Chapter Twelve Healing
“Okay, today is your lucky day. Danica and Shane have off the last weekend in August. So do I. If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, we’re bringing the mountain to Mohammed!”
I stare at my phone. Words do not make sense.
Mouth does not move.
Body is... So incredibly sore, and feels so incredibly good at the same time.
“What time is it?” I ask through sticky lips. I think I’m dehydrated.
That would make sense. I never knew orgasms could dehydrate a person, but if you hit double digits, then yes. Probably. I could ask Meghan. She’s a nurse, after all.
“Are you day drinking? It’s like ten in the morning, and I’m on break, so get your rear in gear. Last weekend in August, girls’ weekend, in the mountains? Your mountains, specifically. Sound good?”
I nod, then it occurs to me that we’re not on a video call and she can’t see me—which is a damn good thing. I am a naked, well-loved disaster, and my hair, usually so well-behaved and manageable, feels like it’s a helmet of tangles. “Yes, that sounds good,” I croak.
“Girl, what’s wrong? Are you sick?” Meghan switches tone from teasing to concerned.
“I’m not. I’m... I’m so good.” I decide not to mention the fire, especially since my feet and hand are no longer blistered, just a little stiff and sore.
“You don’t sound good, you sound—”
“Brunch in bed for my beautiful Andrea,” Gordon announces, strolling in with a makeshift tray made out of a storage tote lid, piled with enough bagels and quiche to feed a family of six, and glasses of milk, water, and orange juice.
“Brunch in bed? Beautiful Andrea? Girrrrrrl!” Meghan squeals.
Gordon freezes at the foot of the bed, his proud, happy look gone.
I hate that. “Baby, I love it! Thank you! And I’m super dehydrated, so you’re just the best ever. Three drinks to choose from.”
“I think you should drink all of them. Uh. I can come back.” He looks at the phone in my hand.
“You can stay. I’m going to brag about you, though.”
Gordon puts the tray down on his side of the bed, which has been smoothed out—and is also about eighty percent of the space. “Um. I don’t think...”
“I don’t think you’re used to being bragged about.” I smile at him and grab the water, wanting his smile to come back. “Best boyfriend ever.”
“Okay. I need details. Also, I’m calling fair trade. Miss a cruise but get a boyfriend who brings you brunch and is brag-worthy? I have fifteen minutes, and I want all the details.”
Gordon looks visibly shaken by that comment, and I know with Meghan’s loud, excited voice he can hear her. “Uh. I’m going to go clean Chopin’s litterbox and make coffee.”
For a mountain of a man, he can move fast when he wants. “Come back soon. I miss you!” I call out, and I don’t care if I sound soppy.
Gordon stops, turns in the door, and gives me the sweetest, most besotted grin. The tusks and the way his strong jaw goes all soft when he smiles? Damn, he is too adorable for words. “I love you, my Andrea,” he whispers.
I swallow. I know I’m going to catch hell from Meghan for saying it back.
And I decide I don’t care. “I love you, too, my Gordon,” I say, blowing him a kiss.
It’s worth all the lecturing in the world to watch him practically skip away, calling softly for Chopin.
“All right. Before I call your mother and all the titas, spill.”
I can picture Meghan in her scrubs, probably sitting in her car, arms crossed as she gives me a stern stare worthy of Tita Carla.
“The day I missed the cruise, Chopin was up a tree. The hot firefighter who saved him? That’s the guy who just rocked my world all afternoon and most of the night.
He’s sweet, he’s shy, he loves the piano, he’s built like a mountain of Greek god, he loves my cat—oh, he made Chopin his own little breakfast plate of lox yesterday—and he’s hung like a firehose.
I am living my best life. And I love him. Hit me with all the lectures.”
To my surprise, Meghan doesn’t hit me with anything but a soft sniffle. “Really? You love him?”
“He loves me, too. He doesn’t have any family, and everyone in town knows him and respects him.
He’s such a thoroughly good person. But I’m not being blinded by love or infatuation.
” I hope. “I know he has faults. He grew up in a very... Well, almost like an isolated cult. He has a lot to learn about pop culture. He’s socially awkward.
He would just grunt at small talk, and he’s the definition of the ‘strong, silent’ type. ”
“But he made you brunch in bed and just cheerfully volunteered to clean the cat box. If he knows his way around the va-jay-jay zones, I’d keep him.”
I look towards the door. I can hear Gordon’s voice, that deep, steady rumble, and it’s far enough away for me to know that he's talking to Chopin, or maybe making a phone call to the station, from the living room. In a conspiratorial whisper, I hiss, “Best sex ever. Ever, ever, ever. Like, the bar wasn’t high before, but it’s going to be skyscraper high now.
