14. Aspen
Chapter fourteen
Aspen
T he next morning, I could tell that even though the pool crew had arrived to map out the backyard and get it ready for the new swimming center of watery glory, Rick was still smarting about what I said. I’m pretty sure it was because I called him adorable.
Right now, I’m taking a tray of freshly baked sausage rolls out of the oven, even though it’s just after eight. There’s never a time too early for this level of deliciousness. I bought everything I needed yesterday in order to make them, mostly because I’ve had the worst craving.
Rick enters the kitchen freshly showered, looking far better and also smelling far better than anyone on earth could ever cook or bake. I’m instantly as hot as the oven I just switched off. He was quiet yesterday after we got back home. He ghosted around the house, making piles and moving stuff around in the last few remaining rooms. I don’t know what he’s going to do when he empties the whole house completely. I don’t know what his mission will be then. I’m worried he’ll realize this wasn’t what he needed and that he’ll feel even more lost after.
I went to bed alone last night. And I woke up alone. I wasn’t expecting anything different, but I was disappointed. I know mind-blowing sex isn’t a stepping stone or a tool, and it’s not going to undo years of training. It’s not a weapon in itself or a bargaining chip.
Would I have just liked to have more orgasms with a man my body can’t stop wanting and craving and needing? Yes. Yes, I would have. I’m pretty sure he’d like it just fine himself, and by just fine, I mean immensely fine. Would I have just liked to spend a night curled up beside him in bed, even if he tossed and turned, hogged the blankets, and snored like he was felling an entire forest? I’m not going to lie. It would have been nice. More importantly, it would have been good for him. He needs to sleep more.
“Good morning.” I try not to be too chipper, and at the same time, I angle to the side so he hopefully can’t see that my nipples are poking straight through my bra and shirt. It’s a long-sleeved, cropped shirt, and I’m wearing high-waisted jeans, but they’re both on the thin side. Unfortunately, so is my bra. “Fancy a sausage roll?”
His eyes widen before they scan the cooling rack on the counter. I see him visibly relax. Sausage roll isn’t a code word for sex.
I wish it were a code word for sex. Right now, I wish he’d sweep me up, put me on the counter, literally tear my clothes off my body with his bare hands, and devour my pussy.
Instead, I get salty Rick, who pours himself a glass of water and shakes his head. “I’m good. The pool crew is here. I want to go out and supervise.”
“I’m pretty sure they’re going to discuss any and all plans with you. If you watch them, it might make them nervous.”
“I’m going to watch,” he says anyway.
“Alright. Sounds good.” Maybe it is a good thing for him to be involved with this. I think the pool might be a spite thing, but if it’s not, then I’m happy he’s found something he can be happy about. “I’ll come with you. I’d love to see how it works.”
“You’re probably right. Maybe it’s not a good thing to be constantly looking over their shoulder.”
I’m confused by the rebuff. Why are things between us suddenly colder than a penguin chilling on an iceberg? Was it the sex? Was it because I’ve been too frank and open? Is he withdrawing because it’s safer to go and hide in order to prepare for another attack and onslaught? Is he feeling confused? Is he hurting? Is he angry? I can’t freaking tell. I don’t want to be clingy, but I’m the kind of person who doesn’t like not knowing. It makes me feel nasty and bad inside.
Rick walks out of the kitchen, and I hear him going upstairs. I want to give him space, but a few minutes later, I find myself tracing the same path to his office.
The door is open, and he’s leaning back in his chair with it facing the window and watching the crew moving around the backyard. They look like they’re just mapping things out right now. Planning. I can see them gesturing and pointing things out to one another.
I lean against the doorframe. My arms are crossed but still casual. Oh, by the way, I followed your salty self in here, and we’re going to talk even if you don’t want to. But don’t worry, I’m going to try and make it as pain free as I possibly can.
