TWENTY-ONE

She almost saw inside my heart.

Leelo

“I’d like to go to bed.”

Two heads swivel around. Both have their eyebrows up in their hairline.

“Mom,” Matt is first to react. “It’s not even ten.”

I know this. I’ve been staring at the clock in Roar’s kitchen for the past forty minutes, while the guys are making drawings and schematics of the repairs they’re already planning for the motel.

Matt was the one who finally convinced me to get in his truck. The guys had already loaded a chainsaw, I had no idea was in the shed, and other assorted tools needed to clear the road by the lodge. I’d still been in search of candles, so I would at least have light for the overnight vigil without electricity in my own damn home.

Then I went to the bathroom, with the single tea light I managed to unearth, only to discover that without electricity, there’s no water. Matt explained that the well water pump runs on electricity, as does the water heater, so I could kiss my nice warm shower to wash the day off me goodbye too. It wasn’t such a hard decision to make after that.

Small bag packed, I took a seat in the truck, and found myself wedged between the two large men, and I’m not exactly economy-sized myself. When I suggested, perhaps with a hint of attitude, that my Jeep might be the more comfortable option, I was shut down. No trailer hitch on the Jeep, which might be needed to get the tree out of the road.

It was then I decided to just shut up and suck it up. No one was listening anyway.

That only became easier when we finally got to the lodge, after a twenty-minute delay to clear the tree, to find Patti waiting in the doorway with Ace. Awkward doesn’t seem an adequate descriptor for that situation. Painful is better.

It was all over Patti’s face when she saw us getting out of the truck. The smile meant to greet Roar, I’m sure, dropped the instant she spotted me. She recovered quickly, I’ll have to give her that, when she invited Matt and me in and offered us warm soup she had bubbling on the stove. Roar’s stove, in Roar’s kitchen.

I was afraid if I opened my mouth, nothing good would come out so I limited myself to nodding. Safer that way.

Patti took off almost immediately after, with the road passable. Since then I’ve been sitting here, the dog at my feet, quietly stewing while the guys ignored me.

“I know it’s not quite ten, Bud,” I tell Matt, with as much patience as I can muster. “But I’m wiped. I’d like a hot shower, and a bed.” Only then do I dare look at Roar, whose face seems impassive behind his beard. “If that’s possible?” I add.

Roar doesn’t miss my tone, but to his credit, he doesn’t call me on it. “Sure.” He gets off the kitchen stool and starts walking to the door. “Are you coming?” he says annoyed, when he notices I’m not getting up.

The temptation to throw a little tantrum is great, but I catch Matt, who probably has a good read on where my head is at, giving me a barely noticeable shake of his head. To try and avoid being the subject of another discussion on the dangers of my hormonal recalibration, I press my lips together, hard, and follow Roar’s broad back out of the kitchen.

The lodge really is gorgeous. The exposed log beams give it a cozy, rustic feel, despite its substantial size. The sleek, stainless steel kitchen works surprisingly well against the rugged backdrop. The foyer is quite bare, with only a simple glass hall table with a mirror in the entrance, and the only splash of colour a blue earthenware bowl on top to catch mail and keys.

I’m quickly distracted from the beautiful rough-hewn stairway by the view of Roar’s tight ass going up it, right in front of me.

The landing upstairs has two doors on one and three on the opposite end.

“There’s clean towels on the shelf,” he says opening the door to a nice-sized bathroom with a walk-in shower, which immediately catches my eye. It’s big and inviting, and I struggle not to groan at the sight. “And the bedroom is through there.” He indicates another door in the bathroom. “Bed’s made so you can get right in,” he adds before backing into the hallway and shutting the door.

The shower is fabulous. It takes me all of two seconds to strip and step in, pulsing streams of water massaging me from three different shower heads. I let go of the groan I’ve been holding back, as the strain of the day is kneaded from my muscles.

