“That’s lovely.” It must be wonderful to feel so certain that someone loved you, and that you loved that someone. But it didn’t seem very relevant to her own life. She and Tristan were in a very different situation. This was their first real “date”—and they weren’t even on the same continent.
“Are you hungry? Tristan ordered up a parade of dishes for you. There’s a theme. He said you’d recognize it.”
“Is he…coming? Or am I eating alone?”
Just then her phone rang with a FaceTime call. Tristan’s beaming face appeared. Even over a sketchy video connection, he made her weak in the knees.
“God, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said. “My internet won’t hold up for long, but I just wanted to put my eyes on you.”
“Likewise, desperado. Nice touch, with the daisies and the fellow Brit.”
He laughed. “Just wait for the food.”
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
“Well, I think about you a lot.” The intimate tone made her heart jump.
At that point, Alastair began bringing out one dish after another. Smoked salmon dip with crackers. Salmon chowder. A salmon filet crusted in macadamia nuts.
When the video connection failed, she and Tristan switched to texting. It felt almost as intimate as being together in person, or maybe intimate in a different way. I think I’ve guessed the theme, she told him.
I had that salmon delivered to Alastair from my own catch.
Is that why it tastes so good?
That might be thanks to Alastair.
She laughed and devoured every bit of the delicious bespoke meal. I draw the line at salmon for dessert.
Good, because I have something else in mind for dessert.
Oh really? Her pulse picked up, and her breathing quickened. What did Tristan have up his sleeve next?
When Alastair brought her chocolate fondue, at first she was almost disappointed, although of course she loved chocolate. But midway through a bit of strawberry dipped in fondue, Tristan texted again.
That’s just a preview of dessert. The real one’s back at home. But there’s a catch.
What catch?
We have to be naked.
Twenty-Nine
If only they could keep up the FaceTiming for this part of the date. But Tristan didn’t ever have enough privacy for anything like that. At his parents’ high-rise, he slept on the couch in the living room. The condo was tiny and his mother had very good hearing. Anything X-rated and out loud was out of the question.
But texting worked just fine.
Are you naked yet? He texted when he’d given her enough time to drive home. He’d pictured her every step of the way—rounding the steep bluff where the wild strawberries grew, passing between the snow-loaded spruce groves near the hospital. Then parking next to her little cabin, running inside, and hopefully ripping her clothes off.
After a few moments she answered. Yes. I’m under the covers and they’re kind of scratchy on my nipples.
Trust Lulu to make him laugh in the middle of sexting. Better touch them. Imagine me licking them. Put your fingers in your mouth and get them wet. Then squeeze your nipples.
Mmmmm. Feels good. Getting kind of aroused.
Kind of? We can do better than that. Imagine my fingers inside you. Stroking you. Making that sweet pussy purr.
Oh, did I tell you I got a cat?
Okay, that went in a direction he hadn’t expected. You mentioned being a cat lady. Are you fondling yourself? Are you wet?
Very juicy. Slippery. Mmm.
Tell me about this cat.
Don’t want to talk about my cat. Are you touching yourself too? How’s that beautiful cock of yours?
Talking about the mayor?
Haha. Didn’t you hear? Malcolm Crow got elected. Trixie and the rooster split the pro-cruise ship vote.
He kind of liked this mixture of sexting and casual conversation. It felt so natural, as if they were lounging in bed together catching up on the day’s news while getting in the mood.
Good news. And yes, I’m touching myself too. Hand around my cock. It’s so big, all because of you.
So big…and yet so far.
7,800 miles. But I feel like you’re in the room with me. I can smell you. You smell like hot strawberries in the sun.
And you smell like sea spray and pirate boots.
Is that good?
So good. I think I’m going to come.
Wait. Not yet. What exactly is your hand doing? I want to know.
He closed his eyes, the better to visualize her. Even though they’d only spent a few days together, he never had a problem calling up her image. Big blue eyes, radiant smile, long legs, flirty attitude.
Hand bw my legs. Texting one-handed. So awkward.
He chuckled, because he was having the same issue. One hand all it takes.
Rubbing my clit. Swelling. Feels hot. Tender.
He let out a groan, then clenched his teeth to keep his sex sounds to himself. On this damn couch he felt like a thirteen-year-old boy trying to satisfy his urges without tipping off his parents. This is killing me. I wish I was there. I want to feel for myself.
Yeah. You close?
7,800 miles.
Don’t want to laugh. I’m about to come and I can’t laugh and come. My head will (exploding head emoji.)
(Laugh-cry face.) I’m close. So close. Pray my mother doesn’t come out of her bedroom.
He slid his hand up and down his erection.
Oh god. I’m coming. My whole pussy’s throbbing. Can you feel it?
I can almost taste it. Sweet and WILD OH YEAH
Oops, his cap lock got stuck on. But somehow it worked. A moment later he exploded into his own hand. A bunch of keys on his phone got hit with some part of his body as he jerked out his orgasm. When he finally checked it again, he saw that he hadn’t sent his string of “weutirprotht[oiwJERPOWKE R.”
So he sent it.
Same, she texted back a moment later. Unless that was a stroke instead of an orgasm.
O all the way, babe. You?
Oh yes. Amazing. I’m really good in bed with myself.
(Laughing face emoji) You’re a sexy sexy woman. It turns me on thinking of you making yourself come.
Aw. You’re so easy.
That’s right I am. All it takes is a lil bit o Lulu.
(Smirky face emoji)
Bathroom. Cleanup. BRB, he texted.
He rolled out of the sofa bed and padded to the bathroom, keeping a wary eye on his mother’s closed door. It would be great if she would knock when she was going to come out, but she never remembered to do it. And he didn’t have the heart to insist, so he just accepted that he never really had any privacy here.
He cleaned up in the bathroom, then gave himself a stern look in the mirror. “Don’t mess this up, Del Rey. It’s too good.”
“Tristán? Esta bien?”
He jumped at the sound of his mother’s voice at the bathroom door. “Si Mama. I’m almost done.”
“I can’t sleep, querido. I’m going to make some goat empanadas for your father. The doctor said that’s better for his heart.”
He heard her footfalls click across the floor of the little condo, then looked in the mirror again. “Seventy-eight thousand miles is too fucking many.”
When he got back to his phone, he saw that Lulu had sent a long paragraph of zzzzzz’s. She was going to sleep, which meant no more light in the grayness. Talking with Lulu was the only thing that really distracted him from his worry. Even though his father was getting better, he still had at least a week in rehab before he could come home. And once he came home, it might be tough for him to readjust. Tristan worried that his mother wouldn’t be able to handle taking care of him.