I Don't Regret You

by Larson, Jodie

  “Only tonight. Then we’ll get you on a regular schedule so this will become second nature.” Even though it’s Mike’s weekend, they’re only gone one night. Something about plans that couldn’t be changed for Sunday, so they’ll come home a day early. It was nice to finally know where he’s been staying, though I didn’t think he’d have the money saved up to rent his own place while still paying for half the mortgage on the house.

  Jacob frowns. “Do we have to go?”

  I pat the cushion next to me and kiss his head. “You need to spend time with your dad. It’s only for one night.”

  “Right now. Soon we’ll be there more often and it’s going to suck.”

  My poor boy doesn’t need this stress. Damn Mike for putting this on us. Why couldn’t he have stayed out of our lives for good? This was easier when he wasn’t around.

  “Everything will work out. You’ll see.”

  A knock sounds at the door, followed by a creak as it opens. “Kids, you ready?” Mike tromps into the entryway, stomping his boots until the entire rug is covered in snow.

  I turn to the kids. “Go double-check you have everything, please. Toothbrush, pajamas, clean underwear.”

  They turn to walk down the hall as I meet the person I least want to see right now.

  Mike stands in the entryway, wearing a smug smile. “What’s the hold-up?”

  I place my hands on my hips. “You have no right barging in here like this. From now on, you’ll knock and wait for me to answer the door. Or you can text me when you’re outside and I’ll send the kids out. But this,” I say, waving my hand between him and the door, “won’t happen again.

  The little vein on the side of his neck starts pulsing. “I’m still paying for this house.”

  “Because you have to. This isn’t your home so don’t think you can come in here anytime you want.”

  As soon as I hear the kids coming back, I tamp down my temper and shift my face into something more pleasant.

  “You have everything now?” I say with a forced smile.

  Cassie giggles. “Yes, Mom.” Jacob sullenly stares at the wall.

  “Keep an open mind,” I whisper into his ear before kissing his cheek. He nods, keeping his eyes fixed downward. I tilt his face up until he meets my eyes. Without warning, he wraps his arms around my neck and squeezes tight. I do my best to hold back the tears.

  Mike sighs. “Let’s go. Time’s wasting.”

  With a final kiss and hug, I wave as they walk out the door and pile into Mike’s truck. Once they’re gone, the tears I’ve been holding back break free. Mom and Dad decided they were going to visit my aunt, so I’m completely alone for the first time in years.

  It’s also a rare Saturday night where I’m not working. After the holidays, it slows down tremendously. It was perfect timing, really, since Stacy was willing to work with my new schedule, but decided that I needed this weekend off. Too bad it’s slower during the week and the tips aren’t as good. But, hours are hours and some are better than none.

  Don’t dwell. You know it’s not good for you. Get up and do something.

  Listening to my own advice–which was good for a change–I decide to deep clean the house. Every nook and cranny will be sparkly and neat, no matter how long it takes. I turn on my stereo and rock out to the local radio station for the next few hours as I force all my emotions into the task at hand.

  An unceremoniously loud grumble emanates from my stomach as I put away the mop and bucket. The whole house smells like lemons with a faint hint of disinfectant. If only it could smell like this all the time. I walk into the kitchen and stare into the open fridge as I hang on the door. Meatloaf, lunch meat, eggs…nothing sounds good. What I need is some pasta. Nothing says forget your troubles like a giant bowl of carbs. Searching through the cabinets, I come up empty. How could we be out of the one staple I keep in this house?

  Oh yeah. Cassie wanted to make pasta over New Years and went through every box we had. Poor thing was so upset when she forgot about it and let the water evaporate so it was nothing but a pile of burned mush at the bottom of the pan. Luckily, Grandma saved the day with the last box we had.

  I look at my watch. It’s too late, or I’m too tired, to go to the store right now. And once you get the craving, nothing else will suffice.

  Except for wine.

