Perfect Little Plan

by Jennifer Miller

  I’m not prepared for the fact that my legs feel like jelly. “Whoa there, darlin’.” Rixton catches me in his arms. I don’t know where he came from, but I’m certainly glad he’s there.

  “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  “It’s normal for those that have never ridden before, or if it’s been a long time since they’ve last ridden, to feel funny when they get off their horse.”

  “Feel funny?” Rixton holds onto my arms as we walk a few steps and I know I have to look absolutely ridiculous practically tripping over my feet. “I feel like I’m still on the horse. And what the hell is wrong with my ass?”

  He laughs, “Your ass is fine, but you do look pretty funny. Your legs are apart and you’re walking with an adorable waddle. Maybe I just need to put something back between them for you,” he drawls.

  “Shut up!” I’m so embarrassed. I swat Rixton on the arm, but he just laughs and swoops me up into his arms. “What are you doing? Put me down! I can walk.”

  “Not a chance. I made you come with me horseback riding. The least I can do is carry you to the car until your body adjusts to you being off the horse.”

  All the muscles in my legs feel sore. Cradled in his arms I can feel that my back feels a little sore too and oh my hell, I think my ass is going to fall off. There are muscles that hurt that I didn’t even know I had. When we are in the car, I have an idea. I get my cell phone and make a call.

  “This isn’t what I had planned you know. And this is supposed to be my date idea today.” Rixton grumbles.

  “Yeah, well too bad. You should have thought of this when you knew you were bringing a novice horseback riding.”

  As we walk into my spa, some of my employees’ eyes appear to pop out of their heads as they catch a view of Rixton. I guess I can’t blame them. Not only is he ridiculously hot, but they’ve never seen me with a man before. It’s pure luck I was able to get us in for a massage appointment. God bless the person who cancelled today. Rixton, however, is not as delighted. Rather, he has been complaining ever since I suggested this detour.

  “I feel fine. I don’t really need a massage.”

  “Are you seriously telling me you don’t want a massage?”

  “Yes, that’s what I’m telling you. I’ve never had one before, I don’t need one now.” Rixton is looking around the place, taking it all in. I want to know what he thinks about the spa. I wish I could see in his mind and know his thoughts and if he likes what he sees. I can’t help but feel pride in my business and for reasons I don’t understand, it’s important to me that Rixton like it too. His opinion matters to me.

  I walk up to him, albeit somewhat awkwardly since my legs still feel like I participated in a triathlon and whisper in his ear, “So what you’re saying is that you don’t want to be naked, in a room with me, also naked, while another woman rubs me down and you get to watch?”

  He pulls back and stares at me, mouth slightly open, “Well, when you put it that way, where do I change?”

  I laugh and point him in the direction of the men’s changing room.

  Considering that Rixton and I have been naked together and have done extremely intimate things to one another, it’s funny to me that being naked in a massage room should feel so awkward. We’re both lying on our stomachs, heads turned, facing one another. When we walked into the room together and needed to drop our robes to get on the tables, I wanted to forget the massage right there and just jump on him instead. And by the look in his eyes, he thought the same thing.

  Instead, I saw him swallow hard, move to the table, and get situated for our therapists.

  My licensed therapists only talk when needed; otherwise they just let clients enjoy the experience. I imagine the thoughts running through their minds and the likely gossip among the other employees. Oh well. If they want to keep their jobs, they will keep their mouths closed at least around me.

  A few times when Rachel, my masseuse, hits a sore spot, moans escape my mouth because I can’t hold them in. Each time heat flashes in Rixton’s eyes and it somehow relocates itself between my legs. He keeps his head turned toward me and eyes fixated on me the entire time. It’s an intensely intimate situation and with each passing minute, the sexual tension builds – so thick, as they say, I could cut it with a knife. I have never had to work to keep my breathing steady during a massage before and all I can think about is how I want to press my body and lips against his. Who knew a massage could be so provocative?

