Yours, Mine & Ours

by Jennifer Greene

  When Molly was finally asleep, Amanda left her daughter’s bedroom with a major sigh. They’d had quite a discussion before bedtime-brought on by the shiner in her daughter’s left eye. It wasn’t a bad bruise, considering the other little girl in the altercation had been a hefty second grader. But it invoked a torrent of talk about when “wrong is wrong” and when “wrong is right.”

  It was always wrong to fight, Molly knew.

  But it was always right to stand up for a friend against a bully.

  So which was the rightest answer? If you had to act really quick and your friend was hurt right then and there was no time to go in and ask your mom?

  Amanda wasn’t about to agree that hitting was an effective answer for anything, but by the time she wandered into the kitchen, her head was spinning. In the next life, she wanted to be her daughter. So passionate about life. So full of spirit and love and absolutely certain of what she felt about everything.

  Without turning on a light, Amanda opened the fridge, then a cupboard. There didn’t seem to be anything she wanted to eat or drink. Nothing she wanted to do. She was definitely too antsy to watch a show or read…and positively too wide-awake to sleep.

  But then she froze.

  Mike was awake. She could see him across the way, a tall dark silhouette. The distant sink light provided the only illumination, or she’d never have caught his shadowed frame. He couldn’t see her. He was facing her windows, but she had no lights on. So it was unlikely he could see her, yet he stood there, as if he were searching, and then suddenly turned away and disappeared back into the darkness.

  Her pulse started thrumming…and wouldn’t stop. A lump filled her throat…that refused to be swallowed.

  It was his loneliness that struck her. An invisible loneliness, nothing he’d say or admit to, nothing anyone was supposed to see.

  But he’d been looking at her house, her windows. For her. Even if he never said it. Even if he never intended to do anything about it.

  And something abruptly snapped in Amanda. She couldn’t explain what exactly. She just felt suddenly, oddly…angry. Vibrantly angry. Impatiently, infuriatingly, zestily angry.

  She tore around the house faster than a wet cat, brushing her hair, brushing her teeth, unearthing the monitor she used when Molly was a baby. Then she charged outside, barefoot, prancing fast because the grass was wet and the night damp-cool and ghostly.

  Before she lost her nerve-before she got scared-she zipped up his deck steps, didn’t knock on the back door, just pushed open the glass and charged in. Immediately she stubbed her toe-on heaven knows what, probably a toy-made a groan of a sound, loud enough to wake the dead, but his watchdog didn’t even come out to see her, much less bark. Mike couldn’t possibly be sleeping yet; she’d seen him from the window less than ten minutes ago. But he didn’t show up, either, no matter how much noise she was making, stomping around.

  Of course she realized why, when she aimed toward a flicker of light, and finally heard the sound of water coming from the master bath.

  She took a step into his bedroom, and in the dark, for just a second, she lifted her foot because the toe was still stinging. She was acting crazily, she knew. She was behaving completely out of character.

  She was taking a risk she was terribly afraid of.

  On paper, this was just an impossibly wrong thing to do. On paper.

  She took a breath, turned the knob on the bathroom door. Steam engulfed her, dancing on the mirror, shining up the tile floor. A giant gray towel waited on the counter. Mike was in there, beyond the smoked-glass shower doors.

  She put the monitor on the counter, pulled off her cowl-neck top, pushed down her green cotton slacks. Opened the door and stepped in.

  Mike turned around on a spin at the sudden burst of cool air. There was soap in his hair, water in his eyes. Mostly what she saw was somewhere around two hundred pounds of wet, naked man.

  His first reaction was shock. That shocked silence lasted somewhere around a short millisecond. Initially his mind was clearly on something unrelated to sex. One look at her, and his body altered faster than a millisecond, too.

  Before she’d taken a second step, he’d pulled her in and closed the glass door with the two of them inside. Before she could conceivably explain why she was here, he layered her against his hot, wet body and leveled a kiss on her.

