Wanderlove - Rachel Blaufeld

by Rachel Blaufeld

  I couldn’t help rolling my eyes while I said it.

  “Then he told my dad about how the Bangladeshi restaurant replaced me with a relative, and he convinced my dad my living arrangements weren’t up to snuff. Price pretty much roped me into moving in with him.” I gulped my coffee like it was water. “So, I need this caffeine more than anything, because today I moved in while Price went to see some professors. Oh crap,” I said suddenly, remembering Johnny idling outside.

  I held up a finger.

  “One sec,” I said to Bev, then shot up and ran to the door. I waved at Johnny, and he got out of the car. “I’ll take an Uber,” I called out, and he nodded and waved back.

  “Living the good life, I see,” Bev said when I made it back to the table.

  “Oh, shush.” I knew she was joking. “Anyway, what I’m getting at is, I told Price I was hoping to take some culinary classes. And if you wanted, maybe I could help you at the bakery? If you accept my apology and want to stay friends? I’d do baking or handle the counter or both. I’m still bartending, but I need the money. Price has a lot of these . . . trappings,” I said, not knowing what else to call his lifestyle. “But they’re not mine.”

  “Really?” Bev smiled for the first time since I came in.

  “Yeah, really.”

  “That would be awesome. I know my mom would be so glad to have you.”

  Addressing the elephant that sat on the table between us, I said, “What about you?”

  “Come on, it’s over. Give me a hug. I’ve missed you.” Standing, she pulled me for a huge hug.

  Wrapped in her arms, I said, “Under one condition. You don’t skip dance on Mondays anymore.”

  “With you here, I won’t.” She gave me another squeeze before releasing me. “Now, tell me all the good stuff. About your dad, and Price . . .”

  “I will. But I want to—have to—say one more thing.” I wrung my hands like a groom with jitters. “I’m still going to look for my mom. I have to. Otherwise, it will bother me forever. Your mom said she may be able to get me an address.”

  Bev nodded. “Of course I don’t want to take that away from you. I also don’t want you to hurt any more than you already do. I’ve learned to live without my dad, and it’s for the best. But I get that we’re two different people.”

  “I admire you,” I said, and my gaze dropped to the shiny floor. “I wish, really, honestly, I do . . . I wish I could be like you, and say I’m better off and move on. But I can’t. This has become too big for me. I have to find out what happened with my mom.”

  Bev ran her hand down my arm and wrapped my fingers in hers. “I get it.”

  Price

  “Morning.” My lips ran along the nape of Emerson’s neck while my hand lifted her hair, the long strands sifting through my fingers. It was the most delicious moment, topping sitting on the edge of the water tower watching the sunset, cold beer in hand, a soft thigh next to mine.

  I’d finally found my happy place in this godforsaken city. In the arms—and limbs—of a woman, a very young woman. Not the happy place I’d expected, but I wanted it and took it anyway.

  Emerson grumbled into her pillow. I knew she was awake because she’d been pushing her ass back into me for ten minutes.

  “I like having you here.”

  “You’ve said,” she said, turning in my arms.

  “Can’t help it. For some reason, when it comes to you, all my moves go out the fucking window. I’m helplessly smitten . . .” My lips lightly brushed hers. “With these,” I mumbled against her mouth.

  “Morning breath,” she warned.

  “Don’t care.”

  Her hair a tangled mess, both her tiny-ass camisole and sleep shorts riding up and twisted, she looked like she belonged here in this fortress apartment. I wished she’d stay forever . . .

  What am I thinking?

  “And these,” I said, my hand ghosting under her sleep shorts, lingering over her heat.

  “Mmm.” She pushed into me, and I gave her a little more pressure.

  My tongue found her neck and ran a path to her ear. I stopped there and sucked on her earlobe, my hand doing its top-of-the-clothing work below. Ignoring her earlier warning about bad breath—she was so full of shit, nothing was bad about Emerson—I found her mouth again. As I sucked on her lip, she opened for my tongue, and it was on.

