TAVIAN

08.14.15

“Lyra, I’m home!” I singsong in my best Ricky Ricardo voice as I toss my wallet, keys, and phone onto the entryway table. Even though my tone is lighthearted and playful, I’m sincere when I call this place home, because with Lyra now living here too, that’s exactly what it is. That’s exactly what she is.

Yes, she’s already moved in with me. Yes, I’m well aware we’re moving at lightning-fast speed. And no, I don’t give a shit what a single person thinks about it.

When Lyra first came to visit for my birthday last weekend, I selfishly joked about wanting to keep her here and never letting her go back to New York, but I honestly didn’t expect that to happen. However, after everything came to light about the numbers and our matching dates on Saturday, I decided there was no way in hell I’m going to spend a single night without her body tucked up against mine and not have her face as the first thing I see every morning when I wake up.

Lyra, however, was hesitant initially and questioned if we were moving too fast. She gave me some crap about not making hasty decisions and later changing my mind, but after a couple of rounds of naked wrestling in bed, I came out victorious and she agreed… thanks to the powers of my coaxing tongue.

It took a bit of finagling and a handful of phone calls, but by Monday morning, we had arranged for a moving company to pack up her loft and send what she needed here, while putting the rest of her stuff in storage. I’m pretty sure the guy thinks he screwed me on the price, detecting the desperation in my voice, but I would’ve paid tenfold what he asked. Anything to keep her here.

Without knowing if April 23, 2016 is in fact our ultimate countdown date, or if anything changed when the numbers inexplicably disappeared for both of us, we don’t have the luxury of time to allow our relationship to progress naturally like most couples. And if everything goes according to plan tonight, I hope to accelerate things quite a bit more. Fingers crossed.

“I’m in the kitchen!” Lyra calls out, her voice muffled as if she’s yelling from inside a cabinet. “Don’t worry. I’m not cooking! Just looking for the wine opener!”

My lips quirk up in a stupid grin as I chuckle at the memory of her nearly catching the kitchen on fire Tuesday night when she tried to surprise me with a home-cooked meal. I was surprised all right when I got home from work, but instead of being wowed with a delicious meal and Lyra dressed in sexy lingerie—which is my idea of the perfect dinner—I walked in on her frantically fanning smoke out the window and a kitchen blanketed in layers of powdery white residue. There wasn’t a square inch of the granite countertops or stovetop spared from her wrath with the fire extinguisher.

Luckily, she wasn’t hurt in the incident and the kitchen only sustained minor damage in the small grease fire, but a couple new dish towels, one of the skillets my mom recently bought, and the entire dinner fell victim to the blaze. She has since been prohibited from preparing food that requires heating elements, other than things she can warm up in the microwave, unless I’m around to supervise. There’s no need to piss off Fate by trying to fast-track her future plans. We’re living on borrowed time as it is.

“Why are you looking for the wine opener where the pots and pans go?” I set the bags of takeout Chinese food down on the table with a befuddled laugh as I step into the kitchen and hoist her up into my arms, deterring her from her search. The corkscrew isn’t down there anyway.

“Hey, wait! I need to—”

My lips seek hers out, desperate to collect on the kisses I missed while I was at work, and the moment they hit their mark, she forgets all about her protest and moans my name as my tongue coaxes hers out to play. She tastes like cinnamon and smells like the citrus shampoo she uses, and in a matter of seconds, my cock is rock hard and aching to feel her tight walls squeeze around me.

“The only thing you need to do,” I rasp once we eventually break free for air, “is tell me how much you missed me, and then go get your list. We need to compare and discuss over dinner so we can get a rough idea of scheduling. But once we’re done, I want to celebrate my last day of work by wearing your ass as a party hat and drinking your Kool-Aid straight from that sweet pussy.”

Her cheeks flame a bright red as she playfully smacks my shoulder. “Oh my God, Tavian. I can’t believe you just said that word! You can be so crude sometimes!” she exclaims, pretending to find me offensive.

Unfortunately for her, she doesn’t realize I can feel her inner thighs clenching and releasing around my stomach and I’ve noticed how her breaths have abruptly morphed into shallow pants. She can deny it all she wants with her words, but her body doesn’t lie—my girl likes it when I talk dirty to her.

“Okay, no more saying the word pussy. I’ll remember that for your official record,” I tease, kissing her lips one last time before lowering her feet back to the tile floor. “And I’ll ask you how crude it feels later when you’re riding my face and begging me to let you come.”

“You’re impossible,” she giggles with a shake of her head and a light pinch to my arm, “and I don’t beg, Professor West.”

Tossing my head back with an over-exaggerated laugh at the blatant lie, I move around her to the drawer the corkscrew is in and hold it out to her. “That’s ex-Professor West as of about an hour ago, and of course you don’t, buttercup. Just like I didn’t jack off in the shower to the vision of you wearing only that shirt every night of our trip before you finally realized you were mine.”

