Cutting In

by Julia Wolf

When we got in bed, Will set his alarm, then pulled me into his arms.

  “Are you sure you have to get up early?” I asked.

  He chuckled softly. “I kinda do. But you can stay here and sleep.”

  “You trust me not to rob the joint?”

  “You pretty much own me, so there’s nothing I have that’s not already yours.”

  “Will…” I sighed.

  He slipped his warm, broad hand under my shirt and cupped my breast. “I can’t believe I get to keep you.”

  I squirmed under his touch. “I’m going to cling to you like a spider monkey.” When his thumb rubbed over my nipple, I arched my back. “I thought you had to go to sleep.”

  He nuzzled my neck and pushed me onto my back. “Mmm...I do. But I have this gorgeous woman in my bed distracting me.”

  And suddenly I was wide awake, with my legs around his waist and my mouth on his. I could really get used to this.

  Fifteen

  Will

  I woke up with Anna half-sprawled on top of me and it was torture leaving her. Five in the morning came far too quickly, especially considering we’d stayed up half the night having sex. Not surprisingly, I couldn’t seem to get enough of her.

  After I showered, I went back to my bedroom to grab my clothes, only to find Anna sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing her eyes.

  “Why am I awake?” she asked, her voice scratchy.

  I chuckled. “That’s a good question. Go back to sleep.”

  “But your bed is lonely without you in it.”

  “You have no idea how badly I want to say fuck it and crawl back under the covers with you. But those arepas won’t bake themselves.”

  She stood up and stretched, her T-shirt riding dangerously high on her thighs. “Can I come with you?”

  I cocked my head to the side. “Really?”

  She sauntered toward me, her eyelids heavy and so very sexy. “Really. I don’t have to be at work until eleven. I could just hang out and watch. I promise not to get in the way.”

  I grabbed her ass and pulled her against me. “You have to wear a hairnet. Still in?”

  She grinned. “Didn’t you know? I look fly as hell in a hairnet. I’m so in.”

  I let her go and we both got dressed—Anna sadly put on a bra and pants after spending most of the weekend without either—and headed over to my bakery.

  I had five employees and they had beaten me to work, as usual. A couple of them worked two jobs and were up all night, so they liked to get in early, do their work, and go home to sleep. I’d learned long ago that good, responsible staff was hard to come by, so I tried to be as flexible as possible.

  There was a steady hum of Spanish in the air when we walked in, and the hum only got louder when they noticed I had company. My employees were all women originally from South America and they were always trying to marry me off to a cousin or neighbor. I knew they’d be asking a million questions about Anna tomorrow, but for now I went around and introduced her to everyone, then set her up with a cup of coffee and a pile of doughnut balls.

  I went about my usual business, checking orders, stopping by each prep station, and then I got in there with everyone else and baked. We had an efficient system; everyone had their job and their part to play. I was never unaware of Anna’s presence, but she stayed quiet in her spot and watched as I worked. I kind of loved having her there, knowing she was interested in this part of me. Considering what a big commitment my career was, her interest and support was a damn good thing. A necessity even.

  When our first round of orders was ready to deliver, I checked on Anna.

  “How you doing over here?”

  She smiled. “I’m good. I’ve got my balls and the best view of the best show I’ve ever seen.”

  I laughed. “You up for a ride?”

  She stood up. “Let’s go!”

  We drove the bakery’s van around Baltimore, delivering our fresh-baked goods to food trucks and markets and mom-and-pop restaurants. My regular customers were all pretty thrilled I’d brought Anna along. And for her part, she seemed to really love meeting them. She even tried out some broken Spanish.

  When we got back in the van after our last stop, I said, “I’m going to have to speak Spanish to you more often.”

  “You won’t hear me complain, mi amor.”

  “Te amo, bellísima.”

  She rubbed my forearm. “My Spanish is rusty, but even I know what that means. I love you too, Will.”

