by Brisa Starr
Hmmm. I have an idea.
Five minutes later, he sees what I’m doing.
“What is this?” Landon asks, making me jump.
I didn’t hear him come in as I busied myself moving packages of toilet paper to the porch. “My god, Landon, you scared me. Again.” I ignore his question.
“I asked you... what the fuck are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m putting all of the extra toilet paper on the porch.”
He looks down and reads the sign I made with bright, fat, red letters: FREE TOILET PAPER — Help yourself if you need it.
“What the fuck, Emma?” he says through gritted teeth.
I look at him, my hands on my hips, and I see a combination of anger and frustration swirling in his deep blue eyes. For a moment, I’m a bit scared and potentially regret my actions, but I stand firm. “I’m doing the right thing.”
“Oh no you’re not!” He starts bringing the toilet paper back inside, but he doesn’t just set it down in the entryway. He carries it into the garage.
I follow on his heels, “Where you going with that? Landon! We don’t need this much toilet paper! Bring it back!”
He ignores me and takes the toilet paper over to a cabinet in the garage, where an unlocked padlock dangles from the hinge. He throws the toilet paper inside the cabinet and growls, “Don’t touch this.” He storms back to the porch to get the rest of it.
Fully beside myself at his behavior, I calm myself down and try to have a logical conversation with him. “We need to make sure that our neighbors are taken care of as well. It’s not just about us, Landon.”
He says nothing and walks back to the garage with more toilet paper. Following him, I screech, “Landon, this is ridiculous. I can’t believe you’re hoarding things.” I stare at him in disbelief as he locks the cabinet with the padlock. Yes, locks it up! “I - I - I can’t believe you’re locking up the toilet paper!”
“Yup.” He turns and walks away, leaving me in the garage.
Just as he’s opening the door to go back inside the house, I yell, “Stay on your own side of the damn house!” I shake my head, incredulous.
He slams the door.
14
Emma
It’s been two long days, and I’ve finally started to cool down from Landon locking up his precious toilet paper. His behavior was ridiculous, and I’m glad he’s been staying on his side of the house. At least he listened to me about that.
I’ve kept my mind — and my heart — occupied by working on my book. But I admit, I miss him. I’m making progress with my work, which excites me, but there’s a sadness in my energy as I think about the wonderful qualities Landon does have, remembering how romantic he is, how I melt under his gaze, and how wet I get with the slightest of his touches.
But I also remember how different we are.
I walk into the kitchen to get some coffee, and I see there’s another plastic Easter egg. He placed it inside my empty coffee cup. A small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I open the egg. What I see makes me laugh out loud — a square of toilet paper in it with a note written on it... I’m sorry. He also put the key to the cabinet in the egg.
He walks into the kitchen. He must have been watching all morning, waiting for me to find the egg. I look at him, making my face as serious as I can despite the cuteness and cleverness of his peace offering. “Sorry for what, hoarding or yelling at me?” I gnaw on the inside of my cheek to stop me from smiling.
“Both.” He steps toward me. My heart beats a little faster.
“Forgiven,” I whisper immediately and look into his eyes, my lips parting, desire flooding my body, wanting him to kiss me.
I like this man. A lot.
He kisses me fiercely, like a soldier returning home to his lover after a war. He needs it so badly, an addict getting his fix. His hands run through my hair, and he cups my head gently but possessively. I wrap my arms around him and grind myself against the bulge in his shorts. I’ve missed him, this man who drives me mad with frustration, and mad with excitement with every touch.
A tangle of arms and legs, we make our way to the bedroom, undressing each other, hands groping as we go. It’s time for make-up sex, and I’m getting wet just thinking about him taking me hard.
We tumble to the bed, naked, kissing, squeezing, pulling, pushing. Both hungry for the other. Starving is more like it. Not even bothering to pretend with foreplay, he quickly sheaths his erection with a condom from the nightstand, and I spread my legs. He plunges into me, and I moan deeply as he fills the void inside me. He takes no time waiting for me to open more, and he fucks me fiercely, intensely. I know he’s already getting close.
