by Emma Nichols
Closing my eyes, I mentally lift each page of the yearbook. Our class was a few shy of one hundred and fifty people, so it shouldn’t be that hard.
But, no. I come up empty.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my cheeks warm from more than just the one glass of wine. “I really don’t remember you.”
He drinks from his beer. There’s no emotion on his face. He’s not upset I don’t remember him. If there’s an ego problem, he’s not showing it. And in my experience, the bigger the ego, the harder it is to hide. Like a damn elephant behind a light pole.
“Would you like another drink, Dick Punch?” He laughs, unleashing his first full smile.
And it’s a doozy.
“Would you like a dick punch?” I ask, my sass coming out. I can’t help it. He’s teased it out of me. Judging by his laughter, that was his plan. “And, yes, I want another drink.”
Mr. Wrong Place gets the bartenders attention and I order my wine.
“No, I don’t want you to punch my dick,” he says when the bartender leaves.
I swallow hard. That word on his lips, in reference to him, has me feeling light-headed.
If I were bolder, more flirtatious, I’d ask just what exactly he’d want me to do with it. But I’m not flirtatious. I am bold, though, and brave.
“I’ve gone through the whole graduation class.” I point at the space above my ear, to indicate my mental sifting. “Even people I never spoke a word to. Although one of these people did sweat on me, so technically I knew him better than other people, but…” I pause when I see Mr. Wrong Place wince.
My hand flies to my mouth. The bartender sets down my wine and walks away.
“Milo?” I can’t help my wide eyes. I can’t help the incredulousness in my voice. “You…you…look different.” What a lame finish. Try again.
“Good, different. Not bad different.” Still not awesome. “Now that I know it’s you, I can see it. You have the scar,” I squint and cock my head to the side, seeking the fine white line on his chin. Forgetting myself, I reach out and touch it. When I’ve realized what I’ve done, I snatch my hand back. “I’m sorry. I guess I figured since I’ve touched your sweat, I was allowed to reach out without permission.”
Milo laughs again, but now his cheeks sport the same pink hue as my own.
“Don’t worry. About the sweat, I mean. I don’t get grossed out by much.”
Just shut up. Right. Now.
“So, anyway, it’s nice to see you. And talk to you. Because I don’t think we ever actually spoke in high school.”
Okay, shutting up right now.
“You terrified me,” Milo admits, biting his lower lip.
“I…What? Why?”
“You were so beautiful. And outspoken. And I was afraid to breathe too loudly around you. I tried to talk to you…once. I chickened out.”
Senior year. I remember now. He opened his mouth and nothing came out. Not a damn word. He looked sick and I wondered if he might throw up.
“Yes,” I say softly. Sipping from my wine, I ask “Why are you talking to me now? Does it mean I’ve lost my ability to frighten people? Maybe I should hit the gym. Bulk up.”
The same way you have.
Slowly Milo shakes his head back and forth. “Please don’t do anything to change. You’re still perfect.”
Perfect? I am far from that, but I’ll take the compliment. It has been a long time since a man complimented me.
“Ten years has been good to you, Milo.” I smile and dip my head to the side, staring at him through my lashes. Okay, so maybe I know how to flirt a little. “What do you do now?”
“I went into the Air Force. Explosive Ordnance Disposal. I’m out now.”
“Explosive Ordnance Disposal? Sounds dangerous.”
“I was trained to detect, disarm, detonate, and dispose of explosive threats.”
“You exploded the explosives?” My heart races, thinking of him in that position.
“I did. And I lived to tell about it.” His face darkens. “Not everybody was so lucky.”
“I’m sorry.” My hand comes up, covering his shoulder. My second touch of the night. This time I don’t remove it.
“I came here tonight to see you. If I didn’t think you were going to be here, I never would’ve shown up. I have no use for this.” He waves his hand at the scene beyond us.
My eyes look at the scene he’s motioning to. People are in groups, chatting and laughing, but there are a good amount of eyes on us.
“I think we’re the source of gossip right now,” he smiles as he says it. “I don’t think I was ever the source of high school gossip.”
“No time like the present,” I quip.
Milo slips a hand onto my hip. The air between us comes alive, the attraction we feel turning into a live wire. Suddenly I feel regret that he never had the nerve to talk to me ten years ago. He’s the person I should have given my first time to. I know it as surely as I know how tonight will end.
“Want to give them even more to gossip about?” Without waiting for his response, I step into him. His chest fills with an audible surprised breath.
I swear there are magnets in both our bodies. Now that they’re finally in close proximity, there is no way to keep them from connecting.
Milo leans down, I tilt my face up to meet his, and our lips lock into a kiss that I know has officially ruined me for any other first kisses.
I am so fucking screwed, in the very best possible way.
4
Milo
I might die right now.
Wait, no. That would mean I’d have to rip my lips from Aurora’s.
Aurora Callaway.
My seventeen year old self just came in his shorts.
She tasted sweeter than I ever imagined. Her audacity hadn’t changed. She asked me if I wanted my dick punched.
Right now, my dick is aching for a different reason.
