Chapter 15 August - Good morning, Daisy my darling #2
I’ve never fucked without protection, never planned on it, considering the fact little Burton gremlins have never been on the table. I don’t daydream, or whatever the fuck that was, about knocking anyone up. I like to get off and get out. It’s always been just sex.
I shake my head, clearing my thoughts to get back to Daisy. I run a hand up the length of her spine, and when she hums in response, I swear my dick twitches for a round two.
She slowly rises, letting the T-shirt fall to cover her again, and she turns to look up at me.
As the pink on her cheeks fades, we share a quick moment where I forget just about everything else that exists in the universe. It throws me off so much that while I watch her mouth open and form words, I couldn’t tell you what a single one was. I hear nothing.
“Hmm?”
Daisy doesn’t repeat herself. She pats me on the arm in a way that feels like “good game” and waltzes out of the kitchen.
I have half a mind to follow her. Where’s she going? Why am I so screwed up, and she’s unphased? I’m gonna say it again. What’s wrong with me?
After a couple minutes of me regaining my ability to function, throwing an unbuttoned flannel on, washing my hands, and resuming the breakfast prep, I hear a toilet flush and the running of the sink’s faucet. Daisy reenters the kitchen with her hair piled high on the top of her head.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, a confused look on her face.
“What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong. What’s wrong with you?” I counter defensively.
“August,” she sighs. “You fucked me so good that for once I’m going to ignore how truly insufferable you can be.”
Daisy hip checks me to reclaim her plate and continues assembling her breakfast. She scoops up her previously abandoned scrambled eggs and sprinkles shredded cheese on top. She lifts the plate, and I grab it from her hands to reach up and put it in the microwave for her.
“I was going to melt the cheese for you earlier, but we got distracted.” I punch in thirty seconds on the keypad and hit start.
“Oh.” Daisy doesn’t hide the surprise on her face. “Thanks,” she adds.
“Just go sit down and let me insufferably get your breakfast for you, okay?”
“Oh…” she hesitates. “‘Kay…” Daisy slowly backs away, rounding the island to mercifully take a seat without protest.
I realize all of the breakfast components are cold. I flip one of the burner’s dials back to low heat to warm the potatoes and bacon, not wanting everything to be nuked in the microwave.
I bank on my probably-outdated Daisy Stiles knowledge and dice up a rogue tomato and an avocado I hope is ripe. Beth drops off random vegetables, hoping I’ll add them to my meals. Like I’m a toddler. But hey, the mother hen energy is coming in clutch right about now.
I retrieve the plate from the microwave, add a portion of breakfast potatoes, a couple slices of bacon, and the veggies. I sprinkle salt and pepper on everything, and grab the bottle of hot sauce from the fridge along with a fork from the utensil drawer before placing everything in front of Daisy.
Her arms remain at her sides. She stays frozen in place staring at the plate of food. Silent.
“Daze?” I prompt. I really don’t want the food to get cold again.
Did I fuck this up that bad?
“You…made me food. And plated it. And served it.” She finally picks up the fork, spearing a chunk of avocado, and holds it up. “This is an avocado that you cut up.”
And with this, I come to the conclusion that we’re both extremely broken people.
Because if Daisy’s brain can’t compute someone putting together a ridiculously simple breakfast, and I can’t tell the difference between the moan that escapes her lips when she comes, or the one she makes when she tastes a bite of a seasoned potato—we’re fucked.
“Eat up,” I tell her before turning to make my own plate.
We eat across from each other, neither of us bothering with conversation in between bites. There’s not a drop of tension in the air, and I have to admit it’s nice to sit in companionable silence.
As we’re finishing up, a knock causes us both to freeze. Our forks clank down onto our respective plates. I lean forward to get a clear view of my front door while Daisy springs out of her chair.
I hear the doormat flop, and realize we have less than twenty seconds before Beth Rivers uses the spare key and is in my fucking house.
“It’s Beth,” I whisper. “What do you want to do?”
This is Daisy’s call. Nobody knowing is her rule, after all.
She dives to the closet behind her, throwing herself into my mess of bath and beach towels. I throw our plates and silverware crashing into the sink.