  Grabbing the chilled bottle out of the fridge and a glass from the cupboard, I take my makeshift dinner into the living room and turn on HBO Now. Time to catch up on Game of Thrones since I’m at least two seasons behind. The cork comes out with a pop and the minute the cool liquid hits my tongue, I melt into the couch, letting my muscles loosen with each sip.

  “What the fuck?” I catch myself repeating this phrase more than once during each episode. I’m so far behind I almost think I need to go back to the very beginning to understand everything. Well, I have nothing but time. Why not?

  My phone buzzes and I turn my languid eyes in its direction. The warm, fuzzy feeling has everything moving in slow motion. It takes a few blinks to decipher who sent the message.

  Henry: How are you holding up?

  Me: Just fine. Drinking my dinner and watching GoT.

  Henry: Don’t you mean eating?

  I smile.

  Me: Nope. Riesling is an excellent dinner.

  Again, thank you autocorrect.

  Henry: You need food.

  Me: I need a lot of things.

  Henry: I’m coming over.

  He’s…what?

  Me: You’re working.

  Henry: Be there in a half hour.

  I keep waiting for the three little dots on the bottom of my screen to appear. Nothing. He’s really coming over? No, he can’t.

  Screams and yells draw my attention back to the TV. Huh, someone died. Go figure. Wine clouded brain plus nonsensical violence on TV equals the perfect distraction.

  Until someone knocks on the door.

  “Come in.” I never yell that or trust anyone who’s at my door without looking out the window first. But I’m three-quarters of a bottle in on an empty stomach. Even if someone was looking to murder me, I wouldn’t notice. As long as they let me finish the bottle, I’d be okay with it. Well, not really, but…

  The door clicks shut and I can hear the rustle of a coat being placed in the closet. One boot falls to the floor. And another. I wait for more sounds. Either my killer is extremely quiet, or I’m being paranoid. People say you shouldn’t drink and text. I’m thinking you shouldn’t drink and GoT. That shit will mess with your mind.

  Before I have the chance to turn, Henry reaches down and places his hands on my shoulders. I don’t jump, which surprises me. Maybe the wine loosened me up more than I thought.

  “You must be in nerd heaven.” He trails his fingers across my upper back as he rounds the couch to sit next to me. Without thinking, I lean my head against his shoulder and turn my nose toward his neck. There’s that smell I adore; crisp and masculine. Like an autumn breeze. I need to figure out what cologne he uses since I still owe him a Christmas present. Is it too forward to buy a guy cologne if you’re not sure what your relationship status is?

  “I’m having a lot of WTF moments. And somehow, I’ve forgotten the first few seasons, so I decided to start from the beginning.”

  He sits forward and tilts my head so I can see him better. “When did you eat last?”

  Good question. “What time is it?”

  Henry raises a brow. “Um, just after ten.”

  I start to laugh. “About twelve hours ago.” Not sure why that’s funny. I think the wine is making me loopy. It would explain so much, though.

  My laughter earns me an eye roll as he picks up a bag I didn’t see him set down and disappears into the kitchen. Do I stay in here and watch the slaughter or go into the kitchen and watch the chef work his magic?

  These are tough choices.

  I empty the bottle into my glass, which only fills it halfway.

  Hmm, looks like I was thi
rstier than I thought.

  I try standing from the couch, only to fall back again. Well, there’s my answer.

  By the time the mad slaughter is finished, Henry rounds the couch again, holding two plates heaped with the most delicious smelling pasta.

  “How’d you know?” I eagerly take a plate from him, along with the offered fork, and dive into the cheesy goodness. Creamy yet hearty, especially with the giant chunks of bacon. My stomach grumbles again, this time in appreciation.

  “Know what? That you wanted pasta?” I nod my head as I slurp a noodle past my lips. “Call it intuition.”

  “Your ESPN is working wonderfully.” He laughs and I can feel it all the way through my chest.

  “Don’t you mean ESP?”

  “Isn’t that what I said?”

  Henry takes his thumb and runs it over my mouth, grabbing a dribble of sauce collected in the corner. All thoughts leave as he drags it over my lips, letting me taste the combined saltiness of the sauce and his skin.

