“Me too.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”
From downstairs we heard the shouts of the girls and some banging noises, and Josie sighed. “I’ll go help them. They’re probably making a big mess.”
As soon as we were alone, I spoke. “Josie said you’re sober?”
“Yes.” Aaron shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Tell me you’re going to stay that way.”
“I’m gonna try.”
“You have to do more than try, Aaron.” I tried to keep my voice down, but it was hard. “This shit can’t happen anymore. You’ve got a pregnant wife and three daughters.”
“You think I don’t know that?” My brother’s eyes filled with tears, and he struggled to hold them off. “Every day I was away from them was agony. I kept drinking just to numb myself from the pain of missing them. They’re everything to me.”
“Then act like it,” I snapped, surprising even myself. I wasn’t normally this hard on him. “Where the fuck were you?”
“Different places.”
“Working?”
“Some construction jobs here and there.”
“Josie needed you. Those kids needed a father.”
He closed his eyes. “I know. Thanks for being here for them.”
“Well, I’m not doing this anymore.” It wasn’t true. I’d always be there for them, but my brother needed to hear some hard words. If he thought I’d always be there to step in for him every time he bailed, he’d never have a reason to change. “Get your shit together and be a husband. Be a father. Be a man.”
“I will.” He took a breath. “I need to get a job.”
“You have to stay sober to get a job.”
“I told you, I’m gonna try.” His hands came out of his pockets, fingers curling into fists. “But every time I make a promise, I can’t fucking keep it, so I’m not making any more promises. I just set myself up for failure.”
I inhaled and exhaled through my nose, jaw clenched tight. “Whatever you have to do, whatever you have to tell yourself, make it happen, Aaron. Or you’re going to end up alone.”
“Josie said she would never leave me,” he said stubbornly.
“Good thing one of you can keep a promise.” I heard the kids chattering excitedly as they came up the steps, but suddenly I wasn’t in the mood for Christmas. Josie and the girls would want time alone with Aaron, and he needed time with them. It needed to sink in how lucky he was to have all this to come back to. “I gotta go.”
I heard him calling to me as I went out the front door, but I didn’t turn back. Two minutes later I was speeding down the street, no idea where to go, no place to put all these conflicting feelings, and no one to talk to about it. Moving around and keeping to myself as much as I did meant I had a lot of acquaintances in various places, but no close friends. Josie and Aaron were really all I had.
The longer I drove around, the more worked up I got. I was mad at my father for taking out his rage on his children, for not teaching us how to be men. I was mad at my brother for fucking up the best thing in his life—his family. I was mad at Josie for not standing up for herself and her kids. I was mad at myself for being resentful that Aaron had come home. And I was mad at the mother I didn’t remember, whose only lesson to her sons was that love wasn’t enough to make someone stay. How dare she leave that note? Sometimes I thought the note had fucked me up worse than her leaving.
About the only person I could think of that I wasn’t mad at was Claire. As soon as she entered my mind, my entire body thrummed with heat, my insides pulling tight. I wanted to feel the way I had last night. I wanted that warm, sexy magic. I wanted to lose myself inside her, be surrounded by her sweetness, see her smile, hear her laugh. I wanted to smell her hair, taste her kiss, touch her skin. I wanted to undress her, whisper dirty words, play our little games. I wanted her to look at me again like she had last night, like she trusted me, like I was worthy of her trust.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew nothing could come of it. I wasn’t worthy of her or her trust—it was all pretend.
But damn, it had made me feel good.
I needed to feel good again.
Sixteen
Claire
* * *
When I looked at my phone the morning after the wedding, I noticed I’d missed five texts from Jaime and three calls.
7:52 PM Hey, how’s it going?
9:07 PM Hellooooo? Are you alive?
9:32 PM Missed call.
10:25 PM Either you’re having a great time or you’re stuffed in a trunk and I’d really appreciate knowing which one it is, thanks.
10:30 PM Missed call.
10:50 PM I just sent Quinn to your house.
10:56 PM Missed call.
11:24 PM Quinn says there is a car in your driveway, lights on in your house, and no sign of foul play. If you are not dead, I’m going to kill you because you promised to keep in touch.
Oops. I’d forgotten all about that promise what with all the excitement (and by excitement I mean orgasms). I texted her quickly that I was fine, I was sorry, and I’d call her with details after I made coffee.
Her reply: Boo you whore.
Smiling for the first time since Theo had left, I got the coffee going, picked up my phone, and called her.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Claire. I’m sorry.”
“You should be, I was having heart attacks all night imagining all the terrible places your lifeless body could be stashed.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you? You don’t sound that fine.”
Sighing, I leaned both elbows on the counter and watched the coffee brew. “I’m alive and unharmed, I mean.”
“What happened with the guy?”
“We had a good time.”
“Did anyone suspect he was a fake date?”
“Not that I know of. And actually, it kind of turned into a real date.”
“What?! Details. Stat.”
“Well, at some point in the night, things just started to feel…real, I guess.” My stomach flipped as I recalled the moment on the dance floor.