  It didn’t take long for her to go off in my arms. Her core grinding into my palm, her mouth making love to mine, her chest expanding and falling with quick breaths. It was a glorious sight, and I wanted to wake up to it every day.

  “This is so crazy. I can’t believe I live here, that I just woke up to that, that this is my reality. My daily,” she said, falling back into her pillow.

  “You’ve been here for days. You should be used to it by now, don’t you think?”

  “Are you counting? Looking for a way to get me out?” Her hand slid down my chest, tickling along the way, her smooth palm finding my hardness.

  “Never,” I said on a groan.

  Her hand didn’t still. She grazed me gently, teasing. I waited for her to pick up speed on her own.

  “I still want to look for a different place. After classes really get under way, I’m going to chat with my dad about moving to my own apartment, one that’s more me. Maybe with an outdoor spot for Tuck. Taking him out in the morning is a pain in the ass. On the farm, we’d just open the door and let them out while the coffee was brewing. But there’s some cool spots here . . . warehouses. I’ve seen them on my runs.”

  “Mr. New York.”

  She teased me, her hand on my dick, but I didn’t mind. Although her words socked me in the gut.

  “Nah, farm boy at heart. But both women in my life think I should get my degree, so I’m embracing that.”

  “Is that so? Both women?” She squeezed me tighter, her hand working me faster.

  “You and my mom, but I’m not in the mood to talk about her now.”

  I lifted Emerson’s top leg over my hip, creating a delicious friction between us. I moved her hand out of the way and teased myself with her heat.

  “Mmm, uh-huh.” She moaned into my ear, leaning in, kissing along my neck, leaving goose bumps in her wake. “Though, I know you’re distracting me. It may be my first time living with a guy, sleeping with a guy . . . crap, doing everything for the first time with a guy, but I’m smart. Despite the fact I’m rambling. I know what you’re doing.”

  Her soft lips still grazed my skin, sending a chill down my spine.

  My heart pounded furiously at her words. Emerson was giving me all her major firsts, and here I was saying that the city wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to go back to my farm, live the life I’d set out to live, maybe not be the best version of myself.

  At that thought, my body stilled.

  “Hey, what’s going on inside that head?” She tapped my forehead with her finger and stared at me.

  “Sorry. I got distracted thinking about where I could move,” I lied, sort of. But I had to tread carefully. Here I was wishing this woman would be in my bed forever, and yet I was still homesick.

  I had to find a way to merge my two worlds—my love of the farm, and this woman in this gargantuan city. Of course, it occurred to me that the person with a solution would be my mom. I made a mental note to go home for a day or two and discuss it with her.

  Until then, though, I wanted to get inside Emerson.

  Enough of this talking.

  My hand found its way back down toward her core, making sure she was still more than ready. Panting in my ear, sweat dampening the back of her neck when I ran my other hand under her mane, she whispered my name in a silent plea. I didn’t wait, finding myself deep inside her, taking my time, making delicious morning love to Emerson.

  Yep, I’d have to do whatever it took to merge both of my loves. Farm life and Emerson Bender.

  “Gin fizz,” I shouted from the end of the bar, my elbows leaning on the hardwood.

  “Coo
l it, buddy,” some douche said next to me.

  I didn’t even look his way. Just brushed my hair out of my eyes and focused on my girl.

  Instead of the cocktail I requested, Emerson set a beer in front of me. I winked and tossed a twenty on the bar, which she promptly shoved back at me.

  “Hey, that’s not even what he ordered. Can I get some service?” the douche demanded.

  “When the woman behind the bar is yours, you get your drink first.” I tipped my beer bottle toward him and moved to the back of the bar to catch a preseason football game on TV.

  “Okay, caveman,” he shouted back at me.

  His words didn’t bother me, although I’m sure Emerson was shooting daggers at me. I didn’t look back at him, not caring. No way was I going to let some pompous shit talk that way to me or her.

  Despite it being Thursday, the bunny was running—or hopping—around, making a fool of himself. Going up to girls and dancing with them, shaking his tail. I rolled my eyes and went back to the game.