  When we got back to the bakery, Anna had to go to work. Saying goodbye to her felt like ripping a limb off.

  I tipped her chin up and kissed her softly. “Do I get to see you tonight?”

  “Remember? Spider monkey? You won’t be able to get rid of me.”

  I kissed her again. “That’s the plan.”

  “Then, yes. I’ll come by after work.”

  “I’ll cook you dinner.”

  She bit her lip, then smiled. “I’ll bring the music.”

  After another hug and more than a few kisses, Anna walked away. I watched her go, walking that signature walk, her head high, shoulders back, and an extra swing in her hips solely for my benefit.

  When I’d let her go after our first night together, I’d felt a stir of panic in my gut. I couldn’t seem to get myself to believe that I’d see her again. But today, even when she rounded the corner and was out of sight, I was light, free. Because I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this wasn’t an ending.

  Ten years ago, we’d both thought we put a period at the end of our friendship. Turns out, it was only an ellipsis. The first part was just the beginning. The part that came after the pause? Well. If the last few weeks were any indication, it was going to be the longest, dirtiest, most passionate, most loving run-on sentence ever. In fact, if I had my way, we’d throw that fuckin’ period away because now that I had my Annie back, I never wanted this sentence to end.

  Epilogue

  Anna

  “How can you only have two pans?”

  I hopped up on the counter to peer into the box Will was packing. “Do I need more than two? I really only ever use one of them.”

  He looked alarmed. “You use one pan?”

  “Hey, I’m not a complete savage. I have a muffin tin too!”

  “Annie.”

  I smiled. I knew what was coming. “Yes, Will?”

  “Have you ever actually used the muffin tin?”

  I huffed. “How could you ask me such a thing?”

  He stepped between my legs, squeezing my waist. “Have you?”

  I leaned into him, and against his lips I whispered, “Never.”

  He rested his forehead on mine. “Do you know how much that pains me?”

  Lifting his shirt, I ran my palms up his chest. “You have enough cookware for ten families. I think we’ll be fine.”

  We had lasted two months with our conflicting schedules before both of us realized it wasn’t working out. Will told me I was moving in with him and I called my landlord the next day to break my lease. Going to sleep and waking up with him was a basic need. I couldn’t live without it. I couldn’t live without him.

  “Are you trying to distract me?” He tangled his hands in my hair and kissed down the side of my neck.

  “You’re very distractible.”

  I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. We were supposed to be packing up the last of my things to move to Will’s place, but something about the finality of it had me emotional, and I needed him.

  “Too bad we already moved your bed,” he said against my neck.

  “Where we’re going, we don’t need beds.”

  “Are you referencing Back to the Future while my dick is pressed against you?”

  I bit my lip. “Maybe.”

  “I really fucking love you, Annie.” Then he kissed me, and my world started spinning again. This, us, together, made everything right. And this was only the beginning.

  People change and grow over time. W
ill and I sure as hell had done a lot of growing. We’d turned into people who weren’t afraid. We weren’t afraid to love each other with everything we had, and we weren’t afraid that we’d be loved back, even if one of us had the propensity to quote movies in the throes of passion.

  Our past was important and I never wanted to forget loving Will as a kid, even with the pain that had come with it. Our present was beautiful, and loving Will was as easy as breathing. And our future? I could almost see it, a long road laid out in front of us, fading into the horizon. Maybe there’d be marriage, maybe children. I couldn’t be sure. But what I did know was that I’d never run away, even if there was pain—and inevitably there would be. Because as long as Will kept loving me with all my quirks, and kept me flush with doughnut balls, I’d face anything with him, hand in hand, side by side.

  Cut Loose

  Coming May 31, 2018

  Julia Wolf

  One

  At the end of a long day the only thing on my mind was getting an ice-cold beer served to me by a tall drink of water.

  Instead of going home after work, I parked and walked across the street to my favorite watering hole. At seven on a weeknight, when I stepped inside, the dim bar was still pretty quiet.

