12. The Morning After Pineapple
12
THE MORNING AFTER PINEAPPLE
Finn
No meat. No problem.
An Adams man knows how to improvise. On Saturday morning, I bound up the steps to my brownstone with the bag of groceries from my early morning run to the store around the block. I punch in the entry code, and once the door closes behind me, I listen for the sound of Jules. It’s early, not even seven-thirty. I don’t know a ton about the habits of twenty-five-year-olds in the city anymore, but when I was that age, no fucking way was I awake this early on a Saturday morning.
Bet she’s still sound asleep, chestnut hair fanned out on my pillow, eyes fluttering, like they were when I left a little while ago. She looked like she belonged in my bed maybe another morning too.
I entertain that thought for a few dangerous seconds before my chest tightens like a belt has been cinched around it. The idea is foolish for many reasons. First, there is no another morning with my best friend’s daughter.
You crossed a line, man. Don’t even think about crossing it again.
Second, there is no next time with anyone right now.
My goal is to be the best father I can be. To give Zach all my love, all my attention. Even if Jules weren’t connected to my life in a twisted way, I wouldn’t be able to strike up anything more than sex with her.
Romance is a lie.
A year ago, Marilyn and I were in couples therapy for fuck’s sake—arguing about everything. We’d stopped sleeping together. Stopped going on dates. Stopped having meaningful conversations.
We’d already argued about whether she’d ever want to have a family. She’d wanted one when we met, she’d talked about kids just after we’d married, but it was all a lie. A cold, cruel lie. She married me for money, not for love, and not for family. Pretty sure she only stayed in the marriage for her own financial gain.
I grind my teeth, and that dark cloud tormenting me turns blacker and colder as I head to the kitchen. I’ve got to get her out of my mind.
I’ve got to remember, too, that great sex is just that—great sex.
Nothing more.
Doing my best to shove my ex-wife far away from my one and only morning with Jules, I empty the bag, setting a pineapple, a container of blueberries, and a carton of granola on the counter. Then, I wash my hands. When I hear footsteps approaching, my heart lightens and my lips curve into a smile.
Great sex, buddy. That’s all.
Jules turns into the living room, meeting my gaze from across the space, she’s dressed in a tank top and leggings, her hair twisted into a messy bun, her face fresh. But there’s a bag on her shoulder and a ready to bolt look in her eyes.
“Hey,” I say, arching a brow. “Going somewhere?”
She gestures to the window behind me in the kitchen, bright morning light streaking through it. “Well, the sun is up. I think I turned into a pumpkin hours ago.”
She’s trying to make light of her departure, but I don’t think that’s why she’s up so early. “Did you think I just…left?”
“No. It’s your place. Why would I think that?” But her tone says she’s lying.
I move around the island counter, stopping a foot away from her. “You woke up, saw me gone, and thought I, what, went out for a run?”
She sighs. “I didn’t know what to think. I don’t know you. And I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“I should have left you a note letting you know I ran out to the store. Like I said, I’m rusty.”
She laughs softly, shaking her head with some embarrassment. “This stuff is new to me too.”
God, what I want to do with all her newness. But that’s not in the cards. Breakfast is though. “I promised you breakfast. I went out to get it,” I say.
“You don’t have to make me food.”
“I want to.” Does no one do nice things for this woman? She’s probably not used to much from men. Virgin and all. Well, she was.
“What are you smiling about?” she asks curiously.
Oh, I guess a grin took over. “I was thinking about how much I like doing nice things for you. I was wondering if anyone else had. Then I figured you’ve probably met a lot of jackasses.”
“Actually, I haven’t really dated much,” she says.
Huh. I figured she’d dated jerks. “Really?”
“Dating is…complicated.”
“Yeah. I get that,” I say. Marriage is too. Mine came with promises that the woman I loved didn’t keep. I exhale, trying to shake off that thought. “But you know what’s not complicated?”
“What?”
I head back to the spread. “Breakfast where you don’t have to pick a thing off it. There’s no bacon,” I say.
Her grin is immediate and electric. “Yay.”
I crack up. “I’ve never known anyone to cheer the absence of bacon.”
“Well, first time for everything. You gave me my first,” she says, patting her chest. “I’m giving you one.” I enjoy this sardonic side of her so much.
“There are no eggs in this breakfast either.” I scrunch my brow. “I wasn’t sure if you ate eggs.”
“I do. As long as they aren’t hard-boiled, soft-boiled, Benedict, runny, over easy or in egg salad,” she says with a shudder. “Egg salad is the scourge.”
“Of the food world?”
“Of the whole world,” she says, emphatic.
“Well then. Let me wow you with some…fruit.”
She smiles. “You showed me your sex moves last night. Now, show me your breakfast moves.”