“No, you didn’t.” Snagging the contraption from my hand, she glances down at the oversized gray T-shirt she has on—the one I was wearing when we met and later gave her to sleep in that first night—and the argument dies on her tongue. She peers up at me through her dark lashes, her eyes filled with both innocence and doubt, and asks, “Did you really?”

The fact this surprises her somehow makes her even sexier than I already thought she was, though I’m not sure how that’s even possible. And if I wasn’t already hard as a rock, I’d sure as shit be now.

I do my best to ignore the uncomfortable throbbing behind the zipper of my jeans as I answer truthfully, “Yeah, babe, I really did, but we really need to stop talking about my dick if we’re going to get anything else accomplished tonight. As much as I want to bend you over that sink, pull your panties down to your knees, and bury myself inside you right now, I know I won’t wanna stop once I get a piece of you. So let’s eat and do what we said we were gonna do. Then we can revisit that party-hat situation later, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay.” Lyra treats me to one of those rare huge smiles that crinkles the corners of her eyes and shows a tiny bit of her gums. Damn, I love when she looks at me like that—like I hung the fucking moon just for her. “I’ll pour the wine, grab my list, and meet you at the table. You get yours and set the food and plates out.”

“Deal.”

It’s hard, but I refrain from swatting her ass when I walk by her, knowing it will only rile me up even more. Focus, Tavian. This is going to be the most important conversation of your life.

Less than ten minutes later, Lyra and I are seated across from one another at the table—Ma would be so happy—with a plate of steaming Mongolian Beef and a glass of cabernet in front of each of us, and a single piece of paper clutched in our left hands. Over this last week, we’ve separately been composing a list of five things we absolutely must do or see in the next eight months, and tonight we’re going to come up with a game plan to accomplish everything. Together.

“Okay, how do you want to do this? Go through them together, or one by one?” she asks eagerly.

I set the list in my lap where I can simply glance down and read it, though I shouldn’t need to. I’ve given more thought to the words on this sheet of paper than I have to anything else in my life. People say your life is a story, and this may very well be the outline to my last few chapters, so I made sure it’s exactly what I want.

“Let’s do one by one so we can go over details, like if it has to take place on a specific date or if it’s flexible,” I reply before shoveling a forkful of food into my mouth. With the combined anticipation of hearing her list on top of revealing the fifth entry on mine, the anxiety in my gut has kept me from eating most of the day. But now that we’re finally here doing this, I’m suddenly starving.

She takes a bite of her own before nodding in agreement and taking the lead. “Okies, I’ll start. The first thing on my list is to see the Northern Lights. It’ll probably take the most planning of any of mine, since it’s geographically far away and only happens during certain times in the winter. I printed out quite a bit of information on it that we can go over later.”

“That sounds awesome,” I tell her as I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “It was a contender for me too, but I couldn’t decide between it and a cruise. You know, of all the trips I’ve taken, I’ve never been on a cruise, and I want to experience what it’s like to travel from city to city by boat and sleep out over open water.”

Her face lights up with an idea. “So going on a cruise is on your list? Is there anywhere particular you want to go?”

“Yep. It’s the second thing I have written down,” I confirm with a curious smile. “And not really. I thought we’d discuss it together and choose somewhere we both agreed on. Why?”

“Well, when I was researching the Northern Lights, I discovered they have cruises built around the best places for viewing. Most people say they’re actually your best chance of seeing them, because you’re constantly moving—chasing them, if you will,” she explains, her enthusiasm building with each word.

Honestly, when I imagined taking a cruise with Lyra, it was somewhere tropical and beachy. A trip where I could watch her prance around in a bikini in front of me and be made fun of for drinking out of a pineapple with an umbrella straw. But seeing the exhilaration on her face completely wipes away any of my preconceived notions, and now the only thing I care about seeing is that pure joy dancing in her eyes. I don’t care what she’s wearing, as long as she’s looking at me like that, because whatever it is, it won’t stay on long.

“I think it’s a great idea. We can knock out two birds with one boat,” I tease and then drink in the sound of her resulting laughter. I could listen to it every day and never get tired of hearing her.

“Yay! I’ll pull up the different cruises in a bit and we can decide on what ports we want to see and a departure date. I think most of them are like ten-to-fourteen days.”

Lyra picks up the pencil she brought to the table and makes a check next to her number one then grins up at me. “All right, if the cruise is the second thing on your list, what’s the first?”

Holding my finger up for her to hold on as I swallow my last bite, I wash it down with a drink of wine. “Mine aren’t in any special order,” I tell her, which is only a little bit of a lie. Besides the last thing that’s not even written down, the others really aren’t ranked in any specific way.

“But my first one is to write a book,” I continue on. “I think I want to do some sort of a memoir type thing, mainly for my mom to have, but also to say I’ve written a book. I mean, how many people say they want to do that in life, but then never get around to it before it’s too late? Without working or going to school, I should have plenty of time to work on it while we’re just hanging out here together.”

“Ooh, I love that, and I know your mom will too. I’m not sure I could come up with enough words to ever write an actual story, but I’ve often thought about composing a coffee table book with some of my photos. I’ve probably got at least fifty thousand on all my thumb drives combined.”

