The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue Book 2)

by Jessica Hawkins

  Heavy on top of me, he heaves a sigh. “You kill me,” he says. “You literally fucking kill me.”

  I smile up at the ceiling and give in. I put my hand on the back of his shoulder.

  “Mmm,” he moans right away. “That feels good.”

  I massage him a little. “How’s this?”

  “Perfect. Never stop.” He nuzzles my neck. “I’m crushing you.”

  “No. I mean yes, but I don’t mind.”

  “Good. I don’t think I can move. I might fall asleep here.”

  I don’t want him to move. I’m sleepy. Sated. It’s been years since I’ve felt this comfortable. I’ve never had three orgasms in one day, much less in a matter of hours. Having Andrew on top of me should make me nervous, but it’s having the opposite effect—he’s safe. If Reggie were to walk in right now, I’d be protected.

  Why did I think that?

  It occurs to me that living in Reggie’s apartment, sleeping in the bed we used to share, has kept him on my mind more than I’d like to admit. There’s always a chance, however small, he could show up uninvited. No matter what I think, I’m not safe. Not even from Andrew. Getting too comfortable is a mistake I made with Reggie, and one I don’t want to make twice.

  My chest tightens. I’m sweating, and not just because of our marathon fucking. I try to breathe, but I can’t get a lungful. It was fine, playing around, but now that we’ve had enough sex to satisfy our libidos, there’s nothing left for us but emotionally dangerous territory. I push Andrew’s shoulders, but he doesn’t budge. “Andrew.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Get off,” I say. “Please get off.”

  “Off?” I hear the drowsiness in his voice, but he rolls over onto his back.

  I sit forward and breathe deeply before leaning over to my bedside table. Hands trembling, I manage to get a cigarette lit. With my first drag, I close my eyes and sigh.

  “You smoke?” he asks.

  “Of course. Not a lot, but this is New York after all.”

  “Pass it.”

  I look over my shoulder and give it to him.

  “Fuck,” he says. “I forgot how good it is right after sex.”

  “You quit?”

  “Mostly, when we had Bell. I still do now and then, but only when she’s not around. And never in the house.”

  I look forward again. “That’s why I don’t have kids, and I don’t want them.”

  “Because you’d have to quit smoking?”

  “Sacrifice. I sacrifice for work, but not for anything or anyone else. Not anymore.”

  He touches my back, running a calloused, warm palm up my spine, and gives me the cigarette. “Come here.”

  I almost do. I almost come when he calls. It would be so easy to curl up next to him, inhale his soapy skin, fall asleep in his arms. In the midst of a harrowing divorce from someone I thought I loved, it shouldn’t be this easy. How can good sex erase my memory so quickly? It can’t. I meant what I said—I don’t trust myself. “No.”

  “If you’re going to fight me some more, at least cuddle with me while you do it.”

  I take another drag of the cigarette and put it out. “You should go.”

  After a few seconds of silence, he asks, “What?”

  “You have to go.”

  “Why? Because I want to hold you?”

  “No. Well, yeah, I guess. That’s not in our arrangement.”

  “Arrangement?” I hear the smile in his voice. “We didn’t exactly sign a contract.”

  “Have you changed your mind?” I ask, looking at him over my shoulder. “Do you want this to turn into something more?”

  He’s mid-yawn, but stops abruptly and shuts his mouth. His expression changes as he realizes I’m serious, and he sits up. “No. I don’t see how spending one night in the same bed means more.”

  “It’s different for me. I’m a woman. I can’t turn it on and off as easily as you.”

  He looks over at me, his eyebrows drawn. “That’s a little sexist.”

  “It’s true, though, isn’t it? I want you to stay, and I want to sleep in the nook of your shoulder, and because I want to, I can’t. Do you understand?”

  He blinks a few times and scrubs his hands over his face. “Spending the night would be too much for you.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re scared.”

  I nod.

  He looks down at the bedspread as if he’s deciding. “I understand, but . . . I thought we’d have until the morning. I’ve got a long train ride home, and it’s after midnight.”

