He sang quietly, the words to a popular song, just loud enough for the two of them to hear. He sang about regret, and how she was the only thing he’d ever done right, but how he’d ruined everything and didn’t know how he’d go on. She’d never really listened to the lyrics before, but hearing them now, it was the most depressing song she’d ever heard.
She sniffled as her tears began to wet the front of his shirt.
“Shh, don’t cry. Not tonight. Let’s make a deal.” He held her close. He stopped singing but continued to sway. “No party-poopers tonight. It’s happy hour. Let’s not waste my hard-earned buzz.” She sniffed again, but nodded in agreement. She could use a one-night reprieve from the heartache that had been making them both miserable.
“Uh-oh!” He gasped in alarm.
“What now?” She sniffled, wondering how anything could be worse than it was.
“Shooot!” He exhaled, long and loud, exaggerating the way she talked. “I just realized!”
She looked up at him, worried.
One side of his mouth quirked up as he devoured her with his eyes.
He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “I already messed you up.”
He said it as if she didn’t already know. She started to argue with him about his terminology but he didn’t give her the chance.
“If I m-mess you up again, it won’t er-really be m-messing you up,” he said with his lips against her cheek, drawing out the words, slowly. He leaned back to look at her, his eyes full of lust. “I’ll do it better this time, I promise. The way I should have done it the first time.”
“Are you kidding?” He’d just told her he didn’t think they should be together. She knew he would be back to his drive her away tactics come morning, and the hangover.
He rubbed himself against her. “Does that feel like I’m kidding?”
She gaped at his nerve.
He buried his nose in her hair and sniffed, deliberately. “You smell so good.” He took her hands and started pulling her toward the mat, walking backward, coaxing her along the way.
She wished she was drunk too. It would be easier—not that she was afraid, or freaked out about what might happen. She’d been so sure she’d be able to get past all that when she took matters into her own hands—at least she’d hoped she would when she followed through with most of her plan.
She’d wanted Paul for months. He’d stirred feelings in her she’d never experienced before, but her memories, the self-imposed, life-long terror about anything sexual. But she knew what to expect now, and from the man she loved more than life itself.
She wasn’t terrified anymore—maybe a little nervous—maybe a lot nervous. But she wasn’t debilitated by fear anymore . . . except about what Paul would do in the morning if she allowed anything to happen.
She saw the bottle of bourbon on the table and reached for it, thinking it would help, but his arm was longer. He got to it first and took a drink. He made a face as it burned going down. He hissed through his teeth, and then held the bottle up for her to see.
“Bookers. One hundred and thirty proof. Do you know the odds of finding a bottle of this shit, here in this stupid country?” he asked, and swallowed another gulp. He hissed again before offering her the bottle.
“One thirty?” She thought better of the idea and shook her head.
“Good girl. See, you’re a good girl, too good for me.” He swigged again and headed toward the mat with her still in tow and bottle in hand. The arm with the bourbon wound around her neck, and the next thing she knew, his mouth collided into hers like it was the last kiss he’d ever have. His free hand went directly to her breast.
“Mm!” he grunted, and he squeezed. “Know how long I’ve wanted to do that? Since the night of the dance contest.”
“Ow!” she mouthed breaking contact with his mouth. “A little eager there. You really are too drunk for this.” She tried to move his hand, but he didn’t cooperate. If anything, it made him squeeze her even harder.
“I know. It’s ga-reat, isn’t it?” he said, happy with himself as he came up for air, his hand had gone from the almost painful squeezing to a more tender fondling. “Inebriation makes it so much easier to ignore the conscience, and all the other crap.”
“That’s my point. You won’t think it’s so great tomorrow, when it wears off.” She tried to move his hand again, but he just moved it down to her butt and squeezed again, blowing out a quiet whistle to demonstrate his approval. The bottle in his other hand tipped, sloshing a few drops of the alcohol down her back making her jerk. The movement pushed her breasts against him.
“Mm!” he grunted again, appreciatively. “Screw tomorrow! Ta-rust me, I’m not going to re-memm-ber a thing.” He set the bottle down on the deck next to the mat and almost fell over, laughing at himself. He raised his finger in the air. “Cor-rection! Not, screw tomorrow, screw my wife! Now!” He laughed again. “It rhymes.”
“What rhymes?” It was hard to keep up with him once his brain got going. “Correction, erection, Rhees, Paul.”
“Our names don’t rhyme.” She actually giggled at his drunken logic.
“They should,” he whispered in her ear before he stuck his tongue inside.
She winced and tried not to giggle at him again. She didn’t want to encourage him. “You’re cute when you’re drunk.”
“I’m cute e-ven when I’m not da-runk.” He pouted for a second, but immediately snapped out of it and into another mood, or thought, with excitement. “I should write you a poem. I haven’t done that since high school English. I always thought it was a joke, so I only wrote stupid poems, but I don’t want to write you a stupid poem.”