  Bar Royal was a step or two above a dive bar. The exposed brick walls and wide plank floors gave a real sense of history to the place. There were no fancy drinks, just a wide variety of mostly local beer and mid-shelf liquor. The bathrooms were a bit grungy, and I’d heard the men’s room was covered from floor to ceiling with dirty Sharpie art—though I’d never ventured inside to see it for myself.

  On the way to the bar, I smiled and waved at the old-timers who spent most evenings parked in the corner reminiscing about the good old days in Baltimore. Bar Royal had been called something else years ago, and then something else years before that. I had a feeling these same men had stayed in the same corner as the bar—and the world—changed around them.

  “Frannie-girl! Good to see your pretty face in here, hon. Classes up the joint,” called one of the old men, Steve. He must have been in his eighties and had the accent of a man who’d lived in “Bawl-mer” his whole life.

  “You’re too sweet, Steve. Be good!” I waved again.

  A group of twenty-something guys with slicked back hair, wearing business attire, sat at the end of the bar. I took a seat at an empty section away from them and tried to not look in their direction. I came to drink a cold brew and eye fuck a certain bartender, not to make mind-numbing small talk with douchey guys in suits.

  I tapped my nails on the wide, lacquered wooden bar and slumped when I didn’t see him behind the bar. Instead, a perky little blonde mixed the drinks. She held up a finger to tell me she’d be right with me.

  “Hey, what can I get you?” the bartender asked when she finally approached.

  “Whatever Sam Adams you have on tap. Surprise me.” I eyed her as she filled a tall glass with golden, foamy beer. She was cute, in an all-American cheerleader kind of way—a type I’d never been.

  “Here ya go,” she said, sliding my glass toward me on a cardboard coaster.

  “Thanks. I’m Frannie, by the way. I’m here way too often, which leads me to believe you must be new since we haven’t met.”

  She nodded and beamed at me, exposing the whitest, straightest teeth I’d ever seen. “Hi, Frannie. Cute name. I’m Val. I just started this week.”

  “Cool. So do they have you working alone your first week?”

  Just as I asked the question, a wall of a man came out of the back carrying a case of liquor. I didn’t even pay attention to Val’s answer, transfixed watching the muscles in his forearms flex as he carried the heavy load past me.

  “Okay, well, let me know if you need anything else,” Val said, then skipped—literally skipped—to the next waiting customer.

  I thought of myself as a girls girl, but maybe I was only a my girls girl because my eyelid twitched from how hard I had to work at resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

  I drank my beer and watched the big, burly man behind the bar unload the case of liquor bottles. When he bent down I leaned forward. When he stood up I leaned back. There was nothing casual or subtle about my observation, because when it came to him, I couldn’t seem to play it cool.

  He turned around suddenly with an empty crate in his arms. I averted my eyes to my beer, but when he passed me, he paused until I looked up and met his soft brown eyes.

  “Hi, Frannie,” he said in his quiet, rumbly voice.

  My cheeks were on fire. I never blushed, never got embarrassed, but this man flustered me in ways that were unfamiliar. “Hi, James.”

  He stared down at me for longer than socially acceptable, and I loved it. His eyes followed my movements as I took a long drink of my beer, then licked the drops of cool liquid from my lips.

  “So…” he started, but didn’t say anything else.

  I tried to laugh at how ridiculous it was that neither of us could think of something to say beyond a basic greeting, but instead of coming out as a cute tinkle of feminine laughter, I snorted like a goddamn pig. My hands flew up to cover my burning face.

  “Go, just go!” I mumbled. “Please allow me the dignity of dying from my extreme awkwardness alone.”

  A deep rumble of laughter reached my ears.

  “Okay, Frannie,” he said before walking away.

  When I peeked between my fingers he was talking to a smiling Val. She touched his bicep and I wanted to leap across the bar and yank her stupid blond ponytail.

