Chapter Eight
I consider walking out—leaving him minutes after mind-blowing sex. The sort of sex I’d tell my grandkids about after I’d been drinking and started to ramble on, and then pretend I was just old and not still fantasizing about Ryerson Banks sixty years later.
I need to call Zoey. No. Shit—I can’t call Zoey. She directly said she didn’t want this to happen. Oh my God—she knew. She knew I’d have sex with him and fall in love and then get my heart broken and die alone. No, I definitely can’t call Zoey.
I nearly call Frankie to ask him what I should do, but thankfully, I’m not completely stupid. Even sweetheart Frankie wouldn’t want to have to talk me through a “sex was too good and now I’m scared I’m in love” conversation.
My dress is in tatters, and I’m pretty sure I can’t drive home in it. I walk over to Ryerson’s dresser, and pull open the top drawer. There’s a stack of clean white t-shirts, and I grab one and pull it on. It falls to mid-thigh, and when I turn, I catch my reflection in the mirror.
I smile, a little taken aback by my appearance. My curls are wild, my cheeks pink and flushed. I look like I’ve been thoroughly had, but in a really sexy way. Not like, dirty regret sex. This was the beginning of a long night of sex.
There’s a whistle from somewhere inside the house, and I open the bedroom door and go out there. It’s dark, the only light coming from the kitchen and living room area we were in earlier. It takes me a moment to find him, but I see Ryerson by the back door, and head over that way.
He looks over his shoulder, scanning me. “Holy shit, you look cute,” he says, holding out his hand. I take it, although I know I should be backing away from this entire situation.
He pulls me in, and kisses the side of my head. The breeze from the back door cools my skin, and it feels nice. I snuggle into Ryerson, just as he whistles again.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice a little hoarse from, I assume, screaming.
“My dog doesn’t want to come in,” he says. “He hates when people come over.”
“Wait,” I say, pulling back to look up at him. “You have a dog?”
He smiles. “I didn’t mention Rufus?”
“No. Where is he? Why wasn’t he in when I got here?” I peek outside, but his yard is dark. I see some movement in the back corner, but for all I know, it could be a raccoon or something waiting to tear out my eyes.
“He heard your shitty car, and went out the dog door. Won’t come back in until you’re gone.”
“Why?” I ask, hurt. The dog didn’t even know me. He wasn’t allowed to reject me yet.
“He doesn’t trust women,” Ryerson says, surprising me.
“Don’t dogs usually not trust men?” I ask, checking to see if he’s making this up.
“Maybe. But I…” He stops, and looks outside. “I used to live with someone in Seattle,” he says quickly. “I think he’s still a little mad at her.”
Oh. Ohhhh…. I swallow hard, and glance to the side where the dog door is. However, it isn’t a normal dog-sized door. I could practically walk through it.
“What kind of dog is it?” I ask, distracted.
“Come on, Rufus,” Ryerson calls outside, getting annoyed. “She’s nice. Just come meet her.”
He’s trying to reason with his dog, who’s mad at his ex-girlfriend, and there’s a dog door that’s way over-sized. I’m starting to think I died mid-orgasm, when Ryerson sighs.
“Good boy,” he says, waving his hand into the house.
I turn and see a giant Great Dane trot up to the back door, all dopey and cute, and my heart just about melts. He’s black and spotted with white and brown fur. He, however, doesn’t even look in my direction.
“Hi,” I say as he trots in past us, and goes over to drop dramatically on the couch. He didn’t even have to step up. He’s nearly as tall as I am.
“He’ll warm up,” Ryerson says, closing the door to lock it. He pulls down a metal screen in front of the dog door too.
Ryerson comes over, and slides his hands along my waist. He leans in and kisses the top of my nose, super sweet, and then presses himself against me, and backs me into the laundry machine. I’m suddenly, and highly, aroused, especially when I feel him already hard again.
“You look so fucking adorable,” he says, kissing my lips. “You should wear this all the time.” He slides his hand under the t-shirt and over my ass. I hum out a soft sound between his lips.
“Sure,” I say. “I bet the mechanics would like it at Miller’s.”
Ryerson pulls back, scrunching up his nose. “I get a little jealous,” he admits. “Could be that it’s your ex-husband, but—” He shrugs like he doesn’t entirely care, but I think he does. I mean, I’m a little jealous that he has an ex-girlfriend in Seattle, and she doesn’t live anywhere near here.
“Fine,” I say, pushing him this time until he hits the wall and laughs. “I’ll wear pants.”
“And a bra,” he adds, reaching out to run his fingertip around my nipple through the shirt.
