“Good heavens,” Jon said aloud. “I’m going to want to see that video.” Wait, that wasn’t what he meant to say. Although he did mean it. He wanted to memorize the cheating bastard’s face so that if he ever chanced upon the knobhead, he could break the jerk’s nose again. His inner voice told him that wasn’t very mature, but he told his inner voice to bugger off.
“But come here, then,” he added, and folded the still-hoarse girl into his chest. He truly would never understand the impulse to hurt a girl like this. Because that had to be what it was—no one could possibly get to know a pint-sized firecracker like Greta and not realize she was more than any man could ask for in one lifetime.
After all, there hadn’t been any room in Jon’s mind or heart for anyone but her since the night she first suspiciously eyed him in the coatroom.
“It’s okay. I’m okay,” she was saying, and trying to wiggle out.
“I know you are. But I’m not letting you go,” he said into her hair. He wondered if she knew he wasn’t really talking about the embrace.
“I just—ugh. I haven’t told anyone about that in so long. It’s so embarrassing, and awful. I was lucky, though, learning my lesson early. And I have good friends. I never needed anyone else before, and I don’t really need anyone but them now.” She took a deep breath, and exhaled hot against his shirt.
“Do you really believe that?” He asked. “Of course your friends are ace, but I think you’ve done yourself a mischief closing off your heart.” What he didn’t add was, I’m glad you saved it for me.
“Done my—that’s cute. No, I’ve saved myself from all the hassle of meeting people, investing in them, finding out you’re incompatible, and separating from them. It’s inevitable, and it’s exhausting. No one has time for that kind of nonsense.” He could have sworn she surreptitiously wiped her nose on his shirt.
“Actually, I think most people have time for that.”
“But why? There’s so many other things you could be doing with your time. You didn’t get successful while also juggling dates and breakups, did you? After all, your last relationship sucked too.” She pulled back a little, so she could look at him.
“Leah was during my early success, actually. When you’re trying to work it out with someone, you find time for them and for your career.” He pushed a stray hair behind her ear. Poor girl was so nervous about getting hurt again. He wondered again how she couldn’t realize her own value. He could name a dozen guys who’d treat her like a princess.
They weren’t allowed to, though, because he was intent on making her his queen instead.
“I just don’t understand how you could get cheated on too and not even see what’s so clear to me.” Her brown eyes were searching.
“The difference, love, is that I realized Leah wasn’t right for me. Her values weren’t aligned with mine, and regardless the circumstance, it wouldn’t have worked out between us. One relationship doesn’t stand for the rest, though. It’s like polling, you need a larger sample size.” He gazed steadily back at her, willing her to see the truth in his eyes. Because it was truth, he firmly believed it.
“But I have so many other examples. Like no one stays together. Even Kermit and Miss Piggy broke up. If those two crazy kids can’t work it out, what hope did the rest of us ever have?” Jon thought he could detect just a tiny bit of longing in what she said, as if she thought he could reassure her.
“For every example you have of a failed relationship, I have one of a successful couple. With enough communication and determination, you can overcome anything.” He’d reassure her forever. Weirdly, seeing how damaged she was made him more sure than ever that he was exactly the man to show her what happiness was. Her trust was clearly broken, but that didn’t mean her heart had to stay that way.
“You make dating sound like mountain climbing,” she said.
“I have a better workout in mind,” Jon said, as he leaned in to kiss her. He’d made up his mind, the newest bet with Angie and Matt wasn’t just drunken swagger. He was going to change her opinion on love. It would change her whole life, actually. Because what kind of a half life was she living without love, or even the possibility?
He had thought she was a challenge before, but now he realized she was more of a quest. And he was a valiant knight, determined to save the day. It was a good thing he was British, he reflected. All the good heroes always were.
