“Now?” I echoed, feeling like I was dangling off the edge of a cliff.
“Now there’s you.” He took my face in his hands and kissed me. “Without making specific promises, I’m up for seeing where this takes us—if you can put up with me…with us. We’re sort of a package deal.”
Relief and affection for him made me smile. “I’ll try. Let’s go slow—one step at a time.” I grinned at him. “So we don’t lose our balance.”
He kissed me again and pulled me into his arms. “I don’t deserve you, Girl Friday. But I want to.”
• • •
While Levi made dinner, I mixed two Old Fashioneds. “Do you like this whiskey?” I asked, showing him the bottle. “My guy at the liquor store said it’s awesome.”
He looked up from his tray of bacon-wrapped steak. He’d cuffed his sleeves, which meant I could see his watch, which meant I might have drooled a little bit. “Journeyman? I love it. I’d like to visit that distillery.”
“We should go sometime,” I said, putting a little sugar in the bottom of each glass. “I looked it up, and it’s pretty much a straight shot down ninety-four. Then we could go to Chicago!”
“Is that before or after our ski trip?”
“Hmm, we do have a lot of big plans, don’t we?” I wet the sugar with some bitters and a splash of soda, swirled it around to coat the bottom, then added an ice cube. “Maybe we should start a little smaller.”
“I was thinking the same earlier today,” he said, sliding the tray of steak bites into the oven. “I’d like to spend a night with you somewhere.”
I poured the whiskey into the glasses as my stomach flipped. “Like a sleepover?”
“Yes, a sleepover.” He shut the oven and turned around, laughing. “Although I have never called it that before.”
I handed him his drink. “I’d love that. Open invitation here, whenever you can work it out.”
“Thanks.” He took a sip and raised his eyebrows. “This is perfect. My God—she’s beautiful, smart, and mixes a proper cocktail?” He clapped a hand to his chest. “I’m in love.”
I knew he was teasing me, but my heart stopped just the same, and I nearly dropped my drink. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll admit, I had to look it up,” I said, hoping he couldn’t tell how flustered I was by his words. “Is that cheating?”
“Not at all.” He came closer and kissed my forehead. “You’re a very good student.”
“Especially when the subject is you. Guess what else I did?”
“What?” He took another drink and licked his lips.
“Rented The Shawshank Redemption so we could have our movie date.”
“Did you?” He set down his glass and opened up the bag of greens. “Hey, can you grab two dinner plates for me?”
“I think I have the movie for twenty-four hours,” I said, reaching for two plates in the cupboard. “But if we don’t get to it tonight, we can always rent it another time.”
“We might have to.” He took the plates from me and set them down. “Because it’s after seven already, I told my sitter I’d be home around eleven, and I want to give you at least two more orgasms before I go.”
I giggled. “You’re going to spoil me.”
He picked up his drink again, tapped it against mine, and took a sip. “As much as fucking possible.”
“I’ll help you with the dishes,” I said, bringing our plates and silverware over to the sink. There was hardly a crumb left—Jillian’s appetite at the dinner table was just as voracious as it was in the bedroom, which I found delightfully sexy. It was almost funny watching her devour everything on her plate, given how thin she was.
“Don’t you dare.” She poured the rest of the wine in our glasses. “You cooked the entire meal. The least I can do is the dishes.”
I laughed. “I’m used to doing both.”
“Too bad. I’ll get them done later. Come sit with me for our movie date.” She set our wine on the coffee table, turned off the lights, and got on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her.
I knew what was going to happen if we got on the couch in the dark, and it didn’t involve Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman. But she looked so excited about watching my favorite movie with me, I figured I’d humor her.
We lasted ten minutes.
At that point, my hand was up her shirt, her hand was down my pants, our tongues were tangled up, I was hard, she was wet, and the only prison we gave a fuck about was our clothing. We broke free of it a lot faster than Andy and Red, whipping off shirts and dragging down jeans and flinging underwear to the floor. I brought her to orgasm with my fingers first, even though she begged me to fuck her, because I couldn’t get enough of the sounds she made, the way she moved against my hand, the shape of her mouth when she came.
And it was something I could give her…there was so much I couldn’t.
When her climax was over, she pushed my hand away, panting and wild-eyed. I grabbed a condom from my pants and she took it from me, tearing open the packet and sliding it over my erection with quick hands.
Fuck, that was hot. Everything about her was hot—the way she straddled my lap and lowered herself on to me slowly, like she wanted to savor every inch. The way she took me in so deep, the expression on her face a mix of rapture and pain. The way she moved her hips over mine, in rhythmic, undulating motions that had me fighting the urge to come inside a minute.
The way she accepted me for who I was, didn’t judge me for my mistakes, and believed that I could make her happy.
I still didn’t know how we were going to do this, and the fear of disappointing her bit at the edges of my bliss. But I was going to try harder than I ever had to make it work.
“Oh God,” she whispered, her eyes locked on mine, her hands clutching my shoulders. I knew she was going to come from the way her breathing changed and the way she moved, tight and hard and fast against me, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. As soon as she cried out, her eyes closing, her pussy clenching around my cock, I came long and hard and deep, my fingers digging into her hips as I thrust up inside her, my breath escaping in ragged, primal sounds.
