A MODEL ROMANCE

Book Three in the True Love Series

BETSY ANNE

OTHER BOOKS BY BETSY ANNE

Mine, Not Hers

Book One in the True Love Series

A Love We Deserve

Book Two in the True Love Series

Text copyright © 2015 Betsy Anne

All Rights Reserved

For my three wonderful children, Shelby, Hank and Jack, who have taught me what unconditional love is all about.

~ Part One~

Chapter 1

Come on, pal, look down, already. The slit of my skirt has been hanging open, revealing all of my leg and some of my bare hip, for at least five minutes now. The silky fabric is all but covering his left leg. Even in first class, the seats don’t allow for much personal space. My handsome row-mate has been chatting away on his phone and staring out the window since I’ve boarded. It never takes this much effort to get a man to notice me, but today I need it. I need some validation that at the ancient age of twenty-eight, at least by modeling standards, I’m still worth gawking at.

Here comes the flight attendant’s announcement; he’ll have to turn off his phone soon. I hide behind my Elle magazine, of which I’m gracing the cover. As he finishes his conversation, I hear him whisper, “Damn.” Just what I’ve been waiting for. I lower my magazine, slowly close it and place it on my lap. That’s when I just happen to notice that my skirt has gone wayward.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. This is a terrible outfit to travel in,” I say as I hurriedly gather the side of my skirt.

His eyes are glued to the side of my body, taking in my long, bare leg. He glances at my face, down at my lap and back up with a keen look of recognition.

He clears his throat before he finally speaks.

“I know you, you’re the woman from that gum commercial aren’t you? That’s you, isn’t it?” He points down at the magazine askew on my lap. He looks rather pleased with himself, and more than a little excited that he got so lucky to be in seat 1D.

“Oh, yes, that’s me: Brightness Gum for the brightest teeth around!” I throw him my best commercial-worthy smile, and he eats it up. I can’t believe I’ve stooped to the level of B-list celebrity, practically begging for someone to notice me.

We chat and drink for the entirety of the flight. Thankfully, Chicago to New York isn’t long, and we land before I get in too deep. He shoves his business card into my hand, and with Scotch-laden breath begs me to call him to meet-up while he’s in town. What an ass. Like I don’t notice the wedding band, shiny and new, gracing his left hand like a beacon in the night. It’s my own fault, though. If my self-esteem weren’t so battered right now, I wouldn’t have spoken to him about anything other than a polite mention of the weather.

A career in modeling will do that to a person. It skews perception of reality. Thirty-year-olds are washed-up hags, twelve-thousand dollars seems perfectly reasonable for the latest handbag, and a full meal consists of sixty ounces of water and half an apple.

I’d been blind to how everyone else in the world lives until the trip to Chicago for my older sister Melanie’s wedding. It was just the wake-up call I needed.

* * *

The line for taxis is a block long. I’ve been calling and texting Harrison since I landed, but no still no response. He knew what time my flight was supposed to arrive, he confirmed with me last night. I would have scheduled a car to pick me up, but he was insistent he would do it.

The older woman in front of me keeps staring. I get that a lot. Modeling and commercials offer enough exposure to get you recognized, but rarely do people want an autograph from the gum lady. They would just prefer to stare. I’ve been edgy since I left Chicago, and now with Harrison blowing me off, I’m pissed as well. I don’t feel like being leered at right now, so I put on my dark Jackie Onassis sunglasses and step out of line to go back into the terminal. I call Harrison one last time; maybe he was stuck in traffic. No luck: The call goes straight to voicemail. I hang up without leaving a message, and instead call for a car service.

Two exhausting hours later, I make it to the Upper East Side, my home sweet home. My feet feel like freckled sausages stuffed into the heels I’ve been wearing all day. All I want to do is collapse on my bed. The doorman, Frank, rushes to help me with my bags.

“Goot afternoon, Miss London, how vas your treep?” He asks with a heavy eastern European accent.

“It was lovely, Frank, thank you for asking. Have you seen Mr. Bernard around today?” I ask, I’m curious if I missed him.

“No, ma’am, I have not.” He looks uncomfortable answering personal questions. He shuffles his feet as we ride the elevator to my floor. I change the subject and ask about his wife. His eyes light up when he speaks about her, which is daily, and it always puts a smile on my face. I’ve never had that with anyone.

Harrison and I met two years ago at a charity event sponsored by the investment bank where he works. I was there with a good friend, who happened to notice him first. Harrison is a strikingly handsome man who commands any room he’s in. He gave a speech before dinner, and my friend grabbed me to go with her to be the first to meet him when he got off stage. He walked right past her and took my hand to introduce himself. He oozed power and grace. After dinner, he sat with me and we talked until the end of the night. We dated for six months, and then he asked me to move in.

Our relationship has changed since we’ve been living together. Our once hot sex life has become routine, and the only time we go out is if there’s a business function for which he needs me on his arm. Otherwise, he works all hours and we rarely spend time together. He’s a nice guy; I just don’t know what changed. I thought I loved him and that we would get married someday, but now I don’t know. I need to feel more passion in my life.

Frank carries my bags to the door, and shuffles back to the elevator. I hear Harrison’s voice as he speaks on the phone when I enter our place.

“Yes, I will. She just walked in. I’ll speak with you soon,” he says in a clipped tone, almost as if he’s angry or nervous. “Hi, gorgeous, you’re early!” He crosses the room to greet me. He stops short when he sees the unpleasant look I’m sporting.

“Early? Harrison, you told me you would be there to pick me up! I had to wait for a car service for over an hour. I told you last night what my travel schedule was,” I huff, as I walk stiffly past him.

“What? You did? I’m sorry, Bec. My head has been all over the place lately. Please forgive me.” He seems genuinely contrite, but this behavior is so unlike him. He dots every “I” and crosses every “T,” He doesn’t forget things.

“Well, what’s done is done. Who where you speaking to on the phone?” I ask, innocently, almost robotically, as I sort through some mail on the coffee table. I look up and he’s white as a ghost. I’ve never seen him like this, ever. My stomach flips and I brace myself for what’s next.

“Becca, we need to talk.”

Oh, God. Does that ever end well?

“What is it, Harrison? You’re scaring me. Are you OK?” I ask, not really sure what I’m about to hear.

He walks over slowly, and sits down next to me on the sofa. He places his warm hand on mine.

“I’ve met someone, Rebecca,” he whispers quietly as if he’s trying to soften the news. I’m momentarily stunned, not feeling much other than confusion.

“What? When? Who?” All I left out was the “where” and the “why.”  I pull my hand out from under his, and move over to the next cushion. I need to fully see him.

“I haven’t cheated on you, I need you to know that. You mean the world to me, but I think we both know our relationship has been one of convenience for a long time now. I wasn’t looking, it just sort of happened.”

He looks sad, I almost feel sorry for him. He’s a good person; I’ve never had any doubts about that. If he says he hasn’t cheated, I believe him. That makes this news a tougher pill to swallow. He’s fallen for someone.

“Please tell me, Harrison, I need to know what’s happened,” I plead; I just want this over with.

“She’s in your agency. Her name is Cara; she’s a legal assistant in the corporate law division. We met at the Fashion Week party while I was waiting for you after your show. We started chatting, and it turned out she went to school with one of my firm’s partners. I didn’t see her again until weeks later at the Christmas party. Remember? You were in L.A. She asked her friend to invite her because she wanted to see me again. We’ve been speaking ever since. It began very innocently, Bec, I swear to you. I’m drawn to her, and I need to explore these feelings. I never intended to hurt you, please know that.”

He’s sincere. I vaguely recall who she is. I’ve had no interaction with her in the agency, no need to. I’m a little embarrassed that I don’t feel like crying and screaming. That must be a sign. He and I have a good friendship, but the romance part has cooled. We’ve been going through the motions, and for him, at thirty-eight, he needs more. He wants a wife and kids, and we never talked about it much beyond speculation. In a strange way, I’m happy for him. I’m also jealous; I wish we could have had those feelings for each other, but it wasn’t meant to be.

“I love you, Harrison, you know that. I want you to be happy,” I say as I feel a tear roll down my cheek. The emotion is real; I’ll miss him. He embraces me tightly, and I feel him exhale. We sit like this for a long while. This day officially sucks.

In the next few days, we cordially discuss my moving out and the separating of goods. I sold my last place with all the furniture in it since he had everything already. I need to start from scratch. Find a place to live, and get on with my life.

Chapter 2

I find a great loft in the Village. It’s just what I need at this stage of the game: Young, trendy and full of life. Now if I could just get my mood and attitude to match my neighborhood. Harrison and I have remained friends, which in the grand scheme of things, is remarkable. His girl, Cara, left our agency to work someplace else. I respect them both for trying to spare my feelings. I guess it’s what I have to do.

Ever since I returned to New York from Chicago I haven’t been the same. The the upheaval in ending a relationship helps to distract me, but I feel depressed. At my age, I’m near the pinnacle of my modeling career and on the downward slope. Sure, there are models out there that keep going through their thirties and forties, but they’re a rare breed. The rest of us begin to notice the phone doesn’t ring as often with job offers, until one day it stops altogether. I’ve been one of the lucky ones, I know. Being a natural redhead set me apart from the pack, especially at the beginning of my career. There’s a great deal more diversity in the modeling industry today, but the blondes and brunettes still make up the majority.

I have a meeting today with Embrace, a large cosmetics company that I’ve been the face of for the last three years. My contract is about to expire, and we have to renegotiate the particulars of a new one. It’s been steady work, and they’ve paid me handsomely. I’d love to squeeze another five years out of them, and be finished for good. I have plenty of money to stop now, but this is my career. I want it to last as long as possible. Thinking back on our last contract meeting, I remember Cara. She was sitting with our attorneys taking notes. I feel a little pang of jealousy.

I don’t sleep well, so I decide to get up and get my workout done to burn off excess energy. I take my time getting ready, too. My makeup is flawless, and my hair is down with long, loose curls. I’m wearing one of my favorite outfits, a custom-fitted Chanel suit in a deep purple. My five-inch gold Louboutin heels put me around six-four. I love feeling the power that comes from standing tall. Contract negotiations are dull, to say the least, but I want to remind them what they’re getting.

I arrive at our downtown offices early. When I enter the lobby, I see my agent speaking with the receptionist.

“There she is, good timing,” Deb, my agent, says with a smile. “Let’s go in this conference room, Rebecca, we’ll have some privacy.”

Strange.

“OK. Am I late? I thought I was early,” I say as I follow her into the smaller room down the hall. She doesn’t speak; she keeps walking ahead. There’s no one in there, so she must want to go over some details first.

“Becca, I can’t sugarcoat this, so I just have to tell you upfront. Embrace is passing on your contract renewal. They contacted me yesterday, and I didn’t want to tell you over the phone. I did everything I could, but they’ve made up their minds. I’m terribly sorry.”

My mind takes this opportunity to unleash all the pent-up rage I’ve felt for the past few months onto my poor agent. Knowing, and not caring, that everyone in the place can hear me, I begin to shout.

“What the fuck, Deb! You have one fucking job, and that’s to keep me employed! This was supposed to be an easy renewal, sign the papers and get on with my day. Now you’re telling me that my biggest contract is gone?” Each word that comes out of my mouth gets louder and louder, until I feel the veins pulsating in my forehead. I see a small group gathering outside the frosted-glass walls of the room. I take a deep breath, and begin again in a lower tone.

“OK, Deb, I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault, but something had to happen. What did they say?”

She looks down at the table, and inspects an invisible speck of dust.

“They wanted someone younger,” she doesn’t look up. She knows this is a model’s greatest nightmare. In this business, news travels at the speed of light; every other company will know that I’ve been pegged as “too old.” I could start appealing to the face-cream bunch, but even they hire twenty-year-olds who pretend to have wrinkles. I knew this day would come; I had no idea it would be this soon. I’ve picked up on some subtle, and not so subtle, clues, though. A photographer at a recent shoot complained that he needed a softer filter for my layout. He muttered under his breath in French that I should try some Botox. I told him, in French, as clearly as I could to go fuck himself. That news spread fast, and labeled me “difficult to work with” even after all the years of stellar behavior.

I storm out the room, and the sea of onlookers parts for me to pass. I walk with lack of direction; I allow my feet to make the decisions. I keep my head held high and even though I feel like crying, I don’t dare. I walk out onto the busy street, and keep walking until I can’t go any farther. My feet are screaming in these shoes; It’s time to catch a cab and go home. The leaves are beginning to turn, and the air feels lighter. Fall is around the corner. Thank God, because the summer I’ve had I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

* * *

My sister, Melanie, is due to have her baby sometime late September. That’s only a couple of weeks away. I think I’ll go out for an extended visit, and offer to help her and Brian. I desperately need to get out of the city for a while. Ever since I returned to New York after their wedding, my life has turned upside down. Maybe a repeat trip will flip it around.

Melanie couldn’t be more excited that I’m coming. She and I were close growing up, but with my lifestyle and her asshole first husband, we haven’t gotten to see each other very often. I’m thankful that her friend, Katie, helped her see what a jerk her first husband was. Her new husband, Brian, plays for the Chicago Bears and he’s adorable. He reminds me of a big teddy bear. He adores her and her boys, and is so excited for their new baby to arrive. I love being around the two of them, they give me hope for the future. If she can find that kind of love after everything she’s been through with men, there’s a chance for me yet.

Even though her house is huge, I insist on staying at a hotel. I don’t want to get in the way, especially now when so much is going on. I can always stay at her house if she needs me, but it’s better for everyone if I have my own space. They are still newlyweds, after all. Brian’s been away at training camp, and he’s done well in preseason games so far. He’s had limited playing time, testing out his injured Achilles, but so far he says it feels great. I make my plans to go out in the middle of next week. Since I’m staying an indefinite time, I need to get things in order here before I go.

I rent a car at the airport, and type their address into the GPS. Glencoe is one the quaintest towns I’ve ever seen. The homes are beautiful, and the little village downtown looks like something from a movie set - far from the madness that is New York. Melanie is waiting on the front porch when I arrive. She looks cute and impossibly large. She waddles down the front steps to greet me.

“I’m so happy you’re here! Poor Brian, I’ve been wearing him out talking about it. I think he’s thankful to be on the road this week. Here, let me help,” she says as she rocks her swollen body from side to side trying to pick up one of my suitcases. I agreed to stay with her through the weekend while Brian is away.

“Are you insane? Not only can I carry all of these and you at the same time, if you go into early labor picking up my bags, Brian will never speak to me again!” I laugh as I gently push her hands away from my bags.

“Oh, I’m not helpless. Everyone keeps treating me like I’ll break, but I’ve been through this three times before. I can carry a damn suitcase!” She huffs. I relent and give her my small carry-on vanity case. She’s as stubborn as they come, and I know better than to argue, and she knows better than to push me too hard, too. I can keep up with her.

We drop everything in her front foyer and hug. It’s not the easiest thing to do since she’s six inches shorter than me, and twice as round. This feels good. I’ve missed her so much over the years; it feels natural to reconnect this way. My nephews come screaming down the stairs and hug both of us.

“Aunt Becca! You’re here!” John says first, followed by Matthew and Luke, chiming in about what’s been going on in their lives.

“Boys, boys, give Aunt Becca a chance to breathe, she just got here. There will be time for everything. First of all, take her bags up to the guest room,” she directs and they fall in line, each grabbing something to take.

“Wow! I’m impressed. How do you get them to listen like that?”

“They’ve been wonderful, Bec. They are so happy with Brian being here, and they want to please him. Even when he’s not around, they’ve been listening and behaving like never before. Thank goodness, too. With this one,” she says as she rubs her large belly, “I’ve needed the cooperation. Let’s just pray this one follows suit!”

I follow her out onto the beautiful veranda at the back of the house. The weather is spectacular, a little cool but sunny. We sit and she puts her feet in my lap, pointing to indicate she’d enjoy a foot rub. I oblige, and we sit quietly and enjoy the peace.

“How’re you doing, Bec?” Her Georgia drawl comes out full force when I’m around. I spent years and an obscene amount of money for a voice coach to drum that darned accent out of me, and within ten minutes being around her it slips out.

“Ahm fahn,” shit! “Oh my God, did you hear that? Melanie, this can’t happen. I can’t start talking like Daisy Mae again!”

She laughs so hard, tea shoots out of her nose.

“And just what are you sayin’ there, Miss Priss. Too good for us Suthners?” She’s howling with laughter. This will surely put her into labor.

“You better stop laughin’ so hard, I’m not deliverin’ no babies!” I say with an exaggerated accent. Her face is red from laughter, and I feel a warm, loving sensation inside. This is where I’m meant to be, near my family. I haven’t really known it until right at this moment. I’m happy I made the decision to come out here. I may never leave.

Her laughter slows, finally, and her breathing returns to normal.

“Seriously, though. I’ve been worried about you. This has been one hell of a year for you.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. It’s been hard, Mel, I can’t lie. I felt so depressed when I left here last time. I was happy watching you and Brian together, and seeing you with the boys. I needed some good things to happen when I went home, and quite the opposite did. I lost my man, place to live and my best job in rapid succession. I have to keep my chin up and believe there must be silver lining in all of this.” I give her a half-hearted smile, and she clutches my hand. I haven’t cried much, if at all, through all of this. I feel it now. Her loving nature and kindness are too much for my cold New Yorker heart. I begin to cry, and it feels as if I’ll never stop. The boys come to the door, and I see her shoo them away. She rubs my back while I have a good old-fashioned pity party.

