Better Love

by Daisy Prescott

  We kissed over the table in an awkward embrace until I surrendered and reluctantly broke the kiss.

  Silently I stood and extended my hand to her. Lifting her from her chair, I kissed her again as I walked us backward to the living room. For a moment I thought about bringing her to my bedroom.

  She wanted to go slow and I’d respect her wishes.

  “You’re beautiful.” I exhaled against her neck.

  “You always say that.”

  “And I’ll continue to say it as long as it’s true.”

  “Until I’m old, wrinkled, and fatter?”

  “Still beautiful. More of you to love isn’t a bad thing, is it?” A flash of her with a swollen, pregnant belly entered my mind. Carrying my baby.

  My steps faltered and I stepped on her toe.

  “Ouch.”

  “Sorry.” I kissed her cheek and then the other one. “Come sit.”

  I led her to the couch. “Is your toe okay?”

  Settling into the corner next to me, she replied, “It’s fine.”

  “It’s a good thing I don’t dance.” I guided her onto my lap. Next to me wasn’t close enough.

  “Ever?”

  “Not if I can avoid it. Dancing is mostly for fools and young people, who are often the same.”

  “You really do sound like the troll who lives under the bridge.”

  I kissed her nose. “Would a troll spend hours making you your favorite Indian food? Or would an ogre feed a stray cat?”

  She shifted to straddle me. “How did you know it was my favorite?”

  “I remembered.”

  Her forehead wrinkled in thought. “We ate Indian food together? When?”

  I stared up at her. “You’d just taken me on as a client and suggested we meet for lunch in Bellevue. I asked you to pick a restaurant and you said Spice Road because their Tikka Masala was your favorite.”

  She blinked several times and the furrows above her brows deepened. “That was one of our very first conversations. Ever. Over seven years ago.”

  I lifted my shoulder in a shrug. “Your point?”

  “How is it even possible you remembered what we said or ordered? I couldn’t tell you what I had for lunch last Tuesday.”

  “My head works that way. I don’t know how to explain it. Want to know what you wore?”

  She nodded, but appeared uncertain.

  Closing my eyes, I recalled the first time we met in person. “It was raining out and you walked into the restaurant in a classic trench coat and tall black boots with heels. Briefly I had a vision of you in the coat, boots, and nothing else. I quickly abolished that thought because it was a business meeting.”

  “You imagined me naked the first time we met?” she whispered.

  I stroked down her side, resting my hands on her hips. “I’m not going to deny it. In case you forgot, I was a cocky, successful man on top of the world. You were gorgeous and every man in the restaurant jealously watched you walk across the room to me. Don’t try to deny you’ve done the same thing to a man you’ve found attractive. We all wonder what’s underneath the wrapping.”

  I’d been obsessed with her in those early days, finding excuses to meet with her in person under the pretense of needing her guidance. She intrigued me beyond her external beauty. I couldn’t believe she was so much younger. At the time eight years equaled a decade. While I’d been traveling the world, she was in high school playing volleyball, doing homework, and sticking to a curfew. I told myself to behave, be professional, and stay away.

  I ignored all of my own warnings. She was the siren’s call and I happily crashed my boat against her rocky shore once I knew she felt the same undeniable pull I did.

  I cleared my throat.

  “Under the coat you wore a simple blue sweater the color of blueberries and a narrow black skirt to your knees. With your long hair pulled up, you reminded me of a woman from another time. Classic. Strong. Beautiful. Unexpected.” I emphasized each of these words with a soft kiss. Sometimes my lips pressed against hers or the corner or her mouth.

  “So you’re saying it was lust at first sight?”

  “Guilty. Your father would’ve killed me for the thoughts I had about you. He warned me you were off limits from day one.”

  “No he didn’t.” Disbelieving me, she leaned away.

  “Oh, but he did. First meeting I had with him before I met you or anyone else at the firm. He said you weren’t a virgin being thrown to the lions, but an equal in the arena. And I should never forget who was the emperor and who was the gladiator. Those may not have been his exact words, but the fall of Rome was mentioned.”