  It’s hot and feels almost sinful. I let my tongue run along the pad of his thumb before wrapping my lips around it. Henry’s eyes dilate, turning darker, more primal. When he licks his lips, I almost drop my plate to devour him instead.

  I’m navigating foreign ground. I don’t know if I’ve ever had this sort of a connection with another man before. Henry knows what I want without asking. And he’s such a great listener. He never gives that bored look I seem to find on most guys when I’m telling a story or venting my frustrations. Probably how he knew I wanted pasta tonight. He knew I was stressed and it’s my favorite dish in moments like these.

  “Thank you for tonight.” I break our spell and focus on my fork as I push the food around.

  “We haven’t done anything yet.” Yet. I turn to find him smiling at me. “Dinner was the beginning. Tonight is about getting you used to this new normal. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

  He’s not real. No way. Must be a figment of my imagination.

  “How have you stayed single all this time?” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  Bless his heart, he doesn’t laugh at my obvious word vomit. Only tucks some hair behind my ear while giving me one of those special smiles.

  “I was waiting for the right woman to come along.”

  Fire ignites my blood. The room feels like it’s a million degrees. I swivel in my spot, letting our knees brush against each other.

  “You can’t say things like that to me. It gives me ideas and nothing good ever comes from those.”

  He leans closer, putting his plate on the table. “Do your ideas match mine?”

  I lick my dry lips. “I don’t know. What are yours?”

  “I’ll give you a hint.” His lips brush against my ear. A shot runs straight down my spine, charging every nerve ending on its way down to my toes. “It involves something more than kissing.”

  Damn. Our ideas match.

  “Oh.”

  Henry kisses the tip of my nose, his lips curling into a smile. “Now eat your dinner to soak up some of that wine. You need to explain this show to me.” He points to the TV.

  I gawk. “Seriously? You’ve never watched it?”

  He shakes his head. “Never wanted to until now.”

  “Well, get ready for a mind fuck.”

  I try to explain the inner workings of each house, how the Lannisters are trying to rule the seven kingdoms while the Targareans believe they are the rightful rulers. I spend a great amount of detail on Khal Drogo–let’s face it, he’s hot–and skim over Joffrey because he’s my least favorite character.

  “Honestly, it sounds like a cluster.” His face contorts during another fight scene.

  “It gets worse. Oh, and don’t get attached to anyone.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just don’t.”

  “Okay.” The closing credits flash across the screen. Henry picks up my empty plate and takes it back to the kitchen. When he doesn’t return, I venture out to find him. No point in starting another episode without him next to me.

  I pause at the edge of the kitchen, placing a hand over my stomach. Technically it needs to go lower because that’s where the needy pulse lies between my legs at the sight before me. There, standing at the sink, is Henry, washing the dishes by hand. Sure, rock-solid abs are sexy, along with that damn V thing, but when a man cleans your kitchen, oh lordy. It’s like the flood gates have opened, letting desire run wild through my blood. I clench my thighs together as he wipes down each plate, never losing focus from his hands. All soapy and slippery.

  Something else is getting slippery.

  Without thought, I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek to his back. He stills then runs his wet hands across mine. But he doesn’t stop. We stand like this until he’s done, wiping down each item until dry.

  He turns in my arms, bringing us face to face. Our legs tangle together until he backs me up against the counter, lifting me so my ass sits on the edge.

  “Anything spark your interest?”

  I hum with acknowledgment. “Has anyone told you how sexy you are when you’re cleaning?”

  Henry reaches up, sliding the top button of my plaid shirt through the slot, exposing more of my collarbone. “No. Why don’t you tell me?”

  Another button gets released; the top lace of my bra poking through the gap. Lust takes over as I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

  It’s been too long since I’ve felt a gentle touch, felt like I was worth something in someone else’s hands. And it’s not the alcohol talking. Sure, it’s lowered my inhibitions, but amplified my desire for this man.

  My shirt hangs open, exposing most of my torso to his sparkling blue eyes. I can feel the heat pouring off his skin through the thin cotton barrier of his shirt.

