The Lifetime of A Second

by Jennifer Millikin

  Brynn watches me, her lips parting enough to leave a space in the center of them. Her chest rises and falls, her chin tips up slightly. She licks her upper lip and moves the arm that covers her.

  The air rushes from my lungs. If I ever thought I knew beauty before this moment, I was wrong. Beauty is Brynn right now, opening up her heart and her body.

  “Touch me, Connor.”

  She doesn’t have to ask me more than once. In seconds I’m in her space, grabbing her face and moving over her mouth. I want all of her, every moan and every whispered request, every flicker of her tongue and every taste.

  I lift her, and her legs encircle my waist. I carry her down the hall, breaking our kiss, and replacing her tongue in my mouth with what started all this. She gasps and her thigh muscles tense.

  “Connor,” she groans against the side of my head.

  I take her through my bedroom door and straight to the bed. We fall on it together and she laughs, a carefree and happy sound.

  Brynn is a present, wrapped in bows, and I want to untie her slowly, but it’s hard to go slow when I learn how much I like to hear her call out my name. Before I’m inside her, I’ve made her call my name three times. She smiles each time she comes down from the high, and her glossy eyes are sated.

  When I slide into her, she sighs and looks up at me.

  Brynn’s eyes are a gateway to her feelings, and now I know what her eyes look like when I’m inside her.

  I love the curve of Brynn’s lower back. It’s sexy and womanly, a dip before the beautiful curve of her ass begins. I can’t help but admire that part of her anatomy also. She’s on her stomach, her arms stretched out above her and disappearing under a pillow.

  If it weren’t for waking up to her this morning, I might need someone to tell me that last night happened. Unbelievable. There is no better feeling than being inside Brynn. Her body was made for mine, I’m certain of it. I’ve had sex enough to know that it doesn’t usually feel that way. Sure, it felt good enough to get the job done, but not like that. Like there’s a special place inside her only I can fill. Not just physically, either. I swear I’m the right person for her heart, too.

  I need breakfast. She will also, once she wakes up. I’m not sure when that will be. We were up again at two in the morning. Brynn reached for me, climbing on top, and ten minutes later we were both satisfied and on our way to dreamland.

  I get out of bed, trying to be as quiet as I can. Pulling on sweats, I head to the kitchen and start the coffee. I’m at the stove, flipping pancakes, when Brynn walks in.

  “Good morning,” she says.

  I turn around to say hi, but the greeting dies on my lips. Brynn is naked, gloriously naked, and standing in my kitchen in full sunlight.

  “I was afraid you’d be embarrassed or shy this morning,” I manage to say.

  She tips her head to the side and smirks, walking closer. Her breasts bounce with the steps. “And why would I be?”

  “Uh, well,” I look to the pan, at the golden pancakes that soon will be burned. Grabbing the handle, I quickly dump them onto the plate next to the stove. Brynn reaches around me, grabs a perfect, fluffy pancake, and tears off a piece. She brings it to her lips, blows gently, and pops it into her mouth. Lucky pancake.

  “We did some things last night that you might not want to talk about in the light of day. I thought you might wake up and regret them.”

  Brynn bites her lower lip, tosses down the pancake, and lifts herself onto the kitchen counter. She grabs me by the neck, pulling me so I’m standing in between her legs. “That’s where you’re wrong, Connor. All those things we did last night, I also want to do in the light of day. Right now, actually.”

  She reaches down, slipping a hand into my sweats. She grins. “I think you want to do those things too.”

  Fuck yes I do.

  Sorry, pancakes. Cover your eyes and close your ears.

  13

  Brynn

  I went over to Connor’s house last night expecting a painting.

  I don’t want to analyze it. I don’t want to think about it at all, but, of course, that’s not going to be possible. I could say things I don’t mean. Telling him that last night and this morning was an isolated incident would be the smartest thing I could do.

