I go into my room and find a pair of black leggings. I pull them on with my Hocus Pocus sweatshirt and a pair of black Ugg boots. Might as well dress the part. I grab the dozen Halloween-themed sugar cookies I made before I left the bakery and hit the road.
I knock on their door, and Margo throws it open with Carson chasing after her. “Yay! You made it,” Margo says.
I laugh. “And I brought treats,” I tell her, bending down so she can see inside the box through the clear plastic panel.
“They’re Halloween cookies!” she cheers.
Carson laughs but takes the box from my hands.
“And look at my sweatshirt!”
She gasps. “Dad, can I wear my Halloween shirt?”
“I don’t see why not. Go ahead.”
She rushes out of the room.
Carson leads me into the living room. The coffee table is already littered with popcorn, candy, and drinks. He places the box of cookies down, and it completes the spread.
“Who would’ve thought we’d be having Halloween in the middle of June?” He laughs.
I shrug. “Hey, that’s my kind of thinking right there,” I joke, taking a seat on the far end of the couch.
He sits at the opposite end. “Listen, Violet—” he starts, but Margo is back and she’s jumping onto the couch in between us.
“We’ll talk later,” I tell him and he nods in agreement. He picks up the remote and turns on the movie.
Many hours later, both movies are over, and despite the sugar high Margo had, she’s out, sprawled out on the couch between us. Carson picks up the remote and turns off the movie, the blue light from the screen filling the room.
“I’m going to carry her up to bed. Then we can have a drink and talk if you want.”
I nod. “I’ll just start cleaning some of this up.”
“You don’t have to do—”
I hold up my hand, cutting him off.
He picks Margo up and holds her in his arms, against his chest, to carry her upstairs. I stand up and bend over the table, cleaning up candy wrappers and empty popcorn bowls. I take the load I have in my arms into the kitchen and put things away. I head back into the living room, and Carson is just coming down the stairs. He passes me by, walks into the kitchen, and opens the fridge. I hear the clattering of glass bottles. I take my seat on the couch, angling my body toward his seat.
He hands over a bottle and sits where he had before, far away from me. “So, what’s up?” I ask, taking a drink.
“I thought that maybe we needed to address last night…”
I nod. “I thought the same thing, but honestly, it seems we’re both doing the right thing here, right?”
He looks over at me with a lift of his brow.
“We’re ignoring it?” I say as I wait for him to comment, but all he does is nod. “I mean, you have a lot going on. You just moved and bought this place, you’re trying to start up a company, and you have Margo. Starting a relationship should be the last of your worries. Not to mention, Margo is young. We don’t want our bad choices to cause her any pain in the future. I think what’s best is just to put it behind us.”
He clears his throat. “I couldn’t have said it any better myself,” he agrees.
I nod once. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page. Now, do you want to watch a real scary movie?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood by being playful and smiling.
He laughs. “Sure. What did you have in mind?”
“I’ve always loved the Nightmare on Elm Street series.”
“Really?” he asks, wrinkling his nose.
“Yeah. I mean, you can run from killers like Jason and Michael, but you can’t run from Freddy. Everyone has to sleep some time.”
I shrug. “I guess I never really thought of it like that.”
He pulls up a streaming movie channel and searches for it, finding the first one.
“Yes! This one is my favorite. Young Johnny Depp, yes sir,” I joke and he laughs.
I kick off my boots and pull my feet up onto the couch, getting comfy. The two of us sit, watching the movie and drinking beer after beer. Halfway through the movie, I find myself leaning more toward the middle, and I don’t think anything of it—not until I notice him do the same thing a little while later. But we’ve been sitting upright on this couch for hours now. I’m sure he’s just getting to be as uncomfortable as I am.
By the end of the movie, I find myself lying back, resting my head against the arm rest with my butt and feet in the middle. He’s leaned over on his side now, head resting on his fist and his elbow against the couch. His arm is almost touching my leg, and I can somehow feel the heat coming off of it.
The credits roll, and the living room gets darker. Neither of us move to shut off the TV. I’m feeling good and relaxed, finally comfortable and in no rush to move. I’m tired from getting up so early and staying up late for the second night in a row. I have a feeling it’s going to take a Mack Truck to get me off this couch.
He turns his head and looks up at me, his eyes finding mine in the darkness. The air between us seems to grow thick again, something I’m finding happening more and more when we’re left alone. I don’t know how to pull away. I only know that I should. But why? I suddenly can’t remember.
I don’t know how the space between us gets smaller and smaller. I don’t move. But the next thing I know, his lips are against mine. His body is half covering mine, pressing me into the couch cushions. His tongue swirls with mine, and the longer we kiss, the further it goes. His hands start out on my hips, but they slowly move over my body, my jaw, my neck, my shoulder, my side, inching closer and closer to my breast, but never touching it.
It’s almost like he wants to, but something is holding him back. It’s like he’s dancing along a line. Once that line is crossed, we can never go back. He wants to, and I want to, but do we really want to? Knowing that we can’t ever go back? Is it worth it? Will we come out on the other side better, stronger? Or will we both end up lost, not knowing how to move on?
He lets out a deep growl, like he’s suddenly giving in and tired of fighting. His hand lands on my breast, lightly squeezing it as he uses his hips to push my legs apart. He slides down between them, his hips pressing against a part of my body I haven’t thought about in a long time. I can feel how hard he is as he strains against his jeans, pressing against me. I can feel the sudden change between us. Once guarded and unsure, now we’re throwing caution to the wind.
I know I should stop this, but he feels too good pressed against me. My hands come between us, and they begin pushing his shirt up his stomach. He lifts himself up just enough to pull the shirt up higher. Reaching behind him, he yanks it off from the back. I hear the threads popping and snapping, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
Our lips are only parted for a moment, but it gives me all the time I need to see what he’s been hiding. His biceps are big, as are his pecs. It’s easy to see how much he takes care of himself. His abs are hard and rippling, and he has just the smallest amount of hair on his belly button that trails down below his pants.
His lips are back on mine in an instant, and his hands seem more persistent this time. They’re pushing my shirt up my stomach, and I raise my arms so he can pull it off. The moment he does, his lips don’t come back to mine. Instead, they fall to kiss the swell of my breasts. He pulls the cups of my bra away, sucking my nipple into his mouth. It immediately hardens and tingles with pleasure.