“All right, as Mom would say, ‘Stop your sobbing, girl, won’t help nothing.’ She has such a way with words, wouldn’t you say?” Melanie says to me with a quick tap on my back. She’s right, and I do feel cried out. I’ve never been a complainer, but when life piles it on all at once, even the strongest are tested.

“You’re right, and, unfortunately, so is Mom. Now, on to much happier things, when is this baby coming?” I grab her belly, and give a gentle wiggle.

“Ooof, don’t do that. I can’t even imagine going another week or more. If God truly loves me, labor will begin now.” She makes a funny face like she’s waiting for something. She looks up to the sky, and says, “OK, I get it. You don’t like me that much.”

She can always make me laugh, no matter what. We go into the house, and her cellphone rings.

“Hi, baby, I’m so glad you called. I’m fine. Yes, she got in OK. We were just catching up. I miss you, too, sweetheart. Be careful out there for me, OK? I love you, too.”

They are so cute.

“Brian sends his love, and he said he can’t wait to see you,” she says with some trepidation.

“What’s wrong? Is he OK?”

“Yes, he’s fine. I’m just worried about him, and I’m worried that he’ll be out of town when the baby comes.” She looks upset.

“Everything will be fine. Mom is coming soon, and I’m here. We’ll videotape the birth if he’s not here,” I say, meaning it as a joke, but she looks horrified.

“What? You most certainly will not! My cooter is not being taped!”

“That’s your biggest concern? Modesty? Don’t you want your husband to see the birth?” Now I’m just egging her on. I know it’s mean, but her reaction is priceless.

“Rebecca Marie, don’t you dare!” She waddles away from me, and I can’t help but chase after her.

“I’m just kidding, Mel. You know me anyway; I couldn’t stomach it. He’ll be here, and Mom and I are, too. I don’t want you to worry.” I give her a tight hug of reassurance.

* * *

“What? No, I can’t! My sister is due to have her baby any day now. No, I won’t be there,” I say to my agent, just two days after promising Mel I’d be here.

Mel is about ready to pop, and my agent is frantically trying to get me to come back and sign a new deal with an up-and-coming shoe line. I guess they don’t mind “old” feet.

“What was that about, Bec?” Melanie calls from the couch, unable to turn around to look at me behind her.

“Oh, it’s nothing. It was my agent, Deb. She has an offer for me to rep some new shoe line, but I guess there’s a time constraint. They want me to sign immediately. Screw that, I don’t want to leave here.”

“Go. I insist. This baby has wedged itself so deep under my ribcage, I’ll be on Social Security before I give birth. Go back, get it done, and I’ll still be here when you get back, probably in the exact same spot if I can figure out how to go to the bathroom sitting on the couch.”

I hate to leave her, but Mom is here, and Brian is home, too. I could do a quick out and back, and get it done. With no other offers in the pipeline, it might be a bad move to turn it down.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind saying no,” I ask hesitantly. I want to make sure she’s really OK.

“Of course, don’t be crazy. Bring me back some awesome shoes, maybe someday I’ll be able to fit my doughy feet into them,” she says, and for emphasis, puts her thick feet and ankles up on the coffee table. They look like tree trunks.

“Deal. I’ll be back before you know it, or hopefully before Mom drives you nuts.”

“Too late on the latter. I sent her out to look for a special diaper that doesn’t exist: Perfect Purple Pampers. She’s now driving some teenager who works at the grocery store crazy,” she says with a giggle.

* * *

Well, I miss it. I haul my butt back to New York for a meeting that turns into to be one of the most humiliating experiences to happen to me in some while, even worse than the last contract bust. I show up at the meeting, and overhear Deb pleading with two executives to “give her a chance.” Apparently, they have changed their mind, citing something about my being difficult, and they don’t want any drama. Unfucking believable. I’ve been in this business more than thirteen years, and this is what they remember: A couple of outbursts, which other models have on a daily basis? Why my reputation is being dragged through the mud is anyone’s guess. How can I politely tell them to fuck-off while maintaining my dignity? I guess I can’t, so I choose the direct route. I poke my head in and say, “Hi, Deb,” look over at the other two women and say, “Fuck you both, and your ugly ass shoes,” and I walk out.

By the time I get a direct flight back to Chicago, Melanie has had the baby. Mom said labor came on quickly, and that they had to contact Brian at the game. Mel was insistent they not do so, but Mom did anyway. I’m so grateful that she did; Mel wouldn’t have forgiven herself otherwise. They have a baby girl, and name her after both grandmothers: Mary Louise.

In selfish apology, I haven’t put her down since I’ve been back. I’ll give her up for Brian but, otherwise, if she’s not nursing with Mel, she’s in my arms. Mom is getting pissy about it, but I don’t care. It was love at first sight, and I can’t let her go.

Chapter 3

I sell my apartment in Manhattan, and buy a condo in Glencoe, about ten minutes away from Mel’s house. I fired Deb after all the nonsense; I’m done with modeling for good. I might even eat a cheeseburger if I feel daring enough. I’ve earned plenty of money over the years, and I’ve made good financial decisions along the way. I may start my own line of cosmetics, or go back to school. All I know now is that I’m happy to spend every waking minute with this precious baby.

I have to remind myself to back off every now and then; I know I’m smothering Mel and Brian. I’ve enjoyed plenty of time with my nephews, too, and take them out whenever I can. They love their baby sister, and are protective of her. This little girl won’t be able to date until she’s fifty. They are calling her Louise, but the name seems so old for such a cute little dumpling. She looks like a chubby little man with a sweet face. I call her Baby Lou. Lou fits perfectly-to me anyway-but Mel and Brian hate it.

While I love the time I’ve had with the kids, I’ve started to feel like a sad spinster who’ll never get a life of her own. It’s obvious that I need some distractions in my life.

Brian has hinted about setting me up with some of his friends, and usually I laugh it off, even though I can’t deny that I’ve begun to feel lonely for a man. Brian’s athlete friends are easy on the eyes. They flirt, a lot, but I haven’t taken the bait. Many professional athletes have reputations for bad behavior, and I guess models often do too, but the guys Brian hangs out with seem nice. Maybe Brian and Mel and I could go on a double date; just to get me out there. I’d hate to lose the ability to go out with a man. I’m already afraid I may have, it’s been a long time. At least my self-esteem has improved since I stopped modeling. I’ve gained some needed weight, and I feel a more like my old-self everyday. The lanky Georgia girl, Becca, is back, and the emaciated, standout redhead, Rebecca, is history.

Matthew, Luke and John have basketball games today, and it just happens to also be Baby Lou’s six-month birthday. We plan to take in the games with Katie, Jason and their kids, then cookout in the backyard. It’s a rare sixty-degree and sunny day in March, so we’re taking full advantage. Mel, Katie, Katie’s youngest, Grace, and Baby Lou and I ride back to Mel’s house together after the games.

“Hey, Bec, Mel tells me you may be ready for a fix-up, is that true?” Katie asks casually, but I hear excitement in her voice.

Oh, no.

“I think we all know Mel would love nothing more than to get me occupied with something other than my taking over her family,” I say, only slightly joking.

“Are you kidding me, Becca? You’ve been a godsend! Not only to the kids, but to me and Brian as well. I’m so grateful to have you around; I’ve missed my baby sister. I wouldn’t trade this for anything,” she says, reaching over quickly to squeeze my hand tightly while she drives. “However, I will say that getting you a social life isn’t out of the question. You’re way too young and pretty to be wasting away as a modern-day Mary Poppins.”

“Just say the word, Bec, and Jason and Brian will be on the case,” Katie says, as Grace pops her head up to join the conversation. Grace, a newly minted teenager, is officially boy-crazy.

“Aunt Becca, let them find you a date! I can help, too. Do you have a Framed account?”

Katie shoots a horrified look in Grace’s direction. Framed, a casual hook-up app, is not teenager appropriate. Grace does her best to settle Katie down.

“Mom, of course I don’t have an account! I just wondered because my friend Stacy’s older sister found a guy that way. She ‘liked’ his picture and they met later that day,” Grace says nonchalantly, implying that we’re all grandmas and need to step up to the times. Katie, on the other hand, looks like she’s choking.

“Dear God, Grace, how do you know these things?” Katie asks in a high voice, startling Baby Lou.

I intervene to calm everyone down. I pop a pacifier in Lou’s mouth to quiet her, and then I address Grace.

“It’s OK, Katie. These kids are all light years ahead of us with these things. Grace did your friend’s sister have a second date with the guy she met?”

“Um, no, I don’t think she did. She said he looked nothing like his picture and she wasn’t very happy about it,” Grace says, a contemplative look crossing her face. “Maybe don’t use that app, Aunt Bec. Let my mom and Aunt Mel help instead. They like doing it anyway.” She puts on her headphones, and ignores us the remainder of the drive.

“She does have a point. The safest way to meet someone is through mutual friends, right Mel?” Katie says, hinting at some of Melanie’s “dates” before she met Brian that I heard about on a girls’ night out.

“Technically, Brian and I met on our own, remember? You thought he was too nice for me. Becca, Katie even set him up with another woman right in front of me!” She giggles, and throws Katie a fake dirty look. This riles Katie, and she bristles in her seat.

“I only did that because you had made it clear that you didn’t want any set-ups! I wanted you and Brian together, Jason just told me to butt out and…”

Mel cuts her off mid-sentence.

“I’m just teasing you, Kat, even though that’s all true. I still ended up with him, so no harm, no foul. Now, back to you, Becca. Are you really ready to get back out there?” she asks, with genuine interest.

I take a moment, staring out the car window, and ponder the question. Am I ready? Yes, I am. I need something more in my life, and I can’t deny I’m lonely. I put my head in my hands and sigh.

“Yes. Let’s do it,” comes out muffled through my hand mask.

* * *

When we arrive at Mel’s house, she hands off a sleeping Baby Lou to Grace and points upstairs. Grace understands, and takes the baby up to the nursery. Mel and Katie are communicating wordlessly as they shuffle about the kitchen, pouring wine, and grabbing pens and paper. Their intent becomes clear quickly. Mel whips open her notebook, and looks serious.

“Ok, Kat, start giving me some names in no particular order,” she says, all business.

“All right, let’s see, there’s Mike C. and Mike H.,” Katie begins. Mel interrupts her: “Not Mike H., he’s awful,” she says with a sneer. Kat continues without hesitation, “OK, you’re right. We have Derrick, Justin, Cody and Kyle. Who can you think of?”

“Maybe Mark, or Steven. Is he still single?” Mel asks as she stares down at her paper. I sit in shock. These two could run the world. Grace wasn’t kidding; they have obviously done this a time or two. They’re not even acknowledging that I’m in the room, so I slink out of my chair and try and get away. This just seems too real, too quickly. Just when I’m almost in the clear, the back door opens and it’s the guys.

“Whoa, what do we have here? I’ve seen this before. Bec, did you give them the thumbs up?” Jason asks, with a knowing laugh.

Melanie and Katie look up and over to the next room at me, crouched over and walking in the opposite direction.

“What are you doing? Get over here, we need your input!” Mel yells, like I’m an insolent dog. I may have unknowingly opened a Pandora’s Box. I shall accept responsibility. I’m sorry, world, for unleashing plague and destruction, I’m just horny.

“OK, OK. It looked as if my input wasn’t really necessary, and, quite frankly, you two scare the hell out of me,” I say as I slink back over to the table, where one might interpret that the planning of D-Day was going on. Jason snorts, and Brian raises his hands in the air as if admitting defeat.

“I, for one, am glad to see that other people care enough to want to see you happy. I owe my world to this one,” Brian leans down and kisses the top of Katie’s head. Katie had arranged for Mel and Brian to “accidentally” meet at her house after they had broken up. Melanie’s stubbornness would have kept them apart without intervention on Katie’s part.

“Let’s start with Justin. Bec, he’s one of the strength coaches for the Bears. Super cute and ridiculously built. What do you think Brian?” Melanie asks as he and Jason are trying to use the same escape route as I had.

“Fine! Yup, match made in heaven!” He shouts, as he and Jason pick up the pace and head outside.

“Coward. He doesn’t mind us doing the fixing up, but he’s not going to help, I know that for sure. Let’s call up Justin and see if he wants to come over for the barbecue. Sooner rather than later, right Bec?” Melanie says to me, phone in hand, poised to dial.

“I know it won’t matter what I say, you’ll do it anyway. Fine, do it.” I shrug my shoulders. What’s the worst that can happen? At least this way I can see him around the guys, and get to know his personality before we go one-on-one.

Melanie calls and he’s happy to come over. She was blunt about the fix-up, and didn’t even try to spare my dignity.

He arrives thirty minutes later, freshly showered and even brought store-bought cookies. Melanie and Katie weren’t kidding about his body. Wow. You could bounce a quarter off his chest and get back two dimes and a nickel. He’s slightly taller than me, and has dark, wavy hair. Knowing he’s here for me, I feel a tingle of excitement. I haven’t thought much about dating or sex until recently, and this is a good way to whet my appetite.

He smiles when our eyes meet, another tingle, and crosses the room to introduce himself.

“Hi, I’m Justin. Rebecca, is it?” He gives me a nice, firm handshake, and a killer smile to match.

“Yes, it’s really nice to meet you. You can call me Becca if you like, everyone does,” I say, surprised that Melanie gave him my full name.

“I have to apologize for my appearance,” he shakes his wet hair, “I was in the gym when Melanie called. I spend way too much time in that place, I’m happy to have a reason to enjoy this beautiful day.”

“No need to apologize, I’m jealous. I wish I could just shower and go. Jason and Brian are outside; I think they’re about ready to throw the meat on the grill. Can I get you something to drink?” I ask as I walk toward the back door leading to the patio where a cooler is set up next to where the guys are standing.

“Hey, man!” Brian says kindly, as he greets Justin with a hard slap on his back. Jason does the same, and they flow into easy conversation.

“I’m just going to see if Mel needs any help inside. I’ll be back,” I say, and they all three nod their approval.

Melanie and Katie are in the kitchen, near the window that faces the patio, watching our every move.

“So? What do you think?” Mel asks eagerly. “He’s sweet, right?”

“That body! You girls weren’t kidding around. I can barely remember what he said to me!” I respond, fanning my face with my hand.

Melanie bursts into a fit of laughter. I feel a pit in my stomach. Katie’s face is beet red, and she has a look of…pity? Dear God, no.

“Hot in here, Bec?” Jason says from right behind me. I know all three of them are there, and he had to have heard what I said, and, even worse, seen my gesture. Shit.

“Um, excuse for me for a second,” Without turning around, I run out of the room. I know I’m making an already awkward situation worse; I just have no idea what to do. Will he be flattered? Embarrassed? Freaked out? I’m mortified, and I have no idea how to recover my dignity. Melanie comes in the bathroom sporting tear-stained cheeks from laughing.

“Oh my God, Mel, what did he hear?”

“Don’t worry about it, he looked rather pleased. Justin loves his body so I’m sure that was about the greatest compliment you could have given. You can come out, the kids are out there, and Louise just woke up. You have plenty of distraction now.”

She wipes the mascara out from under her eyes. We go back into the kitchen, and I look for Baby Lou. She’ll be my distraction for the rest of the afternoon. If he wants to talk to me, he’ll have to do it with her on my hip.

Without missing a beat, he sidles up beside me, and we start to chat. Baby Lou plays with my hair and face, and he seems to enjoy it. His small talk distracts me from my blunder. It’s really nice to hang out with a guy like this, casual, no heels or champagne. I feel relaxed and at ease.

Baby Lou never leaves my arms for the remainder of the day. I even feed her dinner while holding her. I had gotten her a little half-birthday cupcake, and hold it up to her mouth for a bite. She squashes her face into it, and grabs my cheeks and hair with pink frosting-covered hands. Mel tries to take her for a bath, and we both protest. Baby Lou wiggles into my neck to get away from Melanie’s outreached hands. Justin laughs, and tickles her. She pulls up her face and Mel scoops her out of my grasp. She screams and reaches her arms out to me. It breaks my heart; I love that little nugget. Justin takes advantage of the opportunity, and pulls me out the front door.

“Wow, I’ve never seen a baby quite so attached before! She’s a real cutie,” he says, looking into my eyes as if to say I’m the cutie.

“I adore her. I’ve never really been much of a ‘baby person,’ but she makes me feel like I might actually want kids someday. That’s never really been my goal in life,” I say out loud, for the first time ever.

He steps in, and puts his arms around my waist. Our faces are close; I feel his breath.

“I’d love to spend more time with you, without a baby along, if that’s OK.” He smiles, and pulls me in closer to his chest. I feel like I’ll melt all over their front porch. It’s been a really long time since I’ve felt a man like this. Little does he know I’d let him pick me up, throw me into his car and have his way with me, right here, right now. But I know that’s just the flood of hormones talking. I clear my throat, and try to shake the fog.

“That would be nice, I’d like that.” As I seductively whisper that to him, I lean into his face for the inevitable kiss, but I miss. He pulls back, and for the second time tonight, I’m mortified. I stumble forward, and he tries to help me regain my footing.

“Whoa, are you OK? I’m sorry about that, it’s just that…we have some eyes on us right now,” he whispers, and makes a slight motion to the right with his head. I look in that direction, and see Mel and Kat ogling us through the front bathroom window, peeking through the shutters like two old nosy neighbors. I can’t help but laugh, and feel better that I wasn’t being rejected. “I’d rather be alone for a first kiss.”

“Absolutely, I agree. Thank you for that, it’ll keep them guessing,” I say with relief.

“Melanie has my number. Please call or text me, and we’ll set something up. It was really nice to meet you, Becca.” He shakes my hand enthusiastically for our audience. I join in the game, and give him a manly slap on the back before I head in. Those two will love that.