“I know you think you’re a lean, mean killing machine, but you truly are adorable too.” There. If this is what’s bothering him, then we’re having it out. It’s not going to linger in silence between us anymore. I’m not the kind to drag out fights that aren’t even fights. Things don’t fester with me because I don’t give them a chance. I’m not above giving someone time. Time is a great thing. But not too much time.
He leans back in his chair, but his body goes on high alert. All his muscles tense even though he’s giving off those I’m totally casual over here, I don’t care about anything, I’m all good vibes. “I certainly am not.”
“You certainly are. Haven’t you heard the expression ‘get you a man who can do both’? You can do and be both.”
“I disagree,” he grunts.
“Well, I can find you adorable.”
“Don’t forget that finding me adorable has an expiration date.”
There it is. We haven’t talked about that since before the sex. I know I said it wouldn’t change anything. Last night, Rick stalked the house and probably sat up all night in his office the same way he usually does, keeping guard when it’s not necessary or avoiding the things from his past. Things he doesn’t want creeping up on him in his unguarded, defenseless moments.
I hold fast to what I said. I’m not someone who says one thing and then hopes it means another. I’m not into playing games. My family taught me to be a pretty straight shooter. In our house, you could always talk about how you were doing, what you were feeling, and what you had going on, and it was more than okay to ask for support.
So I’m not going back on it, and I’m not pulling a sticky, tricky, fast one, but I’d be okay if there were a new development too. I think. Ugh, for the love of chicken drumsticks, I’m not sure what I think. I’m kind of an internal mess right now. If my life is a recipe, I think that with all the recent ingredients, I can’t hope to turn out a masterpiece that’s well put together. I should expect a goulash. Or maybe I’m a pan scramble. Maybe I can be okay with that. Maybe I am okay with that. But I’m not okay with Rick being a jerk about it though. He can be nice if he wants to be. He doesn’t have to be so direct and poke a finger straight into the bruise.
“Technically, it doesn’t,” I counter. His eyes flash. We’re fighting the same fight here, but he’s looking at me right now like I might be a potential adversary, and he’s very wary about this. “I’m not playing games, Patrick McDonald. That’s not my style. The marriage has an expiration date. We both agreed to it. And if we’re not in agreement about extending it, then that’s fair. But me finding you adorable? We agreed to be a part of each other’s lives after this, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
“Baby goats are adorable,” he huffs. He spins his chair around and gives me his back, which literally hits me straight in the chest as a bombardment of emotion. Rick will never show someone his back—his most vulnerable spot—unless he trusts them. “I’m more like a snake.”
“I’m sure baby snakes are adorable.”
“Baby snakes grow up to be big enough to swallow a crocodile.”
“Those are adorable too. Big snakes, small snakes. Small crocodiles, big crocodiles.”
The chair whips around. I’ve clearly pissed him off with my obstinacy, but you know what? I’m not sorry. If he’s looking for a worthy opponent, then I’m going to be one, but only because we truly are fighting for the same thing in the end. I hope it’s his happiness. And I hope it’s my happiness too. I hope we might somehow find that together, even if it’s just as pen pals.
Oh, for the love of big snakes, we can’t be just pen pals.
Fuck it, I’m moving here.
I’m going to make good on my threats. Rick needs someone close to him. Or I’m going to ask him to come to Atlanta. Maybe he’s only being so edgy right now because he’s started to open up, and it’s painful, and he thinks he’s going to be hurt. He thinks I’m just going to move on and leave him and forget him, except when it comes to dropping him a line every now and then to talk about nothing at all.
Well, he can think again.
Because it’s not happening.
“Is this really just about sausage rolls? Fine, I’ll have one. I’ll even have two. Or three. If you just promise to leave me alone for a few hours to enjoy the creation of my pool.”
“You truly can’t do that with me? Enjoy something?” I ask.
“I can’t enjoy it if you’re going on about how adorable lethal creatures are.”
“They can be both,” I insist.