Afterward, I wrapped my arms around her and held her close, a shiver moving through my body. Burying my face in her neck, breathing her in, I spread my hands out on her back, feeling the bones and muscles beneath her satin skin. Somewhere underneath it all, her heart beat hard and fast against my chest, and I felt a powerful urge to possess and protect it, to offer her mine in return.
I wanted to say something to her, something to tell her how grateful I was, how swept away, how beautiful she felt in my arms. I wanted to stay here and hold her like this until that insatiable hunger burned in me again, and then I wanted to take her to bed and fill her body with mine, lose myself inside her. I wanted to make promises and keep them.
But I couldn’t.
“Jillian,” I whispered.
“I know,” she said softly, stroking my hair. “I know.”
• • •
“Monica, can I talk to you about something?” My sister and I were sitting in the living room at our parents’ house, drinking a beer and watching our kids and her husband Kyle play a board game on the floor. Her daughters—Emerson and Zoe, ages nine and six—were good with Scotty, and understood that he liked to play games exactly as the rules stated without any deviation. There was no letting Zoe win because she was the youngest, and there were no do-overs if you didn’t get the spin you wanted.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I wanted to ask a favor.”
On the hour-long drive to Charlevoix, I’d thought of nothing but Jillian, specifically the task ahead—how and when should I introduce her to Scotty? I was crazy about her, but maybe I was just crazy, period. Did she even realize what she was getting into? My life (my child) wasn’t easy. And I didn’t want to confuse Scotty by bringing her into our lives and then having to explain her absence if she didn’t have the feelings I did, or if she decided we were too much to ha
ndle.
She and I needed more alone time together, but how could I manage that? Friday night dates were fun, but seeing her only once a week for a few hours wasn’t really enough time to get to know each other—especially since we tended to spend half that time naked and sweaty. No, we needed real time together. And in order to have that, I needed to get Scotty accustomed to staying the night somewhere without me, or staying at our house overnight when I wasn’t there. I couldn’t ask Sarah to stay the night, so that left my parents or sister. Which one would stress Scotty out the least was anyone’s guess, since none of them really understood the way his mind worked. My mother could probably come stay at the house with him, which would be preferable to having him have to sleep in a strange bed, but I’d decided to go with my sister. One, I wasn’t positive how my mother would react to my leaving my son to go spend the night with a woman I’d only been dating a few weeks, and didn’t want any additional guilt about it. Two, I felt more comfortable talking about it with my sister—she could get judgmental too, but it would be less embarrassing at least.
“Ask away.”
“Do you think Scotty could stay overnight at your house some weekend?”
She thought for a second, tipping up her beer. “Do you think he’d do it?”
I frowned. “Honestly, I don’t know. It might be…difficult, because he won’t like not sleeping in his regular bed in his regular room, but maybe if we brought a few things from home, he’d handle it OK.” I tried not to think about how unsettled he became simply from adding something different to the nighttime prayers. Guilt pricked at me—was this too selfish?
“I’m certainly willing to try. Do you have to travel for work?”
“No.” I rubbed a hand on the back of my neck, trying to shake the feeling that I was doing something wrong. “The truth is…I met someone.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Really?”
“Yeah. At that wedding a couple weeks ago.”
She hit my arm. “You didn’t say anything about it, you big jerk! I could have stayed longer that night.”
“Well, it was a rough night with Scotty, remember, and I didn’t feel right being away from home when he was so upset.”
“He’s not a baby anymore, Levi. And he’s got to get used to doing things without you and things that are new to him and things that aren’t part of his routine or whatever. It’s for his own good and yours.”
My stomach tightened. Don’t get into this now. At least she was supportive of my dating someone. “Anyway, a Saturday night would be great. I could bring him over in the afternoon and pick him up in the morning, and of course I’d keep in touch with you the whole time.”
She rolled her eyes. “Relax. I have two kids. I haven’t killed either of them so far.”
“I know, but Scotty is different, and if he starts to melt down, I want to know about it right away.”
“Fine. Now tell me about the girl.” Her eyes lit up.
I took a sip of my beer before answering. “Her name’s Jillian. She’s a pediatrician.”
“Really? How old is she?”
“Thirty. I actually met her years ago.” I filled her in on my first meeting with Jillian, leaving out the closet fuck.
Monica loved it. “How cool to run into her after all this time! And she’s never been married?”
“No.”
“Does she know about Scotty?”
I frowned. “Of course she does. And she wants to meet him, but…I need to get to know her better. And that’s hard when I can only see her for a couple hours on Friday nights.”
“I think this is great, Levi.” She patted my leg. “And you don’t have to feel guilty about it.”
“I don’t,” I lied, tipping up my beer bottle so I wouldn’t have to meet her eyes.
“Yes, you do. I can see it. And you’re a horrible liar. But we think it’s time you put yourself out there. Just because you have a son doesn’t mean you have to be alone the rest of your life. You’re still human.”