* * *

We make plans to go out the following Wednesday night. I’m always free, and he doesn’t want to wait until the weekend. We’ve been texting and chatting on the phone, and he seems like a nice person. The depth of our conversations doesn’t enter into the deep end, but that’s OK. I’ve had plenty of guys over the years, especially in New York, who try to be someone they’re not.

He lives in Evanston, not too far away, so we agree to meet there for dinner. He shows up with wet hair again, but smelling good. I’m seeing a pattern here.

“Did you just come from the gym?” I ask as we meet in front of the restaurant.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I had a training session with some guys, then I hung back to do my own workout. I lost track of time.” He runs his hand through his hair, and his arm muscles tense. Pumped up from his recent workout, he looks like an underwear model. Better, actually, I’ve seen those guys, close up. They’re usually much smaller than you’d think.

“No problem at all. Are you hungry?”

We head into the restaurant, a cute little steak place, and sit in the back. As expected, he watches his diet closely, so no wine, just one beer, and plenty of potatoes and protein.

“I’m running in the morning, so I can justify the carbs. Do you workout or are you one of those naturally skinny tall girls?” he asks as he shovels a large bite of baked potato into his mouth. If a question like that came from anyone else on a first date, it would seem strange, but from him it seems perfectly normal.

“A bit of both, I guess. I do workout, but it’s not my favorite pastime. I’m lucky that I’m tall so I can hide a few extra pounds from time to time. While I was modeling it was a constant struggle to workout with nothing in my stomach for fuel. That’s a terrible feeling. It’s taken me months to be able to confidently sit down and order a meal like this. I love the freedom.”

“Body is still a temple, though, got to treat it like one,” he says as he puts one more giant bite into his mouth.

Our conversation stays on this track for a while. I try to explain that while I understand the importance of exercise, I like not constantly stressing out about the way I look. I’ve been doing that most of my adolescent and adult life. He doesn’t seem to get it. He’s a very nice guy, but a little too obsessive for me. Of course, that doesn’t mean we have to end this night without some fun. You don’t go to Mt. Everest to build a house and stay forever. You go there, you climb it, enjoy the magnificence and then you go home. I have the Everest of men sitting in front of me, and I fully intend to climb. I might even have some fun at base camp first, you know, to acclimate myself.

I listen intently to the merits of different protein powders before I take matters into my own hands. I kick off one of my shoes under the table, and begin to stroke his leg with my toes. He’s mid-bite of a piece of steak, and he chokes on it. His face turns red, and he swallows a large gulp of water to help it down. I scoot my chair in a little closer, and my foot makes it way up to his thigh. His damned muscle is so hard, I can’t even squeeze it, the best I can do is wiggle my toes for some stimulation. He moves his own chair in, and I lean my foot into his crotch. He’s hard, and his eyes roll back as I use my dexterous toes to fondle him.

He waves down the waiter, and pays the check without looking at it. I slip my shoe back on, and we stand to leave. He’s in a compromised position, so he places his hands on my hips to use my body as a shield. Fortunately, the place isn’t busy so we bolt out without anyone except me noticing his huge erection, except me. My stomach is doing back flips, I’m so excited.

We hop into his car, and he speeds around two corners. We’re at his place in no time, and he races around to my side of the car to open my door. So nice: I have a horny gentleman! He reaches into the car, and scoops me up into his arms. He kicks the car door closed and jumps up the small stoop in front of his place. He tosses me like a ragdoll over to one side of his body, as he fumbles with the keys to unlock the door. Without so much as a bobble he opens the door, closes it behind us and flips on a light. He carries me straight to the bedroom.

Knowing that I’m not interested in him for a relationship is freeing in a way. I’m not fumbling over what to say, or whether he’ll call after this, I just want to screw his brains out. He’s a nice person, but our conversation over dinner was the dullest I’ve ever participated in. He doesn’t get out of the gym, or around women very often, it seems. I understand, it’s his job. He made the attempt to ask about me and my work, but everything led back to working out. I wonder if he’d be interested in just being fuck-buddies? Don’t people do that all the time?

“You’re really pretty.”

Uh-oh, he’s talking now; I should pay attention. He does have a gorgeous body, and he looks sweet. He’s grinning like a teenager.

“I’ve never been with someone who looks like you before. I mean, I’ve been with pretty girls, but you’re…perfect.” The dreaded word models hear, but can never live up to.

He softly strokes my hair and then my cheek. Damn! This is not how this is supposed to go. I thought I’d come in here and we’d have each other’s clothes off in a matter of seconds and be banging like beasts by now. Tenderness is not on the table. I try my best to change the tone.

“This is perfect,” I say as I caress his chest with the palms of my hands, slowly traveling to his waistband. I grab the bottom of his shirt and pull it up over his head. I swallow at the sight of him. Not a hair on him, anywhere, and he’s beyond chiseled. “See? I was right. Perfect,” I say as I place my lips on his chest. I roam over to his nipple, and tease it with a bite. His whole body shudders. I clamp my mouth down over it, as my tongue vigorously licks him. I feel the erection in his pants move.

“It’s been a while for me, Becca, let’s take it slowly,” he says, while taking a step back and a deep breath. “I’m around a bunch of guys all day, so I feel like a kid in a candy store. May I?” he asks, holding the bottom of my blouse. This is going to take all night if we continue at this pace. It’s been a long time for me, too, and I just want to feel him. I nod, and raise my arms to help. He gets that lustful teenager look again, and I can’t help but feel flattered.

He removes the rest of my clothing slowly, one piece at a time, but he still hasn’t touched me. I help him out of his pants, and try to guide him over to the bed.

“I like you, Becca, I really do. I’ve been so excited waiting for today to come. Were you?” I feel like I should be scribbling my answer down on a note, folding it like origami, and sending it up the row in English class. That’s how young and naïve he seems.

“I have been excited, Justin, in more ways than one.” I use that as my opener: that I’m horny and I need to feel him soon or explode. I take his hand, and I place it on my naked breast. He trembles, and his face looks darker. His eyes are shadowed, and his breath hitches. Good, we’re on the right path. Using his hand, I squeeze my breast and throw back my head and moan. This revs the engine a little more. He responds, and grabs my other breast and begins to fondle both of them roughly. His hands are calloused, and it’s a turn-on. One hand goes to my face, and the other hand moves down to my heated crotch. He grabs my pussy and slips a finger in before I even realize. The action makes me clench around his finger, and I cry out. I need him inside me.

I gently push him back against the bed, and he falls in taking me with him. I land on top of him, and his erection. I start to kiss him deeply, and he kisses me back. I won’t deny the chemistry; this bed could spontaneously combust right out from under us. I wiggle my body to lie atop his dick, and he pauses.

“Hang on a sec,” he says as he opens the side table drawer and produces a condom. Whoops. I wasn’t even thinking about birth control or safe sex, where is my head? He hands it to me. Shit, I don’t even know if I can remember the way these things go on. I open the package while watching his dick pulsate waiting impatiently, waiting for me. Third try, I get it on right. I’m so glad he was able to keep himself hard during that process, it was a little embarrassing.

I climb on top of him, and he locates my warm entrance with his dick. He slips the head in, and I can’t wait any longer. I slam my body down hard so it slips in all the way to his balls. I squeeze, and it feels so damned good. I hold him for the briefest of moments, before I really begin to ride it. I grab the headboard above his head and hold on for dear life. I am fucking him like my life depends on it. I’ve never considered myself an overly sexual person, but right now I feel like I can’t get enough. He grabs my hips and helps my body satisfy us both. He reaches up to touch my lips with his finger. I think it’s his way of trying to place some emotion in what feels like a purely animal act. I bite down and he pulls back like a scolded child. At this point, I don’t care about anything other than how this feels and how soon I’ll come.

I feel it building from deep inside and I’m powerless to stop it. I buck my hips as fast as I can to give more to the sensation. That action brings him to his own strong orgasm. He grabs my hair and screams my name as the tendons in his neck strain and pull against his large muscle. I feel beads of sweat stream down the side of my face, as I grunt and moan in pure pleasure. His hands are back on my hips, helping to guide me through my orgasm. He rocks them back and forth until I stop, and collapse on top of him.

I must have fallen into a deep sleep, because I wake up disoriented. A large, muscular arm envelops my upper body, and I feel a warm breath on my neck. I roll over, careful not to wake him, to take a peek. He has the body of a full-grown, slightly scary, man, but the face of an innocent boy. He looks happy and thoroughly contented. He opens his eyes as I stare, and greets me with a huge smile.

“Hi there, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?”

Sweetheart? Is he kidding me? I pray that he uses that term all the time, but I have a feeling he doesn’t. Crap. He reaches over and kisses me deeply, and it stirs my insides. I’m pretty sure I could easily be convinced to go for Round Two, but something is telling me I need to back off a bit. He has puppy love in his eyes, and I’m not ready to go there, especially with him. He’s a nice person, but we’re not compatible otherwise.

“Um, yeah, I did, thanks. It’s late, I should really get going,” I say over my shoulder as I rise out of the bed and look for my clothes. The clock shows that it’s 2:30 a.m., way past my bedtime. No wonder I passed out. Good food and hot sex and I’m lights out. I gather up my things and look at him. He seems hurt.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? It’s not safe for you to be on the road this late.”

“I’ll be fine. Remember, I came from New York, being out alone doesn’t scare me at all. Thank you for dinner, it was really nice. We’ll have to do it again sometime,” I say, as noncommittally as I can. He stands still in his doorway looking befuddled as I hop in my car and drive away. I do feel badly, I shouldn’t have used him like that. When I knew I wasn’t interested, I should have called it a night, but it’s just been so long since I’ve had sex. At the rate I’ve been going, that should hold me until Christmas.

Chapter 4

“Call him, Rebecca.”

Uh-oh. When Melanie uses my full name, I know I’m in for it. She’s one-hundred-percent right, I know it, but I just don’t know what to say. It’s been two weeks since my date with Justin, and I’ve been avoiding him. He calls and texts, almost daily, but how do you let someone know that you find him as fascinating as foot fungus? I know that it’s an unfair comparison, but most of the people I came into contact with in New York were at least interesting to talk to. Granted, a strength coach from Iowa won’t ask me to blow him after doing a line of coke off another woman’s chest like the guys in New York, but at least it leaves you with a great story to tell.

The feelings of restlessness I felt as a bored, small-town Georgia girl are creeping in on me. I had watched the mundane lives of my family and could never have imagined living like that. I wanted excitement and glamour, not kids and a mortgage. I really enjoy living the simple life out here with Mel and her family, especially Baby Lou, but it’s a little scary, too. Day in and day out, same person, no parties, no night-life. I feel a tiny pang of envy whenever I speak to my friends back in New York. Chicago is an incredible town; I should expose myself to all that it has to offer. Maybe I can even find a modeling job, or two. This is the Midwest, I’m sure no one minds a couple of extra pounds on my frame.

“I know, Mel, I know. I’m sorry, but he was so dull. I’m just a little confused these days. The date with him put things into perspective. I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to give up modeling for good. I think I may try to get a local agent, and do something on a smaller scale.”

She doesn’t look surprised at my admission.

“I get it, Bec. You did a full one-eighty with your life, and you’re having second thoughts. I would feel the same way if I were in your shoes. I was thrust into motherhood and married life so fast that I didn’t even have a chance to get my career going. You’ve had a successful career, and there are plenty of perks that came with that lifestyle. You’re young, so go do what you need to do. Just remember, you can’t just blow people off around here like you did back in New York. We’ll pause the whole matchmaker thing for now until you’re ready. I don’t want to hurt any of our friends.”

Ouch. Even though I know where she’s coming from, it doesn’t hurt any less. I don’t want to hurt anyone either, so I’ll put my dating life back on hold. I text Justin, and apologize for my behavior. I let him know that when I get my head sorted out, I’ll call. That’s the best I can promise for now.

* * *

Monday morning, I start my search for a new agent. I called Deb back in New York to see if she knows of anyone here locally. She begs me to come back, she claims she’s had many offers for me, but I can’t trust it. Plus, I really do love it here. If I couldn’t get my daily squeeze from Baby Lou, I’d be crushed.

She emails me a list of names based in Chicago, and I start alphabetically. Almost everyone I speak to knows who I am, and praises Deb. I have three appointments scheduled for the upcoming week. I feel a jolt of electricity thinking about what I’ll wear, and how fun it will be to step in front of the camera again.

I’m encouraged by two successful meetings on Wednesday, with offers of representation, and today is the third. This one is considered the top agency in Chicago, and not affiliated with the larger ones in New York. My meeting is with Barry Bridgewater, one of the founding partners of Bridgewater Talent. Their offices are in a tall, gleaming building on Michigan Avenue. The reception area and offices are tastefully decorated in muted colors and soft fabrics, all meant to blend in to the background so the models stand out. I get it.

I’m sent from reception to the bank of solid glass elevators. I hate heights, I have to keep my eyes focused on the buttons and not the sight of floors whizzing past. As I reach the top floor, the doors open and I’m greeted by a handsome, rather imposing man.

“Rebecca London! I am so thrilled to meet you. Big fan of your work. Please come with me to my office,” he says as he places his hand on the small of my back and guides me down the hall. He seems nice enough. Time will tell.

“So, tell me what what I can do for you today. What is it that you’re hoping to achieve out here in the Midwest?”

“Well, I’m no fool. I know that news travels fast in our world. You must know all the details of my break-up with Embrace. I’m looking to put that behind me, and do more local work. I’m not interested in making a name. I’ve already done that. I just want some work to keep me out there for a while.”

He stares at me from a reclined position in his desk chair, sits up straight, and taps his fingers on his desk.

“Yes, I did hear of your unfortunate situation. We’ve both been in this business long enough to know that things are never as they seem. I’m interested in representing you. You’re a stunning woman, and I know a number of campaigns I think would be a great fit for you.”

We chat for a long time. We know quite a few of the same people since he was in New York for school and early in his career. I feel good about letting him rep me. This may work out just as I’d hoped. We say our goodbyes, and as I rise to leave he gives me a firm handshake.

Before he releases my hand, he remarks, “You may want to shed about twenty.”

Motherfucker.

* * *

A few months later, my first job is for a regional chain of high-end jewelry stores that carries all the top name brands. Not a bad gig to be draped in diamonds a couple of hours each day. I did take Barry’s advice, and I lost the weight I had put on since moving here. To the layman’s eye, I was skinny, but to the modeling agent, I may as well have had a “wide load” sign on my backside. This campaign has me naked wearing the jewelry, so it provided the extra incentive to shed the weight the camera would have picked up.

Mel comes with me on my shoots, almost like a road manager. She’s quite a tough cookie, and she watches my back. I really could have used her in the early days. At my insistence, she brings Baby Lou along. I’ve got it bad. I can’t stand to go more than a couple of days without seeing her. Her sweet little face lights up and she giggles when she sees me. She’s beginning to walk, and Mel fusses at me when I hold her too much.

“Put her down occasionally, Bec. The poor child won’t ever learn to walk if you don’t! You’re spoiling her. She expects that from us when you’re not around,” Mel says, trying to sound firm, but she’s smiling. I know it makes her happy to see her child so loved.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Mel. Please feel free to say no, but it’s a great opportunity I think. Barry called, and told me that a photographer on my last shoot saw me with Lou, and put my name in to do a series of ads for a national baby-store chain.”

“Wow, Bec, I didn’t think you wanted to do national print.”

“Well, they’re headquartered here in Chicago, and they use a local ad firm so no traveling is involved. There’s another thing. The reason they want me, is because they saw me with Lou, and they want us both. The photographer fell in love with her, and saw how natural we were together. It’s a package deal. No Lou, no me,” I say, not wanting to sound like I’m pleading, but I am. I’d love nothing more than to do this with her.

“No, Bec. You know I hate that kind of stuff. I don’t want my baby’s face plastered all over the place. Social media is bad enough, but a national campaign? I can’t imagine Brian would be too thrilled about it, either. He’s very protective of her, you know.”

“And I’m not? I get it, Mel, I really do. I wouldn’t even mention it if it were shady in any way, but this company is very well-respected, and their ads are beautiful. We could even suggest that she only be seen from the side, so she wouldn’t be recognized. You know I’ll make sure she’s protected. Barry can represent her. Just think about it as earning a little money toward college. Will you think about it?”

“OK. Let me discuss it with Brian. When do you need to know?”

“Fairly soon. They want the campaign to run near end of fall, so we’d start shooting as soon as you sign the contract. I promise to protect her, Mel. I’ll guard her privacy and yours with my life. I’d just love to have this special little thing with her. I’ll never ask to model with her again, I swear.”

After a round of discussion, Melanie and Brian grudgingly decide to allow Baby Lou to do the shoot with me.

“Only because you’ve been so incredible with her, and so giving of yourself to us and the boys, did we agree. I fought a little on your behalf. I owe Brian some ‘favors’ of the sexual variety. You’re just lucky he’s hot as hell, and I’d do them anyway!” She laughs, and I know she’s kidding. She doesn’t mess around when it comes to her family, so I know how difficult this decision must have been.

“Thank you, Mel. We’ll make it fun, I promise.”

* * *

The shoot goes even better than expected. Baby Lou is in a great mood, and smiles and snuggles as if on cue. We have a number of different wardrobe changes, and she cooperates like an old pro. Mel has stayed in the back, allowing me to direct the shoot with the photographer uninterrupted. We know that the faster we get through it, the better shots we’ll get. He takes an exceptional number of photos so that Baby Lou wouldn’t have to go through this again, and quite a few different set-ups that can be used for any ad they want.

Mel finally relaxes when we finish up; she looks exhausted. I really owe her and Brian a big one.

