by Serena Bell
He’s so little, still, and it always hurts to watch him walk away, even when he turns back and gives me his shy smile and a wave.
As Trevor pulls away from the curb, I turn to Sawyer. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugs. “You went to bat for me the other day in McKibben’s office. I owed you one.”
Ouch.
I mean, I wasn’t flattering myself that he’d kissed me because he’d been overcome by my sex appeal, but still. I owed you one. Yeesh.
“No,” he says, seeing my expression. “I didn’t mean it that way. I—” He stops, and I can see him searching for the right words. “I wanted to help. I like you and Trevor’s a dick, and Helen’s a twat—sorry—”
“At least your degrading language is spread around, gender-wise,” I say, unable to hide a smile.
He sighs. “I don’t know why I did it, I just did it. And I’m sorry if I made things complicated for you.”
To be honest, I kind of like that. I don’t know why I did it, I just did it. I mean, who knows why the hell they do half the stuff they do. And maybe he did it just because he wanted to, which—well, if so, that’s awfully nice to think about.
“It’s fine,” I say. “I was going to ask you to come to the wedding with me anyway, probably. I was just going to have you come as my friend. Or, you know, just a ‘plus one.’ Leave things a little more…ambiguous. Now they think we’re sleeping together, and it just gives Trevor something to be a dick about. But that’s fine. I can handle him.”
“That you can,” he says, his mouth lifting. “I wanted to see a mic drop.”
“I sounded a lot feistier than I felt,” I admit. “She makes me feel like checking in a mirror for food in my teeth. I’ve always been jealous of her. From the very beginning—I mean, way back when they broke up and he started dating me.”
“She dumped him?”
I heave a ginormous sigh, remembering. “Yeah. Should have seen it, right? Total rebound setup. He said he was over her, but I secretly worried he wasn’t. I obsessed about stuff, saw meaning in all sorts of things he did, like saving tickets from plays they’d attended together or liking songs she’d introduced him to. Once Trevor and I were married and had a kid, and things seemed so good between us, I told myself that I’d been wrong about all that, paranoid. But she didn’t go away. Her name would come up randomly. Or one of us would unearth an artifact or a photo from their time together, and I’d go into a jealousy spiral. No matter what he said, I was never quite convinced that he didn’t still think about her and want her. That he didn’t still think of her as the one who’d gotten away. And Trevor’s parents were totally in love with her. They asked about her all the time. What was she up to, all that stuff. And he always knew the answer. Which used to make me crazy, but I could never quite bring myself to ask him to unfriend her on Facebook—it just seemed so petty, you know? I was the wife. She was a Facebook friend. Or that’s what I tried to tell myself. But I was right,” I say softly. “In the end, I was right. My instincts told me he still loved her, and I was right. I learned a lot about trusting myself.”
I have to catch my breath. I really don’t like to talk about what happened. It’s just too humiliating. But Sawyer—well, I always talk too much when he’s around. Maybe because he doesn’t. Or maybe because he listens.
“He’s not a dick,” Sawyer says thoughtfully. “He’s a cheap purple rubber dildo with sparkles.”
That makes me laugh. He may not be a man of many words, but he uses them to good effect. “Well, yes,” I say.
“And she’s not all that. You’re way prettier.”
I swing my gaze to his face. He’s looking down at me with an expression I recognize. It’s the same one he wore in Maeve’s right before he reached out a hand and brushed my lower lip. Right before he kissed me.
If I don’t do anything to stop him, he’s going to kiss me again.
A million thoughts go through my head. Some of them are little more than cries of, Bad idea! Don’t do it, Dunning!
Some of them are a little more coherent. He’s your neighbor. It would be so easy for this to get messy.
You could ruin everything for Jonah and Madden if this goes wrong.
And the loudest and sanest of all:
He’s still in love with his ex-wife.
“Someone needs to remind you that you’re beautiful.”
He says it almost under his breath, like he’s talking to himself.
Then he tips my chin and says, his eyes locked on mine, “You’re beautiful.”
He leans in, cups my head, and lowers his mouth to mine.
Chapter 17
Sawyer
Her mouth opens for me. Right away. I don’t even have to coax her lips apart with my tongue. And for some reason, that gets me going. How willing she is. How eager.
She fits her body against mine with a breathy sigh, raising herself onto her toes, pressing the vee of her jeans against my thigh, her breasts against my ribs. She yields completely, her mouth soft and sweet and hot, her hands grabby, and where her sex nudges against me through two layers of fabric, I can feel heat radiating. Blood rushes into my dick so fast I get light-headed. Involuntarily, I push my erection against the softness of her belly.
She breaks the kiss, drawing a breath that’s more like a gasp.
“Shh,” I say. “What will the neighbors think?”
She covers her face with her hands and draws back, inserting a small amount of too-cool space between us.
“Wow,” she says between her fingers. When she drops her hands, her face is flushed. Her breath comes fast, in little pants, her breasts heaving. It makes my dick—already hard—even more ridiculously rigid. I’m tangled up in my briefs, longing desperately to get free and—
Well, and everything.
