Until December: Until Her/ Until Him

by Aurora Rose Reynolds

  Relaxing on my couch a couple of hours later with a new book, a bag of Cheetos, and a Diet Coke, I groan when my cell phone rings from my bedroom where I plugged it in to charge. I reluctantly get up to answer it then debate taking the call when I see it’s April. I must think too long, because the ringing ends, and a notification for a missed call lights up the screen, right before the ringing starts back up again.

  Knowing she won’t give up, I slide my finger across the screen, and with a sigh, I put the phone to my ear. “Hey.”

  “Hey? Seriously?” she snaps. “Did you not see I’ve been calling you since last night, after you disappeared? I swear if Uncle Trevor hadn’t told me that you caught a ride home, I was going to call the cops and organize a search party.”

  Thank goodness I had the sense last night to tell my uncle when I was grabbing my purse that I was catching a ride home and to let everyone know I was okay.

  “Sorry, I was tired. All I was thinking about was going to bed and my cell died. I didn’t charge it until after I got up.” I head back toward the couch and take a seat. “Did you have fun?” I want to… no, need to change the subject.

  She snorts. “Of course I did. Now, answer your door. I’m outside.”

  “You’re here?” I look toward the door like I can see through it.

  “Yeah, now let me in. My hands are full.”

  I get up, and as soon as I unlock the locks and turn the handle, she pushes her way in. I accept the cup of iced coffee she thrusts at me as she walks by, then shut the door. “It’s always too damn quiet in here,” she informs me as she plops down on my couch, looking around.

  My apartment is small, just one bedroom and one and a half baths. The eat-in kitchen is separated by a wall from the living room, and the living room is just big enough for my fluffy green couch, where I read. I have a TV hooked up on a stand across the room, but I don’t normally watch it, since I read so much all the time.

  “I was reading. I like it quiet when I read.” I do like it quiet when I read, but from time to time, I’ll play music, especially if an author I love has a playlist attached to their book.

  “You’re always reading.” She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling then drops them back down to me, getting an odd light in her eyes and a smirk on her lips. “So you left with Gareth last night.”

  Holy crap, she knows. My fingers clench around the cold cup I’m holding, making the ice clink together. Of course she knows. I told Uncle Trevor who my ride was when he asked, and he obviously told her. “Umm....”

  “Seriously, I hope you got his number,” she states before taking a long sip from her iced coffee.

  I sit there slack-jawed, wondering if she’s saying I should have gotten his number for her. What the heck? “Why would I do that?” I try to keep the annoyance out of my tone but know it’s there.

  “Uh, because he was totally into you.”

  “What?”

  “He didn’t take his eyes off you all night. Seriously, the Queen of England could have started doing the hand jive on the dance floor and he still wouldn’t have spared her a glance.”

  “What?” I repeat in utter disbelief. I can’t believe Gareth was paying that much attention to me. More so, I can’t believe she’s telling me I should have went for him after what she said about wanting him.

  “He was obviously into you.” She shrugs.

  My mouth opens and closes before I blurt, “You said you wanted hi—”

  She waves her hand out between us, cutting me off. “He’s hot. Any woman alive would want him. I might think he’s attractive, but he’s not my type, and he’s definitely not interested in me.”

  “I—”

  “So did you get his number?” she cuts me off once more, and I jerk my head from side to side. I didn’t get his number. Not only that, but I snuck out on him just a few hours ago. “Did he offer it to you?” She frowns.

  “I thought you wanted him.” God, I’m an idiot. I snuck out of his bed, out of his house, thinking I was following some stupid rule me and my sisters made up before we even were allowed to shave our legs. What the hell was I thinking?

  I watch her eyes fill with realization then her lips thin. “You thought I wanted him, so that’s why you ignored him.”

  “Worse,” I whisper.

  “How could it be worse than you ignoring him because of me?”

  “I spent the night with him, and then snuck out of his bed this morning and caught an Uber home.”