“I have an idea,” I say to her as she gathers up all of Baby Lou’s toys and clothes. “To thank you for allowing this craziness, why don’t you let me stay with the kids while you and Brian take off next weekend. It’s his bye week, right? I know he’d love nothing more than to have you all to himself for a full weekend.”

“Our life has been a little crazy since we got married and had the baby, so it sounds like heaven. But I can’t ask you to do that, Bec. Trust me, it’s a lot.”

“You think I don’t know that? The boys are wonderful, and they always listen - to me at least. This little peanut won’t leave my arms,” I say while rubbing Lou’s little patch of curls at the top of her head. “Come on, you could use it, and I know it would mean the world to Brian.” I know her soft spots better than she does.

“OK, thank you, Becca. It sounds so nice. We’re officially even.”

I pack a small overnight bag and head over Mel’s house on Friday. The boys have flag-football games on Saturday, and Katie and Jason will have them for the better part of the day. Brian and Mel have decided to go up to Wisconsin to a bed and breakfast on Lake Michigan.

I order pizza for us, and after Lou goes to sleep the boys and I stay up and play video games. I love these guys; they are so sweet around me. Brian’s influence has rubbed off on them considerably. Their jerk of a dad, Chris, continues his same erratic behavior, but their home life is stable and full of love. It warms my heart to see them happy.

Saturday morning is like trying to put out a four-alarm fire with nothing but spit. They are all over the place, trying to find uniforms, and round up snacks and water bottles. I thought I got up early enough to make them breakfast, but all I have time to do is to spill Lucky Charms into bowls and splash milk at them. Katie comes over, assuming I may need assistance, thank God, and helps get everyone out the door. Poor Baby Lou is upset in her highchair watching the madness around her. Mel makes this craziness look easy. Once the chaos is removed, I take a moment to pick up the house, and feed Lou her breakfast. She’s still sniffling from her earlier crying jag from when I wasn’t holding her before. It’s quiet so she calms down as I sing and feed her some scrambled eggs. I need a good shower this morning. Wait, how am I supposed to shower? Who watches her while I’m in there? Crap. No shower. I guess I’ll have to wait until she naps.

I put some clean clothes on Lou, and wipe her face as best I can while she wiggles. I’m about as good as I’m going to get this morning with my yoga pants and a T-shirt. I want to take her to the neighborhood park down the street, so I throw on my socks and shoes. I don’t care what I look like; no one really knows me here anyway.

She climbs into her stroller and off we go. The downtown park is a little farther to walk than I thought. It’s such a nice day, I don’t mind. I packed her enough juice and snacks to last through a blizzard. It’s busy out here, with the weather being so nice, everyone had the same idea. I hear a “click” and see that my little angel has taught herself a new trick; she can unbuckle the stroller belt buckle. She wiggles out, and gives me the “chase me” look and tries to run. The best she can do is waddle a little faster than her toddling speed, thank goodness. The boys have taught her how to play chase and hide-and-seek. Even at just one, she picked it up fast.

I grab the diaper bag and abandon the stroller to follow her. I let her believe I’m giving chase, and that elicits the cutest squeal and she tries to pick up the pace, which sends her tumbling forward. She starts to cry, and I drop the bag like she’s been shot. I scoop her off the ground, and she doesn’t even have a scratch. I kiss her tears, and she wiggles to get back down and begin the game again. Dear God, how does Melanie do it? The post-traumatic stress from the morning madness is dragging me down. My half-cup of lukewarm coffee isn’t pulling its weight today; I’m going to need something stronger.

There’s a little coffee shop across the street, so maybe I can bribe her with the promise of a cookie. The stroller is now too far away to bother to retrieve it, I’ll just carry her. We get to the shop, her squirming little body protesting to get down, and I order the largest cup of coffee they offer, with an extra shot of espresso. My wallet is at the very bottom of the never ending chasm that is the diaper bag. I set Lou down for a moment, and dig through until I find it. I pay the young, impatient barista-she can dream on any chance of a tip-and turn to leave. I take two steps and feel like I’m going to throw up. Lou! Where’s the baby? I do a full spin to look all over the small shop. There is a young couple engaged in conversation, and the two kids that work here are chatting away behind the counter.

“Any of you see a baby?” I scream, as panic rises in my throat. The couple looks up, irritated, and shake their heads in unison. They couldn’t care less. The front door is propped open, I assume to let in a breeze, and I race out.

“Lou! Lou! Aunt Becca wants you!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I look both ways up and down the sidewalk, and pray that she didn’t cross the road. There is very little traffic along this street, thank goodness, and I don’t see her across the street. I randomly turn left and run down the sidewalk, looking in every nook and cranny along the way. I feel tears pool in my eyes out of sheer terror. I feel someone behind me, and I turn quickly. It’s a policeman, holding Baby Lou, who’s pointing at me.

“Miss, does this wee one…”

I snatch Lou out of his arms, and squeeze her so tightly she whines. I hear myself crying out loud, while the poor guy stares at me. He’s wearing sunglasses so I can’t see his expression, but I’m sure he thinks I’ve lost my mind. I can only imagine how I look, yoga pants, dirty shirt, wild hair and now a tear-stained face to boot. I can’t even form the words to say “thank you” to this poor individual who saved my world. I rush past him and sprint toward the stroller with a death grip on Lou. I see the cup that I must have discarded as I ran outside. There is a large coffee splatter all over the sidewalk. I didn’t even notice when it happened.

We make it to the stroller and I buckle her in tight and run all the way back to the house. My heart feels as if it’s going to burst out of my chest. Somehow, my little angel falls asleep on the way home. All the excitement must have knocked her out. As gently as I can, I take her out and take her up to her crib. She stays asleep, and snuggles up in the corner. I feel an immediate bone-deep fatigue set in. I want to shower so badly, but I have to lie down or I’ll pass out on the spot.

“Bec, Bec, Bec, Bec,” I hear coming from down the hall. Oh shit! It’s Baby Lou. We both slept for two and a half hours. She’s probably starved for lunch. I bring her downstairs, and buckle her into the highchair. I go to make her some lunch, and I hear the “click” once again.

“Oh, no you don’t you little shit! You’re not going anywhere!”

I’m at her side before she slips out. I loosen the slack on the belt, and tie it in a knot. She’s not ever going to get away from me again! She wiggles and wiggles, but to no avail. It gives me enough time to give her a bowl of yogurt and a banana. I flop down hard in the chair beside her. I take a piece of banana, and pop it in my starving mouth. Just then, I hear noise coming from the back door. The boys are back.

“Hi, Aunt Becca, we won our game, but Matthew lost his. How are you guys?” John, ever the sweet one, says as he walks over to see Lou. He kisses the top of her head, and she giggles. Thank God she can’t speak. This afternoon will be our secret to the grave.

Katie follows the boys into the house, and sits down with me.

“Hey, Mom-in-training, you’ve looked a lot better!” She giggles as she gives me the once-over.

“At least you got to do all this one child at a time. I started with four this morning!”

“Here, let me finish feeding her lunch. You look like you could use a nice hot shower.”

“Bless you!” I run upstairs, and slam the door to remove these disgusting clothes. I run a shower in Melanie’s Architectural Digest-worthy bathroom. As soon as the warm water meets my face, the jolt of reality hits that something really bad could have happened today. I have to sit on the shower floor and hug my knees to my chest to calm my nerves. How do parents do this? I’ve never been one to show much emotion, but today I feel like I’ve made up for it. After a nice long cry in the shower, I get out. My skin is red, and my eyes are still puffy. I still have to make it through tonight and most of the day tomorrow.

Katie sees me as I come down the stairs, and she kindly offers to let the boys stay over her place.

“No, I can’t do that. I wanted to spend time with them, and I made the promise to Brian and Mel,” I say halfheartedly.

“Becca, look at yourself, you’re a wreck! It’s OK to accept help, especially when kids are involved. You’re not used to this. It’s no big deal for us, and you spend plenty of time with the boys. Calm your nerves and enjoy Louise. I’ll bring them back for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Katie. I have so much respect for you and my sister and every other parent out there. I take back every joke I ever made about moms looking haggard. I know the reason now!”

“Well, she and I have good men in our lives who help. She didn’t always, and I don’t know how she ever held that together. You have to find someone willing to work alongside you. Good times, and bad.”

She smiles, and calls the boys to come with her. I finally exhale for what seems like the first time today.

Chapter 5

Baby Lou and I have a quiet night, and an even quieter morning. The boys stayed up late, so they came home, ate some breakfast and crawled back into bed. Lou is taking a nice early nap, so I’m able to clean up a little, to look presentable for when Mel and Brian come home. A little after six, they come in looking well-rested and content.

“Oh, Bec, we owe you big time. I might score fifty points in next week’s game, I feel so good. Nothing like uninterrupted time with this one to ease my stress,” Brian says as he kisses Melanie on the back of her hand. Just kill me now: That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.

“How were the kids? I spoke with them when they were at Katie’s last night. They sounded happy. How was Lou?” Melanie asks with trepidation.

“Are you aware of our little Houdini’s latest trick?” I ask with a smirk.

Melanie looks over at Brian, and they both laugh.

“You mean Baby Lou, the famous escape artist? Yes, Luke taught her how to unbuckle. Stroller, car seat, highchair, everything she can push down onto.”

“Yeah, well, you now have a very tight knot in the highchair belt. I had to carefully maneuver her out because I couldn’t undo it. Good luck with that,” I say heading out the front door to my own blessed, quiet place. I need a drink.

I call a new friend, Mandi, to see if she wants to meet somewhere. She’s another one of Barry’s models. She’s a genuine person, even though ridiculously beautiful, and I like her. She mostly does swimsuit ads, and layouts. Her body, all natural, goes on for days. I’ve always been the more traditional runway type, tall, lean, smallish chest. Essentially, most designers want a coat hanger that walks to show their goods. She says she’d love to hook up, and can I meet her at her place downtown and we can go from there? I decide to take the train. It’s so much easier and she lives only a couple of blocks from the station.

I’m feeling the need to look like the young, nonmother I am. I take my time getting ready, perk Number One with no kids, since I have no real time schedule, perk Number Two. I luxuriate in the peace and quiet, while I pay close attention to my hair and makeup. I style my hair with loose, sexy curls that reach halfway down my back. I have an abundance of hair, which makes me look like Princess Merida from Brave. I make my green eyes dark and smoky to go with my sexy hair. Skin-tight leather pants and a low-cut shimmery top complete the look. Worlds away from how I looked yesterday morning. I’ll be thrilled to never visit that version of Becca again.

The trains are running smoothly tonight, and I arrive at Mandi’s place in great time. When I reach her door, I hear music thumping, and I have to knock loudly for her to hear.

“Hi! I hope you don’t mind, but I invited a few more people to hang with us,” she says, as I look inside and see four guys and a stunning woman, drinking and swaying in a half-dance to the music. I recognize a couple of them; they’re all models, I’m sure.

“Of course, not! The more the merrier. Where are we going?” I ask as I wave to everyone and grab a glass of wine.

“Well, we thought we could hang here for a little while until the clubs start hopping, around eleven or so.”

Oh God. I feel tired hearing that. My body hasn’t adjusted from the early-to-bed, early-to-rise. I’ll have to dig deep to find the energy, especially after my weekend.

“Great!” I say, trying to sound energetic, but not quite pulling it off.

“Come on, I know you’ve been out of the scene, but you’re young and hot. Let’s party!” As she says that, the other people in the room hold up their glasses and shout.

OK, Bec. You can do this. I raise my glass along with them and down the whole thing in one gulp.

* * *

Oooh…

I wake up in my bed, and feel like I shouldn’t have. I should rightfully be dead, feeling the way I do. A human can’t function like this. My head is swirling, and so is my stomach. I try to stand up, and it takes me a couple of tries before I can properly right myself. My temples are throbbing so hard, I feel like I can count the beat. Last night is fuzzy after we got to the club. I remember doing some shots that the guys in our group took turns buying. Turned out, I did know one of them, I had worked with him in New York. All of them gay, so no interest in working us over. I miss my gay friends, they’re so much fun to hang out with. No pressure or pretense about what they want from you at the end of the night.

Speaking of which, he’s there on my couch. For the life of me, I can’t remember his name. He’s snoring, loudly, and still has some glitter on his face from the club. I walk over and nudge him gently.

“Hello, are you awake?” I ask, trying to be quiet for both our sakes.

He moves a little, and opens one eye which he immediately slams closed.

“Jesus! What time is it?” he asks as he covers his face with the small throw that covers only a portion of his body.

“It’s one. This may sound strange, but what is your name and why are you here?” Screw propriety. When you wake up with a stranger in your house, questions need to be direct.

“I’m Will. I escorted you home because you were in pretty bad shape. I chose the short straw.”

I assume that means he lost. Oh my God, how bad was I?

“I’m sorry you had to do that. I’m so embarrassed. I’ve never needed babysitting before. I’ll pay for a cab for you to get wherever you’re going.” I’m so ashamed. I’m the oldest of the group, and they had to assign someone to make sure I made it home.

“It’s OK, I wanted to. I remembered you from the Embrace campaign. I did a couple of shoots with you. I live in Evanston, so I was the closest. Trust me, no need to apologize, I had a blast with you last night,” he says, rubbing his eyes and sitting up straight.

“Dare I ask, what that means?” I don’t think I want the answer.

“Can I get some water? I have terrible breath, I can smell myself.” I fill a glass from the tap, and return quickly. “Thanks,” he says. “Well, we started out at ice, that club down on Dearborn. You kept saying how much you wanted to dance, and you pretty much stayed out on the floor all night. Everywhere we went, we danced our asses off.”

Well, that explains why my legs feel like Jell-O, and why I have a swollen ankle this morning.

He continues, “You’re a lot of fun, Becca. I haven’t had a night like that in a long time. We all said our goodbyes around four. By the time you and I went to eat, we were waiting for the six-thirty train back. You don’t remember any of this?” he asks with a little laugh. I can’t believe how out of practice I am with all of this. I liked to party before Harrison and I got together, but he wasn’t much on going out so I stopped.

“The commuters this morning didn’t look too happy to be around us; I guess we reeked. Stale booze and cigarette smoke isn’t the most pleasant smell on a Monday morning. They seemed particularly peeved at you for screaming on the train.”

“What? Why in God’s name would I have been screaming on the train?” What could I have been thinking?

“When we got on, one of your baby-shop ads was pasted up in our car. You and a baby. It’s a cute photo, but you saw it, ran up and started kissing it. You were shouting, ‘Baby Lou! Baby Lou!’ it was pretty freaking funny. Garnered some very interesting looks. Let’s just say you looked a little … different than you do in that ad, and people didn’t know it was you. They just thought some crazy lady was screaming at a baby named Lou.” He smiles, and downs his water. He gets up to go to the bathroom. I pray no one I know saw me this morning. I stand to take a hesitant look in the mirror, I know I don’t want to see what’s in the reflection: Jesus, even worse than I imagined.

My smoky eyes from last night look like two big shiners that go all the way to my chin. My once beautiful hair looks like a redheaded bird’s nest, complete with a family of pigeons living in it. I wait for Will to exit the bathroom so I can wash my face and pull back my hair. I’m so embarrassed. When I look and feel a little more presentable, I emerge from the bathroom. Will looks like he’s ready to go out again. Perfect hair, clothes don’t even look slept in. Men suck.

“Thank you for taking care of me and making sure I got home. I’m ashamed of needing it, but I’m grateful nonetheless. I’m just thankful I didn’t run into anyone I knew on the train.”

“You did, though. You don’t remember that either?” he asks, a little surprised.

“Who was it?” I ask, begging in my mind that it not be one of Katie and Melanie’s neighbors.

“I don’t know, you never introduced me. He walked over when you were making love to your ad. He was speaking quietly to you, and you calmed down. The two of you sat and talked for the remainder of the ride. He was hot, tall and built: Just my type. Look, I really need to go. Thanks again for last night, and please let me know when everyone’s doing it again, I’m in for sure.”

He must have called a cab, because there’s one waiting at the curb. He can’t leave yet: I need more information!

“I need to know who this guy was. I didn’t say anything about him? Give me some details!”

“I’m sorry, Becca, I didn’t hear your conversation. We got off the train, and you didn’t say anything about him. Gotta run, take care!”

And off he goes. I sat and spoke with someone I “know” for half an hour on the train? Who the hell would I know going from downtown to here so early in the morning?

Chapter 6

I go over to Mel’s on Wednesday, after spending the rest of Monday with my head in the toilet, and all day Tuesday recovering from Monday. If memory serves, I prayed to every deity I’ve ever heard of to let me die. I believe I also swore to never touch the stuff again. It’s been a really long time since I’ve felt that way, and I have no plans of repeating any time soon.

I love the way Mel’s home makes me feel. My place is chic, but not really lived in. It looks more like something out of a catalog. She greets me at the door with a squirming baby.

“Here, take her. She’s worn me out this morning. I feel like she went from crawling to running overnight!” she says, while throwing Lou into my arms. Lou tries a backbend to get free, and I almost drop her.

“Shit!” I exclaim, as I barely keep my grasp on her cotton pajamas.

“Th-it…th-it…th-it…”

Uh-oh. She into copying now, too, I see.

“Thanks, Bec. Anymore bad habits you want to throw her way? She’s like a magnet for every bad thing we do or say. Brian slammed his finger in the drawer last night, and I can’t even repeat what she picked up from him, mostly because she’ll try and say it!” Mel looks exasperated. Makes me feel a little better about the weekend. It seems I’m not the only one this little nugget can tire out.

Mel puts her in the high chair, that still has the knot in the belt, and secures her with her robe sash.

