Eleven
A LTHOUGH I’M CONVINCED I’m doing the smart, mature thing by keeping my heart from going all in too soon, I regret my decision almost immediately.
For the rest of Monday, I wish I handled the situation differently, though I have no idea what else I should have done.
All Tuesday, I manage to calm myself down by repeatedly visualizing Isaac’s face when we parted. He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t annoyed by my hesitance. He understood. After all, he’s the reasonable, methodical one. He won’t want to rush into a full relationship without everything being worked out first.
But on Wednesday, I’m second-guessing myself again, and each following day I swing back and forth between optimism and hopeless regret.
It’s a very unsettling emotional state to exist in for five days.
Finally Friday arrives, and I’m frazzled. Not the giddiness of previous flight days. This one is as much dread as excitement.
Because what if I messed up?
What if I lost even the temporary connection to Isaac that has meant so much to me these past weeks?
What if, like always, I acted precipitately—based on the whims of my heart rather than the safer, steadier grounding of real life?
What if I’m never going to be able to make a relationship work long-term?
All this keeps me jittery and nervous as a friend drops me at the airport and I go through the regular, tedious procedure of lines and security and practically disrobing in front of crowds of strangers. I keep hoping to see Isaac as I make my way to the normal gate, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
That doesn’t mean anything. He’s always running a bit late.
By the time I get in my seat, I wish I wore a lighter top. I’ve got on a long, pleated plaid skirt and a heavy cable-knit sweater with a deep V-neck because I thought the dark red color and the neckline make me look sexy. At least as sexy as I’m capable of—which isn’t very. I’ve never had the knack that so many women have to attract sexual attention in street clothes.
At my best, I look sweet and cozy. Not sultry at all.
I’m beginning to question the purpose of my looking nice at all when the flight attendant goes through the aisle, closing the overhead compartments. She pauses above me. “Where’s your man today?”
My man.
The words sound absolutely, deliciously right.
But Isaac isn’t my man. I don’t even have his phone number.
What if Monday night didn’t mean as much to him as it meant to me? What if, for whatever reason, he’s running away now? Ghosting me?
It’s happened to me twice before, back in my early twenties. I’ve never had one-night stands, but a couple of times I spent a few weeks flirting with a guy and becoming increasingly hopeful about the potential. But as soon as I slept with him, he vanished, breaking off all contact. The first time, I was young and confused and clueless. I texted repeatedly. Called twice. Left a mortifying message explaining that I was worried something happened to him.
I finally got the message when I saw him with another woman at a coffee shop near campus.
The second time it happened, I sent one message and nothing more after the first one went unanswered.
This time I can’t even send a message.
I’ll never know if Isaac got scared and ran. Or if sex with me wasn’t as good as he was hoping and he decided not to bother with more. Or if he got hit by a truck on his way to work.
There are a couple dozen Isaac Beckers in the Boston area. I don’t know the name of his company. I’d never be able to track him down.
I’m so upset I’m close to tears, staring out the small window as the ground crew finishes loading the baggage, when a voice comes from above me.
“What’s the matter? Are you okay?”
I jump. Unfortunately, it’s an actual jump—a small one—because I’m so surprised by Isaac’s presence when I’d mentally determined he wasn’t going to show up.
He’s reaching up to put his suitcase in the compartment, but he sits down before he takes off his suit coat. He’s turned halfway in his seat so he’s facing me. “River, what the hell is going on?”
“Nothing! I’m sorry.” A couple of tears slip out of my eyes—relief and an overflow of my earlier emotion. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re crying.”
“I’m not crying!” I have to swipe away one more stray tear that’s providing evidence to the contrary of my claim.
“Has something happened?” He’s shrugging out of his jacket now and pulling his tie looser. “Is your family okay?”
“My family is fine. It’s nothing like that at all.”
He frowns, his eyes narrowed and his breathing louder than normal.
“I’m fine! Everything is fine! Stop pestering me about it. I wasn’t even sure you were going to show up.” I’m trying to keep my tone laid-back, but the last sentence is a mistake.
Isaac’s expression changes.
“Stop!” I swat at his shoulder lightly. “Stop that right now!”
“Stop what?” He laughingly defends himself against my swatting.
“Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking. Because you’re wrong!”
“Am I? Because it sure sounds like maybe you were upset that I might not be here.”
