by Ann Aguirre
“So tell me.”
“My grandma was from Russia, and when I was a kid, every winter when the first snow fell, she’d make a big pot of mushroom, beef and barley soup.” It was odd to talk about her; she died when I was sixteen. “And since she’s been gone, I’ve never had any that tasted as good, not even my mom’s. Which is weird—it’s the same recipe. She made the most delicious black bread to go with it. To me, those two things, that’s what winter tastes like.”
I glanced at him, embarrassed about turning my favorite food into such a personal story, but Ty was just watching me. I lifted my chin, daring him to make a joke.
His response was surprisingly serious. “For me, winter is my mom’s shepherd’s pie. We have relatives in Ireland—on her side—who taught her the recipe. Yeah,” he added, sheepish. “That’s where the hair comes from.”
“I like it,” I said softly.
“You can imagine how it was in grade school.”
“I got tall jokes. Started growing when I was twelve and didn’t stop until I was eighteen.”
“You’re stunning.”
There went my heart again. I forgot about breakfast on my plate and focused on his face like there would be a test. In response to my look, he leaned over and kissed me, tracing a fingertip down my cheek to rest it lightly on my chin. My eyes closed, but he didn’t take it further, and I opened them, faintly disappointed.
“Not now, you have a headache?”
“We’re talking. If you cut it short, I’ll feel cheap and dirty.”
I grinned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Dirty’s not, but I seriously do want to get to know you better. I feel like before now, our time has been stolen, rushed, whatever.”
“That’s fair. Okay, so where were we?”
“We talked about winter food. I’m curious what you’d say for the other three seasons.”
“That’s easy. Summer is iced watermelon. Autumn is...” That required a little more thought, so I polished off my breakfast. “Squash casserole. And for spring, I have to go with strawberry shortcake. Your turn.”
“Summer is an ice-cold beer. Autumn is mashed potatoes and gravy. Spring is grilled salmon, seasoned with lime. What the hell is squash casserole?”
Laughing, I got my phone and looked up a recipe for him. “See? Sounds gross, but it’s really good, I swear.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Are you done?”
“Yep. Thanks.”
He took my plate and set the dishes to soak in the sink while we went to snuggle on the couch. It wasn’t cold enough to turn on the heat yet, but it was chilly enough that it felt good to tuck up beside him and cover us with the chenille throw. His arm around my shoulders felt perfect, and as I leaned against him, it was hard to imagine that this was just a time-out, so to speak, and that real life would resume soon—with none of this between us.
Friends with benefits.
“Favorite song,” he prompted, resting a hand on the back of my neck.
That felt so good, I tilted my head, and soon, he was idly toying through my hair, twining curls around his fingers. A pleasurable shiver ran through me.
“Mmm, that’s a tough one, because the music I listen to is driven by mood. But if I can only pick one, I’ll say ‘Fuckin’ Perfect.’” His brow furrowed, and I remembered Ty was more into indie stuff. So I clarified, “P!nk. She’s a complete badass, whether she’s singing a breakup song, girl anthem or something more emotional. You?”
“At the moment, it’s definitely ‘Afraid of Everyone’ by The National.”
“Dark choice.”
I felt him shrug. “It fits my mood a lot of the time.”
“We’re up to...favorite movie?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t laugh. This is an old one. But I never get tired of Groundhog Day. It’s deeper than the premise seems like, almost existential.” I’d had this conversation with other people, most of whom thought I was crazy, especially when I started sending links to internet essays about the symbolism and interviews with the producers.
“You’re so cute.” Ty wrapped his other arm around me and shifted so I was cuddled between his legs, braced against his chest. “Never watched it, but maybe we should check it out this weekend. It’s probably on Netflix.” He pointed at his TV, and I noticed he had a laptop hooked up. “Cheaper than cable.”
“Good idea. Maybe we can do that upstairs. So what’s your pick?”
“Old JGL movie, indie. It’s called Brick.”
“Never heard of it.” He was lucky I knew who JGL was.