“You are one of the most maddening people I’ve ever met. Your brother was decidedly not like that at all. He was one of the least stubborn people I ever met.”
Ouch. I raise my shoulder in a shrug anyway because he’s right. I can’t get mad over him pointing out a truth, and one I’m often quite proud of. Jace wasn’t stubborn, whereas I can be like the good old mule that is the epitome of stubbornness, even though I’m sure mules are freaking awesome creatures in their own right. They can be both too. Stubborn and awesome.
“I’m only maddening because I’m right. And you are, too, by the way. I’m stubborn. Crazy stubborn. I like to think it usually translates more as a good thing. Tenacity can be great. It just means I’m willing to stand firm on what I believe.”
“And you believe proving to me that I’m adorable is worth all of this?”
“I believe proving to you that you’re great is worth all of this and more. I also believe proving to you that I’m going nowhere is worth all of this. I know you’re not trying to hurt me. You’re just a prickly pear because life has taught you that it’s best served up with thorns on the outside to keep the rest of you safe.”
“Ugh, the metaphors. They’re so overused,” he grumbles.
“I apologize for being a walking stereotype. Do you want sausage rolls? When was the last time you ate?”
“I don’t need you to take care of me, Aspen. I thought I’d made that clear.”
“Alright. I can shut the blinds, and you can take care of me then. You can eat my pussy and feed me your cock. I’m absolutely starving, and I can openly admit it.”
“Oh my…” He looks like he’s going to stroke out.
He doesn’t know what to do with me right now. But he’s not the only one. I don’t go around saying wonderfully nasty things like that. Ever.
I’m the one who walks over and shuts the blinds. Then I walk to the door and close it too. It has a lock, which is a great thing since there are people moving around out in the yard. I’m not taking any chances. Once I’m sure the room is secure from anyone seeing in or walking in, I move back to the desk. I strip off my crop top and shimmy out of my jeans. I leave my bra on. It’s one of the few super nice ones I own. It’s black with little rosebuds all over it, and it’s trimmed out in expensive-feeling lace. I have the matching panties somewhere, but I forgot to pack them, so I settled for plain black because it kind of matches.
I sit down on the edge of the desk and try not to fall over due to my useless legs as Rick’s eyes scald the shit out of me.
He leans back in his chair and feigns disinterest, but I can already read him. I know better. I know that when he starts putting on a show of not wanting me, that’s exactly the time when he does.
I watch the muscles in his jaw jump as he clamps it down. I spread my legs a little further apart, trying to be sexy. I’m probably failing, but as far as seduction goes, I’m pretty inexperienced.
“We shouldn’t do this.” Rick’s voice is iron. His jaw is iron. His eyes are hard but not cold. Rather, they’re ten thousand degrees of molten hot heat. If I was the stove and he was the spaghetti sauce, he’d be burned, burned, burned by now.
That was the last thing I tried to cook at home before I left to come here. And let’s just say the sauce didn’t turn out as expected. I kind of walked away thinking the burner was on low when it was on high, and things got roasted and blackened like I was using a smoker and a barbeque instead of a regular old stove.
“It’s only going to make things harder,” he adds after a slow inhale. I know he’s doing his measured breathing thing. It’s another trick of his. I like that I can already tell these things about him after just a few days together.
“On who? On me? I don’t think so.”
“I think so. You seem like you value commitment. You seem like once you get attached, that’s it.”
“You’re right.” I widen my legs a little bit more until my thighs start to burn a little, and then I go a little bit further. Rick’s eyes shoot straight down between my legs for just a fraction of a second before he jerks them back up. He quickly looks toward the window, but the blinds are closed, and I know he’s seeing nothing. “I do value commitment. And I do get attached. There’s nothing wrong with that. But sexually? That’s something we can work out later if we want to.”
“But we’re not going to want to. We’re not because it’s not—”
“Allowed? I think it’s perfectly allowed,” I say.
