Page 50 of Married to the Scottish Player
Outside, the air is cool and damp. The storm is over, but the lake is still and gray; the day hasn’t decided what kind of weather it wants. Mist hovers just above the surface, curling around the wooden dock and the two kayaks bobbing in the water.
A loon calls out across the lake. Another one answers, as Annabelle and I take the two deck chairs, settling into them, both of us facing the horizon and not each other.
I chuckle. “You think those birds argue?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Probably. Bet the male forgot to pick up minnows on the way home and now she’s threatening to fly south early.”
I grin into my coffee. “You’re a nightmare to date, aren’t you?”
“Not in the least.” She sips. “I’m a goddamn delight.”
She smirks, and for the first time this morning, she doesn’t look like she wants to hide from me. She takes another long sip of her coffee, then sighs. “Okay, listen. About last night ...”
Last night = one long orgasm.
For her, not me. But that’s fine—I don’t care. Listening to her moan as she came was the sexiest sound I’ve heard in a seriously long fucking time, and I don’t regret it, so neither should she. Two consenting adults.
Panic immediately surges in my chest. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“Good,” she says quickly. “Great. Because I wasn’t going to.”
“Awesome. Perfect.” Great.
Cool.
Another loon cries out.
Annabelle tilts her head. “Do you think they do it in the water?”
Do it? Like—fuck? “Probably. Less cleanup.”
“I wonder if they have a special call for that. Like a horny warble.”
I laugh at her cheesy comment. “Better than a sad honk. That’s what ducks do.” As if I would know.
“Wow. Okay.” She laughs back and lifts her coffee mug. “So this is what we’re doing now. Talking about bird sex lives to avoid discussing ours.”
I nod. “Yup. Classic misdirection.”
We both sip at the same time, and for a second the silence is bearable. The kind that means neither of us knows what to say but we’re both pretending we feel relaxed.
Lies.
All lies . . .
She sets her mug down on the porch rail, tapping a fingernail against the ceramic. “So what’s the plan for today?”
I stretch my legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “Supposed to check in with my coach. Do some therapy. Maybe take the kayak out later. You wanna come?”
She tilts her head. “We’re kayaking together now?”
“Sure. You can sit in the front and yell at ducks for honking wrong.”
She chuckles. “Idolove me a power trip.”
We both laugh, hers low and throaty, and I have to glance away before I do something stupid like lean over and kiss her again.
Instead, I say, “So what were you actually planning on doing today? Besides giving me shit?”
