Текст книги "Roomies"
Автор книги: Claire Adams
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Five Alarm
Leila
We’re back at my apartment, Will and I, and I’ve been doing everything in my power to feel okay getting close to him.
So far, it hasn’t been working so well.
When I first showed him in, I was fully intending on ripping off his shirt and seeing what it’s like to ride a fireman, but I just ended up taking him for a tour of the apartment.
When we got to my bedroom, I told myself that this would be a perfect segue back toward sex, but I just stood there for a minute before asking him if he wanted something to drink.
Even after he said no, I still walked away from him and to the kitchen where I keep the liquor.
Now, I’m going through the freezer, trying to pick one of my five half-empty bottles to sooth my nerves.
I finally settle on tequila.
Okay, so I grab the bottle of rum, too.
All right, so I’m grabbing all of the bottles and setting them out on the counter, and I jump when Will asks me what I’m doing.
“Just setting these out,” I tell him. “Just in case you change your mind and you’d like something to drink. I’m pretty sure we could make some cocktails out of this stuff if you’d prefer that to a straight drink.”
“No,” he says, “I’m fine. You go ahead and indulge, though.”
“All right,” I tell him, and I go to the cabinet and pull out a glass.
I fill the thing half full with a mix of every one of these liquors and I try not to notice the shocked expression on Will’s face as I drink the whole thing down in one lift of the glass. I would say one gulp, but I’m not quite there yet.
“All right,” I tell him. “Would you like to watch a movie or something?”
“Are you okay?” he asks. “You just drank about eight shots there.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, “just a bit nervous.”
Now that he mentions it, though, I am starting to feel a little sick to the stomach.
“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he says. “I’m perfectly happy just hanging out for a while.”
“Let’s start with a movie,” I tell him. “We can always go from there.”
“All right,” he says and smiles at me.
He really is pretty fucking gorgeous, and I don’t know why I’m thinking of Dane as that thought goes through my head.
My fireman is tan and free of tattoos. He’s just looks like he belongs on a stage, accepting some kind of award for bravery or public service.
“Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right in,” I tell him.
“All right,” he says and walks into the living room.
With him safely out of sight, I take a few deep breaths and pop an antacid to try to calm my stomach. It’s not just the alcohol, although it is hitting me pretty hard already, but I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous.
With Dane, I was hardly ever nervous. I got butterflies and all that, but it was always accompanied by a wonderful feeling. Right now, my anxiety is wrapped in a sort of visceral terror that I’m not sure what to do with.
Momentarily, the thought to take another drink pops into my head, but I almost gag just thinking about that possibility.
I pull some microwave popcorn out of the cabinet and pop it in. It’s not so much that I’m really that in the mood for popcorn, but I would like an excuse for taking so long.
“What do you want to watch?” Will asks from the other room.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Something light,” he says. “Something funny.”
“Sounds good,” I answer. “Check the bottom two shelves. That’s where I keep most of the American movies.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I see you’re really into foreign films.”
“Uh huh,” I answer, and I hope he doesn’t hear the annoyance in my voice.
Why am I so annoyed?
The microwave beeps and I burn my hands in the steam, pulling the popcorn out of it.
“Fuck!”
“You all right in there?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Popcorn’s hot. I’m fine.”
“Need some help in there?”
I’m bombing the crap out of this date.
I finally get the popcorn into an oversized bowl and make my way out to the living room.
“How about When Harry Met Sally,” he says. “I haven’t seen it in—what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’ll be right back.”
It’s not my brightest moment, but I quickly set the popcorn on the coffee table and I’m running to the bathroom.
My stomach seemed to be doing okay right up until he held up When Harry Met Sally.
I try to be quiet, but of course, I’m not.
After a minute, there’s a knock on the door.
“Are you okay in there?” Will asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Sorry, I guess I did overdo it on that shot, but I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.”
“Maybe tonight’s not such a good night,” he says, and I feel like an idiot.
I don’t know what to say to him, so I don’t say anything. I just lie here on the floor and start to cry.
He knocks again, asking, “Are you all right? Do you need some water or anything?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, wiping my eyes with absolutely no lasting result. “I’m fine. I’ll be right out.”
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll stay until I know you’re going to be okay.”
Humiliation meets even more humiliation.
This isn’t how it was supposed to work out.