I slide my bra straps down my arms and then roll the cups down and undo it from the back before dropping it on the floor. “I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it as many times as it takes. The only thing that matters is if you want this right here and now.”
“That’s not the only thing that matters.”
“Let’s say it is.”
“You know I want you. I want you, and that’s the problem. I’ve always been someone who can go without. I’ve denied myself everything in the past and also been denied everything.” He’s genuinely and wildly perturbed about this. Uncomfortable, just like before.
Maybe I should be uncomfortable with my own lack of control. I should be afraid of how this man and I seem to be more than fire and gasoline, but I refuse to be. I refuse to let fear and doubt have their way with me. When I was younger and had less life experience, maybe. No, I didn’t say sex experience. I said life experience. And in the past year, I’ve had plenty of that.
“No one is denying you this. No one is denying you a friendship after and maybe more,” I tell him.
He sighs. “But that’s the problem. You want more.”
“I don’t want it, Rick, not the way you mean. I just want us to have a good life. I want us to be friends. I want to care about you, and I’m not going to just leave, and that’s it. See ya later, alligator. This is all over. I don’t care anymore, and I’m switching off everything. I want more than a line of communication. I’m open to so much more. I want to do all that without hurting each other.”
I dip my finger in my mouth and roll it over my nipple, pinching hard at the end, which makes me yelp. I didn’t mean to pinch that hard. I’d be embarrassed, except Rick shifts in the chair like his erection needs some room in his jeans. My eyes shoot there, and holy glowing fireflies. Yup, it needs room. That does not even begin to describe the bulge.
I’ve had him inside my mouth and inside me, yet somehow, I’m still shocked. It’s not a memory issue because I have a great memory. I have a torturously good, incredibly vivid, and ultra-detailed memory.
“It’s not going to change my mind about the marriage ending.” He sounds positively strangled.
“We never should have done it in the first place.” This time, I sneak my finger lower. I head toward the waistband of my panties, but I stop and run my finger over the elastic instead of dipping beneath it. Rick’s bulge is still just as huge. He might pretend like he’s not interested, but his body says he seriously is.
“Maybe we can both agree on that, at least.”
“Anyway, we did, and we both agree there’s an expiration date, but I really do mean we don’t. We don’t have an end date. There can be more. There can be less. There can be friendship and family. I’m not going to let you crawl into this lonely little hole or stalk from shell to shell, hermit crabbing your way through life.”
“That’s what you think I’m doing? Hermiting it up? Crabbing around?”
“I think I’d like you to tear off my underwear right now with your bare hands.”
He groans. “Goodness. How skilled and strong do you think I am?”
I wrap the fabric in my hands and try to pull on it, but it’s cotton, and it isn’t giving way without a tear first. All I get is a comical tug. Rick swallows so hard that it looks like he’s trying to get a watermelon down. I wonder again what it would be like to learn every inch of his naked body and trace all his scars, both tiny and large. I wonder what it would be like to be able to do that anytime I want because he would want me to.
“Rick?”
He moves fast. He always shocks me with his lightning-fast reflexes. He explodes out of the chair and leans over me, caging me in with hands gripping the edge of the desk. He’s lovely like this, teetering on the cliff’s edge of control. I like the way the muscles in his arms strain under his shirt and the way a vein throbs at his temple.
He rakes his eyes over me, and then he fists my panties in both hands and pulls.
Nothing.
We both pause.
“Umm?” I murmur.
“I really thought it would happen.”
“Do you have scissors inside this desk?” I ask.
“I don’t think so, but I know there’s a utility knife somewhere. Or a saw downstairs if things get desperate. Maybe a steak knife from the kitchen.”
“Gah! Just—” I belatedly realize he’s joking. He might not have scissors, but he solves that problem by slipping my panties down and gliding them off my legs. He’s smooth and effortless, and they remain in one piece. He doesn’t need saws and knives when he’s inventive.
