Meredith has been here for almost seven weeks now, and I’m officially stuck between a rock and hard place. It’s a dingy hellhole I like to call the friend zone. I can’t act on the feelings I’m developing for her. She opened up to me about her marriage, I’m newly single, she’s only been single for a month and a half, and technically, that’s not even true considering she’s still legally married. I know she’s in a fragile place. She’s probably glad to be free of her crazy husband and on her own; the last thing she wants is another guy sniffing around. I need to keep my distance and help her get back on her own two feet, at least that’s what I tell myself while I stand under the shower stream and wrap my hand around my dick.

What? I’m trying to be a gentleman, not a saint.

I close my eyes and prop my hand against the wall, remembering how hot Meredith looked the other day while she was bathing Alfred in the backyard. She was wetter than he was, her t-shirt clinging to her curves. It was spring break in South Beach. She kept saying things like, “Okay, big guy, you’re gonna get it!” and “Stay still, I’m about to finish! I just need to get your face.” It was pornographic, and if any of the ranch hands had seen it, I’d have needed to put them down like a rabid dog.

“Jack!” Her voice sounds from the other side of the bathroom door. “You in there?”

I jerk my eyes open, tilt my head back, and stare up at the ceiling. Wow, is my imagination this good?

“Jack?” Meredith calls again, all sweet and naive. Her voice is honey, and my dick hardens even more.

I grit my teeth. “Yup. What’s up?”

“I just realized you don’t have any clean towels! I bleached them earlier and forgot to put one in here before your shower.”

“Just leave one by the door!” Or better yet, turn around and walk about a thousand yards the other way. I don’t need a towel—I’ll just shake myself dry like Alfred.

“You sure?” she asks. “I can close my eyes. No big deal!”

No big deal? NO BIG DEAL? If she comes into this bathroom to bring me a towel, there’s a 100% chance I will fling open this shower door and drag her in here with me. I’ll haul her up against the tiled wall and cover her body with mine and roll my hips against her ass and give her the employee review I so badly want to.

“I just know I hate getting out of the shower without a towel nearby,” she continues.

Oh good, now I’m thinking about her in the shower with me…suds running down her stomach, slipping down between her legs. I think the majority of the blood in my brain has left, headed south for greener pastures.

“Meredith, just leave the towel outside, okay?”

My voice is gruff and she calls me on it.

“Sheesh okay, sor-ry. I didn’t know I was interrupting some private ‘ranch hand’ time.”

“What? I’m just showering, nothing else.”

“Uh-huh. The lady doth protest too much.”

After she leaves, I’m left there, staring down at my hand, frozen. I can’t finish, not because I’m not horny as hell, but because I feel like a disgusting perv lusting after Meredith like that, not to mention she obviously guessed what I was doing. I cut the water and pad out to get the towel she left on the other side of the bathroom door.

She’s incapable of meeting my eyes when I walk down into the kitchen a few minutes later.

“Feeling better?” she asks with a high-pitched, helpless voice.

“From my shower?” I ask, fooling no one.

She clears her throat a half-dozen times. It’s like she’s got a whole pond’s worth of frogs stuck in there.

I try to catch her eye, but she looks everywhere but me—ceiling, wall, cutting board.

I sigh. “I wasn’t masturbating.”

“I know that,” she answers quickly, pale eyes going wide. “Don’t you think I know that? Ha, obviously.”

“But just to be clear, even if I was, it’s perfectly normal,” I point out, walking over to pluck a slice of the apple she’s chopping. Between you and me, I don’t really want the apple. I want to get a closer look at that pink flush on her cheeks.

“Of course it’s normal,” she says defensively. “Everyone does it.”

“Everyone?” I taunt.

“Jack.”

“What?” I tease. “Now we’re even. We both know what the other is doing when they’re in the shower.”

“I don’t do it in the shower,” she mumbles, almost as if she doesn’t realize she’s saying the words out loud.

“Interesting.”

She catches herself and shakes her head, chopping at double speed now. She’s entered some kind of apple-chopping competition with herself.

“This is inappropriate.”

Chop, chop, chop. She’s about to lose a finger.

“You’re the one who tried to come into the bathroom while I was showering.”

“To give you a towel!”

She’s getting hysterical.

I turn to head up to my office. “Uh-huh.”

A piece of apple hits me smack-dab in the back of the head as I walk away. Alfred snatches it up before I can.

