14. Avery
14
AVERY
I t’s not noise but rather the absence of it that wakes me.
There’s no giggling or repeated shouts of “Ma!” over the baby monitor. No toddlers have snuck out of their room to stand inches away from my face just waiting for me to open my eyes. It’s just blissful silence.
For a moment, I’m confused, especially since I’m in a much nicer bed than I’m used to. Then it all comes flooding back to me.
Last night was the first time in my life someone other than me managed to get me to come. I wasn’t expecting it to happen at all, but for it to happen multiple times? That was something I’d thought was the biggest element of fantasy in the romance books I read.
I’ve never been happier to be wrong.
What surprised me the most about last night, though, was how much I enjoyed myself.
Before last night, Kyle had been the only person I’d ever been intimate with, and the most complimentary thing I can say about it is that it was okay.
Most of the time, I’d get bored about halfway through and I’d end up thinking about what I was going to make for dinner or what new baking trend I wanted to try next. He never seemed to notice—or if he did, he didn’t care—that I wasn’t having a very good time.
He’d go down on me just long enough for it not to be as dry as the Sahara down there (which wasn’t nearly long enough). Then he’d take what he wanted from me.
When he was done, I’d head to the bathroom to shower, where I’d actually finish.
I’d grab my vibrator from its hiding place—a half-full box of tampons—and use the noise of the water and the bathroom fan to cover up what I was doing.
Kyle had told me that most men would never go down on a woman and I should be grateful he did it at all. He’d also told me that the vibrator I had made him feel inadequate so I needed to throw it out—which, as far as he knew, I had.
I was so young and so inexperienced when we got together that I thought it was normal. I had felt grateful he even bothered to make sure I was ready for him. Aside from the romance books I read, Kyle had been all I knew.
At least he had been until last night.
Wesley was like a shot of pure adrenaline—he restarted my heart and helped bring that part of me back to life. The only difference between me and someone in cardiac arrest was the length of time I’d been dead.
Even though he’d been bossy and demanding, he still made sure to check on me and make sure I felt safe and (relatively) comfortable.
That man had spanked my ass red, and somehow, there was more care in it than anything I’d experienced with Kyle.
When I’d read about things like that in my books, I’d been curious but wasn’t sure if I’d actually like it.
Now that I’ve gotten a taste of it in real life, I have a near pathological need to try out everything in that room with him.
I wonder if he’d be willing to do that with me.
An endless parade of worries marches through my brain.
What if I did something embarrassing?
Had I been responsive enough?
Was I too loud? Not loud enough?
Did he think I made weird faces when I finished?
Were my stretch marks off-putting?
What if I’d been so bad in bed he never wanted to see me again? Was that why he wasn’t here? Did I chase him out of his own house with how awful it was?
That’s ridiculous, Avery. If it was that bad, he’d have kicked you out. It’s his house. He’s not going to check into a motel and leave you to wander around his home alone.
That thought is enough to wash the worries out of my brain—for now, at least.
The man has a sweet tooth to rival my son’s. I honestly think he might die if he didn’t eat something sugary every day. More likely than not, he’s somewhere downstairs eating some kind of pastry.
It’s too early in the morning to try and wriggle back into my dress from last night, so I bend down to grab his shirt off the floor to cover myself.
That’s when I see the piece of paper on the floor next to the nightstand.
When I turn it over, I see Wesley’s classic scrawl across the page.
Avery,
Rotisseur for today’s event called in sick with stomach bug. No one to prepare meat. Have to go. Sorry.
Please have breakfast. My kitchen = your kitchen.
If you shower, cold knob is tight. Have to turn it hard.
If I’m not back when you leave, business card for car service is on kitchen counter. Call and give my name. I’m paying. Don’t argue.
– Wesley
Not that I’d been too worried, but it is nice to know he’s still a nice guy the morning after. I set the paper back down on the nightstand with a smile then head down to the kitchen.
I’m not usually a love at first sight kind of gal, but this kitchen might have me changing my stance on the subject.
All the appliances are top of the line, it’s perfectly lit, and so big my entire bedroom could fit in here with room to spare. There’s even a drying rack hanging over the kitchen sink, and don’t even get me started on the counter space.
Oh, yeah, I’m definitely in love with this kitchen.
Maybe I can convince him to let me come back and bake in here.
Just the thought of using this kitchen to try some of the new recipes I’ve found has me bouncing on my toes like a tiny child.