“And yikes,” she adds, with a small, embarrassed laugh, and takes another step back.
“Should we go inside?” I gesture at her house. And then mine. Offering her choices.
Her gaze follows my hand. She frowns. When she looks up at me, I can see that I’ve lost her.
“Sawyer,” she says.
“What?”
“You don’t do repeats.”
She’s right, of course. But I can’t make myself care, not now, with the taste of her on my lips and the sensation of holding her still rushing through my nerve endings.
“I would make an exception. I’ve wanted a repeat since that night outside Maeve’s.”
“Me, too.” Her eyes are bright. Hopeful. “It was good, wasn’t it? So good?”
The pleasure of hearing her say that swells my head and my dick. I was pretty sure it was good for her, too—I didn’t think she could fake that kind of reaction—but it’s always nice to hear it. But then her face falls. “The thing is, Sawyer, you have really good reasons not to do repeats. I mean, your wife and all. I can tell you still love her.”
I don’t try to deny it.
“And also, I mean, this is kind of an effed-up situation. We’re neighbors. And our kids are friends. And—” She hesitates. “I’m still putting things back together, too. I mean, I’m not in love with Trevor anymore, but I’m also not, like, over what happened, obviously. So I guess I’m saying—I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m saying—”
“Are you saying no?” If so, I want her to have to say it, straight and simple, out loud. But I don’t think that’s what she’s saying. Not exactly.
“It’s just—I think I’d end up getting hurt, you know? Because I’m guessing you don’t want anything, you know, serious, and—I don’t, either, but—I know myself and I’m the kind of person who just—if we end up having sex, and it’s not just strangers at a bar one time, but if we were, like, friends with benefits—it would get complicated.”
I could kiss her to shut her up, I could ki
ss her hard and sweep all the rational thoughts out of her head, but I let her talk because she’s talking sense and because, truth? I like it when she does this, when she says what’s in her head.
“And I do like you, Sawyer, I think you’re a good dad and a really, really good guy, the kind who builds his elderly neighbor free bookshelves and would construct a fence that looks attractive on both sides and put lattice on it because he thinks his neighbor would appreciate it, and—don’t frown at me like that, Sawyer, you know it’s true!—I guess what I’m saying is, if we were friends, and if we were also having sex, I could get to like you a lot, more than would be good for either of us, because you’re not available in that way. And I just think that would end up sucking for both of us and for the boys. So maybe let’s just not go there?”
I set my jaw against the impulse to laugh—or kiss her. “But you’re not saying no.”
“Sawyer, don’t.”
I hold up a hand. “I won’t try to talk you into anything.”
She’s right. I don’t want anything serious. I know what she’s saying is true: it would be pretty easy for things to get out of control, being as we’re in such close proximity to each other. There would have to be rules and regulations, something to keep it in line.
Then the answer occurs to me. “What about a one-time-only repeat?”
She looks intrigued at that. Or at least she doesn’t immediately tell me to go to hell.
“What if we give Trevor and Helen something real to talk about?”
Her brows are drawn close together in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“When’s the wedding?” I ask her.
She thinks about it a minute. “Three weeks—like a week and a half after school ends.”
“Where?”
“Portland. Where Helen’s from.”
“So you have to get a hotel room.”
“Yup.”
“Is Madden going?”
She sighs. “This is a bone of contention between me and Trevor. I just think it’s wrong. I mean, who doesn’t invite their eight-year-old son to their wedding?”
I scrub my face irritably with my palm. “Do you think he researches all the ways to be a dick?”
She grimaces. “On the other hand, I’m sort of glad, you know? Because it would be so weird for me. To watch my son watch his father get married again. And it’s a nighttime wedding, at a super-fancy location. So he’s staying with my parents.”
I am already picturing Elle dressed for a “super-fancy” location, and liking the image it brings to mind. “So here’s my thinking. Maybe we leave the boys with their respective grandparents, go to the wedding, and since Trevor thinks we’re sleeping together anyway, for that one day—and night—we will be. But just that one day and night. Then we’re done.”
She bites into that plump lower lip. I work hard to resist the urge to bend over and lick the bitten spot. I will exercise restraint now to get what I want later.
“One time? Or one night?” she asks finally.
I take that as an excellent sign.
“Which do you want it to be?”
She thinks about that for a long time—another promising sign. Finally she says, “One time would be neater. But one night would be—” She eyes me, a head-to-toe appraisal. My dick stirs. Of course, he thinks it’s all about him. And to be fair, her eyes do snag for a moment on my fly before her gaze comes up again to find mine. “One night maybe would be better for getting it out of our systems.”
One night would definitely give me more time to work through the variations I pictured lying in bed that first night…
“One night it is,” I say.
“But that’s it. No kissing before then, and once the night’s over, nothing else.”
I extend my hand and we shake on it.
Chapter 18
Elle
My phone buzzes.
