by A. C. Dillon
"Suggestions?"
"You started this. You should have made a plan." She pressed against him, craving contact even as she nervously calculated viewing angles from the ground floor windows of her home. "We have to go in now. My dad waited up, I know it."
"Okay..." With a groan, Andrew gestured to her door. "Thank God for loose-fitting dress pants."
Autumn giggled, tugging her keys from her coat pocket and opening the front door as gently as possible. Pandora was already in the foyer, chirping happily and circling their legs as they tip-toed into the kitchen. On the fridge door, Autumn noticed the familiar scrawl of her mother on the whiteboard.
Don't wait up; we're spending the night at the Doucettes' place. Love you.
(Separate rooms are encouraged, but optional. We're not fools)
Mom
Autumn slumped against the counter, her cheeks burning—and not just from the tequila. "Oh God! You know what this means, right?"
"That they know I never make it to the guest room when I visit?" Andrew suggested weakly.
"Well, yeah, but more than that. They know we've had sex."
"To be fair, it was a pretty safe assumption. We're both legally adults."
Autumn rolled her eyes. "It doesn't matter! My daddy knows you've had sex with me. He may seem all cuddly like a kitten, but I am very much his little girl. And you want to ask him if we can shack up in September?"
Andrew grimaced, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. "Good point."
"On the plus side, they intentionally vacated the house, probably expecting us to come home as wound up as we are, so... they approve?" She looked to her boyfriend for confirmation. "I mean, if they had a problem, wouldn't they be here, standing guard over my bed?"
Andrew mulled this over for what felt like several minutes, but was surely no longer than a scant few seconds. "Let's look at it this way: if they approve, then we should proceed directly to your room and celebrate. And if they don't..."
"If they don't?" she prompted anxiously.
"Then this could be the last night I have hands, so maybe we should just enjoy this time together."
He rose to his feet, pulling her against him and kissing her deeply. Helpless to resist the softness of his lips, she surrendered with a stifled moan, her arms wrapped around his waist to steady her shaky legs. With gentle nudges and pulls, they stumbled their way to the stairs, each of them chuckling as a tiny cat mewed indignantly at being ignored.
"Watch your step," he mumbled as the back of her ankles hit the bottom stair.
"Ha ha, Andy. Maybe you should watch it for me."
"I intend to," he growled, smacking her on the ass as she half-jogged upstairs.
Her shoes scarcely made it inside her bedroom, kicked away for their increasing instability. His jacket was hurled across the room, and she knew what came next: the frenzy. The need. It was more than mere lust, more than something she wanted. Every time they peeled back the layers of cotton and silk to reveal the vulnerability within, it was because she needed him to know that she trusted him with her entire being. It was a need to erase the memories of first touches, unwanted and brutal, with loving caresses and a passion that lit up her synapses and stole her breath.
In these moments where he kissed her and softly asked if she wanted to be with him (and he always asked, which only sent her libido surging further into overdrive), there was no past beyond the moment they'd met. There was no future, no fear. It was home.
"I love you," he gasped as she fell back onto the bed, pulling him with her.
"I love you so much," she answered him, her heart pounding beneath her chest, as if it could somehow break free and literally join with his.
Tangled limbs, touches and the taste of salt on tongues exploring. Sighs and sparks and surges of desire, ignited by two becoming one, moving in synchronicity. Moonlight casting shadows on mirrored expressions of wonder. Fingers gripping, grasping wildly at sheets, at skin, lost inside the looping waves framing her face. Adored. She was adored. Blue eyes met green as his forehead pressed to hers, steadying her as the world spun out from beneath her. Her name on his lips like a prayer as her hips arched higher.
Free-fall. They tumbled together in tandem, collapsing in a heap of heartbeats and heated half-kisses. Shaky but secure, she remained in his embrace for several minutes, burrowing into the warmth of his heaving chest. He traced her curves with feathery fingertips, gently charting her topography.
"What are you thinking?"
Her lips pressed to his chest over his pounding heart. "That I trust you."
