“ARE YOU A VIRGIN?”
I frown at the pages of the book I am holding between my hands, glancing up. “Wow. Way to be tactful. No really, just blurt it out out of nowhere.”
“Sorry.” Rivers taps his fingers against the wrought iron patio table, squinting against the sunlight hitting him, despite the umbrella above us. He doesn't sound sorry. He sounds and looks agitated. “I've been wondering for weeks and I didn't see any good way of asking it, so...are you?”
“No.” His eyebrows furrow and I laugh, setting the book down. “Not the answer you were expecting?”
“Honestly, I think no matter if you had said yes or no, I would have been surprised.”
“Why's that?”
He frowns as he ponders my words. “I don't know. I guess because in some ways you seem innocent and in other ways you seem worldly.”
“Hmm.” I turn to the crystal liquid of the pool. It looks tranquil, undisturbed.
“Who was it?”
“I am not answering that!” I lightly punch his shoulder and he grunts.
“Why not? I'll tell you who I slept with.”
“Everyone knows who you slept with.” Bitterness creeps into my tone, putting a sour taste in my mouth. I am annoyed that it upsets me more that Rivers was with Riley than it does that Riley was a bitch to me all through middle and high school. Where is the logic in that?
“Yeah, but they don't know she was the only one.”
“Yeah, right,” I scoff. Rivers only having sex with one female? Incomprehensible.
“Riley cheated on me. I never returned the favor. I never got serious enough with anyone else for it to come to that,” he tells me softly. The somber cast to his expression gives me pause and I know he is telling the truth. He has no reason to lie anyway.
“Why did you take her back, knowing she did that?” Was it some great love others can only hope to have? Doubtful.
“I don't know. I guess because she needed me. I did care about her. I even loved her, in a way. Riley doesn't mean a lot of what she does. She can be horrible at times, but I understand her and why she is the way she is. She's scared. And when you're scared, you do things you wouldn't normally do. Sure, I didn't feel the same for her after that. How could I? But I didn't want her to think she was unforgivable.”
His words make me hate Riley a little less, and at the same time, a little more. I sigh, deciding I can be honest too. “It was Jeff Monroe. The whole experience was uncomfortable and forgettable.”
“Jeff Monroe? That guy is a serious dumbass.” Rivers shakes his head at me. “I mean, really? Jeff Monroe?”
“Yes. I realize that Jeff Monroe was not the best choice to have sex with. I was there. I remember how it all played out,” I answer dryly.
“Why'd you do it then?” He sounds angry and I wonder if he is jealous. Crazy. Of course, I'm jealous of the person he had sex with, so I guess we're equally insane.
I shrug, faking a nonchalance I do not feel. It's embarrassing, really. The first time is supposed to be special and with someone you love. Mine was with a guy I didn't really like or know all too well. The alcohol I'd consumed at the party that night didn't help with my decision-making skills. He was sitting there and I was sitting there and it just sort of happened. I felt dirty and cheap for a long time after that. I feel it even more right now, thinking about it, especially compared to how I feel about Rivers and how it would feel with Rivers. It would mean something. It would mean everything, which means it would mean too much. I have not fully admitted my feelings for him to myself, although I have, at least, admitted I have them.
“That's your answer? To shrug?”
“Well, at least I didn't say sigh.”
He moves away, situating himself in a patio chair farther away from me.
“You did not just physically shun me.”
Rivers' response is to glare into the lapping water of the pool. I want to laugh at the same time I want to roll my eyes, but then I really look at him. He is actually upset over this, over who I had sex with, or maybe that I ever had sex with anyone, or maybe that it wasn't with him, or...isn't.
His body is tense, his lips pulled down and fire blazing in his eyes, but I can see beyond the anger. I can see into him and I can see he is angry because he cares about me, and oh, if that doesn't pull at something deep inside me. Looking at him, taking in his stance and the pure energy that is him, I feel poignancy wash over me, but there is sweetness to it as well. And desire. Yeah, I want him. I admit it, and not just a little, but a lot. He is this beautiful, dark creature that is consuming me the longer I am around him.
“Why are you so mad?” I quietly ask, moving to stand near him.
“I honestly don't know,” he admits, glancing up at me. He shakes his head and sighs, looking down at his clasped hands.
“You know what I think?”
“What?” he asks with hesitation clear in his voice.
“I think we should go shopping.”
“For?”
“I don't know. Whatever we want.”
“You know what I think?”
“What?”
He looks up at me. “I think you're terribly obvious when you're trying to change the subject.”
“Duh.” I grin.
Rivers gets to his feet. “Do you like steak?”
