33. Something, Someone
33
SOMETHING, SOMEONE
Gage
Over the next few weeks, we fall into a surprisingly easy routine. School, the occasional fall softball practice, taking Amanda to ceramics class and Eliza to karate. The four of us spend Thanksgiving together, eating at Grams’ house and having too much food and too much fun. Amanda is right—the sides are the best part.
So are dinners at our so-called vacation home when I’m not at the bar.
And I’m not always at the bar.
Sticks and Stones is busier than it was before—a lot busier thanks to the word of mouth from Special Edition—but I’m able to hire a couple new servers and an extra bartender, while Zoe and Grams handle managing the place when I’m not around.
Like, when I’m having dinner with the women in my life. My temporary life .
I try not to think about the looming end date too much because this —life as I know it—is too good.
One morning in December, I wake up next to Elodie in the early dawn, the sky still inky dark, the stars still winking. After slipping out of bed early, I head to my room to pull on running shorts and a long-sleeve shirt. Late fall in San Francisco is never too cold. I’m about to pad out of here quietly but something pulls me back to Elodie’s room.
Something.
Please.
More like someone. Someone I’m addicted to. Someone I can’t resist.
Elodie’s curled up under the white duvet looking devilishly angelic with her blonde hair spilled across the pillow, all mussed up from sex last night. I head to her, dropping a kiss to her cheek, murmuring devotions against her skin. “Thanks for taking Eliza to school,” I say.
“I haven’t seen you run since that first night at the shop,” she muses. “When you took off for chocolate.”
“I work out, woman .”
She turns toward me, smiles sleepily, eyes roaming up and down. “I’m aware of that. It’s just usually at the gym.”
There’s a gym right next to the bar, and I try to get in quick workouts before work though sometimes I work out in my brother’s gym. But today I’m taking off for a rare morning run with a friend. I need to meet Monroe in twenty minutes.
“I appreciate you letting me get this time now,” I say sincerely since she’s taking them to school, and that’s how I have time to run with a friend. It’s a gift to have a little help with parenting.
I come in for one more kiss before I go. As I brush my lips to hers, I catch the taste of her breath—minty fresh. “Did you brush your teeth?”
I know what this means. She loves morning sex but hates morning breath.
She just smiles wickedly my way.
“Fuck,” I groan, then glance at the time. Monroe’s house is ten minutes away.
“It’s okay. I have toys,” she says, a teasing note in her voice, and a delicious image lodged in my brain now. Elodie fucking herself with a dildo.
My nostrils flare. “I’m your fucking toy.”
She casts her gaze down to my shorts. “Then use that toy on me.”
In a nanosecond, I shed my clothes, climb into bed, and slide a hand between her thighs. Silky paradise. “Baby, were you playing with yourself when I was getting dressed?”
She rocks up into my fingers, so eager, so ready. “I was. I want you.”
My chest rumbles. “My wife is so fucking horny.”
She gasps, parting her lips, her head falling back onto the pillow.
“You love it when I call you that,” I observe, stroking her as she turns wetter and hotter. I dip my face to her neck, murmuring up to her ear, whispering hotly, “ My wife .”
“I do like it,” she says, arching her hips, seeking more of my fingers. “Do you like calling me that?”
This is just a game. A word game. A sex game. And still, I play it, taking her hand and curling it around my cock. I’m steel right now. “That’s how much I like it.”
“Gage,” she moans. “Fuck me.”
I can’t deny her. I love teasing her hot, wet pussy with my fingers. Driving her wild with my touch. But I relent, giving in to her gorgeous demand.
I let go of her then smack the side of her ass. “Get on all fours like a good wife.”
With a naughty grin, she gazes at me from under her blonde hair, then shifts to her hands and knees. Taking her time. Getting in position.
“Is this how you want me?” she asks, so innocent, and yet not at all as she offers me her beautiful body.
Back arched. Ass up. Hungry eyes on me.
Dear god. She’s fucking incredible. All soft and warm, aroused and eager. As I kneel behind her, I run a hand down her body. My fingers are electric from touching her. “Just. Like. This.”
I rub the head of my dick against her slick heat, then sink inside.
“Oh god,” she gasps, then thrusts a hand between her thighs.
Holy fuck. She’s so damn ready.
Before I can even fill her to the hilt, she’s stroking herself feverishly, using me to get off, and I can barely stand how good this feels.
The heat of her pussy.
The smell of her desire.
The strength of her want.
I drive into her, gripping her hips mercilessly as she plays with herself, getting closer and closer then arching her back.
Soon, she’s groaning, almost too loud. “Quiet, baby,” I warn.
But she can’t seem to help herself. She can’t stop moaning. I slide one hand up her chest, coasting over those bouncing tits, up her throat, then I cover her mouth.
Her breath stutters against my palm before she mutters a strangled “coming.”
Seconds later, I am too, the morning blurring into pleasure, then I collapse onto her, holding her close, wrapping her in my arms.
Her heart beats against my hands. It’s addictive. Just like her. I don’t want to leave.