  “I’m sorry. I just can’t risk it. And I know you don’t want me to.”

  Finally, he nods slowly, staring straight ahead. “Yeah. Okay.” He glances at me again. “For the record, I don’t want to go. I’d really like to stay with you tonight.”

  “And that doesn’t scare you?”

  “I guess.” He pulls back the covers. “I can handle it, but if you don’t think you can, I’ll respect that.”

  “Thank you.” I get up with him and go into my closet for my robe. When I come out, he’s in his t-shirt, heading into the kitchen for his pants. Again, I get to watch his perfect ass. Am I an idiot? Should I be thankful for this one night? Would it really hurt to spend a few more hours with him, wake up to his gorgeous face, roll over, and make love while we’re still half asleep?

  My answer is in my questions.

  Andrew and I are adults. We aren’t in our twenties anymore, and we know what we don’t want better than what we do.

  I follow him into the kitchen and watch him button his jeans. After he runs a hand through his hair, it sticks up slightly longer on one side. I frown. “You may need someone to fix your hair.”

  “I love it.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him. “You can’t even see it.”

  “I don’t need to.” He takes a few steps to close the distance between us, bends down to hug my waist, and lifts me so we’re face to face. “It’s my souvenir.”

  “Andrew,” I warn. “Put me down.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t move. “First, one last kiss.”

  I peck him once on the lips. “There. Put me down.”

  “Un-uh.” He walks us to the front door. “As far as last kisses go, that ranks pretty low. Disappointing, even.”

  With a sigh and a reluctant smile, I wrap my arms around his neck. “Fine.”

  “Now the legs,” he prompts.

  “If by ‘one last kiss’ you mean sex . . .”

  He chuckles, then cups my ass so I can close my legs around his waist. “That’s better. Come here.”

  As if under some kind of spell, I lean in for him. He licks along my bottom lip, and we open our mouths to each other. I can’t tell which of us is moaning, or if we both are, and just like that, it’s over like he promised. Andrew sets me back on my feet.

  “There,” he says. “That’s a last kiss I won’t forget.”

  “To go with a first kiss I won’t forget.”

  “Exactly.” He smiles down at me, and the silence stretches between us. It’s unfair that the more I want him to stay, the surer I am he can’t. I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying never mind. “Right,” he says. “Bye.”

  “Don’t fall asleep on the train. There’re some real weirdoes out there this time of night.”

  “Thanks,” he says with a hoarse laugh. “Your concern seems genuine.”

  I grin. If anyone can handle himself, it’s him. I’m not worried. “Night.”

  He chucks me under the chin. “Goodnight, Amelia.”

  EIGHT

  ANDREW

  I’m one of those assholes who likes Mondays as much as Saturdays. Even though it’s never easy to send Bell off to school, I love my work, and there’s nowhere I belong more than at the garage. The best part of my day is right now, when my two worlds collide.

  I stand on the corner, smoking my last cigarette of the day. I’m normally able to control my nicotine cravings, but a
fter my cigarette with Amelia, I’ve been finding it harder to resist.

  It tastes good. It calms me.

  It reminds me of lying in bed next to her.

  When a school bus rounds the corner, I put out the cigarette and squint, looking for Bell through the square, tinted windows. The bus stops, and she comes catapulting out, a bundle of energy in a pink and purple backpack. I lift her up.

  The driver smiles. “Afternoon, sugar,” she says.

  I wave and carry Bell down the block. “Aunt Sadie says you pretend that you quit smoking, but you didn’t really,” Bell informs me. “And she says you have to stop for real.”

  “I bet she did.”

  “She says it’s disgusting, and you’re killing your lungs with black stuff.”

  I sigh. The last thing I need is Bell harping on me about this. I happily changed my entire lifestyle for her. I learned to cook healthy food. I stopped drinking every weekend. I only get to ride my bike when she’s not with me. I don’t get close to anyone who might hurt us. This is one small thing I keep for myself, and I never do it around her.

  “Aunt Sadie lied,” I say.