“Now who's changing the subject?”
“Steaks on the grill sound good.” He puts his hands on his hips and studies the fancy stainless steel grill across the deck. “Do you think we can manage it without starting anything on fire?”
“I guess we won't know until we try.”
He snorts. “I guess. We need to go to the store.”
“We? As in you and me? In public again? Together? Are you sure you want to chance it? Someone might recognize us.”
He looks up at the sky. “Why did my mom have to hire such a smartass to babysit me?” Glancing at me, he answers, “Depends on if you're going to put on a big show again or not.”
“I'll try to contain my theatrical tendencies.”
“And I'll try not to fall on my face while attempting to walk.”
I thread my arm through his as we walk toward the house. “Do you know how unbelievably awesome we are?”
Rivers pauses as he glances down at me, secrets and emotions unable to be kept hidden floating in the depths of his eyes. “I do now.”
We take the Charger. He lets me drive. I can tell he regrets that decision when I roll the windows down, crank the stereo up, and maneuver us through traffic like I am a race car driver. 'It's Tricky' by RUN-DMC is on the radio and I whoop, fist pumping the air.
“This song is amazing!” I shout to Rivers over the force of the wind, bopping in the seat as I drive.
“You are absolutely out of your mind!” he tells me, but he's laughing.
I pull into the parking lot of Market Fresh and cut the engine, grinning out the front window. Letting my head fall against the headrest, I laugh as my heart pounds from the exhilarating ride. “I love this car.”
Rivers doesn't respond and I turn my head to look at him. He is watching me with a strange expression on his face. His eyes never leave mine as he ever so slowly brings his rough hand to my cheekbone and lets his fingers slide down the side of my face. My breathing becomes shallow, the rise and fall of my chest fast and deep.
“What are you thinking?”
His eyes fall to my mouth. He focuses on the dip and curve of my lips as he answers, “I'm thinking I'm glad I fell into the water that day.” He looks up, holding my eyes.
“You're thankful your legs are a mess, your face is scarred, and your life has been changed forever?” I keep my tone dubious, but I really, really want him to say yes. I guess that makes me selfish.
“You're here, aren't you?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“And you don't care about what I look like, do you?”
“No.”
“In fact, you think I'm pretty hot.” Half of his mouth lifts.
I roll my eyes. “Upon occasion. When your mouth is shut, usually.”
He laughs, but immediately sobers. “Knowing that makes me think maybe I'm not so bad the way I am. I'm okay not being perfect.”
“You were never perfect.”
“But close,” he tells me, his lips turning up at the corners.
There is this giddy, sick, swirly feeling starting in my stomach and bubbling up to my throat. I want to laugh. I want to toss my head back and shout from the pressure of it. What is it? As I stare at Rivers, unable to keep a smile from my face, I think I know what it is. It's him. He makes me feel this way. He makes me look past all the crap that has the power to bring me to my knees if I let it, and he makes me strong enough to stand. I think that's what I do for him as well. I'm not even going to try to figure out why.
I turn in the seat to face him, reaching my hand forward and letting it caress the length of his marred flesh. Tenderness washes through me and I know it shows in my expression. “You should be proud of your scars, and you know why? Because your scars tell the world that you were stronger than whatever gave them to you.”
“What about you? Where are your scars?”
I look away, my hand falling to my lap. “Mine are where you can't see them.”
“So they run deeper than mine.”
“Deeper? Maybe, maybe not. Are they any more significant than yours? No. We all have scars, Rivers, in some form or another. Yours are just more visible than some. Doesn't mean they hurt any less.”
He tilts his head. “You know what I think I like the best about you?”
I squint my eyes at him. “What?”
“You make me think.” He opens the door, carefully shifting his body out and up.
I meet him at the side of the car, unconsciously reaching for his hand. I don't realize what I have done until his hand is lifting to mine. Without hesitation, he threads his fingers through mine—naturally, without thought. I look down at our clasped hands and then up to his face. Rivers has a faint smile on his mouth. He is unapologetic. That hits me hard, shattering through whatever lingering doubt I had about the popular boy falling for the loner girl. What we were in high school doesn't even matter to him. The emotions I have for him grow, deepen.
I hold his hand tightly, feeling the warmth of it move up my arm until it is like I am cocooned in all of his heat. I am ablaze with Rivers. I sing the lyrics to 'Piano Man' by Billy Joel as we walk to the store and he joins in, surprising me that he knows the song, and that his deep voice harmonizes so well with my higher one. I go to drop his hand when we get to the tan and brown building and he grips my hand harder, telling me without words that he refuses to let me go.