  I didn’t like Emerson still coming over here to work, but if there was anything I’d learned from my mom, it’s that you can’t steamroll a woman. And I’d already talked Emerson into enough. So, I was here keeping an eye on her, bossing douches around.

  If I had my way, next up for Em would be culinary school. She was loving being at the bakery this week. Imagine if she could do it long-term? I’d have to talk with her dad. He’d be game for it.

  Her dad loved me after a few days. He got that I had her best interests at heart.

  Damn straight. But what about mine?

  Shit, I didn’t want to dwell on it. Luckily, my phone beeped, taking me away from my deep thoughts. Or not.

  It was Bruce in a group text with Moira and me.

  I rubbed my forehead and mumbled an obscenity or two. I hadn’t bothered to fill in either him or my mom on the status change with Moira, or the fact that I’d moved a chick into my grand digs. Okay, not a chick, but you know what I mean.

  Hoping you can come home this weekend for our anniversary. I’m going to make a small dinner at the house. My ribs, which you know are damn edible.

  My mom must be missing me. A wave of guilt washed over me, and I took a big gulp of my beer, reminding myself that she wanted me here.

  Of course Bruce would include Moira. We hadn’t had a family occasion without her in years. But that was before my dad rode in on his white horse, wielding his sword—I mean, deep pockets—and demanded I move to New York.

  I’ll be there.

  That’s all I responded. I’d call Bruce tomorrow and explain my new living situation. Heck, my new feelings. I wanted to bring another girl home, and they needed to know about it.

  Not sure how I would handle the Moira situation, but our relationship had run its course. Nobody successfully marries their high school sweetheart and lives to tell happy stories about it. Right?

  Goddamn, I was even becoming cynical like a New Yorker.

  “What’s up?”

  I felt arms slide around me, and I turned and placed a kiss on Em’s lips. “Hey, you catch a break over there? They let you out from behind the bar?”

  “Yeah, it’s slammed tonight. Bunny’s even here. Everyone is back from their beach trips, and school’s started.”

  She leaned into me, and my phone buzzed again.

  Of course, Moira.

  I’ll be there! Happy anniversary, Bruce. See you this weekend, P! Yay! Oh, I’ll bring peanut butter pie.

  “Something I’m missing?” Emerson might be younger, but she didn’t miss much. Her eyebrow cocked, she looked me dead in the eye.

  “My parents’ anniversary . . . Mom’s with Bruce, I mean. There’s a dinner this weekend. Want to come with?” I tried to go for casual and not guilty. Although I wasn’t guilty, but I knew how it looked. How it felt.

  “What about the girl bringing the peanut butter pie, P?”

  My initial popping off Emerson’s tongue was the worst sound ever. I liked when she moaned my name, her head fallen back, breathing heavy for me and only me.

  “The ex. I guess no one clued my parents in on us severing things.”

  “Not even you? And what about me? They don’t know about me?” Hurt radiated off her, but Emerson was too proud to admit it. Instead, she turned this fight into a coy joke.

  I pulled her in between my legs, uncrossed her arms from in front of her chest, and placed her hands on my shoulders. Looking her straight in the eye, I said, “I’m more of an actions-first, talk-later kind of guy. But don’t mistake this tiny communication snafu for a lack of feelings from me. I’m crazy for you, Emmy B. And no one—not my ex, not my mom, or my fucking bio dad who I barely know, or your dad who I happen to love, or your asshat ex, or even a goddamn peanut butter pie—is going to keep me from falling for you.”

  She stared at me, processing my direct words.

  “Anything you want to say?” I joked back with her, even though the pounding in my chest was anything but funny.

  Emerson looked down and put her hand in mine. I loved this about her. The need to touch, the desire to move on. She wasn’t a psycho girl who held on to grudges.

  “I have to work this weekend. Randy is off, and I promised. Especially since we went to the beach last weekend. Plus, I’m also running the bakery on Sunday, and I was kind of hoping, praying I’d find out my mom’s address. Sheila’s been promising it.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Before you get all Mr. Fix-It . . . no, you can’t make up the money I wouldn’t make working and bulldoze my plans. I want to meet your mom, but I have to take a rain check. Plus, I’m more of an apple girl when it comes to pie. So, I’ll come next time, when there’s no potential peanut butter pie or the girl who’s making it. ’Kay?”

