“Well, the house is still standing,” Lee points out as he cuts the engine on the bike. Dropping the kickstand, he plants his feet firmly on the ground and I follow his lead. Removing the helmet, I reach around his body and place it on his lap before climbing off the motorcycle.
“Yeah…the question is, are they all inside?” I reply, watching as he hangs both helmets on the handlebars. Slowly, he throws his leg over the bike, lifts his arms over his head and stretches, rolling his neck from side to side as he stares at me.
Something is off.
He won’t admit it, but after that guy showed his face at the bar everything changed. Lee went from being attentive and playful to outright broody. The fucks then started flying out of his mouth and it wasn’t long before he started chain-smoking outside.
Having sensed something was wrong, Joey told me to go home when the crowd started to thin. For the first time I didn’t object. More than anything, I want to get back to who Lee and I were before I walked into work. When it was just us, a man and a woman, too engrossed with one another to notice the world spinning around us. Whoever that man was, he got into Lee’s head and now it feels like he’s pulling back from me. It’s either that or he’s had his fill of me.
A week ago I may not have cared.
I would have reminded myself that my plate is full. Fuck, it’s exploding. I would have listed all the reasons I didn’t need the company of a man. In fact, a week ago I would have told you I was done with men altogether. As lonely as it may seem, I could go the rest of my life without having another man break me. Love is overrated and it doesn’t always last. It’s good for a while but when you lose love, you lose more than just your partner. You lose a piece of yourself too. Some people are strong enough to recover those pieces, others, people like me, patch the broken holes and pray they hold.
A week ago, I would never have looked over my shoulder to make sure Lee was following me as I made my way to my front door. One week ago I wouldn’t be praying for the night not to end. I wouldn’t care why he looks so torn or wonder if it’s me he’s second guessing. But a lot can change in the course of a week.
For fuck’s sake, my son mowed the lawn today. That would have never happened if it wasn’t for Lee. I also wouldn’t have baked a chocolate cake before I left for work with the thought that maybe he’d come in for a piece after he drove me home.
It’s funny how the things you swore you’d never do again find a way back into your life. I was nineteen years old, sending my girlfriend to the store at one in the morning for ingredients to make chocolate chip pancakes because they were Louie’s favorite. Do you know how many times I’ve kicked myself in the ass for that one? Or how many times I swore that as long as I live I’d never do something so ridiculous for a man again? As much as we like to think we grow with age, buried deep inside every thirty-something-year-old woman are the fragments of the girl she once was. The girl who still blasts Whitesnake’s ‘Here I Go Again’ when she’s down and out. The girl who believed in happy endings but didn’t get hers. The girl, who despite how much shit has been thrown at her, still wants to love and be loved.
I suppose there isn’t a law that says you don’t get a rewrite. So what? You didn’t get it right the first time. There’s still hope, and if anything the chances are greater the second time around. You’re more experienced. You know that love isn’t always easy and relationships are a lot of work. The things that once impressed you are now frivolous. Fancy weekends and expensive dinners don’t mean anything.
If love is going to last it has to have a solid foundation.
It begins with companionship, grows on commitment and thrives on truth.
It’ll become something you won’t be so quick to give up on. Something you know you’ll fight with every fiber of your being to save but will never have to because it’s substantial. It’s solid love. The kind that weathers any storm.
Maybe I’m not as jaded as I thought I was. Maybe, just maybe, I don’t want divorce to be all I am.
Turning the key in the front door, I glance over my shoulder at Lee.
Maybe I want a man in my life.
“Are you in a hurry?” I ask, spinning around so my back is against the door and we’re face to face. Staring at me, he debates his answer as he runs his fingers through his hair.
“That an invitation, killer?”
“I baked a cake,” I blurt as I clutch the doorknob. “I never bake anymore…but I baked a cake today.”
“Should we mark the date on the calendar?” he asks, stepping closer to me.
“No need,” I murmur. “But you could help me eat it. Consider it your public service duty.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, if you don’t come inside and eat some cake with me, then I’ll likely eat the entire thing myself. You’ll be saving the seams of my pants if you say yes.”
Standing a breath apart, he reaches out and brushes a strand of hair away from my face.
“What flavor is it?”
“Chocolate,” I whisper as I stare at his lips. The salt and pepper whiskers that frame his lips tease me and I can’t help but wonder how those coarse hairs feel against my skin.
