by Jayne Denker
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
"See? Big house. Plenty of room."
"I know what your house looks like, Garvey."
I walk past him as he holds the door open. Shadowed and silent, the setting makes my skin prickle. It's not that I'm afraid something might happen. It's that our decision to delay sex has built it up into a really big deal. Not to mention the thought of sex, in relation to this house, which has remained unchanged since I hula-hooped in the living room, raided the fridge for Kool-Aid, played—and argued—with Conn and other neighborhood kids while playing Tomb Raider on the family PlayStation, is—once again—downright weird.
Not weird enough to stop me from entertaining the idea, however. I can't ignore the waves of heat washing over me every few seconds at the thought. I want it—I want Conn—there's no denying it, but I also want to make sure it's good. Great. Incredible. Memorable. Magical. This cannot be done impulsively. Good, great, incredible, memorable, magical requires time and preparation. Wax and razors must be employed beforehand. At the very least.
As I stand in the kitchen, not sure what to do next, a pissed-off Harvey stomps in and starts his loud where-have-you-been-feed-me yowling.
"Eat your dry food," Conn admonishes his cat.
As usual, the place looks nothing like a bachelor pad. Besides the fact that it still has all the trappings of a family home, it's clean and neat—no newspapers on the floor by the sofa, no crumb-laden plates on the table. In fact, the only incongruous item is a small white paper bag, top crisply folded over a couple of times, sitting on the end of the kitchen counter.
"I didn't know you liked sweets."
"What?"
I reach for the bag. "This. From Macomb's, right? I can't remember the last time I saw you eat candy. I'll bet you're a gummy worms kind of guy though."
Conn's between me and the counter in an instant. His arm flies out, and he backhands the bag, sending it sailing into the air. It lands on the floor and slides halfway to the fridge, startling Harvey away from his food bowl. "No. Nothing. Never mind. What?"
Okay, that wasn't weird at all.
"Do you want something to drink? Or eat? Not candy. I mean, that's not…or are you tired? Do you just want to go to sleep? I can get you a T-shirt."
Is he nervous? I've never seen Conn nervous before. Not before a big football game in high school, not before he took his GMAT, not even on the day of his wedding. But here he is now, standing in front of me, digging his right thumb into the palm of his left hand. Nervous. That's so hot it's broken down the last of my resolve. Pact schmact. What are we waiting for, again?
I close the distance between us. "I want to go to bed."
"Okay. Sure."
He gestures toward his bedroom and follows me down the narrow hall. I pause in the doorway because it's so dark. He puts a gentle hand on my back as he squeezes past me to turn on the lamp next to the bed.
"I'll find you a clean shirt and then get out of your way."
He rummages in his dresser drawer and comes up with a battered Red Sox T-shirt. He holds it out to me. I toss it onto the end of the bed. His nerves have eradicated mine. Entirely. I wrap my arms around his waist and go up on my toes for a kiss.
"I don't think you understood me," I whisper, pecking his jawline. "I said I want to go to bed."
"Right. That's what…oh. Oh."
The way the light dawns over his handsome face makes me laugh.
"Melanie, are you sure? I thought we agreed—"
We can either get into a protracted discussion about this, or I can communicate my decision using shorthand. I go with the latter. I kiss him as passionately, as earnestly as I'm able, to let him know I don't want to wait another minute. I don't care that my makeup washed off in the sea spray earlier today or that I'm not wearing fancy matching lingerie. My underpants might even have a hole by the elastic. Doesn't matter. All I care about is this wonderful man in front of me. I've never wanted anyone more.
"That's a yes?" he asks with a smile.
"That's the biggest yes in the history of yeses, mister."
Within seconds he's got me out of breath and weak in the knees. It's the way his tongue dances with mine, the way his hands push my hair back from my face, the way he kisses me hungrily, everywhere—under my ear, down my neck…
"You taste like salt," he murmurs as he touches the tip of his tongue to the hollow of my throat.
