As Joie stumbles into our room, I grab her by the arm to steady her.
“You okay, there, babe?” I ask as I right her. “I didn’t realize you drank so much.”
Holding on to me for balance, she says, “I didn’t. My feet are killing me.” Sure enough, she doesn’t wait until the door closes before taking off her shoes and tossing them aside. “I’ve gotten soft from wearing flip flops to class every day.”
“Wearing five-inch spikes on your heels don’t help your comfort any, I’m sure.”
“Don’t make fun of my heels. They’re the only way I can feel anything other than short next to you.” She smiles at me while she reaches for the zipper on the back of her dress. “Besides, it was kind of nice not having to reach all the way up on my tiptoes when I wanted to kiss you.”
Spinning her around, I attack her zipper to help her out of her clothes. “You don’t need to go through that much effort anyway. If you ever want a kiss, all you have to do is ask. I’ll lean over for you.”
Her dress practically floats to the floor, landing at her feet in a puff of dark blue chiffon, leaving her in just her bra and panties. They’re black. And lacy. And giving her a chaste kiss is no longer a priority.
“My eyes are up here, Pride.”
My eyes snap up to hers as she smirks. Busted.
“Weddings make me horny.”
“They do not,” she argues, and she’s right. They really don’t, but every time she throws her head back and laughs, my mission is accomplished anyway. I love making her happy, and it doesn’t take much. A bouquet of purple flowers. A funny meme. A cheesy joke. It all makes her laugh, and her laughter makes me feel like I’m doing my job as her significant other.
I shrug and toss my tie and jacket onto the freshly made bed. “Must be that sexy lingerie you’re wearing then. Care to join me in the bath?”
She narrows her eyes at me, putting her hands on her hips. Her pose makes me want to strip the lace right off her body, but I have more important plans. “Are you offering me dirty sex in the bathtub?”
“I was offering you a nice, relaxing bath. But since you mentioned dirty sex, I’m game.”
She rolls her eyes, but takes my hand anyway and follows me in the bathroom. For a hotel, the bathroom is good sized. We didn’t spring for anything fancy when we booked the reservation. Just some local franchise place. The room is pretty standard, but the bathroom was a surprise for both of us. Double vanity with granite countertops. Separate glass shower with a garden tub. I’ve never seen a bathroom like this in a hotel before, but I’m not complaining either. I just plan to take advantage of it.
As I set the water to the perfect temperature, Joie uses her fancy shower gel to make giant bubbles. Then we strip down to our birthday suits, and I help her climb in with me. As much as I’d love to sit her on my lap and have her ride me until the waves spill over the side onto the floor, just relaxing is nice, too. It’s been a long day for both of us.
We practically melt into each other, Joie running her hands up and down my arms lazily and playing with the bubbles.
“It was a nice wedding,” I finally say, kissing her gently behind the ear and nuzzling into her more.
“Mmm,” she replies noncommittally.
This right here. This is what I like about being in a relationship. Knowing someone well enough, trusting someone deeply enough, that we can be together without expectations of keeping the other entertained. That we can talk about our day without it making it all dramatics and emotional hoo-ha.
“Elena seems really nice.”
Joie sighs. “She’s really great. Perfect for Greg. I’m so glad he found her.”
“I’m so glad I found you.”
She reaches up and cups my cheek, stroking my scruff gently before going back to playing with the bubbles.
“Do you ever feel like you’re cheating on Sheila?”
I freeze at the unexpected question. “Because we’re together?”
“Yeah.” Her shoulders shrug slightly. “I’ve never been in your situation, so I’m curious. I wanna know about your feeeeelings,” she singsongs with a giggle. I pinch her in the rib gently in response, making her squeak.
One thing I’ve always liked about Joie is she’s never seemed intimidated by a ghost. She doesn’t mind talking about my late wife. Doesn’t seem to mind that a part of me will always love her. She just accepts that part of me. I have tremendous appreciation for her respect of my feelings and that relationship.
Wrapping my arms tightly around her, I respond, “Actually, no.”
“Really? I’ve read about so many people who say they feel guilty about stuff like that.”
“I think it’s because it wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t like she fell overboard on a cruise ship and I’m left with all those ‘what ifs.’ It was a long, long process. I watched her wither away and was there when she died.”
Joie stiffens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything . . .”
“No, no,” I reassure her. “I’m not trying to put you in your place. I just think when it’s sudden, like a car accident or heart attack or something, it must feel different. Jarring. We had a lot of time to prepare. There wasn’t anything left unsaid, and one of the things Sheila told me was to find someone else. Someone who would make me happy.” I lean my head back against the tub as a thought occurs to me. “Wow. It almost sounds like she broke up with me.”
“No, breaking up would be a choice. She didn’t have a choice.” Joie intertwines our fingers and kisses my knuckles. “She let you go so you could be happy.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. I guess that’s why it doesn’t feel like cheating. It feels like she gave us her blessing a long time ago.”
