Chapter 28
28
[Vale]
C ort’s final massage therapy session is upon us.
He had to reschedule his typical Wednesday morning one for a Friday.
His health insurance has only approved so many visits, and he’ll be on his own to exercise and stretch to strengthen his back and keep his muscles loose.
While he sits on my massage table for the final time, I stand between his spread legs.
“You should do yoga.”
He laughs.
“You aren’t serious.”
“I’m totally serious. Many athletes do yoga to strengthen their flexibility and settle their minds.” I tap my temple.
Between work and raising my son, plus Hudson’s intensive baseball season, I still find time to sneak in a yoga class at the local studio near Reflexology.
“I’m going to miss my Wednesdays,” Cort softly says, holding my hand and linking our fingers together, staring at them joined as one, like he’s still surprised how well we fit.
Still surprised at how comforting touch can be.
“I’m going to miss them, too.” These rare moments of privacy beat staring at him across a crowded baseball diamond full of kids and their parents.
With a too-quick, parting kiss, Cort exits Reflexology.
But to my complete surprise, I find him standing next to the front desk around noon.
“Cortland?” I glance at Derrek, who is seated at the desk, and glances suspiciously between me and Cort.
“Did you forget something?”
“I wanted to leave you a tip. I forgot to earlier.”
“A tip ?” Derrek drawls, turning his attention from Cort to me, and drawing out the word like he’s stretching a string.
I scowl at Derrek.
“Wanted to thank you for all your hard work,” Cort adds, keeping his sights on me.
My cheeks flame as Derrek parrots Cort one more time.
“Hard work.” His perfectly sculpted eyebrows lift.
“Did you hear that, Vale? You worked him hard .” Our desk clerk exhales the word like he’s blowing his breath on a window.
Glaring at him again, I defend, “That’s not what he?—”
Cort clears his throat.
“I thought maybe I could take you to lunch.”
My attention swings back toward him.
To ask me out in front of a co-worker is bold.
Plus, we’d be seen in public, even if this is Rogue River.
Most of my friends and all of my family are the next town over, but you never know who you’ll run into midday on a Wednesday.
“A little afternoon delight?” Derrek questions me.
“Everyone deserves a noon-time meal.” He glances back at Cort.
“Vale’s a carnivore. She likes meat.”
Did he just gnash his teeth ?
Chewing at my lower lip, I shake my head.
“Ignore him. I do.”
“Seriously, though,” Derrek interjects.
“Go. Get laid.”
“Der- reek !”
“I mean, get a latte.” He waves, dismissing all his innuendos, then flicks his hand like he’s shooing me out the door.
“And lunch. No need to rush. Your one o’clock canceled.”
Derrek winks at Cort, like the two of them share a secret.
Before I know it, Cort is leading me outside and insists I ride with him.
“I promise where we are going, no one will see us.”
On the one hand, I’m relieved and appreciate his understanding about my apprehension.
It’s not like I want to keep Cort a secret.
It feels so unfair that we have to hide what we are doing.
Then again, I’m not exactly certain what is going on between us.
It’s clear we have a physical connection.
We’re exploring with one another, but are we more than friends with benefits?
I can hardly be a booty call.
I have Hudson to consider.
While I try not to define us, and simply revel in the fun, I’m confused sometimes by the things Cort says or the way he looks at me.
Like he really wants me.
Wants more from me. Then, I worry I’m projecting onto him, because I’ve never felt what I feel when I’m with him.
How he makes me laugh.
How hot he can be with simple words.
How sweet he is in person.
Like making me stay on the phone when I drove home the other night.
Or sending a small bouquet of flowers to my work one morning.
Or a lunch delivery another day, from Nonna’s, after I told him how much I love their antipasto salad.
When we pull into Cort’s driveway, I laugh.
“You really took Derrek’s suggestion for afternoon delight to heart.”
“As much as I’d like to give the guy props for some solid sexual innuendos, this lunch comes with no expectations.” With his hand dangling over his steering wheel, he smiles at me.
“It’s a beautiful day and I thought we could eat on my deck.”
Cort reaches for a white paper bag between us that I’d noticed but hadn’t commented on.
Picking up the bag, he pops open his door, and I hop out of his truck as well.
Once inside his house, Cort sets the bag on the island countertop and spins toward me.
“Hi,” he says, cupping my face and leaning in for a more proper greeting.
My belly buzzes and I smile against his lips.
“Hi,” I mutter amidst the kiss.
Cort smiles as well.
“Lunch?”
“What are you making me?” I tease, glancing over at the paper bag.
“Just give me a minute to put the ingredients together.” Cort pulls what looks like a homemade loaf of bread from the bag.
Next, he spins toward a cabinet, retrieving a plastic container of peanut butter and a jar of honey.
The glass container with a clasped lid is common enough.
Your average kitchen storage jar.
But the ribbon around the lip gives it away as something special.
Something made with love.
“That’s my honey,” I whisper, staring at the pink and black ribbon I personally tied around the top of the jar.
