Page 68 of When There Was You
I bark out a laugh then ponder it. “That sounds kind of…hot.” I doubt he’s serious, but I like the idea of a man who would do anything to keep me. Or at least try. I don’t want to think too hard about why.
“Yeah? I would live to fulfill your fantasies.”
All body parts reawaken, standing at attention. “Really?”
His eyes gleam, expression rapt. “Mm-hmm. And judging by the flush of your pretty cheeks, something tells me you’re into it.”
Judging by his newly sprung boner, something tells me he’s ready to start now. I’m a definite yes. Those Mick and Remy sandwiches were the stuff of fantasies, the kind I never knew I harbored, showing me an adventurousness that surprised me in the best way. Those two awakened my sexuality—then fed it—but I’m thirsty to explore it further. Something I’m just, this very minute, realizing.
I flash him a mischievous smile in answer.
He caresses my jawline, his thumb grazing my lips as he studies my face. “You’re rocking my fucking world.”
And you’re rocking mine.
Thirty-Seven
Butch and I connect for late-night phone calls and the occasional conversation during working hours. It’s probably a godsend that geography and life’s priorities conspire to keep us apart; when we’re in physical proximity, we wind up in bed.
I’m grateful for the forced “slow but steady” concept we agreed upon to see where our budding relationship—or possibility of one—goes.
We’re getting to know one another.
After ripping each other’s clothes off.
Backwards, and yet…forwards.
I don’t want to lose myself again, and already, the telltale tug veers hard in his direction. He’s likable. Fun. Principled. A gentleman. And yeah, fine…talented in the sack.
It’s strangely intimate conversing into the night. We cover everything from the mundane to our upbringing to confessions. The absence of speaking in person provides a barrier, a false safety net to say…anything.
“Best subjects in school?”Butch asks.
“English, art, and gym. I was terrible at math and science. In eighth grade, we were forced to evacuate the class after I plunged my burning test tube into the wrong beaker and toxic gases filled the room.”
He chuckles. “I can’t write worth a damn, but math, science, and history all come easy. And I excelled in auto shop, of course.”
Duh. “From here on out, I’ll handle the writing, you handle the arithmetic.”
“Deal.”
“It’s like together, we complete the Pi. Get it…Pi?”
“Are you attempting a math joke?” he says.
“Attemptingmay be the operative word.”
“At least you know your jokes suck.”
“At least you know my mouth can.”
“That day we met?I thought—knew—you were the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Butch admits.
I smile, remembering the scene. “I’ve never done anything as impulsive as I did that day...asking a stranger to sleep with me.” With whiplash force, the salacious threesome onSeas the Dayblazes into my memory. Guess we can file that under impulsive too.
“Ahandsomestranger?” he teases.
“A deliciously tall, dark, mildly grumpy, and fine as hell lumberjack.”
