“That’s one reason. But I also felt like it was time for us to be on our own. Scotty was about to start kindergarten, so I figured that would be a good time to do it. The move was rough on him, though—a new room in a new house, no grandma and grandpa living with us, a new neighborhood, new school…he doesn’t like things to change.”
“Well, I’m glad you made the move.” She came over and handed me the soup. “Hope you like pumpkin.”
“I do.”
“I made it last night. It’s Natalie’s recipe. She’s teaching me to cook,” she said sheepishly.
“Why do you look embarrassed about that?”
She threw her hands up. “I don’t know. Because I’m thirty and I should know already?”
“Fuck that. There’s no deadline on learning new things.”
“True.”
“I love to cook, you know.”
Her eyes went wide. “Really?”
“Yes. Does that surprise you?” I poked her in the side, and she giggled.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“My dad was actually the cook at my house when I grew up, so it never seemed strange to me. Plus, without another parent in the house, it’s been on me to put meals on the table by myself.”
“Is that enough?” She glanced at the soup, looking worried. “I should have given you extra for Scotty.”
“It’s plenty. I’m sure he’s already eaten. His dinner is at six sharp or the world ends.” I kissed her cheek. “Thank you. Next time, I’ll cook for you.”
“Sounds good.” She put her arms around my neck. “This was fun. I hope you aren’t home too late.”
“I will happily suffer the consequences if I am.” Wrapping my free arm around her waist, I hugged her close, inhaling her sex-and-citrus scent. “I’ll call you this week.”
“OK.”
She walked me to the door, and after one more kiss, I forced myself to leave.
On the fifteen-minute drive home, I did nothing but think of her, every sense bombarded with memories. I could still feel her softness, taste her sweetness, smell her skin. I could still see her eyes closing, her back arching, her fingers clutching my shirt. I could hear her quiet sighs and her loud cries, my name a plea on her lips.
Fuck. My balls ached, and my cock did not seem to understand that there would be no encore tonight. I shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat, trying to adjust myself.
But it wasn’t only that I wanted to have more sex with her—although I did. (We hadn’t even gotten to position two on my church list.) That feeling of lying next to her afterward, talking and laughing and touching each other…I wanted that, too. I’d never had that with anyone, and it was so easy with her. And I wanted to hear more about her—what did I really know?
I knew how she liked her martini. The name of her vibrator. That she was allergic to perfume. Drank champagne at weddings. Wore fuck-hot lingerie under her clothes. She liked red wine and popsicles, pumpkin soup and flannel pajamas, black lace and pearls.
But what was her favorite song? Her favorite color? Her favorite movie? Did she sleep on her stomach or back? Did she like e-books or paperbacks? Sand or snow? Staying up late or waking up early?
Then there were harder questions.
What was she looking for with me?
I hadn’t dated anyone in years, because I wasn’t good at balancing Scotty’s needs with anyone else’s, even my own. There was the occasional friendly fuck with a woman who did some design work with my uncle’s firm, but Alison was older, divorced, and not looking for anything more than I was, which was basically just an adult human connection. (For about twenty minutes.) But when it was done, it was done. I never thought about her afterward, and I doubt she thought about me. I certainly didn’t give a shit about her favorite color. And the sex was just functional. It was sort of like maintenance on your furnace or something—from time to time you needed to do it, but once it was done, you didn’t think about it again until the following winter.
It was so different with Jillian. I wanted her to need me for more than just sex. I wanted to make her happy, and not just physically. I wanted to do things for her and with her. I wanted her in my life.
But how could I do it?
Seeing her during the week would be impossible with our schedules. Weekends were when I caught up with work, household chores, and made time for outings with Scotty that got him socializing in non-classroom situations. Saturday nights were our movie nights. Where would time with Jillian fit in? Was it fair to even start something with her, knowing that I’d probably end up a disappointment? What woman wants to fall for someone who can never put her first, never live with her, never promise her all the things she ultimately wants—a husband, a home, a family?
Because I couldn’t. I wasn’t free to make those kinds of promises.
But for the first time in eight years, I wished I were.
I was a little later than promised, but Scotty seemed OK with it, and happily hugged me hello and Sarah goodbye. While I warmed up the soup Jillian had sent home with me, he went back to lining up his dinosaurs on the family room rug. As I ate—the soup was delicious—I tried to engage him in conversation, asking about his time with Sarah, about swim therapy today, about his dinosaurs. But although he made noises while he played, he largely ignored my attempts at conversation, and once he told me he was too busy to talk.
When I was done eating, we went upstairs and got him ready for bed, putting on his dinosaur pajamas, brushing his teeth, reading a story, turning on his nightlight and switching off the overhead light in just that order. Even our prayers had to be recited a certain way, the list of people and things we are grateful for named in the exact same order every night. So when I added something new—“I am thankful for making new friends”— he got upset with me and told me I had to start over.
“Nope. I’m not starting over, Scotty. Prayers are how you feel at the end of the day. They don’t have to be the same every night.”