* * *
What a relief, Greta thought as she walked into Jon’s apartment for the first time. It was nothing at all like the cold, sterile coffee shops and restaurants he favored. This was an older place, full of character and quirk. It smelled like mochas and spice. The cozy living room just beyond the front door prominently featured a green velvet couch covered in pillows, a massive record collection, framed photos on the walls of people who could only be his family, as they all had the same startlingly green eyes, dirty blonde hair, and rakish grins.
Greta realized she’d never really asked about his family, beyond the little he’d told her at the fundraiser. Clearly he had at least two sisters, judging from the small gallery she’d drifted over to look at while he turned on lights and nervously surveyed the cleanliness situation.
Luckily, everything appeared in order, although she supposed the true tell of a man’s hygiene was only to be found in the bathroom.
“Wine?” he called from the small adjoining kitchen. Wood creaked beneath his steps as he rummaged in cabinets.
“Please,” she said, worried that her voice had betrayed her own nervousness. She was in his apartment. She was totally going to sleep with him. All the build-up, all her mental back-and-forth hadn’t prepared her adequately for the experience itself, though. What if he wasn’t any good at it? What if she wasn’t? What if she’d forgotten completely how to go about having sex?
Surely it was like riding a bike. The basic physicality of it was straightforward, after all.
And worst of all, what if it was the first and last time?
“I hope Barolo’s okay with you,” Jon said as he slipped a half-filled jelly jar into her hand.
Oh, of course. Because she wasn’t already comparing this to every other experience she’d ever had, her dad’s favorite wine would naturally make an appearance. On the other hand, it was really good wine, much more so than the lower-shelf pinots she tended to buy herself.
And Greta really needed some wine right about now. She took a nervous gulp, then another. Jon leaned in close to her from the side, and trailed his lips lightly across her throat.
“Savor it, love,” he commanded her. The wine, or the experience? That Thing again, but it was a whole lot harder to be annoyed when goose bumps were skittering down her arms from the gentle heat of his mouth dragging up and behind her ear. His lips parted and he breathed out, hot and ticklish before tugging gently on her earlobe with his teeth. She could feel the crooked one and it made her half-smile.
She took another slow sip of wine as Jon moved behind her and his arms came around to encircle her chest. The flutters in her belly began to subside as he drew soft fingers over her, lingering instinctively over the spots she liked best, only to be replaced by a blossoming of excitement.
Another sip of wine, and his hands came back up, drawing her shirt along with them. She set her cup down long enough for the fabric to rustle over her head and arms. She picked it up and settled back into his embrace. There was skin on skin, he must have tossed his own shirt while she was grabbing her glass.
She guiltily recalled having wiped her nose on it earlier, but pushed the thought aside at the sweet sensation of his chest pressed against her back, nothing but her beige lace bra between them.
He was murmuring into her ear about how beautiful she was, pulling her hips back into him to feel the ridge of him against her ass. Greta sighed as she sipped again, almost moaning as his lips met the back of her neck. This is a really good glass of wine.
And that time, it was her doing the Thing.
She rocked back against him for the pleasure of hearing his breath catch, for the pleasure of knowing she was affecting him just as much as he was affecting her. The jitters of earlier were fading as she realized she remembered exactly how to do this. Although she could already tell from his worshipful attention that she’d never experienced a man like Jon in bed before.
His hand left her waist, and interlaced with her own, pulling her around in a masterful move that would have been right at home on a dance floor. With a tug, she understood they were heading to his bedroom. He led her through another door, into a lamplit space filled with books and quilts, towards the bed in the corner. She longed to go through his shelves and assess his taste in literature, but he was taking the glass from her hand and dipping his finger in it.
With a little push from him, she fell back onto the blankets. There was the take-charge guy she knew. Using drops of wine as ink, Jon began to trace shapes on her stomach with his fingertip.
She realized, between little shivers at the feeling of air cooling liquid, that he was painting her the same way Summer had once suggested.
He drew a heart, then he leaned down and she gasped at the sudden warmth of his tongue, licking it off. The next pattern was more involved, and it took a moment for her to realize he was painting his name across her belly, then tracing it off with his tongue.