  She ducked her chin to her shoulder. “Alexander Porter loves Roman history.”

  “Alexander Porter raised a strong daughter who can bravely face anyone or anything and hold her own.”

  “It can be exhausting always being strong enough to fight everyone’s battles.” She still spoke to the rug behind her.

  “You don’t have to be strong with me. Or for me. Not anymore.” Pulling her against my chest, I rested my chin on her head once she relaxed. “You don’t have to be or do anything you don’t want to.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Why?”

  “Not everyone is independently, ridiculously wealthy.”

  “Money doesn’t equal happiness. I was miserable five years ago. Happiness is a state of mind. Being your true self and not trying to please everyone all of the time is a big part of finding happy. My money didn’t make me happy.”

  “Okay, Oprah.”

  “I’m not that rich.” After selling my bake-at-home artisanal bread company for low eight figures to a multi-national food giant, I’d walked away with enough to last me multiple lifetimes.

  “I meant the ‘seek your happiness’ speech. For those of us in the trenches fighting for our share of the American dream, we can’t give it all up and go to an ashram in India to find our true selves.”

  “Are you struggling with paying your bills?” I nodded my head in the direction of the front door and her expensive car on the other side.

  “No. I do okay.”

  “More than okay. You drive a Mercedes, live in an expensive condo, and have more than a few other trappings of success. I think spending all of your time with multi-millionaire athletes and billionaires has warped your perspective. Being around all that wealth, do you think any of those people are happier than a guy working in a pizza place?”

  Her lips pressed together and she narrowed her eyes. “Probably not in the way you’re thinking, pizza guy, but hell if life isn’t easier for them.”

  “Is it? Seems more complicated to me. All of those extra people to manage, and expectations from everyone wanting a slice of the pie. Pun intended. People will call themselves your friends while they suck you dry. Once the money or fame is gone, who’s left?”

  “Did that happen to you? You were always hosting parties and going to events. I remember you having a big group around you most of the time. Friends, colleagues, women—you were the center of attention.”

  “It was exhausting. Where are those people now? As soon as I stopped being the fun guy, aka the man who paid for everything, they found another bright star to be the center of their universe.” I kept my bitterness locked in a small box buried in a thick wall. I didn’t enjoy reliving the harsh realizations I’d experienced as I shifted my world to a new axis. Roslyn wasn’t the only relationship casualty of the implosion.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered. “I should’ve reached out to you. Once I drove over here, thinking I’d surprise you. I got as far as the parking lot of Sal’s. I sat there for ten minutes trying to work up the courage to go inside, petrified you’d find me sitting in my car.”

  It was my turn to lean back with surprise. I’d always assumed when she refused my offer, she’d closed the book on us. “When was that?”

  “About six months after you moved here. I’d found a small mention about yo
u in the South Whidbey Record. The article only had your name and the opening date for Sal’s. The notice was right next to the police blotter with a mention of an alpaca wandering the streets of downtown Langley.”

  “I know the piece. It’s framed in my office at Sal’s. Not every day you share press with a roaming alpaca.” I again tugged her closer, wanting to kiss her, happy she stalked me. “I can’t believe you came to Whidbey. I thought you were mad at me.”

  “I was. I drove all the way over here to yell at you for leaving.”

  I attempted to stifle my laughter by kissing her, not realizing how difficult it would be to kiss someone while smiling.

  “Why does my anger amuse you?”

  “Because anger is a sign of passion. You have to care to be angry. If you’re completely apathetic, nothing bothers you because you’re not invested. I’d rather have your anger. Any day.”

  “What if I’m still mad at you?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. You called me Asshat when I called you for Erik a few months ago. We haven’t discussed the end of our relationship.” Or more accurately, analyzed the corpse to identify the cause of death. I had a sense of why we ended and what role I played, but the truth lay somewhere between my version and hers.