She laughed. “Of course, but that would be romantic, and you don’t do romantic, although you do an excellent job of pretending at it.” She put her arms around his waist to help hold him steady. It felt really good, the way it was supposed to, as she gazed up at him, thinking about how romantic he could be.
He rolled his eyes. “Not romantic, just good at getting into panties. I always get what I want—cuz I’m a selfish prick.”
“Shh.” She put her finger over his mouth. “You’re not. You were romantic for me, many, many times, and you didn’t do it to get into my panties. Even when I wanted you to, you refused to get into my panties.”
“Until I did.” His eyes cooled and grew a shade darker, the pain and regret suddenly apparent in his expression. They stared, holding each other, both regretting their part in the way it had happened. He finally smirked, took her chin in his hand, and squeezed, forcing her lips to pucker up. He gave her pucker a quick smooch and the next thing she knew, they were on the mat, Paul on top of her, gazing in her eyes again.
“I want a do-over. It wouldn’t ree-ally be a do-over—can’t have do-overs—but I can do it better this time. It won’t be as messy this time.” He grinned that crooked grin that she always thought made him look so sexy.
She inhaled sharply when he pressed his erection against her through their clothes.
“You got a problem with that?”
Rhees didn’t respond. All she could do was stare back.
“I asked, Do. You. Have. A problem. With that?” His eyes bore into hers. She shook her head, watching him warily.
“But you will, in the morning.” It came out as a whisper.
“I said, screw tomorrow, screw the morning,” he murmured in her ear. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He set it on the mat at the side of her head, next to the bourbon. “We’re both good at pretending. I need to pretend tonight. I er-really need to.”
She covered her eyes with her hands.
“Are you fa-reaking out on me, again?” he asked, rejection dripped in his tone.
“No! Not about what you want to do, but yes, what you’re talking
about. I’m not sure I’m ready to face you—sober—if we really do this.”
He laughed and then opened his wallet and started fiddling with the contents as if he hadn’t heard her. “I stopped carrying these puppies when I promised to be your boyfriend, as a deterrent because you’re not on the pill, but after our dee-lightful con-soo-may-tion episode, I realized I’d better start carrying again—before I got you pregnant.” The last word rolled off his tongue like a dirty word.
He turned to look at her, his expression suddenly serious and reflective. “I have had the thought—maybe I should. It would be the purr-fect excuse to nawt do the right thing.” He rolled to the side of her and held the two condoms in his fingers, before her face. “That would give me one more reason to jus-ti-fy being selfish enough to try and keep you, even though I know I’d just be screwing up your l-life, because that’s just the kind of guy I am.” He scowled.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re nawt keeping up! I’m talking about making you realize what a miss-take you’ve made. You’re sick, and I’m trying to get you help, but once you’re not sick, you won’t need me anymore. ”
She almost laughed, though it wasn’t funny, at all. “I thought you were going to leave me, but you’re trying to get me to leave you?”
“I said that already. Why aren’t you listening to me? You said, I’m only using sending you to Keene’s facility, as an excuse to get er-rid of you. I don’t want to get er-rid of you, I want you to get er-rid of me—for your own good. When you get your head right, you’ll realize you want a n-niice man to take care of you, instead of . . . me.” He nearly cried as he explained it, but he was on his roller coaster again and she could barely keep up.
“In the meantime—” he flashed his eyebrows up and down, “—we should take advantage of these.” He waved the foil packets across her line of vision again. He was animated—crazy. “And our marriage certifff-i-cate.”
“Paul, I need you to slow down. I think your brain is processing faster than your mouth.”
“O-kaaay. You asked for it.” He laughed before he planted his lips on hers and kissed her like there was no tomorrow, but Rhees knew there would be. “I am now processing with my mouth,” he said with his lips smooshed against hers.
His tongue tasted like Bookers, enough to almost make her feel drunk too, but it felt too good, she couldn’t help herself. She decided to follow his advice. Screw tomorrow. She returned his kisses with the same enthusiasm he put into his. The sudden cooperation made him pull back to make sure she was all right. He winked; seemingly pleased at the flushed, ready to be sexed-up look she felt herself wearing.
“I have a proposition,” he said as he drew her closer to him.
“I’m listening,” she said, still out of breath.
“I only have two of these puppies on me, but one taste and I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s like my first piñata at my seventh birthday party.”
“What?” She giggled at him.
“Carmen bought me a piñata for my party. I’d never had a piñata before, but it was so beautiful, I got mad when they told me we were going to break it. Then she explained how the piñata was full of candy, but I couldn’t see it, so I didn’t know if it was good candy, or bad candy. Like, is it ten-year-old, hard tootsie rolls, the kind the elderly would give out on Halloween when we were kids, or is it full of those little candy bars, the good stuff? I still didn’t want to break it, but my curiosity got the best of me. I had to know what was inside.”
“Like Christmas and presents.”
“Yeah. So there was my beautiful piñata, smashed to smithereens.” He was so serious and thoughtful. “It was the good stuff, and I decided I really liked piñatas, and I never felt bad about breaking them again.”