Three weeks is a long time.
Sawyer.
If the phone had been pressed between my thighs when it vibrated, the message couldn’t have taken a more direct path to my libido.
It’s the last day of school before summer, and the boys are participating in their elementary school’s “Moving Up” ceremony. We’re sitting in the elementary school cafeteria-gymnasium, which is one of those battered-but-charming older school setups with pads on the walls and a low-slung stage and beat-up folding chairs. The kids squirm in rows on the floor in front of the adults, and the whole room is steaming hot, despite a propped-open door in the back corner.
I’m overwhelmingly aware of Sawyer, three rows behind me. We drove separately and I hadn’t thought to save him a seat. Actually, I’d thought about it, but it felt awkward to actually do it, because he and I weren’t exactly friends, not yet. We existed in some weird in-between region. I’ve actually experienced something like that before, with other parents of kids Madden is friends with. You get to know kids’ parents when you do drop-off and pickup from playdates, but you aren’t quite officially friends with the parents on your own terms, where you’d invite them to socialize with you.
Plus, with Sawyer and me there’s this other complicating factor…
The one epitomized by the text on my screen, Three weeks is a long time.
Three weeks is a long time, I tap back. I don’t bother, yet, to try to shield my phone screen, but I’m aware of the moms on either side of me, casting side-eye at my unruly device.
Sawyer’s text is the first time either of us has mentioned his sex-repeat proposition since he laid it on the proverbial table Friday, after Trevor and Helen’s awful visit. Sawyer finished the fence the next day, and since then, he’s been—from my perspective—hiding out in his house and depriving me of my view. He hasn’t even knocked on my door looking for Jonah. The boys have carried messages back and forth from house to house (“My dad says it’s fine if I sleep over if it’s fine with you.”), but there have been no hot-dad visitations.
Which is as it should be. We made a deal. And honestly, I’m somewhat worried that if Sawyer starts making appearances on my doorstep, my resolve might not last long.
My phone vibrates, sending ripples up my legs. Or maybe that’s just anticipation. I have some ideas, the text says.
Oh. I shift in my seat, suddenly aware of a strong desire to press my bare thighs together under my sundress.
I should ignore him. This isn’t the time or the place. And the terms of our agreement stipulated only that one night. No kissing beforehand.
And even if I’m thinking about violating that provision, I should tell him we can resume this conversation later, when we’re both in the privacy of our homes.
I text back, Do tell.
You look pretty in that dress.
Thank you.
You would look even prettier with that dress up around your waist.
I’m suddenly warm all over, with hot spots in certain key locations.
Are you going to wear a dress to the wedding?
Hattie and I are going shopping Saturday. Madden will be with my parents.
Yes.
I want to mess with you under the tablecloth.
Now I do press my thighs together—as subtly as possible. I think about how much better it would be if his hand were there, between my legs. Giving me something to shift and rub against. Finding the edge of my panties, creeping under the lace hem, sliding between my slick lips, parting me to rest a teasing fingertip against my swollen clit.
“There they go,” whispers the woman next to me, and I wrench my attention back to where the third graders are edging forward on the floor to take the spot that had been occupied by the fourth graders. “They’re so cute.”
They are adorable, and I grab my phone and shove it unceremoniously into my purse, giving the kid spectacle my full attention. But I can’t stop thin
king about Sawyer’s hand finding me under the table at the wedding reception.
I can’t stop thinking about the fact that Sawyer is thinking about it.
The kids go back to their classrooms and the parents file out. I stop to chat with several of Madden’s classmates’ parents, so it takes me a while to make my way out to the car. All the while, I’m hyperaware of my phone in my purse. I force myself to drive home, pull into the garage, and shut the door. Then I snatch the phone out of my purse like a starving woman lunging at an all-you-can-eat brunch.
There’s a string of texts from Sawyer.
I’ll behave myself in church.
Unless you don’t want me to. I do have a lot of fantasies involving remote-control vibrators and church pews.
But once we’re out of the church, all bets are off.
Oh, my. On both counts.
I’m going to make you come for the first time before we leave the reception.
I gasp.
Giving in to an impulse that’s now almost an hour old, I slide my hand between my legs and cup myself where I’m damp and swollen. Lifting my hips to rub against my palm is irresistible, and the friction when I do makes me think I could make myself come in under a minute.
Instead, I text Sawyer back.
Not fair.
Right away, he texts back, Oh, good, thought you’d gone dark on me.
No, I just couldn’t sext with the PTO looking over both my shoulders. Plus, I was afraid of leaving a wet spot.
Were you?
The text is accompanied by an eggplant. I’ve never been much for either emojis or vegetables in a sexual context, but I have to admit, my desire to laugh is tempered by a swirl of arousal. I think it’s because the visual reminds me of the way Sawyer fit—or barely fit—inside me.
I squeeze my hand tight between my thighs and wriggle.
Where are you now?
In my car. Still haven’t made it into the house. Where are you?