Dane and I were only together a very short while, and when it became clear that he wasn’t ready or willing to move with me, that was supposed to be the end of it. I was supposed to meet a nice guy here, though I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.
I never imagined I’d actually meet a fireman after a week and that he’d come home with me on the first night.
I’m doing a great job of fucking this up.
I pull myself off the floor and flush the toilet. Before I open the door, I quickly brush my teeth and gargle with mouthwash.
My hopes aren’t too high about anything still happening, but the least I can do is be presentable.
My eyes are puffy, but some cold water eases the swelling. Within a couple of minutes, I’ve dried my eyes and I open the door.
Will is sitting on the couch.
He goes to speak, but I start first.
“Is there any possible way we can just pretend the last ten minutes ever happened and just go from here?” I ask.
“Listen,” he says, “my ex-wife was a big drinker, and while I’m certainly not about to tell you what to do with your life, I really don’t think I can go through that sort of thing again.”
“I really don’t drink that much,” I tell him. “It’s just. I don’t know, it’s been a rough week.”
Without any prompting, I just start telling him about Dane and how I left things. He listens patiently.
“…so I guess it’s just a little hard for me getting back out there so quick after everything, you know?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I can totally understand that.”
“That’s right,” I say, smacking my forehead. “This is your first time out, too, isn’t it?”
“That’s okay,” he says. “I think this is probably the best thing that could have happened for either of us tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ve both gone through some heartache, and maybe we can help each other make it through, you know?”
“Yeah,” I smile. “So, any chance you’re still up for a movie?”
“Nah,” he says. “I’m actually pretty tired, so I think I should get going—”
“Don’t go,” I tell him. “You’ve humored me this long, the least I can do is offer you a place to sleep for the night.”
“Yeah?” he asks, thinking it over. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course,” I tell him.
He slips his shoes off and lies down on the couch.
“You might find it more comfortable in my room,” I tell him.
I’m out on a ledge here, especially given how things went after we got here, but he smiles at me and sits up.
“All right,” he says. “I’d like that.”
I’m not entirely sure how I turned things around so quickly, maybe it’s something to do with the male sex drive. Who knows? Regardless, we’re barely through my bedroom door before I’m kissing him hungrily.
He takes off his shirt, and I could just bite him he’s so sculpted.
I kiss his bare chest and he pulls my shirt over my head.
I’m still a little nervous, but all things considered, this couldn’t be going better for me.
That is, until he kisses my neck and I start to feel sick to my stomach again.
It’ll pass, though. It’s not like I have anything left to throw up.
Only, as we become more entangled and less clothed, that feeling only grows.
Gotta push through it, though, otherwise, how am I ever going to get over Dane?
Taking my own advice a bit too literally, I push Dane—I mean Will—backward onto the bed. He’s down to his boxers and I’m in bra and panties, ready to climb on top and make some memories.
“What’s on your mind?” he asks.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.
“Oh,” he says, “it’s just you pushed me onto the bed, I guess I was expecting you to…” he trails off.
It takes me a second, but it finally clicks that I haven’t moved or said anything until he asked me what was on my mind.
“I’m just taking in the view,” I lie and walk up to him.
I put one knee on each side of his body and straddle him. He’s already quite hard, and I’m just thrilled that I’m about to live out another one of my fantasies.
And now I’m thinking about Dane.
“Fuck.”
“What?” he asks.
“What?”
“It sounded like you said fuck,” Will answers.
“Did it?” I ask. “Oh well, never mind.”
I kiss him on the mouth and lean into him, encouraging him to lie back. He puts his arms around me and uses both hands to undo my bra.
“What was that?” he asks.
“What was what?”
“It sounded like you were giggling,” he says.
“I wasn’t,” I tell him. “I don’t know, maybe you tickled me a little.”
He shrugs and we continue to kiss while I wonder just what is so hard about undoing a bra with one hand. Sure, it’s one thing if you’re wearing the thing and you’ve got to reach behind your own back, that’s not the easiest position in the world to get into, but when you’ve got a full range of motion…
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I tell him. “I guess I’m still a little nervous, that’s all.”
“Okay,” he says and we start kissing again.
I press my body into him and grind a little against his hips. He’s so hard beneath me.
“I want to take your panties off,” he says and this time, I’m well aware of the fact that I’m laughing.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I just wasn’t prepared for that. Yeah, take ‘em off.”