  Bell looks skeptical. “I don’t think so. My teacher says smoking is bad for you.” She pulls on my t-shirt. “Please, Daddy. I don’t want you to put black stuff in your lungs. How will you breathe?”

  “We’ll see, baby.” Guilt gnaws at my heart—which is surely blackened by tar as well. “How was school?”

  “Fine. Miss Hughes told me she wants you to come in for a conference.”

  “For what? Were you bad?”

  “No,” she nearly yells, completely affronted.

  I pull back, sticking a finger in my ear. “Jesus. Calm down.”

  “I was good,” she says. “So good, she wants to give me more work.”

  “Great,” I mutter. “More homework for you means more homework for Dad.”

  She tilts her head, looking pensive. “Why does my teacher always want to meet with you?”

  I would laugh if I weren’t so annoyed. It’s at least the fifth time this school year Miss Hughes has requested a meeting with me, and it always turns out to be stupid shit. I wouldn’t mind hearing her gush about what a great student Bell is if it weren’t a thinly-veiled attempt to come onto me. “Um . . .”

  “Aunt Sadie says—”

  “Aunt Sadie needs to learn to keep her big mouth shut.”

  Bell squeals, wriggling in my arms. “She says Miss Hughes wants to kiss you.”

  “Christ.”

  “Daddy.”

  “Bell-y.”

  “A lot of the teachers talk to you. And the bus lady. Do they want to kiss you too?”

  I shake my head. “You’re too young to be talking like this.”

  “But you always tell me to speak what’s on my mind.”

  “I was wrong. Don’t always listen to what Daddy tells you.”

  She giggles, and like always, it’s a knife in my heart, but in the best way. She knows exactly how to melt me. “Don’t worry about Miss Hughes, all right? I’ll handle it.” I put her down and take her hand to walk the last block to the garage. When we get close enough, she takes off sprinting.

  The guys who work for me perk up for the first time all day. I’m constantly on their asses about being friendlier to customers, and they constantly ignore me. Bell is the only person who can not only make them smile on a dime, but basically turn them to mush.

  Pico wipes his hands on a rag. “Hey, boss,” he calls. “You know what next month is?”

  “Hmm.” I pretend to think. “Shipment of fan belts?”

  “It’s my birthday,” Bell says with exasperation.

  Pico frowns. “It is? I forgot all about that.”

  “No you didn’t.” She puts a hand on her hip. “You’ve been talking about it for weeks.”

  “I just can’t believe you’re going to be ten already.”

  She stomps her foot. “I’m going to be seven!”

  “Really? That’s it?” He suppresses a grin. “What do you want for your birthday? Anything but a bicycle.”

  She drops her mouth open, narrowing her eyes on him. “All I want is a bicycle. And it better not have those dumb training wheels.”

  “Oh. That might be a problem.” He shrugs. “Your dad thinks it’s too dangerous.”

  She whirls on me. “What?”

  I raise my hands. “You don’t even know how to ride a bike.”

  “I’ll learn. My friends already know how, so it can’t be that hard. I’ll do it right now if you want.” We laugh, but she keeps a stern expression. “I’m serious. I can do it.”

  “We’ll see,” I say, exchanging a smile with Pico. He and I are custom building one for her and storing it at his place. Bell’s never been one to ignore details, and I know what she wants down to the color of the stitching on the seat. Once Bell flits off to bug another one of my guys, I nod at the Chevy Pico’s working on. “How’s it coming?”

  “Fed up setting the timing. Can you try?”

  “Yeah.” I take his place under the hood and aim the timing gun at the engine.

  “Ready for next month?” Pico asks.

  “Will I ever be ready for a backyard full of twenty kids under ten?”

  He chuckles. “The kids aren’t who you should be worried about. You’ll have your hands full juggling twenty moms.”

  I give him a look. “Don’t you start in on me too. First it was Sadie. Then Bell just gave me the third degree about why her teachers flirt with me.”

  “Poor baby.”

  “Yeah, I am. I just want to be left alone.”

