12. Sheri
12
SHERI
I slept for shit last night, the boys are ratty this morning for some reason, and there isn’t enough coffee in the state of California to help this mama out today. Maybe they’re just picking up on my mood — which I’m trying really hard to keep under wraps and failing spectacularly apparently.
Gritting my teeth, I drag the boys through their morning routine, kicking and screaming the entire time — literally and figuratively. By the time I get them loaded up in the car and dropped off at school I’m ready to crawl back into bed.
I’m missing Ace like crazy. You’d swear we’ve been a couple for years instead of the short time we’ve been together. Yet I miss him. As much as I used to miss Mav. And that thought gives me pause. A tiny twinge of guilt too, if I’m being brutally honest. I know we spoke about it — that if one of us should pass, the other one should find someone else to be happy with.
But for a heartbeat, I can’t help but feel like I’m cheating. Stupid, I know, but there are still moments every now and then. I would never tell Ace though. The last thing I want is for the man to feel like I’m not ready to move on, or that he isn’t enough. Because he’s more than enough. In this instance, the age-old cliché is one thousand percent accurate.
It’s not him, it’s me. I’m the problem.
Life as I knew it was simple, uncomplicated, amazing. Until it wasn’t. One day my Maverick left for work and never came home. The day Treven knocked on my door with the news that my husband was dead changed me forever. Things that never happened to me or didn’t even remotely touch me before awoke fears in me I couldn’t have imagined.
So here I am, the wrong side of thirty and unlocking neuroses by the handful. And poor Ace is suffering for them. I know he’s desperate to tell our friends about us being an us. Yet every time he mentions it, I break out in a cold sweat, and panic runs rampant through my entire body.
I know — somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain — that Merlin and the team would never turn their backs on me, like they did to Lee back when Mav died. And still, I can’t get over this irrational fear that, should Ace and I not work out, they’d do the same to me.
There’s so much buzzing around in my brain, so much change that’s happened over the last five years, I don’t recognize myself anymore. I long to be able to talk to Leila about everything, but each time I try, I can’t bring myself to drag her into my irrationality.
I’m aware, and am trying to bury the thought deep, that at some point down the road Ace is going to get tired of hiding our relationship. When he does, things are going to go one of two ways. He’s either going to force me to come clean, or he’s going to say “to hell with this” and leave. And, honest to God, I don’t know which one scares me more.
I’m scared of having to face Merlin and the rest of the guys, but I’m flat-out terrified of losing him. Yet, every time I try to bring myself to open up about us being a couple, I panic and chicken out. I’m wholly incapable of getting the words past my lips. And I know that it hurts him, which I’ll admit, isn’t the best feeling in the world. So here I am, feeling trapped in an ever-revolving catch twenty-two.
Bone weary as I am, I drag supplies out of the cabinet and set about cleaning house like I’m expecting a visit from POTUS himself. But it’s the one thing that brings quiet to my brain. There’s something calming, soothing almost, about deep cleaning my home. Like I’m creating a sanctuary for my family. Which, I suppose, I am.
I’ve just started in the guest room downstairs when, through the audio book I’m listening to, I’m sure I hear the doorbell ring. I pause the book and listen again and, sure enough, there comes another ring to the door. I’m neither expecting a delivery nor a visit, so I have no idea who might be at my door. Feeling grubby from all the cleaning I’ve been doing, I tidy my fly-away hair as best I can and hurry to see who’s there.
Looking through the spy hole, I’m shocked to find the man who is occupying my mind so intently standing on my front porch. Almost as if I’d conjured him through sheer longing. In a hurry to get the door open, I fumble with the lock, cursing a blue streak. Finally, I get the damn latch undone, and I swing the damn thing open so I can fling myself into Ace’s waiting arms.
“Hey, sweet cheeks.” I can hear the good humor and joy in his voice, and it fills me up.
“Oh my God, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on a mission?” I ask between the kisses I pepper all over his face.
“It was a bust, so we came home, and now here I am.” Ace palms my ass, lifts me like I weigh nothing, and carries me inside, kicking the door shut behind him. “Even if I was only gone for a few hours, I missed you like hell. I couldn’t wait to get back home to you.”