“If tonight’s not a good night,” he starts.
“No, no, no,” I tell him. “It is. I’m just a little excited right now, I guess. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“You’re sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure,” I tell him.
“Okay,” he says, but the word’s no sooner out of his mouth than I’m bent forward with my face in the bed, trying to catch my breath. “You know,” he says, “it’s kind of hard to stay in the mood when someone’s laughing at you.”
“I know,” I heave, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s just now that I’m trying not to laugh, it’s making me laugh more. It’s not you, I promise.”
“Maybe tonight isn’t such a good night,” he tells me.
I might try to stop him if I could reign in my hysterics. I know exactly why I’m laughing: this whole thing, fantasy or not, is just so uncomfortable that there’s nothing else for me to do. I’m sure if I were to just stick it out, I might end up having a nice time, but it’s pretty clear that we’re past the event horizon.
“Call me sometime when things are a little more settled,” he says. “Have a good night.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “I really am. I hope you don’t think I was laughing at you. I really wasn’t.”
“Thanks,” he says and, after getting dressed more quickly than anyone I’ve ever seen, he’s out of the bedroom.
I contain myself long enough to walk him out the rest of the way, but as soon as the door’s closed behind him, I’m on the floor with my back to the door, curled up and laughing.
It’s not a mystery. I know exactly what I want and what I need. I can only hope that he’s still awake right now. It’s after two o’clock in the morning.
* * *
So it’s after four now, and I can’t sleep.
I called Dane, but he didn’t answer. He’s probably asleep, but I can’t help feeling that he just didn’t want to take the call.
As odd as it may sound, I’m actually wishing I could go back to embarrassing the crap out of myself in front of a guy who I would have made posters of and dreamed about only a few months ago.
I left Dane a message. It wasn’t much, but it should communicate my meaning.
“Hey, Dane, this is Leila. I’m sorry about the way I left and, well, for a lot of things, but I really do miss you and wanted to let you know that I’m done ignoring your calls. Anyway, I hope you’re having a good night. Bye.”
Not over the top, but enough. Except I’m the one who left and I’m the one who blinked first. I know that shouldn’t matter, but I feel like I’ve just been toying with him.
I haven’t been toying with him. I honestly thought that me moving and him staying there meant there was no hope for us as a couple, but if he’s feeling half of what I’m still feeling toward him—I don’t know, it’s got to be worth the risk.
I fall asleep and have some of the strangest dreams I’ve ever had. When I wake up, my head is spinning.
It’s still dark and my phone is ringing.
I reach over to the nightstand and answer.
“Hello?”
“Shit, did I wake you?”
I sit straight up in bed. “Dane?”
“Leila,” he says. “I got your message.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I tell him. “I know it was late, and I was kind of drunk.”
The line is quiet for a few seconds.
“Oh.”
“What’s up?”
“Oh,” he says. “I just got your message and wanted to call and see how you’re doing.”
“I’m doing okay,” I tell him.
It’s funny, I’ve spent so much time pretending that I wasn’t hoping for a moment like this and now that it’s here, I have no clue what to say.
“How are you?” I ask.
“I’m all right,” he says. “I’m just hanging out with Wrigley.”
Suddenly I’m beginning to understand why he actually called. He doesn’t want to talk about getting back together or anything like that at all. He just wants to make me feel like shit for leaving him the way I did.
Maybe I deserve it, maybe not, but I’m in no mood for it.
“Well, that sounds great,” I tell him and hang up the phone.
I walk out to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. With a sigh, I open the cupboard and pull out the little bottle of ibuprofen and take a couple.
Now, I’m walking back toward my bedroom, and I can hear the phone ringing, only this time, I’m not so thrilled about the idea of answering it.
The ringing stops and I lie back down, setting the water on the nightstand.
A moment later, the phone rings again, startling me into sitting up again. I silence the ringer and just lie back down.
I don’t want to hear about how he and Wrigley “rediscovered” each other or about how much fun they’re having together. If he doesn’t want to be with me, that’s fine, but I’m not going to sit here and listen while he rubs it in my face.
You know what? I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. I pick up the phone.
He’s calling again.
That’s as good an opportunity as I’m going to get, so I answer.
