Love In Translation

Thirteen

R heo heard heavy footsteps in the hallway and recognized them as Fletch’s. His bulk filled the doorway to her room. He quietly closed the door, and walked over to the bed, sitting on the strip of mattress next to her. His hand brushed over her hair, and she shivered as his fingers trailed down the bare skin of her arm.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Rheo rolled over to face him, and in the semidarkness, saw the deep frown lines between his eyes. He looked tired but smelled great. God, she’d missed him. It was hard to keep her hands off him, so she scooted over to put some space between them. Her plan backfired because he lay down next to her, heat rolling off him. She held herself rigid, resisting the temptation to scoot over to him, to put her bare leg over his, to fling her arm across his T-shirt-covered chest. To kiss her way down his throat, to pull down his boxer shorts and take him in her hand to remind him of what he’d missed.

But she wouldn’t. He couldn’t ignore her for days and then slip back into her bed and pretend nothing happened.

Fletch rested his forehead against hers, his toothpaste-fresh breath hitting her lips. His stubble was a little longer than usual, and his hair was damp.

“I know I was a jerk, Rhee. We don’t even have to make love, I just want to hold you.”

Big of him. She bunched her fists. “Did you sleep with anyone else while you were away?” she demanded. She needed to know—she couldn’t think until he told her.

Shocked silence hovered between them. “What the fuck ? No, of course I didn’t!”

A little tension dissolved, but she wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “It’s a fair question, Fletcher.”

He raked his hand through his hair, rolled over to face her, and laid a gentle hand on her hip. “Rhee, I was busy doing shit.”

“Too busy to send me a message? Just a ‘hey’ or an ‘I’ll be back soon’?”

“I’m not used to checking in, Rheo, it’s not something I think to do.”

Maybe, or he could be bullshitting her big-time. Maybe a little of the first, a lot of the second?

God, she hated feeling confused. Fletch’s thumb found a strip of bare skin between the band of her sleeping shorts and her vest, and he painted fire on that square inch of flesh.

She wanted to punch him for ghosting her and then crawling back into her bed, his roving hand hinting that he wanted sex. How dare he!

She was about to kick him out when she realized that, shit, nothing had happened between them but sex. He’d told her he wasn’t into commitment or settling down, wasn’t the type to fall in love, but here she was, annoyed because she wanted more and he didn’t. That wasn’t fair; he didn’t owe her anything.

He’d made her no promises...

And why should she deprive herself of awesome sex? If that was all she could get from him, she’d take it.

She was desperate to bury her nose in his neck and slide her leg over him, but because she didn’t want to cave so soon, she told him her parents’ van was in his parking space.

“I noticed,” he replied, sounding amused. “Carrie said you had quite a conversation over dinner.”

Rheo lifted her shoulder. Moonlight streamed into the room, but she noticed the concern on his face. “It wasn’t as bad as I expected. I got a few things off my chest. They did too. They explained I don’t need to be as concerned about them as I’ve been. It was...” she looked for the word “...cathartic.”

“I’m glad.” He shuffled closer, and his bare hand slipped under the band of her shorts to cup her ass. “You smell so good,” he murmured. “Carrie told me she’s going to do the mud race with you.”

Why did everyone assume that her running in the stupid race was a certainty? Yes, she understood why they all thought she should do it, but it didn’t mean she was going to.

Rheo snorted. “There’s no way Competitive Carrie will stick at the back of the field to hang with me. I give her a hundred yards before she loses patience.”

“You’re being kind. I give her fifty,” Fletch replied, laying his mouth on her cheekbone. He held it there before speaking again. “I’m proud of you for doing this, Rhee. I know it’s not easy for you.”

Why was Fletch, and her family, only proud of her when she did the things they liked, activities they approved of? What if she decided, instead of this obstacle race, she wanted to learn calligraphy or how to build a robot? Would they be as proud of her then? Why did their approval come with strings?

She wanted to ask Fletch, but knew it wasn’t wise. She could enjoy his body, but she needed to keep her emotional distance. He was her lover, not her soft place to land. His recent actions made that crystal clear.

