39 BEN
BEN
“Well? How’d she do this time?” I study my wife.
We entered a sparkling living room, literally.
The fire is on and holiday music is playing.
But I’m asking because, having gotten the official all clear this time, the decorator gal made our Juniper Falls home into a vibey, Janie-esque winter wonderland.
“It’s gorgeous,” she starts, looking around the open living space. “But, an all-black Christmas tree? Are we mourning the birth of the world's lord and savior?”
I laugh and admit, “Didn’t think of that.”
“Then you didn’t grow up with my Gran,” she mutters back. “We can’t go with all black for Jesus’ birthday.”
“I can add a Nativity, yeah?”
She nods, “I’ll go get the one in her attic, but…” I brace myself for an insult of some sort. “Where’s…I mean, obviously you’re not planning on living here, I guess, but every outing, most conversations, all the decorations in here, this is such a classic example…where’s Ben?”
“What?” I frown.
She turns to me with a soft smile, “Where is the fun? The bright cheeriness of your New York apartment? You could have at least put up some of your art collection in the bedrooms here, they are almost gothic.”
“You don’t like it?”
“Ben, I do but I want you to like it too.” I swallow as she shakes her head, like she’s just realized how she is right now…
sweet, loving even. “I get that you’re not spending a lot of time here, especially not after the new year,” Well damn.
Heart, meet dagger. “But it’s not just the decorations.
You’re always making sure that I’m having fun, ordering my favorite foods.
Getting me what I want. I’m sure it’s hard wired in the way you looked after your mom, you were so little. ”
“Right,” I say, my words garbled. I want to repeat what I’ve already told her. I long to scream at her that’s it just mum and her. I’m hard wired for her.
“Hey,” she says, walking up to me and touching my cheek.
I fight the urge to close my eyes and nuzzle into her hand like the lovesick puppy I am.
“I’m good. You took care of me. Now, let’s go to the store and get some more ornaments, stuff you like.
Even if we’re only living here a few more weeks, I want to have some Ben around here. ”
“Okay,” I say, looking into her stunning gray eyes for a beat too long. Because she sees me. She gets me and dare I say, wants me. And I am so totally done-for.
“I am prepared for them to be gaudy and ridiculous,” She says as she pulls away.
Ah, humor, our safe space.
“Better than your preference, wifey. All dark and cold. Oh, just like you, actually, makes sense.”
She laughs and calls back, already on her way to the garage door. “I thought I was, what was it you said this morning? Hotter than the surface of the sun?”
I hum, remembering how she woke me up in New York this morning. She climbed into my bed wearing my shirt and nothing else, pumping me in the morning light. The Sunday morning light. It appears, thank God, she’s thrown our Saturdays-only rule into the bin.
The sex was incredible, again. Of course. How could it not be? But as I could have predicted, she insisted I take her from behind, both of us on all fours, then when we both passed out from the best orgasms we’ve ever had—at least that was true for me—she fled.
How would she describe that? Textbook. Or Classic Janie.
As was the quick, dirty bathroom counter sex in the jet’s bathroom on the way here this afternoon.
But. I’m a human heterosexual man. Detached or not, I’m not going to turn down sex with her.
Ever. For the first time, I cannot imagine getting bored with one woman.
With this woman. Because she is beyond hot.
And funny and smart and thoughtful and because I lo…
Oh, hell. I am a dead man.