Aurora groans softly, the sound reverberating through my mouth.
As much as I don’t want our kiss to end, it has to.
We have an audience.
When I pull away, the cutest pout takes my place on Aurora’s lips. She didn’t want to stop.
My whole body pulses with energy, but it’s a lightweight energy that has replaced my mass. Like I could float away at any moment, taking with me my disbelief at what just happened.
She laughs and shakes her head, like she can’t believe it either. “Milo Andrews.” Her voice is breathy and astonished. “Who would’ve guessed you’d grow into,” her hand, with it’s bright red nails, gestures from my head to my feet, “this.”
Her head tips to the side, the creamy skin on her neck exposed.
The front of my pants get even tighter.
Dammit… I had plans. And everything was happening the way I imagined it would during my entire five hour drive to Linwood.
But this? I hadn’t imagined this need. So immediate. It pours off Aurora. I can very nearly smell her want, like an invisible perfume.
If I’d been alone in my truck, maybe I’d have spent more time letting my thoughts wander, conjuring up the image of the woman from Authentic Aurora, and all the ways I could spend time on her. That surely would’ve ended in me spending three minutes on myself.
But I’d had a backseat passenger for the drive, and my thoughts about Aurora had remained PG.
And right now?
My thoughts might earn an ‘X’ rating.
“What are you thinking about?” Aurora asks, sipping from her glass. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes thoughtful. Her cheeks are still flushed from our kiss.
Fireworks went off in my brain the second our lips touched. What would happen if we didn’t restrain ourselves? If we were out from under the watchful eyes of our old classmates, how much hotter would it get?
I’ve been with a handful of women since high school, but none have had this intense effect on me.
“I’m thinking about things that aren’t
proper for a lady’s delicate ears.” My lips twist in a smirk. That comment should really turn up the flame inside Aurora.
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Good thing there aren’t any ladies within three feet of you.”
Yep. Just as I thought.
“Tell me one of your thoughts,” Aurora says, her voice playful.
Leaning into her space, my hand on the curve of her hip, I whisper, “I used to put a book in front of me every time I saw you. Or sit awkwardly. Or turn away.”
Her shoulders shake with a suppressed laugh. I pull back and look at her, still not quite believing I just admitted that to her. Or that any of this is happening at all.
“Milo?” Her voice is low, and when she says my name the sound is pure sex.
“Yeah?”
“I knew that already.”
My upper teeth catch my lower lip and I shake my head. “There I was thinking I had hidden it, but you knew?” That’s embarrassing. My younger self would’ve keeled over from mortification.
“You know what this means?” Aurora finishes her drink and pushes it across the wooden bar top.
“What’s that?” I finish my beer, and when I set it down Aurora pushes it to join her empty glass.
“It means you’re going to have to show me what you were hiding from me.” She says it confidently, her chin raised and her lips twisted in a sultry smile. Her eyes show her surprise though, as if her bold statement shocked even her.
Reaching out, I twist a strand of blond hair around my finger. I tug it lightly, and a short gasp leaves her throat. “You’re ruining my plan,” I say, my voice low. “I was going to come in here, find you, and dazzle you with my wit and basic ability to speak. All the things I couldn’t do in high school.”
“You did all those things. And they had an effect, intended or not. Now you’re responsible for what you set into motion.”
It occurs to me that in all the time I’ve spent dreaming about seeing Aurora again, I never factored in having a connection to her. She was a figment of my imagination, a dream that was never concrete. I knew what she did to me, but I never thought I’d have this effect on her.
It’s fucking incredible. Better than any dream I’ve ever had about her. And there have been plenty. Wet included.
“I’m responsible?” I ask, teasing her.
She licks her lips. If I had a book, it would be in front of me.
“It’s your job,” she says. Every word from her mouth right now sounds like something whispered during sex.
“You’re my job?” I run my hand along my jaw, silently cursing the rate of hair growth. At least Aurora doesn’t seem the type to mind stubble.
She runs her fingers over my forearm, tickling the skin until it’s upraised. “Explosive Ordnance Disposal.” She raises three fingers, and the pointer finger of her other hand. “You’ve detected the explosive. I don’t want you to disarm,” she pushes down one of her three fingers. “I don’t want you to dispose,” she forces down the third of the three fingers, so only her middle finger is left. “You know what that leaves us with?”
Fuck yes I do.
“Detonate.”
Leave it to Aurora Callaway to turn EOD into something erotic.
She was captivating as a teenager, an innate attractiveness that called my attention to her and kept me mesmerized.
In ten years, I’ve changed a hell of a lot.
Aurora’s hold on me?
It’s stronger than I ever knew.
* * *
If there wasn’t someone waiting for me at my mom’s house, I wouldn’t have left Aurora’s hotel room. I would have kissed her naked shoulder to wake her up, gathered her in my arms, and made love to her. The sweet kind. A carbon copy of how we finished the night.
Opposite of how we started the night.
By the time we made it to her room she’d nearly come on my hand. That was my fault. I’m the one who slipped it up her dress in the elevator.
