Ground Rules: Rewritten

by Roya Carmen

  “You did most of the work,” I point out, laughing.

  He bites my ear lobe gently. “You like it that way, you spoiled little princess.”

  I laugh. “I do.” But my laughter soon fades as I tell him, “I hate February. It’s so dreary and cold.”

  “Yes, it sure is.”

  We fall comfortably into a restful silence. I can lie in his arms without a word, and it’s always wonderful. I love just lying with him, trailing my hand against his skin, wondering what he’s thinking, and knowing I shouldn’t ask, knowing I should leave him to his private thoughts. He’s a very private man; a quiet man. I noticed that about him the first time I laid eyes on him, before we even met. This is novel to me, because Gabe is never like this. There is no lying back in silence. There’s always noise; joking around, chit chat, television or music. Gabe hates to be alone with his thoughts.

  “I was thinking…” Weston blurts out, making me jerk, “we should get away.”

  My stomach drops.

  I perk up, turning my head to look up at him. “What do you mean? You and me?”

  He smiles. “Well, I was thinking all of us. You and Gabe, Bridget and I. Perhaps the kids too.”

  I lick my lips. This sounds pretty good.

  Anywhere but here.

  “Where?” I ask, my voice an octave too high.

  He smiles at me. He can tell I’m excited. “Hawaii. We have a place there.”

  I knew that. Sounds heavenly. I would love that. But, It seems too unreal. All of us together, with the kids. For a week, a few days? “How long?”

  He cocks a brow. “Perhaps a week.”

  What would Gabe think about all this? He’s not a big fan of Weston’s. I just don’t see how this could work? The two of them under one roof? And Bridget? How would I handle seeing her and Weston together for a week?

  I think about it. I don’t think it’s a good idea—mixing our family lives with this. “I don’t think I want to bring the girls.”

  “It’s up to you. I like your girls. They seem great. But if you think you’d like the trip to be kid-free, I can arrange that. My kids can stay with Bridget’s sister.”

  My heart sinks. “But I don’t want to keep you away from your kids. Bring them, please.”

  He smiles. “It’s not a big deal. It’s only a week. We go away without them occasionally. They’re used to it.”

  I think about my girls. I don’t think I’ve ever been away from them for longer than an overnighter. I’m not sure I can do it.

  But on second thought…we are talking Hawaii.

  I smile up at Weston. “I’ll talk to Gabe.”

  Chapter Eleven

  You’re insatiable, butterfly.

  GABE LIFTS CLAIRE UP HIGH. She reaches for the bars and grabs on tightly like a little monkey, struggling to make her way across. Gabe spots her, never far behind. A blonde with her own little girl smiles up at him and says something. He shoots her a smile and says a word or two. I can’t hear what they’re saying, I’m too far away, sitting on the park bench.

  I love to just sit back and watch the kids play. Sometimes, I go on the swings with the girls or go push them on the merry-go-round. I keep an eye on the blonde. She seems to be trailing behind Gabe. Her little girl, a sweet little thing with a short bob is practically out of the picture. I think the blonde has forgotten all about her. She says something else to Gabe. As friendly as he is, he strikes up a conversation with her. She’s attractive enough, in a very plain way. That’s the problem with Gabe, he attracts attention. His larger-than-life ruggedly sexy presence makes heads turn.

  And it drives me absolutely bonkers.

  I jump to my feet and make my way to him. When I reach him, I wrap my arm around his waist and smile at the blonde.

  She jerks back a little. “Oh…hi,” she says, a little flustered.

  Yes. I caught you flirting with my husband.

  Gabe introduces us. Apparently, her name is Julia and her daughter’s name is Allie and they don’t live too far away. “We should all get together sometime,” she ventures, her voice cheerful.

  Yeah right.

  I’m already dealing with one blonde draped all over my husband, I don’t need another. I’ve got enough on my plate.

  Claire joins her sister on the teeter-totter. Chloe’s got height, but Claire’s got girth. She takes after her dad—she’s solid. I absolutely adore her little protruding belly and I kiss it daily, right on the belly button.