  Or I could do what I really want to do, which is jump him right now. That would be unsafe, obviously. He’s operating a vehicle. Now that I’ve done it once—okay, three times—I want it constantly. Blame it on me being parched, in the proverbial sense. Before last night I hadn’t had any water in a very long time. Connor’s water is everything water should be. Refreshing, delicious, and satisfying.

  Watching him drive is a chance to study him. He has strong forearms. Hands that knew exactly what to do with me. Biceps that bunched and hardened when he lifted me and carried me to his room. He’d buried his face in my breasts while he walked, and I thought I was going to die right there on the spot.

  I didn’t know last night was going to happen. Honest. When Connor refused to look at me as I sat there, exposed, my emotions boiled over. I realized how starving I was for the touch of a man. And not just any man. I wanted Connor.

  Thinking about him this way makes me want to have sex with him again. And again. And again, and again, and again. Placing two fingers upright on the console, I walk them over in a sneaky but obvious way. Connor looks down at my fingers and laughs, watching them as they get closer to him. The red light turns green, and he looks up to drive. I don’t have to pay attention to the road, so I can continue my quest.

  My fingers walk up his thigh and to their destination. Connor’s eyes flick to me when I brush against him. “Brynn,” he says, his voice low. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  He glances down, where my fingers brush back and forth across the front of the same sweats I found him in this morning, then back up. “You’re insatiable.”

  “For you, I am.”

  He turns onto my street. “It’s a good thing we’re here, then.”

  I rub harder, for good measure. He groans softly. I grin. “In case you’re wondering, that was my invitation for you to come inside.”

  He pulls up to my house and throws the truck in park. “You better believe I plan on coming inside.”

  He laughs an evil little laugh as my mouth drops open. “Don’t do it too quickly, or I might be horrified.” I’m getting good at this rhyming game.

  He shifts in his seat. I can tell he’s thinking of a retort, but I’m making it difficult.

  After a moment, he says, “We better get out, before I fuck you curbside.”

  “Yes!” I yell, clapping my hands. “You win. Let’s go inside, so we can both win.”

  We’re halfway up the front walk, our feet pounding the pavement, when someone calls our names. “Brynn! Connor! Thank God.”

  Cassidy rushes across the small length of grass that separates our driveways. “My sitter called in sick and I have nobody to watch Brooklyn. I knocked on your door twice, but nobody answered, and I thought that seemed weird because you’re always home—” Cassidy’s lips press together. Her eyes grow in size as she looks from Connor to me. Is it obvious I’m wearing yesterday’s dress? Maybe not. It’s just a sundress. “Anyway,” she fumbles, trying to get back on track. “Please say you’ll watch Brooklyn for me. I can’t call in for my shift.”

  Panic swiftly replaces desire. Me, watch a child? A small child. Um, no. No no no no no.

  “Sure,” Connor answers.

  Instantly a thousand erratic, panicked butterflies zoom around my stomach. I want to bend over right there on the cracked sidewalk and be sick. Everyone is oblivious to the pandemonium in my stomach. Connor makes some kind of joke that I don’t register, and Cassidy presses her hands together like she’s praying.

  “Thank you. I appreciate it. The next time you come in”—she points back at herself—“your Cuban is on me.”

  “Sounds good,” Connor say
s, smiling down at me. I scowl at him.

  “I’ll bring her over in twenty minutes.” Cassidy turns toward her house, but looks back over her shoulder. “Thank you, Brynn. Seriously.” She is genuine and sweet, and has no clue the turmoil I’m in.

  I grunt a response and watch her hurry to her house. She dashes up the three stairs to the porch and rushes inside, the screen door smacking shut behind her.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I hiss, stomping to my front door. I pull keys from my purse and unlock it. Connor follows me inside, closing the door behind him.

  “What’s your problem? I mean, I know we had other plans, but Cassidy needed help. I probably should’ve asked first, but I didn’t think it was a big deal. Brooklyn is a sweet kid.”

  “You definitely should’ve asked first,” I yell. The butterflies have transformed into crazed ants, running headfirst into one another as they spin out of control. “You don’t know me, Connor. You don’t understand.”