I’m not sure how long I stay in, without any regard for the size of his hot water heater, but I don’t care. By the time I grudgingly turn off the shower and step out, I’m so relaxed; I just want to pour myself into bed.

Wrapped in a towel, I open the connecting door to the bedroom and come to a dead stop. Greeting me is a massive king-sized bed, with my overnight bag placed on top. It’s not hard to figure out this is Roar’s room. A pair of hiking boots and leather flip-flops are tucked under the foot of the bed, a small dish with change is sitting on the dresser, and a large flat screen TV is mounted on the wall opposite the bed.

What most intrigues me is a bookshelf against the wall between two large windows. Somehow he never struck me as someone who would read, but as I walk closer to look at the substantial collection on the shelves, I’m surprised at the wide diversity of books. From An Introduction To Composting, to Dumas’ The Count Of Monte Christo, and from Che Guevara:A Revolutionary Life, to a copy of Stephen King’s The Stand.

I trail my fingers along the mostly worn spines, an assortment as random as the titles. Leather-bound, hardcover, and paperback are lined up in completely random order. They all have one thing in common; they’ve all been read.

On top of the bookshelf I spot a large glass jar, filled with an odd collection of what appears to be scraps of crumpled up paper. I reach for it to get a better look, when I’m startled by a noise behind me and swing around.

“I’ll take that,” Roar growls, crossing the room in big strides, to grab the jar off the shelf. He opens the closet on the far side and shoves the jar on the narrow overhead shelf before firmly closing the door.

“I’m sorry...” I start, not quite sure what just happened but feeling responsible nonetheless.

“It’s nothing. Just some receipts.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t,” he quickly interrupts before changing the subject entirely. “I’m just gonna grab a shower myself.”

“This is your room,” I point out the obvious, when he starts kicking off his boots and pulls his shirt over his head, aiming it for the laundry basket by the bathroom door.

“Yeah?” He seems confused by my conclusion.

“I can’t sleep in your bed.”

“Why not?”

“Because...my son’s under the same roof.”

“So?”

“It wouldn’t be responsible,” I snap, getting frustrated.

“Look,” he says, walking up to me and putting his rough, calloused hands on my bare shoulders. The resulting shiver is involuntary and I watch as his mouth twitches. “Your kids are grown.”

“He’s a boy,” I counter.

“He’s a man,” he insists. “And he’s not stupid. He knows which end is up. Now get in bed, you were tired.”

“Stop ordering me around.” I’m not sure why I’m picking a fight. This whole night has sent me for a loop. The storm, the damage, the bank account I’m not sure can handle the cost of repair, and then to top it off, the sight of Patti. Playing hostess in his house. At home in his kitchen. And I’m sure in his bed. The bed he’s now ordering me to get into.

Without warning I burst out into sloppy tears.

“Fuck me.” I hear Roar mumble, as he wraps me in his arms, his hand to the back of my head pressing my face in his chest.

His very naked chest.

For some reason this makes me cry even harder. Blasted hormones.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” he says, pulling me down on the edge of the bed beside him. “You’ve been in a snit all day.”

Nothing could’ve dried up my tears faster than those words.

“A snit? Let’s recap, shall we?” My voice is dripping with sarcasm as I push him away to create some much-needed distance. “This afternoon you show up in the middle of a crisis, and the first thing you do is dress me down and embarrass me in front of my son and my guests, when I’m trying to be helpful. Then you proceed to ignore me, and the fact you’ve upset me, for hours, only to lecture me like a three-year-old, in my own kitchen. Next,” I continue, working up a good fume as I get up and start pacing the floor. “You presume to know what’s best by dragging me to your house, where a woman you are involved with, is welcoming us at the door with a fucking pot of soup!”

“Were,” he says with a straight face. “Were involved with. Past tense, and even then it’s an arguable statement.”

I swear.