  “Why spoil a nice dinner by digging up the past?” She kissed my cheekbone and ran her nose along my beard before licking the exposed skin of my neck.

  I knew in order to move forward, we’d have to go back to the ending of us, but with her mouth on my skin and her body over mine, I didn’t want to face my past sins.

  “I’d much rather be making out with you again. One of life’s simple pleasures we should indulge in as often as possible.” I teased her by never deepening the kiss until she braced her hands on my face to still my movements.

  Her kiss was a proclamation. Frustration and desire wove together as her mouth owned mine.

  I wanted her to claim all of me again.

  I’d never stopped belonging to her.

  “You could stay.” I kissed her deep rose lips, swollen from making out with me for the past hour. Or longer. I hadn’t looked at the clock and could only guess. Time had a funny way of twisting itself into a knot when I was lost in her. An hour might’ve lasted five minutes. A minute became a hundred.

  “I shouldn’t.” There was that word again.

  “Says who?” I nuzzled the base of her neck with my nose. At some point we’d shifted and now I lay over her, pressing her into the cushions with my torso.

  “I have an event tomorrow morning.” Her hips rose and sought mine in a slow, agonizing dance we’d performed over and over.

  She’d wanted to take things slow.

  I’d given her long, languid kisses and kept my hands above her waist, over her now wrinkled shirt, hoping to torture her more than I tormented myself.

  “Take an early morning ferry.” My hand rested heavy on her round breast.

  “I have to be there at nine.” She tugged at the short hairs along the back of my neck, demanding I stop talking.

  I lifted her thigh higher around my hip, changing the angle of where my cock pressed heavy into her softness. “Take a very early ferry.”

  “I’m a nightmare early in the morning,” she moaned, breathless and needy.

  “I remember.” I rolled my hips. “Why are you making up excuses?”

  “I thought you were okay with going slow.” She cupped my cheek.

  Barely lifting my lids, I met her eyes. “This is slow. We’re not doing anything we haven’t already done. Or you wouldn’t see in a PG movie.”

  “We’ve only had dinner twice.” With those words, she poured ice water down my spine.

  I rolled off of her to the side, still staring into her darkened eyes. “You’re invoking the three date rule? After we were together for a year? We’ve known each other for seven plus years.”

  “With a five year gap in the middle.” Her cold truth snapped me back to the unspoken words we still needed to share.

  I didn’t want her to leave. “Sleep in the guest cottage. I’ll make you breakfast for the early boat.”

  Her eyes widened. “All the way out there? By myself? What if a bear attacks me?”

  I had a simple solution that in no way was manipulation. It was the chivalrous thing to offer to protect her from the first ever bear attack on the island. “Then stay in my bed with me.”

  “I can’t.” My beard had marked her skin, but her desire flushed her cheeks.

  However, I wouldn’t force her. Ever.

  Or beg. Never.

  Our conversation became a snake swallowing its tail. My body couldn’t take much more of the prolonged purgatory of arousal. I’d passed the point of drawn-out pleasure and found myself on the edge of pain.

  Resolved, I planted my feet on the floor and stood. The oven clock told me our evening had to end. “Okay. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “I don’t have to leave right this second.” With her hair spread on the cushions, she stared up at me. Desire filled her eyes. Her gaze dropped to my fly.

  “You do if you don’t want to miss the last ferry.” The more manipulative, selfish part of me wished I’d never glanced at the clock or mentioned the time. A few more minutes and she would’ve missed the boat. But I didn’t want to trick her into spending the night with me. This would only work if she was all in—mind, body, and heart.

  “I’m beginning to hate the ferries.” She pushed herself up to sitting and ran a hand over her tangled nest of hair.

  “Next time you come over, plan to stay.” To assuage her uncertainty, I added, “In the guest cottage if you’d like.”

  “Erik and Cari did invite me to the Halloween party next weekend. It sounds tempting.”