“Emma, come for me, baby,” he hisses. “I want you to come for me. Now.”
His deep voice and commanding tone send me right over the edge, and just as my body spasms at the crest of my orgasm, he explodes with his own. My body shivers in delight, and I relish the twitching in my thighs as my frantic heart rate begins to slow. Exhaustion overtakes us both as he collapses on me and then rolls off to the side.
“It’s good to be back, baby.” He says and strokes his finger along my lower lip.
“Yeah,” I say, kissing his finger. I roll over with my head on his shoulder and drape my naked leg over his muscular thighs.
Locked in our loving embrace, we’re both asleep in minutes.
OK. Self-isolation has become a bit boring. I look over at him seated next to me on the couch as we let Netflix automatically start the ninth episode of the political thriller we’re binge watching. Looking at the empty ice cream bowl in my hands, I recount all the snacks we’ve been scarfing for the past week. I also notice the new tightness of my waistband.
I stand up to go wash my bowl, and he presses pause on the remote so I won’t miss any of the show.
“It’s like The Freshman 15 I gained in college and worked my ass off to lose. They should have a new thing: The Quarantine 15.” I walk past his legs, crossed while he sits on the couch, and he smacks my ass.
“You look mighty fine to me, baby. Besides, I wouldn’t mind a little extra meat on your bones. It’ll give me more to spank.”
Blushing, I look at him disbelieving, but my insides are secretly doing cartwheels because I believe him. Our relationship has grown deeper over the past week as we settle into a comfortable routine. We’ve had an abundance of time to talk and get to know each other.
We stock up on more things by ordering online when possible, to prevent going out to the stores. We’ve even taken to enjoying the Home Shopping Network, watching it more than we should, and buying more than we should, too. Who knew you can buy Louisiana ribs, bacon-wrapped steaks, country-fried chicken, and gourmet chocolate-chip cookies by the dozen... on the Home Shopping Network?
Needing to get some work done and not wanting to slack away the rest of the afternoon on the couch watching Netflix, I call out to him from the kitchen, “I’m gonna go work in the back yard.”
He jumps up. “I’ll join you, but I’ll continue my lounging. I’ll just move it from the couch to the pool.
We go outside and he does a cannonball into the pool, splashing water everywhere. I laugh and, though I’d love to join him swimming, I need to work on my book. Despite all the lazy evenings and Netflix, I’ve made a lot of progress. I’m in the home stretch.
The afternoon passes, and I work feverishly, typing so fast, for so long, we joke that smoke is going to come out of my laptop. Eventually, I stop and look up from my screen. I ask him, “Is today Saturday or Wednesday?”
“Neither, it’s Monday, April 65th,” he responds without even opening his eyes.
I laugh at his joke and call over to him, “You seem quite relaxed these days. I’d say you’re stress levels are close to zero. Mission accomplished, eh?”
“Between fucking you, meditating, and lounging in the pool, I’d say you’re right.”
I giggle and turn my head back to my laptop to res
ume working. But then, I sneak a peak back at him and marvel at his hard and muscled body, handsome face, and I sigh. Part of me wants to throw all caution to the wind and declare my true feelings for him, screaming them from the rooftop. Another part of me still wants to guard my heart with a lock and key for fear of being hurt or disappointed.
I look up at the palm trees, high above. The trees’ fronds are motionless in the still, warm air. I whisper to Granny, “What do I do?”
From nowhere, a warm breeze blows through, and the wind chimes make their dreamlike music. The palm fronds sway in the wind, and I feel my Granny’s reply. Oh, my dear, you give, and you give hard. You love, and you love hard. And you never regret it for one second.