A week later, Meredith convinces me to watch a chick flick with her. Edith is out with her friends, so it’s just Meredith, me, and Alfred. He’s up on the couch between us, taking up more space than the both of us combined. Meredith is wearing a tank top and pajama shorts. Her legs are hidden under a blanket, and her attention is focused squarely on the TV.

On her lap is a bowl of popcorn she just made for us. I’m watching her bring each kernel to her lips, and I have a pillow strategically placed on my lap.

Alfred is scowling at me like, Really, dude? Can’t the girl just eat her popcorn in peace?

Meredith smiles. “I love this part.”

I make a noncommittal sound and it sounds a lot like someone just kneed me in the groin, but she doesn’t notice. She holds the bowl of popcorn out for me.

“Want some?”

I hold up my hand. “No thanks.”

She sets it down on the table and stands. “I gotta go wash my hands. You want a beer?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” And while you’re at it, would you mind grabbing a weapon and putting me out of my misery?

She drops an ice-cold bottle of Blue Moon over my shoulder a few minutes later.

“Here, I put an orange slice in there for you.”

My favorite.

She saunters around the couch and scoots Alfred to the floor. “Ah,” she sighs, stretching out with a content little smile on her face. “Much better.”

Her legs are stretched out toward me now, and her toes hit my thighs.

“Whoops,” she says, scooting them back a little.

“It’s fine.”

I reach out and tug them back where they were. It’s nothing—or it should be. I’m touching her ankle, and yet it’s erotic. The pillow’s fabric is straining.

The movie continues, and I sip my beer, all the while trying to reason with myself about why it’d be a good idea to turn and kiss her. Maybe she wants to move on from her ex? Maybe she’s just as sex-deprived as I am? Maybe you’re an opportunistic asshole. Leave her alone.

Characters I’m not invested in are suddenly ripping their clothes off on screen. They’ve been avoiding each other for the whole movie, building toward this sexy scene. They’re really going at it—stumbling into things, bumping against walls, making picture frames crash to the floor.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if sex was actually like that?” Meredith laughs. “Like if you kept having to run to IKEA to replace all your broken lamps and shattered vases because you were so turned on that you lost all spatial awareness?”

I can’t help but smile. “That’s actually happened to me before.”

“You broke a lamp?”

She makes it sound like it’s completely absurd.

“Didn’t shatter the base, just the bulb.”

“You’re kidding.”

I sip my beer, anxious for the next subject.

“How?” she asks, amazed.

“I needed to use the side table for…well…” I clear my throat, aware that there’s no way of continuing without getting graphic. “Leverage, and I accidentally knocked the lamp to the ground. The light bulb shattered, but you’re right, it wasn’t as dramatic as this.”

“Oh.”

She sounds like she’s in a daze. I stare intently at the TV.

“So you were on top of the girl.”

Her voice sounds shaky.

“Woman,” I correct. “Yes.”

“And just how much…leverage…do you usually need?”

This question, asked with her innocent lilt, is made worse by the fact that the characters on screen are going all out, scene after scene of rhythmic gyrations overlaid with moaning and groaning. Time seems to slow to a crawl.

I push to stand, finish off my beer, and deposit the empty bottle on the coffee table.

I know when I’ve reached my limit, and talking about having sex, while listening to people have sex, while Meredith is just sitting there, perfectly…well, perfect, is…fuck.

“Anyway, I’m going for a run,” I announce, tugging on the sneakers I left by the door.

Then I just turn and walk out.

Running is not something I do. I don’t need to; working around the ranch is enough of a workout on its own. Lately, though, I’ve been running a lot—all the time, in fact. I run after I catch sight of a sliver of Meredith’s stomach when she reaches for a glass on the higher shelf in the cabinets. I run after she makes a joke at dinner and brushes my arm gently. I run after she walks into my office with some afternoon coffee and a freshly baked muffin. She sets it down on my desk and winks then just strolls right back out, hips swaying. I run because it’s the only damn thing I can do that helps me blow off steam without feeling like a predator.

Hell, maybe I should just train for an Ironman triathlon at this point. If Meredith continues living here, I could probably win the damn thing.

When I make it back to the farmhouse thirty minutes later, I’m sweaty and breathing hard, but no less worked up than I was before my run. Shit. My coping mechanisms are starting to lose effectiveness. I’ll have to get creative, maybe consider a cold bath or—

My thoughts freeze when I pull open the door and find Meredith in my living room, pacing. I figured she’d have gone to sleep by now. The movie probably ended a few minutes after I left.

