12
12
SUCKER
A couple of days later, I was lying on the denim comforter, comfort-stroking a stray cat the color of wet concrete. I did this while idly thumbing through a third edition Grey’s Anatomy textbook, trying to extrapolate both the content and the reason for its existence in Pete’s compact library. I’d already buzzed through the rest of his collection that was readable—I didn’t count the motocross and surfer magazines as literature.
Most of my day was spent helping Ruthie plant Canterbury bells for next season, and then I talked her out of pruning her Azaleas, gently explaining she could be removing buds for next year’s blooms.
The day before we’d spent a pleasant afternoon baking homemade apple pie, after I’d helped her organize her attic and did our laundry. We ate our pie with tea and Bob, and looked at three hours-worth of Henry Kodak moments in old-fashioned photo albums. I couldn’t complain. The Henrys were sweet as the bowl of Baby Ruth and Oh Henry! candy bars displayed in a crystal bowl on their coffee table. And very pleasant company, when they weren’t pestering me with personal questions. I’d found the best way to avoid answering Ruthie’s questions was by inquiring about her grandchildren. Thank goodness she was a proud Grandma. I found the best way to avoid answering Bob’s was by avoiding him and his shrewd eyes. But nothing about those rheumy dark eyes alarmed me, so I just smiled and shrugged through that which I could not answer.
I glanced out the window at the fading light, dappling the leaves with its early evening glow. Pete was coming home later and later now that he thought I wasn’t leaving. I guess working double time because he had to pay double for everything. I felt sick to my stomach . . . well, for a lot of reasons. But for one that he’d blown his whole wad on getting me out. When I knew I wasn’t staying. But I wasn’t leaving either. I was in no hurry to get back to my husband, even though I wondered how he was doing.
I thought of that term Ranger had used, relating how a mark had “bet a hundred thou on black twenty-one in Las Vegas.” Disdain had dripped from his tongue when he told me that he “blew his whole wad in twenty seconds.” I’d informed him that was worth more than the whole Connelly ranch, lock, stock, and barrel. Then Ranger replied, “Not anymore. Your father’s up two hundred big ones, thanks to you and Mikey.”
Mikey. I sighed, a pain twisting my gut in the most unpleasant way possible. I missed him so much and wondered how he was holding up. Nothing made me feel sicker than these thoughts.
Then there was the little matter of me running out of those little pills, but I didn’t tell Pete because he was running out the door late for an appointment. Another thing that was my fault; it’s like I couldn’t let him go.
I deep sighed, rubbing my hand up under the cat’s neck to feel his rumbling purr. Then there was the other matter of me not starting my period yet. There was that three-letter word again: yet. I was really beginning to hate it.
I was late. But not really panicked because I knew those pills were like ninety-nine-point nine percent oops proof. And since they were Academy pills, they were a hundred and ten percent oops proof. Because they never make mistakes. And I hadn’t missed a single one since the day Pete and I began. And I knew sometimes the pill itself messed with your periods. I knew this because I Googled it on the Henry’s dinosaur desktop.
And I also knew there are only, like, four or five days in a woman’s cycle when she can get pregnant. And that was right around the time Pete and I got started. And I’d only had sex one time before that. But I also knew that it takes five days before the pill begins to work. But it’s also highly unlikely that you’ll get pregnant the first time you have sex.
And I also knew that, like, ninety percent of the stuff you worry about doesn’t even happen. So basically, I had nothing to worry about. I was just worrying because my mind wasn’t occupied enough. Something I picked up at The Academy was that nature abhors a vacuum. Probably one of the reasons they kept us all so dang occupied all the time. So I concluded that nature was filling my empty brain with all kinds of niggling worries.
So I fought back, refilling it with all kinds of tidbits from Grey’s Academy, like the fact that a man’s sperm can live up to five days in a woman’s body.
Just then I heard a louder rumble than the one coming from kitty. My chest swelled immediately, lifting my mood. I sat up, startling the cat, who gave me a dirty look like I was messing with his chi. He decided he’d forgive me and flipped back over for more rubbing. He was getting spoiled already.
I heard the quick hup-hup-hup of Pete’s footsteps on the stairs. Usually that was the point I dropped what I was doing to greet him at the door with a kiss. I decided to make him work for it today—scratch that—tonight. He was late. Again. I heard the jiggle of the keychain at the door. Then: “Honey, I’m home!”
