by Xavier Neal
My heart pounds harshly, like the bassline to the song I care barely hear any more.
“Once I kiss you Ollie Steele, I’m not gonna stop. I’m gonna kiss you when you’re happy. I’m gonna kiss you when you’re seein’ red. I’m gonna kiss you when it’s rainin’, when it’s snowin’, and when there’s a goddamn hurricane outside. I’m gonna kiss you when there’s whiskey on your breath…until it’s on mine.” His hand leaves the steering wheel to rest on my cheek, “Like I said, Ollie. Once I kiss you…I’m not gonna ever stop.”
Ford hesitates only a split second more before pressing his lips firmly against mine. The initial pressure ignites a sweet sigh, but when our lips part and our tongues lightly touch a strong moan is stolen along with all the air in my lungs. A groan of agreement slips out as he proceeds to reiterate his point with passionate press after press. My hand squeezes his tighter, eager for something to hold onto while being blissfully dragged away from the ordinary into the extraordinary.
Because that’s exactly what Ford Shaw is. Extraordinary.
Social media is the work of the devil, I fucking swear. It’s oddly suspicious how shit pops up on your feed when you either need it the most or more often, and when it’s the absolute last thing you need. For the past ten days Ollie and I have settled into a routine I can’t get enough of. Breakfast together, ass-early, making out between bites, and going our separate ways until sometime in the evening. Every. Day. Now of course, what time depends primarily on when I get back downtown or which brother needs to be seen, but nonetheless, we start and end the day with time together. Except today. Today she had a doctor’s appointment. Today I had to sit in an early marketing meeting to discuss ways we can improve, so we can actually expand our reach by the end of the year. Today I made the mistake of logging onto my Facebook account to keep from gouging my eyes out during the monotone lecture about the rise in material cost only to be shown a memory of Carol Ann and me from a year ago. At first the photo made me smile, in the nostalgic way photos do, but then my oversized finger hit her name showing me her new and ‘improved’ page, which is flooded with dramatic claims of love. Stories on how he’s her soul mate. Pictures accompanied with ‘love of my life’ quotes and other sickening displays of affection to reassure everyone who is looking he is her everything and the past lover, me, was nothing. Now, I don’t need her to mourn or miss me or even pretend to give a shit about me, but seeing her spit on the grave of our past years together rubs me the wrong way. Was life with me really that terrible? Was I that shitty of a boyfriend? Was I as fucking pathetic as she’s making me feel? Why didn’t she ever show off our love like that? Why didn’t she ever say that shit about me? Over a decade of being together on and off, and not once did she consider maybe I was really it for her?
I give my scruff covered face another hard scrub and continue to stare at the screen of numbers waiting for my attention.
There’s a small knock on my open office door. When my eyes land on Blake’s his entire demeanor shifts. “You okay?”
Thought I was. Thought I was done giving another thought to Carol Ann and her newfound life. Thought I had moved on…Felt like I had. Why do I suddenly feel I haven’t?
The lack of an immediate answer sends my brother into the room. He shuts the door behind him and braces his back against it. “You wanna talk about it?”
No. Because there shouldn’t be anything to talk about it.
Resting my arms on my desk, I toss him a nod. “What do you need?”
“Runt-”
“We’re at work,” I remind him promptly.
“Ford,” he rolls his eyes, “what’s botherin’ you? You’ve been off all morning.” My mouth twitches to reply when he commands, “Don’t you dare try to lie and say otherwise.”
I clasp my hands tightly together. “What do you need, Blake, or did you just come by to see how long you could irritate me before I threatened to fire you for the day?”
He grows a cocky grin. “Record to date is twenty-five minutes. Goal is to get under twenty by Christmas.”
If only he knew he was already there…
“Blake.”
“Wanted to discuss the sales reports for the month. Have you looked at them yet?”
I grab a glimpse of my computer screen. “Not…quite. Still…reviewing.”
His eyebrows lift. “Is that right? Ford ‘Always Prompt and Always Perfect’ when it comes to his company isn’t finished with a task yet?”
The accusation annoys almost as deep as it cuts.
His point is unfortunately valid. I’m always on top of everything. Runt’s Brewery is always a priority. Always at the top of the list. Always has been. Well, at least it was before Ollie. Now if she needs me, for whatever reason my first instinct is to go to her and protect her instead. I never had that with Carol Ann. Maybe that’s why she never displayed our love like some sort of gift from God. I never gave her a reason to.
“Ford,” Blake interrupts my whirling mind once more. “You sure you’re alright?”
I shake my head. “Just…having a hard day concentrating in the office. I’m fine. It’ll pass.”
“Do you need to get out?” He shoves his hands into his dress pockets. “Take a long lunch?”