“Only a fool would say no,” he mutters, dropping his hand away from my face.
Pulling myself together, I smile weakly and walk backward inside the house. All the lights are off except for the one above the stairs. Following me, Lee steps inside and closes the door behind him as I flick the hall light on. I glance around the house and make my way toward the staircase.
“I’m going to check on the kids,” I tell him as I drag the zippers down my calves and kick off my boots. “Make yourself at home.”
Grabbing a hold of the bannister, I can’t help but notice how massive he looks. I remind myself he’s just a man. The first man I’ve been interested in since my husband but still just a man. His dick isn’t made of gold and I’ll be just fine without him.
Well, I don’t know for sure if his dick isn’t made of gold.
For all I know, Lee Jameson can be packing an anaconda and that’s fucking better than gold. I mean, it is if he knows what to do with it. Wouldn’t that be a pity? Imagine you’re a woman who hasn’t had sex in, I don’t know, forever, and the first time you think you’re going to get some the man doesn’t have a clue on how to work his junk. What if Lee is a three-pump and done type of guy?
“One foot in front of the other,” Lee calls from behind me.
Glancing over my shoulder, I meet his smirk.
“Hmm?”
“If you’re going to ever get your ass up those stairs you’re going to need to move those feet,” he explains, drawing his brows together. “You’re sweating.”
“Am I?” I reply, lifting a hand to my brow.
I sure as fuck am.
Jesus, Layla, get a grip.
“It’s hot in here, right?”
I’ve embarrassed myself enough so I don’t wait for his reply and instead I hurry up the stairs. God apparently thinks I need to get laid too because he’s performed the ultimate miracle and all my children are asleep. I stop in front of the bathroom and debate going inside, knowing if I do, I’ll probably get lost in there. I’ll analyze everything from my boobs to the color underwear I’m wearing.
Did I shave my legs?
Ready to roll my jeans up and inspect my legs, I realize how absolutely ridiculous I’m acting. I invited him inside for cake not a quick fuck on the kitchen counter. My kids are fucking sleeping up here. My kids!
“Layla?”
Rubbing my hands over my face, I make my way back to the stairs and find Lee at the bottom.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Everything good?”
“Yeah, they’re all asleep.”
Standing next to him now, I force a nervous smile.
“So, how about that cake?” I ask.
About to turn and head into the kitchen, he grabs my hand and pulls my back to his chest. He moves my hair from my shoulder and when he talks, he speaks against my ear.
“What’s happening here?”
“What do you mean?”
“I know I was a dick back at the bar but that ain’t got nothing to do with you,” he says, placing one hand on my hip. His fingertips draw soft circles on the waistband of my jeans and I lose my train of thought. It’s the slightest touch, but when you’ve forgotten what it feels like to have a man interested in you, it becomes sensory overload.
“I almost forgot about that,” I mutter.
His hand drops from my hip and he steps around me.
“Me and my big mouth,” he grunts over his shoulder as he makes his way into the kitchen. A laugh bubbles from the back of my throat and I follow him. Grabbing two forks from the drawer, I unwrap the cake and hand him a fork.
“Lay it on me,” he says, taking the fork.
“What?” I ask innocently as I lean forward and cut a corner off.
“Come on, Layla, I know you enough to know you’ve got some questions. Instead of letting them fester inside your pretty little head ask them.
I watch as his lips wrap around the fork.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he says with his mouth full. Chewing, he reaches for a napkin and wipes the frosting from his lips. “Go on,” he says, swallowing.
“How do you know that guy?”
“He’s a douchebag cop.”
Like Lee knew I’d have questions, I should have known he’d be vague about answering them. Rolling my eyes, I fork another piece of cake.
“Okay, how do you know said douchebag cop?”
“Let’s just say he’s part of my past.”
“Why tell me to ask questions if these are the answers you’re going to give me?”
Placing the fork down, he sighs or maybe he grunts. It’s a toss of something in between.
“You asked me if I was a biker.”
“Yep, and if I recall you beat around the bush with that reply too.”
“I used to ride with the Satan’s Knights,” he admits. “Brantley is a cop who thinks he’s going to make a name for himself with the club.”
“So he showed up at the bar looking for you. It wasn’t a coincidence.”