He carefully undid her jeans, and scooted them down her hips. She kicked them off as he unzipped his too, revealing the outline of his hardness beneath his boxer-briefs. There was no time to admire his body, though, because he had the wine again and was painting lower, lower, until he abandoned the wine altogether. Soft as a feather, he brushed his tongue against her wetness and she cried out.
When he spread her open and applied himself in earnest, Greta understood that the amazing alley scene was only a preview of his artistry.
With every slow movement of his tongue, she wanted more. Her hips undulated against him, showing him her enjoyment, and he rewarded her by pulling her into his mouth. She fell apart, calling out, but he didn’t stop. Again and again he brought her to the brink and pushed her over, until she forgot everything but his name.
It took a moment to realize he was moving back up, kissing his way towards her waiting mouth. When he claimed her lips, she felt practically drunk. Her legs fell further apart as he pressed between them.
He pulled back to look at her as he angled himself against her opening.
“Are you ready?” he asked, concern evident in his expression. She nodded, not trusting her voice. She was so ready.
She expected him to nudge gently inside, but instead gasped in shock as he pushed all the way in with one thrust. They stared at each other, getting used to the feel of her tight sheath around his large cock. After a moment, he pulled all the way out, before plunging deeply back in.
“You feel…” he started.
“Perfect,” she finished.
With another long stroke, he told her he agreed. She found his rhythm and moved in synch. Her legs wrapped around his back to allow him deeper, she pulled him close with every movement. After a lifetime without Jon, all these nights alone, Greta finally realized what she’d been missing.
Everything.
Jon grabbed one of her legs and swung it around until she was lying on her side. He sat back on his heels and gazed down at her as he pushed back in. In that position, all Greta could do was lie there and enjoy it.
“Touch me,” she commanded him, and he grinned at her.
“I thought you’d never ask.” With that, he pressed two fingers to her clit and sent her over the edge again. Her core clenched around him as the waves rolled through her. When she opened her eyes again he was still staring at her with a look of awe on his face.
“What?” she asked, worried she had made a weird O-face or something.
“I’ve never seen anyone look as beautiful as you do right now.” He smiled again, melting her a little before the tension started building up again as he continued his motion against her. This time, he used his other hand to fist her hair back and pull, hard. The top of her body was immobilized as he sped up, pounding her.
“Are you ready?” he asked again, this time with a growl. She couldn’t nod with his hand holding her head so tightly but her pussy spoke for her, her inner muscles beginning to tighten again. When they came together, Jon was still staring directly into her eyes, not allowing her to slip away.
He stayed still inside her for a long time, releasing her hair and stroking it before finally easing out and lying down. There was nothing spoken, nothing needed to be.
As Greta drifted off, she had a final thought that if this was what a pirate did, she would let him pillage her village any day.
* * *
Light breaking through the curtains roused Greta from a dream about food. She was somewhere enjoying sushi and miso, and it was quite the disappointment to realize she was actually in a bed and not a restaurant. A stretch later and the evening came flooding back in a rush of memories and soreness.
Oh, shit. She had to get out of here, she had to get home, she had to get Mina ready for school. Flipping over, she saw Jon still out cold next to her, nude. Okay, maybe she could wait just a minute before rushing off.
The night before was so overwhelming, and then she’d fallen asleep so quickly, she felt like she hadn’t really had a chance to study her lover. Her lover! She had a lover. It sounded extremely sophisticated in her head. Cosmopolitan. European, even. There was a little morning scruff on him, and his hair was rumpled even more than the bed sheets.
Her eyes travelled lower, to the sculpted chest and its fine covering of hair. Lower still and she realized he had the much-coveted V on his abdomen leading down to his dick. Summer was going to be very super jealous. She sighed happily. Her lover was so hot.
“Hey, creep,” her lover said, apparently having been awake and watching her the whole time.
