by Roya Carmen
Blake rubs my foot. “No, I mean, you’re kind of quiet, but definitely not boring. When we were young, we always had such a good time. You were always the one with imagination, the one who made up the games.”
I smile. “Well, I’m not making up a lot of games these days,” I point out. “Peter said I wasn’t adventurous enough.”
Blake shakes his head. “What does he know? So you don’t like jumping off planes, and water skiing. Who cares? You were always a little skittish that way.”
“Well, I do value my life,” I joke. “Is that a crime?”
“Is Parker the type who goes sky diving and car racing?”
“Yeah, pretty much. He loves zip lining, parasailing, and all that crazy stuff.”
“And let me guess, he loves to post on Instagram. ‘Look at me, jumping out of a plane. Ain’t I fucking cool?’”
I laugh. “You’ve pegged him. Spot-on.”
“He sounds like a narcissistic ass.”
I think about Peter and his vast assortment of designer suits and ties, his shoe collection, his extensive Instagram feed, his morning hair routine, and how he likes to take over a conversation and be the center of attention. It never occurred to me before, but yes, the man is kind of a narcissist.
“You know how I love Pringles?” I say. “Did you know I’ve never tried any of the other flavors? I only eat original. I am boring.”
“Really?” he says. “Well, now that’s a crime.”
We sit in silence for a beat, my feet resting on his abs, tangled in his hands. “But seriously, you’re not boring, Freckles. You’re one of the coolest people I know.”
I smile up at him. “So are you.”
He plays with my toes again and threatens to tickle me with a wicked grin.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn. “There’ll be a lot of splashing if you do.”
And what does he do? He tickles me again, of course. I squirm and thrash and there’s water everywhere. He finally stops and I settle down. He slides to me and pulls me to him. He presses his warm wet hands against my cheeks and draws my mouth to his. I get lost in his kiss. I wonder if I could ever tire of it. Surely… eventually. I know I’ll never find out because before long, I’ll be gone and heading back to my other life, a life I chose ten years ago when I decided to leave all the bad memories behind me.
He pulls me on top of him, and I glide easily against the length of him. I slide my hands all over him, over the curves and ridges of his beautiful body. I wrap my hand around his hard-on, and between his legs. He throws his head back and moans softly. I love bringing him pleasure – it arouses me so much. Feeling him under the palm of my hand makes me want him again, inside me.
I pull myself over him and reach for his mouth. We get lost in another kiss, and I guide him inside me again. At first, we’re slow and soft, but before long, we go at it harder, faster. I feel another climax coming as he hits my sweet spot over and over again. The water splashes all around us, making a mess. “We’ll need a lot of towels,” I mumble into his mouth.
He grabs my hips and goes harder, knowing that I’m almost there – I marvel at how our bodies seem so in sync. I pull my mouth from his as I reach my climax. I throw my head back and get lost in the amazing sensation.
God, the man is so good at this.
Too good.
27
FOLLOWING OUR BATH, we cozy up on the sofa in front of the fireplace with a warm plush throw, and watch Bridesmaids with drinks and a bowl of popcorn we’ve popped in the microwave in the little kitchenette. “This place has thought of everything,” I say as I snuggle into him. “I love it.”
“Yep… you did good, Freckles.”
This takes me back to years ago, when we used to watch movies with popcorn on Momma’s ugly sofa, the very same one she still has today. That seems like a lifetime ago now.
“I love this part,” I tell him. It’s the scene with the giant cookie, when Annie completely loses it, yet again. I laugh so hard, I cry.
“I’ve missed your laugh,” Blake says softly. “It’s the thing I missed the most when you left.”
Sometimes he makes me want to cry.
He wipes a tear off my cheek. “I love how you cry when you laugh hard.”
“Well, you’re one of the few people who could ever make me laugh that hard.”
“Does Parker make you laugh?” he asks, concern etching his brow. He’s not being jealous, he seems genuinely curious.