"Too much for your blood pressure?"
"That's not the salt doing that."
Oh, he's smooth. I'm surprised my panties haven't left the building all on their own already.
"Should I shower?" I offer, only half serious. Anyone who's grown up on the coast has kissed many salty lips in their day. It shouldn't be a big deal.
Conn groans loudly. "Keep talking like that and we're going to have a problem."
"Problem?"
Before my imagination can go to a dozen dark places, he says, "Look, it's…been a while. For me. Plus it's…this is…with you. So I'm doing my best not to make this brief. Not high-school-era brief, but…"
A problem? That's not a problem. That's an opportunity. "I see," I answer, mock serious. "Well then. It appears we'll have to do this more than once. As many times as possible, in fact, until we've balanced you out."
He looks at me in surprise and laughs out loud. God, I love to hear him laugh, watch his eyes crinkle up. Cupping his hands at the back of my neck, under my hair, he says warmly, "You're perfect. Have I mentioned you're perfect?"
"You may have, but it bears repeating as often as possible."
"Noted."
"So this stretch of time you're talking about…don't tell me it's been the whole five years you've been newly single."
"No. I'm not a hermit, just discerning."
"I never saw you with anyone—"
"Of course you didn't, nosy. I keep that sort of thing private. Yes, even when it comes to you. It was just a summer person here and there. But not this summer. Not for quite a while, to be honest. And never anything serious."
"Why not?"
"Why didn't I get serious with anybody?" He shrugs. "I didn't want to."
"What about now?"
Looking into my eyes steadily, he runs the back of his curled fingers along my cheek. His touch makes me shiver. "I wouldn't be here with you if I weren't completely serious. You mean so much to me, Melanie. You always have."
And my insides have now melted and are oozing all over the floor. "Oh, keep saying things like that and you can consider your drought over, buddy."
"Works for me."
Conn scoops me up into his arms and throws me into the center of his large bed. I land with a thud, sinking into the soft mattress, as Conn lowers himself over me and kisses me slowly. He slides one hand under my shirt and runs his thumb under the bottom edge of my bra. It's nowhere near enough contact. I push up into a sitting position against the headboard and nearly clock him in the chin with my elbow in my rush to get my sleeveless polo off.
"You're not even going to let me undress you."
"Not this time, Garvey. You're telling me we could have been doing this years ago. I'm not wasting another minute. Let's go. You can get creative another time."
"You're adorable. Anybody ever tell you that?"
"Lose the shirt."
He's not fast enough, so the minute he's up on his knees, I start tugging at the hem. Once it's over his head and flung onto the floor, however, I have to stop and stare. The sight of that broad expanse of bare chest, muscles shifting under his smooth skin, brings me up short every time.
A little light-headed, I run my hands over his solid shoulders and down his chest, fluttering my fingers over his abs as he sucks in a breath, then tucking them into the waistband of his shorts. I start fumbling with the button, but suddenly my fingers no longer work, because now he's staring at me. Really staring.
"What?" I demand, resisting the sudden urge to cross my arms over my breasts. I'm not usually this modest, but that r
aw look of his is doing things to me.
Conn reaches out and draws his fingers along my skin, following the swells and curves at the top of my bra, so lightly his touch raises goose bumps.
"These are new," he finally says, in an awed whisper.
Not what I was expecting. "Are you implying I bought them?" I realize I might be stalling, because it's quite possible I'm going to faint from his touch.
"Not at all. I mean they're new to me. I noticed when I moved back to town. And they're as magnificent as I suspected."
"You've been ogling my boobs for five years?"
"Maybe." He cocks an eyebrow at me, still slowly caressing the anatomy in question, which makes it hard for me to follow the conversation.
I want to sink down onto the mattress again and let him keep doing what he's doing for eternity—or the next few minutes at least—but I can't let this go. "So you never noticed I had boobs until five years ago?"
