by Gray, Ace
My teeth swap places with my lips, rolling the sensitive bud of her skin side to side until she shivers and her whole body shakes.
“Wha…what are you doing?” She can barely manage the words.
“Using sex as a tool.” The words are muffled because I don’t drop her flesh from my mouth.
“Fah…fo…for what?” Her hands skate down to my shoulder blades and dig in.
“I wanna move in, Mina.”
Despite the orgasm, my morning sits heavy on my shoulders. Mina’s words weren’t my favorite to hear. I know what she means when she says like she feels the other shoe may drop. I take a deep breath and realize the air is starting to develop a bite, signaling the change of season. A bite like Mina had this morning.
I don’t like it. At all.
But I can’t blame her. Not when things have gone sideways so many times between us. Not with them going sideways last night. And whatever I’m willing to say to her, admitting that it did go sideways, isn’t one of them. Nothing short of delivering the stars is what I’ve got to work with.
I sigh.
Being in love with Mina is hard. Harder than I expected. I wasn’t a fairy tale kind of guy—honestly, they’re so blatantly lacking when it comes to reality I can’t stand them—but I thought slaying dragons and clearing enchanted brambles would end with the kiss. With the ring.
Not that I’m not willing to draw my sword and hack away at it a little longer, but damn. When is yes, a yes? A move forward just that, and without getting snagged on the thorns?
In the brewhouse, I let the familiarity of my work take over. I let it fill up my mind and push the notions of knights away. A brewhouse is a place that makes sense. There is order and direction and reactions to each action. Science works the way it’s supposed to and when it doesn’t, the answer ends up being there, hidden, but in black and white.
Being in love with Mina is not black and white. At all.
I shake my head and go back to what I know, what is comfortable. I find comfort in the process. In the predictable.
Jonas pops in and out, but he too is easy, asking questions I know the answers to. Answers that are black and white. With each tick of the clock, I’m settling back into my skin.
Yes, loving Mina is hard but it’s worth it. She’s worth it. Bring on the dragons, the brambles and evil stepsisters.
“Hey, James, this came for you.” Jonas walks in, eyes down on the mail as he shuffles through it then hands me a small padded envelop.
“Just brewing crap?” I ask as I reach for it.
“No. At least I don’t think so. It’s addressed to you,” he answers absently.
“Great.” I take it and start to look it over. “Thanks, Jonas.”
“No worries.” He waves behind him as he walks back out of the brewhouse as swiftly as he came, his eyes still down on the pile of mail in his hands.
I mimic him as I turn the padded envelop over. The traditional dirt and grime has attached to that signature manilla yellow or whatever color it is, enough that it almost mars the handwritten return address. With a light brush and serious squint, I recognize the name.
“What the…?”
Tanner McInenary’s name is written in the upper left.
“What does he want?”
Mina’s ex-fiance sending me anything is…well…weird.
We were friends, or maybe acquaintances is a better word for it, before I ruined everything with Mina the first time. We talked video games and beer and tacos, but it was never more than that. Unless it was for her benefit. Honestly, I thought he got too drunk too often, rambled and repeated his stories, and hated the idea of the last name McInenary sitting behind Mina.
The last time I saw him, he was glowering in my general direction. I’d figured he’d finally seen my feelings for Mina poking through, but now I knew he was standing up for Mina. Until, of course, he didn’t, dumping her when he found the letters she wrote to me. The letters that said in no uncertain terms that she loved me. The letters that I’d never read because she burned them in an effort to get over me.
I smirk when I think about how well that went.
Then I toss the package into the open mouth of my backpack, determined to give it as little thought as I’ve given Tanner over the years. There’s nothing in that envelope that I could give a damn about, because in the end, I got the girl.
I look at the strip of photos in my hand again. Mina and I smiling, her making a weird face, me stoic as ever, us kissing. Twice. I put the photobooth strip to the side, deciding it needs to hang on her fridge.