“I know,” Cort says, his voice low as he pops the lid.
“But how do you have it?” I make jars of honey each year in the fall and distribute them as gratitude for any nicety that’s offered throughout the year.
The homegrown honey mainly goes to my family and some book club members, but a few jars get delivered to?—
“Did you steal that jar from your mother?” Every year I remember Mary Haven as well for past kindness .
Cort smiles, unscrewing the lid to the peanut butter container.
“She willingly gives me a jar.”
I don’t know whether to be flattered she shared or hurt that she’s regifting my honey.
“She knows it’s my favorite.” He winks.
What?
“And . . .” He pauses to grab a bread knife from the knife holder on his counter.
“She knows I love it best on her homemade wheat bread with peanut butter.”
A memory hits me so hard I almost fall over.
Mary Haven in her kitchen making sandwiches like she was working an assembly line, going through an entire loaf of her homemade bread, slapping together two pieces for each kid.
One side peanut butter; one side honey.
I’d never tasted anything so good before or since.
Cort pauses his movements, watching me.
“I know it seems like a kid’s meal, but I still love honey on whole wheat.”
And he’s making one of his favorite meals to share with me.
He’s making me lunch and he’s using my honey, his mother’s bread and?—
I glance back at the white bakery-style bread bag.
“Did your mom make this bread for you?”
“Picked it up this morning. It was still warm in the bag.” He smiles like a kid who’s stolen a cookie before dinner, or bread before it has cooled.
The childlike grin along with a giddy gleam in his eyes has me rounding the island and wrapping my arms around his midsection.
Cort stills at the suddenness, before slowly wrapping his arms around me, tugging me tighter to his chest. Silly tears sting my eyes at the memory of his mom and the sweetness of this moment.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head before I pull back and stare up at him.
“Don’t look at me like that.” His voice tight .
“And how am I looking at you?” I bat my eyes.
“Like you want that afternoon delight after all. With me.”
He isn’t wrong.
I desperately want to have sex with Cort.
But I also want this PB and H on Mary Haven’s homemade whole wheat.
“Feed me first?” I tease, pulling free of his arms. “I need energy for stamina.”
Cort chuckles.
“Well, as I’ve already proven I can’t last more than a few minutes with you, I think it’s safe to say, it’d be over quickly.”
“And I think practice makes perfection.” The challenge flag is tossed and Cort stares back at me, gripping the edge of the island countertop and glancing at me over his shoulder.
“Vale,” he warns.
“I’m just saying . . .”
“Stop talking.”
As we’re about to share a kid-like meal, and memories of being a child are fresh in my head, I say something equally childish.
“Make me.”
Before I can blink, Cort sweeps the lunch ingredients aside and hoists me onto the countertop by my waist. His hips wedge between my knees and I spread my legs to accommodate him while his hands delve into my hair and tug me to him, kissing me like I’m the first course to our simple meal.
Within minutes, my shirt is removed, and my pants slipped off.
Cort presses me back to the countertop and strips me of my underwear.
I cry out at the cold surface, but the warmth of his hands has me quiet again.
Then he swipes a finger up my seam, parting me and slipping in.
“Cort,” I groan.
“What was it you explained to me.” He pauses, tipping two fingers into the nearby honey jar.
“High excitement but you need high intention.”
Removing his finger from me and then bringing those two fingers coated in honey between my legs instead, Cort continues.
“My intention . . . is to make you my new favorite meal.” He swipes the sticky sap over my hot center and dives in, licking at the mess he’s making, creating more of one, and my arousal mixes with my homemade brand.
“Holy shit,” I cry out at the hunger of Cort’s lips, the eagerness of his tongue.
For all my talk of needing time, I’m on the edge within seconds and crying out his name within minutes.
My orgasm slams into me so hard, the intensity causes me to choke on air, trying to catch my breath.
Cort’s name on my lips is a stuttering mangle of syllables.
With a final lap between my legs, which involves a generous swipe up and around to lick me clean, Cort pulls back.
His beard is coated with a combination of me and sticky residue.
He looks like a child, who has eaten a messy meal.
“Dammit, Cort.” I chuckle before draping my arm over my eyes, still trying to catch my breath after such a rush.
My feet dangle off his counter, tingling asleep.
Cort grips my hand and pulls my arm free from my face, then gently tugs me upright.
“Now, why don’t you head to my bathroom, and I’ll clean up, then make us an actual lunch.” He kisses me quick with his messy lips before swiping at his mouth and sucking the tip of his finger.
“Never a fan of leftovers, but this isn’t bad.”
He winks and helps me down from the counter.
Then he slaps my ass, and I yelp as I gather my clothes and head to his bathroom.
When I return to the kitchen, the distinct scent of bleach and a spray bottle of kitchen cleaner near the sink tells me Cort sanitized the countertop before getting to his original plan of making sandwiches.
With plates in hand, he nods toward his fridge.
“Want to grab the iced tea and follow me?”
He has no idea I’d follow him anywhere he wants to lead me.