I loved waking up with R.D.’s arms wrapped around me, holding me tight, like he’d never willingly let me go.
If only that were the case.
“Morning.”
I also loved his gravelly morning voice and the way he kissed the back of my head but made no attempt to move away from me.
I hated that I was about to ruin our morning cuddle, but I couldn’t deal with the guilt any longer. “I know you like to wait until morning to talk things out, so I waited until morning.”
“Proud of you.”
“See? I’m capable of change.”
“I know you are.” He tried to turn me to face him.
I didn’t let him.
“You’re not going to look at me?”
“No. I’m capable of change and in the process of changing. Not where I want to be yet, though. I’m a work in progress.”
“You’re a kook. But I still—” He went rigid behind me.
I waited for him to say…wanted him to say, “But I still love you.”
Instead, he said, “But you’re my kook.” The “for now” remained unsaid, but I heard it.
“About yesterday. In the locker room. With Katie.” I rubbed my hand over his where it rested on the front of my shoulder. He moved it to rest palm up on the mattress in front of me. I slid my palm against his, entwining our fingers. “I reacted the same way you did with Griff, and I feel terrible about it.”
“You didn’t lie,” he pointed out. “We’re not a couple in love.” If felt like he wanted to say more. I waited…hoping for something like, “At least not yet” or “Maybe, if I wasn’t only here temporarily, we could be.”
When he finally spoke, it was to say, “Something happened between you and Katie the other day. Before that.”
Not a direction I wanted this conversation to take. I tried to come up with a different topic.
I wasn’t quick enough.
“Was it something having to do with me?”
I turned to look at him over my shoulder. “What makes you think that?”
“Your interaction in the locker room. The way she spoke to you. Her tone when she talked about us looking like a couple in love and everyone knowing. Then your defensive response.”
Very observant. “It wasn’t defensive!” I said defensively.
“If it had to do with me, I’d like to know,” he said calmly.
One thing I was beginning to notice about R.D., he used silence against me. While he seemed perfectly comfortable waiting as long as necessary for me to answer a question, in my head it was as if a huge clock ticked off each individual second, loudly. I tried to hold out. But the pressure to tell him what he wanted to know started to build until I couldn’t take it anymore, and, “She didn’t like my wanting to keep our relationship quiet,” tumbled out of my mouth. “Thought I was keeping something from her.”
When R.D. tensed behind me, I instantly regretted saying anything.
“Were you?”
At that moment, I wished I could lie with ease. Unfortunately, I couldn’t.
“Tell me,” he prompted.
“There’s nothing to tell. What she said got me thinking and I realized she was right and I was being stupid, and it’s over.”
“Tell me,” he said again. Focused.
“I’d rather not.”
“Lily.”
Fine. “Someone has been sending me secret notes with motivational quotes on them. I don’t know who. I feel like it’s a man, because a woman would be more straightforward in her support, you know? Maybe you don’t know, but that’s what I think. Anyway, the notes started after Dorian. I was in a bad place. Well, you know, you were there, I don’t have to go into detail. But the notes…they made a difference. That someone cared enough to take time out of their day to look up quotes that specifically related to what was going on in my life and how to help me get through it. I don’t want to still want them, but I do. I look forward to them. They mean a lot to me. I miss them on days they don’t come.”
When I hesitated to catch my breath, R.D. said, “I know about the notes.”
“You do?” I jerked to look at him over my shoulder again. “How?”
“Katie mentioned them.”
“When?” I couldn’t believe she would betray me like that.
“Relax. A while back. Before whatever happened between the two of you in the restroom.”
I relaxed. Would have been nice if she’d mentioned that to me! “You’re okay with them? You’re not…jealous?”
He hugged me from behind. “She said they make you happy.”
“They do. So much so, that Katie had planned to do some poking around to see if she could dig up any info on who was sending them. When I told her about us and that we were planning to keep things quiet, I asked her to hold off. Which was silly. He could be a sixty-year-old man with a pot belly, or a woman. Neither would care if I was in a relationship.”