“Hmm.”
I know that kind of response. There’s more on her mind. “Okay, spill it,” I demand. Here I was thinking she wasn’t intimidated by a ghost. Maybe I was wrong.
“But if she hadn’t died, or if she came back somehow, would you be able to choose between us?”
It’s the question no widower ever wants to answer, because, how can you? “There is no way I can answer that correctly.”
“It’s not about answering correctly,” she says calmly. Okay, maybe my original assessment is still true. “Call it morbid curiosity. Which actually might be the wrong choice of words in this context.”
I chuckle. “I don’t think it’s a valid question. Having to choose between both of you means comparing you against each other, and that’s not a fair assessment.”
“It’s not?”
“Nope. She was the love of the first half of my life. You’re the love of the second half. Equally important. Equally loved. Equally as good. But only one of you is here rubbing your slippery, soapy ass all up and down me.”
I guide her to shift in my arms until she’s straddling me, her core right where I want it.
“What’s with all these deep questions anyway?”
She shrugs and begins rubbing herself against me. “Just my mind wandering. It started with the wedding and how they’re both on their second marriage and how we’d be on our second marriage if we got married someday . . .”
I open my mouth to respond but she cuts me off with her finger on my lips.
“. . . don’t say anything. It was only wandering thoughts. But I was thinking about the difference of marrying after a divorce versus after a death. That’s it. No big deep emotional crisis happening or anything.”
“Good,” I say as I begin kissing below her jaw. She lifts her chin to give me better access. “Because I don’t ever want you to think I love her more than I love you. I love you different, but the same.”
“I know,” she breathes, her head falling back further as she grinds down on me. “And I love you way more than I ever loved my ex.”
I smile against her soapy, smooth skin then pull back to look in her eyes. She’s beautiful like this—a sheen of sweat from the heat of the water, her mascara smudged under her eyes from the steam, the glow of pending sex. I rub my thumbs into her shoulders, watching as her eyes close, and she relaxes even more into my touch.
“Wanna move in with me?”
The question catches her off guard, but not so much that she reacts quickly. It’s more like she takes a few seconds for it to register. When it finally does, her eyes look up at me lazily.
“Yeah, I do.”
I try not to grin because I feel like there’s a “but” coming.
“But?” I coax.
“No but.” I start to relax until she says, “except . . .”
“That’s the same as a but.” She grimaces, which makes me feel bad because I wasn’t trying to embarrass her. Wrapping my hand around the back of her neck, I encourage her to continue. “Tell me. What’s on your mind?”
“I’m trying really hard not to let this influence my decision . . .”
“Isaac.”
She nods and bites her lip.
For eighteen years there was no husband or father to protect or provide for Joie and her son. The asshole ditched them. Joie’s parents were around, but Joie was young enough and too stubborn to admit she needed help. So it was her and Isaac against the world.
In some ways, I think they have a much stronger bond than parents with multiple kids. They act a lot like best friends versus parent/child. Granted, he’s a grown man, so laying down the law is long since over. But when we first started dating, it was hard for Joie not to take Isaac’s feelings into consideration. For a while, it seemed she was willing to sacrifice our relationship, so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable. So much so that I had to put him in his place and remind him of what a selfish bastard he was being.
But Joie powered through the struggle and eventually realized she deserves to be happy, too. Still, her old patterns of insecurity sometimes rear their ugly head, and she has to think through the implications before making a decision. Now is one of those times.
“Baby, look at me.” She focuses through her lashes. Damn, she’s beautiful. “Be really, really honest with me.” She nods and takes a breath. “You’re worried he’ll be mad and won’t approve, right?” She nods again. “But after everything we went through before, don’t you think, even if he has concerns at first, he’ll eventually get over it?”
She sighs and leans into me, looping her arms around my neck and resting her head on my shoulder. “I know he’ll be okay with it. He’ll be more than okay. I think maybe I’m more anxious about telling him than about his reaction. Like the anticipation being worse than the outcome.”
Rubbing my hands down her naked back, I try to validate her concerns. I don’t totally understand them, but that doesn’t make them any less real. It’s no different than my desire to win football games. She may never understand the gravity of that desire, but she would never disregard it. And for all her independence and strength, the one thing that can bring her to her knees is the worries she has as a mom. I have to respect that.
“Would it help if I asked for his blessing?”
A giggle erupts from her. “What?”
Laughter is good. That means her anxiety is dissipating. “You know, man to man. To make sure he knows my intentions.”
She pulls back to look at me. The waves keep dropping so her nipples peek out above the water line before disappearing again. It’s very distracting.
“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Her hands come to my cheeks and she scratches my scruff. “But I appreciate it. And I’d love for you to be there so we can tell him together.”
I break out into a smile. “So is that a yes?”
“Of course it is. Was there really any question?”
I pull her to me, crushing her lips to mine, no more confirmation needed.