“But you said it wrong,” he insisted, and even though he was lying down, I could see the agitation in his body in the way he started rolling from side to side, hands at his ears.
“It’s not wrong, buddy. It’s just something I added. We can be thankful for new things, don’t you think?”
“Start over, start over,” he repeated, and I sensed a meltdown coming. “You have to start over or it’s not right. Start over, start over, start over.”
I sighed, closing my eyes for a second. This was one of those moments where I wanted to be firm. I wanted to say No, I don’t have to start over. If I want to be fucking thankful for a new friend, you should let me say it, and stop acting like this. I love you, and I know you’re doing the best you can, but stop it. Just stop.
He began to cry, and I said nothing, just pulled back the covers and got in bed next to him. Maybe his day had been harder than I knew. Maybe his sensory input was already overwhelmed. Maybe this tiny change in the prayers sounded like an avalanche to him, where I heard only a marble bouncing down the stairs.
I didn’t know. Because he couldn’t tell me, and I felt ashamed of myself for wanting him to be something other than he was, even for a moment.
Just leave the prayers as they are tonight. Maybe tomorrow, you can talk about adding some new things to be grateful for, at a time when you’re not trying to get him calm enough to fall asleep.
I put my arms around him, trying to quiet his restless body. “Hey, hey. It’s OK. I’m sorry, I’ll start again. Let’s say them together.”
Was I doing the right thing? Who the hell knew? Maybe I should have insisted he be more flexible. Ten fucking times a day, I second-guessed myself.
Which was another reason why it had felt so good to be in Jillian’s bed tonight. No second thoughts or hesitation. I’d felt more confident, more relaxed, more myself than I had in years. It was like some part of me had been silenced for so long—the part that was just a man with his own needs and wants and self-interests apart fr
om being Scotty’s father—I’d forgotten he even existed (aside from the occasional furnace maintenance).
But suddenly he had a voice. Was it selfish of me to listen to it? I’d made a promise to my son, and I intended to keep it. I knew that was right.
But being with Jillian felt right too.
I couldn’t walk away.
Eleven
Jillian
After Levi left, I had some soup, poured some wine, and stared at the same page in the book I was reading for an hour, a silly grin on my face. Eventually, I gave up reading and got in bed, which still smelled like Levi and sex. I lay on my side, hugging my second pillow and breathing in the scent, my stomach fluttering as if I’d swallowed a flight of doves for dinner.
Moment by moment, I relived the hour we’d spent here, relishing each kiss and caress, each sigh and moan, each dirty word from his mouth and every thrust of his cock inside me.
I’d be sore tomorrow.
I didn’t care.
Flopping onto my back, I smiled at the ceiling and wondered how soon we could do it again. I was still lying there, thinking about all the things I wanted to do to him next time we were together, when I heard my phone vibrate. I glanced at my clock and saw it was after midnight.
Rolling to my side, I picked up my phone, hoping it was him. It was.
Get out of my head already. I’m trying to sleep.
I grinned. Me too.
I’m sorry I had to leave so fast.
Don’t be. I’ll be sore enough as it is in the morning.
Is it bad that I’m proud of that?
No. You can be proud.
I want to see you again.
Under the covers, I wiggled my toes. When?
Next weekend?
Want to come over for dinner?
Yes. Thank you for the soup. I ate it all and licked the bowl.
Doesn’t surprise me. You like to lick things.
Things that are delicious.
I smiled. I will have something delicious here for you, I promise.
I know you will. And I’m getting hard just thinking about it. But it’s my turn to make dinner. I’ll bring it.
OK. What night?
Friday? Sorry it can’t be sooner.
Don’t be. During the week is hard for me too. I don’t mind being your Girl Friday. But I wondered how much time he’d have. How was Scotty tonight?
Pretty good. I think he’d give me another hour on my curfew.
I laughed. How nice of him.
Hey. What’s your favorite movie?
Of all time? Vertigo.
Hitchcock fan, huh?
YES. What’s yours?
Shawshank Redemption.
Never seen it.
What? We need a movie date.
Deal. Favorite color?
Blue. Like your eyes.
Haha. Smooth.
Thank you. Now you.
Red. But not cherry red. Deeper.
You like it deep. I like that about you.
I gasped. You are so bad.
I know. Oh fuck hold on.
He was gone for a few minutes, and I figured Scotty had called him. His next message confirmed it.
Hey I’m sorry. I have to go. Scotty’s up.
I was disappointed, but I understood. It’s OK.
Talk soon. Night.
Night.
I set my phone aside and turned onto my side again, hoping everything was OK with Scotty. Did Levi ever get a full night’s sleep? Being a single parent had to be hard enough without throwing in all the extra issues he dealt with. And he was so devoted to his son. Clearly it would make dating difficult, if that’s what we were doing—I wasn’t even sure yet. But it also made him more attractive to me. Not only was he gorgeous and good in bed, he had a huge heart.
Was there room in it for me?
On Sunday evening, he called me. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
“How’s my Girl Friday?”
I smiled. “Good. Just doing some reading.”