“Or it could be a good-looking man around your own age,” he pointed out.
Exactly. “Whoever it is, gets me. They see into my soul. We connect on a different level…one I don’t think you’d understand. Spiritually.” I brought one of his hands to my lips and kissed it. “Not because you’re not smart or anything. You’re very smart. You and numbers? Wow! It’s just…we’re different, you and me. We think differently.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“No. Not bad at all. But…”
“But this person sending you the quotes gets you in a way that I don’t.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “Exactly.”
Again with the silence.
This time I waited him out.
At least I tried to. “Say something.”
“You think it’s a guy sending you the motivational quotes. You feel a spiritual connection to him. And you don’t want him to know about us…because you don’t want him to stop sending the notes,” he summarized. But something in his presentation of the facts, a cool undertone, gave me a chill.
“Uh…yeah.”
“You told Katie to hold off on asking around about who it might be. Hold off. As in don’t do it now? Do you plan to look for him after I leave?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
Please don’t go there.
I refused to confirm or deny.
“You’re already thinking about replacing me. With him. Assuming he’s suitable.”
“Not anymore.”
“But you were.”
I would not apologize or beg forgiveness for looking out for myself. If I didn’t, who would? Instead, I let his words hover in the air above us, waiting for the thunder and lightning to start.
“Am I right?” he asked, his calm gone. When I didn’t respond, he sat up and swung his legs off of the bed. “That’s just great.” He stood. “While I’ve been a fool, going back and forth on whether to ask you to do the long-distance relationship thing for a while, until I figure out my shit, you’ve been planning to replace me the minute I leave town.”
I sat up too. “You’ve been—”
“Not that it matters now.” He glared at me. “You’ve made it crystal clear what you want. A spiritual connection.” he mocked.
“Apparently I haven’t been clear at all.” I got out of bed, too, both of us standing in the morning chill. Naked. “I want you.” I poked him in the chest. “I want you to stay here, with me.” Forever. “But I can’t have that, can I?”
He dropped his head and let out a breath but said nothing.
“We both knew this was only temporary.” I filled the silence.
He wouldn’t look at me.
“I don’t want to fight with you,” I told him.
“I don’t want to fight with you, either.” He pulled me into his arms. “You need a man around. I get that.” He let out another deep breath. “I can’t be around long term. I get that, too.”
We stood there, in each other’s arms, not talking. Until R.D. said, “This house is freezing. Let’s go take a nice hot shower.”
It didn’t solve our problems, but it gave us something more enjoyable to focus on…at least for a little while.
Later that morning and into the afternoon, R.D. and I worked together in my shop. He sat at a makeshift desk, reconciling ten months of bank statements he made me dig out, while I continued prep on the two river tables, sanded down ten charcuterie boards and organized silicone molds for a few pours I had planned for the next day.
“You really should think about hiring an assistant.”
After he leaves.
My chest burned at the thought.
“Seriously,” he kept at me. “You’re the creative genius.”
I laughed. “Hardly.”
“You are. Anyone can do the grunt work. Hire a local kid or a retired person looking to make a few bucks. Then you can focus all of your attention on your art.”
“In a perfect world,” I quipped.
“At least have someone take over the bookkeeping.” He’d spent hours scouring my accounts receivable and payable and sorting through the box that held random business paperwork I didn’t know what to do with, creating spreadsheets and worksheets to get his reports to balance.
“My accountant charges a fortune.”
“It’s worth it to be able to see where you’re at financially at any given time. You’re running a small business. It’s not only about making enough money to pay your bills. It’s about turning a profit. How much are you spending on supplies? How much are you making on sales of your completed pieces? What’s your profit margin? Do you need to adjust your pricing?”
Made sense. “I’ll think about it.”