The idea of space between me and the stress that has been raining down on me today seems to be the best thing I’ve heard yet. Almost instantly, another great idea comes to mind. “Yeah. I’m gonna meet Ollie and enjoy a really long lunch. Probably work from the apartment afterwards.”
Blake gets a teasing gleam in his eyes. “A really long lunch, huh? Which one of you is on the menu?”
Her. And possibly more of her than I’ve had. Not that I’m in some big rush. We’ve been taking it slow and it’s honestly been nice. As much as I want my dick touched, sucked, and covered in all things Ollie, the gradual progression means more to me. In between Carol Ann’s comings and goings, I never spent more than a night with a woman. Never understood the point. I needed to get off, and she needed to get gone when it was over before the real woman I cared about moseyed back home. Now? Now it matters to remember what makes Ollie moan and grind her body against mine. Now it matters to know when she wants to meet me in the middle for a kiss versus when she wants me to be completely in control. Now it matters to know the spot on the side of her neck that always makes her whisper my name like it’s a goddamn oblation to a higher power.
I stifle down the urge to groan, casually adjust my dick under my desk, and demand, “Get out of my office, Blake.”
“Before you fire me?”
“Before I send out a memo making it mandatory to wear ties every day.”
He gags at the idea. “I’d fire myself.”
Only Oliver has an appreciation for ties in our family. The rest of us just tolerate them.
Blake prepares to leave yet stops the moment his hand hits the knob. “You know, Runt, if you ever wanna talk, I really will listen. I mean, I know that’s kinda your thing, but I’m here if you need me to be. No bullshit.”
The brotherly like offer lifts a small bit of the weight resting on my shoulders. “Thanks.”
He shoots me a smile and exits.
Once I’m alone again, I slide my phone over to send my girlfriend a text.
Me: Did you decide to work from home or go in?
Her immediate reply raises my spirits.
Ollie: Home. Princess Pinky is a bad influence.
I laugh louder out loud than intended.
Me: Mind if swing by? Work beside you?
Ollie: You bringing lunch?
Me: Whatever you want.
Ollie: Grilled cheese. I’ll make us dinner tonight.
While I wish she would just let me take care of her, part of me is starting to adore the side that insists on taking care of me for every chance I’m given to do it for her. I love the traditional notions of being the man who takes care of the woman he cares about, but with the same thought, it’s finally nice to have a woman who wants to
take care of me, even if I don’t need it.
“And you don’t think there’s anything wrong with what you’re doing?” Ollie questions, licking the cheese off her thumb. “Like nothing?”
“Nope.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t feed her that.”
“I just did.”
“Don’t do it anymore.
With a playful yet defiant look in my eyes, I lean down and give Princess Pinky another piece of my sandwich.
“Quit!” Ollie squeaks between giggles.
Loving the sounds of her laughter as much as the bright expression on her face, I repeat the action again, this time receiving a swat to the arm. “Hey! Don’t hit me in front of the child. Is that really what you wanna teach her?”
Her expression morphs into one of shock. “You’re worried about violence when you’re feeding her bacon! That’s like the ultimate violence!”
“I’m not beating her with it.”
And it’s not like Ollie is beating me. Her hits hurt even less than being popped with one of my Mama’s nice couch pillows, which are basically air.
“You are feeding her pig and she is a pig! That’s cannibalism!”
“It’s…not…”
“It so is!”
I casually shrug.
“Cannibalism is like the worst violence ever. Totally trumps mommy hitting daddy in the arm at the dinner table.”
“You’re acting like it’s this wild thing for hogs to eat their own kind.” I reach for a napkin. “It’s not. Hogs eat anything. And I mean anything…Some murderers will dispose of a body by feeding it to the hogs, making your initial joke about whether or not to feed a hog a person, ironically funny.”
The mortifying expression she’s wearing conjures up the urge to chuckle again.
After a beat, she lowers her voice, “Do you need an alibi?”
An uncontrollable wave of laughter flows through me once more successfully washing away any trails of the foul mood from earlier. “Are you offering?”
“No.” Her quick denial is proceeded with her own snicker. “I like you, but I don’t know if I like you that much yet.”
My laughter begins to die down. “Good to know.”
Princess Pinky interrupts with a familiar squeak to let us know she needs to go outside. Ollie starts to stand, but I insist she sit while I take a turn to let our hog out onto the patio. Now there’s one ‘man’ chore Ollie never fights with me to do. Taking out the hog shit to the dumpster. Come to think of it, taking anything out to the dumpster…She hates it. Her absolute least favorite chore and the little thing I make sure I do every night before I leave and every morning if it needs it. I don’t even live here, and I’m taking out the trash on a regular basis. I’m not complaining. If anything, I’m grateful for every little way she lets me be the man in her life she’s never had before.