“It’s cool, this noir story set in a high school about a kid trying to figure out who killed his girlfriend.”
“I’m intrigued. Let’s watch both,” I suggested. “See what we think of each other’s pick.”
“We can go out for dinner later, if you’re up for it.”
That sounded so much like a date that at first, I didn’t know what to say. But honestly, how did you see this weekend going? Nothing but sex interspersed with Ty ignoring you?
Aloud I said, “Can we do the double feature afterward?”
“It can be arranged.”
“So tell me what you were like in high school.” I mostly wondered what he’d say, but I was also curious about his life before. Before Diana, before Sam. It was tough to picture Ty doing crazy shit; I’d seen him only grown-up and serious.
“I played basketball. Not well. But it’s a small town and the coach pestered the shit out of anyone over six feet.”
“So you grew up in Mount Albion?”
“Yep, born and raised. I didn’t intend to graduate from here, though. I was planning to earn some credits and then transfer to a college with a better architecture program.”
But Sam came along, and your plans changed.
“My friend Lauren and I applied to the same schools, and this was the only one where they offered both of us a scholarship.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” He kissed the top of my head.
“Tell me more about high school Ty.”
“Daniel,” he corrected quietly.
“Huh?”
“Nobody called me Ty back then. I’ve never been Dan...because that’s my dad, and Danny—with this hair? I’d never survive.”
“So what changed?” I didn’t realize it was a sensitive topic until his hand knotted in my hair, not hurting me, but sending an unmistakable message about his tension.
His voice was quiet when he answered. “Diana. When we met, I was Daniel, and... Are you sure you want to hear this story? It’s kind of stupid.”
“I’m interested, unless it bothers you.”
“Okay, so she read an article about how couples with alliterative names are more likely to stay together—I think I told you she was a scientist. So we met in freshman biology, and she goes, ‘Hello, Daniel. I’m Diana,’ like it was hugely significant. Her approach was really...awkward, and I thought she was shitting me until she explained the premise, and then I said what the hell and went out for coffee.”
“You must’ve had a good time.” If you fell in love with her.
“Yeah. Once I got past all the scientific terminology, she was so funny. Beautiful.” He sighed quietly, unknotting his fingers from my hair. “We had so many plans. I wish...I wish I could apologize. By the end, it got so ugly between us.”
Pain crimped my chest, listening to him talk, but I couldn’t blame Ty. I’d asked. Moments like this, my experience felt inadequate since nobody I knew had deep, dark relationships broken behind them. None of my friends had kids. Sometimes I wondered if he saw me as immature, but I didn’t really want to learn the answer. I made some kind of encouraging noise, as if I didn’t wish he’d stop talking about Diana.
He was practically whispering, like the words weren’t even for me, more of a message to the universe, to be carried to the girl who went away. “I hope she’s happy, you know? It feels like I took everything away from her.”
“She probably needed to start over,” I said weakly.
“Anyway, after she left, I couldn’t be Daniel. And a few of the guys from the b-ball team used to call me Ty, and it felt better, a clean slate for me, too.”
Jesus. How can I compete with that? He loved her so much that when she left, he had to change his name. And now, Ty was so messed up that he didn’t let anyone close. I had no sense of how much he cared about me—if we really were just friends with surprising sexual chemistry. But I’d agreed to this setup, and I couldn’t let doubts spoil our weekend.
I’m here. She’s not. The end.
“If it matters, I can’t picture you as Daniel. Maybe it’s because of Daniel Radcliffe, but for me, that’s a very serious, bespectacled name. Ty suits you. It’s tough and terse, but there’s another syllable hiding, if you care enough to look.”
His arms tightened on me, and he growled in my ear, “When you say ridiculous, adorable things like that, it makes me want to take you to bed.”
“What’s stopping you? We’ve rested for an hour after eating. We won’t get cramps.”
“I think that applies to swimming, not sex. But I’ll take you.” And then he did.
