Bear
Anyone who knows anything about me knows that I don’t get nervous.
That word, that state of being? It doesn’t exist for me.
Put me in the game with thirty seconds left and an impossible play to make.
I’m your guy. Put me in front of a room full of angry fraternity brothers with the mission to get us all on the same page again.
I’m your guy. Put me in front of the most drop-dead gorgeous and unobtainable woman in the world and watch me woo the panties right off her.
I’m. Your. Guy.
Nothing phases me — there’s no amount of pressure you could put on me that would make me feel anything but completely confident that I can do whatever the fuck I want to do or need to do to get the job done.
But they say when you graduate college, things change.
And boy, are they a changin’.
My palms are so slick I can barely hold onto the handle of the pan as I sauté the mushrooms for the recipe I picked out, and I can’t count the times I’ve double-checked that every candle is lit, that the flowers are in the perfect place, that my tie is on correctly, that the music is just the right volume.
I also may or may not have restarted the album three times now, because the song I want playing when Erin gets here keeps coming on before she’s arrived.
There’s no denying it, no faking like I’m calm, cool, and collected.
Because Erin wants to have sex tonight.
And I have absolutely zero fucking chill about it.
It’s not like it will be our first time. No, our first time together consisted of entirely too much alcohol and a sorority formal that neither of us remembers. That night has a black ink smudge over it, and if you asked either of us what positions we were in or who came first, we’d have no answer.
All we know is we woke up naked in bed together, and not too long after, Erin found out she was pregnant.
So, clearly, we didn’t use protection.
My hand pauses mid-stir over the mushrooms, heart thrumming in my ears as I remember the choice Erin had to make. I can’t imagine what I would have done if I’d been in her shoes, and as much as it angered and upset me for a long time, now, all I have in my heart is respect for her.
And love.
God, I love that woman so much it burns me.
So no, it’s not our first time, but it’s the first time since mountains and mountains of shit piled up between us — pain and longing and miscommunication.
Plus, I’ll be the first man inside her since the ones who violated her, who took something from her she’ll never get back.
The memory of walking in on that scene, on seeing Erin with mascara marring her cheeks and her dress hiked up over her hips, those monsters prowling out of the room like they were kings instead of scum…
I nearly break the spatula in my hand, but shake off the thought before it can sweep me under, tapping the spatula on the edge of the pan. I set it to the side and mix in the heavy whipping cream and melty mozzarella cheese.
And then there’s a knock at the door.
Wiping my hands on the kitchen towel hanging from the stove, I fidget with my hair and my tie one last time, and then I swing my front door open, losing my breath at the sight of Erin on the other side of it.
She’s always beautiful. She’s always poised and classy, always naturally glowing — even in her worst moments.
But tonight, there’s a sparkle behind that glow, a magnetic light in her eyes, a sensual smile on her soft pink lips that makes my rib cage squeeze tight around my lungs.
Her hair is down and curled, the dark blonde tendrils flowing over her shoulders, and a pastel yellow sundress hugs her breasts, her waist, her hips, cutting off mid-thigh to reveal her tan legs and the nude heels strapped to her feet.
“I think this is the part where you invite me inside,” she comments with an amused brow.
“Shit, sorry,” I say instantly, opening the door wider and ushering her inside. “Ah, sorry for cursing, too.”
She chuckles at that, hanging her purse on one of the hooks I adhered to the wall just beside the door. And then she’s in my arms, pressing up on her toes, her lips on mine.
“Since when are you sorry for cursing?”
I breathe a laugh against her lips, my shoulders releasing a little now that I’m holding her. “I don’t know. I just…” I pause, shaking my head. “You’re radiant, Erin. As always.”
“Thank you,” she says with a little blush playing on her cheeks. “And you,” she comments next, holding my arms as she pulls back and lets her eyes trail down the length of me. “Are wearing a suit.” She looks at me again. “In your own house.”
I didn’t think it was funny until she said it, and now, I feel about as idiotic as any guy can.
I laugh, kissing her cheek before I release her. “Can’t a guy dress up for his girlfriend for date night?”
“You can dress up for me any time you want,” she says, looping her arm through mine. “But just so you know, you could have worn sweatpants and I’d have loved it just as much.”
“Oh, I know why you love my sweatpants,” I tease.
She giggles, hiding her blush as she presses her face into my chest. But then, she pulls back, sniffing at something in the air and frowning. “Um… is something burning?”