“No coincidence at all.”
“If you’re not part of the club any more then what’s the point?” I ask inquisitively, knowing he’s giving me the bare minimum.
“That’s not something I’m going to discuss with you, killer.”
I wasn’t expecting the direct hit and the finality of his answer draws me speechless. Nosey by nature, I want to know all the gritty details, but the logical part of me knows what that club stands for and I am better off not knowing.
I’m safer in the dark.
“I’ve got something I need to take care of,” he continues, popping another piece of cake into his mouth. “I’ll be back tomorrow around this time, but right now I need to go,” he says, setting the fork down. Reaching behind him, he pulls out the silver key ring attached to his jeans. I watch him slide off the key to his truck and place it on the counter between us. “I’m going to take my bike, you use the truck to take the kids to school tomorrow.”
My husband never did that. In all the years we were married, he never thought about me and the kids before he walked out the door. If the car didn’t work, it was my problem. If we ran out of milk and the kids couldn’t have breakfast before school, it was my problem.
Never ours.
It’s my responsibility to get my kids back and forth to school, not Lee’s. He doesn’t owe me anything. Yet here he is going out of his way to make sure my kids and I are taken care of.
“When do you leave?” I ask hoarsely.
“I should have left already.”
“Is it crazy I don’t want you to go?”
“You growing some kind of attachment to me, killer?”
I think I am.
I think I want to take a leap with you.
“What if I am?”
“That’d be a mistake,” he replies honestly as he steps around the counter. Taking the fork out of my hand, he stabs the middle of the cake and turns back to me. “You’re prone to making mistakes, aren’t you? Isn’t that what you told me?”
I nod as he suddenly wedges one of his worn boots between my feet, inching my legs further apart. He presses into me and pushes his fingers through my hair. He’s gentle until his fingers comb through the length of it fisting the ends. Pulling my hair, he forces my head back and leans closer.
And closer.
So close.
“Kiss me,” I whisper.
Staring into my eyes, he licks his lips and just when I close my eyes in anticipation, his mouth touches my forehead. Disappointment washes over me instantly, but I feel the tip of his nose slide down the slope of mine. His whiskers tickle me as his lips touch one corner of my mouth and then the other.
It’s torture.
The sweetest torture I’ve ever known.
And I want more.
So much more.
As if he heard my silent plea, his lips suddenly crash over mine. There is nothing soft and gentle about the way he kisses. His lips are firm and demanding just like their owner and I quickly learn kissing Lee isn’t simply a physical act but a momentous experience. It’s the kind of thing you force your whole body to feel and pray your mind never forgets.
His fingers twist my hair and he pushes me back against the counter as he gets a better angle on my mouth. Prying my lips apart with his, he slides his tongue inside. I wrap my arms around his neck and arch my back against the counter as his tongue claims every part of my mouth. I feel him against my belly, hard, so fucking hard.
My nails claw the back of his neck as his teeth pull on my lower lip and he grinds himself against me.
“Fuck,” he growls. “Layla,” he murmurs before sucking my tongue between his lips. A moan rumbles from the back of my throat and I move my hands to his face, holding him in place as my tongue sweeps across his lips.
I don’t know how long we stay like that.
If it’s seconds, minutes or more.
All I know is when our lips part, I’m gasping for air and wishing for more.
Everything that’s been lying dormant inside me is reawakened by a man who has one foot out the door.
“That mouth,” he rasps, forcing me to open my eyes. “That wicked fucking mouth,” he adds, dropping another quick kiss to my swollen lips. He pulls his fingers from my hair and takes a step back, dropping a hand to the bulge between his legs. Scratching his jaw with his free hand, he takes a deep breath and continues to stare at me.
Needing a reprieve from the intensity, I smile at him lazily and very sated.
“That was better than the cake,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows.
He laughs.
A real honest to God laugh.
It’s the kind that draws lines around your eyes.
Lines that symbolize a good life.
“Be safe,” I tell him softly.
He nods and gives me another peck on my lips before he dips his finger into the cake. I watch him lick his finger as he walks out of the kitchen. A moment later the front door closes and I’m alone.
Alone but okay.
Alone and smiling.
Alone and vowing to make Lee laugh more when he returns.
Alone and thinking of all the lines we can create together.
The lines that make life good.