Ty swooped me into his arms and carried me to his room. He made a fair job of acting like I wasn’t heavy or ungainly, either, which I appreciated. As he lowered me gently to the bed, his eyes were soft, and the sunlight framed him, so he was all the warmth in the world, shades of amber, copper and gold. Beneath the anticipation thrummed a bittersweet yearning; I wanted so much more than this. But I craved the heat of his hands and the blind need of his lips, too.
“Every time I kiss you,” he whispered, “it’s a little better. Why is that?”
“I’m constantly upgrading the system, just to keep you on your toes.” His hair was somewhere between short and shaggy, perfect for tangling my fingers in.
“You seem to be wearing clothes. Didn’t I decree this was naked Saturday?”
“Nope.” I kissed the tip of his nose.
“Damn. I should have.”
With palpable impatience, Ty stripped away my clothes, and I sprawled nude on his navy comforter. Though I wasn’t used to posing like a calendar girl, I tried, stretching out my legs because he liked them. “I could get on board with that. Would this be a monthly event?”
“It could be. I think it needs to be.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His gaze blazed down my body as he shucked his running shorts. “I planned on taking my time, you know that? I had it all planned out. Multi-orgasms for you, massive self-control for me.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“It’s not. You said that sweet stuff about my name, and now you’re all gorgeous thighs, breasts and sex hair. Which I gave you. My ideals have seriously outpaced my willpower.”
Stroking a hand down his cheek, I whispered, “I don’t really want you to be a fuck machine. It gets me hot when you can’t help it, when you cut loose—”
His mouth took mine. His hands were everywhere, like he couldn’t touch me fast enough, and the kisses blurred into a hot sparkle of pleasure: lips and teeth on my jaw, throat, shoulders and nipples, lower, the curve of my hips and my inner thighs. Need slammed through me until I ached, so slick and hot, but Ty was merciless. I’d given him permission to lose control, and apparently, he wanted to drive me insane. I moaned as he nuzzled deeper, teeth sinking into the tender flesh of my inner thighs.
Tugging on his hair, I begged, “Make me come.”
To show him how serious I was, I teased my palm down my stomach and touched two fingers to my clit. So close. He didn’t answer verbally, but his hands shook as he rolled on the condom. Ty was rough when he grabbed my legs and yanked me to the edge of the bed. His voice was a gravelly dip when he said, “Lift your hips.”
I’d never done it like this, but I was too turned on to refuse anything he wanted. Ty slid a pillow under my ass, then took me in a sharp, sudden thrust. Oh. Yeah. He was so hard, throbbing inside me, and the tension jacked higher when I wrapped my legs around his hips and moved with him, grinding into each thrust. With him looming over me, watching everything, the heat quadrupled: each jerk of my body, each bounce of my breasts, if my mouth opened, if my lashes drifted shut, he saw it. God, yes. He held my hips, jerking me onto him faster each time, and I wanted it just as much: hard, dirty, rough.
“No, don’t close your eyes.” He locked his gaze on me, watching, savoring the helpless way I arched.
Almost.
Awash in need, I hardly knew what I was doing when my hands went to my breasts. But his ragged breathing said he liked it, and soon, the motions were for both of us. I twisted and writhed. The angle wasn’t quite right, but Ty’s avid expression said he knew—and that he wanted me screaming, every bit as much as I wanted him to lose control. And Christ, I was so close to—
With a growl, I grabbed his shoulders and pulled as hard as I could. He tumbled down on top of me, and while he was regrouping, I rolled us so I was on top. He slipped out, and we both snarled, but I swung my leg over his hips and sank down with a shivering moan. Tilting forward, I fucked him as hard as I could, no more than six strokes, and I came so hard that I took him with me; a surprise by the shocked, agonized bliss of his expression. His hands hurt on my thighs where he gripped me, but it felt so good when he held me still, so I felt each pulse, each throb.
“I think I might be in danger of dying of dehydration,” he mumbled.