“It works better, and I can untie it. So, how was Sunday? What did y’all do?” she asks, as she offers the still squirming Lou some oatmeal.

“We had fun, I guess. My friend, Mandi, invited a few people and we went out. Ever hear of Ice?”

She laughs, “That real pretentious place on Dearborn? Yeah, I’ve heard of it. Never been, but some of the younger players frequent it. It’s supposed to be the place these days. And, what do you mean, ‘you guess’?” She releases Lou from her confinement, and the baby runs to the living room to play with her toys.

“Well … I kind of blacked out. I don’t remember much beyond that place. We were out all night, and then Will - he’s a model - rode the early train back with me.”

“Really? That’s not really like you, is it? I guess I’ve never been around the party girl, but I can’t even imagine you that drunk. That’s a good explanation for why you look like crap.”

“Thanks, thanks a lot,” I say, acting like I’m mad. Even though she’s right, it still hurts. I have no color in my face at all, and my eyes are bloodshot from vomiting. I’ve had better days. “One thing is weird, other than the fact that I have no recollection of about eight hours of my life. Will said that I spoke with a guy I seemed to know, or at least he knew me, on the train.”

“Why is that so weird? You usually talk to anyone. He probably recognized you, and you were being friendly,” Mel kindly says. She’s trying to ease my shame, and I love her for it.

“Apparently, when we got on the train, I acted like an ass. One of the ads featuring me and Lou was on the train, and I guess I was talking to her, and kissing the poster.”

“OK, that’s weird, Bec. I’m not gonna lie. How did it look?”

“Really, Mel? That’s your question? I don’t even remember doing what I’m talking about; how could I remember that? Anyway, the guy started talking to me, and he calmed me down. We sat and talked the rest of the way back. Who in the world would I know coming from the city at that time of the morning? We got off at the same stop, too. I’m just praying its not one of your friends or neighbors. I would die of embarrassment.”

“Any description? I know you don’t remember, but did Will say anything?” Mel asks with a furrowed brow. I know she’s thinking.

“Yes, Will is gay so he noticed the guy’s looks. Tall, taller than me, with dark hair.  He said he was built, too.” I hope that rings a bell for her, but really it could describe just about anyone.

“I’ll ask Brian. Maybe it’s someone who’s seen you with us, and Brian knows him. Not sure why someone would be on the Monday morning train that early coming this way though. Unless, of course, he had made some bad decision too the night before!” She cackles, and we hear Lou from the other room copy her. I run to give her a squeeze.

* * *

Thanksgiving is approaching, and Mel and I decide we need to plan. Our parents are coming into town, and so is Brian’s dad. She’s asked me to come over this morning, and I assume that’s what we’ll be doing. I’m looking forward to it. This is the first Thanksgiving we will all have together since we were little.

I let myself in the front door, and Brian and Mel are sitting on the couch.

“In here, Bec,” Mel says quietly. I assume Lou is sleeping.

“What’s up? Where are the kiddos?”

“Have a seat, Becca. Is there something you’d like to tell us about the weekend you watched the kids? With Lou, in particular?” Melanie asks, looking down into her coffee cup as she takes a sip.

Oh. My. God.

I break out into an anxious sweat, and tears squirt from my eyes, “I’m so sorry, Mel! I only turned my back for half a second and she was gone… I’ve been sick about …” I get interrupted.

“What the hell are you blabbering about? You lost Louise?” Melanie looks furious.

Double shit.

“What are you talking about? What do you think happened when I was watching her?” I’m trying my best to cover my tracks, and I think I may have offered up a little too much information. She’s pissed.

“No, Becca, why don’t you tell me what the hell you’re talking about?” She’s yelling and Brian pats her leg to try to calm her down.

“Bec, we met the guy from the train,” Brian says sweetly, while continuing to soothe the beast that is Melanie.

“No, Brian, no. I want to hear what the hell happened first!” Melanie’s nostrils are flaring, I’d better fess up.

“I was in the coffee shop, and I had to set her down for just a second, to grab my wallet. She went outside, and a policeman found her. She was fine, but I wasn’t. It took me a while to get over that. Mel, I was so upset and I was too scared to tell you about it. I’m so very sorry.” I go over to both of them, and hug them tight. When I pull back, Brian is glaring at Melanie.

“Go ahead, put the poor girl out of her misery,” he says with a little smile as he nudges Mel in the ribs.

“OK, OK. I lost her today, too. Brian and I were in the mall trying to get a little early Christmas shopping done. He went into one store, while I was pushing the stroller and staring into a store window. When I looked down, she had escaped. That’s how we met your friend.”

“Really, Mel? You put me through hell while you did the same thing? Wait, what friend are you talking about?”

“What I wanted to tell you, is that we met the guy who you talked to on the train,” Melanie says, appropriately reprimanded.

I’m totally confused. How in the world would they know who I spoke to, if I can’t even remember? Oh no, I must have been right; it was one of their friends. It does make sense, though. I don’t think I would have spoken to a compete stranger for that long.

“Well? Who is he? Does he live here in the neighborhood?” I go to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee.

“No, he doesn’t.” Melanie pauses.

“Are you going to make me beg, Mel?”

“OK. I’ll start at the beginning. Like I said before, we were in the mall, and little Miss Lou got away from me. I ran in the store and called to Brian to come and help me look for her. After a few harrowing minutes, a man walks up with her in his arms. She was happy and laughing when she saw us. He seemed hesitant when he looked at us, until it was obvious by her reaction that we were the parents.

He apologized, saying that he recognized her from the park and that he thought her mom was a redhead. Lou must have recognized him, too, because there is no way she would have let him pick her up. He mentioned that he had met the two of you in the park, and assumed you were her mom. He was the guy from the train. He remembered you, and was concerned about the shape you were in. He said he tried to calm you down, and that you were a little ‘excited’ was the term he used.  We spoke with him for quite a while; he’s a very nice person. He’s a public safety officer here in Glencoe.” A flash of awareness crosses her face. “He must have been the same one who rescued her the first time! Brian, we owe this guy for saving our baby twice!”

She turns back to me.

“Becca, we have to go and thank him. I’ll make some cookies or something, and you and I will bring them up to the station. It’s the least we can do, especially since he didn’t rat you out. He only mentioned that he met you in the park; he didn’t say how.”

I remember him now; the memories come flooding back. I have never been so scared in my life. I was so rude, not even saying thank you to him. Mel’s right. We do have to express our gratitude.

“Did you get his name?” I ask, knowing we should probably call to make sure he’s on duty when we go there.

“Yes. Wickham Dunmore. Did I happen to mention he also has a brogue? It’s slight, as if he’s trying to mask it, but it’s there. Very Scottish.”

Now that I think about it, when he spoke to me that day, I did hear it in his voice. He must think we’re the worst family. I lose the baby, Melanie loses her, and he sees me drunk and acting like an idiot on mass transit. Even worse, that’s when he still thought I was the mom. I can only imagine what he must have been thinking that morning.

“OK. When do you want to go?”

“Let’s go on Wednesday. I’ll make some pies; they can have them for Thanksgiving. I’ll call ahead to make sure he’ll be there,” she says, her typical Melanie determination driving full speed ahead.

* * *

Since I have no real skill in the kitchen, Melanie did all the work. She made four pies and a couple of dozen cookies to bring to the station. She also called ahead to confirm that he was on duty. I’m a little nervous. I had a half-hour conversation with this person of whom I have zero recollection. There’s no telling what I said. I should also thank him for calming me down so I didn’t get arrested on the morning commuter train. How humiliating that would have been.

We pull up outside the station right before lunchtime. The small downtown is buzzing with visitors and shoppers, Thanksgiving being tomorrow. When we walk in the front doors, I’m hit with an incredible smell. It’s either chili or soup of some kind simmering on a stove. A female officer greets us warmly, seeing the food, and invites us in.

“Hi! Can I help you?” she says as she eyeballs our dessert-laden arms.

“Yes, thank you,” Mel says, as she passes two of the pies over to her. “These are for the whole station, but we’re really here to see Wickham. Is he free?”

“Goodness, thank you. Whatever he did to deserve all this must have been pretty special. Hey, Wick! You have visitors!” She motions for us to follow her into the kitchen.

We put down our goodies, and she invites us to sit. I look up, and I see him walking toward us. I recognize his body, but I never got a chance to really see his face. He was wearing sunglasses the first time we met, and I don’t remember the second encounter at all. Wow, is he gorgeous. He looks like he should be in one of those firemen pin-up calendars. Broad shoulders, dark wavy hair and a chiseled face. He could model in a second. He gets closer and I have a flash of recognition when I see his eyes. They’re a beautiful bright green, and I sense that I remember this from talking to him on the train. Something just feels familiar and comforting about them.

He smiles when he sees Melanie, and then he looks over at me and his face seems to light up when we connect. He has deep dimples, and I remember those, too. He must have made quite an impression on me for these memories to be coming back from my blackout. God, my blackout: I feel my cheeks flush with shame thinking about how I must have looked that morning. That was the last time he saw me.

“’Ello, Melanie,” he says with his chopped accent, “it’s so nice to see you. How’s the wee one?”

Dear God, I’m melting in my seat. I see what Melanie was talking about with his accent. It’s definitely there, but he’s trying to hide it. If there’s anything in the world more appealing that a hot man with a Scottish accent, it doesn’t come to mind right now.

“She’s just fine, Wickham, thank you for asking. Don’t you worry, we know just where she is!” Mel laughs at our painful history of losing her child and him finding her not once, but twice.

“She’s a beauty, she is. I can see that good looks run in the family,” he says, staring into my eyes. I feel sweat begin to bead up on my neck and chest. The crappiest part of being a redhead: emotions show on your skin pretty quickly. My face has to be redder than it was before. It’s burning, so I try to cool it off by jutting out my bottom lip and giving a quick blow. It musses my bangs, but I don’t care. I must look like I’m sitting in a sauna.

“You remember my sister, Rebecca, don’t you?” Mel asks with a bit of a giggle. Neither time that we met would I consider myself at my best.

“Of course. ‘Ello Rebecca.” He clears his throat like he’s attempting to erase the words. “I mean, Becca. You introduced yourself to me on the train with that name, then you said you hated it. Asked me to call you Becca.”

He offers his hand for me to shake. I place mine in his, and it’s warm and rough. Just the way a man’s hands should feel.

“It’s nice to meet you, Wickham. Well, I mean, for real this time.” I sound like a bumbling idiot. I feel so many emotions right now, not the least of which is pure lust. I’m embarrassed, and ashamed as well. “I’m sorry if I was a little out of it when we met on the train. I had been out with friends the night before. That’s not something I do on a regular basis.”

Mel chimes in.

“Yeah, she’s only an amateur alcoholic. We came here today to say thank you for all you’ve done for us. You were kind not to rat out my sister that she had lost Lou that day. I guess I can’t say much on that subject myself, but we felt like we owed you a family apology and a thank you. I am a much more responsible parent than it would appear. My husband, Brian, also sends his thanks and he has invited you to come to the Bears next home game if you’re free.”

I never heard Brian say any such thing. I know what she’s doing, and I don’t mind in the least. In fact, I’ll hug and kiss her when we leave.

“I’m generally off on Sundays, and I’d love to do that. I’m a big fan of the Bears and your husband. Do you go to the games?” he asks, looking at me again.

“I do. Usually I go to help with the kids so Melanie can focus on watching the game, but I do love football.”

He continues to stare at me, and his eyes pierce into my soul. He looks thoughtful as he takes in my face. It almost feels out of place to have such an intimate connection in such a public setting. I know Mel is taking it all in as well. She doesn’t miss a thing.

He walks us out to the parking lot to say goodbye. Melanie hops in the car quickly, and he and I are standing alone on the sidewalk. I’ve regained some of my composure, so I feel a bit more at ease.

“Thank you, again, for everything you’ve done. I’m really embarrassed for my behavior on the train. Even though I don’t recall it, my friend tells me you were very kind. I wish I could remember our conversation,” I say quietly, I don’t want anyone walking past to overhear that humiliating story.

“Trust me, Becca, it was my pleasure. I have to admit, when I ran into your sister, I was grateful to find out that you weren’t Lou’s mother. You talked about her endlessly, and after seeing the two of you together the first time we met, and then in the ad on the train, I just assumed you were married.” His eyes sparkle as he speaks.

“No, just the aunt. Not married, no kids, just me.” I couldn’t be throwing innuendo at him any harder if I tried.

“Well, given that bit of good news, may I take you to dinner sometime?”

Yes!

“I’d like that.” I pull one of my business cards out of my purse, and hand it to him. “My cell and email are there. Give me a call.”

“I will. Thank you for the sweets, and for coming by. I was really hoping we’d run into each other again. I’ll speak to you soon, Becca.”

“OK, Wickham. It was very nice to finally meet you properly.”

“You can call me Wick,” he says, and leans in to formally kiss my cheek, very formally. His breath is warm, and he smells so manly. My pheromones are flowing like Niagara Falls.

I leave him with a smile, and get in the car. He stays in place and watches as we drive away. Whoa.

Melanie can’t help herself, she begins to babble almost the second we depart.

“Jesus, Becca! He is even more gorgeous than I remembered! He is very smitten with you, I can tell. What did he say? Did you like that I asked him to a game?” Her stream of verbal consciousness continues the entire way home. I’m in a dream state, barely registering anything she’s saying. I don’t care, I want to sit quietly and ponder the memory of his gorgeous face.

Chapter 7

Wickham and I have been texting and talking on the phone a lot over the last week. The Bears have a home game on Sunday, so we’re making plans to go. We haven’t been able to have a one-on-one date yet due to his work schedule. All the public safety officers are trained as police, firefighters and paramedics, but most of his background in is firefighting, and that seems to be where his allegiance lies.

I’ve always been more attracted to powerful business men type, rather than the stereotypical, “I’m at your rescue” knight-in-shining-armor kind of guys. But, now I get it. Boy, do I ever get it. I’d climb headfirst into a burning building to have an excuse to be in his muscled arms.

We agree to meet up at the stadium, and then Wick and I will go for dinner, just the two of us, after the game. Brian was happy that Melanie decided to invite him. He wants to get to know any man who can woo his daughter so easily. Lou must have good instincts. Let’s just hope she keeps that keen sense when she starts to date.

Wick is very easy to talk to, and our conversations have been nice. He comes across as intelligent, soft-spoken and polite, not always the image of most Scottish men. I could listen to him speak all day and night. His accent, which he so cutely tries to hide, is extremely sexy. If he had any clue what effect it has on women, I don’t think he’d be so quick to conceal it.

I’m really looking forward to getting to know him on a personal level. He’s spoken of his family in general terms-one brother and his parents, all still living in the area-but that’s all I’ve gotten. I’ve blabbed and blabbed about my life, my family and, of course, Baby Lou. The only thing he would disclose about our conversation on the train was how much I went on and on about her. That’s why he was convinced she was my daughter. He won’t divulge any more than that, though. He laughs it off, and says he’ll tell me another time. I’ve wracked my brain trying to remember that morning in general, to no avail.

The Bears have a large suite available for the players’ wives and families at the stadium for home games. Reserved seats in the section in front of the suite are also available for those family members to sit in the elements, too. Mel and her kids, Katie and her kids, and I arrive at the stadium like a giant entourage. I keep Lou in my arms so she doesn’t wiggle away from us in the crowd. She has given up on the stroller, so it means one of us is holding or chasing her whenever we go out. The boys are excited about the game. The Bears are doing well, and they’re proud to watch Brian do his thing.

I see Wick before he sees us, and my mouth starts to water. He’s leaning against the concrete wall, one foot up resting against it, and looking down at his phone. He’s wearing tight Levi’s 501 jeans, a vintage Bears sweatshirt and a nice pair of black leather work boots. He looks up as we approach, hearing the kids voices I’m sure, and he throws us a huge smile. His eyes are masked by a pair of dark aviator sunglasses that complete the panty-melting look. I see other women gawking at him as they walk by, and I would too, but he doesn’t seem to notice. If they had any idea he was a fireman with an accent they’d be throwing themselves at him like a pack of wolves.

“What a fine looking group you have there. Thanks for the invitation, Melanie, I can’t think of a better way to spend a Sunday,” he says, as he approaches our chaos.

Lou sees him and squeals. She wrestles to be free, so I let her down and she toddles over to him. Melanie stands in awe, especially because these days Lou won’t go near anyone except me, her and Brian. He picks her up and tickles her belly.

“Hi, little lass. Staying out of trouble?” he says to her as she giggles.

Melanie greets him first, and tries to take Lou out of his arms.

“I’m sorry, Wick. She clearly has a thing for you,” she says as she removes an unhappy Lou from his arms. He seems embarrassed.

“Well, I do for her as well. I guess I have a soft spot for the beautiful ladies,” he says, looking right at me with a closed-mouth grin.

I think I’m blushing again, and he notices. He lowers his face and smiles. I hope that means he’s pleased with my reaction to him. Mel, Katie and the kids are already walking ahead to give us some space. He guides me ahead, his hand resting gently on my lower back.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all week. I’ve enjoyed our phone conversations, but I couldn’t wait to see you again. You’re even more lovely than memory does justice,” he says, warmly in my ear.

All I can do is smile; he renders me speechless.

We get to the suite, and it’s packed with people. Mel finds us a good spot to make camp, and gets the kids situated with food and drinks. Wick and I go to the bar and grab beers for the rest of us.