Realizing we're about to press the pause button on the action, he sighs heavily and settles next to me, propping his head on one hand. The other is still lazily exploring my bare skin. "Melanie, let's put this into perspective, okay? I've always known you were a girl—we've established that, right?"
I punch his shoulder. He removes his hand. I put it back. He goes back to making slow circles with his fingertips, and I melt a little more.
"Okay. Later on, when you were older, like in college, I thought you were cute—you know, in the abstract—and some guy was going to be lucky to have you. I never dreamed, back then, that the gap between our ages would…compress to a point where it doesn't even exist anymore. I never dreamed I'd be the guy lucky enough to have you."
I actually feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes. Wanting Conn is intense enough. When he says things like that, I feel myself tumbling into an abyss, the plummet thrilling and terrifying at the same time. "We can stop talking now."
"Thank God."
He pulls me down and I'm under him again, the contact of his skin on mine almost too much to take. His kisses become more aggressive, and I can barely keep up. They drift downward, along my throat and breastbone. He slips my shorts off then slides back up to kiss my lips again, knowing full well how to make me crazy. I need to level the playing field, so I have another go at his shorts. This time I manage to undo the button, drop the zipper, and push the waistband down low enough that he can kick them off.
"Condoms." I can barely form words, but I have the wherewithal to get that one out.
"I have some."
I can't help it—a nervous laugh escapes me. "How old are they, if you haven't done this in a while?"
"I, uh, bought them last night."
I gape at him. "Oh my God, that's what's in the bag, isn't it? Were you plotting? Did you hide my apartment keys too?"
"What? No!"
His shocked look makes me laugh again, and he joins in, but grows somber after a moment. "Melanie, you realize this changes everything."
"It's already changed. You've seen me mostly naked."
"I'm serious."
"I know. You're right—everything has changed. But for the better."
"I want you to know, if you're still not sure—"
"I've been sure for a long time now."
"But—"
"Good grief!" I exclaim, pushing at him. "Who's the Chatty Cathy now? Get out of my way! I'll get those condoms myself, dammit!"
I jump up and run for the kitchen, but Conn's faster and his legs are longer. He catches up to me in the hall, grabs me around the waist from behind, and lifts me into the air, making me shriek with laughter. He spins around and puts me behind him then dashes the rest of the way into the living room. Giddy, I'm coming after him full tilt, so I have no idea why I've just smacked right into his back as he stands, stock still, at the end of the hall.
He spins on his heel to face me. "M," he whispers ominously. I still don't get it. He puts his hands on my shoulders and gently but persistently pushes me backward.
"Conn?" comes an unexpected voice.
"Just a minute, Mom!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
"Your mother?" I exclaim in a frenzied whisper, frantically scrambling for my clothes. "Your mother's here?"
"Dad too," Conn answers grimly, doing up his shorts. "I knew I should have moved the spare key."
"We didn't hear them come in."
"We were distracted." He stills, his eyes drifting to my breasts.
"Conn?" comes the familiar—and entirely unwelcome—voice from the living room.
"Dammit."
He snaps out of his daze, scoops up whatever fabric is closest, and tosses it at me. It's the T-shirt he was wearing earlier. I pull it on before the Garveys decide to follow their son down the hall. I wouldn't put it past them—they're a little short on formalities in their own former home. His shirt smells like his deodorant and soap and ocean. I only allow it to distract me for a moment.
"Now what?"
Conn shakes his head slowly in a hell-if-I-know kind of way. "Want to come out and say hi?" I start giggling at the ridiculousness of it all, and he flashes his sideways grin. "Stay here, okay? I'll see what they want and then send them on their way."
He steals a small kiss then comes back for a better one. Another reassuring smile and, with a martyred sigh, he's gone.
I can't hide in the bedroom, waiting for him. It's ridiculous. I should walk out the sliding door and around the deck then text him when I get home…the home I can't get into. Crap. I can't call someone for help either—I left my bag, with my phone in it, by the front door.
