by J. Saman
Luke’s eyes are blank, staring out into space, his ice cream momentarily forgotten as it begins to drip down the side of his cone while he thinks on this. “Is your friend okay?”
“Yeah. They did a below-the-knee amputation and chemo, but he fought the cancer off, and now he manages brilliantly with a prosthetic.”
“Wow. That’s an amazing story. Do you still keep in touch?”
“Sometimes. He’s still over there, so it’s hard to match up our time. We email with some frequency though.”
He turns to me with a smile, taking up his ice cream again.
“What about you? How did you get into computers?”
His expression falls instantly before he turns away from me, staring unseeingly out into the wooded area just beyond the playpen. He doesn’t answer and the longer this silence continues, the more awkward it becomes between us.
He never answers personal questions.
Ever.
I don’t know if it’s a matter of trying to maintain his distance from me or if it’s something else entirely, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt, especially when I’m so desperate for more of him.
I’m also dying to ask him if he wants children one day, given that we’re sitting in a park watching them play. But I don’t dare go there. It’s a violation of our no strings, just fun policy. Have I mentioned how much I both hate and love that policy?
So I just ignore the building tension as I finish off the last of my ice cream and enjoy the beautiful day and the happy, healthy children playing.
And then his phone rings.
The second one that he always carries on him, but never uses unless he’s being called on it. I’ve never actually seen such a generic yet high-tech looking phone in my life. But he doesn’t answer it. He never answers it in front of me.
“We should go,” he says, staring at the screen briefly before sliding it back into his pocket. “I have something to take care of quickly, but hopefully it shouldn’t take too long, and then I’m all yours.”
Are you? Yeah, I don’t ask that question either.
“Great. Let’s go,” I say instead. Because nothing good can come of hearing him answer that question. At least not yet.
14
Luke
The predawn clouds have that reddish intensity that, at this time of year, can only indicate a storm. Normally that would piss me off, but it’s Sunday, and Ivy has a rare day off. She’s asleep in my bed, looking so damn beautiful and peaceful it makes me ache.
I’m jealous of her dreams. Of the swirling thoughts floating through her mind because they have her undivided attention all night.
If that makes me a pathetic bastard, then so be it.
In the two plus weeks she’s been mine, things have been blissfully quiet. That’s not exactly uncommon, but it sets me on edge, because they never stay that way for long. The longer I allow this to go on, the further I get sucked into her.
And she’s leaving in fourteen days.
That thought makes me cringe, because who the fuck am I kidding? I’m so gone on this girl it’s not even funny.
And that’s the thing. It’s not funny. It’s scary and wrong.
So very wrong, and I have no one to blame but myself. But I keep hoping that everything will take care of itself and that she won’t ask me the questions that have been lingering on the tip of her tongue these past weeks.
I know she can see through me.
I know she knows how crazy I am about her. But she doesn’t ask, and she’s stopped trying to push me away. She did once, and we had a really good fight about it, but I told her, yet again, that we knew what we were getting into.
And I do. I really do.
But that doesn’t mean I’m prepared for it.
That doesn’t mean that I’m not crafting a plan to try and coax her into believing that a year isn’t really all that long, and that somehow, we could make this work.
That we could have a shot at something great. Something real and lasting.
But I’m not stupid. I’m painfully aware of the reality. Which makes me an asshole for taking her into my bed night after night like I’m starving for her. Like I’m racing the clock that’s ticking in my head.
The further I allow this to go, the greater the strain in the end for both of us.
I just don’t know how to stop it. Fuck that, I don’t want to stop it.
Soon she’ll be gone. Soon, so very, very soon, all of this will blow up, and I’ll lose her.
But worse than that, I’ll hurt her. Because try as she might, I know she feels the same about me.
Oh, she denies it to an almost pathological degree, but it’s there.
I see it in the way she smiles when she doesn’t think I notice her watching me. I see it in the way she looks at me. I feel it when I’m inside her.
Every morning I wake up and say, just one more day and then I’ll stop this. I’ll let her go because what I’m doing to her is a fucking crime.
And then that day comes, and I have a new set of excuses.
Then there’s the other issue.
The one I have zero control over. And if she were to ever learn all that there is to know, she wouldn’t just be gone, she’d hate me.
What have I done?
The familiar prickling of panic begins to rise within, like the swell of a wave coming to shore. Ivy is the only one who has ever been able to make the waters recede, to keep them at bay. I need her. I need her now, and I might just need her forever, though there’s no way I can keep her that long.
“Ivy, baby,” I coo in her ear as I run my nose along her neck, savoring her unique fragrance.
“Mmmm,” she groans, pushing me away and making me smile.
“Ivy, wake up. I need to tell you something important.”
One of her slate-blue eyes opens, and she peers up at me before blinking twice. “What’s wrong?” she mumbles, rolling and stretching out like a cat.
“I need to tell you something important,” I repeat.
“You mentioned that already, Luke, but it’s dark out, and the fact that I don’t have to be up early tells me that this better be bloody life-altering or you’re in trouble.”
