by K. Bromberg
I know he knows I’m there as my footsteps vibrate the dock, but he just keeps his eyes on the water ahead.
“Hey,” I murmur.
“Hi.” He doesn’t look my way.
“Can I sit, or do you want to be alone?”
“Sit. Please.” He looks up at me and offers a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, sit.”
I take my flip-flops off beside where his are and take a seat next to him, letting my legs dangle over the side so that my toes skim the water. We sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes as I enjoy the feel of the sun’s warmth on my cheeks and the sparkle of its rays on the water around us.
Even though our hands are behind us, he manages to slide his closer to mine and hook our pinkies together.
I’m not sure why the motion makes me swoon, but it does.
“Everything okay?” I finally venture to ask.
“Just work.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“You said you needed some outdoor therapy. Does it have to do with whatever that call was about?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Okay,” I say and rest my head on his shoulder. I smell the slight scent of beer on his breath and laugh. “Should I ask what you and the husbands, boyfriends, playthings did while we were in yet another mind-numbing session, or is it better if I don’t?”
“We may have partaken in some libations, and I may have been the bartender.” He gives a short chuckle. “Needless to say, Testosterone Tom, Stoned Steven, and Baseball Bobbie might just be in good moods for tonight’s festivities.”
“How drunk are they?”
“They’re just very happy.” Yeah, I don’t want to know. Whatever bonds those guys made are theirs, so I don’t dig.
“Thank you for that,” I say and press a kiss to his shoulder in appreciation.
More silence passes between us as the sun slowly begins to fall toward the horizon and the sky begins to dance with color.
I can’t say that I mind sharing this with him.
“Tell me something about you that I don’t know,” I say, suddenly curious about who this man is.
“Like what? You know the basics.”
“Your mom. That first night we met, you said you had a meddling mom. Tell me about her. My mom is so distant and busy with her life in Michigan, that I miss the love that’s equal parts annoying and welcoming.”
“True.” He nods before falling into a contemplative silence for a beat. “She’s crazy, but she means well.”
“You said she was out here visiting?”
“Yeah, and as much as I love her, I’m glad that she’s gone.” He chuckles. “She has a way of taking over everything and knowing things before I do.”
I laugh, loving how the mere mention of her has the smile finally reaching his eyes.
“And your dad?” I ask.
“He’s incredible in his own right. He’s a plastic surgeon who only deals in reconstruction after mastectomies.”
“Is that why you got into the field?”
“I like to say I went into medicine because I want to save people, but yeah, I’m sure a part of it is that I wanted to make him proud of me.”
His candor is refreshing. I’m used to having to pull teeth to get any kind of reaction from a man.
“Why the heart?”
“Because isn’t that where everything begins and ends?” he asks, his eyes locking onto mine. “With the heart?”
I’m speechless. I’m sure he doesn’t mean his words how I take them, but they still hit me in such a profound way.
“Yes.” My tongue feels heavy in my mouth. “It’s true.”
“My mom used to be a therapist. She helped women cope with the loss that comes with that kind of surgery. Many women try to convince themselves they’re only breasts and they can live without them, but it’s a huge hit to the psyche, and she’d help them get through that.”
“I can’t imagine. It must feel good doing a job that makes people better.”
“It does, but you do the same.”
I laugh at his attempt. “I appreciate you putting it on the same playing field, but it isn’t. Saving lives and selling makeup isn’t really comparable.”
“It’s all about perspective. How do you know the makeup you’ve sold hasn’t helped someone to feel good about themselves when they’ve looked in the mirror? How can you discard the fact that for some people out there, a small boost to their self-esteem can mean the difference between falling into the depths of depression or a having a great day.”
I shift my head to just stare at him.
“What?” he asks.
“Do you always have this outlook on things? I mean, where did you knowing how to look at things through a different lens come from?”
He gives a sheepish shrug. “I don’t know. Reading. Listening to others. Watching way too many people’s lives end too soon in the ER forced me to look at the positive in everything. If I don’t, I’ll get pulled under the weight of it too.”
“It’s pretty amazing if you ask me.” His fingers on top of mine squeeze, and I go back to resting my head on his shoulder.
“Is that how they met?” I ask, thinking of his parents again. “Your mom and dad, I mean. Through their work?”
“The story they tell is that she saw him across the room at the hospital Christmas party. He was talking to two other women, but she said he locked eyes with her, and she knew he was the one.”
“Love at first sight?” I ask in disbelief.
“According to her, it was. It took him a few days to chase down who she was and find her. She says he took too long, but they’ve been together ever since.” There is so much affection in his voice, I can’t help but smile. “But that was thirty-something years ago.”
“I guess it’s good to know it’s really a thing that’s out there,” I murmur under my breath.
“I guess. Either that or it’s fate having you be at the right place at the right time.” He chuckles. “Who knows? It isn’t something I put much thought into. What about you? You said your mom lives in Michigan?”
