39. Becca
God, I miss him so much. My vibrator, the one that used to give quick, reliable orgasms, is worthless compared to the memory of how Miller skillfully played my body like an instrument, coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of me.
And while we’ve talked almost every day since Thanksgiving, there’s something empty in me. It’s like I got a glimpse of how things could be—Miller and I together, our bodies fitting perfectly, his family around us—and now I realize ignorance really is bliss.
I’m a wreck at the thought of seeing him today. I’ve cleaned my place like ten times.
The laundry is tucked away in a closet. The bed is made. The throw pillows are arranged on the couch in a way that invites sitting, but that also says the person who owns these throw pillows is a woman of impeccable taste. I hope. It’s also possible that they say the person who owns these throw pillows bought them on sale at TJ Maxx.
I’ve given up on seeming cool and casual. Now, I’m pacing the length of my small apartment, waiting for Miller to appear.
He says he has news. I’m not sure what it could be, honestly. Did he get a new job? He hasn’t mentioned anything to me about applying for something, but maybe he doesn’t tell me everything.
My stomach twists. Maybe he needs to tell me he met another girl.
I halt my pacing and sink onto the couch. Two of the throw pillows tumble to the ground. That’s what it is, isn’t it? He’s too much of a nice guy to tell me via text.
I smile sadly at the irony. When I met him, I thought he was an asshole who didn’t take anything seriously. Now that I know he’s actually a good guy, I’m going to be subjected to an in-person breakup, or whatever you’d call this, since we’re not really in a relationship.
It’s okay, though. I said I didn’t have time for a relationship, especially long-distance, and I meant it, because he deserves more. Miller deserves a girl who has time for him. Maybe one who thinks pranks are funny.
Okay, so I might have laughed when he hid all of his mom’s spoons on Thanksgiving and we had to eat the butternut squash soup with forks. But most of his pranks aren’t that hilarious.
I check my watch. It’s 10:02. He said he was going to be here at ten.
Another reason he and I don’t make sense together. I’m always on time. He’s chronically late.
He hasn’t told me he’s met anyone. If anything, our talks have gotten more intimate, more heated. He seems determined to show me that he can do long-distance.
And that’s not the point here. I know he can. But he shouldn’t have to. I care about him, probably more than I should. I want to be there for him. But being there for him includes being there, and that’s not in the cards right now.
There’s a part of me that hopes he hasn’t met someone else. That he still belongs to me. But there’s another part, the logical side, that hopes he’s happy, even if it can’t be with me.
There’s a sudden knock on my door, startling me from my thoughts. I stand up too quickly, sending another pillow to the floor. I start to pick one up, then stop. He’s probably not coming in, anyway. This’ll be a doorway conversation.
I leave the pillows where they are and cross to the front door. When I pull it open, the sight of him hits me like a gut punch.
“Miller,” I say. It’s all I can manage.
It’s only been a month since I last saw him. Did my body react this way last time?
My gaze runs down his body. Shaggy blond hair peeks out from beneath a knit cap. His winter coat is hanging open, his University of Scranton t-shirt clinging to his chest. His dark wash jeans hug his hips.
I tear my gaze away from his crotch. “Hi. How are you?”
He smiles, and his crooked grin does me in even further. “I’m good, Becs. Can I come in?”
“Why?” I blurt out.
Miller tilts his head. He sets a hand on the doorframe and braces his weight on it as he leans in. “To talk, Becs. You okay?”
I’m not good. I’m an absolute fucking wreck seeing you and hearing you call me Becs and knowing we can’t be together.“Yeah. I’m good.” I swallow hard and step back to let him in.
He strides into my apartment like he owns it, taking it all in as he pulls off his jacket. He pauses by the couch. “Becs?” He turns back to look at me, his brows knitted together in concern.
It twists the knife in my gut even further, because I know he doesn’t care about the pillows on the floor. It’s that he can take one look at that scene and know what’s going on in my head, and that kills me. It’s one thing for the guy you’re with to be able to read you like that.
It’s an entirely different feeling when that guy can still see through you, even though you can’t be together. I manage to shrug in a way that looks anything but casual.