  If she’d just known she was going to do this crazy-fool thing, she’d have worn her black lace bra and matching panties, definitely not the pale yellow set from Target, on sale. She’d brushed her teeth. She just hadn’t remembered the right clothes. She always remembered the right clothes for the occasion.

  Only…well, it seemed the bra and thong were soaked in two seconds anyway. So was the rest of her. If she was going to drown in there, what possible difference could it make if she wasn’t wearing her best bra?

  And then the bra was gone. Tossed over the shower door.

  Warm water splashed in her eyes, forcing her to close them…while Mike kept kissing her, swinging her against the warm, damp smooth wall, pinning her there. He held her hands flat against the tile, using his body to touch, to stroke, to incite. He groaned when his mouth left hers, only to trail a wreath of kisses down her throat.

  He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, making it natural for her to wind her legs around his waist. When the nest between her legs rubbed against his belly, he swore. Then swore a second time when he nuzzled his cheeks between her breasts.

  She recognized the tone in his voice. He was making that anger sound that she’d experienced earlier. That vibrant anger. That infuriating, impatient, zesty anger.

  Who knew he’d feel the same? Her heart opened in a shattering crack. She hadn’t let anyone inside in forever. Hadn’t trusted anyone, possibly ever, not this way. He’d been strung tight with denying what he needed, what he wanted. That ferocious hunger and yearning, to touch and be touched, was better denied than answered from the cold distance that came from failing marriages. Sex without trust had made her heart sore and scared.

  But with Mike…it was right. The way it hadn’t been right in a long time. He liked her. He valued her. It showed in his touch, his taste, his tenderness…his wildness.

  He came up for a hoarse breath, asked, “Molly?”

  She motioned outside the shower. “Brought monitor.”

  “Birth control?”

  “What, you don’t store condoms in the shower, waiting for me?”

  He laughed, but it sounded a whole lot more like a groan. She rewarded him with a tiny bite from his ear. “I was giving up birth control, since I never planned to need it. Ever. Again. Until you. But for now I’ve got the long-term patch.”

  “Good.”

  That seemed to end the conversation. At least, he lost interesting in talking. So did she.

  The damn man found the showerhead hose. She saw his sudden grin, saw his hand shoot up, grab the attachment by the showerhead. He eased her onto the tile floor, crossed her legs over his, and then played, pelting her throat, her tummy, her spine, between her legs…with warm, pulsing water. Well, if he was in the mood to torture and tease…she was more than capable of stealing the hose and taking her turn. His laughter provoked another shattering crack in her heart. He was laughing with her. Sharing with her. It wasn’t using.

  It was giving.

  And suddenly, as much fun-and teasing-as their playing had been, suddenly she wanted his hands. His skin. Him. Nothing between them.

  His eyes darkened, sharpened. The water was still warm, blindingly warm, when he palmed her fanny, snuggled her closer, aimed inside. He slid in slowly, all slick slippery warmth, watching her reaction as he began a careful stroke…until he was all the way in. Slow turned into a canter, than a galloping hurry. She had a fearsome sensation of falling, a buildup of want so explosive, so consuming that she feared it would never end, never be over, never be appeased.

  He whispered encouragement, praise, promise. When she peaked, her head fell bac
k on a near scream…and he followed with an exultant groan as deep as hers.

  She tried to breathe again, but couldn’t. She stayed wrapped around him like a scarf, her head in the crook of his shoulder, her body limp and wildly sated, not wanting to move…but the water started turning cool.

  They both let out a yelp. He lifted his head. “I wondered when we’d run out of hot water. Darn it.”

  She was suddenly freezing. He was, too. He flipped off the faucets, helped her to her feet, and grabbed the thick gray towel to wrap around her. He had to step outside to find another. Towels were heaped in a basket on the floor; he took a black one for himself, but he wasn’t concerned with drying himself off.

  Instead, he rubbed her down until she was warm, kissing her brow, her neck, her shoulder en route. “I’m not afraid of much, Red. But I was afraid of this.”

  “Afraid of…?”

  “Afraid that we’d be this good. I was hoping-if we did this-that it’d be kind of a clunker. Good, but not crazy good, so we could just get it out of our heads, go back to the friend thing, knowing the chemistry wasn’t that bad of a problem.”