"C'mere." He tilted her face gently upwards, bending to meet her in a delicate kiss. "I don't take that lightly."
"I know you don't." She toyed with the soft tuft of hair on his chest, suddenly shy. "It's how I kept on trusting you, through all of the therapy, the trial, the hospital... I knew you understood how hard it was for me. It makes you special."
“If I’m special, it’s because I’m lucky enough to have found you."
"Maybe we're both lucky then," she countered, tucking a damp curl behind her ear. "But I do know for certain that as comfortable as I am right now, we are both in desperate need of a shower.”
Andrew chuckled softly, nipping at her neck. "No argument here, as long as it’s a shower for two…"
When her parents arrived home eight hours later, they were sharing her bed. Pajama-clad, hair still damp from a second shower, Autumn was tucked into the embrace of the man she loved. On the fridge, a message of her own waited:
You said optional.
"No arguing with her," Neil mumbled reluctantly.
"Like we were any better at her age," Sarah chided him in bemusement. Her husband was pouting. Pouting.
"Yeah, but she's my baby girl..."
"It could be worse, Neil. The guy could be an absolute bastard. He could be a right-wing zealot," she teased as they ventured back downstairs.
"She could be dead."
A hushed silence fell between them, a shared relief.
"Thanks to him, she's not," Sarah said at last, reaching for the coffee stored above the fridge. "I'm willing to share my daughter with a good man. Aren't you?"
"So let them sleep?"
"Yep. I'll make coffee."
Neil settled in at the kitchen table, watching his wife of twenty years scoop grinds into a filter and hit start. As much as it made him sad to accept his daughter was grown up, he couldn't imagine a better guy for her. Not many eighteen-year-old guys would keep vigil in a hospital for days without complaint. One complaint, Neil amended: being forced to come back to the Brody house each night to sleep. If he'd had his way, Andrew would have slept in the chair beside Autumn's hospital bed.
So yeah, Sarah was right. If he had to accept that his daughter was an adult now, he felt a hell of a lot better knowing who would be at her side. Of course, he was still her father, and with that role came certain privileges. Privileges that he particularly enjoyed as the senior manager of an investigative unit.
"I still get to mess with his head when they wake up though, right?"
Sarah giggled. "Yes, dear."
"Excellent."
Neil reached for the paper, flipping it open to the Business section. It was going to be a wonderful day.
THREE
It was past noon when the insistent nudge of a cool nose against her cheek roused Autumn from hungover slumber. With a groan, her right hand absently slid over the sleek ebony fur of the feline beside her. If I don't open my eyes, I'm technically still asleep, she reasoned. Stroke, pat. Half-assed head scratching.
"Chirrrup?" Pandora persisted, head-butting her in her cleavage.
Behind her, Andrew groaned. "Noooo..."
One lazy eye opened, glaring at the cat. "Pan, cut me a break. I drank my weight in tequila punch."
With a wink—a wink!—Pandora sashayed and leaped off the bed, strolling out into the hall. It was then that Autumn realized her door was now ajar, which meant her parents...
"Did I write something smart-assed on the fridge door?" A kiss to the nape of her neck was her reply. "Andrew?"
Yawing loudly, he slowly shoved himself into a lean against the headboard. "I vaguely remember something of the sort when we raided the fridge for snacks at three. Speaking of, I really hope your mother doesn't keep close stock of her Cool Whip. We demolished it like it was the last Twinkie of the zombie apocalypse."
"Well, if you weren't so keen to compare me to the strawberries..." Her voice trailed off as she met the soft blue irises that were her ultimate weakness. "Don't you start. We need to begin on a high note."
If any man had ever mastered what the general population referred to as 'feminine wiles', Andrew Daniels wore that crown proudly. A batting of his unusually long lashes and she melted into his side, tugging the covers closer.
"So today's the day," he mused.
"The shacking up speech. You have it prepared?"
"They're your parents," he countered. "You have the inside edge."
"Crap, crap, crap... Okay, I have it: we start with Mom."
"Easier sell?"