  “You didn’t,” she cries, sitting toward me. “I can’t believe you slept with him.”

  “I didn’t. I mean, we slept together, but we didn’t sleep together.”

  “You really are always a good girl,” she sighs like she’s disappointed.

  “You said....” I close my eyes. It doesn’t matter what she said; she’s always saying things like that. I should have known. “You saw him first.” The words sound stupid, even to my own ears. God, I screwed up, seriously screwed up, and I have no one to blame but myself. I left Gareth without an explanation, without even a note. If I were him, I’d be pissed.

  “Hey.” April’s gentle tone and hand touching mine brings my attention back to her, and I open my eyes. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  “I’m not sure. If he.... If the roles were reversed, I would be mad. I’m not sure if I’d ever talk to him again.”

  “Blame it on me,” she says immediately. “Tell him that I called you and needed your help, so you didn’t have time to explain things before you took off on him.”

  “The only issue with that is I don’t know his number. I can’t exactly send him an ‘I’m sorry I snuck away’ text.”

  “Shit.” She looks away, her mind obviously working to try to find a solution. “Sage probably has his number. We can ask him for it.”

  I don’t want to ask Sage for his number. No way do I want to answer any questions, but what choice do I have?

  “Okay,” I agree.

  She pulls her phone out then quickly types a message. I wait then hear her phone ping. When her face lights with a smile, I don’t know if I should be nervous or excited.

  “I got his number. Get your phone.”

  I pick up my cell and type in the number she shoots off. When he’s added to my list of contacts, a small sense of relief fills me.

  “Now text him.”

  “Right.” I nibble the inside of my cheek as I type out a text to him. I read the words three times to make sure everything is spelled correctly and sounds believable before I press Send.

  I hope you don’t mind I got your number from Sage. I’m sorry I left without a word, but I got a message from my sister this morning and had to take off. Thank you for being so sweet and taking care of me last night.

  December

  A moment later, a bubble appears and I look at April. “He’s typing.”

  “He’s not making you wait a year for a return text. That’s a good sign.” She smiles.

  “Hopefully,” I agree with a small smile of my own.

  I drop my eyes back to my phone when it dings. My smile slides away and chest gets heavy as I read his reply.

  Funny, was awake when you got up and know you didn’t even look at your cell. Glad you’re good, but don’t message again. I don’t have time for high school bullshit and games.

  “What?” April questions, probably reading the look on my face. I don’t answer, so she slides my phone out of my hand and reads the message herself. “Oh shit.” She stands, still holding my phone, then she starts to pace. “I can’t.... I cannot believe he said that to you.” She pauses, looking pissed at the phone then me. “I’m going to message him back.”

  “What? No!” I shout as I shoot off the couch and launch myself at her over my coffee table. I land against her, and we end up getting into a wrestling match that ends with us both on the floor and me straddling her. When I finally get ahold of my phone and have it above my head, we’re both breathing heavily. “He obviously wants nothing to do with
me. And I understand why.”

  “But—” April starts, but I shake my head, my hair flying as I do.

  “I should have... I should have….” Really, I don’t know what I should have done differently. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

  “I’m sorry.” She sits up, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I should have kept my mouth closed. I just thought when I saw you looking at him that if I provoked you, you’d make a move on him. I knew you thought he was hot, and I—”

  “I’m an idiot.” I get up before she can finish, pulling my hair out of my face and holding it back with one hand as she pushes up off the ground to stand before me.

  “You’re not.” She grabs my shoulders, forcing me to really focus on her. “Seriously, if he was awake when you got up, he should have said something. He should have done something to make you stay. If anyone is an idiot, it’s him for letting you walk away.”