Steering my truck to my mom’s house with one hand, I rub the fingers of my other hand together in memory of what I found under Aurora’s dress. She wasn’t kidding when she said she was ready to explode.
Before ten o’clock she’d detonated three times.
On my fingers.
On my face.
On me.
Exhausted, we’d taken a break after that. She picked up her cell and ordered pizza, and I thought I would die a blissful death right there.
If having sex with Aurora was officially my favorite pastime, eating pizza naked with her was my second.
When we finished eating, Aurora pulled me into bed and told me we weren’t finished.
“Not by a long shot,” I wanted to say, but I kept that to myself. I know what this weekend is, and I’m trying to keep that forefront in my mind. I’ve never been a fuck-and-leave guy, but I don’t want to expect too much from this weekend. I know Aurora lives in the city, but what I haven’t told her is that I live an hour outside the city, on a small property in Armonk.
I didn’t tell Aurora about my other half, either.
Tomorrow, it will be unavoidable.
Family is invited to the next reunion event.
And I have a family.
5
Aurora
“Everything is going fine,” I insist, holding my phone in front of my face.
Bindi moves off the screen for a moment, then reappears with a bottle of water. Beads of sweat still cling to her chest, visible just above the line of her sports bra. “What aren’t you saying?” She asks, tipping back her head and guzzling the water. When she’s finished she drags the back of her hand across her top lip.
“Nothing.” I roll my eyes. How does she know? Is Just Been Fucked written across my forehead?
She points at something behind me. “What’s that?”
I whip around, expecting to see Milo’s underwear, but then I remember he wasn’t wearing any.
“I knew it!” Bindi’s screech fills the small space of the hotel room.
“Knew what?” I ask, sheepish.
“You have JBF hair.”
My hand flies to the hair on the back of my head, patting it down. “That’s just bedhead.” My fingers get stuck in a particularly heinous snarl, and I give up. Extracting my fingers from the clusterfuck attached to my head, I admit “Everything is a bit more than fine.”
“Girl, I can tell. Start talking.” Bindi leaves the frame for a few seconds, returning with a small cup of yogurt.
“His name is Milo Andrews. He was in my graduating class. I barely knew him back them, but now…” I trail off, thinking of how well I know Milo now. We were like animals last night. Undersexed, horny animals just waiting for release.
I glance at the table, remembering the feel of the cheap wood against my bare back.
At first we were raw and untamed, chasing a need and fulfilling it. But later, Milo was gentle. He held the side of my head in one hand, his other hand roaming my chest, and rocked above me.
I knew I wouldn’t see him when I woke this morning, but I couldn’t help the disappointment that blossomed in my chest when I lifted my head and saw I was the only one here.
Eyeing the bed, I say “It’s safe to say I’ve been ruined for any other man. Ever.”
Bindi whistles, a low and disbelieving sound. “Are you going to see him again?”
I nod. “Today. There’s a barbecue at the lake. I’m not sure what it’s going to be like.” I shrug away the sadness that always comes when I think about children. “Families are invited. Spouses. Children.” I shrug again.
“Maybe you should skip it?” Bindi says cautiously. She knows this is a tough subject for me.
Nobody knows me better than Bindi.
She held my hand through the worst of it.
“I told Milo I would see him there.” I bring my leg up into my chest and look out the window. I was lucky enough to get a view of the woods.
“Tell me more,” Bindi says, and I know she’s trying to
distract me. “We’re in a rut over here. Married sex,” she whispers, looking up to see if she’s been overheard by her husband Bruce. When she looks back at me she makes a what-can-you-do face.
“Where is Bruce?” I ask. I don’t need him overhearing the dirty details.
“Still asleep.”
“Okay, so it started in the elevator…” I recount every detail. I’m not shy, and neither is Bindi. I finish my story by saying “And then I fell asleep.”
“Is that the end?” she asks. Her face is strained.
“Yes.” My eyebrows pull together. “Are you okay?”
“Yep. Gotta go. The rut ended somewhere around your vivid description of your second orgasm. Bye.”
My screen goes blank.
Well, good for her. Good for them. Glad I could help Bindi and Bruce from their married sex rut.
I sit back, consider making another cup of coffee from the discs of single serving packets the hotel provided, then decide against it.
Exercise.
That’s what I need.
I change and stuff my feet into tennis shoes. There’s a gym off the main entrance. As long as they have a treadmill I’ll be just fine.
* * *
Yep, they have a treadmill. And something else I didn’t expect to see in a hotel gym.
Troy Jessup.
I walk in, say a polite hello, and he adds more weights to his bar.
Cue the mega eye roll I’m giving him from behind my straight face.
My five minute warm-up is interrupted when Troy starts grunting from the bench. “Do you need help?” I ask.
“Argh,” he responds.
I hop off the treadmill while it’s still running and hurry over. Together we lift the heavy weight from Troy’s chest.
He sits up, his face as red as a freshly-cooked lobster.
“You’re a lot stronger than you look, Callaway,” he huffs and wipes a hand across the front of his shirt.
I frown at the backhanded compliment. “That’s funny. You’re about as strong as you look.”