All she could do was enjoy him and the delicious night. Warm air flowed into her room through the open window, and the gorgeous scent of Fletch’s citrus shower gel and Paddy’s roses drifted up her nose. Fletch lay next to her, hard and warm and exceptionally masculine. It was a night for lovers, and she was determined to enjoy it.

Rheo lifted her hand, stroking her thumb over his sexy bottom lip. He sighed against her skin, and his eyes fluttered closed.

“I love the way you touch me,” Fletch murmured. “If all you did tonight was touch me like that, just on my lip, I’d be happy.”

No, he wouldn’t. Not really. Neither would she. She wanted more...

Rheo licked her bottom lip. She felt slightly buzzed, and even hotter than she’d been ten seconds before.

“I want to make love to you, Rhee,” Fletch told her, the tips of his fingers digging deeper into the skin of her ass. “I want to kiss every inch of you, make you come on my tongue. Then I want to make you come again when I’m buried balls deep inside you.”

Lust shot through her like a rocket through space.

Would he always have this power over her, the ability to make her wet and desperate with just a few words? With just a sentence or two, he’d propelled her into the carnal, all her thoughts about her feelings slipping away like the sleeping shorts he pushed down her hips.

Fletch pulled her vest up and over her head, threw it across the room, and Rheo lifted her mouth to find his tongue and slide hers against it. Needing more, her hands streaked over his chest, up and under his T-shirt—it needed to go, immediately—and she slung her thigh over the erection tenting his shorts. So hard, so deliciously hard.

Blood roared through her head as they kissed, desperation too. Rheo pulled her mouth off his, sucked in some air, and dived in for more. Their kiss turned fierce, then ferocious. His hand kneaded her breast, pinched her nipple, and he rolled it between his fingers. His hand dived between her legs, and he parted her folds, seeking her clit. When he hit her most sensitive spot, she lifted her hips off the bed, pushing into him. She knew if he slid even one finger into her, she would come. She teetered on the edge already and didn’t want to...

Not yet.

Shaking, she pulled his T-shirt up his chest, revealing his ridged stomach. Fletch used his core muscles to do another half sit-up, pulling the fabric over his head with a rough movement. His shorts followed and fell off the side of the bed to the floor. Rheo knew he could take her, slide into her, and they’d rock each other to an orgasm—hot, fast, intense.

And that was what she needed. She couldn’t handle slow and sweet tonight. She needed fast, hard, and quick, a physical reminder to mirror their intense, electric, lightning-fast connection.

Rheo straddled his hips and dragged her wet flesh, aching for him, across his dick until their breaths became moans and moans morphed into desperation. There was no need to wait, so Rheo pulled him back with her hand and sank onto him inch by gorgeous inch. She pushed her aching breasts into his chest and rested her lips on his.

“I need to come, Fletch, hard and fast,” she muttered against his mouth.

It was such a lie; she needed so much more. She needed him to love her, to be in her life, to be the missing piece to complete her puzzle. She needed him. In every way that counted, and a million others she wasn’t aware of yet.

But this, having him inside her, rocking his hips, hitting that spot deep inside that caused her eyes to cross, was all she had.

She had tonight. She’d take it.

So Rheo clenched her internal muscles, slipped her tongue into his mouth, and took the one thing he could give her.

She took him.

After eating at the Italian place in town, Rheo and Fletch said goodnight to Ed and Gail in the driveway and walked to the back of the house, following Carrie and Seb into the kitchen. Rheo kicked off her wedges, accepted Carrie’s quick, unexpected hug, and said goodnight to Seb.

She watched Seb’s retreating back and bit down on the inside of her lip. He was a nice guy, and she wondered how Fletch had described their relationship to him. Was she a hookup or a friends-with-benefits deal?

Or was she someone he could come to love?

She was so tired of being an emotional yo-yo—up, down, rolled up, put away. Rinse. Repeat.

Last night she’d tried to treat Fletch as a casual lover, and for about five seconds, it worked. Their first round of sex was fast and furious, and burned the anger and resentment away. But instead of turning over to go to sleep or leaving her bed, he’d—damn him—pulled her onto his lap and cuddled her. His one big hand held her head to his chest, and the other stroked her naked body from shoulder to calf.