Now, I’m naked before him, and I want to get inventive with that. I throw my hands around his neck and lean forward, leaning straight into him. Then I pull his face down to mine and kiss him. We get about three seconds of sweetness before all the desperation and want come pouring into the kiss. I love that when he leans into me, I feel so freaking small against him. I love that even though I’m the only one who is naked, I don’t feel awkward.
I feel like straight liquid when Rick kisses along my neck. His soft beard scrapes over my shoulder, and then he reaches my breast. It’s all bliss. All swimming in space as his mouth transforms me. His tongue does amazing things to my nipple. He also does amazing things to other spots by knocking my legs open with his hand and brushing his fingers over me. I arch into him, so soaked and eager for this.
It’s in the back of my mind that this might be the last time he ever touches me like this. That this might be the last time I get close to him. It’s been a long, hard series of lessons in learning how to live in the moment, but I want to be in this moment so fully that it will sustain me no matter what happens.
The way he touches me isn’t the way I touch myself. I don’t know how he makes his fingers feel like they’re coated in magic dust, whereas mine have only ever felt so normal.
I close my eyes and let this moment be magic.
“Rick, yes. Yes, please. That’s so good.”
“You want my mouth there?”
It’s not shameful to ask. Not when I want him this badly. Not ever. “Yes,” I moan.
His fingers make it good. My hips roll into his touch, but then he bends, and I part my legs even wider, so wide that I can feel the burn in my thighs as he tests the limits of my flexibility. It’s so hot how far I’m spread open on this desk for him. And it’s even hotter when he kneels between them, takes my legs, and guides them to his shoulders, fitting them there.
I open my eyes and find his head bowed. He’s so beautiful. I want to watch him, but if he looked up and found me doing it, I don’t know if it would make him or me more self-conscious.
I close my eyes when he licks me. In my head, I imagine being pinned to the desk by his weight while he’s inside me. I shouldn’t think about things like that because if I do, it’s going to make this go way too fast. And I want it slow, drawn out, torturous.
“Draw me a picture,” I mutter, threading my fingers through his hair. His head jerks up, and he studies me.
“A what?”
“A picture. Draw me a picture with your tongue. On my clit.”
He gasps. “Goodness, Aspen. Just…goodness. Are you serious?”
“Yes, and I’ll try and guess what it is.”
He finally smiles. It’s the slowest, most adorable smile in the world, and I love how it sneaks up on him. “You’re joking.”
“I am. I’m sorry. Continue doing what you were doing. It was good.”
“Was it? Because I’m open to instruction.”
“It was, but you have no idea how hot it is that you’d say that,” I groan.
When he licks me again, he’s not gentle. I think I already had my warmup, and this time, it’s business. The business end of Rick’s tongue is glorious, just to be clear. I’m not even embarrassed that he eats me loudly . I grip his hair tightly, curl my legs over his shoulders, and keep him there for more and more and more. He’s wild, and I’m every bit as wound up as he is. I imagine him destroying me with his tongue, and then he’s doing it for real with his tongue and fingers, and imagination is something I no longer have to rely on.
“You wanted a picture?” he growls. “I’ll do one better. I’ll spell you a word.”
Holy unicorn balls, is this really happening?
His tongue does sensual, amazing things that make my soul want to leave my body. I’m going to go out of my mind. My hands grip his hair like I can make him write something on my clit just by steering him, but his tongue does its own thing.
Am I supposed to guess what word he’s spelling?
“Squirrel?” I murmur.
“Ha. Good guess.”
“More. Do it again,” I plead.
He does. And I’m so close. So close to leaping out of my skin. So close to riding his face and coming until I flip inside out. So close to laughing at how playfully absurd this is.
“Sasquatch?”
“One more time.”
I pant my way through it. My hips do ungodly things to his face while his tongue does tongue-godly things to my folds, my clit, and my entrance.
“Salmon! It’s salmon!”
“No. But here’s your consolation prize,” he says.
