp Fiction?”
“Obviously. Eraser Head, The Evil Dead, Clerks, Fight Club,” he added with a shrug as we started walking again. “Those are some of my favorites, but I could go on all night.”
“We should watch one together sometime.”
He popped a brow. “You think we could actually make it through a movie?”
“We could try,” I clarified, knowing the chances of me lying next to him for longer than sixty seconds and not taking his clothes off were pretty slim.
“When was the first moment you realized you wanted to be a fashion designer?”
At that question, a huge smile lit my face. “Oh, that’s easy. My grandma has sewed all her life. Now provided, she never ever thought about fashion, only necessity. She made all my mom’s and aunt’s dresses for school when they were growing up, did the same for me until I begged her to stop in the third grade,” I added with a laugh.
Anderson smiled, too, carefully guiding me over the rocks as I continued.
“She used to give me lessons when I would stay with her for the summer, though, and I slept on a tiny little twin bed set up in her sewing room. It was amazing, laying there every night looking around at all the thread and fabric and machines and needles. After her and my grandpa went to sleep, I would pull out her book of patterns and flip through them. Over time I found myself wondering what would happen if you changed this or that, if you stitched this way or added lace here, if you pulled the waist in more, if you cut the V deeper. I guess it bloomed over time, but it all started with my grandma teaching me how to sew God-awful dresses out of school bus printed fabric.”
I almost felt like I was back there, in grandma’s old sewing room, thinking all I was doing was passing my summers by when really I was shaping my entire future.
Anderson squeezed my hand where it hooked over his arm. “I’d love to see some of your sketches sometime.”
“The only man to ever see my sketches is Adrian, so I might have to ask him first,” I said as we stepped down a little closer to the river. A bright pink was spreading over the sky, illuminating the rocks and the rush of the river.
“That’s the one you call all the time, right? Your best friend?”
I nodded. “He’s the first person I call when I have an idea for a new line, but unfortunately he hasn’t gotten that specific call in more than six months.”
I grew quiet and Anderson pulled me to a stop at the river’s edge, each of us looking out at the water. He dropped his hold on my arm and slid his hand down until it held mine.
“Keith?”
I just nodded again.
We didn’t talk about him much, not that we needed to, but whenever I did feel the need to, Anderson was always there. He listened, he didn’t judge, and somehow he never seemed jealous, either. I’m not sure I would feel the same if he were talking about an ex of his.
“Do you ever miss him?”
“Every single day.”
It was the truth, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.
“Not in the way that I want him back,” I clarified. “Just in the sense that he was a part of my life for so long. I love him, I care about him. I want to know he’s doing okay. I wonder how his practice is going, or how his friends and family are. They all dropped me when everything happened... I don’t know. I just feel like my whole life has been uprooted, like I’ve been doused with a bucket of ice water. It’s been awakening, amazing, and terrifying all at once.”
Anderson took in a long breath, letting it go nice and easy. “Well, I think you’re brave,” he said. “And strong.”
I smiled up at him, but now he was shaking his head.
“But you are so wrong about what it feels like to have a bucket of ice water poured on you.”
I laughed. “Oh, yeah? What, are you the expert on that subject matter?”
An evil grin spread on his face and he pulled me closer, cupping my backside in his large hands. At first I was turned on, but when he waggled his eyebrows, I realized I was in trouble. “You could say that.”
I tried to pull away, but it was too late. He hoisted me up and over his shoulder, pulling my boots off my flailing feet as I laughed and squealed, pounding my baby fists on his muscular back. He smacked my butt playfully, stepping carefully out of his own boots while balancing me on his shoulder, and then he went tearing into the river.
He was a bit unsteady on the rocks and once the water hit his waist, he tumbled forward and we both went under. It was a shock to my system, the water so icy cold I couldn’t think, couldn’t process. The laughter was gone and my entire body was on fire. We both popped out and my breath finally came back just as Anderson tossed his head back with a loud laugh.
“You brat!” I swatted his arm playfully, wiping my drenched hair away from my face. “It’s freezing!”
“Is it? I didn’t notice,” he teased, eyes on where my nipples were showing exactly how cold it was through my light sweater. I feigned offense, hand going up to whack him once again but I moved too quickly, losing my balance. I stumbled back, not finding grip, and before I could register it, the current took my feet right from under me.
My body dipped fast, the rush of the water strong and relentless. For a split second I panicked, but Anderson’s hand was around my wrist almost as soon as I fell, and he tugged me back, pulling me into his chest. I clung to his soaked sweater, fisting my hands in it, eyes trailing slowly over the muscles of his arms, his chest, until I was gazing up at his cobalt blue eyes.
“I’ve got you,” he said, voice low, arms tight around me. And he did. He had me. In more ways than he knew.