They stayed like that—her curled up against his chest, encased within his strength and solidity, his cheek resting on her hair—for ages. But then she felt him stir, and his hand moved to her breast and his thumb drifted over her nipple.

He’d taken forever to love her, to explore every inch of her, to worship her. Every touch was deliberate, every kiss infused with intensity. When he brought her—hours, years later—to a soul-shattering climax, she understood, in a primal way, the phrase “to make love.”

She fell asleep, wrapped in his arms, a contented smile on her face. Because there was no way a man could spend so much concentrated time loving her, revering her, without feeling something more.

She didn’t care how much more; she’d take it. She’d take anything he could give her.

But when she woke up this morning, he was gone, and he stayed that way.

Fletcher rubbed the back of his neck and Rheo knew he was looking for an excuse to leave the kitchen. He’d been unapproachable all night, so much so that even Gail—Queen of Small Talk—gave up on him.

And how weird was it that he’d met her parents? It was usually such a big step in a relationship. Theoretically, he and her parents had lots in common—traveling, van life, her —but him ignoring her put their backs up. As a result, everyone’s interactions were stiff and awkward.

What the hell was going on with him?

“I’ve decided I’m going to talk to Paddy,” she told him, pulling two glasses and a bottle of bourbon from the cupboard. She poured a shot into each glass and handed one to Fletch.

C’mon, Fletch, give me something. A hint of a smile, the tiniest amount of encouragement.

But his expression didn’t change.

“Good idea,” he replied.

Really? That was it? “I like Seb,” she told him. “He’s quiet but witty. What’s the beef between him and Carrie?”

“It’s their business,” Fletch laconically replied, leaning his shoulder into the fridge. Rheo wanted to hit him. But she also wanted to reach into his rib cage, grab his heart, and shake it around, while demanding the return of the funny and warm man she’d shared this house with. This cool, calm, confident stranger was irritating.

“I’m going to my room,” Fletch said, looking grim.

His room.

He straightened, and Rheo grabbed his hand. He tried to tug his hand from her grip, but she held on.

“No, we’re going to talk,” she told him.

He shrugged. “So talk.” He glanced at his watch. “But can you make it quick? I have some emails I need to send tonight.”

Swear to God, she was going to stab him with a fork. “You’re being an asshole, Wright,” she snapped. “You’ve been avoiding me, and we either slug it out here, running the risk of being interrupted, or we take this into the garden.”

Fletch looked at her with cool green eyes. “What’s there to say?”

Rheo met the challenge in his eyes with a lifted chin. “Here or outside?”

Fletch sighed, and gestured to the kitchen door. Rheo followed him to the now finished gazebo, under which she’d placed a pretty wooden bench. She’d planted clematis in each of the four pots, and in a few summers, the creeper would provide a lovely shaded canopy under which Paddy could sit. But tonight, beyond the wooden beams, icy stars lay on a black velvet sky.

It was a lovely night, one made for romance and hot kisses, for naked bodies and desperate mouths. But since Fletch seemed desperate to avoid talking, all she’d get, if she was lucky, was stilted conversation.

“I’m not going to ask you what I’ve done wrong, because this is all you,” Rheo told him, sitting on the bench and placing her leg over her knee. “ You left for Portland. I thought everything was fine, and you didn’t contact me once. You came back from Portland, made love to me, cuddled me, made love to me again, and acted like it was your last night on earth. Then you sneaked out of the room when I was asleep. You returned as late as you possibly could today to avoid me. Do you want to tell me why?”

She noticed his hesitation and watched as he tried to formulate a lie she’d believe. “Don’t make this situation worse by trying to bullshit me, Wright,” she snapped.

He leaned against a wooden pillar, and this time the structure didn’t budge. “It was time to put some distance between us,” he admitted.

“And you thought ignoring me was a good way to do that?”

“I had things to do in Portland and didn’t think I needed to check in with you, to tell you where I was and what I was doing.”

