Chapter 12 #2
Shirley blows out a long breath through pursed lips. “Is he the jealous type?” she asks, like it’s the only logical question.
“Aren’t all men jealous?”
She lifts one shoulder. “Some more so than others. If I was a betting woman, I’d guess Leif is a very jealous man.
Beats on his chest, marks his territory with piss and all that.
If he knows you were with Dylan, I’d just leave it at that.
It’s not like you were married for a decade and made a billion sweet memories together.
It was mostly awful. And he took off when you didn’t deliver on your promise to repopulate Bronze Bay and give him his football team. ”
Folding my arms, I say, “You put my medical condition so eloquently.”
“Did I get something wrong in there? Just gave you the facts,” she states, grabbing the box she’s already picked up twice. “Got what I came for, you need anything?”
There’s a blueberry lip gloss hanging on a display, and I snatch it up. My mouth waters. “You got it all right, but you’re so blunt about it. I shouldn’t expect anything else,” I growl.
“No. You shouldn’t. Real friends give real facts. Always.”
I tamp down on my annoyance about my friend dredging up old memories and realize she’s given sound advice.
I don’t have any feelings for Dylan. I realize that what I felt at the height for Dylan is not even a drop in the bucket of the overflowing cascade of love I have for Leif.
Telling him would do nothing. If it comes up, or he hears about it from someone else, I’ll tell him Dylan was so inconsequential that he wasn’t worth talking about.
That’s it. This is the last time I’m going to worry about it.
Shirley checks out, and I follow, trying to make small talk with the checkout employee, but it comes out all wrong, and I’m sure she thinks I’m insulting her job.
Floundering, I try to say something nice and fail again.
“Have a good day,” I mutter, and grab my lip gloss off the counter.
“You’re a real mess today, Malena,” Shirley says, laughing under her breath as we exit. “You need a night out more than I do if that little exchange has anything to say about your mental state.”
“You talk to people all day long, Shirley. Plus, you’re just mean,” I say, checking my phone. Still nothing. Sometimes Leif will check it if he has a spare second and get back to me. It’s the last time I look at the damn thing without being prompted by a ringer.
Shirley and I make brownies while we wait for her roots to turn blond, and then we spend way too long doing our makeup and selecting what to wear.
It’s like we’re teenagers again, getting ready for a party in secret, except now I have this whole house to myself, an entire life that I never thought was in the cards.
I settle on a backless tank and a pair of shorts.
Shirley borrows one of my black dresses and makes light work of uncorking a bottle of wine.
We’re riding our bicycles down to The Spot so we can have a drink or two before we set off.
Cleaning the kitchen, I carefully package some of the brownies to take to my mom tomorrow when I visit.
I put the container in the bag, which contains a few photo albums. The nurses told me that even if she doesn’t remember who is in the photos, she’ll enjoy looking at them, and they might help her.
I do anything I can to be helpful now that I feel so useless with regard to Mom’s care.
“You handling everything okay? Seems you are, but I’m not sure if it’s the orgasm haze. Are you really handling it, or are you distracted?” Shirley says, sneaking up behind me as I load the bag.
“I’m okay,” I say, nodding. I tell her I know it’s been coming for a long time. “The real kicker is sometimes I wonder if it’s going to happen to me. I look at these albums and can’t imagine not remembering my life. It’s scary.”
She puts her arm around my shoulder. “You know they told you it may not happen.”
“But it might,” I say, shaking my head. I tell her what her doctor told me about statistics, and she poo-poos them by trying to convince me doctors only say things to cover their own ass.
When the wine-fueled conversation turns to something happier, we mount our bikes, turn the headlights on, and pedal toward the ocean.
It’s an easy ride, the sidewalks are wide, and the traffic is nonexistent.
The salty air turns my hair into a wavy mess, and the humidity covers my skin in a dewy glow.
There’s no point in trying to go for a matte makeup look in Florida.
It’s impossible. I grab the half-empty wine bottle from my basket and my cellphone as we park our bikes at the long bike rack adjacent to the field that everyone uses as a parking lot.