“There isn’t much to tell. My father was never in the picture, so it was just us, and that woman is a whirlwind. I think she spent so much time living for me as a single mother that now she’s busy living for her. We aren’t as close as we used to be, but she fits me in when she has time.” I’m not bitter about it and love that she’s finally enjoying the life she deserves.
“Was she a fun mom?”
“I think unconventional is more like it. School wasn’t always mandatory but traveling was. Dress codes were the devil and wearing the loudest thing possible was more acceptable. Why take civics class when you can go out and protest? The type-A part of me bucked that type of upbringing, but I can appreciate it now.”
“Was it hard growing up without a dad?”
“It’s all I ever knew, so to me, it just was. Of course, I was desperate to have one so I could be like other kids, but my grandpa was always there, being my dad when my mom couldn’t be. I’ve recently wondered if that’s why I clung so tightly to my marriage for as long as I did. It died years before either one of us realized it. Now that I’ve gotten some distance, I realize it was more my fear of failing that kept us together more than anything.”
He chooses not to opine, and for that, I’m grateful. The cold water on my toes, the sun on my cheeks, and the warmth of his skin beside me are too perfect to follow that line of conversation.
Slade
“At least the guys are a little livelier now, huh?” I ask as Blakely and I try to figure out where we want to set our stuff for movie night under the stars.
Sounds luxurious. It is not.
A portable screen has been set up at the bottom end of an amphitheater. There are grass sections about ten feet wide that are then portioned off by a curved concrete step about a foot high before another section of grass. All in all, there are ten different levels
of grass seating for us to spread out on.
There is also a concession stand, complete with cocktails, set up to the side.
We make our way up the levels, my eyes already scoping out the highest one . . . and for good reason.
Testosterone Ted lifts a beer bottle in greeting as we pass him, and Gemma waves animatedly at me. Harley Hal shouts from where he’s sitting in a lawn chair while Baseball Bobbie lifts his hand in a mock salute.
We definitely bonded over the shots we took and the gripes we made about Horrible Heather. Gripes none of them would ever have voiced in front of their wives or girlfriends, but after a little alcohol, were totally fine expressing in front of me.
“I’m beginning to think us women need to break into the bar too.” She laughs. “Maybe then we’d all relax and bond some instead of always being on edge.”
I tug on her hand and pull her closer so I can kiss her right in the middle of everyone getting their stuff situated. This time, it isn’t for show. It’s because I want to.
Hell, I wanted to on the dock but told myself not to. She’s going to start thinking the only reason I asked to tag along is to have sex with her, and while I’m not going to lie and say that isn’t a bonus, it isn’t the real reason I came.
Sitting at home and waiting for Ivy to wake so that a decision could finally be made on whether I’d get to return to my residency was weighing too heavily on me. I needed a break.
She leans back when the kiss ends and the smile that lights up her eyes is worth everyone watching us right now. “What was that for?” she asks.
“For the dock.” It’s all I say before I grab her hand and lead her to the back of the makeshift movie theater.
It was for her silent comfort when I found out the latest on Ivy was more of the same. It was for her reminding me how lucky I am to have the parents I have and the upbringing I did, and for just sitting with me and watching the sunset with our fingers linked and no words spoken.
“You want all the way up here?” she asks as I lay out the blanket and then she tosses some pillows against the concrete wall for us to rest our backs against.
“Mm-hmm. It’s optimal viewing up here.”
She gives me a look that says she doesn’t buy it. And she shouldn’t because I don’t give a shit about watching the movie Horrible Bosses. I mean . . . the irony there is that Horrible Heather chose it.
Maybe she has a sense of humor after all.
It doesn’t really matter. I have other plans for us.
Like sneaking off to finish what we started earlier.
It takes a few minutes for everyone to get settled, and Blakely and I drape the huge Pendleton blanket over us. There’s a chill to the air tonight that makes her snuggle in closer against me, and I’ll take it.
Horrible Heather and her boyfriend, who I’ve nicknamed Dismal Dan since he refused to join us guys earlier today, stroll in right before the lights at the front of the amphitheater flicker to tell us the movie will be starting soon. Of course, it was perfectly planned for her to have center stage. Anyone who can’t see that is blind.
She gives her fake little finger wave to everyone, and then like a queen, she takes a seat in the middle. Perfect. She’s far away from us.
The lights dim completely, the movie begins to play, and people become settled.
“What happened today with her?” I ask quietly.
“Nothing that really matters.”
But there’s a discord in her tone that tells me differently. I lean over to whisper in her ear, and I love the hitch of her breath when I do. Affecting a woman is never a bad thing.
“I completed your dare this morning,” I murmur. “I do believe it’s my turn to pick the next one.”
Her laugh draws a few pairs of eyes up to where we’re seated. “You forget, I don’t accept dares.”
“I’ll convert you yet.” I run the tip of my nose around the shell of her ear and feel her body shudder in response. “You cold?” I ask when I know that shiver was so much more than that. “Come closer. I’ll keep you warm.”