"She's reasonable and a huge feminist. She adores you. She was the one who declared separate beds were optional. Ergo, we recruit her as an ally to approach Dad."
"Divide and conquer. Should I distract Neil? Hide his shotgun?" Andrew added with a wry grin.
"I'm sure he has a spare. He has plenty of friends in police places."
With a stretch and a groan of exhaustion, Andrew rose from her bed, adjusting his pants and reaching into his bag for a t-shirt. Autumn, in turn, maneuvered a bra beneath her tank top and smoothed over her yoga pants. Running a hand through her tangled hair, she drew a deep breath and forced a grin.
"Shall we go freak the parents?"
"Yay!" Andrew cheered sarcastically, looping his arm through hers.
They quickly determined that her parents had opted for their Sunday tradition of lounging in the gazebo, a move Autumn interpreted as deceptive normalcy. They're lulling us into a false sense of security so they can spring. Especially Dad. Andrew clearly sensed it as well, judging from the furrow in his brow.
"Autumn?"
"Hmm?"
"If your dad chases me around the garden with a bit of wood, Shaun of the Dead style, or worse, with that shotgun of his, I want you to know it was incredibly nice knowing you."
Autumn rolled her eyes, pressing up onto her toes to kiss his cheek. "I won't let him kill you. Maim you, maybe. He's seven inches taller than me and knows Judo. But no killing."
Throwing open the sliding glass door with an unintentional slam, Autumn strolled out onto the deck as casually as she could. "And a good morrow to you, dear father and mother! How was your evening, pray tell?"
"Inebriated," her father deadpanned with a subtle wink.
"What a coincidence: so was ours!" she replied cheerily, much to Andrew's dismay. "Someone decided to spike the punch and several members of the faculty opted to play dumb."
"Did the witch show up?" Sarah asked, setting aside one of her usual romance books.
"Shockingly, our illustrious Headmistress did not attend the gala. Not a single person cared," Andrew replied, leaning against the rail of the deck. "I take it we missed breakfast?"
"Actually, there's plenty of pancake batter waiting for the grill and fresh fruit inside. Not as much fruit as I recall from yesterday..."
"We were hungry. Booze does that," Autumn explained quickly, shooting Andrew a look to keep him in line.
"Munchies. Sorry, Sarah."
Her mother waved off his apology with a smile. "Oh, I'm used to your hollow leg, Andrew. Don't worry about it."
Neil stretched his arms overhead in exaggerated fashion, a stern look flashed in Andrew's direction. "Why don't you come keep this old man company while Autumn helps her mother with brunch? I'd love to hear all about your evening."
"Good luck," Autumn muttered beneath her breath. "I'll go preheat the grill!" she added loudly, heading back inside.
Left alone, barefoot and without the protection of his girlfriend, Andrew reluctantly padded across the grass and assumed Sarah's seat beneath the gazebo. With a hard swallow, he forced himself to meet the piercing gaze of a father who clearly knew where his sundry of body parts had been in proximity to his teenage daughter.
"So, um, where should I begin?" he asked nervously.
Neil leaned forward in his chair with a Cheshire grin. "Start at the part where my daughter's dress ended up tangled in your suit on her floor, maybe?"
Oh, fuck.
* * *
Inside the house, Autumn was beating lumps out of pancake batter and avoiding her mother's gaze. And while she had a more delicate touch with matters, the questions were no less... squirm-worthy.
"I was right about insisting on you getting the shot, wasn't I?"
Autumn groaned loudly. "Mom, I'm eighteen. Seriously."
"Pass me the batter. How long, honey?"
Autumn froze, stunned for a moment. She's not asking... Oh, duh! "Last summer."
With a triumphant grin, her mother poured four perfect circles onto the grill. "The weekend we let you two go to Montreal alone? Knew it. Your father owes me ten bucks."
"Wait: you bet on me losing my virginity?"
Sarah shrugged, turning to face her daughter. "Look, anyone within ten city blocks of you two can tell you're over the moon for each other. In the good way, not the childish infatuation way. It was only a matter of time. Your father thought it was sooner, if you must know. He said you'd found somewhere on campus last year."