My smile just kind of burst from my face to greet him, like despite myself. Oh Lord. How I loved this guy. My heart still did a flip-flop every time he walked through the door.
“Hey!” I called back.
“Well, hey yourself!” He dropped his backpack next to the door and his keys, cell, and sunglasses off at the kitchen island on his way over, a routine I was already well familiar with. Then he stopped short. “And who’s this little scoundrel sharing our bed?”
My smile spread farther. God he was so irresistible. All thoughts of discord evaporated. Poof.
“Mr. Whiskers,” I answered. “He’s a stray that’s been hangin’ around. Can we keep him?”
Pete leaned over to give me a peck before stepping back to assess the man of the hour. I felt a little letdown, wanting the kiss to linger longer. Maybe stroke my hand through his hair, down his long, strong back, see if I could get him to purr.
“Mr. Whiskers?” Pete’s mouth dropped down at one corner. “That’s almost as original as naming your blue heeler Blue.”
A laugh bubbled out of me. “Hey!” I punched him in the arm. “My eight-year-old self thought that was an inspirational name.”
He laughed. “Well, I’m glad to see some things never change.” He sat down and scratched behind Mr. Whisker’s ears. That didn’t go over so well. Mr. Whiskers backed away and almost hissed before thinking better of it. I wanted to tell Pete he wouldn’t get that reaction out of me. “I think he senses I’m more of a dog person,” he hedged.
“Me too. But a dog didn’t happen to wander up our steps.”
“Right. I’m sure you leaving the last of our milk in a bowl outside the door had nothing to do with it. Maybe if you would’ve left a T-bone, we would’ve ended up with a Bandit instead of a Whiskers,” he said around a grin. “And Bandit goes better with our theme.”
Unable to resist the impulse another second, I threw my arms around his back, pulling him onto the bed so I could press my love into him. “Please, Daddy, please?” I kissed the side of his neck. “Can I please keep the kitty?”
I felt as much as heard the rumble of his laugh; it vibrated itself into the core of my being, making me feel like everything was going to be all right. I buried my face in the nape of Pete’s neck, deep breathing him in.
How could I ever leave him? The answer was: I couldn’t.
“Well, okay.” He pulled me into his lap, kissing me in a more satisfactory manner until I was the one purring. He sat me back up so we were sitting side by side on the bed. “But I guess you know this means we have another mouth to feed.”
I stopped smiling and turned sideways to evaluate his face. His mouth was turned up, and his face was all lit up with humor. I knew that was about to change, but he just gave me a good segue to my next topic. I sucked in a breath.
“Speakin’ of that . . . I put out a few feelers to Ruthie today.” Pete frowned immediately, but I didn’t let that deter me. “And she mentioned a friend of hers, a Mrs. Prudence Abbott, of the Garden Club of Palo Alto, is in need of a p.a.”
“I don’t think you have the right qualifications to be a physician’s assistant,” he answered, reaching out to rub an unwilling cat.
I shook my head at him, smiling. “A personal assistant. She said she’d give me a good recommendation.”
He breathed in and out deeply. “I thought we agreed you were going to cool your heels for a while.”
“We agreed no knocking on doors to clean houses,” I countered.
“I guess you know if you’re hired, she’ll most likely ask to see a driver’s license, maybe a social security number for those W2 forms.”
“Maybe not. Ruthie said it was an informal position.”
Pete shook his head like I was being na?ve. “I don’t think a little old lady is going to allow somebody into her home with no ID, no employment record, and only one reference from a fellow gardener.”
I breathed in and out, staring at him. Why is he being so negative? “Well, I’d like to try. Maybe see if she’ll pay me in cash for a discounted rate.”
He looked at me hard for a second, pursing his lips. “When’s the interview?”
“Tomorrow morning at ten.”
“It turns out I also have a ten o’clock tomorrow morning, and we really need the money, so I’m afraid you’ll just have to postpone the interview.” I swear you could actually hear the smile in his voice.
My dander was starting to get up, but I smiled through the burn. “Well, it turns out Ruthie offered to drive me.”
He opened his mouth to speak. I folded my arms across my chest. He closed his mouth. A furrow appeared on his forehead. Finally, he expelled some air. “I can’t say anything to dissuade you, can I?”
I shook my head. “Sorry. I wanna help make our way.”