And she does. We reposition so that she’s sitting between my spread legs, her back is to my front, and my chin is on her shoulder.
Of course, with my dick pressed against her ass, all I can think about is what we were doing when we were interrupted earlier.
My hands are on her waist, so I slide them beneath her bulky sweatshirt so that my thumb can rub aimlessly over the band of her yoga pants. She settles tighter against me, and her hands move to rest atop my forearms.
I let my hand linger there for a few minutes before walking my fingertips under the band of her pants.
“What are you doing?” she murmurs in mock protest, her body tensing as her fingers tighten on my arm.
“Making sure this movie is memorable,” I whisper in her ear. “And I can’t seem to keep my hands off you.”
Her only response is to push my hand lower in consent. And I do. I find my way between her parted thighs, hidden by the dark of the night and the thickness of the blanket.
I run my fingertips over the top of her mound in lazy circles before adding my other hand to the mix and sliding it below. Within seconds, I’ve parted her lips so that I can have a little better access.
I grit my teeth to hold back the groan I want to emit when I slide my fingers lower, finding her already wet and wanting.
Her contained moan is an aphrodisiac in and of itself. The sound embodies how I feel every time I look at her: want wrapped in need and desire forged with lust.
She coats my fingers so that when I slide back up to where my other hand still has her parted, I’m able to find purchase on her clit. I take my time with slow circles over the bundle of nerves. My movements are lazy, my intentions are singular.
There is a heightened awareness of what we’re doing, knowing we could be caught, and it has me noticing every little thing about her. The dig of her fingernails into my skin. The lift of her hips into my hand. The grind of her ass against my cock. The stuttered laboring of her breath. The scent of her arousal that’s like a pheromone egging me on.
I create a rhythm: play with her clit for a little bit, adding friction so it swells before slipping back down and into her center and fingering the rough patch of nerves there. All the while, my lips focus on the skin just below her ear, which I learned last night is one of her most sensitive erogenous zones.
So many places to get a response from. So many ways to bring her pleasure. So many means to get her to the end.
Do I want to flip her over and bury myself in her? Hell yes. But there’s also something incredible about knowing I can bring her to this point with my fingers alone. There’s something heady about testing her limits and seeing just how far she’s willing to go. And goddamn it, there’s something to be said about anticipating her coming undone.
Her breath becomes shorter pants, and I survey everyone near us to make sure no one is paying attention as I work her toward that edge, one finger at a time.
And just when she gets close, just when I can feel her body tense and my hand becomes soaked, I whisper in her ear, “I dare you not to come.”
Blakely
“You’re such a bastard,” I say as I push Slade from behind.
But I don’t mean it.
Not a single word of it.
Not when I’m riding that high of disbelief and desire that he left me with during the movie.
He walks in front of me, hands in his pockets, whistling a tune as if nothing happened, while I’m back here, slowly reliving every single adrenaline-filled moment of it.
Heck, I’ve never done something like that in a movie theater with a boyfriend before, never mind in an intimate setting where my boss and coworkers were so damn close.
How did no one notice?
How did no one mistake the laugh I barked out when Slade made that dare two seconds before I actually came for what it really was?
And oh my, did I come hard.
It had to be
the thrill of being caught that edged that orgasm. That, or it’s just what Slade does to me, and I’m not sure which one unnerves me more.
“You can call me a bastard all you want, but I do believe I won that dare.”
“You played dirty,” I say as I jog up next to him.
“Only when it’s fun and games,” he taunts me with his grin.
“What if we had gotten caught?”
“But we didn’t,” he says and takes the final steps up to the cabin.
“What would even make you think to pull that?” My straight and narrow brain has a hard time computing.
“Because, sometimes in life, Blakely, you need to do what you want, and right there in that amphitheater, watching that stupid movie, I wanted you. Simple as that. I couldn’t get you out of my head, so I wanted you to feel how I felt.”
“Oh.”
“There’s that word again.” He puts the key in the lock, twists, and then pushes the door open.
He turns to face me, the light inside haloing around his silhouette. There are so many things about him in this moment that hit me like a sucker punch in the gut, and I struggle with words as I try to fathom how this all happened so quickly—the bar, the napkin to-do list, him, and my growing feelings for him.
But I don’t have an answer.
It isn’t possible.
A lopsided smile slides onto his lips. “Don’t look now, Blakely,” he whispers as if we’re the only two people left on earth. “But you might just be figuring out how to howl at the moon.”
As I watch him watch me, I try to figure out if I should be annoyed with him for pushing my limits like he did tonight or love him for it. Our eyes hold across the short distance, nature a symphony in the night around us, as his grin widens and taunts.
With a pretend howl, which likely sounds pathetic, I launch myself at him. Lips and hands and bodies collide, as I jump into his arms.
He stumbles backward, caught off guard, but his laughter rings out as he kicks the door closed behind us.