Our eyes meet, his fierce and determined, and I spontaneously kiss his nose. He does something really crazy then. He drops my hand long enough to cup my face and he kisses me, right in the entrance of Market Fresh, in public, for anyone and everyone to see. It isn't a quick kiss. It isn't a sweet kiss. It's deep and long and powerful. It makes my stomach swoop and my lips tingle as I get lost in Rivers, forgetting where we are, forgetting the world around us.
It's the whistling that finally reaches through the fog of my brain. We break apart, smiling at each other. How long we smile at one another, I do not know, but my face feels unusually warm and my mouth hurts from the wideness of it, so it must be for quite some time.
“We should probably go inside,” Rivers finally tells me.
“Yeah.”
I feel half-drugged as we walk up and down the aisles. It's chilly inside the store and my skin pebbles. Rivers shops one-handed, the other firmly locked around mine for the duration of our shopping experience. “I wanted to fly planes when I was a kid,” he tells me as we pick out T-bone steaks, placing them in the carrier I hold in my free hand.
“You don't anymore?”
He shrugs. “Seems a little farfetched. It was just a kid thing. What did you want to be?”
This is an unusually hard question for me. It shouldn't be. I try to simplify it as we stand in the checkout lane. “Well,” I begin, immediately faltering.
“Well, what? Why don't you want to tell me? I can tell from the expression on your face. It wasn't something bad, was it?” he teases. “Did you want to be a government assassin or what?”
“I liked to create things, but I wasn't artistic. I liked to sing, but not enough to want to pursue it as a career. I've always liked patterns, colors, and putting them together in unusual ways. I like to decorate. My mom and I redid the kitchen last summer. It was fun,” I end with, waiting for the strange look to come.
But it doesn't. He nods, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I remember in Home Economics junior year—you made a scarf. It was red and purple with these yellow dots on it. You designed it?”
“Yeah.”
“It was hideous.”
I laugh. “How is it that you don't remember much about me, but you always remember the negative things?”
He shrugs. “When you did something unexpected, I took notice.”
Like this summer. Everything I have done has been unpredicted, most of all to me. And I am now realizing that Rivers paid more attention to me than I thought, and probably more than he knew too.
“You know, being a government assassin takes all kinds of creativity, in case you need something to fall back on. If you're decorating career doesn't work out.”
I bump my arm to his, knocking him off-balance. Rivers' hold on my hand tightens as we both stumble back, him landing against an aisle of chips and me on top of him. The sound of whole chips becoming partial ones crackles around us and our eyes meet guiltily. I laugh as we scramble to a standing position. Rivers grins and brushes bangs from my eyes. Every touch I receive from him sends a tingling through me.
He pays for the food and we walk back out into the hot day, his hand once more locked with mine.
"Why did you want to be a pilot?" I ask him.
"Because I wanted to be free, and the sky seemed limitless. Plus, there's the whole being able to fly thing. It's like being Superman without the cape." He grins.
"Free from what?"
He looks down at his feet, not speaking for a long time. He glances at me as he says, "Everything."
My throat tightens, sad for a young boy who disliked his world so much he wanted to be able to escape it. "And now?" He frowns at me and I specify, "Do you still feel like you need to get away from your life?" I am not entirely sure what I am asking, but the pounding of my heart lets me know how much his answer means to me.
"I already have," he says softly. He smiles as I frown—a perfect balance of seriousness facing off lightheartedness, and draws me in for a quick hug.
I wonder, as I get into the passenger seat, if part of him knows this can't last as well, and that is why he is so adamant about having some part of him in constant contact with some part of me. He links his free hand with mine as he drives, further affirming my thoughts. Maybe he thinks he can keep me with him from a physical link alone. If only that were possible.
Is this his version of freedom, here, now, with me? It's funny that, with all his current restrictions, he appears happier than when he had none.
When we get back to his house, Rivers prepares the grill as I rub spices on the steaks. I cut up a yellow pepper, zuchinni, sweet potatoes, and a red onion, tears burning my eyes and trailing down my cheeks as I do so. I toss them with oil and salt and pepper, turning to face Rivers as the patio door slides open.
He takes in my face and smiles, snapping the tongs together. "Crying every time I leave the room is getting to be redundant."
"I can't help it. Look." I show him the vegetables in the blue bowl. "They're so pretty."
He leans over the island, one eyebrow lifted. "It's like a vegetable rainbow."
"Exactly."
Grinning as he raises his face to mine, he places a kiss against my forehead. "The smallest things make you happy. It's endearing."
"I'll show you endearing," I mutter as I set the bowl down. "Are you going to eat any of these?"
