Better Than Your Ex
Page 10
My body rose as the sun did. Higher and higher until finally he whispered in my ear that it was okay. I could give it to him. All of it. Then everything went dark.
I came back into myself with a laugh. “Let’s go home.”
We did. He showed me how sturdy the walls of the jet were. How soundproof the bedroom on that sleek little plane was. And he waved hello to Gran as if his fingers didn’t smell like me.
Exertion wasn’t the reason I panted as we climbed the stairs.
“Okay.”
Against my door. It hurt my back and my hips. I threw my head back, once, just a little too hard. But that was just fine. He always made the pain worth it.
The indents he left in my ass. The burn of pulled hair. The tightness, the panic, that came with his hand around my neck. The burn of thighs spread wider and wider than they ever had been before.
Oh, he was worth it. Every moment. Every second. Every whimper I pushed into his mouth and every time my fingers curled and clawed into him, an attempt to find a safe space. Something to hold onto.
We showered together after we tumbled into my apartment. Laughed and kissed and he laughed when I moaned every time he found another place that was sore and tired.
He made dinner while I unpacked, and we yelled at each other across the apartment over the sounds of cooking and a New Orleans DJ’s mix that he knew I would love.
I laughed when he twerked. He bit his lip when I did.
That was different. I was different. So different from that girl that snuck into the club and met a man and loved him through the night and all the storms we made.
He was plating dinner. Crispy polenta and chicken thighs cooked under a weight so the skin would crunch like a chip. Brussel sprouts with almost as much bacon as Brussels. I opened wine.
His phone rang.
He didn’t turn. Just saw my face and scooped more Brussel sprouts onto my plate. I made another face and he gave me more polenta.
His phone rang again.
And I heard mine ringing. Muffled by all the shit in my purse.
We both froze.
His phone was there on the counter. He didn’t reach for it so I did.
So…It’s happening.
O’Shea’s text would have made me laugh at any other time. But…
“We should put some shoes on, huh?” Cahir slid our dinner into the oven.
There was humor in that too. I would have thrown it into the trash. What was a little more waste?
More than shoes. I had to dress. The sheer bra and panties, the satin robe. Not really hospital appropriate. We stood in the closet together and pulled things off hangers and out of drawers. When we were finished, we looked at each other.
It didn’t look like we were going to the hospital. We could have been college students-grad students- on the way to grab coffee after a long night of drinking.
He helped me into my jacket. He grabbed his keys. There was the key to his car. To my home. To his home. His office. His world on one ring. He’d take his whole world with him to the hospital. And that rose quartz. A real piece of me in the room with him.
That was good. That was fine. Everything was fine.
“I’m an idiot for asking this.” The timbre of his voice matched my mood. “You can say you aren’t sure. That you aren’t ready.”
“The paperwork-”
“C’mon, Cash.”
He was right. Paperwork could be shredded. But placing my hand in the one he offered to me. That was binding. Of all the things we did to prepare, that simple gesture would be the most real.
My hand rose over his. Not even an inch separated it. It shook. And my eyes met his.
Also by Jimi Gaillard-Jefferson
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