The key enters the lock, another knock accompanying it, along with Beth’s raised voice. “August, my boy, you’re awfully late. Sawyer’s already running his mouth. I’m coming in. Be decent!”
“S-sorry, Beth,” I stammer. “Morning—Good morning.” I try to peer down and confirm I look presentable. I quickly fasten a couple of the buttons on my flannel closed and pull my sweatpants further up.
“Smells good in here. Are you okay?” Beth stops at the entrance to the kitchen with a hand on her hip. She has a denim baseball hat covering her short grey hair and is wearing her usual pair of work jeans, boots, and a white thermal long sleeve under a Rivers River T-shirt.
“Fine. I’m fine. I just, uh, I needed a slow start. Headache.” I point to my forehead.
Beth narrows her eyes, inspecting me for injury or ailment. “Have you started taking your allergy meds? You know this is your season.”
“Forgot.” I shrug. “I’ll pick them up next time I’m at the store. You know you could have just texted or called, right?” I mean this in the nicest, most respectful way possible, I need Beth out of my fucking house five minutes ago.
“Oh, really?” she asks. Beth’s eyes scan the kitchen, and I don’t know how I know, but I know I’m screwed in some capacity. “Funny. Because I did text and call. Both unanswered. So, now I’m here to put eyes on you.”
“Beth—”
“Save it, my boy. Get dressed and get to work.” She pivots, and I’m convinced I survived this interaction with a very minor reprimand for tardiness. This is something I can live with.
She’s halfway down the hall to leave when she pauses. “Oh, I mean, after you bring Miss Stiles home. Good morning, Daisy, my darling. I’ll be seeing you later,” Beth calls. A few footsteps and the front door slamming later, she’s gone.
I basically turn into a statue.
The accordion door of the closet flies open, and Daisy’s wide eyes meet mine.
“Oh my fucking God,” she shrieks.
Warranted. Very fair, given the situation.
“It’s not that bad,” I try to offer.
“You’re kidding right now, right?”
“Okay, it’s bad,” I concede. “But you know she won’t say anything.”
“August, she’s going to make our lives hell.”
She is. I can’t deny this. But admitting that out loud right now does feel dangerous.
“I’ll talk to her, “ I assure Daisy. Don’t know what good it’ll do, but I have to try.
“Can’t wait to hear how that conversation goes!
” Daisy shouts, face reddening. “Oh, hi, Beth. Yeah. Daisy and I can’t agree on the color of the sky most days, but we’re fucking because the sex is really good.
” She paces the kitchen, flailing her arms with every step.
“No, there’s absolutely nothing that could go wrong!
Why would you ask that? Oh, because we’re already walking on thin ice with our close knit group of friends?
Psh—” Daisy waves to an imaginary Beth Rivers. “Nah! This is fine! Everything’s fine!”
“Well, when you word it like that…” I admit.
“It’s not the wording that paints this in a negative light. It’s us.”
All right, that was unnecessary.
“We can stop. I can tell Beth there was an emergency that has been taken care of, and we go back to normal,” I say with a bite of bitterness to it.
Daisy’s face softens slightly. “I didn’t say that’s what I wanted. I’m sorry, I’m just—This is a lot, okay?”
I take a step towards Daisy. I want to reach out and grab her, comfort her maybe, but I don’t. “I know. I’m sorry. Let’s just get dressed. I’ll drive you home.”
And that’s exactly what we do. Before she leaves the truck, I hand her her tote bag and remind her she has my number now, and that she can text me for…for whatever.
She quietly confirms she will, and I risk another Mary Jane Stiles altercation to wait until Daisy gets inside before pulling out of the driveway.
Well, it is what it is. Beth knows.
Beth knows it all, I admit only to myself.
She remembers trying to pick me back up when things fell apart the first time with Daisy. She doesn’t want a repeat.
Well, no fucking worries there.
I’m not letting things fall apart again.
If this morning has shown me anything, it’s that no matter what goes down or how things play out, things with Daisy Stiles will always be the exception to the rule. It’ll always be different.