I chuckle, burying myself against her, my nose and mouth perched between her neck and the top of her shoulder. “Happy anniversary.”
“Pardon?” She’s adorably confused, her voice still thick with sleep, her hair tousled and sexy as hell.
“Today is our two-week sex anniversary. Two weeks ago today we had sex for the very first time since meeting again.” I’m smiling like a bastard, waiting patiently for her to lay into me, which no doubt she will.
“Wow, that’s unbelievably romantic and clearly worth waking me before the bloody sun. You should have that printed on a card or something; I’m sure it would sell like mad.”
I laugh, my chest rumbling against her body, her sweet perfect breasts crushed against me.
“Actually, I was going to hire an airplane to write it across the sky.”
“Ooh, I hope the message will include my name. First and last, of course.”
“Of course, how else would you know it’s for you? You think we’re the only two people in Seattle celebrating a two-week sex anniversary?”
“That’s a valid point. I’m sure people all over the world are being woken by their sex partner to celebrate the momentous occasion.”
“Is that what you are? My sex partner?” I raise my head, peering down into her beautiful, smiling face. “That sounds awfully clinical, Doctor.”
“What would you call us then?”
She’s baiting me. I know it, and she knows it, and I can’t answer that for her.
But I’m so insanely in love with her. There. I am. I admit it.
I don’t even know how or when it happened, but it did. I look at her and I feel a happiness I have never ever known. She’s light, a glowing, radiant sun. Pure energy, the most powerful force I’ve ever encountered.
A
nd I need her. Just a little while longer.
I know it’s selfish. I do, but I can’t stop.
“I’d call you mine, but that’s a ridiculous moniker.” I cringe at my words, waiting for her to pounce, but she just looks up at me quietly blinking.
“I guess that’s true; we don’t really need a title or name anyway. It only complicates matters.” She thinks this is just sex to me.
It’s supposed to just be sex to you!
Right. And as much as I’ll hate myself for this later, she still needs to know.
I shift my body so I’m hovering over her, my hands bracketing her head.
“It’s been sixteen days since I showed up on that bench outside your building. The best sixteen days of my life, hands down.” I stop there, but I’m aching to continue. I can’t. She’ll end it now, and I’ll miss these last fourteen days with her.
Ivy’s eyes sparkle with a sheen of unshed tears as she reaches up to run her fingers along my jaw. “Me too,” she whispers, almost reluctant to utter the words.
“Hey, none of that.” She blinks a few times, trying to hold her tears back. “We’re okay, right?”
She nods, but doesn’t look all that convinced.
“Not that I’m complaining or anything, but you realize you’ve only had a series of stolen moments with me, right? I mean, I work insane hours, and I’m rather moody when I’m hungry and tired, which is often and . . .” she pauses, deliberating her next words. “And I don’t know you all that well. You don’t know me all that well either, because all we’ve had are these stolen moments.”
She’s nervous. Ivy chews on the corner of her lip when she is. I doubt she’s even aware that she does it. She’s afraid and so am I, but I can’t change our reality.
“Stolen moments with you are the only kind worth having.”
Those tears that had been threatening begin to fall, and I bring my mouth down to capture them before lowering my naked body against hers.
“Is this real?” she whispers against my lips. “I keep expecting to wake up and be gone. This is all a dream. Pretty soon, we’ll both have to wake from it.”
“I feel the same way.”
“So if this were an eighties movie, they’d start playing the cheesy music and we’d kiss and smile to it?”
“Hell yeah. The cheesy music is imperative to our story. How else would we know this was the point where I throw you the epic one-liners?”
“That’s a legitimate point.” She squirms a little beneath me, and I can’t help but love the hell out of that. But she’s still apprehensive—so very unsure of this. I am too, way more than she could ever be. “And you’re sure about the whole continuing this with me thing?”
No.
“Baby, if I wasn’t, why would I ever have agreed to try that disgusting Vegemite shit? No one in their right mind would ever do that unless they were getting regular sex. It’s probably the only way anyone ever eats it.”
Ivy laughs, smacking my shoulder playfully. “Vegemite is what makes us Aussies big, beautiful, and strong. It’s a national staple.”
“I will not argue that point, but it is the grossest thing I’ve ever eaten, and I pledged for a frat my freshman year. That’s all I’m saying.”
She smiles wide, her eyes luminous in the minimal light filtering in from the street. “Do I want to ask?”
“No, you’ll think less of me, and I make it a point never to have naked women think less of me.”
“I see.” Ivy tilts her head to the side, her hair fanned out across my pillow. “Then how about you give me more of you?”
“Like this type of more?” I roll my hips into her and her eyes flutter shut as her lips part in a silent moan. I love it when she does that. It’s so goddamn sexy.
“Well, it is our two-week sex anniversary, right? We should celebrate that.”
“Whatever you say, darlin’.”
My mouth dips to hers, and since it’s early and we don’t have anywhere to be, I take my time kissing her.