Our fridge, I correct myself as I shove a few more things in the nearest box.
I grab the next few pictures, coasters and magnets off the fridge and tuck them into the box.
Mina’s still scared about me moving in but I’m packing boxes for the moment I convince her. Or maybe moment isn’t the right word, because I know it’ll just take time. Time I’m willing to give, just wishing I didn’t have to.
Once again waiting for Mina is proving a little frustrating. But just a little.
She’s worth it.
I go back to packing up the few boxes I drug home from the brewery with things I know I don’t need like bedding. I haven’t slept at home in two weeks. I pat the top of the fridge looking for random discards when my hand hits a padded envelope.
My face crinkles just like the packaging. I don’t remember putting it up there; I honestly don’t remember what it is. Until I see Tanner’s name.
“Punk,” I mutter as I turn it over.
As if the way things ended between him and Mina weren’t enough of a thorn in my foot, the fact that he’d send something makes me want to take that thorn out and shove it in his eye. Not to mention that now I know he treated her like shit when they were together and again when he threw her away. He was two-faced with me, smiling to my face while stabbing her in the back. What could he possibly have to say to me? Particularly that I would want to hear?
Nothing—just like he is—and I know it.
I mean, is there a don’t marry her in there? And if so, is it a warning or a plea? Like hell to either of them. If it’s his kiss off, something saying we deserve each other, all I can say is, I don’t, but I’m trying like hell to.
I chuck it into the box with dish towels, the contents of my junk drawer, and the rest of the crap from my kitchen, ready to forget it all over again.
The thunk and vibration signaling someone is climbing my stairs prompts me to shut the box and shove it beneath the table before I get up and over to the door just in time to find Mina frozen in mid-knock on the other side.
In a dirndl.
An absurdly sexy dirndl.
“Well hello, Helga. How can I help you?” I can’t help but chuckle as I reach for the thin, gauzy fabric of her low cut shirt poofing out from beneath her almost lederhosen-esque straps. “If you’re here to milk something, I have to tell you,” I pause for dramatic effect, “I’m engaged.”
“Don’t ever call me Helga again.” She shoots me a look that has me debating the merits of dragging her into my kitchen and flipping up the ruffled forest green and black of her skirt. It’s short enough that I may not even need to. “I may let you get away with Ilsa or something.”
I look up to find her eyes laughing, framed by long, dark pig-tail braids. She looks young and innocent with wide and wondrous eyes. Like no man has broken her heart, let alone that one of those men was me. She looks the way she always should have with me, the way I should have let her without my sharp words and strict confines on our friendship.
She’s never looked more beautiful.
“And about that milking, Ilsa?” I arch my eyebrows.
“Oh my God, James.” She swats me gently. “You’re incorrigible. You’re one of the brewers and we’re late to Oktoberfest.”
“I know, I know, but…” I step forward and reach beneath her skirt, letting my hands wander the curve of her butt.
“James!” She wi
ggles in my arms and pokes her elbow into my chest.
“Fine, fine, fine.” I sigh, letting my hands fall from her skin. “Give me one second.”
I run back to my room for my version of a costume—a simple forest green Alpine hat with a band of German colors around the brim and a feather stuck in the side—and my wallet—then come back to find her bent over, fully ruffled short shorts on display beneath her skirt.
“That’s not fair,” I say as I drink in the line of her legs and the curve of her backside. She jumps wildly, knocking over one of my dining room chairs in the process. “Whoa, Meen.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t snooping.” She holds up her hands in surrender once she steadies the chair.
“You were but that’s okay. You can always just ask.”
“That box…” She leaves the question hanging between us.
“Is one of eleven that I’ve packed in anticipation of you saying, ‘yes, let’s move in.’” I smile at her and the intensity she stares back with makes me shift to a little shy as I look away. I could tell her how much I want it. How I’m betting and banking everything on it—and at some point, I will—but today’s a light day. A playful one.