  “Fuck you,” Pico says. “You could have any chick in town, even the married ones, and you have to be a dick about it. You’ve got Denise Jackson, Prom Queen runner-up, wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even care.”

  “Want some advice?” I say, only half listening as I work. “Don’t try so hard. The girls’ll come to you.”

  “Yeah right. It’s that easy. My sister says you’re disturbingly hot, but I’m just disturbing.”

  I shake my head. “I have to agree. Rev the engine.”

  He gets behind the wheel and hits the gas while I check the timing. I motion for him to stop, and he gets out. “Anyway, I wasn’t referring to the party,” he continues. “I meant are you ready for the other thing.”

  I glance up at him. The other thing is Shana. Since she left a couple weeks before Bell’s third birthday, everyone treats me like glass around this time of year. Not that I really blame them. I was a mess afterward. But last year was better. And this year, it’s the first I’ve thought of it.

  “Where’s the wrench?” I ask.

  “Right in front of you.” He waits as I loosen a bolt. “Sorry to bring it up, but I had to ask, bro.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I am fine. I have to be, for Bell. Shana left without any explanation, and I could’ve easily turned into my dad—a worthless drunk who drowns his feelings of inadequacy in alcohol and gambling. But Bell needed me.

  “Boss,” Randy calls from the office. “Phone. It’s your sister.”

  I put down the wrench and wipe my hands on my jeans. I’d tell him to take a message, but Sadie rarely calls me at work, especially after I’ve just seen her. I head into the office, shut the door, and pick up the receiver. “Everything all right?”

  “Sorry I wasn’t there when you picked up Bell last night,” she says. “I had a raspberry sorbet craving so I went to the market.”

  “Nathan told me. Isn’t that his job?”

  “I’m trying to walk as much as possible. Keep the weight gain to a minimum.”

  I shake my head. She’s having a baby for fuck’s sake. If Sadie and Amelia are any indication, I wonder if there’s a single woman in that city who knows how to eat. “Just don’t starve my niece or nephew.”

  “Did you have a nice weekend?” she asks.

  “Yep. Already told Nathan all about it.”

  “Really? I asked, and he
said you told him it was good.”

  “It was.”

  “So that’s not telling him all about it. What’d you do?”

  Sadie must be fishing for something. Amelia’s the first thing that comes to mind. The only way Sadie’d know anything is if Amelia mentioned Friday night, and she wouldn’t. She has more reason not to than me. “I kicked it,” I say, which is true. “Shot some pool Saturday night.”

  “Did you try that pizza place I suggested?”

  “Yeah.” My mouth waters. I can almost taste the tomato sauce I sucked off Amelia’s cheek. “It was pretty good.”

  “Everyone in the office loves that place.”

  “Even your boss?”

  “My boss? Uh, no, but she doesn’t like anything. Especially not carbs.”

  Feeling something gummy on the sole of my boot, I scrub it on the concrete floor and glance through the office window into the garage. Bell is chattering to Pico about something or other. “What’s her deal anyway?” I ask.

  “Who, Amelia? I know how she comes off, but she’s not that bad. A lot of it is for show, I think.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s been through some stuff with an ex and came out a little damaged.”

  I frown, tightening my grip on the phone. I already know all this from the source herself but hearing it from Sadie just reignites my disgust with Reggie. Before Bell, I had little patience for men who jerked women around. When I’m with a woman, she always knows where I stand. But now that I’ve got a little girl? Have mercy on gutless fuckers who cross my path.

  “Funny you should ask,” Sadie goes on, “she’s especially schizo today. Her mood was all over the place this morning.”

  My frown eases into a small smile. She was in a pretty shitty mood when I met her. And a great one when I left her. It was a night I won’t forget anytime soon. Her legs entwined with mine in the tub. Her long fingers in my hair. I didn’t want to leave her, but I did out of respect. If I’d stayed knowing her feelings could develop into something more, I would’ve felt like shit in the morning. She’s scared. So am I. I’m okay living in fear. It reminds me of the damage one pretty girl can do.