Rheo stared at him, not knowing how to respond. He was, after all, speaking the truth. They’d never discussed any sort of commitment.

Something flashed in his eyes, but in the light of the weak half-full moon, she couldn’t tell if it was regret or irritation.

“I’m sorry I hurt you by not getting in touch,” Fletch said.

He sounded distant and unapproachable, a stranger. Not someone she’d made love to morning and night, and sometimes during the day, for the last six weeks.

Rheo wanted to shout at him, demand he engage, but she couldn’t help wondering if she’d just read him catastrophically wrong. Was this on her? Had she projected her feelings onto him last night and this morning and over their whole time together here at the Pink House? He hadn’t promised her anything, never hinted at having deeper feelings. She was the one who’d slipped into love...

But she couldn’t help feeling that if she dug a little deeper, pushed a little harder, she’d find the man she’d come to love behind this cool stranger. Was she really missing something or was she clutching at straws?

She was tired of his yo-yoing, she had to know.

“Talk to me, Fletch,” she implored. “Come out from behind that wall and engage with me.”

He slid his hands into the pockets of his shorts and lifted one shoulder. “Why? What’s the point, Rheo?”

“The point is we are friends, lovers, and now you’re behaving like a dick!” She stood in front of him, and placed a hand on his bare, muscled forearm. God, he felt amazing. She wished she didn’t love touching him so much.

He looked at his watch again, and Rheo’s core temperature rose. Oh, to hell with pussyfooting around, what did she have to lose?

“Over the last few weeks, you’ve become my friend as well as my lover,” Rheo told him. “I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone before. You’ve become my sounding board and my compass point, someone whose opinion I greatly value.”

“That’s not my problem—”

She didn’t give him a chance to finish his dismissive statement, choosing to thump his arm with her fist. “For one minute, stop being a jerk and talk to me! You’ve always been so upfront with me. Just be honest, dammit!”

Fletch grabbed her upper arms with his bigger hands, his grip not hard enough to hurt. Hunger and frustration replaced the ice in his moss-green eyes.

“Okay, so what is the point, Rheo? What’s the point of trying to be friends when all of this—” he lifted one hand to point at the house behind her “—all of what we have has to end? I’m trying to put distance between us so we can slide out of each other’s lives, but you’re determined to fight it.”

“I’m trying to understand—”

“Well, do you know what I understand?” he demanded, his voice rough. “We’re having a fling, Rheo, it’s nothing more than a brief physical connection! I’m sorry you think I’m someone special, but I’m not . You’re just using that as an excuse to justify our hot meaningless sex.”

Oh, hell no, that wasn’t fair! The connection they’d made wasn’t meaningless. Something existed between them, something he was now trying to deny.

But it glowed. Brightly. And last night she’d felt its light bathing her skin, filling every inch of her.

“C’mon, Fletch.”

“I’m being honest, Rheo, isn’t that what you wanted?”

Yes, but...

“Even if there was a deeper connection between us, and there’s not , you’re leaving Gilmartin. Soon you’ll be at your desk, working ten-hour days. I have to leave too, but I’ll be on the opposite side of the country from you, planning my next long-ass expedition, trying to raise sponsorship, training, my entire focus on my work. We’ll be six hours and a million light years apart!”

He dropped his hands and linked them behind his head, frustration bubbling over. She’d pulled the cork and his words flowed. “You want a different life than I do, Rheo. We are fundamentally incompatible for anything longer than a fling. We only hooked up because we happened to be in the same place at the same time.”

She wanted to protest, but he didn’t give her a chance to speak.

“I like everything you don’t. Living on the road, seeing what’s around the next corner. You need to be in the same place, doing the same job, day in and day out. You need stability, I need freedom. We were always going our separate ways, Rheo. How could you forget?”

She hadn’t. Not for one minute. But she imagined they’d keep in touch, that they’d talk and maybe even meet up again.

He caught something on her face, a look in her eyes, and he released a harsh laugh. “And yeah, okay, I admit it, I did ghost you because I felt like we needed to put some distance between us. I came to you last night to apologize, but I can’t keep my hands off you.” He exhaled sharply. “But, Jesus, I know it can’t work, and I was hoping you’d get there on your own!”

