59. Sneaking Together
Sneaking Together
Sheridan
“Ican only stay for an hour. Not—” Fly kisses me behind my ear. “—one—” His lips slide down to the edge of my jaw. “—minute—” He trails kisses down my jaw, stopping at the corner of my lips. “—more.” I twist my head and capture his lips in a long kiss.
Fly lifts his head away and grins at me. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll get you to the clubhouse in time.”
“Where?”
He chuckles. “Should we spend that time kissing or talking?”
Kissing is my first instinct. “Talking is good.” I walk over and climb onto the corner of his couch with my legs crossed so he can’t distract me with another kiss.
“It always is with you. How has the wedding stuff been going?” He sits down across from me close enough that our legs are touching, but far enough that we can think.
“Busy…crazy busy. I can’t even imagine what it’s going to be like when people just start showing up. The fittings are tomorrow and hair trials.”
“Am I going to get a preview of your dress?”
What? “No.” A blush steals up my face.
“I love it when you blush like that.”
“Stop.”
“Okay, then, we’ll just have to talk about my favorite subject.”
“And what might that be? Motorcycles?”
“Nope.” He reaches across our bodies and takes my hand in his. “You. I saw you had a new release recently.”
“Yeah. It’s the third book in a new series. I’m really proud of it.”
“Why sci-fi?”
He asked that before, and I stepped away from the question.
Does it really hurt to tell him? Fly shared his past. I can be brave and do the same.
“My father. He wasn’t around much. He dropped us off with our mother’s mom when we were little and, for the most part, pretended we didn’t exist. But every year or so he would stop by.
Usually, it was between benders, but occasionally he just brought the booze with him. When he brought booze…”
“Was your father violent?”
“Mostly to my brother. He’d step in between us, so he took the brunt of it. But yeah, my father was a mean drunk. He was just plain old mean sometimes.”
“Why did your grandmother let him come? Didn’t she stop him? Or did he hurt her too?”
I almost snort at the thought. “No one hurts Grammie. As mean as my dad was, she was a million times worse. She let him come because he’d bring her gifts.
Every single time, without fail, he brought her something.
We wouldn’t have food, but he’d bring her a diamond necklace.
Or gold earrings. He brought her some fancy bag once that was worth more than our house. ”
“Why didn’t he treat you well? You’re a woman.”
“No. In his mind, I was a child…maybe less than a child and an inconvenience. Something put on this earth just to bother him.” Especially when he was drunk.
“Then why write a genre that reminds you of him? That doesn’t make sense to me.”
Not much of my life makes sense to anyone, especially myself.
“How do I explain what doesn’t make sense?
When my father wasn’t being drunk and mean…
he was normal…No, that’s not right. My father was never quite normal.
It was like something in his brain never quite worked right.
He was brilliant like my brother and a complete idiot.
But sometimes he’d tell these stories. You could close your eyes and feel like you were there while he told them.
He’d take us out into space with him. We’d visit wild planets and strange aliens.
We’d do things that seemed impossible, but he made it feel like we could really do it. ”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, so when he stopped coming, I started writing those stories so I could be someplace else. Someplace unimaginable, but very real. The Therans from my father’s dreams became stories that were real in other people’s minds. Stupid, right?”
“Not at all. Just another piece of you that I love. You find the beauty in the hardest of stories.”
“I found a way to support myself…sort of.”
Fly slowly rubs his thumb along my palm. “What does ‘sort of’ mean?”
A lot, and not enough, and pure frustration.
How do I explain to the man living in this mansion that I’m homeless?
It doesn’t quite fit with this dream vacation, does it?
Hello, the woman you’re kissing, thinking she’s totally normal, can’t get her life together enough to pay for a shack in the woods that doesn’t even have running water or electricity.
Why kill the vibes when it's almost over, anyway?
“It’s okay. You don’t need to tell me now. Just know I don’t care how much money you make. But I bought your books and started reading one. You’re a skilled storyteller.”
What? “You just don’t go buying a girl’s books, mister.”
“Oh really? Why not?”
“Because it’s one thing when imaginary people around the world read my books.
It’s quite another when people I know read them.
Did you ever think about what would happen if you hated them?
I mean, seriously. What would have happened if you picked up my book and thought, who reads this drivel?
How would you be able to face me…kiss me with a straight face?
All that would play through your head would be the last stupid line you read, and when we kissed you’d think about that and not my soft lips. ”
Fly laughs.
“This is no laughing matter, mister. This is serious. What if you were so bored you fell asleep in the middle? Then you started reading them at night to put yourself to sleep. How would you explain that to me when I’m cuddled up in your arms?
Don’t worry, babe, I read your books every night.
Then I’d say something like…‘Really? Every night? What’s your favorite?
’ Then you’d get a blank stare and fish face as you tried to come up with something, but all you could think was your favorite part is the mind-numbing reaction your brain has to my words.
Words I poured my heart and soul into. Stop laughing, this isn’t funny. ”
“But it is.” He lifts my fingers up to his mouth and kisses them between chuckles.
“No. No, it’s not.”
“I would never have a fish face or be lost for words coming up with a lie.”
Why didn’t I think about that fact? Fly is a master liar.
“You hated them. All of this is a carefully crafted lie so that I’ll never know how much you hated them.
I’m going to die. Just die. You never read an author you know’s books.
They should make that into a law. I need someone to lend me their gun, so I can end the torment. Why would you do that?”
“Because I love you and your books. I love everything about you. And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life reading your books and getting to know every facet of you—mind, body, and soul.
So you need to stop freaking out and come to terms with the fact that I’m going to read your books.
I might start a fan club too. Because I’m your biggest fan, and I always will be. ”
“So tell me, what’s your favorite book?”
“I haven’t read them all yet. I just got started.”
“That’s exactly what a person who hated them would say.”
“Has anyone told you you’re cute when you’re being paranoid? How about this? You give me some time to read them all and process them, and I’ll give you my decision? Because I can tell already, they’re going to all need a second read-through to really feel their depths.”
“How long?”
“I’ll give you my answer on our first anniversary.”
“Oh, really? What if I don’t want to wait that long?”
“Patience is a virtue.”
“Eh. I’d prefer to have chocolate.” Wait, what did he just say? Our first anniversary?