“Sometimes,” I tell him. “I don’t want to talk about Peter anymore. This is about us, only us.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “He’s just always there, at the back of my mind. I can’t help it.”
I take his hand and kiss his knuckles. “Well, he’s not here with us tonight. It’s just us two.”
He holds me tighter and we get back to our movie.
So many scenes in this movie bring me back to my own life; my friends, the yellow bridesmaids’ dresses everyone wore, the bachelorette party at that dive Corrie picked out, my beautiful wedding dress, and finally, how devastated I felt when I realized Peter wasn’t coming.
I fall asleep in Blake’s arms, missing the end of the movie. This is no big deal since I’ve already seen it at least three times. Blake carries me to bed, and the last thing I remember before falling into slumber is him kissing me on the forehead. “Goodnight, Freckles.”
The room is bright when I wake. Blake is pressed against my back, he’s so warm. I check the clock. Crap… It’s already eight forty-five. Breakfast is at nine o’clock.
“Good morning,” Blake whispers in my ear. His voice is playful and his hands are already busy. I smile because I know exactly what he wants.
“We only have fifteen minutes,” I tell him. “Breakfast is at nine.”
“Plenty of time,” he says and kisses the back of my neck. “You’re so warm and sexy, and I’m so fucking hard.”
Just a second ago, I wasn’t really into it, I was barely awake. And then… he uttered those two magic words, and turned on my switch. Fucking hard.
He tucks a hand under the band of my pajama shorts, and slides them over my hips. I pull my ass up toward him, wanting him to take me. A hot quickie is just what I need this morning.
He takes off my shorts, pulls my sleep shirt over my head and trails butterfly kisses down my back, all the way down to my ass.
In no time, he’s inside me and we go at it again. As he pounds into me, the bed clangs against the wall. One hand wrapped around the bed post, and the other pressed against the mattress, I try to steady the bed. I don’t want Sarah or her husband to hear us. Blake seems unconcerned – he’s really giving it to me and I’m not complaining. He feels so damn good – I never want him to stop. As we both get closer, I abandon the bed post and let myself sink into one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had. How am I going to give this up? I can’t give myself this. Neither can my vibrator. And neither can Peter.
Fuck.
I’m mortified as we head downstairs for breakfast. I’m convinced that Sarah and her husband have heard us. We’d been so quiet the night before, but this morning…
A blush washes over my cheeks as we walk into the dining room. The table is set beautifully with English style white and royal blue dishware, and pretty white candles.
“Good morning,” Sarah cheers, all smiles. She’s wearing a checkered apron, and seems very busy getting everything together. You can tell that she really loves cooking and entertaining. “Please make yourselves comfortable at the table.”
As I near the table, Blake pulls out a chair for me, and presses his mouth to my ear. “I’m sure they hear couples fucking all the time,” he whispers. “And we’re married, remember?” He winks at me again and I smile. He takes a seat across from me.
Sarah has prepared a feast; freshly baked scones and bread, quiche, fruit salad, bacon and hashbrown potatoes. It all looks so delicious. Suddenly, I’m famished.
Sarah’s husband finally makes an appearance, newspap
er in hand. “Hello,” he says. His voice is deep and he seems like a friendly guy. He’s wearing a cardigan and is balding on top. Reading glasses rest on top of his head.
“This is my husband, Gordon,” Sarah tells us. “This is Maeve and Blake,” she adds. “Aren’t they lovely?”
He smiles and shakes our hands quickly before he takes a seat at the head of the table. Sarah does all the serving, and I wonder why Gordon doesn’t help. They strike me as a very old-fashioned couple.
Before we eat, Sarah says grace. I blush a little at the memory of Blake ramming me from behind on their bed less than thirty minutes ago. I’m not feeling very holy right now, but yes, thank you God for this delicious bounty.
I’m just about to dig in when Blake puts a hand on my wrist and stops me. “The quiche doesn’t have mushrooms, does it?” he asks Sarah.
She smiles. “Of course not. Maeve and I discussed her dietary restrictions. I usually do make it with mushrooms but it’s just as good without.”