  I pull in a breath. Maybe she’s right. Maybe he should have said something when he saw I was sneaking out. Then again, I probably would have done the same thing he did if the roles were reversed. With only one long-term relationship in my history that seemed to just happen without much intention on my part, I have no idea how to navigate the whole “getting to know you” side of things. Who am I kidding? I know nothing about men unless it’s written in a book. And unfortunately, with time, I have come to find that the guys I read about do not exist in real life. Not only because it’s rare to meet a multi-millionaire who will whisk you away on his private jet and confess his undying love, but because men are mostly jerks.

  On that thought, I look into April’s eyes, and declare, “Whatever. It’s done.”

  We hold each other’s stare for a long time before she finally agrees with me, looking disappointed about my statement.

  Two

  Gareth

  WITH MY HAND around my rock hard cock and my face turned into my pillow, breathing deep, I stroke. Pulling hard at the tip and then back down. The visual in my mind is one that’s kept me company for the last few mornings. Blonde hair, gorgeous features, and a body made up of nothing but beautiful curves that seemed never ending. I stroke faster, imagining December whispering my name in her soft, sweet voice. I come, and streams of hot cum shoot against my stomach. My strokes turn lazy until the tension has left my stomach and my cock has gone limp.

  Feeling relaxed, I stare at the ceiling, thinking about the woman I just got off on, hating the fact that she wasn’t what I thought she was. The morning she took off on me, I watched her walk away, even though everything in me demanded I do something to force her to stay. I just couldn’t. As I saw her sneaking out of my room, all I could think about was how many times I witnessed Beth do the same thing.

  How many times had I attempted to get her to stick around? How many times had I begged her to stay, not for me but for our boys?

  I know the circumstances aren’t even close to the same, but that didn’t have an effect on the disappointment I felt settling in my gut when the door closed behind December.

  “Fuck,” I hiss, getting up and heading to my bathroom. I try to block out thoughts of December and how I might have fucked things up between us because of my past, as I shower and then move to get dressed in my walk-in closet. Only when I’m dressed and have my boots on do I come to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter; it’s done. My message to her after her explanation made it final.

  With that thought, I pause at the bedroom door and make a last-second decision. I strip the sheets off the bed along with the cases on the pillows. Maybe... fucking hopefully, if December’s scent is gone, I’ll finally be able to wake up without a fucking hard-on from her sultry perfume that’s clung to my bedding the last few days. Maybe I’ll be able to wake up without thinking about her and the ways I might have fucked things up because of my past.

  I dump the load in my arms into the washer just off the kitchen and pick up the bottle of soap, dump that in, and then start up the machine. With that done, I start a pot of coffee then go down the hallway.

  My boys would sleep all day if I let them—something I’m grateful for on the weekends and in the summer, but something that is a pain in the ass to deal with during the school year. I open my nine-year-old’s door first, since it normally takes Max longer to get up. His alarm is going off, but he’s pulled his pillow over his head to block out the blaring noise. I flip on the light then walk across the clean space to his bed and tug his foot. “Time to get up, Max.”

  He groans, pulling his foot away. “Isn’t it the weekend yet?”

  “Dude, it’s Tuesday.”

  “Ugh, I want to be homeschooled.”

  “Get up and in the shower,” I order, leaving his light on and ignoring his groan of annoyance.

  I skip one door, which is to the boys’ Jack and Jill bathroom, and open the next. When I flip on the light, my fifteen- going on forty-year-old son, Mitchell, lifts his head off his pillow. “Already?”

  I smile. “Sorry, kid.”

  “You don’t look sorry,” he mutters before plopping back and covering his face. “Can you shut off the light so I don’t go blind?”

  “Nope.”

  I leave him and head back for the kitchen, where I pour myself a cup of coffee and start breakfast. At just thirty-two, I shouldn’t have two kids my boys’ age. Then again, I shouldn’t have been having sex at sixteen and knocking up my high school girlfriend by the age of seventeen. And I really shouldn’t have stupidly knocked her up again six years later, long after things ended between us. As stupid as my decisions were, I regret nothing. I love my boys and can’t imagine a life without them in it. They are why I work two jobs and have a reason to get out of bed most mornings.