  Emerson was going to shrug it off, despite her obviously bruised feelings. What was that about? There was so much I still needed to figure out about this woman. This woman who lives with me.

  I stood and placed my lips on her forehead. “Was that our first fight?” I made a game-time decision to run with her plan to make light of this.

  “I don’t know.” She slapped my arm and then pinched my bicep. “I’d hardly call it a fight. More like me being cool and you being a jerk.”

  “Ha. Whatever you say.”

  “Do we get to make up?” She leaned in and placed a quick kiss on my jaw. “I have to get back to the bar, but later . . .”

  “Oh, I like the sound of later.”

  Emerson

  Friday night, I tiptoed into the apartment after two o’clock in the morning.

  “No one’s here,” I whispered to myself. “Wait, why am I whispering?”

  I’d lived with Price all week, and was already in the habit of being quiet when I came in. Maybe because he insisted on Johnny driving me to and from the bar.

  “For God’s sake, the guy makes more money than I do. He shouldn’t be driving me,” I said, talking to myself again.

  I slipped off my shoes by the fridge and poured a glass of water before making my way to pee and take a shower. I was exhausted, but still wished Price had left Tuck. I could have used the company and the walking buddy.

  As I turned on the water in the bathroom, my phone buzzed on the counter.

  Home?

  You know I am.

  I was sure he had Johnny text after he dropped me off. And, yes, part of me was still mad over the ex-girlfriend thing, even though I didn’t show it. I mean, why was she still going to the anniversary dinner? And baking a pie? A peanut butter pie? The questions were endless.

  Yeah, but I wanted you to tell me.

  Of course, he added a winky emoji. Eh, I was still sort of pissed.

  Exhausted. Water running for shower.

  I heard the phone buzz again, but I was already naked and standing under the water. He’d have to wait.

  As the showerhead literally rained down on me, I turned over dessert creations in my head. Recipes that involved apples . . . maybe
Price could help me with the selection? I wouldn’t make anything with peanut butter.

  God, I’m messed up.

  Soaping my hair, I closed my eyes and let my mind wander to things other than dessert. Price touching me, sliding down onto his knees, his tongue skimming me, making me want more. It would build slowly, reaching a crescendo . . . until I came apart.

  Reminding myself that I was the one living with Price in this ridiculous apartment—not her, the ex—I jumped out of the shower and read Price’s text.

  Too bad I’m not there. Miss you.

  Miss you too. And Tuck. And your pancakes.

  I added a few emojis—a heart, a stack of pancakes, and an eggplant.

  To which he sent me a blueberry, a dog, and a peach.

  Mission accomplished. I laughed out loud.

  Night, night.

  I typed out the text quickly, tugged on a T-shirt of Price’s, and crawled into the gigantic California king by my lonesome. Snuggling with both of my bedmate’s pillows, I was out in minutes.

  As I was working the counter at the bakery on Sunday, Bev rushed in, tears streaming down her face, her bright orange raincoat lopsided, the buttons off kilter, her hair sopping from the rain.

  “We have to close up now,” she said, her voice shaking. “It’ll be fine. We’ll donate the leftover product down the street. This is it, the end. Maybe a day or two.”

  “I can stay here,” I told her. “I don’t mind. Keep the place open regular hours and then close up. We’ll stop baking, and I can sell off what’s left. I’m happy to do that.”

  “You don’t understand. My mom has something to tell you. She said, ‘Bring Em back. I have the info she wants on Paula, her mom. And I need to tell her this.’ You don’t get it . . . her time’s running out, and I have to honor her every last request. Come on, Em. We have to go see my mom. Don’t you want to know? That’s what you came here for . . . to find your mom. Maybe we can find her, finally, and I can have a connection to my mom when she’s gone. Maybe you can get her help.”