She whips her attention to me and wrings out her hands.

“You’re still here,” I say, deciding that’s the safest thing that could possibly come out of my mouth at this moment.

She steps toward me, drops her hands, turns, fidgets with her ponytail, and then turns back to me.

“Okay, I’ve been thinking…”

Her eyes are wide with worry. Her teeth nibble on her bottom lip. I’ve never seen her look so nervous, not even back when she used to be scared of Alfred.

“About what?” I ask this while standing very still, hand propped up on the doorframe.

“You find me attractive, right? Like as a woman?”

I blink. Blink, blink, blink.

Is this a trick? A trap?

I’m her employer, her confidant.

“Umm…sure?”

She frowns, and a deep crease settles between her eyebrows. “Women usually hope for a little more enthusiasm.”

“Were you?” The fewer words, the better, I think to myself. I’ll use one more. “Hoping?”

“Well yeah, because I find you…”—she waves her hand up and down my body and then clears her throat—“very good-looking.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And we’re both available.”

“I’m aware.”

“And I think we should kiss.”

Gulp.

“And break lamps.”

Her euphemism makes me smile, but then reality catches up with me.

“Believe me, I want to break thousands of lamps with you, but you just got out of a bad relationship.”

“Right. So did you.”

“I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Noble, but unnecessary.”

“Also, you work for me.”

“True, but irrelevant.”

“It could make our relationship really complicated.”

“Indeed, but it’s worth the risk.”

“And…well…”

I’m at the end of the line. I’ve run right out of excuses. She was supposed to agree with one of those and call this whole conversation off. She was supposed to nod and say, Oh, you know what? I hadn’t thought of that. Well see ya! Then we’d shake hands and she’d get the hell out of my house.

Instead she’s staring up at me with those big, hopeful blue eyes and she might as well be saying, Let’s find the biggest, most breakable lamp in Texas.

“Fuck.” I turn and wrench the front door open and step outside.

Don’t. Do. This.

I have to be better than this. I have to set the boundaries and hold to them. She doesn’t know what she’s asking for—she’s under the influence of heartbreak. I drag my hands down my face and clasp them behind my neck. I count to ten. I do some deep breathing. I try to listen to the angel sitting on my shoulder. He should be there somewhere…ah, there he is, getting strangled by the devil from my other shoulder. Welp, there’s my answer, folks. I yank the door back open and slam it closed behind me.

Our eyes lock and the fuse burns away, counting down the last few milliseconds before she and I collide. I have one thought before I reach for her: if there have to be consequences, make them all worth it.

Meredith runs straight for me and I meet her halfway. Her body crashes into mine as I lift her up and wrap her legs around my waist. I turn and haul her against the front door then hoist her a little higher. We’re a fucking mess, like sex-crazed teenagers, moving too fast, disjointed and wild. I kiss her cheek and the side of her mouth. She threads her hands through my hair and tugs. My lips finally find hers and I am a dying man who’s found his salvation. Her hot mouth, her full lips, her kiss—the second our mouths connect, I know there’s no going back now that I have her.

I show her how well we fit. Her breath is my breath. Her taste is my taste. I tilt my head and take the kiss even deeper, skimming my tongue over hers. Our hips roll together. She’s so eager and receptive, wrapping her legs tighter so that even if I pulled us off the door, she wouldn’t fall.

It’s not hard to decide what to do with her when I’ve done nothing but play out scenarios in my head for a week. I lose track of time as we kiss. Days pass as I learn every inch of her impatient mouth. For so long, I keep her right there, careful not to press my luck. I want to rip her clothes off and fill her up, but my wants don’t matter.

She’s the first one to initiate more. Her hand skims down my neck and chest. She tugs my shirt up and then her hand is covering my bare abs. My stomach squeezes as she skims lower.

Her hands find my shorts.

She tugs on the drawstring.

I growl into her mouth.

It’s not my proudest moment.

Her pajama shorts ride up and her smooth thighs are completely exposed. Her fingers are still skimming back and forth along my shorts. She’s turned on, just as alive with the tension exploding between us as I am.

My hand slips down between us. If she can venture south, so can I.

I skim along her taut stomach, the waistband of her shorts, inside her cotton panties. Then I find wet, hot heat.

Later, when someone asks me about the happiest moment of my life, I will think back to this, right now. I’ll lie and say something PG-rated, but I’ll know the truth.