Pete looked at me for another long moment, and I could practically see the wheels and pulleys of his mind working. Something passed across his face that swept in a ghost of a smile.
“ Nothing you say can dissuade me,” I reiterated, giving him a hard peck on the cheek. I rubbed my finger along the first pebbles of stubble along his jaw, staring at his mouth.
His lips curled into a smile. “Well then, I won’t stand in your way.” He stood up.
“Great!” I said, winding my hands around his neck to pull him back down for a kiss.
He gave me a good smacker before pulling me up by the hand. “Come on. Let’s go make our way to the grocery store . . . looks like we have some cat food to buy, in addition to more milk.”
We put Mr. Whiskers outside to roam and jumped in our Jeep in our jeans and T-shirts and took off like the couple of fugitives we were. I turned down the music about midway there.
“Hey, Pete?” He twisted his head to the side to look at me with those dark, fathomless eyes. “Why do you have a Grey’s Anatomy textbook?” I asked casually.
A wistful smile softened his face. “I’d like to become a doctor one day, a surgeon more specifically.” His smile turned more humorous. “I think I’m a natural—my first surgery turned out pretty well.”
I huffed out a chuckle. “Yeah, a lot better than mine.” I leaned over to run my fingers along the jagged scar on his neck. “It kinda reminds me of those heart-shaped BFF necklaces that I fervently desired as a child but could never afford.” I smiled to erase the bitter. “Sorry about the butch job . . . and this.” I ran the tip of my finger around to touch the corner of his eyebrow, where a tiny scar reminded me that I had a husband.
“Don’t be.” Crooked grin. “Girls think scars are sexy.”
I snorted at that one. “Girls think you’ re sexy.”
He gave a self-deprecating smile. “I think you’re sexy.”
He stared so long into my eyes I started to grow hot right there in the passenger seat, one stoplight away from the store. He gave me a conspiratorial grin, easily reading me. “Wanna find an empty alley?”
I took in a deep breath, squirming. “I’m not really into doin’ it in the Jeep.”
“Since when?”
“Since it just barely got dark.”
Pete was still giving me the eyes.
“Unless you want me to yunno . . .”—I cleared my throat—“give you another blowjob.”
“I still love the way that sounds coming from your mouth,” he said, eyes sparkling.
I turned the same color as the stoplight while something secret flitted across his face. I tried to read his expression, watching while his twitchy lips grew into a smirk. He threw his head back at something funny I couldn’t see.
“You’re right,” he said when he came back from that laugh. “Maybe we should wait. Don’t wanna give some poor unsuspecting granny taking out the garbage a peep show.”
“Okay,” I mumbled, growing pensive.
So we flip-flopped our way around the grocery store, tossing in our usuals and adding cat food, a collar, and some kitty litter. At the checkout counter, we added our requisite bubblegum for our mandatory bubble-blowing contest. Then I picked up the latest edition of Cosmo, fingering it thoughtfully.
“Can I get this?” I asked.
He shot me a grin. “Oh, why not?”
I tossed it on top, face down, and we zoomed home, blowing double-bubbles, another new skill Pete had taught me.
I put the groceries away while he fired up the grill. We had an easy dinner of grilled steak for him and tofu hotdog for me, baked potatoes, and crispy vegetables in a homemade vinaigrette. We’d slowly started becoming more responsible, mixing in a daily salad and rubbing sunscreen on each other before we jogged. After we ate, I washed the dishes while he checked his email. Then we settled onto the couch with our remote and our routine—a sex-filled night that was anything but routine.
Oh. My. Gosh! Pete decided to channel his inner vampire that night. He sucked, nipped, and bit every square inch of my body. My jawbone was gnawed on. My butt bit. My shoulder grazed. Along the length of one arm went tiny nips till there were so many goosebumps it looked like a plucked chicken. The inner part of both thighs had things done to them that made me dizzy with desire. My breasts were sucked and nipped. My hipbones chewed on until I was panting like a dog, and when he moved to my stomach, he ravaged me with his lips and mouth and tongue until I was gasping and yanking his hair out. But the erogenous zone that got the worst abuse was my neck. That required a sitcom’s worth of sucking until I was crying out for mercy.
It was the sweetest kind of torture. He ripped one out of me so hard I clutched at the denim comforter to tether me down to earth. It wasn’t enough. I still would have floated away on a cloud of bliss had Pete’s solid chest not been there to pin me down.
