Chapter Eight – Wren
Reese doesn’t live that far from campus, although there are plenty of blocks between his house and the rentals that upper grads typically take up. It’s a nice, newer house, and as we pull into the driveway, I can’t help but be in awe.
“This is your house? Are you renting it?” I ask him.
His easy smile is back. “Uh, yes, it’s my house, and no, I’m not renting it.” He brings the car to the attached garage and pulls in. Together we get out, and he leads me into the house, giving me a short tour of the first floor.
The kitchen is newly-updated, with nice wooden cabinets and stone countertops.
Not the kind of cheap fixtures you find in most houses.
You can tell whoever built it had some money.
Even in the living room, nothing is out of place.
Everything is perfect. The wooden floor, the rectangular area rug, all of it.
It’s almost like an interior designer came and decorated the whole place—again, reminiscent of someone who has money.
After living with Sloane, I think I can see the signs pretty well now.
“It’s really nice,” I say as he takes my coat and hangs it on a rack near the front door. We left our shoes near the man door to the garage. “How do you afford this on a professor’s salary?”
“I won the lottery” is his first answer, one that in no way, shape, or form lands. We sit on the couch together, the remote nearby, and he more seriously says, “My family is actually pretty well off. I could pay all my bills from the interest alone I make every month. I work because I enjoy it.”
“Wow,” I whisper, leaning back on the couch. “That’s crazy.”
“Would you like anything to drink?”
“I’ll take water, if you have any.” I want to smack myself. What kind of person doesn’t have water? At the very least, there’s tap water—which is nasty, but if that’s all there is, then I’ll settle for taking small sips.
Have to stay hydrated and all that.
Reese shoots back, “I might be fresh out. Let me check. Here, while I’m gone, you can find something to watch.” After handing me the remote, he gets up and wanders over to the kitchen, leaving to get me some water.
I use the opportunity to send a quick message to Sloane, just to let her know where I am and that I’m not sure what time I’ll be coming home.
Her response is practically immediate: Have fun.
I don’t let myself linger on that message longer than necessary, turning my attention to the TV across from the couch.
I don’t really care about watching anything; I’m just here to spend more time with Reese, but I do end up putting on a movie before he comes back with a glass of water and some ice cubes in it. As he sits down beside me, he says, “Fresh from the filter.”
I take the glass and thank him before taking a small sip.
Of course, it’s only after I take a sip that I think that, maybe, accepting a glass of water that I didn’t see get poured is probably not a smart thing to do, but you know what?
I don’t think Reese is that kind of guy, someone who’d go so far as to drug me.
Still, once the thought is in my head, I stop at the first sip and lean forward to place the glass on the coffee table.
By the time I lean back, I find that he set his right arm on the upper couch cushion, which means I have to sit with his arm behind my head. I assume he did it on purpose so he could be closer, and I don’t complain. In fact, as I get comfortable, it’s actually kind of nice.
“This is better than seeing a movie at the theater,” he whispers. “I get to sit closer to you.”
Even though he can’t see me smile, one still tugs at my lips. “Yeah, except the popcorn. Nothing beats that buttery, salty popcorn.”
“First the bread and now movie theater popcorn. I can get behind the bread, but the popcorn doesn’t hurt your stomach after a few hours?”
I giggle. “No, that’s just a you thing.”
The movie starts playing. It’s a mix between an action flick and a rom-com, something that I thought we both might like. I don’t really know what kind of things Reese likes to watch, but I suppose, if there are more dates between us in the future, knowledge of that sort will come with time.
And, regardless, if I’m honest here, I’m hardly paying attention to the movie, especially after I start leaning against him and resting my head against his shoulder.
It’s easy, for some reason. It feels like we’ve done this countless of times already, like this isn’t the first time I’ve been to his house, like this isn’t our first date. It’s effortless. It’s like there’s a string tying us together, pulling us closer, and we are just going with the flow.
Maybe I am still a romantic, because this sure does feel like fate.
Beyond that, it makes me feel so much better knowing that things don’t have to be hot and cold.
I don’t have to have that tug of war like I had with Logan.