"I can't promise that." He pauses. "But I can promise I'll try."
We go about grilling the steaks and vegetables, the scent of herbs surrounding us, the sound of sizzling meat filling my ears. I sit at the patio table and watch as he plays chef for me. I sip peach iced tea and eat celery with peanut butter and raisins. He occasionally glances back at me, shaking his head at my snack choice. I make sure to smile wide when my teeth are covered in peanut butter.
"I found a toad in our backyard when I was kid."
A smile curves his lips. "Oh yeah? And? Did you run away screaming?"
I laugh. "No. I decided to make it my pet. I named it Cha-Cha. I found a box and put grass, rocks, and a dish of water in it. I had no idea what I was doing. Anyway, it stayed around for a few hours, humoring me, I suppose, and then it jumped out. And that was the end of my pet toad."
"What possessed you to name it Cha-Cha?"
I squint my eyes as I think this over. "I don't know. I guess because it looked like it was dancing when it hopped around." I shrug. "Did you have any pets?"
"I had a kitten when I was seven." He looks down. "It got outside one day. I searched the house and yard for hours and couldn't find it. No one knew, but...it was under the car. My mom ran it over without knowing it."
"Well, that's depressing," I tell him dryly.
He flashes a quick, sad smile at me. "Yeah. I cried for weeks over that. Thomas got so annoyed with me moping around that he got me a stuffed cat."
"A real stuffed cat?" I widen my eyes at him, totally kidding.
His narrow-eyed look tells me he knows my tricks. "No. A toy one. He thought it would help."
"Did it?"
He shrugs, his attention locked on the food. "It didn't hurt."
"What did you name your kitten?" I ask softly, getting up and moving to stand beside him. I rest my arm against his, giving him silent support. I rub my cheek against the hardness of his upper arm, placing a light kiss against the warm flesh.
His smile turns to a laugh, flowing over me like the notes of an alluring melody. "He was orange and white and liked to play fetch."
"This was a cat, right?"
"Yeah." He glances at me. "I named him Fido."
"I guess that's on par with Cha-Cha."
"You could say that."
Low music plays from his phone, his diversified taste impressing me. He likes a lot of the same music I do—Coldplay, AWOLNATION, The Killers, The Fray, Imagine Dragons, as well as older music like The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Guns N' Roses. I move away, studying him. The lines of his form are captivating, even as he stands off-center to favor his left leg. Each movement is with purpose and I think I could watch him do anything, or nothing, and still find him interesting.
He catches my eyes on him. "Food's ready."
I nod, feeling warmth pool in my chest. "I'll get the plates and bring everything out here." I turn to leave and he grabs my wrist and tugs me back to him. I look up and his dark eyes sear mine. "Yes?"
"I feel like I should be asking that. What are you looking at?" He waits, staring back at me like he can find the answer he seeks in my face. Maybe he can.
"You."
"Why? Am I really so fascinating?"
"Oh, yes," I assure him. "You always have been."
He releases my wrist, lines forming around his eyes as he gauges whether I am being serious or not. In this, I am. His expression clears as he says, "You too."
A shaky exhalation of air leaves me as I spin away. I truly think he meant that. I don't even know what just happened, but it felt like a shifting in the foundation of our relationship, or how we view one another.
The steak is delicious, and Rivers surprises me by not only trying the vegetables, but liking them enough to have two servings. We spend the afternoon in the sun; me with my layers of sunscreen on and him without. We talk about music, movies, and school, but we focus on the good and do not mention the bad. It's a lot of good-humored arguing over movies, and laughter over school. I bring up the time Sandy Smith freaked out over a spider in History class and knocked herself out by running face-first into the wall. He talks about the pep rally for the first football game senior year when Melissa Mathison and Brent Stickler got caught making out behind the bleachers and the principal made them stand before the entire student body and apologize for their indecent behavior.
When he mentions my Halloween costume freshman year, the words I was about to say falter on my lips. Noticing my look, he asks, "What?"
"I...I'm just surprised." I frown, looking at the hem of my orange cotton shorts. Why didn't I try to know him in school? True, Riley would have freaked out if I'd ever approached him, but I could have made an effort. I gave up on the social aspect of high school before giving it a chance. I gave up on him before I ever talked to him.
"You won the school contest for funniest costume. You had rollers in your hair, crazy makeup all over your face, and you wore a robe over a nightgown with slippers. I couldn't believe it was you when I first saw you." He looks down, taking my hand in his and squeezing it before letting it go. "I don't think you realize how much you were noticeable, at least at times. Usually you kept to yourself and it was easy to forget you were there, but then you would do something totally out of character for you, or at least, how you were perceived to be, and...people noticed. I noticed."