  “I’ll be there. You should come.”

  “In costume?”

  “Of course.” I had no idea what I’d wear, but it was tradition for everyone to show up in some sort of costume. Even a mask with street clothes counted.

  “Hmm. I usually don’t dress up. I haven’t in years.” Her steps were uncertain and shaky, like a foal, as she walked to pick up her bag on the counter.

  I had a brilliant idea. “Wear a granny nightgown and come as Wendy.”

  “Only if you dress as Peter Pan. You have the legs for tights.”

  I kissed her to hush her laughter. Lord, I wanted to pin her down and keep her with me, but I knew I couldn’t. Not tonight.

  “Come on. You’ll be trapped here with me if you don’t leave now.”

  “Will the house become enchanted and hidden away from the villagers?” She pointed at a candlestick. “Is that really your manservant?”

  I growled, leaning over her and nipping at her shoulder with my teeth. “I have a gate that keeps my torch-wielding enemies out.”

  “You mean your broken gate?”

  “Thanks for reminding me. Feel free to trespass anytime you’re on the island.” Reluctantly, I led her outside.

  With a final chaste kiss on the lips at her car door, we said good night.

  Standing in the driveway, I watched the car lights disappear into the woods.

  A flash of gray near the front door startled me. Cat darted inside, tail up and with a prance to her step like she was mistress of the manor.

  “Damn mooch. You’re not sleeping inside.” I followed her through the door and found her sitting on the kitchen island again.

  Her purr practically echoed in the empty room.

  “Fine, I’ll feed you, but then you’re out for the night.” I let her brush against my arm a few times before giving in and petting her.

  “Damn cat. You’re not the female overnight guest I’d imagined this evening.”

  She blinked up at me and then rolled on her back haunch to clean herself.

  “Stop rubbing it in.” Could cats be smug? If so, she wore a smug smirk as she strolled outside to be fed.

  “I CAN’T MAKE it tonight. Something came up with work and I have to stay in the city. I�
�m so sorry. I know you’ll have fun without me. Be sure to take pictures. I’m so bummed to miss the party.”

  Standing in my kitchen wearing green running tights and a tunic that barely covered my ass, I listened to Roslyn’s voicemail again. Her cancellation came at the very last minute. I’d been in the shower when she’d called. After I saw the voicemail, I knew it would be bad news, so I delayed listening to it until I’d put on my costume.

  Tonight was the annual costume party at the Rod and Gun Club in Langley. Being the good community member, I’d donated a bunch of pizzas and promised to attend.

  When Roslyn agreed to be my date, the evening changed from a work obligation into something I’d been looking forward to sharing with her.

  I couldn’t back out last minute.

  I was the pizza man. Plus, it had been my idea to do a canned food drive at this year’s party to support our local food pantries. The canned food drive was the beginning of what I’d planned. Erik and I had spearheaded an initiative between Halloween and Christmas this year to help the neediest of the island’s residents have a good holiday season. Inspired by my friend John’s donation of firewood, I decided to focus on what I knew: food.

  Briefly, I thought about changing my costume. Or not wearing one at all. The joke wouldn’t play as well without a Wendy. Hell, the whole costume had been inspired by my conversation with her.

  Resigned, I took a lame selfie and texted it to her.

  After parking at the clubhouse, I discovered a text from Roslyn.

  *I was right. You totally have the legs for tights.*

  That was it.

  I secretly hoped she’d show up late to the party to surprise me. Every woman in costume with a mask received a thorough once over from me.

  “Someone’s on the prowl tonight.” Carter bumped my shoulder with his fist. “Scanning the room for Tinker Bell?”

  “She’s not coming,” I mumbled.

  “Hey, look. There’s a girl with glitter wings. Ask her to be your special fairy.” Carter raised his arm to wave at the woman who couldn’t have been over twenty-five.

  “Where’s Ashley?” I needed a distraction.

  He automatically glanced over his shoulder before facing me again. “Why?”