Two hours later, evening approaches, and the sky overflows with brilliant hues of orange, red, pink and purple. The weather is balmy and downright sexy. I’ve been sitting far too much these days. Sitting at my computer, sitting on the couch watching TV, sitting while we eat long, lazy meals and drink lots of wine.
“What do you say we go on a long walk tonight?” I stand up, arch my back, and close my laptop. “I could really use the movement and the steps.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He rolls off the raft he’s been lounging on and splashes into the pool. I swear he must’ve been sleeping there in the shade for almost two hours. Laziness and lounging does that to you. One of my favorite lines Granny used to quote, “A body at rest tends to stay at rest.”
Indeed.
“I’ll jump in the shower and change my clothes,” he says. “Care to join me?”
“Ah, no thanks. I’ll clean up my stuff and just change my clothes.” Gathering my papers and laptop, I head into the house. He’s right behind me and pinches my ass before stepping in front of me, blocking the door.
“What’s the password?”
“Landon, let me in.” I nudge him with my shoulder.
“Wrong. Try again.”
I laugh. “Ugh, OK. I’ll play...” I think for a moment and then blurt, “Anal sex!”
He’s so shocked that his arms fall, and I scramble by him. “Ha! Just kidding!” I squeal, and I run to the bedroom.
“Well played. But now that you’ve brought it up…” he calls from the hallway as he heads to the laundry room for some clean clothes.
Ten minutes later, we head outside for our walk. The sun has already set. We walk, and as dusk settles in around us, Venus shines brightly above, always the first one out, as though singing, “Look at me! Aren’t I beautiful?”
The entire sky above the western horizon still glows a magnificent cerulean blue. This is my favorite time of day in the desert. The warm air is pleasant, and there’s still plenty of light to see by.
This evening, we walk in a different direction than our past walks, leading us to an area where the houses are more spaced out. I marvel at the gravel “lawns,” some beige, others a light, dusty rose color. “I still can’t get over how there’s so little grass here, and people have rocks for yards.”
“Yeah, there’s not enough water in the desert. It’s weird, but you get used to it. It’s also a lot easier to maintain.” He puts his arm around my shoulders, making me smile. It feels natural between us. We feel in sync, and I love being around him. The heart just wants what it wants.
I’m smiling as we walk and allowing myself to enjoy this simple time with him. We walk another few minutes and lapse into an easy silence. At first, I thought a future with him wasn’t possible, but I’m starting to think I was wrong.
I don’t know how to make it work yet, but oh well… I’ll think about that tomorrow. Like Scarlett O’Hara said in Granny’s favorite movie, Gone with the Wind, “Tomorrow is another day.”
“I love the smell in the desert after it rains,” he says. “It doesn’t smell like anyplace else.” He surprises me with this statement. It sounds like something I would say.
“That’s the creosote,” I tell him.
He looks at me quizzically.
“Petrichor...” I continue. “Aerosolized organic compounds released by rain. Every biome has its own smell. In the Sonoran desert, rain smells like the oily leaves of the creosote bush.”
He looks at me, obviously impressed. I shrug, a little sass added to it. He should be used to my vast plant knowledge by now.
I continue, “It’s strong plant medicine, used for centuries by Native Americans for many health issues, even cancer.”
I point to a creosote bush by the side of the road, “Here’s one.”
He follows me over to the bush, with its scraggly base and thousands of tiny, dark green, waxy leaves, and tiny yellow flowers. “Rub the leaves between your fingers and then smell them.”
He does it. “Whoa!” he exclaims. “You’re right! It smells exactly like rain. That’s a trip!”
I continue. “Some botanists think it might be the world’s longest living plant. They’ve carbon dated the roots of some creosote bushes to 11,000 years.”
“Wow,” he says, obviously impressed, though I can’t tell if it’s from how old the plant is, or that I knew this fact off the top of my head. I think he likes it when I add the scientific details, like I’m speaking his language.