“Listen, I get that you’re pissed at me, but I don’t know what kind of nerve you have, calling me up to tell me that you’re back with her. I still care about you, Dane, and I know I hurt you. I know that what I did was wrong, but that doesn’t give you carte blanche to throw your relationship in my face. I mean, who do you think you—”
“I don’t care that you live in another state, I want to be with you.”
“—are, seriously. What kind of asshole…” I trail off. “What did you just say?”
“I said that I don’t care if you live in New Jersey and I live in New York. I love you, and I want us to be together. I can’t move right now. I have to finish getting Wilks ready to take l’Iris, but I’ll buy a car, I’ll take the bus. I don’t care. I want to have you in my life, and I don’t ever want to go another day without seeing you. Ever.”
“What about Wrigley?” I ask. “I thought you said you were back with her.”
“No,” he says. “I’m hanging out with her. I was stupid not telling you that I’d do anything, even go long distance for a while, just as long as it meant that we could be together. Wrigley helped me get past all my bullshit and realize that. I know we have a lot more to learn about each other, but if you’re willing, I’d love to give us another shot. I really think we have something unique and I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
Wrigley as couple’s therapist: that’s an unexpected development.
“Leila?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m here.”
“What do you think?”
Hmm… What do I think?
Epilogue
Two Years Later
Leila
The groom is anxious as he waits for the rest of the procession to come forward so his bride can enter. This is the biggest moment of his life, and that feeling isn’t lost on him.
After what feels like hours of waiting, the best man and I make it to the front. The best man gives the groom a hug and then smiles at me. Throughout these years, I’ve enjoyed helping the groom get to this place more than almost anyone else. Anyone except the woman he’s going to marry.
The music changes and everyone stands.
The groom is starting to sweat.
His wife-to-be is stunning in her dress. It’s classy, but just revealing enough to get a couple of the parents in attendance to cover their children’s eyes.
The groom smiles when he sees this.
Today isn’t one of those things that just happened over night. It took a lot of hard work and a lot of luck, but it’s clear enough that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be in the world.
The bride gets to the front and stands across from her fiancé.
She can see the nervousness in his body language, but she doesn’t seem worried. He smiles at her sweetly and she smiles back.
The judge starts the ceremony.
“Love is a powerful thing,” the judge says. “It can lift us up and it can make us feel and do things we didn’t know were possible. When two people love each other, as you do, every one of us finds ourselves uplifted.”
The judge is a bit long-winded, but the bride and the groom are too busy staring into their futures to mind.
“…we are here to celebrate the love of these two people, who have brought all of us together…”
After a solid ten minutes of monologue by the judge, the best man nudges the groom, whispering, “Are you ready for this?”
The groom whispers back, “I’ve never been more ready for anything.”
“…now, take the ring and put it on her finger, repeating after me, I, Michael Jason Nielson…”
“I, Michael Jason Nielson,” the groom repeats.
The judge continues, “Do take you, Wrigley Samantha Moirea—Moire—Moireas—”
“Do take you, Wrigley Samantha Moireasdanach,” Mike jumps in.
“I’ve been practicing that all morning,” the judge says. “My apologies.”
The stumble is good for a laugh.
“To be my lawfully wedded wife,” the judge concludes.
“To be my lawfully wedded wife,” Mike says, slipping the finger onto Wrigley’s hand.
“And would you repeat after me, I, Wrigley Samantha, please state your last name.”
Wrigley’s smile is wide and beautiful and she giggles as she repeats, “I, Wrigley Samantha Moireasdanach.”
“Do take you, Michael Jason Nielson.”
“Do take you, Michael Jason Nielson.”
“To be my lawfully wedded husband.”
“To be my lawfully wedded husband.”
She puts the ring onto Mike’s finger and the two hold hands.
“Now, by the power vested in me by the state of New York, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
The two kiss and make their way back down the aisle, now as husband and wife. There may have been an order to the procession coming in, but on the way out, everyone just clamors to follow the newlyweds.
At the reception, an hour later, the best man sees me sitting at the bar, nursing a drink.
“That was a beautiful service,” he says.
“Yeah, it was really nice,” I answer.
“So, have you known the bride and groom for very long?” he asks.
“I’ve known the bride for a few years,” I answer. “The groom and I actually go way back.”
“Ah,” he says. “So today’s kind of bitter-sweet for you, then.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, “it sounds like the two of you have some history.”