“I gotta go,” she replied, with as much dignity as she could muster, and wrapped a sheet around herself to start the process of collecting the trail of clothing they’d left scattered about the apartment.
“We could do another round first, though, if you’d like.” The rising tent of the blanket left no doubt but that he would also like.
“I really can’t.” It wasn’t even just that she had to go, she wasn’t sure she could physically do that again so soon. For all the associated joys with a well-endowed lover, it also took a bit of recovery.
Her bra had apparently never made it off, so there was that. Her panties were under the bed, her jeans had been kicked off and onto an armchair on the other side of the room. She knew her shirt was still in the living room, she’d deal with that in a moment.
“So, um … what are you doing?” She could hear the smothered laughter in his voice.
“Changing,” she called.
“Underneath the sheet? You look like a stumbly ghost.” The laughter was slightly less smothered as she lost her balance for the third time beneath the navy sheet. It was darker inside her little tent than she’d expected.
“I am trying to change in a ladylike manner,” Greta informed him, knowing full well that it had been a badly considered decision for someone already missing her dignity.
“We shagged last night, I can probably handle watching you button your pants, you know.” It took a moment of howling laughter before he got it out, but she appreciated the sentiment. The thing was, she probably wouldn’t have retreated into a high thread-count cave if they hadn’t shagged. It wasn’t even that she was so shy, but the intimacies of the previous evening made her feel a little bit vulnerable.
Just a little bit. Just enough to make her want to change in there, and not make more eye contact with him knowing that when the last time they had stared into each other’s eyes, they had been as close as two people could possibly be.
“I’ll walk you out, at least,” Jon said, hopping up without a trace of embarrassment as she emerged from her cocoon. “No time for breakfast? Coffee? I’ve a proper espresso machine that I rarely get to impress people with.”
“Extremely tempting, especially since I was dreaming about food, especially since I am dying for coffee, and even more especially because I am dying for coffee. But I really have to get to Mina.” Truly dying for coffee. And maybe just a tiny bit for a little more time with her lover. That word was never going to get old.
“Dreaming about food and not me?” He didn’t sound genuinely offended, but she reassured him anyways.
“It was the chirashi at ICHI.”
“Enough said,” he told her, picking up her t-shirt and carefully turning it the right way out before handing it over. “I can’t compete with that. Let’s go out tonight.”
Greta pulled the cotton over her head and stayed inside for a moment. Was going out a euphemism for more sexing? And did she mind if it was? And would he save the rest of the Barolo for her?
“Okay. I’m having dinner with the girls, so just text me where to meet you.” Her head popped out, and she pulled her hair into a quick pony before leaning into Jon’s chest for a totally awkward goodbye. But how did one deal with Mornings After? She honestly had no idea, having not done it with anyone who wasn’t a real boyfriend. And rarely even them.
“Take some bread home for the little one. Unless you can’t just call in and go back to bed for just a little longer?”
“Well, I’m pretty obviously not sick, so…” She grabbed the loaf he offered and stuck it in her purse.
The little flutters in her tummy at the idea of more betrayed her logical urge to go hide in her own bed for a while to process. But alas, Mina awaited. Her cell showed several missed texts and calls, including one from Bob from just a moment before. She had half an hour to make the fifteen minute trip back to his Victorian, sent him a message indicating as much, and headed out to hail a cab without a look back at Jon.
Once safely inside, Greta heaved the giant sigh that had been building up inside her since she’d woken up.
“You okay, miss?” asked the cabbie.
“Love is dead,” she told him. It was, had been since Camelot, likely, but her evening with Jon had convinced her of one thing—he still believed. He actually thought he could show her the error of her ways, and that was really sweet. She gasped loudly as another thought suddenly occurred to her.
“You okay, miss?” asked the cabbie, again.
“Chivalry is not dead,” she told him. Because if he really believed in love, and really wanted to show her how to believe again herself, that meant he really was a gentleman.