“It wasn’t that at all. I said you’re wrong!”
He’s still laughing as he deals with my indignant hand waves by wrapping both arms around me in a slightly awkward hug over the armrest. “I’m sorry I was late,” he murmurs.
It’s impossible to maintain my exasperation in the face of his warm chuckle and soft hug.
I press my face against his shirt and mumble, “I wasn’t upset about that.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re being way too smug.”
“Okay. I’ll work on that.”
“Good.” I sniff. He smells like Isaac—that familiar mingling of clean and natural. “It’s just that it wouldn’t have been the first time a guy slept with me and disappeared off the planet.”
“What? Who did that to you?”
“It was years ago.”
“I’d still like their names.”
I pull away, checking his expression and relieved that it’s teasing. “It only happened twice.”
“Two times too many.”
“I think so too.”
“You didn’t really think I was like that, did you?”
“Well, no. Not at all. But I’ve been wrong before. I’ve been trying to be a lot smarter than I used to be, but there’s still a chance I could get things really wrong again.”
“You didn’t get anything wrong about me. I got held up in a meeting that went long and had to race to get here on time. I would have texted you to let you know, but you’ve never given me your number.”
“Oh.” I’m looking down at my hands twisting on my lap. “Well, you never asked.”
He pulls his phone out of the pocket of his jacket, which is still bunched up behind him in the seat. “I’m asking now.” He taps his screen and hands it to me.
I smile rather sappily when I see he’s already created a contact named River Kennedy with a photo he must have snapped of me when I wasn’t looking. I’m in the airplane seat, looking down at whatever I’m drawing, my hair hanging down to hide half my face.
I look far prettier—more lush and striking and sensual—than I’ve ever known myself to be.
Maybe this is what he always sees when he looks at me.
I flush at the thought as I add my phone number to the contact listing.
When I pass the phone back to him, I dig mine out of my bag and pull up my contacts. After tapping out a few words, I hand it over to him.
He reads the screen. Snorts with amusement.
I’ve named my contact Obnoxious Airplane Guy.
After he’s added his phone number, I snap a photo of him to include in the contact. I giggle when I see he’s got a corner of his mouth turned up in that dry little smile I see on him so often.
Perfect.
“What’s so funny? Is it terrible?” He reaches to grab my phone.
I let him have it, still giggling.
He frowns over the photo. “It’s not too terrible. Wish I wasn’t smirking.”
“It’s not terrible at all. It looks just like you. Smirk and all.”
When the plane jerks and starts to back away from the gate, Isaac reaches down to find and fasten his seat belt. “So what have you been up to this week?”
***
T HE FLIGHT PASSES QUICKLY , and I have a really good time, chatting and laughing with Isaac, who is in fine form this evening.
I’m almost disappointed when we bump down onto the landing strip. The time went so quickly it didn’t seem like I got enough of him.
Of course, maybe the evening doesn’t have to end yet.
“So,” Isaac says, relaxing his grip on the armrest once the plane decelerates.
“So?”
“What’s the plan?”
“Oh.” I feel myself blushing, which is absolutely ridiculous. “I don’t know. What do you want the plan to be?”
“Honestly, if I had my way, we’d get the closest hotel room and not emerge until Sunday evening.” He’s giving me the most adorable eyebrow twitch. “But I know that’s not within the range of possibilities. You told me you want to take it slow and be smart, so you need to tell me if you want to see me again this weekend.”
I swallow hard, my head and heart both spinning wildly. “I do want to,” I admit. “In fact...”
“In fact what?”
“I told my dad I didn’t need his car to pick me up from the airport this evening. That I have plans, so I’ll be late getting to their place.”
His smile comes slowly until it’s warm and broad and radiant. But all he says is “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“All right then. You want to come to my place this time?”
***
A LITTLE WHILE LATER , Isaac and I are kissing as he tries to unlock the door to his apartment.
He lives in a three-story walkup in an older, established neighborhood with an old-school Boston vibe. When the rideshare dropped us off, Isaac told me his parents live only a couple of miles away.
As we stumble in, still halfway in the embrace, I get a glimpse of the room. His apartment isn’t at all what I was expecting. It doesn’t have that clean, minimal, modern look at all. From the worn wood floors to the comfortable leather couch to the landscapes on the wall, it’s pleasant and lived-in and well-kept.
I love it.