I guide my middle finger into her and her legs drop to the ground. I need better access, more access. She doesn’t move from that door though. Pinned is the way I like her. Between my body and the door, there’s no end in sight. I pump in and out of her and sweep my tongue into her mouth. This is what we’ve been waiting for, I tell her with my touch. This.

My other hand is lonely, and that tank top she’s wearing might as well be paper-thin. I can feel her chest quivering against mine. She’s shaking, and it could be from nervousness, but I know better—it’s adrenaline.

I can feel that she’s not wearing a bra. No. Damn. Bra. Had I known that while we were watching the movie, I would have had her pinned to this door an hour ago. Now, I’m pissed I waited so long. I’m anxious and hungry. I don’t bother taking her top off, just yank down the front of it until one of her soft breasts fills my palm. She shivers, like that little touch alone could bring her to an orgasm. I smirk against her mouth, memorizing the wordless cues her body shouts back at me. So you’re sensitive there? I skim the pad of my thumb over the tip of her breast and she yanks my hair in response.

My other hand is still working wonders inside her wet panties. Poor Meredith, she really doesn’t stand a chance.

My palm covers her breast, and I roll my hand up and down. I get the best reaction from her with a feather-soft touch in the beginning, nothing too aggressive, just subtle teasing and torturing. I know from the way she’s grinding her hips against me that I’m hitting the mark.

I break our kiss and tip my head down, replacing my hand with my mouth. My tongue teases her breast. Her head falls back against the door and her eyes flutter close. I do it again then wrap my lips around the flushed tip.

She releases a slow exhalation and I think maybe I should take this to the bedroom, but there are a lot of things in life I should do. I’m happy right where I am, coaxing and licking and seducing until her fingers dig into my shoulders, and she’s promising me she’s about to lose it.

I keep her right against the door even as I move on from her breast and continue farther south. She moans, annoyed with the loss of friction between her thighs, but then I’m on my knees and her eyes widen with wonder.

“Oh no,” she says, in shock.

Oh yes.

From what I know of her husband, he probably never put her needs before his. I bet he never knelt like this and tugged these tiny little shorts to the side and stared up in awe. There’s only a thin layer of cotton between me and my end goal.

“Jack,” she whispers, unsure.

It feels like we’re going fast, but there’s no slowing down, no going steady. This moment has been weeks in the making. I’ve written a thesis in my head about the things I’d like to do to her body.

Our eyes lock and I see every unspoken word there, all the uncertainty and worry. I see that this isn’t comfortable for her, to have me looking at her like this, but I won’t back off unless she tells me to because I don’t see regret in her gaze—I see need, hot and raw.

I brush my thumb up and down the center of her panties and she bucks her hips toward me. I try not to gloat. Still, a smirk forms all the same. I pin her hips against the door with my free hand and try again. This time, there’s no reprieve from the gentle strokes, the small circles I draw against the wet cotton. Her breathing quickens.

I could let her come just like that, with my fingers and my breath on her, but I want more. She wants more—deserves more.

I tug her pajama shorts and panties down until they fall to the floor and then lift one of her legs so her foot is propped on my shoulder. I have the perfect angle, right between her spread thighs.

“Oh my god. I don’t think…” She’s rambling, words slipping out between sharp inhales.

She tries to move her leg, to squeeze her thighs together and close herself off. I hold her steady and glance up. Her ponytail’s gone now. Her dark hair frames her face, softening her delicate features even more. She swallows and I drag my hand up her thigh slowly. I’m saying, See how good this feels? See how much better it could feel? I reach the groove of her hip and pause; it’s a question. Our eyes lock again, and I ask for her consent out loud. I need to hear it.

“Do you want me to keep going?”

There are no fancy words or pretty promises.

I could tell her things to ease her mind, things like the truth: I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want her.

But words have been used against her in the past, and maybe for her, talk is cheap. I have no way of knowing what that bastard said to her, what abuses he slung at her in moments like this to make her scared of letting me touch her. Even still, I know enough not to promise her things with words when I can use my body instead. I can prove to her that there are better guys in the world, guys who would sink to their knees and worship at her feet.

“Meredith.”

Her name comes out gritty and hard, pleading.

I know she’s uncomfortable. I know she’s thinking too much about the bare facts of what we’re doing, so I decide to overload her brain, to give her a future to focus on so her past is the last thing on her mind.