Mel has struggled to bond with most of the other wives. They’re a mixed bag of snobs, gold diggers and real women. Most of the “real” women want to watch the game instead of schmooze so we grab some seats next to them. The others are decked out in six-inch stilettos and sporting diamonds bigger than my head. Two teenage girls, along with Katie’s daughter, Grace, offer to watch Lou. She’s not happy about the shadowing, but they do a good job of keeping their eyes on her so Mel can relax.

“Cheers! Let’s kick some ass today!” Mel shouts, and we lift our beers in agreement.

Wick and I take the seats on the end so we can have as much privacy as the venue will allow. At least with the noise, we can talk without Melanie and Katie hearing every word.

The game is a nail biter, but the Bears pull it out for the win. Brian has a good game, so Mel and the boys are happy. I had fun, but I’m ready for some one-on-one time with Wick. As soon as the clock ticks to zero, I pop out of my seat.

“That was fun! We’ll see you guys later, Wick and I are going to dinner,” I say, and I notice that he’s still drinking his beer and looks surprised at my abruptness.

“Oh, OK. I thought I was going to meet the guys.” I know he’s referring to seeing Brian and Jason, but there’s plenty of time for that another day. I want him alone, now, it’s been slow torture sitting next to him all day.

He downs the rest of his beer, makes his rounds to thank everyone he’s met. He’s nothing if not polite. He’s very social as well, and seems to able to communicate seamlessly with all kinds of people.

“I’m sorry to drag you out of here so quickly, but if we don’t leave now we could be here for hours. You never know how long interviews and post-game stuff will take,” I say, hoping he’ll understand why I seem so rude.

“No apology necessary. I’m ready to have you to myself for the evening. I’ll just have to remember to thank Brian the next time I see him. Since we’re on this side of town, I had an idea for dinner. Are you game?”

“Of course! Lead the way.” I’m intrigued.

He takes me to an intimate, hole-in-the-wall place not far from the stadium. From the outside it’s nothing but a brick building with a crumbling façade, but on the inside it is spectacular: A small dining room, with a couple of dozen tables for two. Two blues musicians are playing softly in the dimly lit corner. This is already my favorite restaurant in Chicago, and I haven’t eaten a thing. It almost feels too intimate for a first date. It seems like someplace for an anniversary or proposal. It might be difficult for us to have the mandatory “getting to know you” conversation in a room this quiet. It does reek of romance, though.

“This place is beautiful, Wickham, how did you ever find it?” I ask, praying that he doesn’t say he takes all of his first dates here.

“My parents have been coming here for years for special occasions. They don’t like to venture to the city very much, but this place is special to them. I didn’t realize it would be so, cozy. It’s my first time here, so I didn’t really know what to expect. We can go somewhere else if you’d like.”

Oh, that accent. It sneaks in every few sentences, and I love it.

“I’m fine with it if you are. Probably better you can’t see me in harsh lighting after sitting outside at a football game all day!” I say, intended as humor, but he doesn’t take it that way. He places his right hand on my cheek, and strokes it with his thumb.

“Miss Rebecca, you’re glowing. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you all day. The sun shining on your beautiful hair and face was hypnotic. I was trying my best not to be too obvious, but I know your sister caught me a few times,” he says as he continues to caress my cheek.

There’s something about him that’s different. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s an inner quiet about him. His honesty is refreshing. I can’t believe he would admit to all that, so early on. Maybe he wanted to beat Mel to the punch. Good call, too, because I know when I’m alone with her next, she’ll most definitely bring it up. As the strong, independent woman that I am, I’m a little embarrassed to admit-even to myself-that I feel safe around him. If I were in danger, I feel as if he would throw me over his shoulder and fight his way to our safety. It’s not just his brawn that makes me feel that way, it’s the way he carries himself: Confident, but not cocky; strong, but not aggressive.

“You’re very sweet, thank you.” Normally when a guy says something like he just did, you know it’s a line. Usually I would have countered with something sarcastic. With him, I wouldn’t dare. He means every word, and I’m grateful for the compliment.

He speaks to the maître d’, and we’re led to a table in the corner, away from the music. He seats us, lights the candle on our small table and motions for the waiter to bring over a bottle of wine. Impressive.

“I made reservations after we made our plans for the game. I hope you like Prosecco. It’s a nice way to start a meal.”

I didn’t expect him to be quite so nuanced. A small-town public safety officer who knows wine isn’t someone you meet everyday. Another thin layer of his personality is peeled back for me to see.

“I do like it, very much, actually, thank you.”

The waiter pours a small sip into Wick’s glass, and Wick hands it over to me.

“The lady should taste it first. If she doesn’t like it, we won’t keep it,” he says jokingly, but it’s a kind gesture.

I taste it and it’s delicious, so I nod to the waiter for more. He makes quick work of filling our glasses and pleads his case for us to try the chef’s menu, which is a sampling of the chef’s creations for the day. Each small course takes a while to prepare, so we’re in for a nice long meal.

Wick dives right in, asking question after question about me and my family. He’s fascinated by my modeling stories. He listens and engages with great interest; he’s so easy to talk to. Trying to get the same information out of him isn’t quite so easy. He confirms what I already knew from our phone calls, that he has one brother, and parents who live in the suburb of Midlothian, south of the city. He seems well-practiced in turning the conversation away from himself and back onto others. It’s a first date, so I don’t want to push into territory he’s not comfortable with.

With some subtle prodding, I do find out that he went to college on a baseball scholarship, as did his brother. He was a catcher and his brother, Lachlan, was a pitcher. Lachlan is a year older, and Wick speaks of him with a smile, so it seems like they’re close. That’s all I learn before our food begins to arrive in streams. It’s all extremely rich and delicious, and the conversation turns to food appreciation.

Our meal lasts two and a half hours. That’s not counting the first thirty minutes of talking, and the last twenty about how wonderful everything was. I want to see the check so badly; I know this place must be pricy based on what we ate and drank. I honestly have no idea how much money those officers make, but this must have been quite a whopper for a first date. It’s been years since I’ve been concerned about how much something cost. My circle in New York never looked at checks, we just paid them without a thought about the amount. A small pang of guilt hits me in the gut.

“Can we go Dutch?” I ask as I make a reach for my purse. Oh no, he looks insulted. “I just mean that we mutually decided to go to dinner after the game, so I should do my part.”

“Rebecca, please. I wanted to take you on a real date. This isn’t two buddies sharing pitchers of beer,” he says as he pulls out large bills from his wallet. He stands, indicating that he doesn’t need change, and escorts me out of the restaurant.

The temperature has dropped considerably while we were eating, and a blast of Lake Michigan air hits us in the face. He instinctively pulls me in close, and wraps both arms around me. Thankfully, we were able to park close and don’t have a far walk. After walking about twenty feet, he abruptly steps in front of me, and grabs my face. My hair is swirling around us like a red tornado. He pulls me in close, and gives me just a hint of a kiss. His lips are warm and inviting. I try to lean in for more, but he turns and leads me to the car. He opens my door for me, and then sprints around to get in himself. We both take deep breaths once we’re in the quiet. I see him squeeze his eyes, just for a moment, as he lets out a long exhale and his entire body relaxes. Not me, my body is on high alert, and I don’t want it to relax. I feel like crawling over into his lap and tasting his sweet mouth again.

“Ready?” he says as he starts up the engine.

Drat. I thought we were going for a teenage car make-out session. Steamy windows and clothes strewn all over the backseat.

“Um, sure,” I say as I pull on the seatbelt. I think he can sense my disappointment; I see the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Not here, Rebecca, you deserve better.”

I feel like saying, “No, I don’t!”, but I assume the role of the sophisticated woman, and smile back.

We listen to soft rock on the drive home, and keep the talking to a minimum. Even on a first date, at some point you just get talked out. I’m glad we hit that wall at the same time. When we arrive at my place, he pulls up to the front instead of finding a parking space in the lot. I guess this means he doesn’t want to come up. Shit.

“Would you like to come in? I have some wine or I could make some coffee.” Of course, everyone knows the universal translation for that means, “Would you like to come up for some hot sex?”

He doesn’t say anything. He opens his door and walks around to my side to open mine. He grabs my hand and we walk to my door.

“I would love nothing more than to come in and extend our date, Becca, but not tonight,” he says as he touches my face again.

I feel a powerful need coming from him, and I know my body is sending out the same signal. He encircles me in his arms, pulls me in and places his head against the side of my neck. I feel him smell me, which elicits a deep moan. I feel it hum throughout his body, and it makes me shiver.

“Are you cold?” he asks without moving his head away from me.

Hardly.

“No, what you’re doing just feels incredible. I guess my body was saying ‘thank you’.”

He moans into my neck again, and slowly raises his head and looks me in the eye.

“You have no idea how much I’d love to come up and crawl into your warm bed with you, Rebecca, I just can’t. I want to take it slow if that’s OK.”

His body is sending every possible signal to the contrary, but I hear his message loud and clear. He’s attracted, but not interested. I get it.

“It’s all right, Wickham. I understand,” I say as I take a step back to put some distance between our bodies. “Thank you for a lovely dinner. Have a safe week at work,” I say, sounding somewhat bitchy. This isn’t the first time I’ve been out with a guy who was just interested in me as a pretty face. I’m a model; it comes with the territory. I’m just surprised that he feels that way, I really thought we had a different connection. It feels much more real. I would have never put him in that category of men. Of course, those guys make a rush for the bedroom, and he’s backing away from it. I guess he’s not interested in any of it.

“What’s the matter? You seem different,” he says as he looks at me confused.

I didn’t think I was being very subtle.

“I get it, Wick, OK? I thought we had a connection, but I guess I was wrong. You can’t slow down from something that hasn’t even started.”

He takes my hands, and wraps them around his waist as he pulls me in.

“All I meant is that I do feel a connection to you, Rebecca. I have since the first time I ever laid eyes on you. I don’t want to screw it up, I’ve been known to do that.”

A small hint into his personal life: He rushes into sex and it hasn’t worked out. Well, that’s a relief.

“Oh, I’m really sorry. I just misread the signals. OK, we can take it at whatever speed you need. Thanks again for dinner, I really enjoyed spending the day with you; you’re a great guy,” I’m hesitant to lean in for a kiss; I don’t know what he wants now.

I let him take the lead.

He seems happy with my response, and he hugs me tightly. He maintains our hug as he pulls his head back to look at me. He leans in for a kiss, and I respond. It begins slow, and small. He teases my lips with his warm tongue, and it sends jolts of electricity straight to my crotch. This whole waiting thing may be harder than I anticipated. I place my hands in his hair and pull him in hard. We don’t have to have sex tonight, but I am kissing the man whose full lips I’ve been fantasizing about all day. He returns the passion, and our mouths and tongues frantically try to find some sort of release. After a couple of minutes of soul-ravaging kissing, my head is spinning and my legs feel like wet noodles.

We separate to catch our breath. His face is sweaty, and he’s breathing heavily. I know my makeup has to be all over my face by now, and I probably look like a drunk raccoon. Without the prospect of sex, kissing like that is the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced. I’ve been with guys who might kiss you once or twice before diving right in. This is definitely underrated.

“Will you call me tomorrow? I’ll be around the station, so whenever you can talk, I should be free,” he says as he strokes my face one last time for the night.

My brain is scrambled, so I’m lucky to squeak out, “sure,” before he turns to leave. He blows me a kiss as he gets into the car, and I watch him drive away. Holy moly. My body feels electrified. I wander around my home jittery and unfocused as if I’ve had too much coffee.

I’m aroused. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this turned on before. I crawl into bed with good intentions of sweet dreams, but my body defies me. As soon as I shut my eyes, there he is: his beautiful face and that tall, strong body. I can still feel his large hands on my back, and caressing my face. The way he pressed my body against his, and hummed into my neck. The heat coming from between my thighs is too much. My hand reaches down and grabs my clitoris and folds with force. A huff of air escapes my lips as my body senses a release. I could orgasm with ease right this minute, but I want it to linger, the way he and I were lingering on the porch.

My hand alternates between forcefully squeezing and gently rubbing my aching pussy. The heat and wetness of my crotch fuel my fire, and my hand begins to move faster. My other hand is on my breast, squeezing and pulling at my nipple as I fantasize about his warm lips sucking them. They’re slick with sweat, and I reach my long tongue down to taste the saltiness of my nipple. That sends a strong signal to my pussy, and I put two fingers inside the warm wetness to ease the throbbing.

I feel my pussy start to quiver and my orgasm rises from deep inside my body. I pinch my nipple harder and I scream as my pussy tightens around my hand, imagining what his hard dick must feel like. I come hard, and it continues to rise in intensity as I picture his strong body over mine, pumping away and releasing his load into me. I turn my face over into the pillow so I can scream louder without a neighbor calling the police.

My climax slowly begins to wane, and I keep my hand firmly in place. I imagine that he’s satiated and resting inside me. I fall into a deep, wonderful sleep.

I wake shivering in sweaty sheets, and my body is clammy. I look at the clock, and see that I’ve had a nice two-hour nap. I get up to clean myself up, and throw on some warm pajamas before diving right back in. I fall back to sleep with his sweet, smiling face staring back at me in my mind.

Chapter 8

“So? How was it?” Mel starts in immediately when I walk through the door. I had promised I would help her with Christmas decorating today. There are boxes stacked up to her elbows, I may have offered too soon. This will take until Christmas Day to get everything up.

“It was great,” I say with a coy smile thinking about him.

“Well, it shows! You’re positively radiant! Did he stay at your place or did y’all go to his?”

“He didn’t come in. We said goodbye at the door.”

She stops what she’s doing, and looks shocked.

“Are you kidding me? The two of you were practically spilling pheromones all over the place yesterday. He was ogling you the entire time. There’s no way you two didn’t hook up. I can see it in your face; you had sex last night. You’re lying,” she accuses.

“Well, I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy myself …”

“I knew it! Did y’all do it in the car?” She laughs at her own humor.

“No, it was after he left,” I say, and I feel my cheeks start to flush. Damned that snow-white skin of mine.

“OK, too much information! Why didn’t he stay? Was dinner OK?”

I savor the memory of it all before I speak.

“Dinner was wonderful. I’ve never been to a more romantic place with a more romantic man in my life. He’s amazing, Mel. I could really fall hard for him.”

“Help me understand why he didn’t come in, though. You’re both consenting adults. I mean, why not?”

“We want to take it slow.” I know she won’t buy the “we” part coming from me.

“We or he?”

“Look, Mel, just because I’ve been quick to jump in bed before, doesn’t mean I can’t wait. He is so respectful and sweet. The way he kissed and held me …” I feel my train of thought go off the rails, as the memory of our saying goodnight fills my brain.

“When are you seeing him again? I need to know how long I’ll have to be around you all pent up with frustration.” She laughs again.

I throw an oversized Santa head pillow at her.

“See? Violence isn’t the answer, sister, sex is,” she says as Brian walks in the room holding Lou, who is just up from her nap.

“I don’t know what the question was, but I’ll have to agree with you, my love,” Brian says to Mel as he approaches her. He hands a wiggly Lou off to me, and grabs Mel butt as he kisses her deeply.

“Get a room, you two.”

“At least we’d know what to do in it!” Mel says, as Brian looks confused.

“I don’t get it. How was the date, Bec?”

“It was great, Brian. Thank you for asking. Your crude wife thinks that just because we didn’t have sex on the first date something must be wrong,” I say, only half-kidding. Mel is starting to make me feel a little paranoid about the whole situation.

“Don’t listen to her, Bec. He seems like a nice guy, there are a few of us left. Don’t read too much into it. And you,” he adds, picking Melanie up and throwing her on his shoulder where he proceeds to give her a hard smack on the rear, “mind your own business, or there will be more where that came from.”

He lowers her back down, and her hair is wild.

“Promise? Later?”

Brian smiles and proceeds to pack a diaper bag. He’s taking Lou and the boys out for the afternoon so Mel and I can get this project done.

A few hours later, the house looks incredible. She and I worked hard and got everything up except the tree. They’ll do that as a family. She’s hired someone to put the lights up outside, so she’s done. Brian doesn’t have time during the home stretch of the regular season to help, so she’s grateful for my assistance.

We sit down to eat some sandwiches, and she pours us a couple of full glasses of wine.

“Thanks so much, Becca. That would have taken my procrastinating butt a full week to do alone. Listen, I was just kidding earlier. I think it’s great that he wants to take it slow. I think it shows real maturity on his part,” she says, as she ravenously digs into her food. “Most guys that age couldn’t care less about getting to know you first. So, tell me about him? Where’s he from?”

“I think so, too. I had the same reaction, or overreaction if I’m being honest, that you did when he said that to me. He explained that he’s rushed sex in the past, and things didn’t work out well. He didn’t say much else, but he seemed genuine about it, like it’s something he didn’t just decide right then and there.

“I didn’t really learn much else except that he went to college to play baseball. His parents live in the suburbs, and he has one slightly older brother who also played baseball. That’s it. I told him absolutely everything about me. I felt guilty for talking so much, but he kept asking questions. He doesn’t like to talk about himself very much.”

“So how did you leave things? Did you make plans to go out again soon?”

“Oh, shit! I was supposed to call him at the station today. Maybe I can run by on my way home. Do you think that’s too forward? Should I just call instead?”

“Becca, you’re a grown woman, and he’s a grown man. No games. If you want to stop by, then stop by. I’m sure he’d love to see you. I can’t imagine how boring those stations must be at times. It’s getting late, why don’t you get going,” she says as she stands to walk me out. “Besides, my husband will be home soon and I may deserve another spanking!”

I roll my eyes, and give her a big hug.

The station is only two turns out of my way home, but I’m sure I can make an excuse. Mel is right, though, I just want to see him and I should be honest about it.

