Love in Transit

by Jana Aston

  “Hey, Lauren,” Brad says, glancing between us again. “It’s good to see you. I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

  I’m not sure what to say to that because I wasn’t aware of this connection until just now, but before I need to respond he’s introducing the woman by his side. He introduces her as his girlfriend and after a pause he mentions that they met a few months ago. I suppose this is for my benefit, some kindness he’s bestowing on me so that I don’t wonder if it’s her underwear I found in the apartment I shared with him. I realize as he says it that I wasn’t wondering. That it feels like forever ago. That I simply don’t care.

  Besides, I’m too busy wondering how my ex knows my current boyfriend. I’ll be damned if I’m going to ask right now though.

  Brad asks about my job and how I’m doing. If I’ve gotten my own place yet or if I’m still at the bunk bed apartment. I give him the generic answers you give to someone you don’t know well enough to elaborate with.

  “Babe,” the girlfriend says with a slight tug to Brad’s arm. I’ve already forgotten her name. She’s pretty. Docile, would be my brief impression. “We’re going to be late for the movie,” she tells him.

  He nods at her and tells me it was good to see me. To take care. He tells Max he’ll see him on Monday. So that answers that. They work together.

  I’m silent as I watch them walk away, but I slide out from under Max’s arm. When they’ve crossed Charles I turn and look at him.

  “I was going to tell you,” he starts. Which is never a good way to start a conversation with a woman. How do men not know this? All men past the age of eighteen should know this. They should share this information with each other, pass it along while they do their bro hugs or add it to condom reviews they post online. Write it on bathroom walls if that’s what it takes to get the message out.

  “What the fuck, Max?”

  “On a scale of one to breaking up with me, how mad are you?”

  “I’m twenty-three, Max, not thirteen. We’re going to have a conversation about this, not pick out a dramatic breakup song.”

  “Okay.” He nods slowly, some of the tension leaving his forehead.

  “So you and Brad work together?”

  “Sorta,” he says and when I raise an eyebrow he adds, “Technically, I’m his boss.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” I say, throwing up my hands as I start walking towards his apartment. “So when exactly did you realize that?” I stop walking and look at him. “Did you always know? Because Brad”—I point in the direction he just walked—“clearly didn’t know.”

  “No. I didn’t always know. The first night,” he says. “While we were eating takeout you said something about an ex in finance, which could have been one of ten thousand guys in this city. But then you mentioned being from Iowa and a few other things and it all fell into place.”

  “Why wouldn’t you just tell me that?” I’m incredulous.

  “Because you’d made some comments about the kind of guys Brad associated with and I didn’t want you to write me off before you gave me a chance. I thought you’d walk out the door if I told you then. Also, to be fair, you were half naked at the time and I might not have been thinking rationally.”

  “You’re so stupid.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Okay.” I sigh. We’ve reached his apartment and we pause in front of the door and stare at each other. “Let’s go fuck this out.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  “You really are too good to me.”

  “Agreed. Now unlock the door.”

  ***

  We’re both laughing when he unlocks the door and kicks it shut behind us, pausing only long enough to flip the deadbolt before he’s jogging up the stairs behind me. It’s not our first date, we’re civilized fuckers now. Which basically means anywhere except the staircase. Because have you ever on a staircase? His stairs are wood, which doesn’t help. Not that carpet would help much because rug burns are no joke, especially in the summer when you want to wear a knee-length dress to work the next day.

  “I’ve got something for you,” he says when we reach the top of the stairs. “I’ve been waiting all night to give it to you.”

  “I know, I’ve been waiting all night to get it,” I agree with a glance at his pants.

  “Clearly I’m the romantic in this relationship, you little pervert,” he says with a shake of his head as he drops my weekend bag on his dining room table. A table that seats six that we’ve never eaten at. I love the wide-open lofty feel of his place. It’s relaxing and makes me feel like I can unwind. Like I can spread out in the middle of a city that’s overcrowded, when I’m normally forced to squeeze myself in.