We were both shivering as Anderson guided us out of the water, our clothes sticking to every inch of us. He grabbed his boots as I bent to pick up mine, and then he grinned at me over his shoulder.
“Race you to the hot tub!”
He didn’t even wait for me to acknowledge the challenge before he was in a full sprint—well, as much as he could be while trying not to break an ankle on a rock, anyway. I laughed, watching him peel the sweater I bought him off his back as he jogged up the trail.
And then I was pissed.
That was supposed to be my job, dammit.
So. Fucking. Cold.
The little stunt I’d pulled down by the river with Wren didn’t seem near as cute now that my balls were tucking up inside of themselves. I tossed my sweater over the railing of Wren’s back porch as soon as I reached it, but when my hands moved for my jeans next, I heard Wren scream from behind me.
“Wait!” She was teetering up the last bit of the trail, watching h
er toes as they maneuvered the rocks. “Don’t move,” she said again.
I bounced, shivering, the sun finally dipping away and leaving absolutely none of its warmth to help our situation. It had already been a chilly day, and I knew the night would only get colder.
When Wren finally reached the porch, she dropped her boots on the wood and swiped my sweater off the railing, thrusting it toward me. She was shivering, too, teeth chattering, lips plump and purple and begging to be kissed. “Put this back on.”
“Bu—” I stopped my rebuttal short when she narrowed her eyes, fighting back a laugh as she tossed the sweater into my chest.
I was still bouncing, absolutely freezing my ass off, but I humored her, pulling the soaked sweater over my arms and head before letting it fall at my waist.
Wren licked her lips then, stepping into me and sliding her ice cold hands under the sweater to rest on my abdomen. She used her wrists to push it up just a little, eyes on the view she was unveiling.
“Ever since you stepped onto my porch wearing this, I’ve been thinking about stripping it off you,” she said, pulling it up farther.
I reached for the back of the neck, helping her until the sweater was off again. She let it drop to the porch, stepping back just a bit and raking her eyes over me with appreciation.
“Yep. Just like I’d imagined. Well,” she added. “A little wetter, but no complaints here.”
I laughed, and even though my skin was bright red from the biting cold, my mind was on a new track of how to find the heat it craved, now.
Wren was still eye fucking me when I reached for her, throwing her over my shoulder just like I had before. This time she just laughed as I pushed us through her back door, not even bothering to close it behind us as I dropped her to the couch. Her long wet hair fanned out around her and I fell down on top, arms braced on either side of her as I dipped to kiss her neck, sucking the river water from her skin.
She moaned, arching into me, and I took the opportunity to slide one hand down over her breasts, ribs, her tight stomach until I reached the button on her jeans. It was still slick and I fumbled with it, finally catching friction and flicking it open. I dragged the zipper down next, her lip caught between my teeth, breaths hot and needy.
She lifted her hips, sliding her jeans down to her knees before I had to push back to let her kick them the rest of the way off. I watched her, skin still wet, pale skin covered in chills as I stood and made quick work of my own jeans.
I’d been smart enough to take my wallet out before we jumped in the river, and I swiped it off the porch where I’d dropped it by my boots. Wren was reaching for her thin sweater by the time I’d made it back to where she laid on the couch, but she stopped short as I ripped the condom package open and rolled it on, positioning myself between her thighs and pushing inside her in one fluid motion.
She screamed, back arching high off the couch, chills escalating as her hands reached to grip the sofa, sweater long forgotten. My hands reached for it, but not to pull it off. I wrapped my fists in the wet fabric, twisting it and pulling to elevate her up just slightly. Every tug pulled her neckline down farther, and I pushed in deeper, Wren’s hands flying from the couch to my arms to her hair and back again.
Every time I got to touch her, I asked myself what the hell I’d ever done to be so fortunate. Wren was the kind of woman who only deserved to be touched by a man who was worthy of her. I wasn’t convinced such a man existed, and I damn sure knew I wasn’t him. But she wanted me, she craved me, too. So I thanked her with my mouth, my hands, my heart.
“Fuck,” I moaned, dragging the word out as I slowed my pace, pulling all the way out just to watch myself slide deep inside her again.
My hands loosened their grip on the bottom of her sweater and I moved to the top, pulling the neck down until both of her bare breasts popped out. I groaned in appreciation of her not wearing a bra, rubbing the pad of my thumbs over her nipples as I slowed my pace, grinding into her with more depth.
She felt so good, wet and tight, and I flipped us quickly until she was straddling me. She braced her hands on the back of the couch behind me, knees on either side of my thighs, and then she lifted her hips, gliding back down with a pace so slow I could have cried. I let my head fall back, eyes closing, hands gripping her hips hard as she repeated the motion.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, and I peered at her through heavy lids as she sank even lower. She took me as deep as she could, legs spreading, clit rubbing against my lower abdomen. “Yes.”