  When our massages are over, and the therapists leave the room, Rixton is off his table and on mine immediately. “God, Pyper, I want you,” he whispers moments before his lips are on mine. He kisses me like he’s drowning and I’m water. Like he can’t get enough, like he will never get enough. I put my hands in his hair and squeeze. I can’t get enough either.

  Ripping my mouth from him takes extreme effort, “We can’t do this here,” I whisper. “This is my company, my employees… I can’t.”

  “I know, I know. I just want you. Bad.” He keeps talking in between placing kisses all over me – my mouth, jaw, behind my ears, my neck and chest. “Let’s get out of here, okay? I want to get you home. Now.”

  I’ve never gotten dressed so fast in my life.

  RIXTON DRIVES FAST AND FURIOUS back to my place. I don’t even think until later about the fact that he didn’t take me to his, but chose mine again. As we pull into the parking garage of the condo, I’m practically panting with want and need.

  Rixton is already out of his car and has come to collect me, obviously as eager as I am and not wanting to waste another second before we ascend in the elevator to my condo. We stand as close as possible in the elevator, waiting for the car to stop on the designated floor. We hustle out, and after fumbling a bit with my key, open the door.

  Once we’re through the door, Rixton tosses his hat in the air and as it floats to the floor. He starts tugging at my tank and I begin unbuttoning his shirt. He walks me backwards toward the living room couch. “I want you,” he murmurs with his lips against my jaw after throwing my tank on the floor.

  “Less talking, more kissing.”

  He laughs and opens my jeans with a flick of his fingers. I get impatient with his buttons and have to force myself not to rip the shirt and pop all the buttons. Completing that task, I make a sound of joy as I remove his shirt just as he removes my bra and we smile as we go skin to skin, celebrating our success with a firm, deep kiss.

  My zipper slides down like a scream in the room and his hand immediately descends the front of my jeans making me moan in response. Feeling the couch behind us, he smashes his lips to mine in a hard, passion-filled kiss. “This is going to be fast, darlin’.”

  “I like fast. And hard,” I find myself brazenly responding, unencumbered with pretense or formality. Rixton groans and turns me around. With my back pressed against his front, he takes my breasts in both of his hands and squeezes my nipples. I throw my head back onto his shoulder and moan again when his teeth nibble on my neck. “Now,” I command.

  He bends me over the arm of the couch and eases my jeans down my legs. “Lift your feet one at a time,” he instructs, then helps me step out of them. I hear his zipper and look over my shoulder to see him tugging his jeans down just far enough to free himself from them. With a hand on my back and another on himself, steadying, he eases into me. When he’s completely inside, we both groan together at the amazing feeling.

  “Yes,” I shout and plant my feet wider apart. He finds a rhythm, slowly easing out and then back in quickly. “Faster,” I instruct him as I feel the need within me start to rise in my belly. He reaches a hand to the front of me and runs the tips of his fingers over my most sensitive spot bringing me higher. I find myself rocking back to meet his thrusts, and simultaneously grinding against his fingers.

  “Come for me, darlin’,” he pants, almost begging me, both eager to satisfy me and anxious to obtain his own release.

  “I’m almost there,” I pant, loving the feeling
of him wanting more, needing more. When I come, I scream with my release, the feeling so intense, remaining quiet not even an option.

  “Yes, that’s it,” he continues to stroke me. “Fuck, yes.” He pulls out every sensation he can until his movements pick up, become choppy, and then he loses himself too.

  Both of us panting and slightly shivering, his body collapses on top of mine and we start laughing breathlessly at how desperately anxious we were and at how astoundingly remarkable we feel. Basking in the afterglow, we’re alarmed as we hear, “Ummm. Wow. Uh. So yeah. This is a bit awkward.”

  Our heads jerk to the side to see Luke standing there, gawking at us. “DUDE,” Rixton yells and covers as much of me as he can while Luke turns to face the wall.

  “Oh my God!” I yell.

  “Geez. Get out. Privacy, man.” Rixton tells Luke who is already hurrying away.