  “Table sex?” I ask, because we’ve never done that.

  “No,” he retorts with a snort then pauses. “Well, maybe. Let’s not discount that. But first,” he says, handing me a small box that must have been waiting on the dining table.

  I take it from him and examine it in my hands. It’s about the size of a pack of gum, but thicker. It’s cardboard with a twine string wrapped around it and fastened under a little disk attached to the top. It’s not fancy—urban hip, maybe. I flick my eyes up to his and then back to the box in my hands.

  “It’s not my birthday either,” I point out.

  “Open it,” he urges.

  I unwrap the twine and the cardboard unfolds to reveal another cardboard box, this one with corrugated edges and a top flap that slides out to open. I run my fingers over the edges for a second, enjoying the way the material feels under my fingertips and enjoying the sweet moment.

  Then I slide the top flap open and look inside, confused for a moment about what I’m looking at. It’s a fortune, like from a fortune cookie. But it’s inside of a small glass-fronted box. “Is this—” I begin to ask as I pull it from the box and the chain dangles free. “It’s a necklace,” I coo. It’s gorgeous, the slimmest rose-gold box dangling from a matching chain. I pull it closer to read what’s written on the paper. It is a fortune—I was right about that. It says, Don’t be afraid to smile. You never know who’s falling in love with it.

  “Max.” I grin. “I love it.” I slide it over my head, the chain long enough to allow me to put it on without unclasping it. Once it’s on I finger the locket between my fingers and look up at Max with a smile so big I bite my lip to try to contain it. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Is this the fortune you wouldn’t read to me that night? On our first date?”

  He nods.

  “Because you already loved my smile? Even then?”

  “Because I already knew I could love you, even then.”

  “You did?” I ask.

  “I do,” he corrects. “Love you.”

  “I didn’t,” I say with an almost imperceptible shake of my head. “I didn’t know it yet then. But I do now. Well, I knew a while ago. I think technically you got to me while we were eating food from a street vendor. You were—” I don’t get to finish that thought because sex is apparently back on the table. Literally. My ass is on the table and my dress is being lifted over my head.

  “No,” Max says, pulling away from me. His lips were just on mine and I lean forward as he pulls back as if I can drag him back to my lips by sheer force of will.

  “No?” He’s such a fucking tease, this guy.

  “Not on the table,” he says and slides me off the edge, my legs wrapping around his hips as he does. “Not on the table right now,” he adds. “I’m not conceding the table as a viable surface for any future fuckery. But now, bed.”

  “How caveman of you,” I tell him, tugging at his earlobe with my teeth and doing my best to gyrate myself against him, to get the friction I desperately want on my clit. “I like it.”

  “Of course you do.” He sets me on my feet at the foot of the stairs and slaps my ass. “Go up. Take off your bra and panties and wait for me on the bed.”

  “Oh, we’re d
oing a bossy thing too. Me really likey.”

  “Go.” He shakes his head at me and laughs.

  Upstairs I slide my underthings off and drop them on a chair in his bedroom. Then I take the necklace off and examine it again before I place it on his dresser. I don’t want the chain to tangle, and if it stays on it’s going to end up wrapped up in my hair. I notice there’s a tiny hinge on the box and clasp that opens the glass lid, so I can switch out the fortune if I want. I can’t imagine wanting to though, it’s perfect just as it is. I run my fingers along the glass window and smile, remembering our first night together. Remembering the first time we met when he said something about enjoying my laugh. That he liked my smile.

  “Why aren’t you in bed?” Max enters the room, pulling his shirt off and giving me a pointed look. “Your instructions were naked and in bed. You are naked, which I appreciate, but you’re not in bed, which I don’t.” He unbuckles his belt, his movements unhurried, his fingers nimble as the belt falls open and he unzips his pants. Flicking his eyes back to mine, he grins, that damn dimple of his making me wetter than I already am. “Wait, are you trying to ask me for some kinky spanking shit? Where you deliberately don’t follow instructions and then I pretend to be cross with you and bend you over my knee? Because I’m on page eighty of this month’s book club pick and I haven’t come across any spanking scenes yet so I’m not sure what we’re doing here.” He grins when he says it, and his tone is teasing so I’m not taking him seriously.