It was never something I ever really cared about. I mean, I like kissing. Who doesn’t? But it always led to other things—more pleasurable and crucial things. But with Ivy, I really can’t get enough of her mouth. It’s the most sensual thing.
I slide inside of her slowly, wanting to prolong this moment.
She is so perfect to me. So absolutely devastatingly perfect.
There is nothing in the world as good as being inside Ivy. Nothing like watching her as I touch and kiss her body. Watching her come undone beneath me, knowing I’m the one who is making her feel that way.
I could be with her forever and never tire of it. I’ll always crave more of her sounds and this feeling.
I lust after nothing more than to live in this suspended reality with her, to prolong this dream instead of living the harsh reality where I lose her—where I’m nowhere near good enough to deserve or keep her.
Where she leaves.
We make love, and it’s as new as the feelings and sensations swirling around inside my chest. And when we’re done, when we’re both smiling and sweaty and content, we watch the first of the downpour fall, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets.
“This storm is oddly beautiful, though I still think watching the snow fall is my favorite. It’s not something we had back home. In fact, I never saw any snow until I moved up to Seattle,” Ivy whispers, enveloped in my arms. “But I like watching the rain and wind whipping past your window from the comfort of your bed.”
“I never liked the snow until I moved out here. Or the rain for that matter.”
She turns in my arms, away from the window to face me.
“Why not? Does it snow a lot in Oklahoma?”
Shit. Here come the personal questions.
“Not a lot, but it does snow on occasion in the winter.”
“What was it like there, growing up?”
My body tenses instantly, and I know she feels it because her brows form a small V shape between them. “Hot in the summer and cold in the winter.” It’s a shit answer, but we are talking about the weather, aren’t we? “I’m going to go start some coffee.” I kiss the corner of her lips. “Do you want tea?”
Ivy frowns, silently examining me as I slide away from her, pulling on my boxers and sweatpants. I’m going through the motions of getting dressed, but really, I’m cursing myself and waiting for the inevitable.
What would she do if I told her the truth about my past? Would she run away screaming? Would she be afraid of me? God, that thought makes me sick.
“Yes, please,” she says.
What the hell is she saying yes to? Did I ask her question?
I turn back to her.
“I’d love some tea.”
She gets up out of bed and heads straight for the restroom, shutting the door with a quiet click behind her.
Our perfect stolen moment over. And I know it’s only a sign of things to come.
15
Ivy
* * *
Rolling my head around, I try in vain to release the tight knots from my neck. Eight hours of non-stop trauma has a way of knocking me on my ass, but the outcome was definitely worth a crick or two.
An eighteen-year-old boy with two gunshot wounds to the chest. A car accident involving a toddler, and a fifteen-year-old who overdosed.
Holy hell, that was horrendous.
But he survived, and hopefully this was enough of a wake-up call to get him off the streets and away from drugs. I am still hopeful despite all the rubbish I’ve seen in my years of fixing kids.
I am not one to give up on people.
That thought makes me want to laugh for some reason, though it feels anything but humorous. I was blissfully distracted for my entire shift, but now that it’s over, my thoughts automatically stray back to Luke.
It’s only been a little more than two weeks, but he’s all I see, hear, or think about.
He’s everywhere all the time, and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to thin
k about anything but him.
I should be focusing on my upcoming fellowship. I should be studying in my free time and doing nothing but working every second of every day in preparation for the grueling and demanding year to come.
And though I am doing some of that, all I seem to want to do is be with Luke.
We’ve spent nearly every day of these two weeks together, even if it’s just a passing moment we steal like it might be our last. I sleep at his place if I’m not working nights, and he wakes me up at mine if I am.
He comes over after work, and I do the same, and when we’re together, we’re the only two people in the universe.
I’m mad about him.
I’m also the world’s biggest liar, because I’m head over heels in love with him.
And that’s just a dog’s breakfast, right? I mean, I’m leaving, and he’s not following. This is supposed to be fun and nothing more. It’s supposed to be fun, dammit! Though I know he feels something for me, I highly doubt it’s a tenth of what I feel for him.
Small soft hands cover my eyes from behind me.
I’ve always hated this trick—even as a child—and it’s not something someone relishes when they’re standing in the Emergency Department of a hospital. But then I catch the scent of musk emanating from her wrists and I smile so big, my face hurts.
“You derro wanker,” I say, and my sister Sophia laughs, removing her hands from my eyes and jumping in front of me.
“Ha. I gotcha, you nubby cunt.”
Without warning I launch myself at her, squeezing the life from her small body.
“I can’t believe you came up a day early,” I squeal. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow avro.”
“I finished up early with a client and said, fuck it, I’m going to rain on my little sister’s parade.”
Sophia is wearing her usual all black with bright red lipstick. She is big into the rockabilly style with her short, bleach-blonde hair, done à la Marilyn Monroe from Some Like It Hot and black horn-rimmed glasses complete with rhinestones.