“You should do it with me. We can figure out that self-publishing crap together,” I encourage, reaching across the table and squeezing her free hand.

“Deal.” Grinning, she glances down at the page of writing in front of her. “Okay, the next two things I put down are a little cliché, but nonetheless, they’re places I’ve never been and feel like I have to experience—Disney World and Las Vegas.”

I give myself a mental fist-bump when she reveals the locales, knowing either one will tie in perfectly with my surprise. She can choose which one she wants to go to first.

“I’ve been to both and agree that you need to see each one. We can do them up right—be high rollers in Vegas and ride the roller coasters at Disney. Hell, we can ride the roller coaster in Vegas too. Whatever you want.”

“Sounds perfect. What’s your next one?” she asks as she leans forward and pretends to peek over the edge of the table to my list.

Chuckling, I fold the paper up and tsk at her. “No cheating on the test, Miss Jennings!”

“What? Are you going to make me stay after class for detention, Professor West?” A mischievous smirk pulls at the corners of her mouth as desire flashes in her eyes.

I groan as my cock twitches back to life, after finally having settled from his excitement when I first got home. “Careful what you wish for, buttercup… unless you want me to spank your hot little ass later,” I warn as I stand up and shove the list in my back pocket.

Moving to rinse my empty plate in the sink, I inhale a deep breath through my nose and hope a few seconds away from her will help keep me from tossing her on the table and ravaging her body. Never before has someone affected me the way she does, neither emotionally nor physically. My desire for her is wild and untamed, and for a man who thrives on absolutes and maintaining control, I struggle daily to rein it in.

She clears her throat nervously and I chuckle, knowing without even looking that her cheeks are glowing pink. “Right, no detention please. So about the next thing on your list…”

Chuckling at her abrupt backpedaling, I dry my hands and head back over to the table where she’s finishing her dinner. I grab her cleaned plate and kiss the top of her head, silently letting her know her ass is safe for now.

“I want to see the ball drop live in Times Square on New Year’s Eve,” I reply while retracing my steps back to the sink, where I rinse her dish and set it on top of mine. “I thought we could make a trip of it and do any of the touristy New York stuff you never did even though you lived there. Maybe see a show on Broadway, visit the Met, shop at stores we have no business in, eat at your old guy’s place…”

With a squeal, she jumps up out of her chair, launching herself into my arms. “Oh, Tavian!”

“I take it that’s a yes?” I chuckle while somehow managing to keep my balance and both of us upright.

“Yes, yes, yes! To all of it! I can say a final farewell to the city and take the pictures of places I missed.”

Lyra peppers kisses across the bridge of my nose in a rare display of raw emotion. Every day, she comes a little bit further out of her shell, revealing a new layer to me of who she is and how her mind works, but there’s still hesitation to openness and vulnerability.

Strangely, the numbers disappearing was almost a bit of a setback, prompting even more unanswered questions surrounding the hows and whys of it all. Ever since the numbers vanished, when she goes out for her morning run, she checks each person she encounters for any sign of their six-digit date, but it’s been almost a week and neither of us have seen anything. I think we’re both beginning to accept they’re really gone for good.

“You’re killing me, woman,” I half-grunt, half-laugh as she slides down the front of me and her T-shirt catches on my belt, pulling it down to expose one of her perky tits when she steps back. “We’re never gonna get through this if you keep teasing me like this.”

Giggling, she adjusts her clothing and prances back over to her chair. “You’re right. We need to finish so we can celebrate your early retirement. We’ve each got two more. Come sit down.”

I snag a couple bottles of water from the fridge and rejoin her at the table, sliding one across to her. “My number four is getting a tattoo. What’s yours?”

“Wait! That’s my number four! You’re the cheater!” She holds her list up and points to the words Get a tattoo while staring at me incredulously. “Where’s yours? Prove it.”

I’m somewhat in shock that she has this on her list, because I honestly thought it was going to take a lot of begging and maybe some bribery to talk her into getting a tattoo with me. Retrieving the paper from my pocket, I unfold it and set it down on the table for her to see.

“Look. Exact same three words.”

Her eyes scan the writing and she nods as she realizes I’m telling the truth. “I guess you’re not a cheater. I apologize,” she says, raising her amused gaze to mine. “But you didn’t finish your list. Your number five is blank.”

Oh shit. I forgot to cover that.

Buying myself a few breaths of time to prepare for this moment I’ve been waiting for and that has still somehow snuck up on me, I pretend not to know what she’s talking about and look down at the paper as if I’m confused. I focus on the blank spot she’s pointing to and nod my head.

“I want to die a happily married man, Lyra, and you’re the only person who can give me that,” I say with conviction as I lift my eyes to meet hers, praying she can feel everything I want her to know but can’t find the words for. “I know it may seem pointless if the numbers hold true and we’re gone next year, but it means something to me. And I hope it means something to you. We need to write the happily ever after on our fairytale.”