  Gabe joins me on the bench.

  “That Julia, she sure seemed to like the looks of you,” I tease him.

  He laughs. “Hey, I can’t turn it off. I don’t even try.”

  I smile at him. “You are so full of yourself, Keates.”

  He laughs and inches closer to me. “You like it,” he whispers in my ear.

  “I’m so glad it’s nice out today. I’m sick of the dreary weather.” I’m so glad we took advantage of this day, one of the few nice days we’ve had. “This is nice.”

  “Yep.”

  I inhale a long breath of fresh almost-spring air. “I wanted to run something past you,” I start. I’m not too sure how to bring this topic up. I have no clue how Gabe will react. I’ve known him for about twenty years, but he still manages to baffle me sometimes.

  “Weston talked about a trip,” I finally manage.

  He turns to me, wide-eyed. “Oh really. What did he say?”

  “He mentioned their place in Hawaii. Did you know they have a place there?”

  “Yeah, Bridget told me all about it. It sounds pretty swanky.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it is,” I say as I visualize the loft suite, the penthouse, and the Hanson & Hersch Developments offices. “It’s probably made out of all glass or something.”

  “Purell dispensers and bottles of Windex attached to the walls,” he jokes.

  I laugh. “Anyway, he mentioned one week…the four of us. The kids too, if we want.”

  He sighs. “I don’t know. Sounds fun enough but…”

  I bite my lip, mulling it over. “I know what you’re saying. I don’t know if I want to see you and Bridget hanging together for a week. And you and Weston? God…”

  He laughs. “God is right. How would that work anyway? Who sleeps with who? Do we still all have sex with each other?” he asks, his words a whisper in my ear.

  “That’s exactly what we were talking about. We decided no sex. No funny business.”

  Gabe laughs, the sound a loud cackle. “Hell, that should be interesting. I’d love to see that.”

  “I know. Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

  He bites his bottom lip. “I…I just don’t know. Hell, we are talking Hawaii. I’m so sick of this place. To be honest, the sand and surf sounds real good right now.”

  “I know,” I almost moan. “But anyway, if we want to go ahead, it needs to happen fast. My break is next week. And Weston needs to book the tickets.”

  He turns to me and shoots me a tight-lipped smile.

  And again, temptation leads us to the unknown.

  So easily.

  I’m so excited about this week. It’s all I’ve been thinking about. What will we do? What will I wear? And the worst part is, I can’t even talk to my best friend about it.

  I glance up from my latest copy of Redbook, sandwich in hand, and I see her walk in the room. She’s as gorgeous as ever in a body hugging two-piece pink suit and matching heels. Gwen always stands out in the lunch room because she dresses so much nicer than the rest of us. Most of the other teachers wear simple pants and blouses, or maybe a decorative vest or a flowing skirt. I, myself, am partial to retro inspired skirts, flower covered blouses or cute Peter Pan collared shirts. Gabe says I dress like a sixteen year old girl heading off to church circa 1950s. But he thinks it’s kind of hot. I’m not quite sure what that says about him, but I digress.

  She peers at me as she makes her way to the coffee station. I just look at her, like a broken hearted lover. She’s the love of m
y life I’ve let get away. My heart is heavy as I put down my sandwich. I want to go to her, but I don’t know what to say. I was so horrible. A despicable friend.

  She turns to look at me and there’s a whisper of a smile on her face and a glint in her eye. I can tell there’s something she’s itching to tell me. I know her so well. Best friends can read each other that way. I smile back at her and wave her over, not sure if she’ll come. My spirits lift when she makes her way to my table, coffee and purple lunch bag in hand.

  She takes a seat and unzips her lunch bag. “Thank you for the Hershey bar.”

  I smile, happy as a clam. “You’re welcome. I know it’s your favorite.”

  She pulls out a salami and cheese sandwich (her usual). “Thanks for the letter too.”

  “I’m so sorry…”

  “Let’s not talk about that,” she says with a smirk. “I’ve got better things to chat about,” she adds in a whisper.

  My ears perk up. “What?” I ask wide-eyed.

  She leans into me. “Guess who has lice.”

