As I wiped my running nose on my shirt sleeve, tears stung the corner of my eyes. This had been the trip—and the conversations— I’d been dreading for so long. My mom and Georgia had been two of the only people I could always count on, which had made this trip all the more difficult and important. I stood up in my spot and said goodbye to my mother, with a promise to visit regularly, a promise I planned to uphold.
This cemetery wasn’t so scary anymore, except for one thing that kept tugging at my mind. There was a grassy patch next to my mother’s grave, a spot I knew was reserved for my father. We hadn’t expected to have to use either of their plots for decades, and now I didn’t know how much longer this spot would be empty. All I could do was be strong, for myself and both of my parents. It was what Mom would have done. I blew a kiss in Mom’s direction and retreated back to the land of the living.
Chapter 18
Jesse
Roni made me want to be adventurous and try new things. That’s one thing I knew for sure. For the average person who saw me, I appeared to be adventurous, given that there was no lack of shortage of tattoos covering my body. Maybe my choice to grow my hair out was even seen as adventurous. This was a different kind of adventurous, though. Roni opened me up to a whole new world of possibilities. I couldn’t even begin to count the number of firsts we had experienced together.
In the warmness of early autumn, I stood beside her outside the Linfield Arts Center, in line with half a dozen other art geeks registering for the free workshop. I felt a strange mix of excitement and anxiety, but if there was one person who could calm me down, it was Roni.
“Are you going to tell me what kind of class we’re even taking?” I asked her. All she said on the phone was that it was something completely out of both our wheelhouses. That ruled out sketching and tattoos for me, and pretty much ninety percent of all artwork for Roni. I hadn’t the slightest clue what sort of art we could be doing that she wasn’t familiar with, but I’d taken Roni on enough surprise dates that it was my turn to be surprised.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Roni said with a smirk. She gently tapped me on the ass and giggled.
“Please don’t be jewelry making,” I said, only half-joking. That was the only artistic activity I could think of that neither of us had done before. Roni was great at painting, and working with oil pastels, and even creating dioramas. I thought back to the art show our senior year, when she created a sculpture out of recyclables she’d been collecting for months. Roni was an art wizard, and a damn good one. A bulletin board finally came into my view as the line moved up. Introduction to Pottery and Ceramics. This Sunday. That had to be it.
“Next,” the woman behind the registration table said. I followed Roni and stood behind her as she gave our names and addresses and took name badges from the lady.
“Well?” Roni asked, leading me into the classroom in that bossy yet approachable way about her that was oh-so-sexy. “What do you think?”
“I can live with pottery,” I said. That was all I could think to say. I was by no means dying to spend the next two hours with clay all over my hands, but I was always excited to spend more time with Roni. She was so amazing at everything she did, so it would be interesting to see how this would all pan out. A small part of me hoped I had a secret knack for ceramics that had just never been tapped into before. I wanted so badly to impress Roni, to keep her falling for me and show her that I had layers to me.
I put on the apron the instructor handed out with careful deliberateness. This was my chance to show Roni another side of the man who’d been stupid enough to screw things up with her the first time. I was also excited to see Roni in her element, even if pottery wasn’t exactly her forte in the realm of art. Our sexual connection was something most couples dreamed of. It was second nature for us. We’d had some great conversations that really helped with our emotional connection.
This was going to be a completely different experience for us. I was going to get to see Roni as an artist, and, more than that, we’d see who we were as a couple—at least, hopefully—in a group environment. Would people see and respect us as a couple? Or would they see the long-haired tattoo artist and gorgeous, blonde art teacher as two completely different people who could never possibly work?
“So, what are we making?” I asked Roni.
She shrugged. “I’m not completely sure,” she said. “I didn’t want to psych myself out of coming by reading too much into it. I’m as out of my element as you are.”
Though I was sure that wasn’t true, I didn’t push the issue. Other locals filed in, a few whom I recognized from around town, until all fifteen stations were filled. “Welcome to week one of Introduction to Pottery and Ceramics,” the middle-aged woman, who looked more like a librarian than a sculptor, said to us.
Week one? I turned my head to face Roni. “Oops,” she whispered, blushing. “I guess I didn’t read the flyer very carefully. Let’s just see how today goes.”
There was something about the way she said it that put me at ease. While I could’ve easily seen how this was a trap to get me to take the class with her, I knew that wasn’t the case. That wasn’t Roni. I turned my attention back to the instructor, who took us through how to work the pottery wheel, a task that I hadn’t even considered.
“Next week, after the clay is dried a proper amount, we’ll work on trimming and smoothing it,” the instructor said matter-of-factly. “It will then go through another drying process, and we can finally fire it off in the kiln, then glaze it the following week.”
Roni and I met each other’s gaze in a way that said, “How the hell had we thought that we could complete a clay bowl in a few hours?” Nonetheless, we were here now, so I figured I might as well put in some effort. Maybe there was still a chance I had a hidden talent for pottery, but I wasn’t holding my breath.
The instructor talked a mile a minute, taking us through the entirety of what she wanted us to accomplish in today’s course. Of course, I was too busy making lovey-dovey eyes at Roni to take in most of what she was saying. As soon as everyone around us reached for their clay, Roni and I followed suit.