“Oh, no,” she scoffs. “It’s nothing like that. We’re just old friends.”
“What are you drinking?” he asks.
“A tequila sunrise,” I answer. “I don’t drink that much anymore, but when I do, I don’t know if it’s the taste or the colors, but I just love these.”
“Mind if I sit with you a while?”
“Not at all,” I say.
“You know what I think is funny about weddings?” he asks.
“What’s that?”
“It’s so much buildup and the ceremony is always over so quickly.”
“I don’t know: that judge went on for quite a while. I’m pretty sure that at one point he compared love to a tollbooth.”
“Yeah,” he snickers. “I think I remember that part.”
“So, you’re saying you’d never want to get married?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he answers. “I mean, I can understand the draw. I guess I just haven’t found the woman of my dreams yet.”
“Really?” I ask, smiling. “You look like the kind of guy who’s found dozens of women of his dreams.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffs.
“It’s the tattoos,” I tell him. “They kind of paint you as a degenerate.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know that I’ve caught your name. Both the bride and groom told me, but I’m just terrible when it comes to people I haven’t had a conversation with.”
“Leila,” I answer. “Leila Tyler.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m Dane Paulson. You know, I used to know a woman named Leila. She was into some pretty weird shit.”
I smack him on the arm and say, “I bet she was not.”
“No,” he says, chuckling. “She totally was. She used to have this weird ass fantasy about being picked up in a bar by her significant other.”
“I think that sounds very romantic,” I say.
“Yeah, if you’re weird,” Dane answers.
“You’re pushing it,” I warn, but my smile breaks through. “What are you drinking?”
“I don’t know,” Dane answers. “To be honest, I’m not very thirsty right now.”
“Oh? I would imagine a guy like you would be going insane over an open bar.”
“Not really,” he says. “I find people who drink to be rather boring. You know they only drink to put on the illusion that they’re interesting.”
“Oh, ha ha,” I mock.
“That’s not why I came over here, anyway.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “Why’d you come over here, then?”
“Because I think you’re absolutely gorgeous, and I know this may sound a little forward, but would you like to find a closet somewhere and fuck like bunnies?”
“A little forward?” I snort. “Does that line ever work?”
“At least once,” Dane answers, “I’m hoping.”
I down my drink.
“You know what?” I ask, “why not. Maybe I can teach you a few things. You come off a little inexperienced with women.”
“I am,” Dane says and takes my hand.
I walk in front of him for fairly obvious reasons, but we’re delayed a minute when the bride and groom rush over, arms outstretched.
“Help me,” Dane whispers. “Wriggles,” he says, turning just enough to hug Wrigley with his upper body while I generously ease my butt against his front while I hug Mike.
“Dane!” Wrigley squeals. “I’m married!”
“I know! Congratulations! You two are going to have such a wonderful life together.”
“Thank you,” she says and leans into his ear. “Real smooth with the positioning there, chief. I’m sure nobody’s figured it out.”
She gives him a kiss on the cheek and a moment later, she’s putting her arms around me, ever so gently, but ever so effectively moving me just far enough away from Dane to expose his rather embarrassing situation.
With gritted teeth and a smile, he casually rests his hands over the offending bulge in his pants and says, “Thanks, Wrigley. I’m so glad you guys came over.”
“Hey Dane, thanks for standing with me today,” Mike says.
“It was an honor,” Dane answers.
Fortunately for Dane, Mike is happy enough with a handshake.
“Well,” I say, “I’ve got to head out to the, uh—”
“The car,” Dane interrupts. “She forgot something, and I’m going to help her look for it.”
“Don’t forget to lift the hood,” Wrigley says, beaming.
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Dane says. “Congratulations, you two.”
We make their way through the reception hall and find the nearest unlocked door without anyone inside the room.
It’s a small room, full of flowers.
“Do you think Wrigley’s going to mind if we do it in the bridal suite?”
“I don’t mind,” Dane tells me and we’re locked in a passionate kiss.
“Help me get my dress off,” I say.
“Leave it on,” Dane answers.
“Pantyhose?” I ask.
“Dealer’s choice,” he answers, kissing my neck and chest.
It’s a little tricky with Dane all over me, but I manage to slip off my panty hose, and a moment later, I’ve got the front of Dane’s slacks open and he’s sliding my dress up my thighs.