When I got back to sanding, I got back to thinking…about everything R.D. had done for me over the past few weeks, about how much I’d come to enjoy having him around. He would not be easily replaced in my life, by anyone, and I’d been a fool to think otherwise.
And why was I wasting time thinking about life after R.D. when he was still here and I could be enjoying him? “I’m ready to quit for the day.” I removed my goggles. “Let’s do something fun for a change.” I thought about it. “Get dressed up and go out to dinner.”
“I’m beat,” R.D. said.
He did look tired. Drained.
I rushed over. “Are you feeling okay?” I pressed my cheek to his forehead. No fever.
His arms came around my waist, holding me loosely. “A lot going on.”
In the past few days, he’d been on his phone, scrolling, texting and talking—always where I couldn’t hear him—a lot more than usual. “Want to talk about it?” Are you preparing to leave me?
“No.” He set his head to my chest. His phone buzzed with a text message. Standing so close, I couldn’t help but see it.
Griff: I’m here.
R.D. reached for his phone and glanced at the screen. “I’ve got to go out for a bit.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I bought stuff to make chicken fajitas for dinner.” At the door, he stopped to look back at me. “Sound good?”
I forced a smile. “Yeah.”
Knowing we had limited time left, I wanted to make every night we had together memorable. Back at the house, I decided on a plan for that evening.
Hours later, shaved, showered, and dressed in a rust-colored, floral print, ruffled mini-skirt I rarely had occasion to wear, paired with a pale pink cropped cardigan, I stood in my kitchen, slicing vegetables when R.D. returned.
“Damn,” he said, looking me over, stopping at my feet. “Nice socks.”
Merino wool rag socks, one gray, one navy. Mismatched, but clean. Old and stretched-out, but warm and comfy. “The floors are cold.” I did a little twirl. “What about the rest of me?”
He prowled into the kitchen, slid his arm around my waist and pulled me close. “The rest of you,” he gave me a quick kiss, “looks good enough to eat.” He picked me up onto the counter like he intended to do just that.
“No.” I laughed. “Put me down. Dinner first.” I’d worked hard to make tonight special. “Everything’s ready for you.” Between the two of us, he was a much better cook. Why fight it?
“Okay.” He set me down. “Let me clean up.”
I surveyed my ingredients to make sure I had everything. Green and red peppers and onions, sliced, in separate bowls. A fajita spice packet. Olive oil. Flour tortillas. “Avocados for the guacamole.” I opened the refrigerator, once again seeing the bottle of sauvignon blanc, which would pair perfectly with chicken fajitas. My mouth watered. “Not tonight,” I told myself, reaching for the very ripe avocados instead.
“Not tonight, what?” R.D. asked, looking over my shoulder.
“Nothing.” I tried to close the refrigerator door.
“If you want a glass of wine, have a glass of wine.” He reached in and grabbed the bottle. “I’m not an alcoholic. Seeing you drink wine will not make me crave it or put my sobriety at risk.” He opened a drawer and took out my corkscrew, so at home in my kitchen, in my house, in my life.
“You clean up real nice,” I told him, checking him out. Black slacks, matching black socks, and a deep gray, button-down dress shirt, the sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows. His muscled forearms caught my attention, flexing as he removed the cork. H.O.T.
He looked himself over. “All I had.” He brushed at some wrinkles in his shirt.
“It’ll do.” I poured myself a glass of wine, stuck a stopper in the bottle and put it back in the refrigerator.
While he washed his hands, I sipped my wine and enjoyed the view. His shirt, stretched over the wide expanse of his back. His pants clinging to his rounded butt and athletic thighs.
“Like what you see?” He did a twirl like I’d done earlier.
“Yes.” I walked toward him. “Very much.”
His arms came around me, his hands settling on my behind. “I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I have to know.” He slid both hands down beneath the hem of my skirt, to my bare butt cheeks. Gave me a double squeeze.
“I’m wearing a thong this time.” Wish I’d thought to go to Gossamer, the high-end lingerie store in town, for something silky and flattering.