“I’m blown away by desert medicine. I’ve always wanted to come here with my Granny to explore it. We talked a lot about doing a series of ethnobotany graduate courses at ASU, but then she had her heart attack.” I look down at the pavement while walking, missing her. “She would’ve loved it here.”
He takes my hand, and the rough texture of his skin grabs my attention. I look at our clasped hands, holding them up under the street lamp we’re standing under. Inspecting his hand closer, I say, “Geez, Landon, you’re hands are so dry. They look like they hurt.” My lips turn down into a small frown.
“Well, with this virus, if your hands aren’t cracked and bleeding, you’re not washing them enough,” he laughs, then shifts his attention to me. “You know, even though we’re isolated from other people, everything we order online, when we go to the mailbox, all that stuff, even though we wear gloves a lot, we still need to wash our hands constantly. Clearly you’re not if your hands aren’t all dried out like mine.”
His tone is a little too bossy for my liking, and besides, he’s totally wrong.
“I have been washing my hands constantly, probably more than you do,” I say. “But I have magic lotion that saves my hands from that torture,” I add, smirking with my all-knowing smile.
“Magic lotion?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Well that’s what I call it.” I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, grinning, “You know, homemade. The good stuff. Want some when we get back?”
“Nah. I’ll pass. I’ll just order something online. Something strong for my strong hands.” He shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Something filled with synthetic chemicals, you mean.”
“Chemicals that work,” he quips.
“Chemicals that’ll contribute to you getting cancer or disrupting your hormones and giving you man boobs.” I can’t help myself, and now I’m laughing in a fit of giggles. “Your hands are in bad shape, and if you want those rough mitts on my ass then you’ll have to use my magic lotion until your toxic crap lotion arrives.”
“OK, fine, I’ll use your magic lotion.”
“You know... it would feel good being rubbed on other places, too, if that makes you feel better about it. It’s edible, ya know.” I wink, pleased with myself.
My flirting works, and he just stares at me with exasperation tinged with primal lust.
“I’ll make a convert of you yet, Dr. Mitchell,” I promise, with smug delight.
“Don’t bet on it, baby,” he says, and I melt hearing him call me baby. He puts his arm back around me, and we turn on our street to head home. We pass by the golf course. Our special golf course, and Landon stops.
“Don’t even think about it,” I order. “One time is enough for n...”
He puts a hand up to shush me, “Shhh. Did you
hear that?”
“Hear wh-?”
“Shhhhhhh.”
I listen intently, but I don’t hear anything.
“Over there,” he points toward the golf course.
“Nice try, Landon.” I grab his hand to drag him away.
“No. Stop, Emma. Really. I hear something, like a dog crying.”
He walks onto the golf cart path and toward the sound. I hear it now myself, too. It’s getting louder, but it’s so dark on the golf course that we can’t see anything. We stop for a minute to get a better read on where the whining is coming from.
“There!” He moves toward a row of bushes and I follow him, walking quickly to keep pace.
There indeed. We see a tiny dog sitting under a bush, his paw lifted like he’s in pain and crying.
“Landon! It’s just a puppy! Oh my gosh!” I move toward the dog, and Landon puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.
“Wait. It might have rabies. We need to be careful.” He steps in front of me and slowly approaches the dog. It looks up at Landon with big eyes, clearly scared, but unable to move because its front paw is hurt.
“He looks pretty clean, so probably no rabies, and I don’t think he’s been out long. I don’t see a collar though. Shit.” Landon kneels down on one knee. “Come here, little guy. It’s OK, I won’t hurt you.”
I smile at Landon’s attempt at being gentle. It’s cute. “Just pick it up. It’s clearly scared. Here, I’ll do it.” I start to reach for the dog, but he stops me.
“I’ll do it.” He reaches out and picks up the dog, careful of its paw.
The puppy seems glad to have been found, and he nestles in the crook of Landon’s arm. We carry it back to the street, where the light lets us take a better look.