“And then what?”
“And then when he brought me home, I asked him to come in.”
Jaime squealed. “Did he?”
“Yeah.” I closed my eyes, feeling him sink into me again and again. “He did.”
“And? You’re killing me!”
“And we had fun.”
“How much fun?”
“A lot of fun.”
Jaime gasped. “How many times did you have fun?”
“Three. Once on the living room floor and twice in the kitchen.” Pride made me smile a little bit—I could just imagine her eyes bugging out of her head at how un-Claire that was. Turns out I am audacious. At least with Theo.
“The kitchen?” she shrieked.
My smile widened. “Uh huh. The last time was on the kitchen table.” Something clattered in my ear.
“Sorry,” she said a moment later. “I dropped my phone. I’m in shock. So that was his car Quinn saw?”
“Yes.” The coffee pot hissed as it finished brewing, and I grabbed a mug from the cupboard that said The earth without art is just “eh” on it, a gift from a former student. I poured myself a cup and opened the fridge to grab the cream. “And I get it. I even shocked myself.”
“But you had a good time, right?”
“A great time. Best I’ve ever had with any guy.”
“So why do you sound like you regret it?”
After pouring in a little cream, I added some sugar. The sight of it reminded me of licking Theo’s fingers, and my body went weightless for a moment. “I definitely don’t regret it. I just wish he wanted to see me again.”
“Why doesn’t he?” Jaime sounded outraged.
I put the lid on the sugar bowl and returned the cream to the fridge. “Because he made it very clear right from the get-go that he was not looking for anything more than fun.”
�
��But if it was so good, and if you’re both just looking for fun, why not see each other again?”
Leaning back against the counter, I took a small sip of coffee. “He said he’s not in town very long and doesn’t know when he’ll be back.”
“Why? What does he do?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I thought he was a pilot, but that turned out to be more of a hobby. I actually know very little about him—not what he does, not where he lives, not even his real last name.”
“What the fuck? He didn’t give you his last name?”
“Well, he gave me a last name.” I almost laughed at the memory. “Woodcock.”
“Woodcock? That can’t be real.”
“No, I don’t think it is. Although it fits him.”
Jaime didn’t laugh. “This is weird, Claire. Why is he so secretive? What’s he got to hide? A wife, you think?”
“No, I don’t think it’s that.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s just really serious about his privacy.”
“Maybe he’ll come around. Get in touch again.”
“I doubt it. We didn’t even exchange numbers. The only place we ever communicated was through the Hotties for Hire site.”
“Sounds like you communicated pretty well in the kitchen too.”
I glanced over at the kitchen table. Would I ever be able to look at it again and not think of the way he moved? The way he drove me to clutch and claw and beg? The way he made my body yearn and stretch and quiver? “Yeah.”
Jaime sighed. “I’m sorry, Claire. I mean, I’m glad you had a great time, and I’m proud of you for coloring outside the lines a little, but I wish you were happier about it.”
“I’m happy about it.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. “It did feel good to be a little daring. And I learned some things about myself.”
“Such as?”
I thought for a moment. “I like a dirty mouth.”
She snickered. “Me too.”
“And I shouldn’t be ashamed of what I want.”
“Fuck no.”
“I can wear red lipstick.”
“Wait—red lipstick? You don’t wear red lipstick.”
“I did last night. I’ve been thinking about Margot a lot, about the night she threw those scones. I wanted to channel some of that badassery.”
Jaime laughed. “I think you succeeded.”
“But I also learned I’m not good at the whole ’no expectations’ thing. I told him it was OK and I just wanted to have a good time for a night, but when it was time to say goodbye, I was sad. I wanted there to be a next time.”
“God, I used to be great at the no-expectations-sex thing. But you know what? I’ve learned to embrace the expectations. I don’t always live up to them and neither does Quinn, but we try and we forgive and we make it up to each other. There’s something to be said for that give and take. Don’t feel bad for wanting it.”
“I guess I don’t.” I tried to find the bright side. “I had fun. That’s more than I expected. And what happened between us didn’t have to mean everything, I only wish it had meant something.”
“I’m sorry. Want to hang out this afternoon? Go shopping? See a movie or something?”
“Actually, I have some things around the house I need to work on today. Maybe tonight?”
“I’m having dinner with Quinn tonight. He’s cooking.”
“Oh.” Of course she was. Saturday night was for boyfriends.
“Why don’t you join us? He’s making pierogi,” she said temptingly.
“No, thanks. Quinn’s cooking is always delicious, but I’ll just be in the way.”
“Claire, come on. You’re always welcome here. And I hate to think of you alone and sad.”
“Really, I’m fine,” I said, although I wasn’t, not really. I felt oddly close to tears, in fact. “I’ve got a ton of stuff to do today. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”
“Invitation is always open if you change your mind.”
“Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”
“OK. Bye.”