  If I wasn’t so satisfied right now, I’d be completely mortified. I’m not sure if I will ever be able to look Luke in the face again, but I do know a talk with Olivia is very overdue.

  I’ve had so much fun with Rixton these past few weeks. We’ve continued to date and get to know each other better. Each and every encounter tops the one before. Every date reveals something new about Rixton and he continues to surprise me. Moreover, I continue to open up to him and am at ease, able to be exactly who I am. In one brief interaction he can make me laugh, swoon, and get me all hot and bothered. He’s informed, can carry an intelligent conversation, and is exceedingly silly. He is so much more complex than I ever would have thought, and yet so very simple and sweet. I enjoy him. And I really do like him. He’s all I think about and he’s nothing and everything I expected. But mostly, he’s everything that I want.

  The thought has been torturing me. I’m ashamed to admit that at twenty-six years old I’m still afraid of what my parents think and feel. I don’t want to disappoint them and I know that everything I do is a reflection on them. They have made me aware of that since I was young. And mostly, I know that my behavior and desires are directly opposed with their expectations of and for me and that I am willfully defying them – with glee. The moments of angst and guilt are becoming fewer. And when I look in the mirror these days, I see a stronger, more confident, more aware me. Mostly.

  “I think you are wrong, and I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this.” Olivia, who made a surprising solo appearance for breakfast this morning, is giving me the look she should patent. It tells me she’s exasperated. And I’m the target of her annoyance this time.

  Trying to determine how I want to respond, I replay what she told me this morning, sorting out fact from fiction. Apparently, Luke had a late night at the club and an early morning this morning. Olivia decided to come here instead of waiting at his place alone. She said she just wanted to be in her old room, but I’m fairly certain that’s only part of the story. Regardless, when she walked into the kitchen as I stood at the table pouring my first cup of coffee while holding my bowl of granola, I shrieked and practically tossed my entire bowlful of cereal onto the table and floor, prompting her to apologize profusely. Given the mutual hyper sensitivity we have about such surprises after what we both went through, even if it had to be worse for her at the hand of Deacon, her excessive apologies are understandable. Horrors like he caused take time to get over. A lot of time. We clean the mess up, then sit down to enjoy breakfast together. Something we haven’t done for quite some time, and something I’ve missed.

  “I just don’t know if you’re right, Olivia. I think my parents want me happy too – don’t get me wrong – but that happiness has a price – and several conditions. Their conditions, to be more specific.” I take a sip of coffee and pause for a minute, enjoying its sweetness. “I’ve never done anything contrary to their wishes – certainly not anything of substance. I’ve never rebelled, never got into drugs, drinking, partying, or any of that stuff. I’ve been their model little daughter. A perfect little soldier.” Scratching my head, I tuck my hair behind my ear then grab the hair tie off my wrist and drag it to the top of my head and tie it into a high bun. “They do not expect – nor do I think they will tolerate – me doing anything contrary to their wants, beliefs, or desires. And I never have. Frankly, I can hardly imagine what it will be like for them – or me – when that happens the first time. And it is about to happen.”

  “I think you are crazy to think they have expectations as far as your long-term happiness goes, Pyper. They want you to have the fairy tale. They want you to find someone and fall in love and be happy ever after.” She sits across from me cupping her coffee cup in her hands, blowing on the contents between her words. “I mean really, it isn’t a big deal is it? So you fell in love with a cowboy and not an executive or entrepreneur. Who really cares? It isn’t like he isn’t supporting himself or that he’s some felon or druggie or something. Give me a break.”