“About what?”
“Autism research, actually.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes. It’s very interesting, the genetic links they’re finding, what brain scans are revealing about neurological connectivity.”
“Yeah, I used to read some of that stuff, but it wasn’t very useful to me.”
“No?”
“No. It’s interesting, but there’s a disconnect, you know? I’m glad they’re making gains in understanding how autism looks in the brain, but that doesn’t help me deal with the meltdowns on my kitchen floor.”
“True,” I admitted. “What does help you?”
He sighed heavily. “Whiskey.”
I laughed and closed the window on my laptop. “How was your day?”
“Good. I’m on a homework break, and looking at the calendar for this week. Friday still work for you?”
“Yes. That’s perfect, actually.”
“Good. I’m going to get some groceries and come over at six.”
“I’ll supply the whiskey.”
“I don’t need whiskey with you. Just a way to stop time.”
I smiled, but I felt a little sad too. “I wish I could do it for you. I’ll see you Friday.”
On Thursday night, I met Natalie and Skylar for a drink at Trattoria Stella. They were already there when I arrived, Natalie sipping on water with lemon and Skylar still perusing the wine list.
“Hi there, Mrs. Pryce,” I teased, hugging her hello. “You’re looking tan and refreshed. Did you have fun on your honeymoon?”
“Yes.” Her eyes sparkled. “It was incredible. The beach, the sun, the sea, the food, the sex—everything.”
“Sounds like it.” Thrilled to find myself completely unenvious, I slipped my coat off and hung it on the back of my chair. “And how are you feeling, Nat?”
“Good. Tired, but what else is new?” She slurped on her straw. “Now tell Skylar about your date.”
Skylar, sitting between us, looked at me and raised one eyebrow. “Your date?”
“With Pine Sol,” Natalie went on before I could even get a word in. “And they had sex. Not in a closet this time.”
“Jeez, Natalie. I thought you wanted me to tell her about it.”
“And I thought you were never going to tell us secrets ever again.” Skylar looked smug as she poked my shoulder. “I knew you wouldn’t hold out.”
“You were right. It was too good to keep in.”
She gasped. “I want details. Is he as big as he looks like he would be?”
I laughed, looking over my shoulder to make sure she hadn’t been overheard. “Relax. Let’s order some wine first.” I lowered my voice as I studied the list in front of her. “But hell yes, he is.”
“Gah! I can’t relax. This is too exciting!” She thumped my leg a few times.
“It is,” I admitted. “I’m excited too.”
She and I ordered glasses of pinot noir, which Natalie looked at longingly, and I filled Skylar in on the date. “I had three orgasms. Not even kidding.”
“Three times?” Skylar’s eyes bugged. “In an hour? Even I’m impressed.”
“It was very impressive.”
“So then what?” she went on eagerly. “Did he stay the night?”
“No. He can’t really do that because of his son.”
“Like, ever?” She paused with her wineglass halfway to her lips.
I shrugged. “I’m not sure. We haven’t really talked about what this is yet. I mean, maybe sleepovers aren’t what he’s thinking for us.”
My sisters stared at me a moment. “What do you mean?” Natalie asked. “You think he just wants to be friends?”
“I just said, I don’t know.” I took a big drink of wine and confessed the truth. “And I’m kind of scared to ask.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m afraid of the answer,” I said quietly, staring into my glass. “I really like him.”
“I
don’t think he’d be calling and texting and making plans with you in advance if he wasn’t interested in you in a more-than-friends way,” Skylar said confidently. “If he just wanted a fuck-buddy, he wouldn’t do all that. You’d get a text at two in the morning that says ‘Hey, can I come over?’”
“But you should still talk about it with him.” Natalie was firm too. “If you don’t, and both of you have different ideas about what you’re doing, feelings could get hurt.”
I sighed. “I know. We should talk. The truth is, I’m not sure there’s room in his life for a girlfriend, let alone anything beyond that.”
“Why not?” Skylar asked. “Plenty of single parents date and get remarried.”
“Yes, but his situation is a little different. His son, Scotty, has autism, and routine is really important to him. Levi is really sensitive to that.”
“Autism,” Skylar said, her brow furrowed. “OK, you’re going to give me the You’re Dumb and I’m a Doctor look, but is that where you don’t talk? I just remember the one autistic boy in my class not speaking much, if at all. And he wouldn’t make eye contact.”
“No doctor look,” I said, holding up my hands. “It’s a fair question. Autism looks different in everyone, but no, it doesn’t mean you don’t talk. Sometimes there are language delays, and some kids are nonverbal, but plenty of kids with autism are very social and talkative. Some don’t like eye contact, and some are fine with it.”
“So what is it, then?” Natalie asked.
“Well, it’s a neurological condition characterized by lots of different things to varying degrees. Often there are issues with social interaction and understanding. Some kids might have sensory issues. Some kids struggle with repetitive behaviors. Some have anxiety and/or OCD.” I shook my head. “And some might have none of those things. It’s really complex.”
Happy Crazy Love Boxed Set Page 55