  She said, “For me. I’m afraid it’s a mighty big problem.”

  For that, she got another kiss. On the nose. And a shine in his eyes that could have kindled fire. “You’re not kidding. That was beyond anything I remember, Amanda. So now you’ve made our whole chemistry dilemma even worse.”

  “Hey. You were the one who dared me!”

  His shaggy eyebrows arched. “Huh? You were the one doing all the daring. The way you walked. The way you looked at me. The way you smiled. The whole thing.”

  “I never did anything. It was you. Sending me those looks all the time.”

  “Hmm. So…is that what suddenly made you…come over here to climb in my shower out of the complete blue tonight?”

  She looked at him, through wet hair and a smile that refused to stop coming. “No, Mike,” she said softly. “I came over because…”

  Startling both of them, Molly’s voice suddenly crackled from the monitor on the counter. “Mom! Mommy! There’s a lizard in the door! He’s coming in here!”

  Amanda sucked in a breath, but Mike was already shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it for a minute. Of course you have to go. But I’d like to finish that conversation.”

  “Breakfast. My deck.” But that was all she had time to say. Still wearing his towel, she plucked up her clothes, sprinted through his house and out the back door. Outside, it was darn near freezing on her bare feet and wet hair-but she ran like lightning, pelted into her own house.

  “Mommy!”

  She’d forgotten to bring the monitor back, but it didn’t matter. She could hear Molly’s voice for herself now.

  “I’m coming, honey!” She traded Mike’s gray towel for a butterfly one from the downstairs bathroom, and scooted up the stairs. Out of breath, she paused in Molly’s doorway. “I was taking a shower, honey. I need to put on a nightgown and I’ll be right in.”

  “It’s a horrible lizard. Purple and orange. With glasses. And pointy feet. I’m not afraid. But he was going to hurt you, Mommy. So I have to come sleep with you.”

  It wasn’t how she hoped to end the evening, snuggled in a narrow twin bed with a four-year-old, Princess and Darling. Yet her daughter and the dog and kitten all slept as soundly as zombies.

  She didn’t. Her heart was still racing, her mind spinning, Mike’s name humming in every beat of her pulse. Maybe she’d done the wrong thing. Maybe she’d done the right.

  She was frighteningly unsure how this could possibly turn out well for both of them.

  But she didn’t regret what happened. Didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t.

  Amanda woke up in a tantalizingly high mood…until she glanced at the clock. Molly, Princess and Darling were already out and about somewhere, but the princess clock beside her daughter’s bed claimed it was eight. Which meant she could have company from next door for breakfast before she’d had a chance to brush her teeth, much less to make anything to feed the four of them.

  She flew out of bed, hurtled through drawers to find the appropriate dress-for-success attire-a frayed sweatshirt, old yoga pants. In the bathroom, she did the wash-face, brush-teeth thing, then swiped on two splashes of blush, braided her hair with a long scarf, loose, not tight, and didn’t bother with shoes because there was no time. She hoped she looked like he usually did. Casual. Honest. Natural. Definitely not overly put together.

  Molly, Princess and Darling all crowded her in the kitchen. She whipped up eggs, added a dab of cream cheese and cheddar, fresh chives…dropped a fork, then the spatula. Princess leaped on the counter in a cloud of white fur; both pets wanted to be fed and loved; Molly wanted a change in hairstyle right now. She started the toaster, pulled out the marmalade, poured OJ into a glass pitcher…chased outside to wipe down the glass table on the deck…chased back in to find Molly sampling the marmalade with a spoon.

  Panic didn’t set in. Not then. At least not totally. It was just that during all that frenzy of activity, a few teensy needling thoughts squeezed into her mind.

  Such as…Mike had given her serious reasons why he’d voted for the celibacy route. Her showing up in his shower wasn’t exactly fair.

