All Things Pretty
Page 36
I go motionless, standing perfectly still with a plate in my hand, frozen by the thought. Even though the one-night-stand contention was just supposed to have been a case in point for going through with this, the thought of Sig with another woman sends a furious streak of jealousy speeding through me. It’s almost painful it’s so intense. The intensity of it, however, serves to reinforce the consideration of being with him once. So does another thought.
If it were possible to completely erase all other women from a man’s mind in a single night, I’d choose that. The mere suggestion that I might be the only person on his mind brings me comfort and a happy smile. Which is insane because it doesn’t work that way. But it doesn’t stop me from wishing it did.
Travis and I eat in silence. He seems especially sulky, which surprises me.
“Didn’t you have fun today?” I ask.
“Yeah,” comes his glum response.
“Then what’s wrong?”
Travis pushes his plate across the table at me, almost violently, standing up so fast his chair tips over. “We’ll never have a life like that. Normal.”
He stalks off, back down the hall to his bedroom, leaving me sitting at the table with my mouth hanging open. After I recover, I follow him.
I knock softly and then crack the door, sticking only my head inside. “Travis, that’s what I’m working toward. It just takes time.”
He’s lying on his bed, his chin on his chest, with his hood pulled low over his eyes. That damn hoodie!
“Even then, we’ll never have a life like that.”
“Don’t be so sure,” I tell him, hoping that maybe one day, I can give him what he’s missed out on all of his life. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”
Travis gives me a withering look. “We don’t need tricks. We need a miracle.”
On that petulant note, Travis pushes ear buds into his ears and starts scrolling through his phone for music. The end of the conversation, obviously. Which is probably good. I don’t know that I could add anything more right now anyway. I can’t promise him a miracle. I can’t really promise him much of anything, other than I’m trying with all that’s in me to make a better life for us. For him. Even for me. There has to be more than this.
After I clean up the kitchen and feed Mom, I’m straightening her room when Travis pops his head in. “So you’re staying in tonight?”
“Yep. Just us. Wanna watch a movie or something?”
He frowns like I just asked him if I could have a kidney. “No, I don’t. I’m going to Trip’s. I’ll do my homework there.”
“Seriously?” I say, dropping my hands by my side. “What is it with you? Every single time I make plans to stay home for the night with you, you bail. What, are you allergic to me or something?”
“None of your business,” he says grouchily.
I bite my tongue. I try not to fuss. Or crowd him. Or treat him like a kid. Or like he’s different. Or do any of the other million and one things that I know upset him. Travis needs lots of calm. Lots of predictability. But he also needs social interaction and friends, something he seems only to get with Trip. So I keep my mouth shut and I pray that he doesn’t get into trouble or get hurt.
He lingers in the doorway. I don’t know if he has something else to say or if he’s waiting for me to say something. At any rate, neither of us speaks again and he just wanders off, back to his room to slam the door.
Half an hour later, I’m starting a load of laundry when I hear the front door open and close. I race to the porch before Travis can get all the way down the driveway.
“Don’t be too late!” I shout. Without turning around, back pack slung over one shoulder, he raises one hand in acknowledgment and keeps on walking.
Back inside, I go from room to room in our small house, straightening the few things that need straightening. After that, I paint my toenails. Then I put a mud masque on my face, the whole time thinking of Sig and his muddy handprint on my chest. Then I run a hot bath and shave everything from my ankles to my armpits. It’s as I’m lying against the cool ceramic that my mind starts to wander again. And it wanders to Sig. To his touch, to his kiss. To what almost happened earlier today.
My body aches. Just at the thought of him.
I close my eyes, effortlessly conjuring Sig’s liquid brown eyes, his perfectly sculpted mouth, his big, slightly rough hands. God!
Almost of their own accord, my palms drift over my breasts, pausing to tease the throbbing nipples, just like Sig would do. Like he did. I recall the feel of his mouth there, hot and open. Riling my body into a flurry of want and need. My core responds to my thoughts, sending a gush of heat southward. I move my hands down. Farther and farther. Closer to the place where the ache is strongest, where the emptiness is deepest.
I cup my center as my mind elicits Sig’s fingers, his lips, his tongue, delving inside me. Filling yet not totally, satisfying yet not completely. Teasing. Toying. Making me crazy. He knew I needed more, craved more. He was just enjoying the rise, the climb, until he could drive his body into mine and quench this excruciating thirst.
But my touch isn’t Sig’s. No matter how tightly I close my eyes, no matter how much I concentrate, no matter how much I wish it were his, it’s not. It isn’t his hands or his mouth. His kiss or his scent. His laugh or his growl. I’m in my bathroom. In my home. Alone, for all intents and purposes. Exactly what I don’t want to be right now.
Frustrated, I pull the plug to drain the tub before stepping out and toweling off. Standing in the steamy room, I rub scented lotion over every inch of my hyper sensitive skin, groaning with my want of something more.
I wipe the moisture from the mirror and meet the wide eyes and flushed cheeks of my reflection. I’m startled by what’s written all over my face. Desire. Withering resistance. Increasing need.
I won’t be able to stop myself from giving in to him. I know it as sure as I’m standing here. He’s like an addiction that has crept up on me unawares and taken over. I’m smart enough to realize when I’m fighting a losing battle. I’m also smart enough to realize that if I go about this wisely, we can both put an end to the torture and move on. Just once. One and done. It’s the way it has to be.
