Did she have a story? I did.
Mine involved dying and coming back to life with a new set of rules.
Hinder not the soul’s intended path unto the light, lest shards of darkness shed upon thee.
I didn’t want to think about those rules or any rules for that matter.
We slowed it down. It was just us. A mattress on the floor. A box of condoms. And all night.
We turned into nothing more than flesh and breath. An exploration of need.
My impatience warred with my desire to kiss her everywhere … taste her everywhere.
“Roe …” she moaned when I pushed into her.
“Evie …” I whispered over her lips before tasting her mouth.
Her back arched away from the mattress, her firm nipples brushing my chest as I moved inside of her. It would not be a one-time affair.
One hit.
I was an Evelyn addict from one hit.
Every day felt borrowed since my accident. Every minute felt like the first and the last.
Right then Evelyn became my beginning and my end—origin and destination. And maybe … if the impossible could find a way to be possible, she could be everything in between.
We owned the night without questioning the reason behind any of it. By morning, I woke to the condom box on the bed beside my head with a note scrawled on it.
Roe,
Had to work.
Evie xo
I grinned, rolling over to bury my face in the pillow that smelled like flowers.
“Evelyn Taylor …” I chuckled to myself. “What are you doing to me?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Evelyn
Spending every free moment with Ronin became my new pastime, interrupted only by Sunday football with Graham. Even that turned into a foursome where Lila sat next to Graham with her laptop, playing catch-up on work. Ronin pretended to watch the games, but I didn’t miss him occasionally cracking open a book to sneak in a few chapters while Graham and I yelled at the refs and coached our favorite teams from the other side of the screen.
“Book nerd,” I’d whisper in his ear during a commercial just before teasing his earlobe with my teeth.
“Science geek,” he’d murmur in return, pulling my wrist to his mouth to kiss my carbon atom tattoo.
Once a week, we foraged for dead trees to harvest more firewood. These outings involved snowball fights and playing tag like two young kids. After taking turns splitting the wood with my grandfather’s ax and piling it next to the house, Ronin started a fire in the wood-burning stove while I made hot chocolate. We piled pillows and blankets on the floor and watched the flames behind the glass door while slurping the froth from the melted marshmallows atop the steamy hot chocolate.
“You have a white mustache.” He eyed my upper lip while setting his mug aside and crawling toward me like an animal on the prowl.
I shook my head, knowing exactly where his mind was going. “Nope.” I swiped my tongue over my top lip several times. “This isn’t happening. Sorry. I need to shave my legs.”
“I’m just helping you get a little marshmallow goo off your lip.” He took my mug from my hands and set it aside next to his mug.
“Then why did you take away my hot chocolate?” I grinned, crawling like a crab backward.
“Because…” he caught up to me, wedging his body between my legs, his head hovering over mine “…this is happening. Hairy legs and all.”
That was me—as is. Take it or leave it, hairy legs and all.
He always took me as is. Always.
As we lost our clothes in the sea of pillows and blankets, embers crackled and “Amsterdam” by Gregory Alan Isakov flowed from the portable speaker on the kitchen counter. Ronin converted me to a lover of indie folk music. He converted me to a lot of things … like eating an apple every day and holding plank for two minutes every night before bed.
He broke all the boyfriend molds, unlike anyone I had ever known—a kind soul, laidback, a product of a culturally diverse family, and wise with the silent confidence of a true nomad. My handsome wanderer.
His biggest fault? Long showers. In all fairness to him, it was hard to put on an entire concert within the confines of a five-minute shower like I usually took—hence the hairy legs.
The first time I heard him, I recorded it from the other side of the door and sent it to Lila.
Me: I’m dating a shower singer. I can’t stop grinning!
Lila: Damn! He’s good. I can’t imagine Graham singing in the shower or anywhere for that matter.
After sliding the phone into my pocket, I cracked open the door to his bathroom, biting my lower lip as I gawked at the blurred outline of his sexy-as-hell body. He sudsed his hair, biceps flexed as he massaged his scalp, eyes closed, and lungs belting out the lyrics to Sinatra’s “The Best is Yet to Come.” I learned he only sang jazz in the shower. Also, I learned if he caught me spying on his shower concert … the chase was on.
“Roe!” I squealed. Running away from his naked body (and shampoo head) chasing me into the bedroom. “The bed! Nooo!” I protested while giggling as he pinned my clothed body to the mattress with his wet torso. “You’re going to get shampoo—ROE!” Wrinkling my nose, I arched my back when he rubbed suds along the side of my face, down to my neck. After he finished getting dirty with me in the cleanest way possible, leaving me naked on a mess of wet, soapy sheets, he sauntered back into the bathroom, shut the door, and started singing Sinatra’s “My Way.”
Weeks and then months passed, and it became impossible to remember what life was like before Ronin. It wasn’t that I lacked happiness before him. I had family and friends, a job I loved, and all the best horror movies on Netflix. Wood still got chopped and hot chocolate was consumed by the fire. All the same colors painted my story; they just weren’t as vibrant.
“He’s taking me skiing.” I frowned looking in the mirror at my soft pink bridesmaid dress while the seamstress pinned the bottom.
Lila snorted, sipping champagne, perched in a white velvet chair in the two-story library of the Porter mansion outside of Denver. “I’m jealous. Jealous that you’re going skiing while I’m drowning in wedding details. And jealous that he gets to watch you slide on your ass down the mountain. Do you see the jealousy on my face?” She circled her champagne flute in front of her face as she grinned. “Besides, there’s been snow on the ground for a month, and you’ve been dating him—or just screwing him, I’m not sure which—for three months. Three months! I can’t believe you’re just now going skiing with him. Graham’s already skied with him twice.”
“It gets worse, Lila.”
The seamstress slipped off my dress and handed me a plush white robe.
“Worse?” She cocked her head to the side.
My nose wrinkled as I stole her champagne and chugged the rest of it. “His parents are coming to Aspen … for the winter.”
“Oh … that puts a damper on your kinky time.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not talking about that. They’re staying with friends. His dad has an ex-teammate who owns a home in Aspen. A big home. Well … not Porter big, but big in comparison to Ronin’s condo and my cabin. My concern is that his parents both ski. His dad has Olympic gold medals for god’s sake. And their son is dating me!”