Chapter Nineteen
Amiya
I lost my virginity in college. I know, hard to believe in this day and age that a girl’s hymen could make it to the ripe old age of eighteen, but mine did.
I’ve had a few lovers since Stephen Hill’s lackluster deflowering, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve achieved multiple orgasms at someone’s hand other than my own.
Never have any of them achieved a three-peat.
I’ve heard other women wax poetic about what great lovers their men were and even listened as Avie described how Sebastian’s sexual abilities could make her soul leave her body, but I never believed the hype.
Until now.
When I awaken to the smell of bacon cooking, my body is still boneless from the thorough attention it received last night, and I have to force my limbs to comply with my desire for nourishment and get up out of bed.
I toss on a pair of terry-cloth lounge shorts and a tee and make my way to the kitchen, where a shirtless Lennon is standing in a pair of sweatpants.
“Good morning,” he says as he removes a pan from the burner and turns off the element.
I grab a mug from above the sink and shuffle to the coffee maker, where he has a full pot waiting.
His arms come around me, and he sets a carton of milk on the counter next to the sugar bowl.
“Breakfast is almost ready,” he says into my hair.
“Thanks.”
I fill my mug with coffee and an unnecessary amount of milk and sugar. I like my coffee light and sweet. Then, I take a seat at the island and watch as he moves effortlessly around the small space.
“You cook.” I state the obvious.
He shrugs. “I’m not the best, but I can scramble an egg.”
“I guess they probably teach you that skill in the Navy, huh?”
“Not really. However, I did share a house with one of our culinary specialist trainees once, and I picked up a few tricks from him. Most of my knowledge comes from Nana. She didn’t want me to starve when I was out on my own, so she taught me a few things,” he says as he loads two plates with bacon, eggs, and toast.
He slides one in front of me and hands me a fork.
“My grandmother tried to teach me, but I was a horrible student. My culinary skills end at frozen waffles and pizzas. Although I can snazzy up a frozen pizza like a champ. Toss on a little extra mozzarella and sprinkle on some fresh basil, serve with a Chianti, and, voilà, gourmet on a budget,” I declare.
He chuckles. “I’ll have to try that sometime,” he says as he takes a bite out of a strip of bacon.
I pick up my fork and dig in. My stomach is grateful for the sustenance.
“What’s on the bridal agenda for today?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I exclaim. “Avie has to work. They have a nest that’s hatching early on the east side, and Momma C and Milly are driving to Charlotte to pick up the bridesmaid dresses. So, after I FaceTime a few clients, I can spend the rest of the afternoon working on my tan.”
Avie works for the Sandcastle Cove Sea Turtle Rescue and Rehabilitation Center. They patrol and protect the nests of the endangered species on the island as well as lead conservation efforts.
He glances from me to the windows and back. “Not sure you’re going to get much sunbathing in today. Looks like it’s going to be a rainy one.”
I look over my shoulder to see the dark clouds looming outside. “Boo,” I mutter. “Guess I’ll have to settle for vegging on the couch.”
“Want some company?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“He’s so going to tap out,” I say.
Lennon and I are lying on opposite ends of the couch, in our pajamas, our legs intertwined under a blanket, and we’ve been binge-watching Naked and Afraid .
“Not yet, man. It’s only day four,” he shouts at the screen.
When the man calls for a medic to look at an infected bug bite, Lennon shakes his head and curses under his breath.
“Told you. The men almost always tap out and leave the women to fend for themselves. Tragic,” I say.
“I’d never do that,” he mutters.
“Riiight,” I say sarcastically. “I’d definitely make it the twenty-one days, but I don’t think you’d make it that long,” I say.
He lifts his head from the armrest and looks at me in disbelief. “You think you’d survive in the African desert and I wouldn’t?”
“That’s right.”
“And why is that?” he asks.
“It’s common sense. You’re all big and muscular, and you’d need way too much protein to keep all that”—I wave my hand up his body—“running, and you’d get all weak and pissy by day three. Plus, you have this need to be in control, which the environment wouldn’t cooperate with, and your mental state would plummet.”
“You think I can’t handle things being out of my control?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
He laughs. “I’ve spent months at sea,” he says.
“Yes. On a ship. With a highly trained crew. One that you were probably the boss of,” I point out.
“I wasn’t always the boss,” he says.
“Admit it. You like things done your way, Sailor.”
He looks away, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “And you don’t?”
“I do. Which is why I’d make it. I’m stubborn, and I don’t like to lose; plus, I require fewer calories.”
“If you say so, Legs.”
The male does indeed get extracted from the desert, and the female makes it to the end.
We start another episode, but when Mr. Survival Guide from Montana taps out on day six, Lennon grabs the remote and clicks the television off.
We lie there in silence for a while before he speaks. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, shoot.”
“The other night, when I asked about your parents, you said you didn’t have any.”
“Yeah.”
“Why did you say that?”
“Because we were playing Truth or Dare and it’s the truth.”
“Everybody has parents,” he states.
“No, they don’t,” I say.
He huffs out a frustrated breath.
“It’s true. Not everyone gets Sebby and Sabel Hollister or James and Milly Harraway. Some of us just have egg and sperm donors.”
“Okay,” he concedes. “What happened to them?”