“Maybe underwear,” I add, my eyelids already fluttering.
“Come here,” Ryerson says, and backs me into the washing machine again. He picks me up, and then he’s standing between my legs, cock out, mouth on my breast.
And we end up fucking right there on the washing machine.
***
I wake up in the morning to the smell of coffee. I rub the sleep out of my eyes, and sit up—the sunlight filtering in the window is bright with mid-morning glow.
I stretch my arms over my head, and realize pretty immediately that I’m… a little sore. The side table has all three wrappers, opened, and the extent of my evening plays itself across my mind. I smile, and get up to walk into the master bathroom.
Again, the room is nice—good fixtures. Nice counters. But there is no color, no life. I grab a towel that’s been laid out, and step into the glass shower.
The water is hot on my skin, and I pick through Ryerson’s soaps, knowing not to use any of them on my hair or it’ll be a frizz-nightmare. I smell the body wash and then dump it over my chest and start rubbing it in.
As I slide my hand down my leg, I replay some of last night’s greatest hits. It all seems like a dream to me. My favorite might have been on the washing machine, which is downright weird. But it was exciting, and fun. We laughed, but holy shit did we fuck. We were half out of our minds. A bit reckless, sure—but we were careful all the other times.
I finish washing up and turn off the shower. When I’m dressed in a pair of his boxers and a fresh T-shirt, I walk out into the kitchen, and find him sitting in the breakfast nook wearing dark rimmed glasses, scanning his phone likes he’s reading the newspaper.
And I’ve never really been a glasses kind of girl until I see Ryerson wearing them. Wow. He smiles when he sees me, taking a bite of his toast, and holds out his hand in my direction.
I like how he’s always reaching for me, wanting me next to him. When Frankie and I were together, I had a strict no PDA policy. I hate watching other couples make out in public. Zoey’s the same way. Or at least she used to be until she met Officer Hotstuff.
I think I’m starting to understand her change of heart, though. I slide my palm into Ryerson’s, and he pulls me onto this lap, taking another bite of toast, and continuing to read over my shoulder.
“Good morning,” I say, and lean in and kiss his lips. They’re salty from butter, and I peck them again, before getting up.
“I made you coffee,” he offers, motioning vaguely toward the counter, still reading. “Did you sleep well?” he asks, glancing over at me as he sets down his phone.
“Uh… yes,” I say, and turn to him and laugh. “Yes, I slept very well. You?”
“Not well at all,” he says wryly. “I just wanted to keep fucking you all night.”
I feel heat creep up onto my cheeks, and find the coffee maker and cup set out for me. “You did pretty well,” I tell him.
“Pretty well?” he asks. “Are you saying I was… adequate?”
I smile, pouring a cup of coffee. “You were gifted,” I say, turning to him and leaning my back on the counter. “Amazing,” I add. “In fact,” I say, taking a sip of coffee. “I’d dare say you are the best lover in all of Kansas. Possibly the Mid-West.”
“But not the world?” he asks disappointed, and we both laugh.
There’s a loud sigh from the living room, and I nearly drop my coffee. I’m suddenly afraid there’s someone here, but I see Rufus on the couch, his face resting on the arm as he stares at me. He looks positively miserable.
“Quiet,” Ryerson sings out, probably wanting to hear more about his amazing technique.
“Dogs normally love me as much as I love them,” I say, a bit of hurt creeping into my tone.
“It’s only the first night,” Ryerson says, picking up a glass of orange juice and taking a sip. “It takes longer than that to fall in love.”
I stand there, and silence fills the kitchen. Ryerson pauses mid-sip, but then finishes his glass and gets up.
“I’m going to take a shower. You want to hang out?” he asks.
I watch him, realizing suddenly how stupid I’ve been. “Uh… probably not,” I say politely. “I have work and all that.”
“Okay, cool,” he responds casually, coming over to put his dish in the sink behind me. He pauses in front of me, and looks me over. His dark eyes are completely unreadable.
“I’ll call you,” he says, and even he must hear what a shitty phrase it is to utter. He narrows his eyes slightly, and takes a step back, reaching to take my hand and squeeze it before letting it fall to my side. “And you were amazing last night,” he adds. “Thank you.”
Um… thank you. Holy shit. Did I just get thank you’d out of his house?
He stands there, suddenly awkward as if he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing either, and then he flashes me a quick smile, and heads off toward his room.
When he’s gone, there is another loud sigh from couch. I look over at Rufus, my heart sinking pretty quickly, and I match the depth and sorrow of his doggie sigh.
“Tell me about it,” I say, and grab my shoes and walk out the door.