She hadn’t considered wedding dresses or a honeymoon in Bali, but she hadn’t thought their relationship would end with him treating her like she was an STD he wanted to avoid. And how dare he decide on their future without her input!

“What I know, for sure, Fletcher, is that I am sick of you pulling me closer and pushing me away. One minute you’re all about the sex, the next you’re acting like you never want to let me go,” she told him, just managing to hold on to her dignity. “Opening up one minute, ignoring me the next. And if you thought our situation was becoming too intense, we could’ve sat down and discussed it. All you needed to do was tell me you felt uncomfortable and that you wanted to slam on the brakes.”

Embarrassment skittered across his face, and Rheo knew she’d scored a direct hit. “All I wanted was a little respect, Fletch.”

“Rheo... Fuck . I just—” Fletch said, running his hands through his hair.

No, he’d said more than enough. She now understood his position. And as he said, it was light-years away from hers.

“Thanks for filling me in on where you stand,” she told him, keeping her voice steady.

She turned and walked away, desperate not to cry. When her foot hit the first of the steps leading to the kitchen door, he called her name in a hoarse voice. She slowly turned and lifted her hands in a What now? gesture.

He waved to the bench. “Just come back and let’s talk, okay?”

Rheo’s eyebrows rose. “Now you want to talk?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Yeah, I think you’ve said everything you need to, Wright. Save your breath.”

Rheo, her heart cracking, climbed the steps to the kitchen and slipped inside the house. They said you should never ask a question unless you absolutely wanted to hear the truth, and she’d relearned that lesson tonight.

Fletch didn’t love her. Couldn’t. And he never would.

She hated this.

No, she fucking hated this.

Rheo gripped the slippery net and tried to haul her body up it. Her muscles screamed. She glared at the brown legs of a ten-year-old flying past her and couldn’t work out why she’d said yes to competing in this stupid race. She was covered in mud—there was mud in her teeth for God’s sake! Every muscle in her body begged her to stop and she knew her slow pace was irritating Carrie. Carrie wanted to fly but felt honorbound to stay with Rheo. If she could raise the energy, she still wouldn’t care.

She was only twenty minutes into the race, and she was over it. This was so not her thing.

Rheo rolled over the top of the net and dropped into the ankle-deep mud. Another wave of sludge invaded her sneakers, and she closed her eyes. How much longer? And could she just die here?

Carrie grabbed her hand and pulled her along the slushy track, forcing Rheo into a half run. Carrie, unlike her, looked reasonably clean. Her legs were a bit muddy, but from her navel up she looked shower-fresh. In fact, everyone but Rheo looked reasonably clean.

She looked like a swamp witch.

Rheo told Carrie to go on ahead—she was dying to, and off she trotted, a perfect little pony. Rheo’s mood was as foul as this mud; she was far out of her comfort zone, dirty, sweaty, and tired. And furious with Fletch.

Soul deep, catastrophically angry. Because, by shutting her out of his life, he’d made her feel ten years old again, trying to fit into her parents’ lives.

Rheo pushed her hand into her side, trying to massage away a stitch. In the distance, Carrie exchanged a quip with an older man and their laughter drifted back to her. Ed and Gail, standing on the sidelines, shouted something at Carrie, who dropped into a quick curtsy. Emotions from her childhood welled up. It was always them and her—she was little Rheo again, her nose pressed against the window, looking in.

Last night, with Fletch, she’d felt out of the loop yet again, on the outside of his life asking to be let in. She’d become an unwanted presence for him, a complication, a What the fuck do I do with her now? problem.

Rheo looked at the tunnel she needed to crawl through and shook her head. What else would she have to do before she could shower? At the end of her rope, physically and mentally, she fought the urge to walk away.

She desperately wanted to.

She could . No one held a gun to her head, it wasn’t a case of life or death, and judging by the concerned looks her family kept sending her, they were surprised she’d lasted this long. They were watching her, trying not to be obvious about it, wondering whether this was the point when she threw in the towel.