“You need to go,” she whispers.
“I know,” I say reluctantly.
But first, I head into the en suite bathroom, grab a washcloth, and return to clean her up. When I’m done, I kiss her goodbye. “Thanks again,” I say.
She knows I don’t mean the sex. She knows I mean the early morning run with a friend. Something I haven’t done since I was in the majors. “Anytime,” she says, and I feel a pang of missing.
For the anytime with us that won’t happen, even though I almost, almost believe that it could.
I go, sliding into sneakers then leaving my brother’s house and this perfect morning behind. Once outside, I pick up the pace and sprint a couple blocks to Monroe’s home. I make up the minutes lost. He’s exiting right as I’m arriving, and he hits the ground running with a crisp nod.
Together, we run toward the Golden Gate Bridge. “We haven’t done a morning run in a long time,” he says.
“I know. Elodie is taking the girls to school,” I explain.
He shoots me a curious look. “Aren’t you domestic?”
I flash back over the last few weeks. We’ve been busy, yes. But we’ve made time for dinners together. For mac and cheese, for couscous and cauliflower, for salads and pasta dishes, for rice and beans and Thai noodles. “Eliza has started eating just like Amanda,” I tell him. “Vegetarian too.”
“So the girls’ habits are rubbing off on each other.”
“They’re scarily alike,” I say, picturing the way the girls interact. “Amanda’s into pottery. She’s so talented she made me a vase for the bar and I filled it with some fall lilies, and now people are asking where to get it. She applied to art school and should find out soon. But I know she’ll get in. She’s that good.”
Monroe arches a brow as we near the bridge. “That’s impressive.”
“Art school. I know,” I say, pride rushing through my bones.
“I meant you knowing all the details about Elodie’s little sister,” he corrects with the thoughtful cadence of a shrink since, well, he is one.
“It is?”
“You care about her,” he observes.
“No shit. She’s a good kid. She likes Eliza, and she’s got this fierce attitude about the world and women. She loves board games and art and rolling her eyes and hanging out with her friends, and she has strong opinions but a tender heart.”
“That last one sounds like your wife.”
I slow my pace as we near the bridge, absorbing that observation for a moment. “That’s true. They have a lot in common,” I say, maybe smiling, maybe sounding a little hooked. Or a lot. “This run with you this morning—it was Elodie’s idea,” I say, giving him more insight into why I’m able to run with him.
“And you’re letting this woman get away at the end of the year?” he says.
It’s like a punch in the gut—the reminder of the end of the year.
“I can’t keep her just because she helps out with the kids…I mean, my kid.”
“But it sounds like you meant kids plural.” That’s the problem with having a therapist as a friend. They can read between the lines far too well.
“Look, it’s nice, all right? There. Are you happy?”
“Aww, was it hard for you to admit your feelings?”
“Nope. It’s more than nice. It’s great,” I say easily, just to prove I can talk about my emotions, even if they’re going nowhere. But I don’t want to spend too much time on things I can’t have so I take a detour. “Business is going great.”
I barely want to breathe this out loud, but I’m finally feeling like the security I’ve been seeking is in my grasp. “I’ve got a meeting with Celeste later in the month about the second location. I still need to make sure my ideas for her are amazing.”
The truth is I haven’t really added any marketing ideas beyond the fairy lights. Beyond the games. I probably should. I definitely should. But I’ve been having too much fun with the girls and with the woman in my brother’s house to think about more than them.
“I’m sure you’ll impress her,” Monroe says as we reach the mouth of the bridge, weaving past other morning warriors as we run through the fog. “And all I can say is this domestic life is treating you well.”
It is. But soon it won’t. Soon it’ll end. A weight sinks in my gut. I don’t want to think about the end of the year. “What about you? What about the crush you’ve had on your fellow podcaster for years?” I ask, turning the convo back on him.
Monroe’s brow knits, like I’ve tossed him a math problem he can’t untangle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Juliet. I listen to the two of you. You have that frenemies vibe,” I say.
“You listen to me. That’s so sweet.”
“Don’t change the subject,” I say.
“Don’t you change the subject. What are you going to do at the end of this year, Gage?”
There it is again. The inevitable end. The end we’ve always been moving toward since before we were married. Since we were just fake fiancés.
But it’s an end I want less and less each day.
I drag a hand through my hair as my lungs work hard, my breath coming fast.
The end of the year is the expiration date I don’t want to face. “I’ll figure it out,” I say as casually as I can. “There’s a lot happening before then. In a week I’ll be taking a trip with Eliza when she finishes the semester. I always take her to Darling Springs for the night. She loves it there.”
Monroe shudders at the mention of the small town along the coast.
“Come on. Your hometown isn’t that bad,” I say.
“Maybe,” he grumbles.
But as I think about the annual trip, for the first time I feel like something is missing. Or maybe someone .
I run harder, faster through the fog on the bridge, and as I peel off the miles I start to wonder—what if we don’t end? And what can I do to romance my wife before time runs out?