I shoot him a smile. I think it’s pretty sweet that he’s looking out for me. I’m allergic to mushrooms and if I accidentally eat some, the toilet and I become best friends.
I take a bite, and yes, the quiche is absolutely to die for. “This is delicious, Sarah.”
“Yeah, really good,” Blake offers.
Sarah smiles bashfully. “Thank you. I love cooking.”
The room is silent as we all enjoy Sarah’s hard work. She sips a drink of her orange juice. “So tell me, how long have you two been married?”
We’re both caught off guard, but I’m quicker on my feet. Funny thing about Blake: he can’t lie to save his life.
“Oh… seven years,” I say. “We’re high school sweethearts. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”
Lying is easy if you stick close to the truth.
“Oh… how lovely,” Sarah says.
“You’ve got the seven-year itch yet?” Gordon quips.
“Gordon!!” Sarah scolds him, but she’s smiling.
“Never,” Blake says with a playful smile. “I mean… look at her.”
Gordon studies me for a second and shoots me a smile.
“Are you two planning to have little ones soon?” Sarah asks. Damn, she’s a nosy one.
“Uh… not quite ready for that yet,” I tell her.
“Maeve wants three,” Blake chimes in.
“You two would make beautiful babies,” Sarah offers. “I can just tell.”
I smile at the thought of that. We so would.
“So what did your wedding gown look like?”
“Uh…” I falter. This little charade has gone a little too far for my liking. “Um… beautiful,” I say. “Bustier top, flowing gown with small embroidered flowers.” I find myself describing the dress I wore on my ill-fated wedding to Peter.
“Sounds lovely,” Sarah says, riveted. “What did the bridesmaids wear?”
“Butter yellow dresses, similar style but short skirts, no embroidery.”
Blake studies me curiously. He must know that I’m talking about the wedding that never really took place.
“So where are you nice folks from?” Gordon chimes in.
“Burlington,” I blurt out at the same time Blake says, “Westbrooke.”
“Uh… we go back and forth,” I explain. “It’s complicated. This fruit salad is delicious by the way. What’s this flavor I taste?”
She smiles. “Oh… I always like to add a little cinnamon.”
“My momma is a great cook too,” I tell her. “I’m nowhere as good as her, but I’m always learning.”
She grins widely. “I’m sure Blake appreciates it.” She turns to him. “You have yourself a good woman there.”
He smiles and winks at me again. He’s enjoying this a little too much. “I know. I’m a lucky guy. To think I almost left her at the altar.”
Sarah and Gordon’s jaws drop. “Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t,” Sarah says. “What were you thinking?”
“Exactly,” he says. “I don’t know.”
28
ON THE WAY HOME, we play ‘guess the song’ again. We eat Pringles and fight over the bottle of orange Gatorade. We count the motorcycles we pass on the road, which are few and far in between this time of year. We chat about Momma, Tim, Mandy, Marilyn and the gang.
We don’t talk about our relationship (whatever it might be), about the amazing sex, about our past, about my leaving, nor about Peter. Why end such a nice getaway on a sour note?
“Here, let me,” he says. “I’ll get it.”
“So gallant,” I say, my voice flirty.
He smirks at me. “Always.”
He pulls my large suitcase out of the back of Momma’s car with ease. “Hard to believe you were gone for only one night,” he teases.
“What can I say?” I shrug. “I’m high maintenance.” I am, and I own it. I like shoes. I like purses that match with my shoes. I also like jackets and makeup. Blake used to always call me a girly-girl. He wasn’t wrong.
Momma is out the door with wide open arms before we even get to the front porch. She hugs both of us. “Did you have a nice time?” she asks. I think she might be more excited than I am. “Come in,” she urges. “You can tell me all about it. I’ll put some coffee on.”
Blake and I look at each other shyly. We both know there’s not much we can share. We went for a hike, had dinner, we fought, had amazing sex, more amazing sex in the bath, watched a movie, and then more amazing sex in the morning. I blush a little.