Shirley has a head start, walking toward the path down to the Spot.
I’m momentarily distracted by the wine buzz and making sure my bike is secure when he sneaks up behind me, wrapping his big arms around my waist. I jump and let out a tiny yip.
“There you are. You’re late,” he rasps at my ear, the heat from his body enveloping me fully.
We are late, but he never messaged me back, so I didn’t know if he was coming. “Shirley and I got caught up at home. How was work? I missed talking to you today,” I reply, setting the wine back in the basket.
He kisses my cheek and then spins me to face him and plants his lips firmly on my mouth. It turns scandalous fast, his tongue invading my mouth as his hands trace lazy circles on my exposed back. “I missed you too,” he says. “So much that I had to do that so you would know just how much.”
“You could have just said it, but I enjoy kissing you,” I reply, my lips brushing his as I speak.
Leif licks his lips, pulling me closer. I exhale every pent-up worry and relax into his strong frame.
“Work was crazy today. Lots of meetings. The thought of seeing you tonight was what got me through. Can we go somewhere?” he asks, tilting my chin up to take my mouth again.
“I need you now.” His hard-on is pressing against me in an unbearably noticeable way.
“Any which way I can have you. As soon as possible.”
He’s not usually this forthright or savage in his need.
Don’t get me wrong, if he catches sight of me naked, it’s over.
We’re having sex. If my shorts slide up when I bend over, we’re fucking as soon as the opportunity arises.
If skin touches skin, he’s touching me, kissing me.
The attraction is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my life.
Leif looks at me with dark, hungry eyes, and I know he’s not just talking.
“Where?” I reply, the bundle of nerves between my legs pulsing from his heady gaze.
He looks around frantically. “Follow me,” he whispers, tugging my hand and keeping me close.
The wine makes me a little slow and cumbersome on my feet.
The pedals on my bicycle were easy compared to walking.
There’s a lifeguard stand in the distance, at the beach nearest the Spot.
It’s illuminated by a domed beacon on the top, and after a few seconds, I know it’s where we’re headed.
Leif picks up the pace, and at this point I’m running to keep up.
We kick off our shoes, leaving them where pavement meets sand, and rush the white ladder.
He hoists me up and climbs up quickly himself, using every few rungs because his legs are so long.
It’s unlocked because no one locks anything in Bronze Bay.
That’s the best part of staying in this small-town bubble.
I can pretend that life outside it doesn’t exist.
There’s an old lamp, a pair of binoculars, and a system that must be a radio for communication purposes.
There’s also a small stool that swivels.
We’re both eyeing that at the moment. We can hear the party raging on the other side of the tree line.
I take a seat on the worn-out red stool.
“So, you had to have me. Here I am,” I say.
Leif swallows hard, his neck working. “Malena,” he says, eyes darkening even further. A crease forms between his eyes as he appraises me.
I nod, waiting for him to make the first move.
“Leif,” I toss back. “Mr. Andersson. My hero. The love of my life.” Smirking, I try to gauge his reaction to my words, but he’s a blank canvas.
His chest works as he breathes heavily, and he runs both of his hands through his hair and down his face.
Shaking his head, he grasps whatever resolve he’s searching for and confuses me even further.
“Come here, Leif. Tell me what’s wrong.” I rise to my knees on the stool so I can reach around his neck instead of being eye level with his dick.
He obeys, letting me circle my arms around him. Leaning down, Leif inhales my hair. “I need you,” he says.
Looking up at him, I wrinkle my brow. “You have me.” No one else has ever had someone so completely in the history of time.
He shakes his head. I don’t have long to ponder what that means because he’s kissing me, his large hands stripping me down until there’s nothing left but skin.
I help slide his shirt off, and he drops his shorts and steps out of them.
He doesn’t take his eyes off mine. There’s a desperation that I’ve never seen before.
A wicked gleam of something sharp, painful.
As he runs his hands down the sides of my body, I ask, “What’s wrong, Leif?
Talk to me. I can tell something is off. ”