“What-ever!” I lean down to shout in his face; pretty sure I have steam blowing from my nostrils. “And finally, like a nail in the coffin of my seriously fucked-up day, you want me to crawl into bed with you. A bed, I might point out, I’m sure Patti is quite familiar with as well!”

With that I stomp off, clutching the towel I’m still wearing to my body, determined to find myself a bed or comfy couch elsewhere in this house. But before I even get to the door, I find myself lifted off my feet by a set of strong arms, and tossed on the bed. Roar’s large body lands on top, pinning me effectively to the mattress. His hands come up and frame my face, holding it still as he leans down, his eyes shooting fire.

“Are you done?”

Roar

I swear.

I’d like nothing more than to flip her over my lap and tan that ass of hers, but I’m pretty sure at this point that won’t be received well.

Still, when I look down at her, seeing tears swimming in her eyes again, my frustration with her just slides off me.

She’s right. This day has been one big gigantic fuck up from beginning to end. A lot that was beyond my control. Except for the way I reacted, and I’m not particularly proud of the way that went down. Up to and including finding her in here, reaching for the jar.

Leelo just sniffles in response to my question and does her best not to look at me straight.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my forehead touching hers. That gets her attention, and her eyes focus on mine. “I was worried. Scared,” I correct quickly. “It’s not an excuse but it’s all I’ve got. My blood ran cold the moment I got the call from the station, and then I couldn’t get to you fast enough. I yelled because I was scared. Please, don’t cry,” I sigh when one tear and then another escapes her eyes. “I’m sorry I was an asshole, and I’m sorry I didn’t stop to think Patti being here might be awkward. All I thought about was having you safe.” I pause when I see her close her eyes, giving her a minute before I push on, to tackle what I realize means more to her than it ever did to me. “I can’t change what happened in the forty-five years before I met you, and I’m not sure I’d even want to when all it did was bring me to this point. All I can tell you is that nothing means as much as having you sleep in my arms, in my bed, so the last thing I feel before I fall asleep, and the first thing I feel when I wake up, is your breath against my skin.”

I know I’ve made headway when her arms wrap around and she buries her face in my neck. After a while, I hear her breathing even out as apparently exhaustion has taken over, and she’s fallen asleep without saying a word.

I carefully roll off her and cover her up with the sheet. Her wet hair is creating a wet spot on the pillow, but I don’t have the heart to wake her.

Stripping off the rest of my clothes, I head into the bathroom to have a quick shower. I’m pretty sure I smell after today, and although I plan nothing more than to sleep tonight, the promise of waking up with Leelo’s body pressed against mine is incentive enough to make sure I don’t smell like ass when I snuggle up to her.

I curse myself for conjuring up images of her, naked in my bed, because now my dick decides to make its presence known. Realizing full well that I’ll be awake all night in this condition with her beside me, I wrap my hand around my cock. With my head leaning against the tile, and my eyes closed, I recall Leelo riding me in the moonlight. Deep long strokes, along with the memory of the faint roll of the lake under me, and the sight of her heavy breasts swaying above me, is enough to draw my balls tight between my legs. My hand is moving faster now, and I bite my lip not to groan when I jerk myself to completion.

By the time I come out of the bathroom, Leelo has curled up on her side, the towel she had so tightly wrapped around her somewhere by her feet. Forfeiting my boxers, I slip in behind her, curving my body around hers.

“When’s your birthday?” I hear her mumble.

“What?”

“You said forty-five years, so when do you turn forty-six?” She rolls over on her back as her heavy-lidded eyes find me.

I rise up on my elbows, gaping at her.

“That’s what you retained from all I said? My age?”

“I want to know,” she insists, a small smile breaking on her sleepy face.

“September tenth,” I tell her, watching as her smile gets bigger.

“Yay,” she cheers softly.

“Why? When’s yours?” I ask.

“I turn forty-six on July twenty-ninth,” she says, rolling over on her side and tucking the sheet under her chin. I have to strain to hear her next words; “I’ve always wanted to be a cougar.”