I put the clay on bat, running my hands slowly along and trying to smooth it out. The instructor had said something about wetting our hands, so I decided that was the best next step. Unsurprisingly, my clay looked nothing like it was supposed to. I hadn’t known until this moment that there was a way to mess up making a clay bowl. I sort of just figured that the pottery wheel did all the work.
“Your clay is a little lumpy there, Parker,” Roni said playfully as she focused on her own station.
I grinned. “I don’t know, Vance,” I said. “Yours is looking a little watery.”
The friendly competition was fun for us, something that had been an element of our relationship even back when we were teens. I watched as Roni stared intently at her clay, trying and failing to match what the instructor had shown us. She always wanted everything to be just right, and I was hoping that I finally fit the bill.
I wanted to step things up a notch, to impress Roni. I sped up the wheel until it was no longer in my control. Bits of clay flew everywhere, landing all over my face and clothing, just missing the displeased-looking man sitting beside me. I couldn’t get the machine to stop. For the first time, I realized I likely should’ve been paying attention when the instructor was giving instructions instead of staring at Roni. Roni leaned over in an effort to help me, but it only made things worst.
In the haste, she’d gotten her pedal stuck on its cord. Just as mine had done, pieces of Roni’s unformed bowl left the pottery wheel and smacked both of us in the face. The instructor angrily stomped over and helped us regain our footing, and I turned to Roni, anxious to see her reaction. While I thought the whole ordeal had been quite humorous, I knew Roni well enough to know that she was a perfectionist, and I wasn’t sure if she would be ok knowing that there was something in the art world that she wasn’t the best at.
To my su
rprise, Roni through her head back and let out a giant belly laugh. I joined in, and we laughed until tears started pouring from our eyes. Some of the students around us chimed in with polite chuckles, while others rolled their eyes and kept to their pieces.
I hadn’t meant to ruin the class, and I hoped that they knew that. After several minutes, we regained our composure enough to get back to our pieces. The instructor—hesitantly, I’m sure—gave us each fresh clay to work with, and we delicately smoothed and patted it. As funny as our lack of skill had been, I didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. I ran my hands along the clay for the final hour, knowing full well that a completed bowl would never see the light of day.
When time was up, everyone in the room had a decent-looking product except me, Roni, and a man who explained to everyone in the class how his arthritis made it hard for him to do art. “Let’s agree that week one was our only week,” Roni said, laughing.
I tried to put on the most serious look I could muster. “But I really want to see this through. I want to finish my bowl.”
“Seriously?” Roni had a look of surprise mixed with a hint of pure horror.
I busted up, laughing. “Not a chance in hell,” I said. “We’re not meant to be sculptors. I guess that’s something we’re just going to have to live with.”
Roni smiled and took my hand in hers as we thanked the instructor and walked down the hallway toward the exit. At the end of the day, we were just lucky that we hadn’t been kicked out of the class and had survived three hours vastly outside of each of our comfort zones. Despite being covered in clay, it was a fun afternoon bonding with Roni. I smiled to myself. I made a mess with Roni, but, this time, it had been one of the best messes I ever made.
Chapter 19
Roni
I had known this was coming, but, somehow, that still hadn’t prepared me for the inevitable. I was sleeping over at Jesse Parker’s house for the first time in my life—unless sneaking out of windows in high school counted. Sure, we’d had sex, but I felt like staying over brought us to a whole new level of intimacy. If only he knew what I had in store for us. “I’m going to grab my duffle from my car,” I said to Jesse as we pulled into his oversized driveway, bits of clay still fresh on our skin from our art class fiasco.
My duffle bag I’d packed with all of the first-time sleepover essentials had a special addition for this man I’d grown to care so deeply about: brand new lingerie. I’d spotted the hot pink number on a mannequin downtown while on a jog earlier in the day, and I just knew Jesse would love it. Or at least I hoped so.
“I still can’t get over the fact that you bought the Pritchett House,” I said, half-running to catch up with Jesse on the front stoop.
Jesse smiled. “Well, you better get used to it,” he said. “Because it’s mine. And you’re about to become my most frequent visitor.” In a swift motion, he swept me off my feet and carried me into the house like we were newlyweds on our honeymoon. That was one thing I loved about Jesse. He had this sense of spontaneity and an unmatched joy for life.
“I need to take a shower.” I was certain I was blushing, but I didn’t mind. “This clay is starting to itch.”
Taking my duffle from my hand and leading me up the stairs to his bedroom, Jesse said, “Mind if I join you?”
“It would be my pleasure,” I said with a smirk.
Though I’d been in the master bathroom to join Jesse for a jacuzzi, I hadn’t stopped to really soak in his bedroom until this very moment. The walls were a wine color that somehow looked extremely elegant, maybe even a tad romantic, and there was soft detailing on two of the walls. His bed was certainly big enough for two, and I had to tell myself not to let my mind wander to the possibilities of who else had shared that bed.