Huh. How to reconcile that with her own belief that neither of those things existed? She decided to allow it—Jon was misguided, so that didn’t make him some sort of knight. What a day. And it had only just begun.
When she walked in the front door after tipping the concerned cabbie a little extra, Mina was waiting to grill her. The sound of a slamming back door was the only noise from Bob, but at least there was a check on the counter.
And a note, not so typically. She jammed it into her pocket to read later. Probably a grocery list.
“I see you staring at me, child. Say what you want to say and get it out, because I bet you haven’t had breakfast yet, and we have to leave in half an hour.” Greta spent a moment longer than she should have wondering if there was enough time to just stop for sushi before school before resigning herself to eggs.
“I’m not saying anything to you, Greta, that you probably haven’t said to yourself,” Mina said accurately. “I hope you plan to get a cootie shot while I’m in school today.” Less accurate, though a morning-after pill wouldn’t be a bad idea. Same thing, right?
“Why do you assume I need a cootie shot?” Greta avoided the accusatory glare as she melted butter into a pan with a little bit of garlic paste.
“I think we both know there was kissing last night.” The silence was broken only by the sizzle of the garlic and the fork clattering against the bowl Greta was beating eggs in.
“I’ll invest in cootie-ridding measures while you’re at school today. Maybe more than one form.” She poured the eggs into the pan and immediately started scrambling. “I mean, if I were to have done kissing I would; I’m not telling you that I for sure did.”
“Was there more than kissing?” At that, Greta turned off the heat and turned around to see Mina was now the one avoiding the eye contact.
“What—exactly—do you mean by that?” Those little hooligans at her school told her about sex? It was too early. She was too young. When did Greta learn how babies were made? Okay, Amy had gigglingly shown them all an informative book in first grade. But she’d never held herself up as a shining example.
“Coco says that when grownups kiss a lot sometimes they do a special handshake too and that’s what sex is and so I haven’t let Ethan Sedger get anywhere near my hand just in case.” She was blushing, and Greta had a hard time not smiling in relief.
“I would definitely not want Ethan to shake your hand, Mina. You’ve got a good policy there. In fact, I can be totally honest with you and say that Jon and I absolutely did not do a handshake last night. Do you want chives on your eggs?” She scooped some eggs onto a piece of toasted sourdough, courtesy of Jon, for Mina.
“Okay.” Nothing more was forthcoming, so Greta assumed she was both off the hook on the special handshake and on the hook for chopping some chives. As she spooned salsa onto her own bowl of breakfast scramble, she sighed again.
Bob was probably never going to be the one to do the sex talk with Mina, but she also felt like it really wasn’t her place to go buy a copy of the book that had equally grossed out and intrigued her and her friends in elementary school. If she were Mina’s mom … but she wasn’t.
That talk was definitely outside of her comfort zone anyway.
Once she’d gotten Mina safely off to school and parked in the Safeway lot, she unfolded the note from Bob. It was not at all what she’d expected, in fact, it was such a surprise that she forgot the engine was still running and almost walked in with the keys still in the ignition.
G∼
You probably don’t know tomorrow is the anniversary of my wife’s death. I don’t talk about it much. Every year I plan to do a thing with M, but she just looks too much like her mother. Hard to be around her. Off for a while. Light a candle, will you? M will appreciate.
The letter wasn’t signed. Greta could have stayed in the lot, staring at the letter for a year if the California sun hadn’t suddenly broken through the clouds and reminded her that daylight was wasting. So Bob wasn’t evil after all, just brokenhearted. Who would ever have guessed? Were other people this obscure? And if that were the case, how could anyone possibly know what other people were thinking?
Later, at the pharmacist, she collected a morning-after, along with a refill on her lapsed birth control prescription.
“Grown-up cootie shot, amirite?” she asked. The other woman stared at her.
“That’s what I call antibiotics, ma’am.”
Oh, fuck. We moved way too fast.