“Same. I had the worst night in years. I can’t believe you’re back so soon.”
Ace stills. “You missed me so much you couldn’t sleep?”
“Yeah, baby, I did.” Something about the way he’s standing so still penetrates my brain, and I pull back far enough to be able to see his face. “Is something wrong? Did I say something wrong?”
“No, sweet cheeks. Not a single thing,” Ace replies. “Wrap those pretty legs around my waist, will you?” And before I even have time to wonder why, he’s hoisting me into his arms and hurrying down the hall to my guest bedroom.
I can’t bite back a shriek of surprise as Ace tosses me unceremoniously onto the bed. My shriek turns to giggles as he straddles my hips and gets to work pulling my tank up and over my head. My bra follows in quick succession.
“Ace, wait, honey. I’ve been cleaning like a woman possessed. I need a shower,” I say, wrinkling my nose. He stops for a millisecond, then gives me a wolfish grin.
“No problem. I can help you with that.” And with that, he goes back to the task of getting me naked.
When he’s done undressing me, he hops off the bed and makes short work of his own clothes. Then he holds his hand out to me, wiggling his fingers in a come-hither motion. Catching on to his intentions, I bounce off the bed and take his hand, allowing him to lead me to the small guest bath.
Putting me down on the vanity, he leans into the shower and fiddles with the faucet until he’s happy with the temperature of the water. He once again picks me up, holding me securely in his strong arms as he steps into the shower.
The water is absolute bliss, running down my back as Ace guides me under the stream.
“Drop your feet, babe.” I do as I’m told and step fully under the flow to wet my hair. Standing with my eyes closed, I savor the feeling of dirt and perspiration being rinsed from my body. “Take a step forward and turn for me.”
Once again, I follow instructions and groan out loud when Ace begins to slather shampoo into my hair. With slow, sure fingers he works it in, massaging my scalp like he’s trained to do it all his life. The sheer heaven of having someone take care of me like this is something I could get used to. Holy shitballs, the man is talented with those fingers.
When he’s done washing my hair, he gently turns me back to face him and maneuvers me back under the spray to rinse the soap out. He wrings the excess water out, then sets about working conditioner into the strands.
“You know, if the military doesn’t work out for you, there’s always the position of hair washer at a salon. Where’d you learn to do that?”
“When my mom got in that big wreck and couldn’t get to the salon, I taught myself how to do it so I could wash her hair like they do. It’s her favorite part of the visit. To be honest, I was just so grateful she survived, it was a small thing to do but was a source of joy for her.”
Done, he coils my hair in a bun on top of my head, patting it into place so the conditioner can hold it there in order to, I assume, free his hands. Because my shoulders are his next target. Ever so gently, he massages them, down my arms and back. Across my shoulders and down to my shoulder blades.
Dropping my head forward to give him better access, I’m unfazed when my hair pulls free of its bun and simply hangs there. I’m too mesmerized by those talented hands to care. Slowly but surely he kneads his way down one side of my spine and up the other side. I’m all but purring under his expert ministrations.
Exhausted as I am from a shitty night’s sleep and cleaning like a woman possessed, I start to drift off standing upright in the shower. Ace’s voice jerks me awake.
“All right, babe, let’s get this conditioner out of your hair so we can get you washed up. I have plans for that delectable body. Remember?”
Obediently, I once again move under the shower head and let him rinse my hair. With lazy eyes, I watch his fingers wrap around the new bar of soap I recently placed in here, and anticipation licks through me at what’s to come.
He lathers his hands, and another moan escapes my lips as he glides soapy palms over my shoulders, across my décolletage, and ever downward until her reaches my breasts. Nipples already pebbled and begging for his touch, my breath catches when he gently pinches and pulls the tiny buds.
Just as he took time to massage the soap into my hair, he does the same with my breasts. Moving lower, his suds-smooth hands glide over my ribcage, then my stomach and, just as I suck in a breath of anticipation, he stops just shy of my mound.