  I swallow hard and my stomach drops a good inch.

  Me.

  “Sylvia,” she says with the biggest grin on her face, “and a bunch of other people.”

  I don’t dare utter a word.

  She eyes me with a raised brow. “What about your class? Any lice in your class?”

  I bite my lip and nod reluctantly.

  She winces. “Oh! You didn’t?”

  And again, I nod.

  She gasps, pulls back and sits up straight. “Oh no.”

  “They’re gone,” I snap. “They’re all gone. Jesus.”

  “I’m sorry.” She laughs. “That’s just kind of gross.”

  “Yep. The girls both had them. And me too. They’re all over the school. I guess you were spared.”

  “Well, I teach sixth grade. It’s harder to get away from them when you teach kindergarten.”

  “Tell me about it. I should get paid more than you.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, you should,” she says as she sips her coffee.

  “It’s been kind of a disaster. I had to call Cynthia, the lice expert to my house. She did a thorough job cleaning us up. And thankfully Gabe didn’t have them.”

  “Thank goodness for that.”

  “And I had to call Weston,” I tell her, still mortified. “I really didn’t want to.”

  She stares at me with wide-eyes. “He must not have been impressed.”

  I laugh a little. “No, he certainly wasn’t. Cynthia went over to see him. And thank God, he didn’t have them either.”

  She shakes her head and laughs, clearly enjoying the drama that is my life. “I like your hair up like that, by the way.”

  I bring my hand to my bun. “Yeah, it’s a new look I’m trying out. Maybe it’ll keep the little buggers at bay.”

  “It suits you. I’m sure Weston will just flip for it.”

  I shoot Weston a smile as I stretch my white linen napkin across my thighs. “I was so happy to hear you didn’t have lice.”

  He eyes me with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. “Me too. Believe me.”

  “You’re repulsed by me now, aren’t you? You’ll never see me the same way again.”

  He laughs, clearly tickled. “That’s not true,” he insists as he swirls the wine in his glass and brings it to his mouth slowly, his gaze glued to mine.

  “You barely hugged me when you first saw me tonight,” I point out, catty. “It was like I was made of explosive, about to blast if you got too close.”

  He sighs. “Well, you know me and my issues. I just have to wrap my brain around it.”

  “I’m clean,” I remind him, wrapping my hand around my tight bun. “I’ve had the treatment, and I do combings every three days. There’s nothing. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  He winces a bit. “Well, the thought of a lone fighter still gnawing away at your head…”

  “Oh for crying out loud,” I say a little too loudly. My red wine spills onto the crisp white table cloth. He’s really starting to aggravate me. “Are we even having sex tonight?” I ask, my words a whisper.

  He smiles, impish. “Well, let’s try a position which will keep your head as far away from mine as physically possible.”

  I sneer at him. His particular variety of “messed-up” is often quite irritating.

  “You like the wine?” he asks, with an odd expression. He seems to be up to something.

  “Yes. What is it?”

  “It’s a vintage Bordeaux from France. And it just so happens to be a sixty-nine,” he adds with a playful smile. “A very good year, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Is that so?” I say, not quite clueing in yet. Admittedly, I’m not the fastest horse on the racetrack.

  “Yes, it is so…sixty-nine,” he repeats the words with that same impish smile.

  Oh…

  I shoot him a sly smile when I finally get it. “Let’s make this dinner quick, shall we.”

  He pulls me against him, the hard grasp of his hand around my waist. “I like you with your hair up,” he says, the tip of his finger stroking the curve of my cheek. “You almost never wear it up.”

  I smile. It’s true. I never wear it up. It makes me look so plain.

  “I love it,” he says. And all I can do is get lost in his gorgeous eyes. “I can see your pretty face, your soft neck.”

  I want him. All I want to do is get in bed as soon as humanly possible. But Weston is taking things slowly again.

  Sigh.

  “You wore your hair up the first time we made love,” he goes on as his hand travels leisurely down my neck, giving me shivers. He makes his way to the lace-trimmed neckline of my blouse. He’s driving me to madness. “God, you were so beautiful that day. I wanted you so badly; the hair, the glasses…I had to use every ounce of strength in my body to retain my composure and behave.”