I see his black Jeep Wrangler parked at the first spot in the lot. My stomach does a flip. The sun is almost down, but it’s not yet dinner time. The lights are on, and I can see people through the windows. I stand still and try to catch a glimpse of him. I crane my neck, and peek in every window but no Wick. That’s when I’m startled within an inch of my life.

He comes up behind me and whispers, “Hi, gorgeous,” in my ear. I twirl around, arms flailing, just missing hitting him right in the nose. His eyes are wide with surprise, and he laughs.

“That’s not very smart to do to a woman who’s lived in New York. You’re lucky I didn’t have my pepper spray out!” I huff, but he continues to laugh at my reaction.

“I’m sorry, sweet girl. I really didn’t mean to frighten you. I was coming from the barber across the street, and caught a glimpse of the most beautiful red hair. I knew it was you; I’ve had dreams about this hair,” he reaches up and runs his fingers through the underside of my hair.

His voice calms me down, but his fingers in my hair revs me up. I must control these reactions if we’re going to take things slow.

“What were you looking for?” He smiles, knowing exactly what I was looking for.

“Well, I’m thoroughly embarrassed, but I was looking for you. I saw your car, but I wanted to make sure you were here. I got busy with Melanie today, and I forgot to call. I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK, really. I was hoping to hear from you, but this is an even better surprise. Come, let’s go inside.”

He smells like barbershop powder, which I never realized until this very moment how much I love.

It’s a quiet afternoon at the station, so he gives me the grand tour, including the fire trucks. He’s especially proud of these.

“When I transferred from the city, this baby was brand new,” he says, banging on the side of a gleaming blue and white fire truck. “I love this job.”

He looks genuinely happy, and it warms my heart.

“Want to see inside?” He hops up on the side, and pops open the large door. He helps me climb into the back of the cab, and then climbs in and over me to the seat behind the driver’s seat. For such a large guy, he’s incredibly limber.

There is equipment in every possible nook. It’s surprisingly large: Four people could fit back here easily. He gets on his knees in front of where I’m sitting, and takes my hands in his.

“Thank you for coming to see me,” he says, kissing the back of my hand, “I was really beginning to miss you. I had a great time yesterday.”

He peeks out the window, judges it to be all clear, and pulls me down to meet him for a kiss. His hands dig deeply into my hair, as he teases me with his mouth. He’s very slow and measured, taking his time to allow the kiss to do its magic. I open my eyes, and see that he’s watching me. We break our connection, and he holds my face as he gazes into my eyes. We stay like this for the briefest of moments, but the feeling is intense. I feel like I’m falling down a well, and I have no desire to grab on to anything to stop the fall.

“Can I come by your place tomorrow? I’m off early, and I’d love to cook dinner for you,” he says, all the while not breaking the intensity of our visual bond.

“I have a meeting with my agent at four, but it shouldn’t take very long. I’d love for my kitchen to be used for something other than heating up takeout leftovers. Thank you, Wick.”

* * *

Unbelievable.

I never have to go into the city, except this one day to sign some contracts. Wouldn’t you know it? The trains are delayed, and cabs are nonexistent. Even the Uber drivers are backed up by an hour or more.

I jumped the gun when I left the office, and told Wick I was on my way. He’s waiting in his car at my place now. I shoot him a quick text: I’m sorry, I’ve never seen a backup like this. I have no idea what time I’ll make it there. There is a key in a fake rock in the plant to the right of the door. Go in and make yourself at home. I’ll keep you updated!

He responds: Don’t stress, lass. I’ve got it covered. I’ll have a nice cocktail waiting for you when you arrive.

Come on, stupid train!

I finally drag myself to my door two hours late. My sympathies go out to everyone who does that on a daily basis. When I open the door, the most heavenly aroma fills my senses. Baked pasta: the models’ forbidden fruit.

“Wickham? I’m here, I final … ” he rounds the corner, and he’s carrying two wine glasses, filled with a blood-red vintage.

“All is well, you made it,” he says, handing me a glass and clinking it with his. “Here’s to long days that help us to enjoy the evening’s pleasures.”

“You Scots have a toast for everything, don’t you? I’ll definitely drink to that.” I swallow a large gulp. This isn’t the cheap stuff I buy at the grocery store for a Wednesday night, this wine is rich, and flavorful. “Whoa, that’s good. And what is that delectable aroma?”

I drop my things at the door, and follow him into the kitchen. He grabs my hand, links our fingers and kisses it.

“Well, I wasn’t quite sure if you’re fond of Haggis, so I made some baked ziti. Italian is my specialty,” he says, laughing knowing that anyone who’s not Scottish would never willingly eat sheep guts cooked in it’s stomach. Just knowing what it is makes me queasy.

“You’re correct, sir, I couldn’t even look at that stuff. I’m grateful you didn’t molest my kitchen with that recipe. I’m starving; is the ziti ready?”

“Just keeping it warm. You sit, I’ll plate.”

My dining-room table has never been used. I don’t really know why I bothered to buy one, except the space needed something there. Wick has set the table, complete with all the candles he could find, and it’s beautiful.

Later, I’m stuffed. I was so famished when I got home, that I overate his incredible food until it finally caught up with me.

“Wick, that was so delicious, I don’t know how to thank you. I’m sorry for being late and making you wait on me,” I say as I push myself up out of the chair like I’m nine months pregnant. I sidle over to the living room and plop down into the overstuffed couch, realizing I may never get out.

Wick sits down next to me, and places his arm around my shoulder. I snuggle into the nook of his arm, and fight every inclination to fall sound asleep. He hugs me into his body, and kisses the top of my head. It feels unusually comfortable for a second date, especially given the fact that all we’ve done physically is kiss.

“Tell me a story, Wick. Tell me about yourself and your family,” I say, my eyes closed, halfway to dreamland.

“My family moved to the states when I was seven …,” he pauses.

“And? Don’t leave me hanging,” I say groggily.

“My story is boring. True immigrant’s tale. I’d like to hear more about you. Did a photographer really call you fat? I would’ve punched his lights out,”

I hear him continue to speak as I fade into a blissful sleep.

When I wake up, I’m in my bed, and he’s gone. I get up to check the place, and everything is cleaned and put away. There’s a note on the kitchen counter.

“I didn’t want to wake you; you were sleeping so peacefully. I’m off work this weekend, and I’d love to take you out again. I’ll call you tomorrow/today. XX Wick  PS: Thank you for sharing your home with me.”

What a gentleman. I must have been knocked out cold for him to have done all of this without waking me up. Nothing like a big pasta meal for a sedative. I may as well go back to bed and try to dream of him and his food.

He’s busy at work the next few days, so we don’t get to see each other. I talk to him at night on the phone before bed, but I miss being around him. He calms me.

* * *

Wick and I went out four times over the last two weeks, and I’m over the moon about him. I only wish he could open up more to me more about his past. He offers bits and pieces, at my pleading, but that’s it. I’ve learned that his brother was an exceptional athlete. It played a large part in the decision for his family to move where they did, so Lachlan could have better opportunities to pursue sports. He was drafted by the Major Leagues in college, left to pursue a professional baseball career. Two years in, he was in a car crash, which ended his career.

That’s where Wick stops. He won’t tell the rest of the story. I don’t yet know about the extent of his injuries, or what he’s doing now. It’s like pulling blood from a stone. All in due time, I suppose.

For as little as I get from him emotionally, I don’t get much more physically, either. He’s attentive and incredibly sweet, but we’re no further along than we were at the beginning of our relationship to hitting the bedroom. We kiss, a lot, no complaints there, and we snuggle, but he pulls back when it gets too hot. I’ve seen and felt some pretty impressive erections through his pants, so it’s not physical, for sure. I know we’re proceeding slowly, but this pace is downright glacial.

Chapter 9

Wick and I each spent Christmas Day with our families, but today is our Christmas. I had no idea what to get him, but when I was shopping I saw a beautiful cashmere sweater the exact color of his eyes. Not very personal, but it’s all I could come up with.

He’s coming to my place tonight so we can celebrate. I spent yesterday with Mel, Brian and the kids, and our parents. I was Lou’s shadow all morning. She brought every gift under the tree to me to help her open it. She’s spoiled rotten, mostly my fault, and no one minded her being the queen of Christmas. I sent Wick selfies of her and me throughout the day, including a photo that Mel took of the two of us curled up together taking a nap.

Wick shares no word at all about how everything goes with his family. That is one tight lid he has on this particular drum. My crowbar is bent trying to get into it, but I know he has to be the one to voluntarily open it up.

He cooks us a delicious meal of steak and potatoes, with salad, bread and wine. On the outside, a simple meal, but the flavors are a complex blend of fine ingredients: The perfect metaphor for something else in my life, perhaps?

“Thank you, Wick, once again for a delicious feast that makes my lack of cooking skills even more humiliating. Where did you learn to cook like that?” I ask, trying my best to build on my limited knowledge of one Wickham Dunmore.

“The fire station I worked at in the city. One of the older guys was an amazing cook, and he took me under his wing,” he says, very noncommittally. “Are we doing presents now? Because I can’t wait.”

He hands me a large envelope while we’re still sitting at the table. There’s a small red bow on the front.

“OK, this isn’t the puppy I asked for, is it?” I say, just trying to lighten the mood a little; he seems serious right now.

He’s also nervous. Now I’m nervous wondering what the hell could be in the envelope. I feel my hands shake a little as I open it. It’s a brochure for a resort in Wisconsin with spectacular views of Lake Michigan. It looks incredible.

“I’ve booked us for the weekend of Valentine’s Day. I hope that’s OK,” he says, taking a large sip of his wine.

Why is he so nervous? It’s just a weekend away for us. Then it hits me. Maybe he’s planning on this being the weekend we finally consummate our relationship. I walk over to the living room, to get more comfortable on the couch. He follows, with an unsure look on his face.

“Do you like it? Am I being too presumptuous about Valentine’s Day?”

“Wick, I love it. It’s such a kind gesture, and I look forward to it. I do have a question, though. Will we be in the same bed?”

May as well lay it out there, I’ve got nothing to lose.

“Well, yes. I know you’ve been frustrated with me, and I appreciate your patience. I have my reasons for behaving the way I do.”

“Will you share them with me? I’m just so curious, why the wait? I will admit, I do feel more aroused when we’re together. It’s like an extended foreplay.”

“I will, I promise, in my own time, OK? This whole relationship has turned my existence upside down, and I’m trying my best to manage pretty unfamiliar ground. I’m hoping that by February, I’ll be ready for this.”

I can’t help but notice he has an erection. Now I’m more confused than ever. I pretend not to see it, and thank him again for the gift. I rise to clear the dishes, and watch him out of the corner of my eye. He takes a long deep breath, eyes closed, and the bulge disappears. Wow. That’s some self-control.

I give him his sweater, and he loves it. He yanks off the tag, as I hold my breath begging it not to rip a hole, and throws it on. I never thought he could be more gorgeous, until now. It makes the color of his eyes absolutely pop from his head, and his dark hair look even darker.

“I’m afraid I’ve outdone myself and must insist that you wear that twenty-four hours a day,” I say, ogling him.

“What if I have a really good reason to take it off?”

Wait, what? Is he teasing me after the conversation before?

“Don’t toy with me, Wick. My poor, weak heart can’t take it.”

He stands up, slowly removes the sweater and pulls me up to standing in front of him. He takes my hands, and places them on the buttons of his dress shirt. I’m frozen for a moment. I’m not quite sure what the means.

“Unbutton it,” he whispers.

My fingers start shaking, and my body heat is rising. I fumble with the first button, and it’s a long shirt, we could be here awhile. I tell myself to calm down and focus on the task at hand. I even unbutton the cuffs. I see his muscled chest and his abs for the first time. I hear myself swallow. He has a small amount of chest hair, and the rest is bare.

“Take it off,” he whispers even more softly than before.

I’ve seen countless men with no shirt on, but this is so erotic I feel as if I’ll melt into a puddle at his feet. I grab the top of the collar, and slowly peel the shirt over his broad shoulders, and continue down his torso and back until it drops onto the floor. Another full erection has joined the party. This won’t be the night, will it? He’s made such a big deal out of our trip. I don’t understand, but right now, I don’t care. I’m enjoying this moment.

Even with my height, I still only reach his shoulders. I’m face to chest with him. He smells so manly: I don’t know if it’s cologne or just his natural scent, but it’s intoxicating. He keeps his eyes on my face, as he leans down to grab the bottom of my blouse. I unhook the loop at the back of the neck, and he raises it above my head. I’m not wearing a bra, so I’m standing in front of him naked from the waist up. His eyes fall from my face to my bare breasts. He has an intense look. I stand in wait for him to lean down and kiss them, or to feel his hands knead them, but nothing happens. We stand in our respective places, taking in the scent and sight of each other, but neither of us moving. He closes his eyes, and inhales deeply. His erection doesn’t go away, it seems to intensify.

When his eyes open, they’re black with desire. He moves in closer to my body, as close as possible without touching, and he inhales deeply once more. An unusual mix of ferocity and calmness emanates from his pores. The small, unclaimed area between our bodies is buzzing with electric current.

I have no idea how much time passes, but he is the first to move, and it’s slow and deliberate. He lifts his hands to my shoulders, and touches me with just the tips of his fingers. He draws an invisible line down the outside of my arms, and heat radiates from them. I stand like a tree planted deep in the ground, unable to move, only bend and sway. He mimics the action again, and this time the touch is even lighter than before, almost imperceptible.

I think he’s hypnotized me, I can’t move. If the fire alarm went off right now, they would find me burned to death, stuck in this spot. My heart rate, which was off the charts just a minute ago, has slowed to a light thump. My eyes close involuntarily to take in the sensation even more fully. Another moment passes, and I feel his sensuous mouth on mine. It wakes me from my trance. He’s stepped back a little, and is putting his shirt back on. I feel confused, and unsure of my whereabouts, as if someone has awakened me from a deep sleep.

“What’s happening? What are you doing?” I ask, as I watch him put his shirt and sweater back on.

“I can’t rush this, Rebecca. I don’t want to. I can’t seem to help myself around you; it’s really difficult.”

“Don’t you want me?” I ask, with a quiver in my voice.

I can’t understand: If he’s that attracted to me, why doesn’t he just rip my clothes off and go to town.

He looks pained.

“I want you more than anything or anyone I’ve ever longed for in my life. Please try to be patient with me, I swear to you, I’ll get there.”

He looks disappointed with himself. I go to him, put my arms around his waist and hug him tightly. He relaxes into it and hugs me back. I want to crack open the window to his mind so that I can understand all of this. I’ve developed some strong feelings, and I’m worried about him. I’m sure whatever the situation is, it can’t be any worse than what my active imagination is telling me.

“It’s OK, Wick. I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got nothing but time.”

* * *

Our big weekend is coming up. We’ve been spending as much time as we can together, and have even had a couple of sleepovers. He slept on the couch a couple of times before I insisted he try it in the bed with me.

“I swear, Wick, I’ll keep to my side. It’s chilly tonight, I need your body warmth,” I say, and he relents.

“OK, sweet girl, you win.”

We snuggled all night long. I don’t think either of us slept a wink, but it was wonderful to have him close. I felt his hardness many times throughout the night. He would roll over, breathe deeply, then come back to me. It had to be exhausting, I feel guilty that he has to go to work and try to function on no sleep. His job is dangerous enough without being sleep deprived.

“Thank you for a terrible night’s sleep, lass. However, I wouldn’t have changed a moment. I love you near me, I feel whole,” he says as he rolls over to face me and touch my tired face. He leans in and kisses each eye, then my lips, in his tender way.

“Are you going to be OK this weekend, Wick? If you’re not ready, we can postpone it,” I say, hoping he’ll take the bait and talk about his issues.

We leave in two days, and last night was the first night we’ve shared a bed. The added pressure of a full weekend may be too much.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry. This weekend is for both of us.” He kisses me again. “I really care for you, Rebecca. Thank you for waiting for me. I know I’ve been elusive, and all I can give you is the promise that I’m trying to open up. I have to go, but I’ll see you tonight, love.”

Love? We haven’t said those words yet, even though we both drop hints. I love him with all my heart. I just haven’t wanted to tell him until we get past these communication roadblocks. He has baggage, I just don’t know what or how much.

Chapter 10

I can barely breathe. Today is the big day: We’re leaving for our trip. He’s been quiet ever since we spent the night together. I’ve given him a couple of outs, but he’s insisting we go. I’ve packed enough clothes for a weeklong trip to Europe. It’s cold up there, really cold, but it’s Valentine’s Day. I need nice dresses for dinner and, of course, lingerie that I pray will be seen.

He’s at my place at noon sharp. When I open the door, the sight knocks me over. He’s standing there in his nice jeans, boots, the sweater I gave him for Christmas and dark sunglasses. He looks like sex walking. My libido can only take so much.

“Seriously? Look at you, Mr. Sex-on-a-stick. You’re too gorgeous for your own good. Get in here before my neighbors think I’m hiring escorts,” I say, trying my best to start this weekend on a light note.

It should be fun: A loving couple going away for a romantic weekend, with the small exception that one of us can’t seem to cross an imaginary line to sexual intimacy.

He smiles at my joke, then hurriedly steps inside. He gives me a lingering look, taking in my outfit. I pulled out all the stops today and dug deep into my closet for some of my high-end designer duds. I’m wearing skin-tight, black suede leggings, a low-cut emerald-green blouse, and above-the-knee stiletto boots. He looks appreciative.

“I don’t have to guess what you’d look like strutting down a runway. Becca, you look stunning. I don’t think I want to share you looking like that. I would have had a lot of trouble if I’d known you when you were modeling in New York. I’m a jealous man,” he says, looking deadly serious.