“Please tell me you wear more than a thong under your skirts at work.”
I looked up at him. “I wear hipster boy short panties.” Practical but in no way pretty or sexy.
“About those skirts…” he started.
Not going there with my temporary boyfriend. “Cook.” I turned him toward the stove. Surprisingly, he listened and got set up to start cooking.
After I made the guac, I brought it into the living room. While he’d been gone, I moved the coffee table and set up a four-person card table I kept in the basement, with two folding chairs. I didn’t have a pretty table cloth—really needed to up my seduction-dinner game—so I used a basic white sheet, folded, to cover it. Hopefully with all the candles I’d put out and the fairy lights I’d strung around the room, he wouldn’t notice.
Connecting my phone to a Bluetooth speaker filled the quiet with my Love Songs playlist to set the mood.
In the kitchen, I put the soft tortillas on a cookie sheet to heat them. Then I set out to light the dozen or so candles I’d stuck on every flat surface, high enough so Tulip wouldn’t knock them over. I’d light the ones in the bedroom later. Fire safety, y’all.
“Woah.” R.D. carried our dinner to the table. “You went all out.”
“Wait.” I plunged the room into candlelit darkness then flicked on the pale yellow glow of the fairy lights.
The effect: magical.
Ruined only by the smell of burning tortillas. “Oh, no!”
I ran to the kitchen. Why did I even try?
“Don’t worry.” R.D. took the tray from me with one hand and opened the kitchen window with the other. “There’s more.”
He took over tortilla duty, so, of course, they were perfectly heated in a few short minutes, and we quickly dug in.
“These are delicious.” Except fajitas were not sexy date food. “A little messy, though.” I wiped my mouth.
R.D. stared back at me. “You’re beautiful.” Apparently, he didn’t care that I had sauce running down my chin. “All the time. But especially by candlelight.” He reached out to touch my nose. “When you turn your head, the diamond stud sparkles from the flame.”
Most of the time I forgot I even had it in.
Finished with his first fajita, R.D. constructed a second. So meticulous. So the opposite of me.
“I made dessert.” I told him.
“Made as in it’s food this time?”
I threw my napkin at him.
“What? Dessert in your van is my new favorite kind.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“I’m kidding,” he said. “What did you make?”
“Nothing special.” My go-to dessert, the ingredients always on hand. “Chocolate pudding pie.” Pre-made graham cracker pie crust. Boxed pudding mix. Almond milk. Chocolate chips and whipped topping. “But, if you’re okay with it…I mean, it isn’t the van…”
“Spit it out, woman.”
“I was thinking we could eat it in bed…using our bodies as plates.”
R.D. shoved the last of his meal into his mouth and spoke around the food. “Done.” He stood. “Ready for dessert.” It came out like “de-thert.”
I lifted my plate and started toward the kitchen. “We should—”
“It’ll keep.” He went around the room, blowing out the candles.
His haste made me laugh.
“Don’t just stand there.” He hurried to the one beneath the television, Tulip dancing around his feet excitedly. “Help.”
Instead, I took the matches and went into the bedroom to light the candles there. Before I even finished, R.D. showed up in the doorway, the pie in one hand, a role of paper towels in the other. “Ready for dessert.”
Up until that moment, I never would have considered using R.D. and adorable in the same sentence.
His hands occupied, I took advantage of the situation to unbutton his shirt, spreading the fabric wide, thankful he’d chosen not to wear an undershirt. Taking a finger scoop of pie, I slathered some onto each nipple. “I’m ready for dessert, too.” I took my time, licking then sucking off the sweetness. At the same time, I palmed his growing erection before moving my hands at the clasp of his pants, adding, “Starved for dessert.”
He widened his stance, getting ready for me.
Slowly, I lowered his zipper then pushed down his pants and boxers as far as they would go, his knees too far apart to allow them to fall to the floor. Taking a scoop of pie, I admitted, “I love dessert.” Then I dropped to my knees, my chocolate-covered hand on his dick, turning him into a delectable treat that had my mouth watering.