  “Then tell me more about you, Brynn. Because you’re right, I know next to nothing.”

  My desire to tell him everything is strong, even when I know it’s not smart. I want to be known. To be understood. Even so, I know better. It’s better to keep people at arm’s distance for now. My personal baggage is a special type of fucked-up shit. It comes with media, mass hatred, and an irate person who might still want to punish me.

  Connor throws up his hands at my silence. “Continue to tell me nothing. I’ll continue to not know you. I’ll pretend like your responses to situations are normal, like you’re not harboring something heavy, and you keep being an ice queen.” He walks back to the front door and turns the handle.

  “Wait,” I shout. “Where are you going?”

  “Home, Brynn. I think we need to cool off.”

  “Uh, no. You’re not going home.” I point through the walls, to Cassidy’s house. “I cannot watch that child by myself.”

  “Have you seriously never babysat a kid? It’s not hard.”

  I picture Brooklyn’s face. In my head, I hear her little voice yelling and talking, the way she does every day in her backyard. Maybe it’s not hard to take care of a kid, but there is no way in hell I’m doing it alone. My hands begin to shake. I curl them into fists to hide them from Connor.

  “Please,” I whisper, my voice pleading. “Don’t go. I need you.”

  The fight leaves me. My shoulders slump as the panic retreats to hidden spots within me.

  Connor crosses the room, arms folding me into his strong, solid chest. “Brynn,” he whispers against my hair. “What the hell happened to you?” His question isn’t a request for information but a statement of wonder. He knows I won’t answer. “I won’t go, okay? I’m here. As long as you need me.”

  I cry into his chest, and I have no way to explain why. I’m living on borrowed time. At some point, I’ll have to be honest with him, and with myself.

  “See?” Connor inclines his head my way. “It’s not hard.”

  We’re sitting on the couch. Below us, Brooklyn sits cross-legged on the ground. Her backpack lies on the coffee table and she’s digging through it. Cassidy sent her with plenty to keep her occupied. She has coloring books and crayons, picture books and Play-Doh. Apparently none of that interests her. She sets it all off to the side and reaches in again. This time she pulls out a plastic square with teeth on all four sides, like a comb. She reaches into the bag once more and out comes a plastic baggy filled with colorful bands.

  “A loom!” I sit up, looking closer.

  Brooklyn looks back at me. “Yes, but it’s too hard for me. I get it wrong.”

  I reach forward, grabbing a band from the bag and holding it up. I stretch it out a couple times. “I had these. I loved playing with it.”

  Connor nudges my legs and nods at Brooklyn.

  Right. That’s what a normal person would do.

  “Brooklyn, do you mind if I help you?”

  She doesn’t respond, but she scoots aside. I lower myself from the couch to the floor below and stick my legs out under the coffee table, trying not to let her proximity send me over the edge into hysteria. I loop the band I’m holding around one peg on each end and reach for another. “I had a trick for making this work. Like this…”

  Soon we’re working together. Brooklyn gets it wrong a handful of times, weaving the wrong section or forgetting some entirely, but she’s happy and pleased with the outcome.

  After that’s over, we have a snack and go outside to water Ginger’s flowers. Connor is good with her. They seem like they know each other, and when I ask about that, he tells me he knew Cassidy back when she first got pregnant. When Brooklyn is across the yard, he tells me what happened with the dad. I feel bad. Here is Cassidy, this single mom trying to be nice to her new neighbor, and I shut her out.

  Cassidy arrives mid-afternoon with food in take-out boxes. “It’s the Sunday Special,” she says, setting it on my kitchen counter. “I hope you like turkey breast and mashed potatoes. Kind of like Thanksgiving in June.”

  She gathers Brooklyn’s things and hurries her out the door, thanking Connor and me again. “You guys are cute together, by the way.”

  I glance at Connor. He’s standing at the door, poised to close it. “Bye, Cassidy.”

  Her laughter floats through before the door shuts.

  Connor turns to me, his eyes dark and carnal. “Since you climbed out of my bed this morning, I have been waiting to get you back into one.” He stalks toward me.

