Claire

At home, the dessert bag barely hit the island and Smitty’s tail almost got stuck in the door on his way back from relieving himself. Aiken had me backed into the counter, his tongue exploring my mouth while his hand hiked my dress around my waist and tickled over my hip bone.

My own fingers wandered down his back and inside the waistband of his jeans.

We were a symphony of moans and hungry groans, despite being full from dinner, the snow falling outside the window behind us, Smitty hiding in the front room. It was a strange scene of two lovers and domesticity. I didn’t belong, but I didn’t care. It felt too good.

Aiken slipped a finger, then two, inside me, my underwear shoved to the side, his tongue never leaving my mouth. My nipples hardened from the friction of my dress and bra with his shirt…

“Too much clothes,” I whimpered.

He pulled back, tugged his button-down shirt over his head, yanked my dress off, and tossed them in a heap on the floor. With his teeth, he freed my breast from the cup of my bra and sucked on my nipple while keeping his fingers at a steady pace. It didn’t take me long to get off. What David never quite figured out, Aiken had mastered in only a few months.

I heard the clang of his belt buckle and whoosh of his boots, the clatter of his pants, and then he was inside me. Bare, all of him and all of me, fitting together like it wasn’t meant to be any other way. Focusing on the physical sensation, I shoved all the romantic garble to the back of my mind.

It wasn’t until later, both of us in bed, the drapes open so we could watch the snow fall, that romance came back with a vengeance.

His hand tracing figure eights on my arm, my back tucked into his front, empty dessert container on the side table, Aiken said, “I’d ask you to move in, but this isn’t my place.”

“What?” I didn’t move, stayed stock still in his arms, hoping the moment would pass, praying the moment lasted.

“Us. We’re together almost every night. If I’m being practical, we shouldn’t pay two sets of bills. But really, I want to go to bed with you every night. And your dog is kind of partial to me.”

“Are you asking me to ask you to move in with me?” I gathered the sheet close, keeping my breasts covered, guarding my heart with a bedsheet.

“Yeah. I am. I know you prefer it here, and I don’t care. As long as I can bring my couch and my big-ass TV.”

“Don’t you think this is going a little too fast? I mean, it’s only been a few months.”

“Richards.” He spun me around and kept me gathered tight, front-to-front, face-to-face. “We’re adults.”

“I know.” It was a whisper.

“We don’t need years to know how we feel. Either it’s there or it’s not.”

“Okay, Mr. Therapist.”

“Don’t do that.” His lips grazed mine. “Don’t get silly. We don’t need to justify our relationship,” he said, finishing with another graze of my lips. “Plus, who says I can’t be smarter? Just because…”

“Don’t say it. I know you’re younger. Now who is being the silly one?”

“I love you, and I don’t want to push, but I want this to happen, Claire. I try to play by your rules, like I didn’t get you a gift for your birthday. On this, I’m taking the lead.”

“Can I have a little time? Let me get through spring break? Midterms? Then we can make all the decisions.”

“Yes,” he said, but he was covering up something—disappointment, rejection, impatience? My clinician brain couldn’t even get a read on it. It was deeper than I could read.

“Thanks for an amazing birthday.” I moved the conversation to a better place, trying to get my smirky smile back.

“Even though you didn’t want to celebrate? Oh, what about my gift for V-Day?”

Instantly, I felt the blush creep up my cheeks.

“Look at you, Little Miss Almost Over the Hill, blushing.”

I pinched his ass—hard. “Over the hill?”

“Kidding. Swear! I said almost! Still kidding. But I need to know what would make your cheeks flame like that…confess, now.”

“One sec.” I slid out of bed and went into the bathroom.

When I came back to bed, I was wearing a red lace teddy and matching garter belts. It was something straight out of one of those Victoria’s Secret catalogs, and I wasn’t sure where I found the courage to shove my body into it.

First, Aiken whistled, and then he hooted, and then he whistled again. “My, my, my, Little Red Richards, get over here in that get-up.”

I walked slowly…

“Pick up the pace, lady. You were not kidding when you said you had a gift for me.”

I made it to the bed, and Aiken snatched me into his arms. We were back to being front-to-front, and he ran his hand down my arm and up my back. “I need a moment to take this all in.”

His eyes perused while his hand explored.

Eventually, Aiken’s hand wound in between us, finding my most sensitive spots, gently removing the lingerie, moving us to a way better place—both of us.

The last two weeks of February passed without incident. Aiken and I had even gone over to the athletic facility on campus a few times and taken a couple of spinning classes.

He knew how I took my coffee, and I knew what Chinese takeout he liked.

We’d settled into a quiet ease once again, avoiding any serious conversation.

Weekends had consisted of exercise, hanging around my place or his—just being—and having a drink while Aiken smoked a cigar. It wasn’t super exciting, but we both seemed happy.

I figured the ball was in my court, so when March arrived, midterms were over, and my desk was organized, it was my time. Time to make a move, time to shit or get off the pot, or whatever. Time to ask Aiken to move in, as he’d asked me to do.

I smiled to myself thinking about it. It was super cute the way he’d framed that question, and I’d shot him down.

On Friday night, we’d grilled out, despite the chilly temperatures, eaten our fill, and watched a movie in bed (because my couch wasn’t comfortable). Of course, we’d both fallen asleep (because the bed was too comfortable). I’d planned to make breakfast and ask Aiken over coffee, but he was gone in the morning.

He’d woken early with Smitty and taken him to do his business. To my knowledge, he didn’t come back upstairs.

I must’ve dozed back off, because when I woke, Smitty was chilling in his dog bed and the house was quiet. I stretched like I didn’t have a care in the world, slipped out of bed, and padded to the bathroom. Tucked in my robe, I walked downstairs.

The first clue was there was no coffee. Aiken always started the coffeepot. I wondered if I was out…maybe Aiken had gone home for java.

I went outside to look for the paper, and it wasn’t there.

In my robe and slippers, I walked next door while Smitty made quick use of the yard.

I knocked, and nothing. The house was dark with no movement—not that one person caused a lot of that.

“Shit,” I mumbled, pulling my robe tighter.

I’d resisted accepting a key to Aiken’s, for whatever twisted reason I’d concocted in my head. Now, I was worried sick something might be wrong, and I couldn’t get inside.

I knocked again, Smitty barked at the closed back door, and nothing.

No answer, no stirring, nothing, zip.

I texted him and received no answer.

His voice mail picked up my calls.

For two weeks.

Every day, I thought about calling his dad, but I didn’t want to worry Sam. He’d had enough in his life, and now he was happy with Judith. He didn’t need a hysterical me in his life.

All in all, I knew Aiken had left because he didn’t want me.

Maybe his dad even knew?

Which left me alone with my thoughts and theories—a lethal combination.