  “No.” I shake my head with a laugh. “I wasn’t.”

  “Good, because that shit never turns out as hot as you think it’s going to. It looks good in movies but here, without the correct lighting and someone filming it, it’s just kinda awkward.” He shoves his pants over his hips, his cock heavy, the small talk doing nothing to dull his erection. “But hey, if it’s your sexual fantasy I’m willing to oblige you.”

  “It’s not. I mean, let’s not take it off the table”—I wink at him—“but not right now.”

  “Okay, I’ll practice. Just so I’m prepared if you change your mind.”

  “Wait, how in the hell are you going to practice spanking?”

  “Really?” He raises a brow, his expression amused. “Did you really just ask me that? I was a teenage boy once.”

  “Stop.” I laugh. “How are you going to practice spanking me?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “A pillow?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What? It could work.” He grabs a pillow from the bed and gives it a thwack. It makes the same sound as fluffing a pillow, which is ridiculous. I frown and shake my head at him. “That’s a good girl, take it,” he says, giving the pillow another whack as he drops onto the bed.

  Shit. “Okay, that good girl thing was hot,” I admit, my eyes darting away and then back again. He looks interested in this revelation but I hold up a hand as I set the necklace down and walk towards him. “Can I ask you something?” I ask, bending one knee onto the bed.

  “Of course.”

  “That night we met,” I start and I see the recognition flash across his face. He knows where I’m going with this. “When I was blogging at Starbucks. You just flirted with me and left. What if you’d never seen me again?”

  “Lauren.” He smiles and holds his hand out to me until I lean forward and crawl over him, resting my head on his chest. “My gym is around the corner from that Starbucks. I’d seen you in there at least half a dozen times.”

  “You had?” I ask, surprised. “Why’d you wait so long to talk to me?”

  “I didn’t think you were ready.”

  “You didn’t?” I question. But he’s right, I wasn’t.

  “That night was the first time you ever looked up. The first time you ever caught me staring at you.”

  “That’s not creepy,” I joke while tapping his chest with my fingers.

  “I knew I’d see you there again. And I figured eventually I’d wear you down.”

  “Still a little creepy,” I say, holding my finger and thumb apart an inch.

  “But then I bumped into you the next day on the subway. Wearing a wedding dress and examining the Times Square mosaic like it was your job.”

  “I really do love those mosaics,” I mumble.

  “Giving me shit about threesomes and coming up with every excuse you could think of not to go out with me.”

  “Oh, yeah, the threesomes.” I laugh. “I was convinced you were going to ask me to some kind of kinky sex party.”

  “You wish.” He flips us over so he’s on top and tugs a nipple between his teeth. “But I’m not sharing you. You’re mine.”

  “I like being yours,” I tell him, lacing my fingers into his hair.

  “So we’re good?” he asks.

  “So good,” I agree. “Now stop messing around and give it to me.”

  “Give it to you? I don’t think you’re a good girl after all. I think you’re a bad girl.”

  “Can’t I be both?”

  “I like the way your dirty mind works.” He winks. “Now why don’t you be a good girl and put your hands above your head.”

  I do. Of course I do.

  His cock is heavy against my stomach as he cups my jaw and works his lips down the column of my neck. I love the way it feels when his dick is hard and pressed between us, so close to where I want it. I like the weight of it, the warmth. I shift my legs open and rotate my hips, hoping to appeal directly to his penis in my quest to get what I want.

  “Ask nicely,” he teases. Oh, I like this game.

  “Please?” I ask.