  I finish breakfast—scrambled eggs and toast—then wait. Like clockwork, both my boys come into view, each looking almost exactly like me at their age. Tall, and fit without putting work in. Max’s hair is a dirty blond and he’s a little lankier than his brother, but I have no doubt that will change in a few years. They sit on the barstools across from me and I hand over plates to each of them, watching as they start to devour their food in a few bites. With the way they eat, I might need to get a third job. I swear I cannot keep enough food stocked for the two of them, even with a Sam’s Club membership and buying in bulk.

  “I’m taking you to school, and Grandma is picking you up. I should be home not long after you get here.”

  “I have track after school,” Mitchell reminds me before shoving the last bite of the toast left on his plate into his mouth. This is the first year Mitchell has been in track, the high school track coach convinced him to try out after seeing him run. And after some debating Mitchell decided to give it a year to see if he liked it. So far so good, who knows what will happen next year.

  “She’ll pick up Max then wait for you.”

  “I don’t know why I have to hang with Grandma. Especially when I’m old enough to sit home alone for a couple hours. It isn’t even like I get to watch him play baseball,” Max bickers.

  I look at my youngest and pull up patience. Mitchell has always done what’s asked without question, when his brother has had a question for everything since he was old enough to form words into a sentence. My boys couldn’t be more opposite if they tried. The only thing the two of them have in common is baseball. Where they got the love for the game, I don’t know, because I didn’t have any interest in the sport growing up and the only reason I do now is because of them.

  “When you turn ten, we’ll talk about you being here alone for a few hours.”

  “Flipping great. I only have to wait another freakin year.”

  “Don’t be a dick,” Mitchell scolds, and Max turns to glare at him.

  Knowing what will happen if I let this shit carry on, I cut in. “Cut it out, Max. You know I cannot leave you home alone, and Mitch, I don’t need your help.”

  Both boys look at me, each with a look of remorse. Fuck, I love my boys. They are good kids, even after dealing wit
h the shit they have in their short lives. Like all kids, they push boundaries, but they tend to listen without too much of a fight.

  “Tonight is takeout, so figure out what you want to eat and send me a message. I’ll pick it up before I come home.”

  “Pizza,” Max says.

  “Chinese,” Mitchell puts in.

  “All right, change of plans. I’ll let you know when I’m off work and you two can call in your orders. I’ll pick the shit up.”

  They both smile at me then go back to eating. When they’re done, they drop their dishes in the dishwasher and go to finish getting ready and grab their bags. I sip my coffee as I look out the glass doors in the kitchen. We have a great yard. A large, concrete patio with a table and chairs, the barbeque, and lots of green space—not quite perfect for a game of baseball, but definitely perfect for a dog.

  The boys have asked for one in the past, but I never wanted to get one until they were old enough to take on some of the responsibility. They’re old enough now, and it’s something I should talk to them about.

  On that thought, I move to the kitchen, dump the rest of my coffee down the drain, and set my cup in the dishwasher as I hear the boys hit the living room. I meet them at the front door, and they both head down the porch as I lock up. Once we’re loaded into my SUV, I take them each to school and go to work. Like every day, I work until I’m exhausted, wishing I were more than just a mechanic and part-time tattooist. I wish I had more, not for myself but for my boys.

  Three

  December

  “APRIL FOOLS!” I say loudly, slamming the book I’m holding closed, and the kids sitting in front of me jump then start to laugh. I smile at them, enjoying the way their eyes have lit up.

  I love my job as a first grade teacher. There’s something so innocent but curious about the way kids at this age view the world around them. And watching them grow mentally and physically each and every day while they’re under my care makes my job seem important, vital even.

  “Ms. Mayson, will you read another book?” Hanson asks as the other kids around him start to get up off the bright carpet, filled with too much energy to sit any longer.