She was close, I knew by the way she closed her eyes tight, pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, tensed her arms. It was perhaps the most intimate way to know someone, to be able to pinpoint the exact moment when they were on the edge of ecstasy, and I loved that I knew Wren like that.
I loved that she ground her hips against me slower, barely even lifting off me anymore, finding friction as I penetrated her deep. She wasn’t embarrassed, not even close, and one hand left its hold on the back of the couch and reached for her breast, instead. She rolled her nipple between her thumb and finger, moaning, pushing herself closer, and I spread my fingers wide to grab her ass firmly in both hands.
I helped her ride, pulling her against me, thrusting my hips up, and when I knew she was right on the brink, I dipped my index finger between her cheeks and pressed. I didn’t enter her, just applied enough pressure to send her tumbling, and her nails dug into my shoulders as she cried out her release, riding faster, rocking against me, using me.
It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
She was completely spent, body collapsing against me as her breaths evened out. For a second I just ran my fingers through her hair, kissing her neck, but then slowly she came back to life, hips lifting, her orgasm making her even wetter than before.
I groaned at the feel of her, holding her to me as I maneuvered us until she was bent over the arm of the couch, legs together, me positioned behind her. Just the view of her wet hair slung over her back, her sweater stretched and see-through as it clung to her skin was enough to make me come.
I pushed inside with a growl and she arched, moaning. It was too much—the feel of her, the sight, all of it—and with just three more pumps I found my release, moaning her name as I let go.
My body shook as every sense came back all at once, knees weak, and I gently pulled out and fell back on the couch. Wren crawled on top of me, head on my chest, our skin sticking together everywhere that we touched.
We weren’t cold anymore.
“So much for the hot tub,” I said on a breath.
Wren smiled, reaching over my chest for her phone that rested on the coffee table. Her smile kept spreading as she clicked through it, and I was just about to ask why when all of a sudden her speaker in the kitchen roared to life.
Wren laughed as the first beats of Pony swept over us, the same song from the night I’d first met her, and I groaned, rolling my eyes and pushing her off me.
“You’re the worst.”
She just laughed harder, moving until she was braced on her knees while I reached for my jeans. They were still soaked and freezing, which left me no choice but to remain naked while Wren mouthed Genuine’s lyrics to me and wound her body. I didn’t know if I wanted to bend her over the couch again or walk home naked to avoid another minute of the song.
But in the end, staying won out, because how could I leave a sexy, naked girl to dance to 90’s R&B by herself?
So we danced, and sang, and played songs I hadn’t heard since middle school while Wren baked us cinnamon rolls and I made us tea. It was the strangest, most amazing night of my life.
And when the music stopped and we climbed into her sheets, I tried to remember my life before her. I tried to recall the numbness, the comfort I’d found in every day being the same, the punishment I’d willingly taken from myself because I thought it was the only way to live.
No matter how I tried, it was impossible to remember.
So, even if ju
st for the summer, or maybe just for the night, I let myself forget.
CANTANKEROUS
kan-TANK-uh-rus
Adjective
Difficult or irritating to deal with
I padded downstairs early the next morning after a long, hot shower, towel wrapped around my waist as I ran a hand through my still-wet hair and yawned. It was like auto-pilot, my body moving me to the coffee maker before I’d even decided it was necessary.
While the coffee brewed, I wrote down a list of everything I needed to do before the pig roast tomorrow. Wren and I were planning to run into Gold Bar for a few last-minute items, and then we’d all need to start cooking. I’d be helping Ron with the pig later this evening, followed by a run down to Davie’s to finish setting up the horseshoe tournament.
For the first time in years, I was excited for the pig roast. I couldn’t wait to see the loop crowded with people, not just residents but friends and even strangers. There would be great food, great beer, and great laughs.
And the best part? I’d get to share it all with Wren.
I paused, pen mid-sentence as the severity of my feelings rolled over me like a tidal wave. I’d let go of what Sarah had said to me, let go of the fact that Wren would be leaving, but the consequence of that was that I’d lifted all my reservations. No—I’d catapulted them. They were so far gone I hadn’t even thought to see if they even still existed at all. And now here I was, standing half-naked and bare foot on the cold, hard truth of it all.
I was falling for her.
My panic attack was cut short by two hard knocks on Wren’s front door. I jumped, turning and expecting to find Momma Von or Yvette, but instead I found a small, dainty woman with high cheek bones, a high bun on her head, and nose aiming for the highest of them all. It took all of two seconds of taking in her features before I knew she had to be related to Wren.
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