My body leans against the frame facing Ollie. “Everything go okay at the doctor?”
“Yeah.” She gives me a short shrug. “Typical lady doctor bullshit. Everything looks good, are you still having less sex than the average person, and oh here’s your refill on your birth control you probably don’t really need since you’re not doing the activity that makes it relevant anyway.”
Torn in different directions about the phrasing of her last sentence, I choose to comment on the portion I feel matters most. “Good to know you’re on the pill.”
Ollie lifts her eyebrows in curiosity.
“Just means when we start doing the activity that makes its use relevant, we have one more preventative measure for non-hog children coming into our lives before we’re ready.” She snickers, but I add, “And just so we’re on the same page, Ollie, whenever we decide to…start…you’ll be getting your money’s worth out of that prescription Darlin’.”
Her thighs noticeably squeeze together. I offer her a smirk, wink, and turn around to check on Princess Pinky.
I may be in no rush, but that doesn’t mean once we’re there I’m not going to enjoy every fucking minute of it. Aside from not having had large amounts of sex, let alone much of it at all, in the past couple of years, I crave Ollie in new ways. I want her taste dancing on my tongue. I want her body vibrating beneath me. I want her skin burning against mine. And it’s not an obligation. It’s not because we’ve been together for so long or because she’s one of the only things I’ve known. No. It’s an unusual, raw, primal need to claim her. I want her covered in all of me, the same way I want to be covered in all of her. Never had that with Carol Ann…Hm. Maybe that’s what finding a soul mate is like?
Once we’re back inside, the two of us settle on the couch and our hog heads for her post poop nap.
Ollie’s laptop and sketch books are scattered across the coffee table, but she hastily gathers them together before I can catch a glimpse of anything. “And what are you avoiding working on?”
I place my laptop down on the opposite end from hers. “What?”
“Well that’s why you’re here. Lunch and getting handsy in the middle of the work day aside, you’re avoiding dealing with something or someone at the office. So, which is it?”
Her intuitive nature furrows my eyebrows. “Am I that transparent?”
“Maybe I just know you that well now.” She winks.
The idea grows a grin. “Maybe…”
“So, what is it? Accounting? Marketing? Your building have a weird smell?”
I turn my attention to her. “What?”
“Your office isn’t far from the brewery, right? Just like a building over. Maybe you brewed a gross batch and it filled your office with a horrible stench.”
“You know nothing about the brewing, do you?”
“Not a clue.” We exchange a chuckle seconds before she points to my screen. “However, I do know that’s an adorable logo, but the label you guys have on your bottles is hideous.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “Hideous?”
She immediately cringes. “Shit, I should’ve phrased that better.”
“No, Ollie, I want you to be honest with me. Even if you’re worried it might hurt to hear, though you didn’t seem too concerned with that until after, the fact.” Her smile at my teasing eases the mood. “Honesty is something I appreciate. Promise you’ll always give me that.”
Ollie’s eyes soften. “Promise.”
My body leans over just enough to let our mouths briefly touch. She instantly sighs, the same way she always does, as if she was worried they’d never be back together again. When I pull back, I place one kiss on her cheek, before encouraging, “Now tell me what’s wrong with the label. It tested really well with our research audience.”
“Yeah, they lied,” she mumbles off, reaching for her sketch pad and pencil. “Funny, thing about research with certain things. It very rarely captures the mass market the way they pretend it does.” Her hand begins freely sketching. “What I’ve learned about giving the people what they want is being part of the people and actually watching. Go out and see what they grab first or most. Watch what they watch. Really listen to what they love about something then take that data back to work with. When it’s narrowed research, you often get narrowed results. Sometimes the best way to really understand a situation is to be silent, smack dab in the middle of it.”
The advice settles in the back of my mind.
What if she has a point? Sure, we deal in two completely different types of businesses, but we’re both in the people pleasing department. What if she’s on to something?
“Okay, this is a rough sketch,” she pulls my attention down to her lap where she’s drawn a new label, “but if you actually wanted, I could create it for you on my comp. It wouldn’t take me much time once I was satisfied on paper. Now, remember this is just an example.” Ollie’s hand moves out of the way revealing the words ‘Runt’s Beer’ in a rope like font with a pair of cowboy boots, which has a cowboy hat hung on top of them, wedged between the words. “I went the cowboy theme here, but you could easily put a
pig in the middle. It could work too…but I like this idea better. It’s why I sketched it first.” My mouth cracks open in surprise, yet she continues to explain, “Demonstrate the name of your product with something you can relate to. When it’s easier for you to relate to it or you are more passionate about it, you naturally give it more attention and energy. You’re a cowboy or cowboy like. You’ve at the very least got those types of ties, so build that into your brand. The rope name and the image in the middle cultivate a more relatable feeling and people will respond.”