“Holy Mother of Mary!” I gasped a few heaving breaths after the fact. I rolled over to face him. “I didn’t think it was possible to fall even more in love with you. But . . . I think I just did.”
He laughed out loud, smacking me lightly on the behind before lying back with a heavy sigh. I wiped some damp hair off his forehead and snuggled up in the crook of his arm to caress his chest.
“I’m glad you said that . . . because soon I’m going to have to remind you that you did,” he replied enigmatically.
“Hmmm?” I breathed him in. And that’s the last thing I remembered before falling into a deep, satiated sleep.
We awoke the next morning from meowling below our bed. I slumped up, rubbing sleep from my eyes before reaching over to pet our pet, who was stalking back and forth demanding his meal. Pete growled into his pillow and sat up, looking at me as though the kitty alarm clock was my fault, which it was. But the cross look crossed his face lickety-split, replaced by a funny one. And then a snorty laugh escaped him almost immediately.
“What?” I said with a self-conscious smile, smoothing down my bed head hair.
Pete popped his hand over his mouth, but I could still see the corners were turned up. His eyes were lit up too.
I wiped under my eyes, thinking I had some mascara smears. And then I remembered I hadn’t even put some on yesterday. “ What ?”
His mouth opened and closed. “Nothing” finally came out. He was lying through his pearly whites.
Heat flooded my face. “Some of us don’t happen to have the good fortune to wake up already looking like a supermodel,” I snarled, pushing at his chest to get up.
Pete pulled my signature move—reaching out to pull back in the exiting occupant of the bed. “Mr. Whiskers can wait, sour puss.”
I giggled as he pawed all over me. “Yeah, but I can’t. Don’t forget I have a job interview to get to.” A burst of industriousness pushed me out of bed.
Another funny look, I found to be unfunny, crossed his face. Something was up. “I don’t think you should be going to that after all,” he declared.
After slipping on one of his yummy tees, I turned around, hands on my hips. “Why not? You said you wouldn’t stand in my way.”
“And I won’t,” he replied with a grin, plopping back with a pillow. He stuffed it behind his head, folded his hands, and stared at me with amusement.
I shot him a dirty look before padding into the kitchen to pour Mr. Whiskers some food and put him outside. After which, I quickly headed to the bathroom to steal the first shower. The reflection that awaited me, when I faced the mirror, was gasp-worthy. Make that scream-worthy. So I did. This elicited laughter from the other room. I stomped back out to confront the architect of my demise.
“You!” I clenched my fists. “You . . . you,” I spluttered. I took a second to calm down. “You did this on purpose!” I flung my hands at my neck, which was a mottled purple mess all over. Forget about the rest of me, which could be covered up. I didn’t own a turtleneck one.
“I didn’t hear you complaining last night,” slipped out the side of his mouth.
I screamed and stomped out some frustration.
He laughed. “What’s wrong? Don’t think Mrs. Prudence Garden Club will hire you now?”
Arg! I took my stomping back to the bathroom to try putting some concealer over it. It looked like what it was—a girl who got a whole bunch of hickeys last night, trying to cover it up with makeup the next day. Arg! I would need a bucket anyhow and only had a pot the size of a thimble. I whirled back around and stomped back out.
“What am I supposed to do now?” I wailed.
“Crawl back in bed with me, so I can finish filling in the spots I missed.”
I growled in my throat. “Not funny.”
He just stared at me, lips twitching in amusement.
I glared at him. “I hate you so much right now, you don’t even wanna know.”
He laughed at my outright lie, not the reaction I was hoping for. “I told you I would need to remind you of what you said last night.” Pete dramatically cleared his throat and changed to a grating girly voice. “I didn’t think it was possible to fall even more in love with you.” He clasped his hands beneath his neck and smirked.
I glared. He laughed. I glared. I wanted to wipe that grin right off his face, so I grabbed a cushion from the couch and hurled it at him. He caught it, of course he did, yelling, “Pillow fight!” before lobbing a denim one at me.
I caught it and hurled it right back, and he caught it.
“I would love to stand here and play toss-the-pillow naked with you all day . . .”—pause to grin—“but unfortunately, I have to get up and go to work.” He jumped off the bed with another grin. “ One of us has to make the living round here,” he finished, whistling his way into the bathroom and into the shower.
I stood there gritting my teeth. In so many ways, he was just like living with my husband—I had no say so whatsoever.
Hated that.