"Huh," is my amazing comeback.
HE IS IN THE WATER with me. This truth makes my pulse trip and scatter. I feel like this is a monumental moment right now. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Rivers is on the far end of the pool, not even paying attention to me, and here I am, motionless, quiet, my eyes riveted to his lithe frame as it cuts through the water like a blade.
Night has fallen on us, but the air is thick with hot moisture, making the water around me feel like a blanket of cool relief. The moon casts its glow on the water and us, giving the black liquid a spotlight and making Rivers the focal point of the show. He barely makes a sound as he swims, his muscled form impressive to watch. I can tell he's missed the water.
With the warm, occasional winds, the scent of lilacs floats toward me from neighboring yards. I slowly move my legs back and forth through the water, propped up against the ledge of the pool with my elbows as I notice more than I probably should about Rivers.
He breaks the surface, his face shadows as he turns to me. He swims over to my end of the pool, stopping when inches are all that separate us. His eyes shine as they meet mine. “You finally get me in the water and all you do is watch? What's the fun in that?”
“Trust me, it's loads of fun.”
Swiping a hand over his wet hair, he mutters, “Not even going to try to understand that one.”
I switch the subject before he makes me explain what exactly I did mean by that comment. “How are your legs?”
“Not bad.”
“Swimming is probably the best form of therapy for them. Low resistence.”
“Mmm.”
I can tell he doesn't want to talk about his legs or therapy for them, so I try to think of something else to talk about. “Peanut butter is my favorite food.”
Rivers looks at me for a long time, finally shaking his head. He moves to my side, reclining next to me. “Peanut butter is not food.”
“Then what is it?”
“I don't know. A condiment. Like ketchup or mustard.”
“Really, Rivers? Do you put peanut butter on a hamburger?”
“Do you eat it plain?” he shoots back.
“Yes.”
“Okay, do most people eat it plain?”
“How would I know about most people? I know I eat it plain. I also like it with honey on bread, or with jelly on bread, or all three on bread. Have you ever had a grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”
He slowly turns his head toward mine. Our noses are almost touching as he says, “Are you saying you grill peanut butter and jelly sandwiches like we grilled steaks tonight? On a literal grill? What's wrong with you?”
I laugh. “No. Like a grilled cheese. Although, I never understood why it's called a grilled cheese. You don't grill it, you fry it.”
“Fried cheese just doesn't sound as appetizing.”
I consider this. “I guess. I'll make you one tomorrow.”
“No thanks.”
I put my hands on his shoulders, feeling them tense beneath my touch. I lean close to him as I say, “You know what else is really good?”
“What?” he asks warily.
“Peanut butter and bacon on toast. I'll make that for you too.”
“No. Really. Don't.”
I scrunch my nose up at him. “You shouldn't think you don't like something before you even give it a try.”
Rivers' hands find my waist beneath the water as he closes the distance between us. He stares down at me, his expression hard to determine masked as it is by night, but I can feel the scorching intensity of his eyes as they rove over my face. His fingers move around my waist to my back and slowly trail up it, causing goose bumps to break out in their wake. Sliding his palms up my neck so that his forearms are flush with my back, he lowers his mouth to mine. The kiss is slow but short, and ends with him catching my lower lip between his before he pulls away. My stomach is doing crazy flips and my limbs feel too heavy to keep me upright.
“You're absolutely right,” he murmurs. He straightens, a grin taking over his mouth. “Tired?”
My mouth opens and closes. Part of me is still back in the last moments locked in that seductive kiss. “Are—are you?”
“Extremely.” The teasing glint to his eyes disappears as he watches me. His manner has shifted, become dark like the sky surrounding us.
I feel my heartbeat quicken, but I keep my tone light as I say, “You're just saying that. You really only want to get me into your bed so you can have your way with me.”
“Oh, I'm planning on it.” His voice is a purr.
I go still as I gaze at him. Okay, so I wasn't expecting that. Innuendoes and come-on lines make me blush and stammer out ridiculous comebacks because my brain doesn't know how to digest that kind of behavior. But with Rivers, I don't know, I want to be naughty. I want to flirt.
I want him.
I trail my fingers along his chest, feel the taut skin pebble beneath my touch, and say, "Don't blame me in the morning when you're irrevocably obsessed with me."
"I don't think I need to wait until morning for that to happen," he murmurs.
Damn. He did it again. I laugh, but it sounds shaky. "Stop."
He smiles. "Never."