“Who’s ‘we’? You and Mom?” I was annoyed, and she knew it. They always thought they knew best. And perfect Monica, who’d done everything right in her life and never gave our parents any reason to worry, had no idea what it was like to be me.
“Dad too,” she said defensively. “You don’t have to get angry about it. We just want to see you happy.”
“I am happy.” I poured the rest of my beer down my throat. “Being a good father makes me happy.”
“But it can’t meet every need you have,” she argued. “There’s more to life than being a parent. Kyle and I love the girls with all our heart, but we’d go nuts if we couldn’t escape every once in a while. Do something just for us. It’s healthy.” She toyed with the label on her beer bottle. “Any chance this is leading somewhere big?”
I shrugged, glancing at the floor. “Too soon to tell.”
“Liar.” She grinned. “I know you. You wouldn’t be asking me to watch Scotty overnight if you didn’t think this woman was something special.”
Exhaling, I looked over at the kids. “Yes. She is special. And OK, fine—I do have a feeling about us. But my situation isn’t easy, so we agreed to go slow.”
“It’s not easy, but it’s also not as hard as you’re making it.” She nudged my leg with her foot. “So go. Have fun. And don’t feel bad about it.”
“Thanks.” Maybe I was being too defensive. I did have a tendency to turn everything they said into an attack. “What night works for you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t care. Tonight, if you want.”
My heart beat faster at the thought of spending tonight with Jillian, but I told myself to be more cautious. I’d been away from home last night at bedtime, and a second night off the routine was asking for trouble.
“No, tonight isn’t good. But maybe next weekend?”
“Sure. I need to look at the calendar when I get home, but I don’t think we have anything going on.”
“Great.” I looked at Scotty, who was telling Zoe that she didn’t have her play money set out the right way. “I’ll talk to him about it. If he has a good week at school, then we’ll plan on it.”
• • •
Later that night, after Scotty and I’d watched Jurassic Park for the tenth time this year and I’d gotten him to bed, I texted Jillian.
Hey. You awake?
Hey you. Yes. At Natalie’s house painting. Well, Natalie and Sebastian are painting. Skylar and I are drinking.
I smiled. Give me a call when you have a minute.
My phone vibrated a moment later. “That was fast. You really don’t like painting, huh?”
She laughed. “It’s Miles’s fault. He made this drink called a Penicillin and it’s too good. I’m on my third one.”
“What’s in it?”
“Scotch, lemon, honey, and ginger. It’s delicious. I’ll have to make one for you.”
“Yes, please. Sebastian is there too?”
“Yes. He’s the only one painting besides Natalie.”
I smiled, picturing the scene and wishing I could be there. “Of course he is. Did they have a nice trip?”
She hiccuped, and I laughed silently. “Yes. They did. I wish I could go to Mexico for a week.”
“Me too. Let’s fit that in after skiing and Chicago.”
“Yes! Great idea. And so easily accomplished what with all our spare time.” Another hiccup, and some laughter in the background, followed by shouting I couldn’t decipher.
“Sounds like a good time there.”
“It is. I wish you were here.”
“I was just wishing the same.”
She lowered her voice. “Last night was really fun. I’m so glad we talked.”
“Me too. Guess what?”
Hiccup. “What?”
“I asked my sister to watch Scotty overnight next Saturday.”
“You did?”
“Yes, and she said she’ll do it.”
“Oh my God, that’s awesome!”<
br />
“What’s awesome?” I heard someone yell, maybe Skylar. Then, “Everyone look at Jilly’s red face! Is that from the scotch or the conversation? Who are you talking to, Jillian?”
“Oh my God. My sisters are so annoying. Hold on, I’m going into the bathroom.” A minute later, I heard a bang, like a door being shut. “There,” she said. “Now I can talk.”
“What are they annoying you about?”
“They’re teasing me about you. Apparently they can tell by looking at me today what I was up to last night.”
I laughed. “Really.”
“Yes. I am glowing, they said. I clearly got laid.”
“Well, good. I hope.”
“Yes. It is good. So tell me about Saturday. Can you stay over?”
“We’ll have all night.”
I heard a long squeal, ending in a hiccup.
“I’m excited!”
“Me too. What would you like to do?”
“Hmmm. Go out to dinner? Watch a movie? I never did get to watch Shawshank.”
I smiled, but the memory of everything we did on her couch made my cock start to stiffen. “We could try that again.” My fingers hovered near my zipper.
“I could be a good girl this time,” she said coquettishly. “Keep my hands to myself.”
“Jillian Nixon, don’t you fucking dare.”
She laughed throatily. “You know me better than that.”
It made me happy to realize I did.
We talked or texted every day that week, and my anticipation grew so intense you’d have thought I was getting married on Saturday night. By the time I was waiting to be picked up for dinner at seven, the butterflies in my stomach were so frenetic I could have taken flight. And I’d never been the kind of girl that obsessed over what she wore—I knew what worked with my body and what didn’t—but it had taken me all day to decide on an outfit. I’d even consulted my sisters.
“Something sexy,” said Skylar. “You want to knock him out the moment he sees you.”
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