He attacks my clit, and there’s no more spelling and no more holding back. I’m coming so freaking hard that I see rain showers, lightning, and rainbows before I know what’s happening. He holds me down and makes me come until I can’t come anymore. Until I’m panting and hot and wild with it.
Then he stands up, and his hands tear open his jeans. He leans into me, and I wrap my legs around his hips and draw him into me before I’m even done trembling. My whole body needs this. My body needs it when he sticks his hands under my butt and lifts me up, tilting my hips to the perfect angle. His cock is finally at my entrance, and he’s everything I could ever want. I’m way too far gone to have any control left, so I just throw my head back and hang on to him while he fills me. I’m so wet, and he’s so hot and hard inside me. I arch over and over again.
He’s even wilder than I could have imagined. It hurts, and it’s so good. He drives into me, finding that spot, the spot that makes the whole room fuzz in and out of focus like my world has been painted in purple shag carpet.
“Rick. God. Please come,” I beg.
“Not like this.”
“Yes, like this. I’m on the pill. It’s okay.”
“Jesus god, Aspen.” He barely says my name, and he’s going even deeper. Within moments, my world splinters, and I’m gone, but I can still feel him driving into me and shaking and then coming.
After, he freezes while I can barely get my eyes open. I’m scared to see whether he regretted any of this. I’m scared to see if he looks wrecked. Instead, when I do finally open them, he strokes my cheek.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine.” I’m still seeing unicorns and fuzzy carpets, but I’m good. “Are you?”
“I was scared I hurt you.”
“Hurt me? No. No, not like this. It was really good.”
He slowly withdraws and adjusts his clothes. Then he finds mine and has to help me get dressed because I’m still so far gone. Seeing fuzzy carpets isn’t good for coordination. Who knew? I’m kidding. Obviously.
After, he sits down hard on his desk chair, but he pulls me with him. We sit like that, both of us so quiet. I feel like I should say something. “I think you might need to get a job. Just for the fun of it. For the camaraderie and to get out of the house. Or not. Maybe a hobby? Something to keep busy. Something to keep sane.”
“You’re now implying that I’m crazy? A job makes most people that way, darling.”
I know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but hearing even sarcastic endearments does something to me. “Oh, I know full well that most of them are soul-sucking machines, but not all.”
“You want me to be a regular mindless one of the masses,” he states.
“You’re overthinking that a little. I mean a job or a hobby you enjoy. I’m sure there’s one out there. It has to be better than just hanging out here all day.”
“I do have a job. It’s untangling all this money and turning it into something I can actually use.”
I lose myself in his lovely, dark eyes. “I think there are lawyers and accountants for that.”
“It takes up more of my time than you’d think.”
“Alright, a hobby then.”
He snorts. “I’d rather lick tarantulas every day than make pottery.”
“Tongue bathing. Awesome.” I laugh. I want to trace the little scar on his neck right above his shirt collar with my tongue. “So what if you hate pottery? There are other things in the world. If you miss parts of your old life, just go to the gun range or something. You could teach shooting. Or self-defense. I bet you have lots of skills that other people would like to learn.”
“Or I could just join a security and bodyguarding firm.”
“Well, if that’s what you truly want to do. But I think not having to go to work worried about taking a punch or catching a bullet every day would be a good thing.” I can’t even think about him doing those things. It makes my stomach lurch and my chest feel heavy and rocky.
“Vigilante justice then?”
“No,” I reply.
“You should do what you know.”
“Is that what you know? Vigilante justice?”
“I suppose that was a tad sarcastic,” he says with a light chuckle.
“You could raise geese,” I suggest.
“Gah! I’m in the city. And I know nothing about raising animals.”
I can’t help it. I have to kiss his jaw. “You don’t have to live in the city. And you can do research. Ooh! Maybe you can do research, raise geese, and vlog so other people can raise them too! That’s exciting!”
He quirks a brow. “Do I seem like I’m the popular vlogger type?”