"What?" Autumn buried her face in her hands in disbelief. "Does Dad think that little of us?"
"No, he just remembers being a teenage male. Our first time was outside near a golf course." Sarah snickered at Autumn's mortified face. "My father didn't allow sleepovers."
"Watch the pancakes," Autumn grumbled.
"Of course." With an expert flip, Sarah reached for two plates in the cupboard. "Autumn, you're a mature woman with a good head on your shoulders. As long as you're being safe, I'm fine with it. I just don't ever want to hear you. Deal?"
"Definitely a deal!" Gathering the maple syrup and butter, Autumn set them on a tray loudly. "And we were both... It's only been us."
"I figured. But you didn't offer to come in here to talk sex with Mom. What's up?" A neat stack of pancakes settled onto the first plate and Sarah reached for the remaining batter. “Don’t forget to add fruit to that plate.”
Autumn mulled her words while spooning out berries, debating whether to take the sales pitch approach, or assume that her mother had maybe figured out more than she and Andrew had ever imagined. Given her winning bet on their sex lives, Autumn rolled the dice.
"Andrew and I want to move in together for September. But I'm guessing you also knew that."
With a chuckle, Sarah spun around. "Actually, your father and I are even now. I said you'd stay home for one more year; he said you'd have rental ads in hand before the end of June."
"And when he said this, did he have murder on his mind?" Autumn queried.
"Not at all. But he did say he wanted to have a little fun with your boyfriend this morning, so maybe you should take that first plate outside and save him?"
With a kiss to her mother's cheek, Autumn scrambled to gather the tray and utensils. It was time she rescued Andrew from her Dad's evil sense of humor. What had seemed an insurmountable task just moments ago now felt like a piece of cake. Or fluffy, buttermilk pancake.
That is, if she could convince her father to stop making her boyfriend shake and slump in his seat.
"Alright, leave Andrew alone!" she shouted into the yard. "You've had your fun."
"I'm only just getting started," Neil replied, cracking his knuckles.
"So help me, I will volunteer for the Conservative Party next election if you don't stop it," Autumn seethed as she delivered the tray to the table. "Pancakes?"
"I'm not hungry," Andrew murmu
red.
"Oh, for God's sake!" Plopping herself on Andrew's lap—to many protests from both men—she drizzled syrup on the plate, broke off a chunk of fluffy flapjack, and force-fed her boyfriend. "Dad, we've decided as a mature couple attending the same university to move in together for the Fall. I promise to visit at least once a week, and I'd like to take Pandora with us."
"I just won ten bucks!" Neil crowed.
"But you lost ten on the other bet," Sarah called out from the deck, a second plate of pancakes and fruit in tow.
Andrew blanched. "What other bet?"
"You do not want to know. Daddy?"
A look exchanged between her parents, one she'd learned to read since childhood. It was the one of us is very unhappy about this, but for entirely selfish reasons argument. Usually, the cooler head prevailed and Autumn got whatever she'd demanded. This time... it was murky. It drew out for more than a minute.
Her mother sat the plate down in the centre of the table and crossed her arms with a smirk. Her father, in turn, sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"We'll decide when you get back from New York," he announced at last.
Autumn shook her father's offered hand. "I accept these terms."
"But only if you get off Andrew's lap," he added quickly.
"Done."
Both father and boyfriend heaved a sigh of relief as she slipped into a seat on the other side of the table and demolished her pancakes in triumph.
* * *
It was in the midst of tossing half of her closet onto the bed in search of at least four perfect evening ensembles that Autumn's cell phone burst into song—specifically, the old Kenny Loggins tune "I'm Free (Heaven Helps The Man)". Between a late-night stroll down Kevin Bacon lane and her feelings about the head of her now former school, it had seemed a fitting choice.
Swiping the screen, she laughed at the text message waiting for her:
Wifey of mine, I need masturbation fodder. Get your sweet ass on Skype and shake it.