We leave the pool and enter the house, our hands locked together. As we lie down to sleep, I cannot keep the joy from my being. It seeps out into the smile that won't leave my face. It bursts forth in the laughter that falls from my lips. It even tendrils through my arms as I wrap them around Rivers' waist, resting my cheek on his warm chest. This feeling, this joy, outshines anything that has ever hurt me. It heals all past wounds. This joy is a shield against the future. It is my strength to face another day not knowing what it will bring.
"You know how, when you get hurt, you feel it all the way to your stomach? It's not just felt in the place you actually hurt, but within your whole body?"
I kiss his bare shoulder. "I guess, yeah."
His arms tighten around me. "That's how I feel about you. I feel it everywhere, and it really isn't pain, but it isn't exactly pleasure either. It's an ache that sort of hurts, but also gives relief. Does that make sense?"
A smile forms to my lips as tears prick my eyes. "Yes." It is the epitome of what I feel now with his words lingering in my head and heart.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH my son?" No form of greeting, just that.
I coat two slices of bread in peanut butter, glancing at the cell phone on the counter next to me. I put it on speaker phone, but now I wonder if I should have. I look up, glad Rivers isn't in the room in case I am about to get yelled at. Being yelled at in private sucks—being yelled at with a witness listening is excruciating.
"I think he's around here somewhere. Do you want me to get him?"
Monica laughs. "Delilah! I meant, where did the brooding, unhappy young man go? Not that I want him back. I'm just wondering how you managed to do in less than two weeks what I, and doctors of any kind, haven't been able to do in months."
I open my mouth to ask if any of them offered to make out with him, but decide she might not find that as humorous as I do. "I got skills," is what I go with.
I finish with the jelly, place the buttered sides of bread in a frying pan, and place the twins on top. Making them makes me happy. The thought of watching Rivers try one makes me even happier.
"He's swimming."
"Yes."
"You're amazing, you really are."
"That's me." I twist a lock of hair around my finger and rest my backside against the counter, the scent of butter filling the room. "How is everything going over there?"
The line is silent, but somberness can somehow be felt through the phone. "Not good. It shouldn't be too much longer now." She sighs. "It's all so horrible—waiting for someone to die, knowing they're about to, and being unable to do anything about it but watch."
My mouth goes dry and a sick feeling punches me in the stomach. "Right."
"Sorry. We don't need to talk about maudlin things. Cheer me up. Let's talk about you and Rivers."
The way she said that implies there is something to talk about. "Oh, you know." Rivers appears in the doorway, one eyebrow lifted. I turn the speaker phone off and pick up the phone, placing it to my ear. I flip the sandwiches in the pan and they sizzle as butter meets heat. "Actually, you should know, Rivers ate all of your ice cream. He didn't want me to tell you, but I felt I should. I mean, you're my employer, not him, so my loyalties have to be to you." His eyes narrow and I grin. "I got more, but then he ate that too. I think he has a problem."
"Hmm. He's in the room, isn't he?"
"You could say that."
She chuckles. "I still have a hard time imagining him eating it at all."
"He loves it!" I hold a laugh in when he scowls at me, nudging me aside to eye the grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I flip the burner off and move the pan, bumping my hip into his side. He gently bites my bare shoulder in retaliation and I have to fight for air for a moment. I push him away and he gives me a look saying he'll get me back for that.
"I think he's just trying to impress you."
"Most likely." I stick my tongue out at him.
"Tell Rivers hi and have fun. I'll be in touch."
"Got it." The call ends. "Also, he likes to kiss me, like, all the time. He even shoved his tongue in my mouth. And the groping...it's endless."
The phone is grabbed away from me. Rivers puts it to his ear, his eyes on me. "Funny." He sets the phone down and brushes a finger across my lips. "Were you eating the peanut butter as you made the sandwiches?"
"No."
He shows me the peanut butter he removed from my lip.
"It fell...upward...somehow."
"And just happened to latch onto your lip? Who knew peanut butter was so gifted."
"Me." I point at myself and laugh when he rolls his eyes.
He moves around me and grabs two plates, sliding the sandwiches from the pan onto the plates. "Am I going to regret this?"
"No. You only regret the things you don't try," I tell him.
Grabbing a butter knife, he cuts the sandwiches into halves and offers me a plate. "That's one way to look at it. Although, that one time I went skinny-dipping and came out to a swarm of mosquitoes biting me in really bad places—totally regretted trying that. Let's eat." I want to ask who he went skinny-dipping with, and then I realize that, no, I don't.