And I might love it even more if I had the time to really check it out, but most of my attention is focused on Isaac, who has let go of his luggage and my bag—which he was carrying—and taken my face in both his hands.
He’s on fire, and the heat, tension, and passion radiating from his body are spreading directly to me. I’m aroused improbably soon as I kiss him back and run my hands up and down him. Then I squeal when he breaks the kiss abruptly and swings me up into his arms.
I grab for his neck, overflowing with giggles. “What are you doing?”
“What do you think? I’ve been thinking about this all week.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of that too,” I admit, clinging to him as he walks into his small bedroom because I’m really not used to being carried like this. “But what if I needed to do a few things before we go at it?”
“Like what?”
“Like go to the bathroom or primp a little or something.”
“You went to the bathroom at the airport, and you need absolutely no primping as far as I’m concerned. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”
If oozing away in a puddle of sentiment were possible in this life, it would be happening to me right now.
He lays me down on top of his covers. “Do you really need to use the bathroom?”
“No. I’m good.” I pull him down on top of me before I’ve even taken off my shoes.
“Good.” His mouth closes over mine again.
We’re both hanging halfway off the bed and positioned sideways, but it doesn’t seem to matter. We kiss and rock together with increasing urgency until he’s pushing the bulge of his erection into my middle and I’ve got my legs wound around his thighs.
The humping motion I’m making beneath him should be embarrassing, but it’s not. Something about the still-clothed make-out session is as sexy as it gets.
I haven’t even gotten my shoes off and neither has he, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. He eventually slides a hand between my legs, dipping it beneath my panties and rubbing me off as we kiss.
I gasp and whimper into his mouth until the pleasure crests and spreads through my body in fast, intense waves.
“You liked that, didn’t you?” he murmurs against my skin as he trails kisses across the line of my jaw.
“Of course I liked it. Appreciating an orgasm isn’t exactly a rare characteristic.”
He huffs and shakes with amusement as he mouths his way down my throat. “I’m trying to get some dirty talk going here. Don’t make me laugh.”
“I don’t need any sort of dirty talk.” I pull his head up so I can meet his eyes. “The hottest, sexiest thing you can ever be to me is yourself. Really, truly yourself.”
His expression changes. Softens. “Okay,” he murmurs. “If it’s me you want, that’s what you’ll get.” He kisses me tenderly. “As long as I get all of you too.”
“You do. You always have.”
That brief interaction seems to collapse any further hesitations or barriers between us. We kiss again—even more hotly and eagerly than before—and I’m so out of control that I’m soon fumbling with his belt and the button of his trousers so I can get my hands on his erection.
Breaking the kiss, he supports himself on one arm and uses his other hand to help me. I hike up my skirt, and, after he rolls on a condom, he pulls aside my panties so he can fit himself inside me.
We both moan as he slides in—me soft and high-pitched and him low and hoarse. He’s panting as he lowers his face closer to mine, holding my gaze as he starts to thrust.
I rock up into him, matching his rhythm. The motion stimulates nerve endings all over my body. But the physical sensation is nothing—nothing—compared to what I see on his face.
He’s taking me at my word and giving me him. The real Isaac. I can see him—the raw nakedness of him—on his face as he thrusts.
It’s as intimate as it is sexy, and as always, my body follows my heart.
“Fuck, River,” he rasps, ducking his head as he pushes into me harder and faster. “Fuck! Why can’t I control myself with you?”
He’s already close to coming, but it’s thrilling to me. That he wants me that much. That he’s feeling so deeply.
“I’m almost there!” I grind myself against him, crying out as I reach another climax.
As my inner walls squeeze around him, he grunts out low, animalistic sounds of satisfaction. Then he’s coming too, his face twisting and his hips jerking as he empties himself.
We gasp together as we come down, smiling at each other.
When he’s recovered enough, he kisses me. He’s still smiling when he lifts his head and carefully pulls out, taking care with the condom.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so authentically happy. It makes my eyes burn and my throat tighten with emotion.
I don’t put my feelings into words though. Instead, I tilt my head. “I didn’t even take off my shoes.”
“Neither did I. I think I’ve got a bruise on the back of my thigh from your heel.”
I giggle. “That’s your fault. For getting me so excited.”
“All right. I’ll take the blame. Maybe in a few minutes we can try it again. This time without all the clothes.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”