“Sorry, I didn’t clean up too well. I didn’t think you were going to come in.”
He crooks his finger for me to come closer. “Why would you think that? I said I was coming over.”
I’m too close to him, my entire body at risk of bursting into flames, and I’m still a foot further away than normal conversation. “You said you had news. I figured you’d tell me about whoever you met and then leave. So… I didn’t worry about the pillows.”
“Whoever I met?” He steps even closer to me. The air thickens between us.
It’s hard to breathe. Is he going to make me say it?
It all comes out in a rush, “I know it’s my fault. I’m the one who said we can’t be together, because of the distance thing. It’s okay. But you said you had news. I figured you were going to tell me about someone new you met and that you want to pursue a relationship with her. I mean, it’s what I told you to do, so I’m not mad. I didn’t expect you to stay single. I just—”
His finger on my lips cuts off my rambling. “Becs, shut up for a minute.”
“Okay,” I whisper against his finger, because I’m powerless against his touch.
“I have two things to say. First, fuck the pillows.” He turns away from me and uses his arm to sweep another three pillows to the ground. “And second? I didn’t meet someone else. I don’t want anyone else, Becs. I came here to tell you that I’m in love with you.”
He pulls me into him and presses his lips against mine, kissing me hard while I try to process his words.
I’m in love with you.
He spins us around and lowers me to the couch. I bat away the one remaining pillow as he leans over me.
“It’s you, Becs. You’re the only one I want.” He kisses me again, long and languid until I’m melting into the couch cushions.
I press my hips upward, against the hard bulge at the front of his pants.
“Christ, Becs,” he groans. “This couch isn’t big enough for the things I want to do to you.”
Then we’re on the floor, surrounded by the pillows as we both strip off our clothing like we’re in a race against time. Miller pulls a foil packet out of the pocket of his discarded jeans.
“You came prepared,” I say. I intend for it to be a teasing tone, but the words come out in a harsh whisper.
Miller rolls the condom on in one motion and positions himself at my entrance. “I brought enough for the whole weekend.”
“I—” I’m about to tell him I have to study tomorrow, that I have things I need to do and that we need to talk about our relationship and what we’re doing and if he’s in love with me does that change things and all the thoughts that are muddling my brain, but then he thrusts into me, bottoming out in one stroke, and every thought flies out of my brain.
“You feel so good, Becs. So fucking good,” he groans, pulling back and thrusting again.
My eyes roll back in my head, because he’s right. It’s so fucking good. All I can manage is a moan as Miller pistons his hips, picking up speed and fucking me harder and faster until I’m right on the edge.
“Oh God, Miller,” I gasp. “I’m going to—”
“Come for me, Becs. Only me.”
He reaches a hand between us and presses hard on my clit, and my world shatters as I pulse around him.
“Fuck,” he grinds out, slamming into me again as he comes hard.
We lie on my apartment floor, surrounded by throw pillows while we breathe hard. After a minute, Miller gets up and disposes of the condom. When he comes back, he grabs a blanket off the couch and lays right back down on the floor next to me.
“Don’t get too comfortable, babe. I couldn’t hold on any longer, but next time?” He runs a finger down my cheek. “I’m going to be inside you for hours.”
He pulls the blanket up over both of us, pausing at my hips, where he runs his finger over my ladybug tattoo.
“I didn’t notice this before,” he says thoughtfully. “Is it for the Ladybugs at camp?”
“Yeah.” I smile. “I got it the summer I was eighteen, a statement about independence and all that.”
“I love it.” He pulls the blanket up higher and tucks me into his side.
“My grandmother gave this to me,” I murmur, tracing the blanket’s pattern with a finger.
Miller tugs me closer, so my head nestles into the groove where his arm meets his chest. “Tell her it’s great for post-sex cuddling. Thank her for me.”
“She passed away when I was in high school, but I think she’d roll over in her grave if she knew what we were using her carefully crocheted afghan for.”
He laughs. “My apologies, then. Anyway, sorry again that I was so quick. I just couldn’t hold back. I’ll last longer next time.”