She has the laughing eyes.
“It’s just junk for now. Nothing I need or that matters.” I shrug then jerk my chin toward the front door. “Let’s go.” I watch her turn and walk away only to whistle low between my teeth. “Okay, I just saw the socks,” I say as I see the bright white hugging her long, lean calves. “I didn’t think I was a role-playing guy but maybe…”
“A Freudian slip? From you? I’m shocked.”
“Explain,” I say as we reach the street. I let my knuckles brush against hers and wait.
“Well the reason tall socks are considered sexual is because they’re a sign of youth and innocence. A hallmark of school girls, particularly the Catholic kind, that are far too young to be having filthy thoughts about. I’ll stick with Freudian rather than saying you have Epstein tendencies,” she jokes.
“You’re too kind.” I roll my eyes.
“It’s why you love me.” She hooks a single finger into mine as we walk down the street.
The last ten minutes is why I love her. Because we can walk down the street in broad daylight, me in Carharts and a t-shirt, her in an obscene dirndl, having a conversation that’s a little sarcastic, but elevated and peppered with current events. She’s witty but doesn’t take things too seriously; she’s my match.
“Mina, it’s one of the many reasons that I love you.”
“PROST!” Everyone in the tent yells in unison, raising thick pints toward the center. Jonas and I follow suit with the marzen we brewed just for this.
I lost Mina long ago in the crowd but not before telling her that she shouldn’t bend over. On pain of death. Or pain of boner as would be the case for me. I’ve been scanning from time to time to make sure she hasn’t but let’s be honest, she’ll start a riot if she does.
Through the crowd, one particularly boisterous dude keeps yelling. Sometimes Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, oi, oi, oi, sometimes just nonsense. He pulls my attention from my casual scan for Mina.
“Well, fuck me,” I murmur when I realize it’s Swany.
A town character, to say the least, he’s known for not wearing shoes, odd feats of athleticism that double in experiments in stupidity, and his Grand Canyon-esque dimple that girls just seem to fall into. Like his bed. Like Mina did when I first got back to town.
Anger becomes the dull ache at my temples.
He’s loud. Obnoxious. And slept with my fiancée. I hate him. Swany yells again, half the town cheers with him, the other half shoots him a look.
I am firmly in the shoot him a look camp.
“You okay?” Jonas asks when I rub my temples then crack my shoulders. “You’ve been a little off recently.”
Off really equates to emotional. Mina, memories of Eddy, and now Swany have sent me a little off-kilter. Well, by off-kilter I mean that I showed emotion when I really wished I hadn’t.
“Yeah, fine.” I go back to covering up as much as I possibly can. “He just drives me insane.”
“Swany?” Jonas looks toward the center of the tent, toward the big hulking moron of a town bike, and his brow folds on itself. “He’s harmless.”
I grunt in response. It seems safer than saying feel free to tell me that after he’s slept with your wife. Jonas shrugs it off and goes back to pouring beers. I manage a few until my hands ache from the tension. Only one touch, whispered up the back of my hand, will help me relax.
“I’ll be back in just a second,” I say, turning before Jonas has a chance to answer.
I push through a few people before I spot her and Courtney sitting close together at the edge of the main tent, angled toward each other. They’re deep in a serious conversation dressed like two milk maids. The sight alone eases some of my tension. And makes me smile.
“Tanner, as in your ex-fiancé Tanner?” Courtney asks Mina, the two of them continuing a conversation without noticing me. The tension comes right. Fucking. Back.
“That would be the one.” Mina nods slowly.
“And he sent something to James, as in your current fiancé James?”
“Yup.” Mina pops her P in a way that makes her lips pucker.
“Did you open it?” Courtney claps her hands over her mouth and scoots closer. I slide simultaneously a little closer and a little out of eyesight, listening intently.
“No. I didn’t even have time to react.”