I collapsed and rolled onto my side, letting him deal with the condom. He wasn’t gone long, and he wrapped his arms around me with adorable greed.
More kisses. I hoarded them like a squirrel chasing nuts around the yard. “Let me shower. Again. Then we can get a drink. Some food might also be nice.”
“Agreed.”
Once we cleaned up, he took me to a dive close to campus, where I could wear my yoga pants and hoodie without attracting a second look. I devoured a huge burger dripping with cheese and bacon without any regrets. He had steak and a basket of chili-cheese fries. As we stepped out of the restaurant, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and I slid mine around his waist. Our steps matched naturally, easily, on the way to the car.
The air was crisp, cold enough that I could see my breath, and the stars shone like chips of ice overhead. Ty opened my door then jogged around to his side. I love you, I thought silently. You are so fucking wonderful. I watched his profile as he drove, wishing that we could have more of this. But hey, one weekend a month was better than nothing, right? And the rest of the time I’d concentrate on work and classes.
This is actually better than a relationship that would suck up my time.
As promised, we watched the double feature of Brick and Groundhog Day. I loved his choice, and he seemed to like mine. By eleven, he was kissing my neck and hinting that he’d like to go to bed. I didn’t require much persuasion. Upstairs, I could hear my roommates tromping around as I got naked and crawled into Ty’s bed.
On a whim, I asked, “Can you tell us apart?”
He raised a brow. “Excuse me?”
“When we’re moving around upstairs.”
Ty didn’t seem to want to answer, so I tickled him until he admitted, “No idea about the others, but I always know when it’s you.”
“How?”
“A guy has a right to his secrets.” He kissed me as if to make up for refusing to answer, but there was no way I’d accept defeat so easily.
“Come on, tell me. I once pestered my mother for four hours. Believe me, I can go all night, and that’s not how you want me to direct my stamina.”
“You won’t believe me. Or you’ll think it’s cheesy.”
“Try me.” I kissed his ear like a dirty cheater.
His breath caught. “Fine. I just feel you, that’s all. If you’re anywhere nearby, I know it. I can always tell when you’re looking at me, too.”
From past experience, I could verify that, and it took
some of the sting out of the name thing from earlier. Quietly glowing, I said, “I hope you’re not too tired.”
Ty gave me the most devilish smile and pushed me back. “Not remotely. I have some catching up to do.”
Then he put his face between my thighs.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
His hair slipped against my legs like silk in contrast to his stubbled jaw.
I’d seen bad porn where the guys got down there and motorboated, but Ty was really good with his tongue. I arched and squirmed, hands tangled in his hair, while he licked and nuzzled and teased my inner thighs. Guys before had lost interest if I didn’t come in five minutes, but it wasn’t easy to relax with someone’s head down there. But he eased his way north until I lost all sense of time. My world narrowed to his lips and tongue, the hands pressing my thighs apart and the escalating urgency quaking through me with each stroke, each lick. He was tender and patient, relentlessly wicked with his mouth. In the end, I screamed and came so hard, my legs cramped.
Once I recovered, I tried to give him a turn, but he didn’t let me.
“Come here,” he said.
He snuggled me close and held me for a good ten minutes. Then we took a final bedtime shower and managed tricky shower sex. He’d been right not to start with it, because it took some doing, and once he almost fell over. Afterward, we got into bed while I tried not to think how few hours were left. He was quiet, too. It could be that we’d done so much talking earlier, neither of us had much to say. But I didn’t think so.
“This weekend went so fast,” he whispered.
“I know.”
And in November, there would be no time for us. But what about December? Counting in my head, I figured that the end of the month wouldn’t be a holiday, as both Christmas and New Year’s fell midweek this year. I had to ask.
“So...do you have any plans for December 28?” I hoped he didn’t think the question sounded desperate, but at the idea that we had to wait two months to be together again, I nearly broke into tears.
“That weekend’s yours,” he said softly.
Thank God.
“We’ll text.” That sounded stupid, considering he lived downstairs, not in Australia.