  Such as…last night, it seemed terribly important that she not sit back, not be the kind of princess who needed a man to take charge. But by light of day, courage didn’t look like courage anymore. It sort of looked brazen. It sort of looked like a pushy, brazen woman had shown up in his shower, specifically when he’d said he didn’t want to be involved.

  The more she thought…the more she wondered whether it was too late to hide under the nearest bed with heaps of blankets over her head.

  She ran silverware and napkins and place settings out to the deck, ran back inside, cracked a nail on the door, shook it, turned the eggs, popped the first round of toast, heard the knock on the door.

  Then panic set in.

  “I know we’re late,” Mike said.

  “That’s okay, we’re running just a tad late here, too.” She smiled brilliantly, hoping he couldn’t see that there was a gulp in her throat bigger than the state of Nevada.

  He and Teddy were cleaned up, spiffed up. Teddy had a tucked-in shirt. Mike had a white polo that set off his tanned skin and a totally naked chin. He not only looked handsome beyond belief; he’d shaved. For her. And here she looked scruffier than his dog. He had to think she’d made no effort, where he so clearly had.

  Their eyes met, and she almost dropped the eggs. Would have, if he hadn’t swooped in and taken the bowl. “Let’s help, guys,” he told the kids, which was an outstanding idea.

  He not only looked jumpable; the look of him brought on more nerves, because she was afraid she would. Jump him. At the earliest opportunity. Apparently now that the Brazen Gene had been let out of her closet, it was going to be tough locking it back in.

  Mike and the kids carted everything outside. She brought up the rear with the OJ pitcher and glasses-which Mike took out of her hands before she could drop them. The morning still had a sting of a chill, but the grass was diamond-studded with dew, the sun soaking-bright.

  The kids dove in as if no one had ever fed them…but that didn’t last long. They started making faces at each other. Molly, ever the lady, exposed a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Teddy pulled his eyes apart with his fingers. Both of them pulled out their lips.

  “It’s hard to believe they’re going to be part of civilized society in another twenty years, isn’t it?” she asked Mike.

  He laughed. Not a loud laugh. But a throaty, sexy laugh. Turned her on all over again. “You promise it’ll only take twenty years?”

  A forkful of egg arced in the air, landed in the lilies. “Hey, guys. That’s over the top. Who did it?” Amanda demanded.

  “Not me,” Molly said.

  “Not me,” Teddy said.

  She pretended to buy into that bologna, turning a stern expression on Mike. “Mr. Mi
ke, if you throw food again, you’re going to get a time-out, and I’m not kidding.”

  That set the kids to giggling again. It was a lot easier, entertaining the four-year-olds than facing Mike alone. But eventually they got too squirmy to sit still, and Amanda gave them permission to go inside and play a game.

  Unfortunately, once the kids deserted ship, the insanely messy table was the only thing between her and Mike. She’d felt his eyes on her, his smile on her, all through the picnic breakfast…but it was the first time she could really look back at him. At least in that naked way. That raw-nerves honest way.

  “Did you sleep okay?” he asked her.

  “Slept good. Just not long enough. You?”

  “Like a log. Although I wish you hadn’t had to run home. Was Molly all right?”

  “Yes. It was just her lizard nightmare. But I still needed to be there.”

  “Of course you did.”

  Conversation stalled like a dead battery. Mike’s eyes never left hers. Finally he put his elbows on the table, hunching forward. “My guess is the kids’ll interrupt us in two minutes or less. So either we dive into talking about last night. Or let it be. You have a vote?”

  “Better talk.”

  “Ok. The last thing I expected was a naked woman in my shower last night. Was there maybe something that triggered that happening? That I should know about?”

  “Well…” How could she explain something that just all clicked in her head all at once? “It was because of Molly. In the fight yesterday with the second-grader.”

  Mike frowned. “I saw the shiner. But somehow it’s hard for me to imagine how the two issues could be connected.”

  “Because. When I was talking to Molly-about fighting and violence never being a good answer-she got her back up. Some days she is such a redhead. And even though I’m not condoning her hitting anyone…later, it just kept occurring to me. Molly’s viewpoint was right. Sometimes it’s the girl who has to take charge.”