I balk, eyes nearly bulging out of my head as I rip from her grasp and jog across the entryway back to the kitchen.
“Ah, Christ,” I curse when I make it back to the stove and see the burning, ruined sauce in the pan. I cut the burner and pull the pan over to a burner that’s not on, sighing as I debate whether the sauce is salvageable.
It’s not.
Erin chuckles when she comes up behind me, her arms wrapping around my waist, chin resting between the lower part of my shoulder blades. “Whoops.”
I shake my head. “I’m so stupid.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am.”
“You were distracted.”
“Still, I knew I had it on, I should have turned the heat down or come back over or—”
Erin tugs on me until I turn and face her. “It’s okay, Clinton.”
The sound of my name on her lips has me closing my eyes and letting out a soft breath.
“We can order in,” she continues. “I have to pee, but when I get out, I’ll look on my phone and see what’s around here. Okay? It’s all good. We’ll find something to eat, I promise.”
I nod, but still don’t open my eyes, not until she kisses my cheek and hurries off to the bathroom connected to my bedroom.
The house I found to rent after graduation is small, old, built sometime in the 1940s.
It’s a two-bedroom, one-and-a-half bath with a small fenced-in yard and a porch.
The floors creak and the plumbing needs updating, but it has charm, and the landlord gave me a price that even Erin said was too good to be true for this close to downtown.
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I finally move from the spot where Erin left me, grabbing the pan like it’s a poor bastard I’m about to pulverize in a street fight.
I hastily scrub the charred contents into the trash can and then toss the pan in the sink, turning the water hot as I fill it and squeezing a healthy amount of soap in to soak.
Erin comes back into the kitchen silently, and when I turn and find her watching me with a soft smile and a red rose petal in her hand, all the blood drains from my face.
I completely forgot I had the room all set up — candles, rose petals, music. I thought if she used the restroom, she’d use the half bath in the living area.
“Shit…” I murmur mostly to myself, shoulders deflating as I pinch the bridge of my nose.
I just stay like that, unsure what to say, unsure whether I should try to explain myself or just pretend like I don’t see her standing there. But with a chuckle, Erin crosses the room and sneaks her way into my arms, forcing me to release the hold on my nose so I can wrap her up, instead.
“Hey,” she whispers, waiting until I meet her eyes. “Talk to me. What’s going on?” She frowns then, grabbing ahold of my biceps. “You’re shaking.”
“Because I’m nervous as hell.”
She barks out a laugh at that. “You? Nervous? I didn’t think you were even capable of that emotion.”
“That makes two of us.”
Her brows fold together over her soft brown eyes as they search mine. “Talk to me.”
I sigh, folding my hands behind the small of her back, but my eyes are across the room. “I just wanted everything to be perfect tonight.”
I swallow, unsure what else to say. The right words don’t exist for this moment, and I’ve already fucked it all to hell, so I don’t even feel confident enough to try.
Erin slides her hands up my chest, over my shoulders, up still until she’s cradling my face and angling it toward her. My nose flares as I drop my gaze to meet hers.
“I don’t need a fancy dinner or rose petals or candles or you in a suit,” she says, glancing at my tie as she does. “Although, you do look sexy as hell in it.”
I smirk.
Her eyes find mine again, endlessly warm and inviting. She slides her fingertips back to hold my neck, her nails brushing the tender skin and setting off a wave of chills.
“I just need you,” she whispers.
I nod, dropping my forehead down until it meets hers on a long inhale from both of us.
“Clinton?”
“Mm?”
“Take me to bed.”
Fuck, the things those words do to me, the animalistic way my body responds — gripping her tighter, heart racing, cock already thickening in my slacks. It’s like she owns me, like those four words were a snap of her fingers, and now I’m at her beck and call, ready to do whatever she wants.
Whatever she needs.
With something between a growl and an exhale, I bend down and swoop her into my arms, my lips on hers just in time to catch her giggle of surprise as I carry her down the short hall to my room.
This girl is my drug.
I realize it distantly as I carry her back, chasing her tongue with mine, savoring each little gasp and moan along with the little buzz they give me.
I could never put into words what it is with her, what it’s always been with her.
All I know is that in the very depths of my existence, there’s one thought that overcomes me any time I’m with her.
Mine.
Even when she wasn’t.