Jesse’s bedroom was nothing like I would’ve pictured it, but it also seemed to match the person he had become. I was sure that if someone who didn’t know Jesse saw this muscular, hot tattoo artist walk into the antique Pritchett House and his wine-colored bedroom, they would have done a double take or laughed it off. Having gotten to know the new Jesse, however, I figured that the décor of the room fit with his more recent love of art.
“Come here,” Jesse said, pulling me gently by the arm. He stopped at a floating shelf between his nightstand and his armoire and pointed to a trophy in the middle. “Remember that?”
I leaned closer to read the words on the engraving. World’s Best Boyfriend. I’d given it to Jesse for our anniversary back in high school. “I can’t believe you kept that,” I said. “And keep it up where people might actually see it.”
Jesse pulled me closer. “It’s for me to see, so I can work toward being that person again.” He pulled me in for a gentle kiss.
“I think you’re off to a pretty good start,” I whispered, staring deeply into Jesse’s eyes. “Now, how about that shower?”
At the mention of the shower, Jesse slid his shirt off to reveal his chiseled abs. Man, was he hot. Sometimes I still couldn’t believe that Jesse had gotten even better-looking and more toned since high school. I hadn’t known it was possible. I stripped down to nothing but my bare skin and some globs of clay while Jesse threw my duffle on the chair in the corner of his room.
“Damn, my girl is sexy.” Taking a note from his own spontaneity, I jumped into Jesse’s arms and pressed my lips against his.
Jesse’s shower was like one from a fancy resort, with a waterfall showerhead and marble tiling throughout. I already knew I was going to like this. Jesse and I poked fun at one another until the water reached a temperature we both agreed on. As good as it felt to be getting the hardening clay off my body, it felt even more amazing to be in the shower with Jesse. It was nice that, after all the history we had, we could still experience new things together.
I reached onto the small shower shelf and grabbed whatever shampoo Jesse had. First, I spread some throughout my own hair, then I went to town on Jesse’s gorgeous tresses. “You’ve got a fine head of hair there, Mr. Parker.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Jesse said, his dimples out in full force. “You know, I kind of like having my own, built-in shampoo girl.”
“Ha!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands in the air for fake dramatics. “You’re just lucky you look good naked.” Jesse cocked his eyebrow as I applied conditioner for both of us. It was crazy to me how I’d never been overtly attracted to men with longer hair, and now I couldn’t get enough of Jesse’s heavenly mane. It somehow worked for him, and I had to admit that it added to his hotness.
Jesse ran his hands through his hair and rinsed out the conditioner looking like someone out of a shampoo add. The broad shoulders, the strong muscles, the perfect head of hair. “I see you staring at me like I’m a piece of meat,” Jesse joked.
“Is that a problem?” I asked, knowing full well it wasn’t.
“It’s what I’ve been dreaming of for four years,” Jesse said. “Stare all you want.”
I giggled. “You better bet your ass I plan on it.”
Jesse decided that since I’d done the shampoo and conditioner, it was his turn to wash both of our bodies. He poured some liquid body wash in his hand, did a quick scrub of himself, then turned his attention to me. He covered every inch of my body, making sure underneath my breasts and inside my lady parts were extra clean. Jesse ran his perfect hands up and down, side to side, and smiled at me with satisfaction when he was done. “How’d I do?” he asked.
“You’ve got a little something, there,” I said, pulling a small clump of clay from his hairline.
Jesse looked me up and down. “Well, you’ve got a little something there.” He playfully grabbed my breast, where I was fairly certain there was no clay. I’d never had shower sex before, but I wasn’t sure I could contain the desires I was feeling until we were finished our shower. Jesse was all I wanted, and having him now, in this moment, was all I could think about.
I moved my hands up and down Jesse’s soaked body, letting the water from the showerhea
d pour over me. Jesse’s eyes met mine, and I knew that he knew exactly what I wanted. He clenched his mouth. My tongue found Jesse’s and we moved closer together until our bodies were as close as they could get.
Jesse cupped my throbbing breasts in his hands and ran his finger around each nipple as they hardened. I hadn’t known until this moment how seductive a hand could be. Before I knew what was happening, Jesse was on the floor of the shower, slipping his tongue inside me. It was a new sensation, one I didn’t want to end. He buried his face between my legs and pushed his tongue in as far as gravity would allow.
“I need your lips, your dick, something,” I whispered, completely turned on but having nowhere to turn to while Jesse ate me out. I noticed for the first time as Jesse stood up that even his ass was fine as hell. This man didn’t have an unchiseled muscle in his body. Jesse’s mouth engulfed mine as I looked for an outlet for my arousal. I took his dick in my hand and squeezed it, moving my hand up and down his hardness as he ran his fingers along my hips. “You’re so damn sexy, Roni,” Jesse whispered, and it only added fuel to my fire.
Enamored by Jesse’s hardened cock, I got onto my knees and sucked. I moved him around inside my mouth, taking in every piece of him. I stopped momentarily, pulled in a mouthful of air, and got back to work. Jesse moaned quietly each time I went deeper. I gripped onto Jesse’s hardened abdominal muscles and pulled myself back up to meet his gaze. I’d never seen him look so turned on, so ready to burst.
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