  “Watching you get your hands wet and soapy makes me think of other things.”

  He leans forward, pecking gentle kisses along my collarbone. “Elaborate.”

  I’m struggling to find enough air to fill my lungs. I lean back on my hands, my head practically hitting the cupboard behind me. He wants me to explain what I’m feeling? Somewhere between my brain stem and my mouth, everything has dissolved into nothing.

  “Are you tongue-tied?” He licks a path down the valley of my breasts, forcing me to grip the edge of the counter.

  “God, yes.”

  “What do you want?” he murmurs against my skin, sending a fresh round of goose bumps to spread across my body.

  “I-I want our idea. I’m not satisfied with only making out. I want more.”

  Those skillful hands I keep thinking about trail across my stomach, leaving it a quaking mess filled with nerves and anticipation. He pushes the shirt off my shoulders, letting it pool around my wrists. I flick it off, tossing it to the floor.

  “Show me.”

  He’s too dressed. I peel the shirt over his head, exposing his rugged chest to the world. He’s not overly defined, but there are definitely hard muscles beneath the surface. More lean than bulky, except for his arms. I run my fingers over the corded muscles of his forearms, trailing them up his taut skin until reaching his shoulders. We’re not close enough.

  I pull him forward until our lips crash into each other, savoring and tasting what we have to offer. Henry reaches up to grip my hair at the nape, tilting my face up and exposing my neck, giving him perfect access to do as he pleases with that talented tongue of his.

  Reaching behind, I unclasp my bra, sliding the material down my arms until it joins my abandoned shirt. I can’t remember being this exposed to someone who wasn’t my husband. But no one has looked at me with this much longing and adoration before.

  “Jocelyn, I need you to be sure about this. Once we start, I won’t be able to stop. Tell me right now if you’re having second thoughts.”

  I memorize every feature in his face, etching them into the space around my heart where the wall used to be. Somehow t
his beautiful man has chipped away every attempt to guard myself from the world. He did it so stealthily that I hadn’t noticed until now. A new feeling engulfs me.

  Freedom.

  To answer his question, I pull him into another scorching kiss, one riddled with passion and fire. He answers my silent plea as he carries me to the couch, lying me down gently before pressing the weight of his body against mine.

  “There are no thoughts going through my mind other than we’re still wearing too many clothes.”

  He laughs against my neck as we work in tandem to free each other from the confines of our jeans. Well, his jeans to my sweatpants. After sliding his boxer briefs down his legs, I take the long, hard length of him in my hands. He hisses through his teeth as I work him slowly from root to tip, twisting and turning, keeping a slow, steady rhythm. I trace the veins with my thumb, alternating between them and the crease of his crown.

  “Jocelyn.” My name is a litany on his tongue, a prayer finally being answered. He wastes no time in finding my slick center, ready for him. Fireworks sparkle behind my closed lids, leaving my body no choice but to give in to the sensations Henry is drawing from every angle. His skilled fingers stroke against my inner walls, guiding me to the top of a peak I didn’t know was attainable. I slow my own motions, not wanting to end this show before we even get started.

  After years of pretending, I can finally let go and allow myself to feel.

  Henry positions himself above me, begging me with his eyes for entrance. I nod, willing to give myself fully to this man. With our histories, we know we’re safe. He’s told me he hasn’t been serious with anyone since Wendy and with my impending divorce, I haven’t strayed. Not until now.

  With slow and precise movements, he enters me, feeling every hard inch of him as he works his way inside. I moan, not holding anything back as I claw against his back, pulling him closer. He picks up the pace, easily sliding in and out as I meet his hips thrust for thrust.

  I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do this again; it’d been way too long. But Henry is different. He worships me without having to do so physically. He listens to my every need, cares enough to make sure I’m okay, even when he knows I’m not. Being pampered, treated as if I’m important or that the world would stop if I wasn’t in it…I’m not used to this sort of thing. And that’s what I get from Henry. Every look, every touch conveys his message, even if he never puts them into words.