20. Derrick
20
DERRICK
I had sex with Izzy.
I. Had. Sex. With. Izzy.
Sex with Izzy, I had.
Izzy and I had sex.
My brain takes the words and twists them, turns them, reorders them. Like eventually they’ll form a different outcome. But they won’t. I— we —crossed a line we can’t come back from. Frankly, I don’t want to.
It was an accident. At first, at least. The initial confrontation. There’s no way the sex could be categorized that way. I didn’t know she’d come back to the house, and God help me for needing some kind of relief. I was content to take it into my own hands, literally. I might see the way Izzy looks at me, but I never would’ve crossed that line. I just… couldn’t. Not until she crossed it for me .
I think of the way she looked on the counter—naked, with swollen lips and her face red from my beard.
“What are you thinking about?”
The sound of her voice jerks me out of my thoughts and back to the present. Where she sits on the kitchen island, legs dangling, she pops a grape into her mouth, waiting with an amused curl of her lips. Her hair is damp from the shower, her cheeks still flushed. My T-shirt dwarfs her small frame, the white fabric falling delicately off one shoulder. I can’t help myself when I step away from the stove and place a kiss there. That small intimacy feels even better than the sex. It’s not like I’m a monk. I’ve had hookups over the years. But not this . Not with a woman I can cook for and kiss so casually and share my space with.
With a giggle, she glides her hand over my bare chest.
I go with total honesty. “I was thinking about you.”
“You’re not freaking out on me, are you?” She asks the question with a smile, but she can’t hide the flash of fear in her eyes.
“No.”
Shockingly, I’m not. Being with Izzy feels right in a way. Like she’s been here forever, been mine forever.
She smiles and pops another grape into her mouth. It’s a variety called cotton candy, and she insisted we buy them during our last grocery store run. I’m a skeptic, and even I have to admit they’re good.
“Pay attention.” She waves her hand to the skillet on the stovetop. “Don’t burn my grilled cheese.”
With a peck to her lips, I turn and do as I’m told. Then I’m plating our grilled cheese sandwiches, and she’s carrying the bowl of grapes to the table. I pull out a chair and sit down, tugging her into my lap as I go. It’s precarious having her there, rubbing her ass against me, but I want her close.
I lift one sandwich and hold it up to her.
Tilting her head down, she fights a smirk. “Are you going to feed me?”
“I’m trying to.”
Her smirk only grows. “I’m capable of feeding myself. My hands are working. It’s only my vagina that’s a little sore.”
I nip at her jaw. “You and that mouth.”
“You like my mouth.”
I do, I really do. And not for the reason she’s thinking. I like her sass and her smarts and her sweetness. All of it.
When she finally takes a bite, her eyes widen in surprise. “That has to be the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had.”
“I told you.”
When we finally extracted ourselves from my bed after a slow and careful round three, I told her I’d make grilled cheese for dinner, to which she scoffed. According to her, it’s boring. Basic.
She takes another bite. “What more could a girl ask for? Cheese and a post-orgasmic glow.”
Chuckling, I take a bite of the sandwich. We might as well share them. “Glad I can provide.”
She wraps an arm around me and rubs the back of my neck with her thumb, her gaze locked on mine. It’s intense, but not in a way that makes me want to look away. If anything, I want to sink into the depths of her. Read her mind. Memorize every detail of her. Every bit and piece of Izzy James.
It’s there, in the back of my mind, my conscience. It taunts me, reminding me of her age. I ignore it. I don’t want anything to ruin this. I haven’t felt this kind of blissful, borderline selfish happiness since I was a teenager .
We finish off the first grilled cheese, then the second. When it’s gone, Izzy turns around and straddles my lap. And when she rocks her hips against me, I groan. I don’t know how, but he’s already coming to life again.
“Simmer down, boss man,” she murmurs. “My vagina needs a break. I just want to look at you.” She takes my cheeks in her hands, studying me with a serious quirk of her lips like I’m a specimen to inspect beneath a microscope.
Her touch is reverent, her fingertips drifting over the slope of my nose. Her lips move, but no sound comes out.
“What are you doing?”
She smiles softly but doesn’t stop. “Counting your freckles. I find I have quite the obsession with them.”
“Just my freckles?” I taunt.
“And your lips.” She traces the curve of them. “Your shoulders.” Her hands are a warm caress over my deltoids. “All of you.” She leans in for a kiss.
I slide my fingers through her hair, deepening the kiss. Her taste is imprinted forever on my tongue.