“So you didn’t open it, you didn’t even ask him why he had it?” Courtney’s eyes go wide.
“I didn’t want to ruin our Oktoberfest.” Mina shrugs, and I smile.
“I don’t want some surprise to ruin your marriage.” Courtney emphasizes the last word like she’s announcing the end of days. My fingers flex as the vivid image of me choking Courtney flashes behind my eyes.
“Look, Courtney, I’m grateful that you’re concerned—” Mina starts only to be interrupted.
“I was concerned when you kissed him. Pissed when you forgave him for Jenna, now…” she scoffs and throws her hands up. “Tanner is bad news. No matter what.”
“Maybe.” Mina shrugs and starts to twirl one of her braids around her fingers. “But James isn’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mina sits up straighter, her arms tighten across her stomach. “It means I trust him, Courtney. I really really do,” she asserts. “He promised me. He promised me that if I needed to know anything about us, he’d tell me.”
“That’s naive.” Courtney cocks an eyebrow, and I think about cocking her.
“That’s trust,” Mina spits before she stands and comes rushing unknowingly toward me.
My heart soars. She said the words I’ve been desperate to hear from her. The ones that are the shape of her believing me. And defending me. To her best friend who she’ll say absolutely anything to as long as it’s the truth. She said those words without me being there to sway her answer.
“Hi.” I step in front of Mina to intercept her.
“Hey.” She stops, slightly startled, then reaches up and clings tight to my chest before sliding her arms around my neck.
“What are you up to?” I reach around her with one hand while the other one travels along the neckline of her shirt.
“Getting mad at Courtney,” she says without agenda.
“What did she do?” I lean in and kiss her forehead.
“It’s nothing.” She shakes her head. “I mean, it’s something but we have the kind of friendship where she knows she can say what she wants, and I can say what I want, so it’ll be nothing in no time.”
“I hope you can say that sort of stuff to me too.” I run one of her braids through my fingers.
She looks up. “You mean that?” The way she looks at me is hopeful and disbelieving all at once.
“I do.”
Her face pinches a little, specially in the corner of her ey
es. Her mouth opens, words forming the shape of her lips, but nothing comes out. Everything about her says she wants to ask about that damned envelope from Tanner. But then her mouth snaps shut and my heart sinks. She isn’t going to say the things to me that she said to Courtney. I don’t even know if that’s one step forward or two back.
“James,” she sighs, “this time I don’t need to. I trust you.”
“Meen…” I breathe.
“I trust you, and I want you to move in.”
I grab her around her waist and pull her up. Her legs wrap around me, and I couldn’t give a thought away to being upset about the length of her skirt. Swany can look for all I care. She’s going to be my wife. My future wife that finally—finally—trusts me, and that cuts through all the bullshit. Settles everything to the calm it should be.
The calm that comes with that letter buried deep in the box it should be.
To Mina,
I refuse to write beloved or dearest wife or something else like that—my vows are to you. To Mina McLennan, soon to be Larrabee. My vows are to who you are at the very core of it all. You and I have stumbled enough times for us to be cut and scraped down to the bone and with that much exposed, I can honestly say I’ve seen all of you.
And good god do I love you.
As I stand here today, I can’t imagine a day that I won’t. Through all the bad and all the hard. Even when things get dark or hard, you are a soft light I cling to and I swear those times make me want you more. Love you more. Because it’s all another piece of you. Another day I get to spend with you.
How lucky am I to be loved by you?
Even when I’m insufferable while losing at disc golf. (I really don’t mind losing to you. Sort of.) Or laughing at your angry face. (It really is cute, what can I say?) Or even when I’m realizing that I broke your heart and that I have the power to do it again.
For the record I love you just as much. Maybe more. I don’t know how to tell you all the time but it’s there. Alive beneath my skin and thumping through my veins. I don’t know how to show you all the time, but the plans build up in my head. My hands itch to create the world you deserve.