If I play my cards right, he might even help me film a video for my channel here.
The angry grumble of my stomach puts a stop to fantasizing about anything other than breakfast.
When I read the note, I’d just planned on rummaging in his pantry for some cereal, but after seeing this kitchen, there’s no way I could be that disrespectful to it. I have to at least make an omelet or pancakes or something.
No wonder he comes home and immediately starts cooking again. I would too if this were my kitchen.
What I’d thought was a permanent knot of tension between my shoulder blades is gone. I feel so light and free that I find myself humming as I whip up an omelet.
While I’m cooking, I text my mom to let her know I’m okay and will be heading home soon. Then I call the car company from the business card and schedule a pickup for an hour from now.
I figure that will give me enough time to eat, clean up after myself, and shower.
I miss Leo like crazy, but I am going to make sure I’m fed and showered before going home to him. The last thing he needs after a night at home with Oma is for me to come home hangry and smelling like a nightclub.
I’ve made this type of omelet several times before, but somehow, it tastes better in this kitchen. Or more likely, I just had more fun making it on such a high-quality stove.
One day, I’m going to have a stove just like this… or maybe an even better one.
My kitchen would be the heart of my home. The layout would be just like this one but instead of the cold, industrial black and white, I’d have something with more color, something more me.
There would definitely be a cozy little breakfast nook too. Leo and I could have breakfast together in the warm morning sun and watch the birds flit about. When he gets older, he’d do his homework there while I experiment with new recipes.
In the summer evenings, I could sit in that little nook and watch him play in the back yard. Then in the winter, we could sit there with cups of cocoa and gingerbread men just watching the snow fall.
Then he’ll grow up and get married, and he and his wife will sit there and we’ll watch his kids play in the yard.
I laugh at myself as I’m wiping the tears from my eyes. I don’t even have a house with a yard, much less a designer kitchen like this, and here I am planning out the entirety of my and Leo’s lives.
As I’m finishing the last bites of my breakfast, I hear the front door open.
Wesley must have found someone to fill in for the rotisseur. Would it be weird if I made him breakfast? Should I make him breakfast?
“Wesley, I swear if you’re sleeping in again, I’m going to drag you out of bed by your hair,” Phillip calls out. “I’m on time for every single one of the food festivals or dessert bacchanalias you insist we all go to. I’m even the one who remembers to bring you dairy pills because you refuse to take your lactose intolerance seriously. And I even make sure to have antacids when you inevitably overdo it. And what happens when I want you to go and watch a chess tournament with me? You’re not even close to being ready.”
My fork clatters onto my plate in shock. I didn’t realize Phillip was even capable of sounding this upset.
He comes storming into the kitchen. “If you’re in your pajamas still, I swear I’m?—”
Phillip stops dead in his tracks when he sees me. His entire body seems to deflate.
“Hi.” I give him an awkward wave.
His eyes rake over my exposed legs, and I realize just how little of me Wesley’s shirt actually covers.
I jump up and scuttle to the other side of the kitchen island. I have no doubt that I’m quickly turning the same shade as the shirt I’ve got on.
Phillip sighs and rubs his temples.
I’ve got this irrational worry that he’s disappointed in me. Does he think less of me because he found me here? Am I going to get a lecture from him about ethics?
The blood freezes in my veins.
My heart drops to my feet as my stomach lodges in my throat.
If he tells the university what he saw here, there’s a good chance I can kiss my scholarship goodbye.
Why, oh why did I go home with Wesley last night? No amount of fun was worth compromising my future over. How could I have let myself be so stupid?
Phillip makes his way over to one of the bar stools at the island where I’d been sitting. He lets out a frustrated sigh and starts rubbing his temples.
I brace myself for the dressing down of a lifetime.
“So glad you honored our agreement, Wesley,” he mutters.
Wait, what?
Had they been talking about me? What kind of agreement could they have possibly made about me?
My skin crawls as disgust creeps around under my skin.
“What did you just say?”
All the color drains out of his face as he cowers under my glare.
“That was not something I meant to say out loud. My temper got the better of me and it just came out. I’m sorry.”
“Well, you still said it and I still heard it. So you’re going to tell me what you meant and you’re going to tell me right now,” I say, planting my hands on my hips.
“Can’t we just pretend I didn’t say anything and that none of this ever happened?”
“I just found out that my teachers have some sick little side bet going about me, and you’d like me to just forget that I found out? You must be out of your fucking mind. Start talking.”