” I close my eyes and hug myself, remembering how Gordon woke me in the middle of the night with soft kisses on my neck, just hugging me so tight.
Hugs slowly turned into massages, and then the most steady, sweet, deliberate exploration of every inch of me.
His little whispers of how lucky he was to have me, how much he loved me, how I was his dream come true.
He melted my heart a hundred times over, and unlike some slick guy with a smooth line, I knew Gordon was being sincere. Sweet. Gentle.
Before he turned me into a howling wildcat with rounds of sex that left puddles on the sheets and may have caused a partial blackout.
I clear my throat to stop thinking about last night. For one thing, my pussy starts to throb at the thoughts, and that actually hurts. Everything got stretched to new limits down there, and I bet if I tried walking, I’d look like one of those bow-legged cowboys from the Old West.
“You zoned out on me. Are you doing something freaky, you crazy bitch?” Meghan gasps.
“No! No, Gordon left the room, and don’t get me started on freaky things. Danica told me she has enough dirt on you and Shane from the cruise to blackmail you for life.”
“Oh. Yeah. That’s kind of a mutual threat, though. All of us did some highly questionable things.”
“I’m not questioning what I did. I’m proud to be with Gordon... But I was thinking about last night and realizing that if I try to get up, my legs will probably collapse.”
“Yep. Husband him up.” Meghan giggles. “So, have you told your parents?”
“That I was with him on the 4th of July, yes, and that we were dating. I didn’t tell them all of this stuff, obviously. Mom would die. Dad would go after him with one of his aviation wrenches. Gordon would probably just look slightly pained, and not even bruise.
“When do they meet him?”
“Soon,” I say, and shrug. I’m not letting Gordon go.
My parents will like him. He’s a solid citizen, and no, he’s not a CPA or CEO, but he’s solid, mature, and a real-live hero.
He has his own home. He’s incredibly intelligent, too.
I can tell by how fast he picks things up, not to mention all he had to learn of the world to survive, and he had no real help to do it.
“What’s he look like? Send pics!”
I scroll through my phone. I did take a picture on the night of the fireworks, the two of us standing in front of the firetruck.
I hit send, wondering what our selfie will look like to Meghan.
I look at it now and can tell Gordon is a troll; I can clearly see the greenish skin and the tusks.
Two nights ago, when that photo was taken—he looked human to me.
Meghan squeals. I hold my breath. I don’t know if that’s a squeal of delight or shock. “What?” I whisper.
“You bagged a total hottie! And like, I’m talking Daddy. How old is he?”
“Thirty-two.”
“Oh, God, he’s financially and emotionally mature, and he has a jawline like that? I’m dying. I’m dying of jealousy. I want to move to Pine Ridge and get me one of those.”
“Stop,” I giggle. “What about Mr. Harvard Law?”
“He’s Mr. Sends Casual Texts if I text him first. The sex was only good on vacation, too, I’ve come to realize. Like, if I have to be drunk to enjoy it, it probably wasn’t worth shaving my legs.”
I have to fight to stuff down the urge to brag.
Gordon loves me smoke-ravaged and blistered.
Gordon shampooed my hair. If I were covered in fur, Gordon would love me, and probably brush me so I didn’t get hairballs.
“Yep. He’s a keeper. Oh, he bought me little music note earrings. For no reason at all.”
“Shut up.”
“I’ll send you pictures—once I can actually stand up.”
“My Andrea? You can’t stand? Did I... Did I strain your muscles?” Gordon peeps his head around the door with a worried look.
Meghan snort-laughs in my ears. “God, he sounds like such a teddy bear.”
“You strained all of my muscles in the very bestest way, baby,” I reassure.
“Want me to carry you into the shower again? I think I mussed your hair. Significantly.”
“Again? Oh, if you tell me this man has shampooed your hair, I am going to... I don’t know what. Dying of envy is a possibility.”
“I don’t want you to die, so I won’t tell you that.” I slowly stretch and stand up, clutching the wall with one hand as I do.
Gordon’s expression is instantly gratifying. Raw, covetous, and needy. Just from looking at my sleep-wrinkled body and wild bedhead.
My eyes travel down his body. He’s shirtless and wearing boxers.
Boxers that have a huge bulge now. “Again?” I gasp.
He blushes. “Well. Soon?”
“I gotta go, Meg.”
“Does he have a brother?” Meghan shouts as I end the call.
“She wouldn’t like my brothers,” Gordon sighs, and his expression saddens.
I stumble towards him, and then let gravity do its thing, landing on my knees in front of him.
Gordon’s eyes go comically wide as I slowly pull his boxers over his cock, letting the big green rod fly free. “Oh.”
“This will cheer you up,” I wink, and wrap my hand and mouth around him.
The next two days are so satisfying. Andrea is healing.