  “First of all, I didn’t say anything about love.” She makes a noise that I ignore. She doesn’t get it. And I hate thinking that because she is my best friend. “Secondly, it doesn’t matter, Livvie, none of that matters. My dad wants me to be with someone that either has a ridiculous amount of money on his own, has inherited money, or at the very least has the potential to make a lot of money. And he has a standard for how he wants me to live. And it’s not about what I should have, really. It’s about him not being able to settle for having a son-in-law that doesn’t fit the image. He is also concerned that someone will use me to get to his money or that someone will only want to be with me to get to my inheritance. That, Livvie, is his criteria for the fairy tale as you call it. And, frankly, for the first time, maybe, I see it as a bit sick. No matter how much he loves me.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because he’s said as much. Maybe not in those exact words, but I can certainly read between the lines. The messages have been loud and clear through the years.”

  “Maybe you have misunderstood. I still think they want more for you – true love, happiness, contentment. Surely, they care more about those things than money shit. And if you are right, when they see how happy someone makes you, none of that other stuff is going to matter.”

  “It’s a nice thought,” I sigh. “I’m just not confident it’s my reality.”

  “All I know is that I watched your dad spend a crazy amount of money making sure that you have everything and anything that you want. And I’ve seen his expression when he has given you things. He likes to see you happy. There is no way that he would not accept – and respect – a person that makes you happy too. No way.”

  I think a change of subject is in order. We aren’t going to agree on this right now and it’s starting to give me a headache. “I’d like to hope you are right. We will certainly see. Now, speaking of being happy, how are things with you and Luke?”

  “Wonderful,” she smiles, the change in conversation not even phasing her given its subject. “Why do you ask?”

  I take a deep breath – here we go. “Because I’m just wondering why it is you haven’t finally moved in with him yet?”

  Her face falls, “Are you trying to kick me out? Does this have to do with Luke walking in when you and Rixton… because he apologized for that profusely. So did I. I didn’t know I was going to be running late at the florist…”

  “You know better than that. I mean, yes, that was mortifying. And horrifying. Humiliating. Appalling. And I still can’t look Luke in the face, but that’s not why I ask. The thing is, I know you. I think you forget that while you know me better than anyone, the reverse is also true. And I know you are staying here because you don’t want to leave me here alone. You worry about me being here by myself.”

  “That’s not…”

  I don’t let her continue. “I know you two are practically living together already. What are you waiting for? Is it because you want to wait until you’re married before officially living together?”

  “No, it isn’t that.”

  “Then tel
l me what it is, because be honest… how many times has Luke asked you to just finally move into his place? I know you guys already repainted, redecorated, and brought most of your things over. So, what gives?” Olivia shrugs and takes a sip of her coffee prolonging answering me. “Livvie, you need to move in with Luke. You need to start the next chapter of your life. I understand that. You know that, right? As hard as it is to see you go, I need you to take care of yourself and quit being concerned about me. I know that’s what you’re doing. And I know what you really want.”

  Tears form in her eyes making the green stand out even more in her pretty face. “It’s hard, Pyper.”

  “Tell me why. Are you having second thoughts? Is the commitment scaring you because of what you went through with asshole?” I ask, referring to Deacon. “Because if it is, you say the word and we can hightail it the hell out of Chicago right now. If something happened and if this is seriously not what you want then tell me and I am here for you, no questions asked. Well… maybe some questions, but mostly what I said before.”

  She gives me a watery smile, shaking her head, which is what I was going for because I know there is no way in hell she’s having second thoughts about marrying Luke. They love each other so much it’s palpable. “No, it’s nothing like that and you know it. It’s just… you’re right… I don’t want to leave you. Not alone.”

  I push my coffee cup aside and reach across the table for her hand. She grabs mine and holds on tight. “I’m happy for you. So, so happy, Livvie. And I love you, and am so lucky to be loved by you in return. The fact that the thought of leaving me alone would even give you pause, means so much to me. And yes, I will miss you. Your presence, our late night talks, the lip glosses of yours I find all over, our Supernatural binges, ice cream confessions, but most of all, you. I will miss you. But you know what? More than all of that? I’m so excited and happy for you. And I know that just because you aren’t living here, it doesn’t mean that anything changes between us or that those things we love to do together, can’t still happen. I mean, hello, can you say slumber party?”