First, I licked, from base to tip, enjoying the taste. “Delicious.” Then I took him in, deep, to the back of my throat, held him there.
He groaned, then swayed. I grabbed on to his thighs, holding him in place, as I began to move. Taking him deep, again and again.
“So fucking good.” He grabbed the back of my head, holding me in place, thrusting into my mouth. “Going to miss you…so,” thrust, “fucking,” thrust, “much.” The taste of chocolate mixed with the taste of him.
Then he was gone. “On the bed,” he ordered. “Now.” He kicked off his pants and boxers, set the pie down on my nightstand then whipped off his shirt.
I tripped over the paper towels, fought off a fall to the floor, and flung myself onto the mattress. “Yes, sir.” I gave him a salute.
“Unbutton your sweater. Slowly.”
He watched my every move, devoured me with his eyes, licked his lips in anticipation.
“Open it. Let me see your tits.”
Raunchy. More please.
I arched my back, giving myself to him, silently cheering my decision to skip a bra.
He dove on top of me, latched onto my nipple and sucked me in, as if his mouth was the only thing keeping me from plunging to my death over the side of a cliff.
“Yes!” I gripped his head, holding him where I needed him. “More.” My body lit up, primed, ready.
He left me.
“Nooooo.”
Sitting back on his heels, naked, his erection pointing in my direction, he took a handful of pie and dropped it onto my chest. He spread it around my breasts, my belly, my thighs. “This might just beat the van.” He ran a chocolaty finger across my lips. Bent to lick it off. “Let you know when I’m done.” He plunged into my mouth and I opened for him, welcomed him. He moved to my chest, my belly, my thighs. Feasted like a man fresh off a thirty day fast. Ravenous. Desperate for more.
He made me desperate for more, too. I reached up, took some pie. “Look.” I held up a finger covered in pudding. He held perfectly still. I bent my knees and opened for him. Once I had his rapt attention, I moved my finger, oh so slowly, over my mound, between my lips. Enticing him. Inviting him.
Without warning, he RSVP’d in the affirmative, planting his face between my thighs. His mouth, his tongue, doing magical things. “Right there.” I clutched his ears, rocked my hips. “Don’t stop.”
His tongue speared in and out of me. Wonderful yet not enough. “More.” I moved beneath him, seeking…
He lifted his head, crawled up my body. “Got what you need, baby.” He grabbed his big, hard dick and lined it up. “Ready?”
“So ready.” Wild, on edge, needy.
He rammed himself inside of me in one quick thrust and let out a groan before starting to move with purpose, in and out, again and again. Controlled. Determined. “Never going to get enough of you.” He slid all the way in then pulled out, making sure to grind against my clit each time. “Don’t want it to end.” He kept that same pace, pleasure growing. Slow. Steady. Deep.
Perfect. I rocked my hips, meeting him, retreating, meeting him, retreating, ecstasy just out of reach. “I need—”
He moved his hand between us, knew my body so well. “I know what you need.”
His fingers did me in. Sensation started to build, almost overwhelming in its intensity. “Close,” I panted. So close.
“Come for me,” he said. “Show me how good I make you feel. Me.” He dropped down for a kiss. “Only me.”
“Only you,” I screamed as I came apart, soaking the sheet beneath me. Didn’t care. Felt too amazing, euphoric, suspended in time.
R.D. gave me his full weight, wrapped his arms around me and held on tight as he rocked into me, over and over. “I’ll never forget you,” he whispered, so low I almost didn’t hear him. Then he went rigid as he came, kissing my ear, along my cheek, my mouth. “Special.” He deepened the kiss.
While he didn’t say the word, I felt it in his, in the way he took care of me.
Love.
It gave me hope that we could be more than temporary. A few more days of great sex and I’d get him to admit he loved me.