Whether or not this will go anywhere in the long-term, I can’t say since it’s way too early for that, but at this point, I don’t even care if it does.
I’m living in the moment, seizing the day and enjoying it, for the first time in my life.
A sigh leaves me as I lean my cheek against Reese’s shoulder, and he leans his head against the top of mine as he asks, “Everything all right?”
“Yeah,” I whisper back. “This is just… really, really nice. I think I forgot what nice can feel like.” As I say that, I feel his hand touch the side of my face, and I angle my head a bit differently in response, and when I do, I see that he’s staring at me and not the TV.
He lifted his head off mine and slightly turned his top half, just a bit, just enough.
He says exactly what I’ve been thinking, “It does feel easy, doesn’t it?” As he says it, his fingertips trace my jaw, stopping when they reach my chin. Inside my chest, my heart pitters and patters in anticipation, and fortunately enough, I don’t have to wait too long.
He kisses me. It’s not the best angle, but we make it work.
His mouth is softer than I thought it would be, and so much warmer.
Firm, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, how much he can take from me.
The arm behind me curls around me, and we slightly shift our positions on the couch so that I’m pretty much on his lap, our mouths never breaking apart.
It’s different, kissing Reese. There’s passion there, yes, but it isn’t blind like it was with Logan or something that I was used to with Mike. This particular passion fills me with a certain kind of heat, a deep-seated longing. Every part of me is buzzing.
I wrap my arms around his head and kiss him back.
I don’t want to be the girl who always plays it safe.
Last semester I tried doing things out of my comfort zone, and those things didn’t exactly win me any awards, but this feels too good to resist, way too good to stop.
How can something this perfect be wrong?
It’s like we were always meant to end up like this, tangled up on the couch together, getting lost in each other. I’m not scared or nervous; it’s literally as perfect as something could be. I never want this moment to end.
Reese labors to pull his mouth off mine, panting heavily as he murmurs, “You’re driving me crazy, Wren, you know that?” His hands roam up and down my back as he holds me against him, leaning his forehead against mine. Each word he says rings true.
“The feeling is mutual,” I whisper back, and though his face is so close to mine he’s blurry, I know he’s grinning at me after that, dimples and all.
I’m well aware this could be another mistake on my part, but at this point, what’s one more?
What’s the possibility of one more mistake when, on the flip side, the alternative is having a man like Reese all to myself?
I don’t know any girl that would turn something like that down.
He’s… well, he’s the very definition of yummy.
“If you stay,” he warns me, “if we continue this… I don’t know that I’ll want to stop.”
I suck in a hard breath. For some reason, hearing him say that makes me clench my thighs together. It’s kind of sexy, hearing him say he’ll lose all control if we don’t take a step back. What makes me even more stunned is the mere fact that I don’t want to, I don’t want this to stop.
I want to continue. I want us to keep going, and wherever we end up, I’m here for the ride.
Jeez. Who am I? Certainly not Wren Lyons.
Not the girl who always wanted to be perfect, the girl who had, at one point in time, been saving herself for marriage.
I don’t recognize myself, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing, is it?
Life changes you. The people you come in contact with change you.
There’s no point in holding onto yesterday.
I bring my lips to his ear and whisper, “I don’t want to stop.” It’s about as bold as I can be, but my meaning is clear. Kissing him is nice and all, yes; I could do it all night, but honestly I want more.
The hands on my back move to cup my face, and Reese still grins at me like I’m the prize he’s been waiting for his whole life. “Then maybe we should abandon this movie and take things upstairs?” Still a question, an offer, one I could theoretically refuse. He’s leaving the choice in my hands.
There is no choice. No either-or. There’s only one thing I can say to him, and it’s “Take me upstairs.” Take me upstairs and make me yours.
I don’t need to repeat myself. He kisses me again, just a short, fast kiss, and then he moves his hands beneath my butt. He stands, picking me up in one smooth motion, and I cling to him as he carries me through his house.
Up the stairs we go, turning into what must be his bedroom. The man must like dark colors. As soon as he turns on the lamp on the nightstand, I see dark wooden furniture, along with steel gray-colored sheets. They’re soft and comfortable, and even the mattress below feels like home.