Yeah, that’s the woman I met at The Scene. The one who challenged me in the library. The one who came over and demanded I make her come. That’s my daring girl.
“You’re on,” I say.
“Do I get to help?”
“Not a fucking chance,” I say.
She sits on a stool, huffing. “Fine. Mister Bossy.”
“You like it when I’m bossy.”
“I don’t know. Do I?” she taunts.
She’s got a little brat in her, and the things I could do with it. I move behind her and grab her hands, pulling them tight. She shudders. “If you taunt me, I might not let you come next time,” I whisper harshly in her ear.
At those words, she tenses, maybe wondering if I’ve forgotten this is a one-time thing. I’ve not forgotten at all.
“By next time, I mean…after I feed you,” I add. But my jaw tightens and I wish I could spend another night with her.
Just a night.
That’s all.
I let go, move to the counter, and set the pineapple on the cutting board.
“A pineapple? You really want to impress me, don’t you?”
“Orgasms and pineapple? Is that the way to your heart and soul?”
She taps her chin. “I mean, pineapple is pretty good.”
I smile. That’s new too. Smiling with a woman. Getting along with a woman.
It’s the first date effect, you dick. Of course it feels like fucking magic. It did with Marilyn too.
I try again to shake off thoughts of my ex. There’s no room for her in a world of pineapples and orgasms. Grabbing a knife from the wooden holder, I cut and slice the fruit, then set it in a bowl. I find a fork and offer Jules a bite. She parts her lips, letting me feed her.
I happily comply, enjoying her moans of culinary appreciation. I offer her another bite and she takes it, then murmurs “More” in a too seductive voice.
God, that word. “Be careful when you say that,” I warn.
She tilts her head, dropping the act. “Why?”
“You don’t want to know what it does to me,” I say, sternly.
A smile teases the corner of her lips. “But maybe I do.”
“Jules,” I caution.
Her brown eyes gleam with mischief. “More,” she murmurs.
I stalk around the kitchen counter. I grab her hips roughly, staring down at her. “Say that to a guy like me and it pretty much makes me want to fuck. Right. Now.”
She shudders then parts her legs. “A guy like you,” she says, then tilts her face. “You mean someone who likes to punish me with pleasure?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.”
“So when I say more you want to give me more. You want to fuck?”
I grip her hips harder, digging my fingers into her flesh. “Yes, and by fuck, I mean…make you come.”
She licks her lips, slow and tantalizing. “More, Finn. More.”
That’s it. I lift her off the stool, yank down her leggings, then help her quickly step out of them. Once they’re off, I’m not gentle at all. I rip off her pink panties. “Turn around. Hands on the counter, ass up.”
She gets in position.
I grip her hair in my fist, slide a hand between those thighs, and sweep my finger across her sweet, wet pussy. She shudders, dropping her head, her hair spilling around her. Like that, I stroke and play. Whispering dirty words of praise in her ear. “So beautiful. You obey so well. You deserve all the orgasms.”
She grows wetter. Arches more. Moves faster against my hand. She’s so free like this, so responsive, and it revs my engine. I fuck her with my fingers till she’s gasping, begging, and shattering.
All before eight a.m.
She’s still shaking from the orgasm, and I let go of her hair, lick off her sweetness, then head to the sink to wash my hands. “Want more pineapple now?”
She looks woozy. “Yeah, I do. It’s my favorite fruit.”
“Mine too.”
I serve her breakfast, savoring her post-climax look even more than she seems to be savoring the fruit.
An hour and another handful of orgasms for her and one more for me later, she slings her bag on her shoulder, leaving my bedroom.
Such a shame. Jules looked so good in my bedroom. Like she belonged there.
She heads downstairs a few steps ahead of me when her gaze strays to the toy truck on the table in the corner of the landing. Last night, she seemed to want to ask more about Zach, but I wasn’t sure what to share so soon into the night. She’s the first woman I’ve been with since my ex-wife, and I don’t know the rules or timelines. But overnight and over breakfast, Jules and I have talked about her fears and my friendships and the way we like to touch. All of those are intimate topics.
So when she says, “Cute truck,” I grab the opportunity.
“That’s mine,” I say dryly.
She stops, turns around. “You like trucks, Finn?”
“Actually, you know what I really like?” I test the waters.
She lifts an inquiring brow. “Besides my ass?”
I laugh. “Yes, besides that,” I say, then just go for it. “I really like building things. Do you want to see a tree house?”
As far as lines go, it hardly counts. I have no idea how she’ll take this suggestion, but I’m compelled to show this fascinating, complicated woman who I am.
The reward? A smile like magic. “I would love to see a tree house.”
I lead her down the steps and out the side door off the kitchen, then sweep out a hand. “It’s the tiniest yard in the city.”