Enjoy tonight. Move on tomorrow.
But we can have tonight.
Tonight will be for us.
If it were possible to completely erase all other women from a man’s mind in a single night, I’d choose that. The mere suggestion that I might be the only person on his mind brings me comfort and a happy smile. Which is insane because it doesn’t work that way. But it doesn’t stop me from wishing it did.
Travis and I eat in silence. He seems especially sulky, which surprises me.
“Didn’t you have fun today?” I ask.
“Yeah,” comes his glum response.
“Then what’s wrong?”
Travis pushes his plate across the table at me, almost violently, standing up so fast his chair tips over. “We’ll never have a life like that. Normal.”
He stalks off, back down the hall to his bedroom, leaving me sitting at the table with my mouth hanging open. After I recover, I follow him.
I knock softly and then crack the door, sticking only my head inside. “Travis, that’s what I’m working toward. It just takes time.”
He’s lying on his bed, his chin on his chest, with his hood pulled low over his eyes. That damn hoodie!
“Even then, we’ll never have a life like that.”
“Don’t be so sure,” I tell him, hoping that maybe one day, I can give him what he’s missed out on all of his life. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”
Travis gives me a withering look. “We don’t need tricks. We need a miracle.”
On that petulant note, Travis pushes ear buds into his ears and starts scrolling through his phone for music. The end of the conversation, obviously. Which is probably good. I don’t know that I could add anything more right now anyway. I can’t promise him a miracle. I can’t really promise him much of anything, other than I’m trying with all that’s in me to make a better life for us. For him. Even for me. There has to be more than this.
After I clean up the kitchen and feed Mom, I’m straightening her room when Travis pops his head in. “So you’re staying in tonight?”
“Yep. Just us. Wanna watch a movie or something?”
He frowns like I just asked him if I could have a kidney. “No, I don’t. I’m going to Trip’s. I’ll do my homework there.”
“Seriously?” I say, dropping my hands by my side. “What is it with you? Every single time I make plans to stay home for the night with you, you bail. What, are you allergic to me or something?”
“None of your business,” he says grouchily.
I bite my tongue. I try not to fuss. Or crowd him. Or treat him like a kid. Or like he’s different. Or do any of the other million and one things that I know upset him. Travis needs lots of calm. Lots of predictability. But he also needs social interaction and friends, something he seems only to get with Trip. So I keep my mouth shut and I pray that he doesn’t get into trouble or get hurt.
He lingers in the doorway. I don’t know if he has something else to say or if he’s waiting for me to say something. At any rate, neither of us speaks again and he just wanders off, back to his room to slam the door.
Half an hour later, I’m starting a load of laundry when I hear the front door open and close. I race to the porch before Travis can get all the way down the driveway.
“Don’t be too late!” I shout. Without turning around, back pack slung over one shoulder, he raises one hand in acknowledgment and keeps on walking.
Back inside, I go from room to room in our small house, straightening the few things that need straightening. After that, I paint my toenails. Then I put a mud masque on my face, the whole time thinking of Sig and his muddy handprint on my chest. Then I run a hot bath and shave everything from my ankles to my armpits. It’s as I’m lying against the cool ceramic that my mind starts to wander again. And it wanders to Sig. To his touch, to his kiss. To what almost happened earlier today.
My body aches. Just at the thought of him.
I close my eyes, effortlessly conjuring Sig’s liquid brown eyes, his perfectly sculpted mouth, his big, slightly rough hands. God!
Almost of their own accord, my palms drift over my breasts, pausing to tease the throbbing nipples, just like Sig would do. Like he did. I recall the feel of his mouth there, hot and open. Riling my body into a flurry of want and need. My core responds to my thoughts, sending a gush of heat southward. I move my hands down. Farther and farther. Closer to the place where the ache is strongest, where the emptiness is deepest.
I cup my center as my mind elicits Sig’s fingers, his lips, his tongue, delving inside me. Filling yet not totally, satisfying yet not completely. Teasing. Toying. Making me crazy. He knew I needed more, craved more. He was just enjoying the rise, the climb, until he could drive his body into mine and quench this excruciating thirst.
But my touch isn’t Sig’s. No matter how tightly I close my eyes, no matter how much I concentrate, no matter how much I wish it were his, it’s not. It isn’t his hands or his mouth. His kiss or his scent. His laugh or his growl. I’m in my bathroom. In my home. Alone, for all intents and purposes. Exactly what I don’t want to be right now.
Frustrated, I pull the plug to drain the tub before stepping out and toweling off. Standing in the steamy room, I rub scented lotion over every inch of my hyper sensitive skin, groaning with my want of something more.
I wipe the moisture from the mirror and meet the wide eyes and flushed cheeks of my reflection. I’m startled by what’s written all over my face. Desire. Withering resistance. Increasing need.
I won’t be able to stop myself from giving in to him. I know it as sure as I’m standing here. He’s like an addiction that has crept up on me unawares and taken over. I’m smart enough to realize when I’m fighting a losing battle. I’m also smart enough to realize that if I go about this wisely, we can both put an end to the torture and move on. Just once. One and done. It’s the way it has to be.
Enjoy tonight. Move on tomorrow.
But we can have tonight.
Tonight will be for us.