  I laugh. “Yes, Weston Hanson, always so proper, so reserved. Weston Hanson doesn’t misbehave, does he?”

  He’s working on my top button, slowly, as if we have eternity. Oh, how I wish we had eternity. When we’re together, the hours always seem to run away from us. “Would you like me to misbehave?” he asks with a curious, playful smile.

  I bite my lip and nod. “It could be interesting.”

  He smiles, a wide grin practically splitting his face in two. “And what would that look like, exactly?”

  I smile. “Well, first, you would get over your phobia, and rub your head,” I pause for effect, a sly smile on my face, “all over mine.”

  He laughs out loud, the sound so beautiful. I am amusing him again. “Sounds so naughty. But damn, that’s a hard one for me. I’m convinced there’s still one or two creatures in there. Those little bugs are impossible to get rid of, I hear,” he says, working on my last button.

  I nod. “Yes, you would definitely be taking your chances.”

  He takes me by surprise and tears my blouse off in one swift move. My delicate pink bra is on full display.

  “Beautiful,” he whispers. He inches closer and kisses my neck, so softly. I just want to revel in his touch tonight. I close my eyes and bury my hands in his hair. He travels down my chest, his arm wrapped around my back. We are still standing in his entry hall. We haven’t quite made it to the bedroom yet. Our boots still on. Our jackets discarded on the beautiful marble floor.

  He unclasps my bra, his touch so delicate. I feel like a priceless museum artifact in his arms, he’s always so gentle with me. He peels it off carefully, revealing my breasts. My nipples are hard, aching for the feel of his tongue. He knows this. And this time he doesn’t make me beg. He takes my breast in my mouth.

  I throw my head back against the wall.

  God…

  He’s handling me so softly, like he always does, but then…

  He flips on a dime. “The lady wants me to misbehave, tonight,” he says, a wicked glint in his eyes. “And the lady always gets what she wants.”

 
; He grabs me hard, one hand clutching my shoulder and the other one on my hip. He flips me over and presses my face against the wall. He grabs my hair bun firmly and pulls at it. It hurts—a lot. But I eat it up. There is no more evidence of the gentle Weston Hanson I know. He’s acting like Gabe of all of sudden. And I love every second of it.

  My hair falls in cascades over my shoulders. He presses the length of his tall body hard against mine and rubs his head all over my hair. I laugh out loud.

  “I’m living dangerously,” he breathes in my ear.

  I want to kiss him. I turn to him, but he holds me back. “Don’t,” he says, his breathing unhinged. I can tell he’s seriously aroused. And I savor it; the sound of his ragged breaths, the hard grip, and the feel of his erection against my back. “I’m not quite finished with you.” He hikes up my pencil skirt around my waist. Then he kneels to the floor and bites my ass gently through the sheer fabric of my panties.

  I’m breathless. I want more.

  Weston pulls at my panties with his teeth. He doesn’t waste any time peeling them off, over my chunky boots. I love sex with my shoes on, or boots in this case. I want to kiss him. I turn to him. He’s still on his knees and I try to pull him up but he’s not budging. His mouth lands between my legs and suddenly, I’m on a whole other quest. I want him to make me come.

  As the sensation of his tongue on my sex drives me to the edge, I moan. I almost growl, it feels so good.

  As I near my climax, I become uninhibited as I strive for that glorious peak. I wrap one leg over his shoulder and pull him to me. As my sex presses and slides across his mouth and chin at a frantic pace, my nails dig into his back. I’m consumed by the sensation. Nothing else matters. He grabs my hips hard and pushes his tongue deeper into me. It is so pleasurable, it’s almost painful.

  And finally…

  He takes me there.

  I pull myself away, spent. As the waves of pleasure fade, I’m brought back to reality—the stunning space; the beautiful framed black and white photos dotting the walls, the coffered ceiling, the intricate crown molding, and the shiny marble floors. I look away into the distance, somewhat mortified.

  It’s his fault. He gets me so worked up.