I wait to eat my own sandwich until he takes the first bite of his, laughter wanting to break forth at the cautious look in his eyes. He slowly chews, his eyes going to mine. With a shrug, he takes another bite.
"It's good, right?"
"Not bad."
"I'll show you not bad."
"I'd rather you showed me bad."
Rivers = 1. Delilah = 0.
I COULD TELL FROM THE phone call I received from my mom the night before that it is time to stop at home. She sounded unusually sad and I know the past ten days with me away is weighing on her. The longest we've gone without seeing each other is probably two days, max. When she asked me to bring Rivers over for supper, I couldn't say no. Hopefully he doesn't either. If he does, I'll just go by myself. For some reason, though, I feel that they need to meet. I guess because they are the two people in my life I care about the most.
The breath whooshes from my lungs when I admit it to myself. I'm not saying I love him, but I do care about him. I mean, yeah, I've known the idea of Rivers for a long time, but I have only really known him for close to a month. That isn't long enough to form feelings like that for someone. Of course, that doesn't stop me from thinking I have been given something I need to cherish and hang on to for as long as I can. So maybe I do love him, on some level. Why waste time trying to figure it out? I just need to embrace it while I can.
That settled, I grab clothes from my tote bag to change into. As I am kicking off my pajama bottoms, I hear a noise behind me and spin around. Rivers stands frozen in the doorway, a coffee cup in each hand. His hair gleams like the feathered wings of a raven from a recent shower and he's wearing a white tee shirt and khaki shorts. I can smell him and the coffee from across the room, both of which are welcome. His expression is sort of comical, as is the way he is standing like a mannequin. Great advertisement for coffee, though. I'd buy that brand.
When he continues to remain silent and unmoving, I sigh and head toward him. It's not like I am naked. I have a pink tank top and underwear on, although, yeah, okay, the tank top is tight and I don't have a bra on—and the underwear are red and skimpy, but still. I'm clothed.
He tenses as I advance, and I fear he may take off before I can reach the coffee that I would actually love to slurp down this morning. I didn't sleep well last night and ended up in the sun room at some point, which made sleep ultimately impossible. I couldn't sleep with Rivers and I couldn't sleep without him. It was a long night of asking myself what the hell is going on. The answers remained unknown until this morning, when I just had that scary epiphany.
“Are you back to not speaking to me? Fine. I can get used to that again. Your comments are kind of annoying. You have this air of superiority every time you open your mouth that really gets on my nerves after a few hours.” I take the mug from his limp fingers and blow on the steaming black liquid.
A deep inhalation of air is sucked into his lungs, breaking whatever trance he was under. “You weren't there when I woke up this morning.”
I raise my eyebrows as I sip my coffee. “You are extremely observant.”
With a scowl blackening his already dark looks, he sets his mug down on a window ledge and swipes a hand through his hair. It is clear he is agitated and my comments are not helping. “Why weren't you there?”
“Did you miss me?” I tease, although I am curious as to whether he really did. In fact, my pulse stutters a little as I wait for him to respond.
Rivers' eyes flicker up and down the length of me and immediate heat shoots through me. I forgot about my partially dressed state. Without saying a word, he takes the mug from me and sets it down next to his. His arm shoots out, his hand palming my waist, and he yanks me to him. When our bodies touch, the heat turns to fire. Both hands hold me now, his fingers dipping low and dangerously close to my rear. He's teasing me, I realize. His fingers inch down, then retract, again and again, until my breaths are leaving me in little spurts and I want to scream at him to just grab my ass already. And let me tell you, I do not think things like this. Apparently, with Rivers, I do.
He presses his lower half to me but leans back so that his eyes are locked on mine as he says, “Miss you? Yes. Long for you? Yes. I realized something last night, as I laid there without you next to me. All it took was one night.” He pauses. “I don't think there is a question as to whether or not I want you, because that is painfully blatant right now, but did I miss you? It was so much more than that. And do I need you? Yes. I need you. My heart needs you, Delilah. I don't want to wake up without you again, not until I have to. And even then—even then I will just barely tolerate it.”
Oh...my...
Chills start at my scalp and make their way down to my toes at the sound of my name on his lips. I do believe it is the first time he's spoken my full first name in front of me since I started working here. My heartbeat picks up at the way he fits against me, and the conviction I see in his expression makes my stomach swoop over and over again. His words—his words just tossed away whatever reservations I had about trying to keep my distance. Keep my distance from the fire that keeps me warm in the face of the cold all around me? Impossible.
My heart needs you, Delilah.
"Why didn't you..." I falter as I struggle to breathe. "Why didn't you come get me then?"
