by R. C. Martin
God…I love him, so much.
“Teddy?”
“Yes,” I blurt out, tilting my head back so that I can look up at him. His grey eyes roam over my face, and my stomach fills with butterflies. “Yes, I would love to spend the day with you.”
He offers me a curt nod and then presses a kiss to my lips before he lets me go. “Let me deal with this,” he begins to say, slipping the condom off, “and then I’ll make us some brunch.”
“And a cappuccino?” I ask, bending down to reach for his twice discarded shirt.
“Yes, Teddy,” he says with a smirk. “I won’t forget to caffeinate you.”
I grin up at him, shrugging my way into his shirt. Before he can turn to leave, I stop him with my hands against his chest, lifting up on my tiptoes as I pucker my lips. He kisses me once more before swatting at my ass and turning to head for the bathroom. I watch him go, sure that the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on is responsible for making me happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life.
My alarm clock sounds and I’m quick to silence it, wishing not to disturb Teddy. I know that I have to get her home this morning, but her day starts later than mine. After yesterday, I’m sure her body could use the recuperating power of sleep. I look over at her, stretched out on her stomach, her hair fanned across the pillow and down her back. She’s more on my side of the bed than hers, obviously having stayed close after I rolled away from her in my own slumber, but I don’t mind.
I reach over and slowly lower the sheet, wanting to admire the artwork on her back. I’ve been with tattooed women before, of course, but Teddy is different. Teddy’s ink screams of what my shy girl keeps hidden. Her pain. Her journey. Her recovery. Her strength. I suppose, to be fair, I’ve never taken the time to learn about the other women I’ve been with; but that doesn’t eradicate my bias. Teddy is beautiful, in every sense of the word, and I’m half tempted to wake her up and have her in the shower. I decide against it, knowing my day will never start on time if my dick gets anywhere near her.
I slide out of bed and go about my usual morning routine. After a workout, a shower, and a shave, I return to wake her. Wrapped in just my towel, I crawl on top of the bed, straddling her body as I nip her delicate skin between my teeth up her back. She sighs and squirms, which makes my dick stir, and then she flips over. I’m hard as fuck in an instant, the sight of her bare breasts taunting me. I want to do so many ungodly things to her right now. I know if I even think about teasing her, I won’t be able to stop until I hear her scream my name, so I don’t linger. Instead, I climb out of bed, looking down on her as I speak.
“If you want to grab a shower before we go, you better hop in now.”
She groans, throwing her arms across her face. “What time is it?”
“Quarter after six,” I answer, trying and failing not to stare at her tits.
“Too early,” she whines.
“If I remember correctly, you said that you would endure the early wake-up call as opposed to having me drop you off last night.”
“If I remember correctly,” she begins mockingly. “I said those things when your tongue was doing fun things to my…”
A small smile plays at the corner of my mouth as I reach for her arms, lowering them down away from her face. I speak only after her eyes are focused up on me. “Pussy. When my tongue was doing fun things to your pussy.”
“Mmhmm,” she hums with a nod. “See? You remember.”
“Get up, sweetheart. If you don’t make me late, I’ll make you another cappuccino.”
“Coffee,” she murmurs wistfully as she sits up. “Yes, okay. As long as there’s coffee.”
I shake my head at her as I begin to head toward my closet. I’m halfway there when she calls my name. I turn and see her standing beside the bed, her long, wavy, red hair wild from sleep draped down her chest and back. My hard-on reminds me it never left.
“Sorry. It’s still really early for me. I didn’t say good morning.”
I stride my way back over to her, cupping my hands around her face as soon as I’m in reaching distance. Before I can think better of it, my mouth is sealed with hers, my tongue seeking entrance beyond her lips. She responds in earnest, her small hands sliding around my waist as she kisses me in return. It’s all I can do not to drop my towel and throw her back in the bed.
“Good morning, Teddy,” I rasp, pulling my lips from hers. “Now, get in the damn shower before I pin you down and fuck you until you can’t walk straight. I don’t have time for that this morning. I’m assuming you don’t either.”