She stares, slack-jawed, at the courtyard-slash-fenced-in-patch-of-grass. Stones line one side of the small space, still covered in lava from our volcano experiment. At the edge, a mere ten feet away, is a tall wood fence. Then, in the corner is the tree, with the Lilliputian house in it.
“This has to be one of the Seven Wonders of New York City,” she says. “Are there even any other tree houses in Manhattan?”
I scratch my jaw. “Good question. I haven’t studied the prevalence of tree houses, but maybe I’ll have my assistant look into it.”
She rolls her eyes as she heads to the tree, then pats the blocks of wood that serve as the ladder up the trunk. “And I thought your bedroom skills were impressive. But this is next level. Did your son…”
She stops as if she thinks it’s against the rules to ask about Zach.
“My kid asked for one, so I built it,” I say, answering her unfinished question.
A laugh bursts from her. “That’s it? That’s all it took?”
“Pretty much,” I admit sheepishly. “I might be a pushover dad.”
She shakes her head. “Nah. I think that’s sweet.” She hesitates for a second, then asks, “Does he love it?”
“He does. I just want him to have a normal childhood. Losing his mom couldn’t have been easy.”
This would be heavy for a one-night stand, if Jules felt like a one-night stand. She seems genuinely interested, not just idly curious, and it’s hard for me to not talk about my kid. I don’t want to keep him a secret. Hell, I hate secrets.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Finn,” she says, sympathetic despite understandable confusion about the details.
“My ex-wife isn’t his mom,” I explain quickly, then back up the story, giving her a little more of it, and more of myself in the process. “I met his mother eight years ago while I was in Rome on a work trip. She was American. We spent one night together and never exchanged last names.” I sigh, full of regret. If only I’d given Nina my name and number. If only we hadn’t played what seemed like a sexy game of no concrete details. Then I’d have known Zach for his whole life. “Anyway, when she died a few years ago, her parents made it a mission to find me. And I’m so glad they did.”
“Me too. Because I can tell how happy you are being his dad.”
I duck my head, shielding my expression. “It’s obvious?”
She pats the tree. “Well, you built him a tree house.”
“Yeah, I’m definitely a pushover,” I confirm. But maybe I’m an over-sharer too. Fuck, that’s bad. “That was a lot, wasn’t it?”
Jules might be new to sex, but I feel new to…sharing.
“No. It wasn’t.” She goes quiet, but it’s clear the gears are turning in her head. “I was curious last night about your son, but I didn’t want to push. People share things in their own time. And sometimes not at all.”
“It’s hard for me to keep him a secret,” I say.
“You shouldn’t have to. And I’m glad you didn’t,” she adds, and there’s something wistful in her voice. Like she’s wishing this thing could turn into something more. Another night. Another time. Another moment here in the yard.
We’ve jammed so much into less than twenty-four hours. Shared more than most people do over a half-dozen dates.
This was a one-night stand in name only.
If we were other people, I’d take her hand and tug her into a corner by the door, far away from the neighbors, hardly visible, and kiss her against the side of my home. I’d claim her outside by the honeysuckle so we could both inhale the scent of wanting as we fucked.
Then I’d invite her over again.
But that’s not what last night was. This morning and this closeness, this easy connection—they’re scrambling my brain.
“Thanks for listening, Jules.”
She closes the distance between us and sets a hand on my chest, gently grabbing the fabric of my shirt. “Anytime.”
That word feels like a promise we can’t keep, but I wish we could.
The car service texts that they’re pulling up just as we go inside. I haul Jules against me one more time, then sniff her neck. “Mmm. Your morning scent is good too. You’re like a sexy garden,” I tell her, but I’ve got to stop with the praise. No more compliments. No more kisses. I need to let her go. I clear my throat and step back. “Bye, Jules.”
“Bye…Finn.” She stops, like she’s going to say see you around.
But really, we probably won’t. Just in case though, I add, “If I see you when you’re with?—”
She holds up a hand, stopping me. “—I know. Nothing happened.”
When she pulls away, I’m filled with a bittersweet ache, but soon it’ll fade.
She sets her hand on the doorknob and…fuck. I can’t let her leave on the thought that this was nothing. I spin her around, cup her cheek, and meet her eyes. “Thank you. For last night. For this morning. For letting me have you.”
“I’m glad it was you.”
“You have no idea how glad I am too.”
She shrugs, coyly. “Actually, I think I do.”
She leaves, heading off into the light of day. I turn back into my home where there’s a text blinking up at me from my phone on the counter.
Tate: Five miles. Fastest time ever. See you tomorrow, sloth.
Guilt swells inside me. But I’ll have to find a way to live with it when I see my friend tomorrow morning.
For now, I walk through my kitchen, and it feels empty without his daughter.