But the truth is, I don't want to leave. I'd rather outlast them. All optimism, I'm sure Conn will get rid of them soon enough. To amuse myself in the meantime, I can eavesdrop. I figure Bruce and Constance owe me, considering they may very well have glimpsed more of me a minute ago than they've seen since I was a toddler.
"What are you doing here?" Conn's voice is low and a bit heated but controlled. I don't recall a single time he's blown up at his parents, not even during his volatile teenage years, so of course he wouldn't now, even though they just walked right into his house. It's not in his nature.
"We can't have coffee with our son? We were at Rose Perdue's," his mother explains. "Such a lovely dinner party. We thought we'd stop by on the way back to the Davises'. We didn't think you'd be…busy."
Conn ignores her pointed comment. "Are you all right? The stairs…"
"I'm fine. Sasha said—we had brunch while she was in town, did I mention that? We had a lovely time. She said I needed to start using my hip more and do my therapy exercises regularly. Move it or lose it, she said, and she's right."
I'm so busy rolling my eyes at Constance's ham-handed name-dropping that I almost miss Conn's exasperated response.
"I've been telling you that all along. Dad's been telling you that. And your surgeon, and your internist, and your physical therapist back in Phoenix."
"Yes, but I trust Sasha," Constance insists. She pauses as if she's going to change the subject, but the next minute she asks bluntly, "Are you going to make your friend stay in the bedroom all night?" I know the segue's intentional. She sounds hopeful. Why…?
"It's not Sasha," Conn answers, just as bluntly.
Oh. Interesting. They may have seen some skin, but they didn't see my face, thanks to Conn's quick thinking, blocking me from their view.
He adds, "And I'm not going to say anything more about it."
"You're seeing someone? What about Sasha?"
"What did I just say, Mom?"
"Then why did you ask her here for a visit?"
"Strictly business, the same reason I invited Jack."
It's not surprising he hasn't told them about his plans for the new restaurant. He's always been fiercely independent, never accepting much from his parents, even in college and business school. They practically had to force this house on him, and I suspect he agreed to it only because they were moving to Arizona. If he talked about his bu
siness plans too soon, his father would try to give him money, and worse, his mother would waste no time planting a seed of doubt by moaning it could never work.
Bruce defends his son with a classic dad line: "Leave the boy alone, Constance."
Of course that line never works.
"I mean," Conn's mother persists, "she's saying the nicest things about you. Can't you two work things out? You were so wonderful together."
"No, we weren't, Mom. Sasha and I are over, we've been over, and I'm more than fine with that."
"You were so heartbroken—"
"And now I'm not."
"Because you're cozying up to some tramp? I hardly think that's the solution."
What! I mouth silently, my hands in fists at my sides. Conn doesn't sound too happy either. In fact, he's so agitated he almost slips when he defends me. "Mel—she's not a tramp. Not at all."
"And yet you haven't introduced her to us," Constance sniffs.
"It's early yet."
No, no! You've given her an opening! Aaaaannnd his mom pounces on it.
"But you're sleeping with her already."
All right, that's it. Conn's squirmed long enough.
"Mrs. Garvey. Mr. Garvey. Nice to see you." I'm amazed my voice is calm and even, considering Conn's shirt is barely covering my ass cheeks, and my underwear isn't doing much more. I nod at them with a little smile as I cross the room, heading for the kitchen.
There's complete silence behind me, although I think I hear a muffled dismayed groan from Conn. I yank open the fridge, letting the cold air cool my flaming cheeks, and take out a bottle of water. I shut the door, take a breath, and turn to the Garveys with my placid smile intact.
Bless Bruce's heart, he breaks the silence with a cheery, "Little Melanie! It's good to see you, dear. Where have you been hiding yourself?" he asks innocently.
This elicits a derisive snort from his wife, which clearly translates into Your son's bed, apparently.
Conn's squirming, so I decide to take it down a notch. "I'm locked out of my apartment, and Conn was kind enough to offer me a bed tonight. I didn't want to disturb my father to get the spare key."