I lean back against the wall and put one leg around Dane’s body, guiding him toward me.
He runs his tip against my opening and I’m already so wet.
Dane puts himself inside and we let out a pleasured sigh together.
“You know,” Dane says, kissing my lips and neck, “we won’t be able to do it like this too much longer.”
“Shh,” I tell him. “You’re not supposed to know I’m pregnant. I’m not showing that much in this dress, and I haven’t told you that yet. I’ll probably wait until after you’ve got me to come a few times, so if you bail on me, at least I’ll have gotten something out of it.”
“You’re so fucking weird,” he says. “But I like that, whatever you said your name was.”
“Yeah,” I scoff between sharp inhales. “That’s attractive.”
I open the front of Dane’s shirt and kiss his smooth, firm chest.
“What does this tattoo mean?” I ask, pulling him tighter with my leg.
“It means ‘virile warrior,’” he answers.
I smack him on the chest, saying, “Oh, it does not.”
“Got it when I was eighteen,” he says.
“Gotta move,” I tell him. “Baby’s kicking.”
“Oh my god,” Dane gasps. “You’re pregnant?”
“Oh, shut up,” I say.
“Hold on, I wanna feel it,” Dane tells me.
He bends down and puts a hand on my stomach. Our daughter moves under his gentle touch.
“I really don’t think I’m ever going to get over that,” he says. “That is so amazing.”
The door to the bridal suite opens and Dane is quick to stand up. He’s facing the wall, but he’s still hanging out the front of his pants.
“Hey you guys!”
Of course it’s Wrigley.
Dane mutters, “You wanna distract her a minute?”
I smirk. “We were looking for the bathroom. Would you mind showing me where it is?”
“It’s down the hall on your left,” Wrigley says. “So Dane, what are ya doin’ over there looking at the wall?”
“Oh, can we not do this?” he asks.
“It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen,” Wrigley quips. “I’m just kidding. I just wanted to let you two know that we’re going to be cutting the cake in about five minutes.”
“All right,” I tell her, “thank you.”
We hug.
I never thought I’d be so close with Wrigley of all people, but after hearing everything she did to help guide Dane and I together, all my enmity toward her dissolved.
“Thank you for everything,” I tell her.
“You’re welcome,” Wrigley says. “Thank you for introducing me to Mike.”
There’s the sound of a zipper going up and Dane finally turns around.
“Five minutes, huh?” he asks. “Any chance I could talk you into making it fifteen?”
Wrigley and I both roll our eyes.
After the cake is cut and all remaining rice is thrown and the bride and groom are off for a weekend of marital debauchery, Dane and I get in the car for the drive home.
“You know,” he says, “I’m kind of glad you almost hooked up with that fireman?”
“Yeah?” I ask. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
“Why? What?”
“Will,” I say. “You know, I see him in the store every once in a while, and I was thinking: I know we’re married and all, but maybe we could stand to spice things up a bit?”
“Darling,” he starts, “we just had sex in my ex’s bridal suite. I think things are pretty spicy as it is.”
“I guess,” I yawn. “Still, though, you’ve made all of my other fantasies come true. Even ones I didn’t know I had until you brought them to life.”
“Yeah, I’d say I’ve gone above and beyond,” he says.
“Meh,” I say. “You’ve done all right, I guess.”
“Oh, come on,” Dane protests. “I gave up my job in the city so that we could be closer together.”
“Tell the whole story,” I answer.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know, the part about how l’Iris started doing so well after Wilks took over that Jim hooked you up with the seed money to start your own restaurant right down the street from where we live.”
“I hardly see how that’s relevant,” he answers.
He turns on the radio.
“Seriously? You’re still on the death metal?” he asks. “Isn’t that going to make our baby come out with hooves or craving blood or something?”
“Metal is closest in relation to classical music, and everyone knows that classical music makes babies smarter.”
“Oh, it does not. That was just a misquote, saying…” he trails off into laughter.
“Look,” I tell him, gazing up at the sky through the windshield.
“What?”
“The stars,” I tell him. “There are a lot of them tonight.”
“Leila?”
“Yeah?”
“I love the fuck out of you.”
“Thanks,” I answer. “Dane?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you ever given any thought to joining the fire department?”
He laughs. “I’ll be your fireman.”
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Claire Adams