"Obviously you wanted to be alone, but trust me, I contemplated it. In depth. Don't try it again, though. There will be repercussions." He scowls at me, but there is lightness to his eyes—lightness I put there.
I grab the front of his shirt and yank him toward me. I kiss him with all the passion inside me. He pushes against me, his fingers tangling in my hair, and we get lost in each other. His mouth sears mine, claims it as his, and tells me I will never get enough of this. The touching and kissing is going to reach a point where it is no longer enough. I think we are both dangerously close to that edge. Once we jump, there is no return to the pre-intimacy stage. I don't think I'll miss it.
I smile as he shudders against me, feeling empowered in the desire of Rivers. I feel beautiful, like I was never anything but. I feel like I am perfect as I am, and always have been. I feel like I never thought I would feel, especially with him.
When we finally tear ourselves away from one another, I put substantial distance between us so we don't end up all over each other again. His eyes are glazed over, his nostrils flared as he sucks ragged breaths in and out. He has never looked more appealing.
"We're eating at my house tonight. My mom demands it," I state.
Rivers blinks, some of the fog clearing from his eyes. "Bossy, aren't you?"
"You wouldn't like me as much as you do if I wasn't. And my mom's the bossy one. I'm just relaying the message."
"Hmm." He rubs his jaw and shrugs, dropping his hand to his side. "Sure. I need to thank your mother anyway."
"What for?" I grab clean clothes from my tote in preparation of showering.
"She sent me flowers in the hospital."
I go still, glancing over my shoulder at him. "How do you know they were from her?"
"Do not keep standing like that. I mean, you can. Just know that there will be consequences if you do."
I straighten, blushing as I become aware of the view I was giving him.
"There was no note on the card, but it had the name of her business on it. At first I thought someone forgot to sign it, then I realized it was probably from the flower shop. Wait." It is his turn to freeze. Rivers' eyes narrow as he studies me. "It was you?"
My face heats up as I look away, holding my clothes in front of me like a shield. I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant about the whole thing. It took me hours to find the perfect flowers, to arrange them just right, to have the courage to send it.
"They were the prettiest ones," he says quietly.
"They were plain." I chose the ones that didn't stand out, but had the most character to them. I chose the ones I found the most beautiful, even with their uniqueness—because of their uniqueness. They were simple, imperfect, and strong.
"Do you know how many different colored roses I got?" He pauses. "You probably do, actually. Most of them came from your mother's shop. Is that why you chose the ones you did?"
Shrugging, I fiddle with the stud in my nose, uncomfortable heat coursing through my veins. "Roses are pretty and everything, but they're so generic. Everyone gets roses. They're the flower you can pick without really thinking about it."
"And you thought about it," he slowly confirms.
I wordlessly nod, thinking of the baby's breath, calla, delphinium, dahlia, snapdragon, and peony ensemble I put into a slim purple and black swirled vase. Each stem was precisely cut so that no two flowers were the same height, each painstakingly set in the perfect position to complement the others. It was the one time I truly enjoyed working with flowers. I guess because I knew I was making something beautiful for someone who needed to see it. Maybe that's how it is for my mom every time. I never thought about it that way. With everything, I suppose, how you decide to look at something determines what you get out of it.
"I need to show you something." Rivers leaves the room.
I am not sure what I'm supposed to do, so I wait, feeling nervous and fidgety. I chew on the inside of my lower lip and stare out the window toward the green grass and blue sky. The thing about me is that, although I enjoy doing good deeds, I don't like attention brought to them. I just want to do them and have people appreciate them, leaving me in the shadows as an unknown.
He comes back with the most serious expression on his face, holding a folded paper towel. When he gets to me, he slowly lifts the top half off, showing dried, but whole flowers in varying colors of purple, blue, pink, and yellow. My chest painfully squeezes as I stare down at the remnants of the gift I thought would be dismissed without a glance and was instead revered.
"I watched them die."
I look up, catching his dark eyes on me.
"That sounds morbid, but it really wasn't. Something about them intrigued me. Maybe it was the different kinds of flowers, or the fact that no one else sent anything like them. Maybe it was because I was bored. All I know is, I watched them wither into the curled and shrunken pieces they now are, and I felt some of the helplessness fade along with them. It was...cathartic." Rivers' eyes hold me in place. "I didn't even know they were from you, that you had touched them and constructed them into the form of art that stood in a crazy vase by my bedside, and yet I felt a connection to them." He pauses, taking a deep breath. "Do you believe in fate?"
I look down at the flat pieces of what were once vibrant with life, and I say, "Fate? I'm not sure if I believe in that, but...something like it...yeah, I think I do."