I hung up and set the phone down, then took a deep breath and a big gulp of hot coffee to keep my cool. No need to cry over this disappointment. I still had friends and family and the house to work on, and maybe later I’d paint or sketch a little. That always made me feel better.
* * *
After two cups of coffee and a blueberry muffin, I threw on some old clothes, put my hair up, and tackled the kitchen cabinets. I had the next two weeks off school for winter break, and I planned to spend as much time as possible working on the house.
Luckily the kitchen wasn’t too big, so there were only eight doors. I liked the original finish on the wood, but it was faded and speckled. My mother had tried to talk me into painting them white to create a brighter kitchen (as well as hiring someone to do the work), but a dark stain felt more authentic to me. I didn’t mind that the kitchen wasn’t bright—its earth tones were warm and natural. Plus I was planning to lay a light-colored tile on the floor, and that would brighten things a little.
After laying an old sheet down in the empty dining room, I took the cabinet doors off and set them on top of the sheet. Then I took everything out of the cupboards and washed out the insides. After that, I removed the hardware and cleaned the doors and facing with a mixture of TSP and water. While I waited for them to dry, I did some laundry, changed the sheets on my bed, and cleaned the bathroom.
Despite the fact that I was trying to use the work as a distraction, Theo was constantly present in my mind. Maybe because he’d offered to work on the cabinets last night or because we’d spent so much time in the kitchen, or maybe just because I was still bummed about never seeing him again when we’d had so much fun. I kept picturing his smile, his chest, his hands. Hearing his laugh. Tasting his kiss. Feeling his hands in my hair.
Get over it, Claire. Quit thinking about him.
But as I sanded and dusted the cupboards, I thought about his offer to fix the crooked ones last night. When I mixed an ounce of the stain into a gallon of varnish and painted it on, the color reminded me of his eyes, dark and shiny. And when I applied a coat to the cabinet facing, I stood right where I had last night and thought, Right here. This is where I stood when he pulled my hair and whispered in my ear and made me come so hard my knees buckled.
Such a bad girl. To want me this way.
His cock pounding into me again and again.
Right here. Right here. Right here.
My core muscles clenched, and I knew if I touched myself, I’d be wet.
I had to get out of the kitchen. Better yet, out of the house. At that point, I had to wait at least two hours for the varnish to dry anyway, so I decided to clean up and head over to Jaime and Quinn’s. Maybe some wine and conversation would get my mind off Theo.
I took a shower and dressed in jeans and a white cami. Once my hair was dry, I’d add a soft gray poncho sweater. I was coming down the stairs with my wet hair hanging down my back when I heard three loud knocks on the front door.
I paused, one hand on the banister, wondering who it could be. Jaime? My mother? But I barely had time to think before I heard three more sharp raps.
“Coming,” I called out, hurrying the rest of the way down the stairs. I pulled open the front door, and a rush of cold air swept in.
My breath caught—it was Theo.
“I need you,” he said, stepping across the threshold and taking my head in his hands. “I need you.”
Seventeen
Theo
* * *
She was exactly the salve I’d hoped she would be—the moment I crushed my lips to hers, I felt the conflict in my body resolve. The anger dissipate. The sadness lift. All of it was swept aside, replaced only by the desire to get closer to her.
I drew her into my body, thrilled when she wrapped her arms around my waist. Leaning back against the door to push it shut, I brought her with me, stroking her damp hair
, sliding my palms down her bare shoulders.
“You’re here,” she said breathlessly, tipping her head back to look up at me. Surprise and delight lit up her face, which was devoid of any makeup.
“Yes.” I kissed her mouth, her cheek, her jaw, her throat. Buried my face in her neck and inhaled the sweet, clean scent of her skin. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“I feel the same,” she whispered, tilting her head to give me better access to her neck and chest.
My lips brushed across her collarbone, over the top of her breast, and I felt her shiver. She ran her hands up the front of my chest, and I hated that I couldn’t feel her touch through the leather.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered, backing up and taking me with her.
I shrugged out of my coat and dropped it at our feet, then I picked her up, groaning as she wrapped her legs around me and slipped her tongue between my lips. I carried her up the stairs into her bedroom, breaking the kiss only long enough to make sure I’d reached the top and wouldn’t bump into anything. To my surprise, this entire level of the house was one open area, her bed at the back and a little art studio set up in the front by the east-facing window.
I moved quickly for the bed and tipped her onto her back, taking a second to ditch my boots. She scrambled to her knees and grabbed the bottom of my Henley and t-shirt, lifting them up. I helped her get them over my head, then did the same to her little white top. Reaching behind her, I unclasped her bra and she flung it aside, immediately throwing her arms around my neck.
I crushed my mouth to hers, moaning at the feel of her bare chest pressed against mine. Last night’s sexual escapades had been a blast, but they’d been frantic and fast—we’d never even taken the time to get all the way undressed. This time I didn’t want to leave any inch of her skin unexplored. I was determined to feel every part of her against every part of me.
“You feel so good,” she breathed, running her hands all over me. “I can’t get enough.”
“Try,” I told her.
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