  I shriek and run to the hallway. He chases me down, catching me at the foot of the bed.

  “Right where I want you.” He pushes aside my hair and kisses my shoulder. He bites the skin, the tiniest bit of pain mixed with so much pleasure.

  “Mmmm,” I moan, my voice thick.

  Connor drags his lips across my skin, to the hollow of my neck. His tongue darts out, tasting, and his hand slips down to the front of the shorts I changed into before Brooklyn arrived. I groan again, my knees weakening, and cling to his arms to keep me upright.

  “Turnabout is fair play.” His voice vibrates over my skin. He pushes me back gently until I’m lying on the bed. In minutes I’m reaching for a pillow to cover my face. The homes on the street are close together, the walls are thin, and Connor makes me loud. We figured that out last night.

  Tomorrow, I’ll tell him everything. He deserves to know why I am the way I am. For tonight, I want to pretend to be normal.

  14

  Connor

  “I’m Elizabeth.”

  Brynn’s back is to me, and that’s probably a good thing. I don’t know which reaction is on my face right now. I know which one is in my head. It’s a little What the fuck mixed with At least I know something about you.

  “Okay.” The word slides slowly from my lips. I don’t know what to say next. Besides, I think Brynn is the person who needs to keep talking.

  “Do you want to know why I’m going by my middle name?”

  More relief. At least the name I’ve known her by is in her real name at all. I think Brynn suits her better anyway.

  “Why?”

  Brynn turns over. Her eyes are frightened, wide and round, but they’re on my face. She lays her head on her pillow and continues talking. “Until I decided to come here, I was Elizabeth Brynn Montgomery. Technically, I still am. It’s not officially changed. Nobody ever really called me Elizabeth, anyway. Liz, mostly. Lizzie, to my closest friends, and then my name was in the media, and they referred to me as Elizabeth. Kind of like your mother calling you by your full name when you’re in trouble. That’s what I was in. A whole lot of trouble.” Her eyes fill with tears. “I’d been reckless for a while, but never anything too terrible. On the morning it all happened, I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I wasn’t speeding, I wasn’t texting, I hadn’t been drinking.”

  The puzzle pieces aren’t fitting yet, but they are shifting.

  “A new mom jumped in front of my car. With her stroller.” Brynn chokes on the word st
roller. She squeezes her eyes shut.

  This is so much worse than what I thought it was. I don’t know what I thought, but it was never this. “Brynn, you don’t have to tell me all this. I see how upsetting it is.”

  She takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. Now they are shiny but less frightened. “I do, Connor. Keeping the truth from everybody is a terrible burden. If I can tell at least one person, it makes me feel just a little bit lighter.”

  I take her hand and wrap it in my own. “I’m listening.”

  “They died instantly. It was a major road, and she just…” Her voice trails off, her head shaking rapidly. “I still feel it sometimes. The awful bumps. You’ve never heard or felt a sound like this, Connor. Never. There’s no way to describe it, but it will never leave me. I can’t un-feel it or un-hear it.”

  Tears trickle out of her eyes and run sideways into the pillow, but she doesn’t stop talking.

  “The media didn’t care that I was innocent. They didn’t care what the police told them. They cared only that their headlines got clicks. I was turned from a club-promoter to a raging, selfish party girl overnight. They dragged up every person I ever came into contact with, even people I don’t remember having a conversation with. A couple years before I’d been pulled over, and cited for drinking and driving. They used that in their smear campaign, of course.”

  Her eyes are haunted, the ghosts of what she’s been through floating through her mind. It wrecks me to see her in so much pain.

  “Nobody needed to read the story and see the date. All they needed to make a judgment was the headline. Driver who struck and killed mother and baby cited for DUI sounded a hell of a lot like the DUI went hand-in-hand with the accident. I was a victim of what that woman did, but in the court of public opinion, I was the executioner. I was fired from my job. Nobody wanted my name associated with their business, my so-called friends were history, and I pushed away any real friends I had.”