Chapter 9
Nine
Quincy
A part of me worried that Reef would roll over and go to sleep with loud, husband-like snores.
But then another part of me panicked at the thought of awkward pillow talk.
What actually happens next is none of those things.
“Tell me about the posters.”
At first, I’m not sure what he’s talking about as I lie here, blissed out, against his massive chest.
“Hm? Oh. Yeah. Long story.”
“I got time.”
I smile and settle back against the pillows because this man? Throws off a ton of heat, and my cheek is getting sweaty.
“Most of those are Off-Broadway. It all started about five years ago when my teacher friends and I decided to spend spring break in New York City. Obviously, Broadway shows are expensive, so we do what we can afford.”
He nods. I can’t believe Reef is interested in this. “Sometimes we get ticket deals on major shows, but my favorites are actually the plays I hadn’t heard of before. To commemorate every trip, I buy a poster from each one.”
Pointing to an unsettling black and white sketch of a screaming chicken that came from a new play that closed after a week, I say, “That one was the hardest poster to find after the fact. Welcome to my weirdness.”
“Not weird,” Reef says. “Though, I do have opinions about you having a painting of a woman who’s about to drown herself over her fuck ass boyfriend.”
I crane my neck awkwardly, as if I need to make eye contact with Ophelia. “She was misunderstood. And I helped direct the theater department’s spring production of Hamlet last year, so I wanted something to commemorate that, too. Something prettier than, you know, a dude holding a skull.”
I’m not sure how I’ve found myself underneath Reef all of a sudden, but I forget to care as his lips descend on mine in a sweet kiss—all of our nakedness touching and rubbing together.
“I like you.”
I smile up at him. “Same.”
“I could fuck around with you all night.”
I smile bigger. “Okay.”
“Soon. Right now? I need to sleep and so do you.”
I bite my lip. “Sorry. I’ve been babbling and keeping you awake.”
“You misunderstand me. I want you to keep talking because I think it’s the only thing that can get me to go to sleep tonight. Okay?”
I nod, and he, regrettably, rolls off of me and makes a little spoon out of me.
“What do you want me to talk about?”
“Anything you want,” he murmurs into my shoulder.
I smile. “So I’m thinking about the theme for my classroom this year…” That will put him to sleep.
And judging by his breathing that quickly evens out as I talk about my ideas for a Lincoln Assassination timeline with so much detail that it wraps around the entire classroom, it surely does.
When I wake up the next morning solo in my bed, it’s still dark. And things are happening in the kitchen.
I smell sugar and vanilla, but most importantly, coffee. The idea that Reef is using my otherwise unused kitchen, which has been fairly untouched since my grandmother died, almost makes up for the fact that I woke up alone.
I decide to slip into the shower and get clean before he sees me, and thank god I do. When I glance in the mirror, I am horrified at my mussed hair and the makeup I never bothered to remove last night. What a wreck.
I don’t darken the doorway of the kitchen until I’m freshly scrubbed, hair done, teeth brushed, and morning breath conquered. I think I’m ready.
I’m so not ready for an all-but naked Reef in my kitchen.
Oh, baby.
He’s assembling the fully baked flag cake for me, piping on the icing and layering on perfect rows of strawberries, and wearing nothing but a towel.
I would make a beeline for the coffee, but I’m waiting for my knees to recover from the sight of Reef’s tight, rounded butt wrapped in my thin bath towel.
Those weak knees of mine aren’t just about the backs of Reef’s thick thighs flashing right in my face.
Or wondering how hard that knot in the towel is working.
For the record: very hard. No, this feeling of weakness, this sensation of unset jello in my stomach, is also nervousness.
If this is how comfortable Reef is after violating each other one time with no discussions, no ground rules or boundaries, then what would he be like as a boyfriend?
Or, dare I think it, a husband? It seems too good to be true that he would continue to be so kind and sexy and wonderful all at once.
Don’t I deserve that?
Sure. I deserve all of that, and I want all of that.
But with Reef? He’s my boss. We had a one-night connection. I have no expectations. Shouldn’t he be out the door, heading home to get ready for the race today?
He turns his head, sensing me standing there, staring. “G’morning,” he says, his eyes raking over me. “You’re dressed already?”
I go to the coffee machine and pour myself a cup. “Big day. I thought I’d get there early and get organized. Maybe decorate the store a little bit.”
He nods and goes back to layering the fruit on the cake. “Need some help?”
“I’m almost done here. Figured I’d get this all packed up for you and give you a ride back to your car.”
It takes two sips of coffee before that registers with me.
My car. Oh. That’s right. It’s still sitting in the supermarket parking lot, and I’m an idiot.
He’s not hanging around my house because he wants to do more of what we did last night, or to do husband things like make me breakfast and coffee.
He was waiting for me to get up so he could get going.
He got up early to make the cake, because he said he would help me, and he fulfilled his obligation.
Because Reef is a man of his word, that’s all.
The cake looks too pretty to eat when he’s done. Not half as pretty as the swirls of black fuzz on Reef’s bare chest, but we don’t need to talk about that.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling up at him. He meets my gaze and, for one too-short moment, remembers what we did last night. Where he kissed me. Where his tongue was. The way he stares at my mouth, I blush, remembering what I did to him, and the noises he made.
“It’s warm in here. Is the oven still on?”
He sort of smirks and shakes his head. “No.”
If I’m not mistaken, he’s glancing down further, and I have the feeling he can totally see my slutty little nipples through my tank top.
“Thanks again. For all the help.”
I don’t know why I’m thanking him again. I’m under-caffeinated and over-stimulated.
“Quincy.”
“Yes?”
A long pause follows. Reef looks like he wants to say something important but changes his mind. “I’ll just go throw on my clothes and we’ll go get your car.”
His tone has changed to that officious way he talks to me at work. The moment has passed.
Dammit. I should not have cared about how I looked with bed-mussed hair or smeared mascara. I should have just thrown on a bathrobe and been more flirtatious. I think that’s what he was expecting.
Instead, I showed up this morning looking all too eager to get to work and not talk about last night. He probably thinks I regretted it, and now I don’t know how to talk about it.
Well, that’s that.
That’s the end of whatever connection we had. And now I get to spend the day stranded with him, alone, in a boat on the lake, both of us feeling awkward as hell.
Get a job at the marina, they said. Have a fun summer in the sunshine and playing in the water, they said.
Or, in my case, fall for your big growly boss and act like an antisocial weirdo after having your coochie eaten for the first time in…oh god…years.
Just perfect.