“I’m sorry, Sheila,” Blake says, “but I have to get going and check on things at the stores.”
She shakes her head. “You’re such a workaholic, Blake. Now tell me you’re going to be here for dinner tonight. I’m making roast beef.”
He grins and his gaze jerks to me, as if he’s checking with me first. I smile at him. Yes, I want you to be there.
“I wouldn’t miss your roast beef for the world, Sheila.”
Her face lights up. “Be here at six.” She helps me bring my suitcase in. “Your hair looks great.” We both wave at Blake as he heads toward his house, duffel bag over his arm.
I bring a hand to my curls. “I haven’t worn it like this in so long.” I like my hair straight and smooth, but it’s so much work. I probably wouldn’t go through the trouble if it weren’t for Peter, because I know he loves it straight.
“It suits you,” she says. “Come in. I’ll make you your favorite tea.”
When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew. – William Shakespeare
Dear Journal,
Finally… Blake and I made love. After all these years. And it was amazing.
I think Blake and I have always loved each other. We’ve also always hated each other. Ever since we were small. I’ll always remember the first time we ever played together. It’s one of my first memories. I’m not sure if I remember it because it was so traumatizing, or because Momma has recounted the tale countless times, always laughing as she tells it, although I’ve never thought it was especially funny.
We had just moved in next to the Taylors. This was our first play date. Since we were just a few months apart in age, our mothers thought we’d get along. Boy, were they wrong. Blake’s mom had lemonade and cookies out, and we were playing in Blake’s sandbox. His mom, a wonderful lady, had the hose going and was lugging some buckets of water for us because we wanted to build sandcastles. When I accidently (on purpose) destroyed Blake’s castle, he took it upon himself to lift up the bucket of water (I have the distinct memory of him using all the strength in his little skinny body to hitch up that bucket over my head), poured it and drenched me. I was livid, and vowed revenge. From then on, it was war.
I hated him, but I also liked him a lot. Even back then, he was my whole world. And once in a while, when he’d bring me an ice cream or a Popsicle, or give me some coins from his piggy bank (he knew I didn’t get an allowance), I knew I was his whole world too.
; As we grew older, we went through an awkward stage in our pre-teens where we pretty much ignored each other. It wasn’t until we were teenagers and found ourselves on a camping trip together with a bunch of friends, that we truly rediscovered each other. We ended up against a tree, under the moonlight, and shared our second kiss. Our first had been at a Deli when he told me he liked me. But this one, this was something else. It aroused me, made me want to touch him everywhere, and also made me long to be explored. It was my first true taste of Blake Taylor, and like an addictive drug, I never did get him out of my system.
And now we find ourselves together again, in my hometown, for one week. I get to indulge in him again, so briefly. I don’t know how my body will deal with the withdrawal. In a perfect world, I’d get to taste him every day for the rest of our lives. But that’s fantasy. Unfortunately, reality is a whole other matter altogether.
Later, Journal.
M
My brother wraps me in a tight hug, stealing my breath away. I don’t think he realizes how much bigger he is than me. “My favorite sister,” he jokes. He likes to say that when Marilyn is around.
Marilyn rolls her eyes and smiles. I don’t see him often but I think I might really be the favorite sister. Tim and I were only eighteen months apart and always so close when we were young. He used to sleep in my bed almost every night.
Tim grabs a beer and hands Brian one. They start chatting about Tim’s garage again. Later, they will probably talk about the Chicago Blackhawks, and Tim’s everlasting bachelorhood, which I’m sure Brian envies a little.
Marilyn is already in the kitchen, chopping carrots, like she owns the place. I’m a little envious. I’m not comfortable in my own childhood home anymore, not like I used to be. I don’t remember where everything is. I don’t know when garbage pick-up is. I don’t know the neighbors anymore (with the exception of Blake of course).
Maddie is a mini-Marilyn, washing lettuce for the salad. Momma has given me the job of setting the dining table again.