She whimpers, shaking her head as her doe eyes meet mine. After a pause, she kisses the space in the middle of my chest, and then flees from my arms. I watch her disappear into the bathroom before I go get dressed. She’s still in the shower when I make my way up to the kitchen a few minutes later. At ten minutes before the top of the hour, I hear her bare feet against the metal stairs leading up to the second level.
Heading toward me, she looks decidedly more awake and refreshed. Her wavy locks are damp, pinned up into a bun on the top of her head. She’s wearing a pair of tight jeans with a long-sleeved, simple white t-shirt that clings to her subtle curves, and a tartan scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. I assume those are the clothes she packed for yesterday—the clothes she never put on because the only garment that her body knew all day was my button-down worn at dinner Saturday evening.
“I haven’t made you late yet, have I?”
“No,” I reply, bringing my coffee to my lips as I push her cappuccino across the kitchen island. She stands in front of me, propping her hip against the counter as she reaches for her mug. “I made it extra hot, just in case. Be careful.”
She nods, taking a hesitant sip, and humming as she swallows. “You’re so good at making coffee. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
As I watch her enjoy her beverage, I wonder about the next time I will see her. Friday feels entirely too far away, but I’ll have to double check my schedule before I arrange anything with her. Thinking of work then leads to thoughts of Aunt Eddalyn and her request to meet Teddy. Now that she knows I have a woman in my life of some importance, I’m sure she won’t cease to remind me of our conversation at every chance she gets.
“I want to introduce you to Eddalyn. She asked about you and I think it appropriate that you meet.”
“Oh,” she murmurs, setting aside her mug. “Okay.”
“There are a couple more fair-weather Saturdays left. October is usually too cold for golf, but if you are still interested in joining me for a game, we can all go this weekend.”
“I can’t.” She scrunches her brow apologetically, taking a step closer to me. “I promised my parents that I’d visit a couple weeks ago. I was going to make the drive to Estes Saturday morning and spend the night.”
I frown, not at all pleased to hear that I have to share her this weekend.
“What about Sunday dinner? I should be back by then,” she offers, snaking her arms around my waist.
“I’m sure that can be arranged,” I mutter, still disappointed in the news of her Saturday evening plans. “You’re mine Friday night,” I insist.
She tightens her grip around me, her big, round eyes filled with what appears to be worry. “I won’t get to see you again until Friday? That’s so far away.”
A lopsided smile tugs at my lips as I reach up to grip the back of her neck. “We’ll work something out,” I speak softly, grazing my nose along hers. “I don’t want to wait that long either.”
I barely get the words out before she pushes herself up on her tiptoes and crushes her mouth against mine. I let her have this kiss, following her lead, content to let her express just how much she wants me. When she slips her arms around my neck, beckoning me closer, I drop a hand to the small of her back, pulling her body flush against mine. I’m completely unaware of anything outside of my woman—until I hear her gasp.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, Mr. Jude
.”
Teddy squeals, burying herself in my chest as I look over her head at Marta. Her eyes are wide in surprise, and she stands frozen at the top of the stares, staring at Teddy and me.
“It’s all right, Marta. Come in.”
“Marta?” Teddy whispers, peeking up at me. “The woman who laundered my underwear after I drunkenly decided it should be thrown in with your clothes?”
“She’s the one.”
A blush fills her cheeks, which makes me chuckle.
She’s so fucking cute.
When she spins around to face Marta, I then watch as Marta’s shocked expression turns into a giddy one.
“Ah! You are the redhead,” she exclaims.
“Um…” Teddy hums, looking from Marta, then up at me, then back at Marta. “Yes?”
“You shed,” she says, tugging on her own braid. “Mr. Jude does not have long, red hair.” With a grin, she enters the room, setting her things by the dining room table, as she always does, before she comes and joins us in the kitchen. “I’m Marta. It’s so very good to meet you.”