I tug on her thigh, and she lets her leg fall open. I keep my gaze locked with hers as my hand covers her wetness. I brush up and down softly. It’s a pace intended to torture. She rolls her hips and two of my fingers sink into her.

She closes her eyes for a moment then opens them. One word slips from her mouth, followed by another.

“Yes…please.”

It’s all the urging I need. I rub soft circles while I kiss up the inside of her thigh. We both know where I’m headed, but she still loses her footing when my mouth finally gets there. The leg she’s standing on buckles and I wrap my right hand around her thigh, holding her up. My other hand goes around her waist so I can press her hips against my mouth.

Her breathing grows labored as I bury my head between her thighs. My fingers pump in and out, quickening. She fists the top of my hair and arches her back as I suck and kiss and swirl my tongue in soft circles.

Her inhibitions are lost to the Texas wind.

Her focus is on my mouth and the climax building up inside her.

I drag my tongue up the length of her and our eyes lock.

She’s a goner.

Her legs are shaking and she’s watching me do this to her, watching me as I spread her thighs even wider and tug her down until my tongue sinks into her. My thumb starts rubbing circles against her wetness, and the combination is too intense for her to run from any longer.

Her eyes pinch closed as her thighs quiver. I can feel the waves of pleasure roll through her, feel her clench, and—fuck—it’s the sexiest thing watching her come undone like that, tasting her as she falls apart.

I’m relentless, dragging out every drop of that orgasm I can get. She’s still shaking from the aftereffects, so sensitive that each drag of my tongue makes her hips buck. Only when I’m sure she’s really finished do I smile and sit back on my knees.

She blink, blink, blinks.

“Where am I? Who am I?”

Her leg drops back to the ground, and she’s standing there naked from the bottom down, her tank top askew. I’m still completely clothed, and we realize it at the same time. Her hands shoot up to fix her top and I help her step back into her underwear and shorts. Then I stand and smile.

“Wow.” Her eyes are glossy and her cheeks are flushed.

I smile and finger the strap of her tank top, righting it on her shoulder.

“Now what?” she asks, voice shaky.

“Now, I go shower.”

I’m still sweaty from my run.

“And me?”

She’s so damn cute standing there, unsure of herself. I can’t fathom how a woman as beautiful as she is still manages to have a self-conscious bone in her body. Then it hits me: of course she’s uncertain and reserved.

It was the stuff he said to me…the things he called me.

I remember what she’s lived through, what events led her to my doorstep, literally, and I decide we’ve done enough for tonight.

“Jack?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, studying me.

“Hm?”

“Are we gonna keep going?”

I smile and shake my head. “Not tonight. Not because I don’t want to—I do—I just don’t see the point in rushing things.”

She furrows her brows. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. You want to watch another movie? I just need to rinse off really quick.”

She laughs. “You think I’m capable of hanging out with you right now? I feel like I need to go smoke a cigarette, and I’ve never so much as even tried one.”

I laugh. “Do you want to stay the night?”

“Like in your guest room?”

“I was thinking my bed.”

Her eyes widen like that’s a crazy idea.

“I think I want to be in my own bed tonight.”

I take the hint.

“C’mon, why don’t I walk you home?”

Her smile lights up her whole face. “I think I can manage fifty feet.”

“I insist.”

She accepts my outstretched elbow and I lead the way outside.

“This is weird,” she announces.

“Yeah, kind of.”

She slices her gaze up to me. “Just so we’re on the same page, are we going to wake up tomorrow and pretend like this never happened or are we going to be cool about it and just reference it as the one time you went down on me against the front door?”

“Maybe somewhere in between?”

She laughs and tugs open the door to the shack.

We stand there looking at each other for a few long seconds. There’s not a proper send-off for this. A hug, a kiss, a handshake—they all feel wrong. She takes matters into her own hands, tips up on her toes, and plants a kiss right on my cheek before disappearing inside.

I’m left standing there for a few seconds before I shake my head and turn back for the farmhouse.

I don’t remember the last time I had such a hard time falling asleep. I lie awake in bed with a nervous tension in the pit of my stomach I haven’t felt since childhood. It reminds me of how I used to feel on Christmas Eve, jittery and excited, anxious for the next day to come. It keeps me awake half the night. It makes me regret not insisting Meredith sleep here with me. I want to know how she’s feeling. I want to know if she’s currently packing up everything she owns and hitchhiking out of town. I want to know when exactly I let my guard down enough to fall in love.