  “Try harder,” he says, trailing his lips down to my tits. He’s not teasing either, he can work me for what feels like forever. Toying with me, kissing every inch of my body. Pressing my tits together and sliding his cock between them, then sliding down to taste me while palming his dick in long slow strokes.

  “Please give me your cock,” I try.

  “All those books you read and that’s the best you’ve got?” He shakes his head and manages a look of disappointment, but his lip pulls into a small smile, giving him away.

  “I want to feel you bare inside of me,” I tell him, biting my lip. “I want you to fuck me like you own me, Max,” I tell him, looking him dead in the eye. “Hold me down and take what you want.”

  “Jesus,” he mutters and flips me over. A second later my thighs are spread wide and he’s inside of me. I groan and keep my arms stretched over my head, palms spread against the headboard, my forehead against the pillow while he moves. It’s so deep like this and I squeeze myself around his shaft and moan into the pillow. Over and over again he drives into me and when I try to snake a hand down to my clit, he grabs my wrist and bends my arm behind my back. He places his other hand on the back of my neck and squeezes lightly, so lightly, and I might have even more deviant potential than I thought because it only takes me another minute to come like this. The spasms seem like they go on forever, Max letting go of my arm and wrist and wrapping his hands around my waist as he continues to pump into me until he follows me over the edge.

  “Remind me never to challenge you,” he says after, when he’s wrapped around me, my back to his front, his mouth to my ear. “You’re going to kill me.”

  “It’d be a hell of a way to go though.”

  “Was that makeup sex? We didn’t even have a real fight. Wow.”

  “Rational conversation,” I remind him sleepily.

  “So we got to skip the fight and go right to the make-up sex,” he muses. “Fuck, I’m the luckiest man alive.”

  “Don’t press your luck. We can still have a fight if you’re that into it.”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Thought so.”

  “I’m getting a sign made though. For over the bed.”

  “What?” I ask, turning my head to look at him.

  “You know how people hang motivational shit over their bed like Always Kiss Me Goodnight?”

  “Yeah.”
<
br />   “Ours will say, Skip the fight. Go right to the make-up sex.”

  “You really are the romantic in this relationship.”

  “That’s why you love me.”

  “It is,” I agree and then snuggle back into his arms and close my eyes, totally content with the fairy tale I found right in the middle of my ordinary life.

  EPILOGUE

  “So we’re really doing this?” He grins at me, those dimples no less effective on me than they were the first time I saw them four months ago.

  “We’re really doing this,” I agree, pausing to look at him. “Unless you don’t want to?”

  “Of course I want to, crazy girl. As long as this is what you want. I want you to have the perfect day. Fly your family in, go to Iowa, Vegas, I don’t care as long as you’re happy.”

  “Honestly, Max, I just want you.” I gather the skirt of my dress in my hands so it won’t drag on the sidewalk. “And this dress,” I add with a grin. “The dress is really the only wedding detail I care about. I don’t need a perfect Pinterest wedding. Just the perfect guy, the perfect dress and—”

  “And city hall,” Max finishes.

  “And city hall,” I confirm. “Let’s do this.”

  “You’re sure you don’t want me to call a car service?” he asks as we step onto the sidewalk outside his—our—apartment.

  “No way, Subway or bust,” I tell him.

  Unofficially we’ve been living together since summer. In September I made it official and gave up my bunk bed spot to another girl.

  In October Max proposed. A two-carat cushion-cut diamond in a halo setting, which I care about because he picked it out himself, but I’d have said yes to a ring made with a gum wrapper. The part I love about it the most is what’s engraved inside the band: Your smile changed my life.

  Today I’ll slide a ring onto Max’s finger with an engraving of my own. Your love changed mine.

  <<<<>>>>

  Thank You

  Thank you for reading Max & Lauren’s story! Times Square is the only novel I have planned for now in this “world” but who knows, maybe I’ll write about those roommates of Lauren’s one day. If you liked my dirty romcom style please check out my website or your retailer of choice for my other books. And look for a brand new release from me this August.