“Hi,” Teddy says, her grin evident in her tone. “I’m Teddy.”
“You are muy bonita! I’m not surprised. Mr. Jude could not fall for someone less gorgeous than you.”
I quirk an eyebrow as I look down at her. She returns my stare with a wink and a giggle. “It does not take a rocket scientist, Mr. Jude. Less sheets in the wash. More dishes in the dishwasher. I pay attention. And I am so happy for you!” She sighs, clasping her hands together as she returns her gaze to Teddy. “He needed to settle down. A man cannot be wild forever.”
“And on that note—” I interrupt, reaching for Teddy’s hand as I check my wrist for the time. “We better be going.”
“Oh! Yes, yes. Don’t let me keep you,” Marta says as I lead Teddy from out of the kitchen.
“It was nice meeting you, Marta,” she calls out from over her shoulder.
“Have a good day, Marta,” I say in farewell.
“You too!” she practically sings.
“I like her.”
I smirk at Teddy as we enter my room. “I’m sure the feeling is mutual.”
I return to my closet to slip into my jacket, and I hear Teddy groan as I make my way back into the room. She’s standing with her bag slung over her shoulder and her eyes trained on the bed. “Shit. It just clicked that she washes your sheets…”
A smile spreads across my face as I close the distance between us and press a kiss on top of her head. “It’s perfectly natural, Teddy. Besides, it should be known that I know how to please my woman. Now, let’s go, or we’ll both be late.”
I’m home with enough time to have another cup of coffee while I figure out what I want to wear to work and then get dressed. The weather is definitely starting to cool down, the morning in that weird temperature range that leaves me wondering if I need a jacket that I’ll likely ditch by the end of the day or not. I opt not to bring one, deeming my cardigan sufficient, and waste no time starting my car to get the heat going. As soon as I start the engine, Agatha makes a weird screeching noise that doesn’t sound good at all. It’s gone after a couple seconds, but I sit for a moment with a scrunched brow, staring at my dash as if giving her a warning look.
I don’t have time for car problems right now.
Luckily, it sounds perfectly fine after a minute idling, and I get to work with no trouble. I let myself into the gallery and find Andrew standing at the front reception desk with a pen in his mouth and a stack of papers in his hands. He’s not wearing his suit jacket, hinting at the fact that he’s probably been here for a little while already. I know he’s been putting in a lot of extra hours trying to get MTA’s first exhibition in the works for the end of next month. Geoffrey and I are helping in any way that we can, but this is Andy’s baby and he’s having a hard time sharing.
“Good morning, Andy,” I say in greeting, setting my things on top of my desk.
“Hey. Hi,” he mutters before spitting out his pen. “I’m sorry. Good morning. How are you, Teddy?”
“I’m great. How are you?”
“Good. Listen—could you make a few calls this morning? I’ve got a list here. They’re mostly just follow up.”
“Mmhmm,” I hum, sure that his brain is moving far too quickly to actually appreciate any sort of real answer. Sure enough, he walks away not a second later, talking to himself under his breath. It makes me laugh a little as I sit and survey my recently doled out to-do list.
I’m just beginning to wonder where Geoff is when I hear his voice. Whatever he says is followed by the response of Cameron, our delivery man, and I wonder what new pieces have arrived today. I decide I’ll go and look as soon as I’m done making my calls for Andy.
An hour later, after I’m off the phone, my plans are thwarted when a delivery man arrives with a beautiful bouquet of flowers. It’s full of shades of cream, dusty orange, and peach. My stomach fills with butterflies, knowing that they belong to me.
“I’m going to guess by that smile that you are Theodora Fitzpatrick?”
“Yup,” I reply with a nod, reaching for the vase.
“Have a good day, you hear?”
“You too.”
I sit back in my chair and admire the bouquet, feeling giddy as I’ve ever been. I saw the man this morning. I spent half of my weekend in his arms. This gift is certainly unexpected, and it makes me feel incredibly special. He’s still thinking of me, a reality I understand completely, and this proves it.