I nuzzle my nose right by his ear, inhaling the goodness of him. “You could be anything, I’m sure.”
“I’m not five years old. I’ve already lived most of my life.”
“Pshaw to that!” I jerk my head up. He’s got his usual I’m so bored with life, and I find nothing interesting, ever mask in place, but it’s starting to get frayed and worn pretty thin. It’s starting to be just a little bit see-through. “You’re probably ten years older than me if that. I’m not even going to tell you not to say it because some people don’t get to live out their lives, and they are actually over. That would sound like guilt, and this isn’t guilt. This is supposed to be finding your stride and learning what it takes to make your soul sing.”
“Some souls don’t sing,” he argues.
“At least you didn’t say some people don’t have souls.”
“Some souls are too dirty to—”
“Dirt! Yes!” If we have to talk about that, then I have a great idea. “You should go to school and study dirt. Apparently, it’s super fascinating. All the stuff that goes on in soil! It’s an entire world and a science in its own right. You’re a little bit obsessed, so it might be just what you’re looking for.”
He rolls his eyes. There’s no undoing it, though. I’m not going to let him undo it. “Perhaps that was a tad bit sarcastic as well.”
“Maybe, but I do think it would be so neat. You could learn how bacteria really work. Worms, ants, and centipedes too.”
“Aspen,” he groans.
“Yes! And trees and plants. Geez, now I kind of want to go back to school and take microbiology or ecology or whatever it would be under.”
“I’m not going to go to school to study soil.”
“You could just join a gardening club then.”
He looks like he’s just seen a ten-foot-tall spider coming toward the house, and no, he doesn’t want to tongue-bath it. “Have you forgotten that I hate gardens enough to let the one outside die out?”
“That’s just because it belonged to a farty old man who chose money and power and position over you. He was clearly wrong in that. Clearly. I don’t agree with taking it out on the garden, but cleaning out the house and starting fresh? It’s probably a good thing not to have so many bad memories picking away at you.”
“Aspen.”
“What?”
“This conversation is over,” he says resolutely.
“Oh, so it’s like that, is it?” I respond.
“Yeah, it’s like that.” He points to the window, and excuse or not, I now remember there’s a world out there. “Those poor pool people out there have probably been done for ages, and they’re just too polite to come banging down the door.”
“Riiiiight. Shit. I kind of forgot about that. Maybe they’ve already left. I’ll go check.” I scramble off his lap and walk to the window, where I peek through the blinds. “There’s no one out there.”
“Fuck,” Rick curses.
“I’m sure they’ll call or stop by again to discuss. Or maybe they’ll just email you a number of plans and mockups to choose from. I’m sure most people need a visual, so they probably have tons of renderings. That would make the most sense.”
“Perhaps.”
“If they’re gone, then we don’t need to stop talking. We can discuss so much more about—”
He stalks across the room in a feverish way and kisses me before I can continue. He kisses me until I just about forget everything, which I think is the point. He doesn’t want to keep talking. He clearly had a plan and a strategy coming over here.
“We could go to the library and find some books on dirt. Maybe make out between the shelves,” I say.
“No.” He backs me up to the wall and studies my lips with major heat and want written all over his face. I’m dead here. So dead.
“You know an expiration date is really just a suggestion, right? It’s a best-before kind of deal, not a total termination, except in the case of bread. Don’t eat moldy bread again. In fact, you might need me to move down here just to cook for you.”
Silence. Dead. Hard. Silence. Not even a cricket would dare to break this total void of nothingness. It bogs down around us, and I can feel my heart grinding to slow nothingness as well.
“Rick?” I say his name when he doesn’t reply.
“No, Aspen. You shouldn’t have to do that. I don’t need you to do that.”
“Needs and wants,” I whisper bravely, turning my chin up. “They’re different.”
“I know what I need,” he mutters, but his nose presses against mine, his lips just a breath away.
“Okay, Patrick McDonald. Okay.”
He’s both for me.
A need and a want.