I don’t want to break the post-sex haze, but something is still tugging at my mind. He said he’s in love with me, but there’s still the distance issue. “So. Um. What was your news? Was it that you—the thing you said earlier?” My face heats.
“Oh!” Miller sits up in excitement, almost knocking me to the floor. “I got distracted.”
I pull the blanket around myself and sit up to face him. “That’s putting it lightly.”
“We can do it again in a minute or two. Just let me recover,” he says with a wink.
“Miller! We can’t have sex all day. Besides, that wasn’t the question. What was your news? Is everything okay?”
“Everything is great, Becs,” he says with a wide smile. “You know how I was applying to grad school?”
A surge of excitement for him runs through me. He told me a few weeks ago that he was applying to grad schools to get his master’s in special education. “Yeah. Did you hear back from one of the programs?”
His smile widens as he nods. “I got in. I start in January.”
His excitement is contagious. “That’s amazing! I’m so proud of you. You’ll be an amazing teacher.”
His eyes sparkle with excitement. “Yeah. I’m so excited to get started. And I’ll still be able to hit poker tournaments here and there, so I’ll have some income if I can keep doing well there.”
“Seriously, Miller. This is the best news ever. And hey, if you’re a teacher, you’ll have summers off, right? So you can go back to camp and hang out with the goats.” I nudge him with my elbow.
Miller groans. “I never want to see that fucking goat again. If there’s more than one of them next time I’m there, that just might push me over the edge.”
“You’re thinking of going back?” I’m surprised, but talking to him through the summer, it was clear he was happy up there. And despite his lack of experience, he ended up being an amazing counselor.
He’ll be a fantastic father someday.
He nods. “Not next summer. The master’s program goes through the summer, and I kind of just want to focus on that and get the classes done, so I’m going to be full-time. But I definitely want to go back.” He shakes his head with a smile. “When I went up there last summer, I didn’t think I’d make it a week, let alone the whole season, and I sure as hell didn’t think I’d consider making it a regular thing, but it grows on you.”
“It sure does.” I wonder if I’ll ever have time to go back. My years of having a summer vacation are over at this point.
“So I booked the movers, but I have to decide where I’m going to be living.” He looks at me, his eyebrows raised in question, but I’m not sure what he’s asking.
“Like what town?” I realize I didn’t even ask which program he got into. “Where are you going to be going to school?”
If at all possible, his smile grows even broader. “That’s the best part. I got into my top choice program.”
My heart swells for this man. He deserves this. “Congratulations, Miller. I’m so proud of you.”
“And since my top choice was Syracuse, that means you’re kind of stuck with me.”
Something rises in me, light and joyful. Hope. Because if he’s going to the same school as me, that means…
“Are you really going to make me ask?” He has the lopsided grin firmly in place as his eyes search my face.
“Are you moving up here?” I ask, breathless.
“That would make the most sense, wouldn’t it?” He waits, then lets out a long sigh. “Okay, I’ll do the asking. Becca Patel, will you be my official girlfriend, and also can I move in here with you? That’s about as anti-long-distance as I can do.”
He wants to do what? “I only have another year and a half here.” My brain isn’t functioning.
A smile quirks on his lips. “Yeah. About how long the master’s program would take me. And if I need to, I can finish it online wherever you end up.”
“I…” This is obviously a dream. A very strange dream, where Miller is here and he’s in love with me and he’s moving to be with me.
All the things I’ve fantasized about. No wonder my brain cooked up this crazy dream.
A shadow of something crosses Miller’s face, and I blink as I realize that maybe, I’m not dreaming. “Shit, I’m sorry, Becs. I shouldn’t have come on so strong. I was just thinking that because you said you couldn’t do long-distance that I could solve that problem, but it is moving fast, huh? I don’t have to move up here or move in with you if you don’t want me to.”
I shake my head as I wrap my arms around him. “I want you to move in. And to be your girlfriend and all of that. I’m just… I wasn’t expecting it. But I want all of it.” I look up at him, my eyes pricking with tears. “Because I’m in love with you, too.”