“Well, well, well—what do we have here?” asks Geoff as he occupies the seat next to me.
“Oh, you know, the usual,” I tease, plucking the little note from its holder. I extract the card from the envelope, a grin spreading across my face as I read his familiar script.
When Geoff snatches the note from my hand, I don’t stop him. He reads it quickly before looking at me with a single arched eyebrow.
“Does he not know how to send a text?”
“Oh, hush,” I insist, swiping my note back. “It’s romantic and you know it.”
“What does that even mean? My girl Tuesday?”
I sigh wistfully, thinking back on our morning when I practically begged to see him again before the weekend.
“It means that I get to see him again tomorrow.”
He gasps, smacking his hand down on the desk, making me jump.
“You sneaky, little bitch! Were you even going to tell me?”
“Geoff,” I cry, trying to fight my amusement. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”
“Theodora Rose Fitzpatrick, you let that man pop your cherry—” He pauses abruptly, reconsidering his words. “Metaphorically speaking. If you don’t give me some details…” He pauses once more, clearly searching for a legitimate threat. I lift my eyebrows expectantly and he scoffs at me. “Just tell me something. I’m your best friend, dammit.”
I giggle, amused by his desperation for some gossip. “I told you. I’m a lady. I don’t kiss and tell,” I tease.
He studies me for a moment, folding his arms across his chest. “Did you come?”
I roll my lips into my mouth, hesitating for just a second before I offer him a nod.
“More than once?”
I nod again, a slight blush heating up my cheeks.
He narrows his eyes at me before he asks, “He was good to you, then?”
I shake my head emphatically. “Better. Way better than good.”
“All right,” he replies with a curt nod. “I’ve heard all I need to hear.”
Pulling my eyes away from him, I focus on my flowers, reaching up to trace the soft petals of one of the roses. “I’m really glad it was him, Geoff,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “It was perfect.”
“Then it was everything you deserve, baby girl.”
Waiting to see Judah until Tuesday was a little bit of a challenge after two nights in his bed. But then after Tuesday, he had to work late Wednesday and attend a work
function in Denver on Thursday, and I didn’t get to see him until Friday. I missed him so much.
It seems silly. I know that he’s busy, that he has a schedule and routine—it’s been this way our entire relationship—but the closer we get to one another, and the harder I fall for him, the more difficult it is for me to go days on end without seeing him. Without touching him. Without kissing him. Even just being in the same room with him makes me feel so good.
I’m foolishly in love, and I love it.
I haven’t told him yet. As much as I feel for him, I’m afraid to say the words. I’m afraid of how he’ll receive them. It hasn’t been so long that I’ve forgotten that night he rescued me from the rain, the same night he told me his thoughts about love. He believes it’s a choice, a choice someone has to make every day. He doesn’t believe that someone is capable of making that same choice forever.
I might be younger than he is, and I’m definitely less experienced, but I’m not completely naïve, and I’m not stupid. A part of me agrees with him that love is a choice. When relationships are hard, when you’re in the middle of a fight, when things aren’t going exactly as you planned—yes, I believe you have to choose to remember and embrace your love. You have to choose to hang on to it and fight for it. But I don’t believe that falling in love with someone is a choice. When relationships are hard, when you’re in the middle of a fight, when things aren’t going exactly as you planned—no, you can’t stop the pain that plagues your heart because you love them. You can’t turn that off.
After what happened with Justin, my emotional pain—which lasted much longer than my physical pain—it hurt not just because rape is a fucking horrendous experience that breaks your body, your mind, and your soul—it also hurt because I loved him. I hated him. I hate him even now, but I couldn’t erase my love. Not exactly. I certainly didn’t love the boy who abused and abandoned me. But the guy I had spent nine months with? I did love him. I remembered him. I had to mourn the loss of him. That’s how I know that love is not as simple as just a choice you make. It’s way more complicated. It’s way more complex.