“What does all this have to do with your proposition?” She was sure the drunk had just carried him off on some unrelated tangent.
His expression said he didn’t know how she’d missed the point.
“Then you come along, and I didn’t want to smash you, but then I did, and now I know, you’re not just the good stuff I’ve liked so much, for years. You’re the freaking king-sized version of all my favorite candy bars, and they’re just lying around on the ground, waiting for me to pick them up, but I’ve been trying not to.”
He looked at her, waiting for her to catch up, but she just stared, not knowing what to say. He must have thought she still didn’t understand because he groaned.
“I’m wishing I had at least a dozen condoms,” he resumed the energetic explanation in overdrive. “So I can pick up more of your candy bars. But since I only have two, and it’s been so long—I’m out of shape.
“I’m not going to last long—like last time—how long did that take? I was trying to hurry because I didn’t want to hurt you, but what was it, like forty-five seconds?”
He snickered as though he’d told a joke. She let out a sigh.
“Stay with me a little longer, I’m almost there. I propose we use the first condom up, fast, like last time. If you’ll let me bump bellies, hard and fast, get it out of my system, it’ll be like rebooting—I need to reboot. Then, we can use the second one to be all about you. I’ll reward you for the gift, I promise.”
A wicked smile spread across his face, making her eyes grow wide with trepidation. His idea intimidated her. Once had pushed her limits.
“Never mind,” he said with disappointment.
He must have noticed her reticence and she didn’t know how to put his mind at ease. Even though the idea unnerved her, she was still willing. He kissed her nose and softly stoked the side of her face with his finger.
“Last time, you know, you just kept saying you wanted to get it o-ver with. I was angry—and selfish—and stu-pid. I knew it was all wrong, but not until it was too late—instinct just took over.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’m so sorry, it shouldn’t have happened like that.”
“I want to try again.” She leaned into him, wrapped her arms around him, lovingly.
“I’ll be more careful this time, I promise. I’ll go slow—as slow as I can. It shouldn’t hurt. I looked it up. It doesn’t usually hurt after the first time, okay?”
“I trust you.” She nodded, reassuringly.
He looked at her like she’d just slapped him.
“You never learn.” A hard scowl set on his mouth and it took him a few seconds to do anything but stare off at nothing with icy eyes, but then his expression turned gloomy, as if trying to make a hard decision. “You are so perfect and beautiful. We should just sleep.”
She sat up on her elbows and glared at him incredulously.
“What?” He rolled onto his back. “I’ve changed my mind. Don’t look at me like that.”
She reached over and set her hand on his bulge, making him jerk at the unexpected contact. She grinned with satisfaction.
“He hasn’t changed his mind.”
The corners of his mouth twitched, almost breaking into a smile but she could see him trying to prevent it.
“Yeah, well, though He has a mind of his own, he doesn’t have a brain. I stopped giving him a vote a loong time ago, at least, until the dressing room.” He scowled again and looked off, staring at nothing in particular.
“I can see that you’ve moved on from horny drunk to grumpy drunk. Maybe you should get some sleep.”
“Come here.” He pulled her against him, turning her so they could spoon. “Good night.” He kissed her on the cheek, letting his lips linger longer than normal.
“Good night.” She didn’t do a very good job hiding her disappointment at the turn of events, or that he would fall asleep so fast. She’d finally convinced herself that if they did make love again, things would be better between them. Logic knew better, but she loved him madly and love didn
’t always follow the rules of logic.
Chapter 21
Rhees couldn’t sleep. She lay in Paul’s arms, listening to, and feeling him breathe against her neck, pondering all that he’d been saying over the past few days. At least now she knew more about what she was up against and felt grateful for his drunken honesty.
He really believed that she only wanted him because he thought she harbored some kind of victim-induced rape fantasy. She didn’t know how he could think she wouldn’t love him anymore if she got better, nor did she understand his definition of better. She felt well on her way already and didn’t want to be institutionalized again.
He stirred and nuzzled her neck with his nose as a hand made its way back to her breast.
“Hey,” she said, quietly. He didn’t stop. She didn’t want to wake him, so she let it play out. He’d unintentionally pilfered a few sleepy gropes in the past, he’d stir, brush her here and there while pulling her in closer before slipping back into deep sleep. Over time, she’d stopped sounding the alarm, because waking him up over it just left him feeling remorseful and ashamed over something she’d finally learned he didn’t mean to do.
She’d always had the impression women loved cuddling and men resented it, only tolerating it when necessary, and in small amounts, but Paul always slept best while touching her in some way. She listened for his breathing to deepen again, but it never did.
He kissed her, starting at the back of her neck, and idly worked his way around to the side of her face where he caressed her temple with his lips. His other hand, the one not on her breast, skimmed smoothly down her side. He sighed the second his palm slipped forward and splayed across her stomach, pulling on her, nestling into her a little closer. He let out another contented exhale and paused, holding her that way for a while.
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