“Fifteen?” She looks up at me, obviously confused. And rightfully so, since I’ve told her so little about myself.
I grin at her sheepishly. “Yeah.”
“But your daughter is . . .”
“Almost seven,” I finish for her.
“But that would mean you’re only twenty-two.” She sounds a bit horrified.
“Only?” Even if she took two years off of school she can’t be that much older than I am.
She lets out a strained, disbelieving laugh.
“What?” I ask, perplexed.
“I’ll be twenty-seven soon.”
Uh? After a few beats all I can do is laugh, though it holds a lot more joy than hers did. Almost immediately my amusement cuts off as she wriggles her way off my lap.
“Opal,” I call as she disappears down the hall. “Come back. Let’s talk about this.”
I’m about to go in search of her when she reappears holding a roll of toilet paper. Flopping herself down on the opposite end of the couch, she proceeds to wipe her tears. Then, leveling me with a dejected glare, she demands, “You mind telling me why you find this funny?”
I give her a bright smile. “My best friend, Jorgie, is convinced I have a thing for older women. And now I’ve proven him right. He’s never going to let me live this down.”
She studies me for a moment. “It doesn’t freak you out?”
“Not at all,” I tell her honestly. “Does it freak you out?”
“I guess not . . . it just doesn’t make much sense. You’re so together. When I was twenty-two I was a complete disaster.”
“Ha ha,” I say, the sarcasm dripping. “Clearly, you overestimate me. I almost messed up one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.”
And she’s back to wide-eyed hurt.
“Hey, I meant what I said,” I say softly. “I won’t disappear again.”
She’s still worried, but she looks a lot more like herself than she did when I arrived, seeming to take me at my word after a few moments of consideration. “Will you tell me about fifteen year old Scott?”
“That’s a pretty self-explanatory story,” I tell her ruefully. “My girlfriend and I both thought she was on birth control. It hadn’t taken effect yet. We were stupid. But I wouldn’t change a thing even if I could. Rosa means the world to me.”
She nods, like it makes perfect sense. “Which is why you’re so responsible and work so hard.”
“Yeah, probably. I’d do anything for her.”
“It might sound crazy, but I envy that kind of motivation. I’ve always felt . . . adrift, I guess.”
I reach for her hand and she lets me pull her back into my arms. I hate seeing her sad and defeated. With her head tucked under my chin, I promise myself I’ll do everything in my power to avoid hurting her in the future.
Ellie
I expected excuses from him, I got confessions. I expected trite and superficial, I got heartfelt and deep. Then after confessing my worst sins, I expected him to make a bee line for the door. Yet somehow he’s up-ended it all.
I’m worried I should still have my guard up, but after the aching emptiness of the past week and tonight’s emotionally exhausting heart-to-heart, I don’t have the energy. For now, I’m going to allow myself to soak up the warmth of his presence and the strength of his arms . . . and the way his dick is beginning to press against my thigh since I’m sitting on his lap. The idea that maybe he’s not off-limits anymore sparks to life inside of me, but I ignore it. I meant it. I’m not sleeping with him tonight.
“What should we order for dinner?” he asks a bit tightly, trying to shift my hips away from his without being obvious.
“Are you going to stay for a while then?”
He kisses my temple before planting me on the couch beside him so he can dig his cell out of his pocket. “I told you, you’re not getting rid of me.”
An arc of longing begins to twine between us. God, he’s as beautiful as ever, his jaw still strong, his lips still inviting, his dark eyes still expressive, framed by his bangs that brush his forehead.
“Opal,” he says, his voice low. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I whisper.
“Like you want me to strip you naked.”
“That sounds . . .” completely delicious “. . . like a bad idea.”
“Yeah, the worst.”
Oh, shit. Is he leaning in? I scramble back. “We agreed,” I blurt.
He lounges back on the sofa cushions, barely repressing a smirk. “Chinese okay?” he asks casually like he wasn’t about to kiss me.
I want to be as laid back as he is and say something flirty but all I manage to get out is a squeaky, “Sure, thanks.”
While he orders the food, I dispose of my now congealed soup that’s in the microwave. When he comes up behind me, I’m facing the sink, lost in a choppy sea of hope and despair. “You really think we have a shot at this?” I ask carefully.
His arms curl around me, and again, I can’t resist the offered reassurance.
“Yeah, I do.” He nuzzles into my shoulder, chuckling softly before he goes on. “And now that I know about your cougar status, you’re more under my skin than ever.”
“My what?” I choke out in surprise, though a second later, I’m repressing a laugh. “Take that back. I’m at least a decade short on cougar status.”
“Fine. Cradle robber then.”
My low shriek of outrage is corrupted by more laughter. “You make it sound like you’re a teenager. When exactly do you turn twenty-three?”
“Not until November.”
“We’re only four years apart.”
“The end of November,” he says, needling me further. “That’s way closer to five years.”
“And your point is?” I ask, slightly exasperated as he lets me go so I can turn and face him.
“My point is,” he says, his brows arching, “I think it’s hot as fuck.”
I bite my lip to stop a pleased smile from starting. “Is that so?”
“Uh, yeah. You going to tell me when exactly your birthday is?”
“On Thursday.”
That surprises him.
“I’m going to need presents,” I announce with mock arrogance, liking him off kilter.
Slowly a grin spreads across his face. “Oh, I’m sure I’ve got something I can give you,” he says suggestively, reaching for me once again. I’m saved by the intercom’s shrill buzz that announces our dinner. Slipping down the hall, I grab the receiver off the wall and let the delivery driver into the building just as rough hands grab my waist and turn me.
“Tell me I can kiss you.”
“I . . .” My mind blanks as his palms slide along my jaw, one of his thumbs brushing my bottom lip.
“Please,” he whispers, his mouth already so close to mine that I feel his breath on my face.
“Okay.” The syllables are barely formed before he’s kissing me like his life depends on it, giving me sure, strong strokes of his lips and tongue that have my insides turning to liquid fire.