“Let’s go somewhere tonight.”
She sits back, resting her elbows on the table behind her, one brow lifted. “Where?”
With a hand tucked up under her shirt, I ghost my fingers over the toned skin of her belly. “We could get dinner on the pier.”
She wets her lips with a subtle swipe of her tongue. “Like… a date?”
Straightening, I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering longer than necessary on her soft cheek. “Do you want it to be a date?”
Head dropped back, she lets out a huff. She moves to get off me, but I grab her hips and hold her in place. “Where do you think you’re going? What’s wrong?”
When she pins me with a glare, her eyes swim with hurt. “If you have to ask me if I want it to be a date, it’s not a date, Derrick.”
Normally, I love when she says my name, but for the first time, it sounds wrong on her tongue.
“I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I’m not good at this. It’s been…” I blow out a breath. “A long time. Forgive me, please?” I cup her cheeks in my hands, rubbing my thumbs over her smooth skin. I could kick myself for framing it the way I did. She’s right, it’s definitely not a date if I ask her that way. “Will you go on a date with me? A real one?”
She dips her chin in answer, eyes bright. “Yes.”
I get ready, then sneak out of the house to let her do the same. To make it feel more real, I’ll come back when it’s time to pick her up.
With the radio playing softly, I drive into town and park my truck on the street.
It’s been so long since I’ve been on a real date.
It’s laughable, honestly, because my last real date was with her sister. The irony isn’t lost on me.
The flower shop is at the end of the street, the bouquets displayed outside creating a riot of color. There are a few tourists milling around on the sidewalk, looking over the options. Rather than stopping there, I head inside.
Gloria looks up from behind the counter, a fake smile plastered on her face, but when she recognizes me, it morphs into a real one .
“Hey, Gloria.” The old wood floors groan beneath my feet as I approach her. She had me renovate the shop about ten years ago, but we agreed that the original hardwood floors needed to stay.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” She looks me up and down, eyes crinkling at the corners. They glimmer with amusement. “What brings you in?”
Gloria and I went to school together, though we weren’t much more than acquaintances.
“I need some flowers.”
“You’ve come to the right place.” She comes around the front of the counter. “Who are they for?”
“My… I have a date.”
“Ooh.” She shimmies her shoulders. “Tell me more.”
Heart thumping, I go ahead and put it out there. No use hiding. Once we’re seen out tonight, the whole town will know. “It’s Izzy.”
Her jaw drops open. She snaps it closed, only to open it again and sputter, “Your son’s girlfriend’s little sister?”
My shoulders rise to my ears. “Why’d you have to say it like that?”
“Dirty, dirty, dirty Derrick.” She clucks her tongue, smiling again. “You dirty dog.”
I scrub a hand over my face, the stubble on my cheeks rasping against my palm. “I know. Whatever you’re thinking, I know. Believe me.”
She squeezes my arm. “I kid.” Then she’s sashaying past me and plucking a spiky-looking blue flower from a bunch. She flits around the shop, putting together a bouquet while humming.
“Do you think I’m crazy?” I finally ask her.
She pauses what she’s doing, turns, and assesses me. “For dating? Derrick, if anyone deserves someone who treats them well, it’s you .”
I shove my hands in my pockets. “The age difference isn’t weird?”
“Let me ask you this.” She picks through a basket of wispy looking yellow flowers. “Do you like her because she’s young, or do you just like her ? There’s a difference.”
“I like her.”
I like everything about Izzy.
How she laughs.
How full of life she is.
The way her eyes sparkle when she’s excited.
How much she loves slushies.
The list is endless.
“Then you have your answer.”
She puts a few white flowers into the bunch and hands it to me, and I’m instantly hit with the floral scent.
A smile takes over my face as I assess the details. “It’s perfect.”
If Izzy were a bouquet, she would most certainly be this one. It’s a little wild and mismatched, but unique and captivating. Beautiful.
She beams at the praise. “Good. I’m glad.”
Once I’ve paid, I continue down the street. I stop at the coffee shop to kill time and grab my usual, then swing by the restaurant. They don’t normally take reservations, but since it’s tourist season, and since I’ve done quite a bit of work for them over the years, they make an exception.
As I step outside again, I pull my phone from my pocket and check the time. I’ll be a little early, but I can park down the street for a few minutes if I need to .
The closer I get to home, the faster my heart beats.
I’m on the precipice of something new, something that could change my life. But only if I can get out of my head and stop overthinking it.