  I turned away from the bar, disgusted with myself. Six months ago I had one horrible tumble in the sack with James. He pounded me so hard and fast I thought I’d go right through the bed onto the floor. But somehow I was still smitten with him. I’d never been smitten in my whole life. I didn’t even like the sound of the word! Yet here I was, ready to gouge out the eyes of a perfectly nice woman who had the audacity to touch him.

  I swallowed the rest of my beer, which now tasted warm and bitter—but maybe that was just me—threw some money on the bar, and walked out.

  My apartment building stood directly across the street, my walk of shame home mercifully short.

  I threw the door to my apartment open and kicked off my shoes. Then I remembered how I’d been raised, so I picked them up and put them neatly on the shoe rack in the closet.

  “Honey, I’m home,” I called out.

  “Hello, my darling. I’m in the kitchen!”

  I went into the kitchen where my roommate, Laurel, was in the midst of creating another culinary masterpiece. Girlfriend was a successful corporate attorney, master chef, and the funniest person I knew.

  “What are you making me tonight?” I peered over her head.

  “Tonight I’ve prepared grilled salmon topped with avocado salsa, because you know us millennials and avocados. Can’t even buy a house because we keep buying avocados! And on the side we have jasmine rice seasoned with lime and cilantro. Bon appétit, mademoiselle,” Laurel said in her best snooty waiter voice, not even breaking character during her millennial rant.

  “Why are you the best? You win roommate of the year!” We took our plates full of delicious food to the living room and put them on the coffee table, then sat side by side on the floor. We had a perfectly good dining room table, but we usually preferred carpet picnics.

  I’d lived with Laurel for a little over a year and she’d been the best roommate I ever had, hands down. I found her through an online ad, and when we met in person, we took one look at each other’s T-shirts and knew we were a match. Hers said “I speak fluent sarcasm” and mine said “I’m late because I didn’t want to be here.” It felt like we were long-lost sisters.

  In fact, on more than one occasion we’d told strangers we were twins just to see their reactions. We found it hilarious to watch them glance from pocket-sized Laurel to Amazonian me, back to sunshine-blond Laurel, then to dark-haired, Latina me again. I could almost see them doing the math in their hea
ds, trying to add up how we could even be distantly related, let alone twins.

  “I went to the bar.” I stuffed a piece of salmon in my mouth.

  “When? Just now?”

  I nodded. “I saw him.”

  She cocked her eyebrow. “Beardo? How’s that hunk of burnin’ love doing?”

  “We don’t call him Beardo anymore. James, remember?” I speared a piece of avocado with my fork. “He’s as hunky as ever. But I kind of, sort of snorted in front of him.”

  “Snorted? Whaaaat?” Laurel cried.

  I told her the sad tale of our brief encounter. Since we usually went to Bar Royal together, she’d witnessed my interactions with James many times. I always felt uncharacteristically shy around him, but never before had I snorted.

  “I think we’ll have to move, find a new bar, probably change our names and wear disguises.”

  “Frananas, I don’t get you at all. You had bad sex with this dude. Like, the worst sex ever. Why does he still make you crazy like this?”

  Ah yes, “Frananas,” the nickname coined by one of my best friends, Rachel. One drunken night, thinking herself clever, she combined Frannie and bananas. In my wildest dreams, I never imagined three years later people would still be calling me that. Truthfully, though, I liked the nickname, just a tiny bit.

  “I don’t know! He’s so fucking handsome, with those chocolate brown eyes and that ginger beard. I want to run my hands through it whenever I see him. And before the jackhammering started, he had such potential. His kissing skills were off the charts. His oral skills could use some work, but what he lacked in technique he made up for in enthusiasm. And god, Laurel, his dick…”

  “I know, I know, beautiful, giant dick. We all know! But if he doesn’t know how to use it, what’s the point? It’s tragic, really.”

  I sighed dramatically. “You’re right. I’ve got to move on, get over him, and get under someone else.”