He is? I’ve never seen this side of him before. Yet, another layer peeled back on the Wick onion.

“Well, that’s no longer a worry. My runway days are over. All the wonderful meals you’ve been cooking for me will definitely make sure of that.”

“You need meat on you bones, love, and I’m happy to help.” He grabs my rear, and pulls me in close.

We’re the same height with me in my boots and we stand eye-to-eye. He stares at me lovingly and holds my face. He’s so close to saying something, I can almost see the words on his lips, but he kisses me instead. That was a missed chance to express our love for one another.

“You ready? I know I am.” He swats my butt, and grabs my two large suitcases like they weigh nothing; I had to throw them down the stairs this morning.

We have a wonderful ride to the resort. We talk about music, movies, food and all other sorts of nonthreatening details about ourselves. It’s a blustery day, which adds an aura of coziness to our adventure.

I see the first billboard advertisement for our resort that indicates we’re about twenty miles away. He must have seen it too because we both lose our chattiness. Reality is setting in. I’m ready to profess my love to this man, and I’m beyond ready to make love with him.

We valet park the car, and he tips the bellman generously to bring our bags to the room. The lobby is beautiful, dark wood Craftsman décor with the largest stone fireplace I’ve ever seen. We walk over to see it, and he offers me a seat in one of the rocking chairs as he fetches spiked warm cider. It looks like Noah’s Ark in here: couples, and only couples, as far as the eyes can see. It’s a romantic setting, I can see why this place would be hopping this weekend.

He checks us in, and has a lengthy conversation with the desk clerk. I can’t hear them, they’re too far away, but I see a lot of hand gestures. Wick has a devil’s grin on his face when he approaches me.

“Ready to see the room?”

More ready than he’ll ever know.

“Sure!” I down the rest of my drink, and spring out of the rocking chair a little too enthusiastically. He laughs.

“I guess you are, love,” he says as he holds out his elbow for me to take.

Our “room” is actually a villa larger than my condo. These villas weren’t visible driving in to the resort: They’re on the lakefront. There is a large fireplace in the bedroom, a small kitchen, a living area with no TV and a large outdoor patio with a fire pit. He must have arranged to have it supplied before we arrived; there is food in the refrigerator and wine in the bar. We can stay in here all weekend, undisturbed, if we so choose.

We walk out onto the patio, and there is a hot tub nestled near the rocky waterline. The villas are close together, but their juxtaposition ensures full privacy. The water in the hot tub has been preheated, and there is a cloud of steam rising from it. As I stand and enjoy the view, Wick goes back inside to open a bottle of wine and bring it outside with two glasses.

“Isn’t it a bit cold to drink that out here?” I ask, as I shiver in the damp cold.

He walks past me and sets everything down on the small table near the hot tub.

“Not if we’re in here,” he says, as he begins to undress.

Holy shit. My heart.

In no time flat, he is standing in front of me, buck naked, and it’s a beautiful sight. The vista behind him should bow down in defeat. His eyes twinkle mischievously, and he hops in the warm water. Even though it’s bone chilling out, the man has an impressive cock. I could have guessed that based on how many times I’ve seen it tent his pants.

He lets out a cross between a low growl and a scream when his body hits the water. He settles in, and motions for me to join him. I’m encouraged by this turn of events so soon. I hate the cold, so I rush over and make haste in removing my clothes. No time for a sexy striptease when it’s close to freezing. I let out a similar sound when I step into the water, which, at first, feels like it will slowly boil us to death. After a moment my body acclimates, and it feels like heaven. Wick comes and sits next to me and hands me my glass of wine.

“Here’s to you, me lovely lass, and to us,” he says as he clinks his glass to mine and, in one gulp, empties it. He reaches for the bottle, and refills it to the top.

I think he’s looking for some liquid courage, which is not the worst idea. I try to do the same, but it takes me quite a bit longer to down one glass. He finishes the first bottle then runs like hell inside to get another. I’ve never seen him drunk, or even tipsy, since when we go out one of us has to drive and it’s usually him. Maybe this will act as the truth serum we could desperately use.

Turns out, it doesn’t make him talkative, it makes him horny, very horny, although, he has yet to touch any part of my naked body except for my arms and face. As his eyes begin to glaze over, a couple of bottles later, he takes my glass along with his and sets them down on the table, almost missing the mark.

He grabs me and pulls me to sitting on top of his lap, his semi-erect cock resting between our bodies. As soon as my body is against his, it goes from semi to full almost instantly. This is usually the time when he shuts his eyes and mentally forces it to go down. Not tonight. He’s enjoying the feeling of having a full cock up against my body. We’ve made leaps and bounds already, and we’ve only been here an hour. The possibilities for the weekend are looking bright.

He’s had so much wine, that he’s having some difficulty focusing on my face. He holds it between his hands, as much a gesture of intimacy as it is trying to hold it steady, and he gives me a warm, wet, wine-flavored kiss. I’m feeling the effects of the wine as well, so I give back just as much as he’s putting into it. It turns sloppy and sensual as we push our boundaries to a place we haven’t yet been before. I’m afraid to let something happen while he’s in this state, something he may want to wait for, but I’m powerless to stop right now.

He raises me up, just a little, so that my breasts are above the waterline. My nipples pucker against the harsh cold, but his warm mouth covers one breast and he suckles it until it’s smooth and pliable. He takes a turn on each side, and the sensation of alternating cold and heat is exhilarating. I may orgasm if he continues to tease me like this. I feel his marble-hard cock rubbing against my clit, and I feel a familiar sensation begin to rise. I feel powerless against what’s happening inside my body, and I want my release to wash over me. He suddenly halts all movement, and brings his head up from my breast to my face. He closes his eyes, and presses his forehead against mine. He stays still for a long while. My angered, tortured body is trying to forcefully wiggle against his for some form of relief, but his cock has gone down. He holds me with both arms wrapped around me like a vise, and his head presses hard into mine.

We were so close; I don’t know how he can physically stop himself like that. I’ve never known any man to have that type of control.

I try to whisper above the noise of the hot-tub jets, but it comes out more like a scream.

“What happened, Wick? Help me understand why you do this?” It sounds as if I’m mad, but I’m really not. I’m just buzzed and frustrated and I want answers.

He doesn’t release me, he grabs me tighter as he stands and steps out of the hot tub. It’s frigid out, so he carries me with purpose back inside the villa. He continues to walk to the bedroom, and I think he may be ready. Instead, he walks us to the bathroom and, with one hand, grabs the robe off the hook on the wall. He wraps it around us and walks to the bed. He had lit a fire when we came in earlier, so that’s the only light in the room and it’s throwing shadows on us.

He throws back the big down covers of the bed, and lowers us in together, still wrapped in the large plush robe, and pulls the mound of blankets over us. He hugs me tighter to his chest and falls sound asleep. He’s done for the night.

The bedroom window faces east, and our eyes are assaulted by the sunrise. We left the blinds open, not even thinking about the morning. It’s so beautiful. The sun is sparkling off the water, and the sky is dark pink and orange. My head is fuzzy from the night before, but I remember every minute of it. I felt like I was on the brink of orgasm for an extended period of time. I never came, but my arousal was satisfying on it’s own. That’s the closest we’ve come to intercourse yet. I really thought it would happen. I was sitting on his erect cock for an hour: A slight move to the left or right, and we would have had sex. One thing I know for sure about Wick by now, is that nothing happens without measured thought. Spontaneous hot tub sex would have been an accident and, I think, a mistake.

He leaps out of our warm nest to close the blinds. I’m really enjoying the view of him dancing around in the cold trying to get back to the bed as fast as possible.

“I’ll pay you one million dollars to go and make the coffee,” he says, laughing, the cold air getting under the blankets and making me scream.

“I take it we didn’t turn the heat on last night? Maybe we should have added a few more logs to the fire, too. I’ve needed to use the restroom for the last hour, but I hate the cold!”

He kisses my forehead, and grabs the robe that’s tangled deep in our blankets. He makes quick work of stoking the embers and getting the fire started back up, heads to the kitchen and makes a pot of coffee, and then cranks up the furnace.

“Well, all that work got me blood started. You stay put; I’ll make some breakfast.”

He takes off the robe and tosses it on the bed for me, as he throws on some thick sweatpants and a sweater. The robe is warm, and it smells like him. I put on a pair of his thick socks and make my way to the ice-cold bathroom. I can feel the tile through my feet and socks, and it travels up my spine.

I’m a little surprised I feel as well as I do. I’ve been waiting for the red wine headache to kick in, and so far, nothing. Maybe it was the chilled air, and the relaxing hot water last night, but I feel wonderful.

I clean my face and brush my teeth to try and look tumbled-out-of-bed beautiful, but it’s not happening. I still look like I got drunk in a hot tub. I go looking for Wick in the living area and see him out on the patio talking on his phone. That’s unusual for him; he always lets calls go to voicemail when we’re together. He could be calling to make plans for us today, but I hope not. For all I care, they can drag us out when summer starts.

His voice is loud; it sounds as if he’s yelling at someone. Other than at the football game where we had to shout above the noise, I’ve never heard him raise his voice.

“…Look, I told you I was going away this weekend … no, you don’t need to know where. I know, and I’m sorry about that. I love you, too,” he says as he lowers the phone.

Jesus, he’s married. How could I be so stupid? Maybe he thinks that if he doesn’t have sex, it’s not cheating. I feel like all the air has been sucked out of my lungs, I can’t breathe. I make a run for the bathroom, and shut the door. I try to get my heart rate under control, but its beating so fast I can see it through my shirt. It all makes sense now.

“Becca, love? Are you OK?” he calls out to me.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a second,” I say trying to mask the panic in my voice.

I emerge holding my head high, waiting to see what he does next.

“I made you some coffee. Want some eggs?”

“What the fuck is going on, Wickham? I heard you on the goddamned phone.” So much for subtlety. I can’t proceed another minute in this relationship without answers.

His face pales.

“What did you hear, Rebecca?”

“I heard you tell someone that you were away, and that you loved them. I also heard you yelling, which is not like you. Of course, how would I know? You haven’t opened up to me about anything. Is this, us, all a big lie?”

He looks relieved. He starts to approach me, then stops. I’m sure I look like a rabid, cornered cat that would not be advisable to take a poke at.

“Becca, I’m sorry. I …”

“That’s all I seem to get from you, Wick, is ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ Well, stop being sorry and explain this shit!”

Now he looks pissed. We’ve hopped around some strong emotions already this morning and the sun is barely up.

“Listen, Rebecca, I know you’ve been patient. I was nervous last night, and it didn’t exactly go as I’d hoped. Let’s start today fresh, OK?”

“I’m waiting, Wick. If you don’t start talking about what that phone conversation was about, I’m out of here.”

“That was me mum. I go by there whenever I can, and she was confused, she thought I was coming today. If it sounded like I was angry, it’s only because she doesn’t hear very well,”

Oh. Shit.

“Wick, it’s time to talk.”

~Part Two~

Wickham Dunmore

Chapter 11

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” I shout as I shoot cum inside pretty Miss Wendy, or whatever the fuck her name is. Can’t very well respect a girl willing to fuck you in the high school parking lot during lunch break. “Clean yourself up, and get goin’. I don’t want to be late for practice.”

“Mr. Dunmore and Miss Firth. I believe you’re both supposed to be at lunch, and not out here steaming up car windows. Miss Firth, go see Mrs. Brown, she’s expecting you,” Mr. Thomas, the assistant principal, says, as he waits for her to run back to campus. “Mr. Dunmore, we need to have a chat. Follow me.”

Fuck.

I can’t be busted again. My parents will disown me. This makes the third time I’ve been caught having sex at school. What teenage boy wouldn’t is my question. Just because they don’t go for it like I do, doesn’t mean they don’t want to. They’re just chicken shit.

News travels fast around here, and as Mr. Thomas and I walk to his office, I see my brother, Lachlan, is waiting for me.

“Get your shit together, Wickham. Mom and Dad don’t deserve this humiliation from you,” he says as he smacks the back of my head, and follows me to the office.

“Lachlan, we have this taken care of, thank you for caring about your brother. If he were a little more like you, we wouldn’t be having these issues,” the prick assistant principle says as he glares at me.

Lachlan looks at me, then back at Mr. Thomas.

“OK, Mr. Thomas. Wick, I’ll be waiting for you at practice.”

Lachlan leaves, and gently closes the door. He knows how much shit I’m in.

“Listen to me, you little shit. The play-offs are coming and your brother needs you, is the only reason I’m not calling your parents and having you suspended. You’re too smart for your own good, and this behavior has got to stop. What if that girl claimed rape? What if she gets embarrassed and says you forced her? Then you’re looking at criminal charges. Wise up, son. Keep your dick in your pants until you get to college,” he says, as he points to the door.

He doesn’t want the hassle of calling my parents like he did the last time this happened. Anyway, I think he’s still scared shitless of my dad, who had begun beating on me before we’d even left Mr. Thomas’ office. The bastards’s right, though. Lachlan needs me out there to catch the game for him; he starts on Saturday. He’s committed to Illinois to play ball there, but there will be scouts from the Majors at these play-offs. They’ve been watching him since he was in ninth grade.

I’m good, but my reputation precedes me. The scouts see how many disciplinary actions I’ve have had handed to me, and shy away. Illinois has expressed interest since they’ve seen how well Lach and I work together. The added benefit of him being my babysitter works in my favor, too.

* * *

I manage to graduate, much to the thrill of my teachers, and head down to join Lach at Illinois. Mr. Thomas was right. From the minute I stepped on campus, my dick has been hard. All these pretty girls in one place, and now I’m free to fuck them all, and fuck them I will.

The first week of school, Lachlan’s fraternity has a blowout party. It’s meant to get potential pledges interested, but for me it’s College 101, How to Party.

I begin pounding beers at noon, so by ten, I’m blitzed and horny as fuck. There’s a curvy blond who’s been following me around all night, and she’s about to get her wish. I walk over to her, and kiss her right on the lips. She’s flattered, like most girls are when I show interest, and she follows me up the stairs to one of the bedrooms. When I open the door, I see there’s already someone fucking on the bottom bunk, so I throw her onto the top. She’s giggling and trying to talk to me, but all I want is her pussy.

I can usually talk most girls out of their underwear in under a minute flat. She’s pretty drunk, so she starts to undress right away. She has firm, round tits and a trimmed pussy. This isn’t her first time, thank God. Virgins are the worst. I just want to fuck, not walk them through it.

I fumble for the condom in my pocket, which I always have on me. I deftly roll it down my sizable cock, then I push her knees up to her chest and shove it in. Damn, that feels fucking great. She keeps talking to me, and I’m trying my best to focus on her cunt. I fuck her hard as I suck her tits, and she has great fucking tits. I rub my face all over them, and she moans and arches her back. I begin to come and I push harder into her until I’m as deep inside as I can be. I pump my load, again and again, until I’m completely drained.

I pull out, and toss the condom over the side of the bed. The couple below us aren’t happy about it. I don’t know whose bed this is, but I roll over and fall asleep. I fucking love college.

I start to develop quite the reputation during my freshman year. By May, I’ve managed to fuck my way through the female dorms and most of the sororities. It goes without saying, I’ve left some unhappy women in my wake. During baseball season, I learned how to hide after the games when one of them is looking for me. There are only two reasons they ever look for me. The first is to try to fuck me again, the second is to get my head on a platter. Lachlan has tried his best to keep me on the straight and narrow, but he gave up. As long as I show up for practice, classes, and games, he doesn’t bother me about it.

Even though we didn’t make it to the playoffs, Lachlan had a really good season. A scout for the White Sox has had his eye on Lach for a while, and approaches him after the season. They want him to tryout for the team. He’ll probably end up in their farm league somewhere, but it’s an incredible opportunity and I’m happy for him.

Lach’s a great guy, and an even better brother. The number of times he should have rightfully beaten the shit out of me, or taken one from Dad for me, I’ve lost track. I’ve always got his back, but he’s never needed me to come to his rescue. Everyone who meets Lachlan, loves him. If I had a dime for each time someone has told me that I should be more like my brother, I’d be living on an island with girls feeding me coconuts. The kicker is that they’re right. I’d kill to have the focus and drive that he has, instead of always following my dick around.

Lach’s try-out goes so well, and the White Sox organization offers to sign him to the team. Our parents couldn’t be more proud of him. The team’s stadium is close to our dad’s fire station in Chicago’s South Side, so he can see most of his home games.

I struggle through my sophomore year. I fail two classes fall semester, and I’m on academic probation when our season starts. I’ve had fights with two of our pitchers, and been thrown out of a game for threatening the umpire. I guess I needed my babysitter after all. I finish the season, and decide to go back to Chicago. I’m never going to the majors, and that’s OK. I never had that kind of desire like Lach, anyway. Deep down I always knew I’d end up at the fire academy. I’ve always had such admiration for my dad and the men he serves with. My dad is the district deputy chief in one of the toughest areas in the city. I’d love to do that job right alongside him.

I get in the academy, due in no small part to my dad’s name, I’m sure, and I fly through it. I graduate at the top of my cadet class. I love it more than anything else I’ve ever done. For the first time in my life, my parents are happy with the decisions I’m making.

It was difficult for my parents to leave Scotland. We lived in a small town, the same town both my parents were born in. My grandfather had a nasty temper, and beat my father, his brothers and my grandmother mercilessly. He was a mean drunk, and he was always drunk, so he was always mean. Only after he died, did my father decide to leave. His mother was finally safe from his father, and my dad could leave for the states with a clear conscience. Dad couldn’t bear the thought of Lachlan and me living the same life he had. There are no options in a town like that, and we had potential.

My dad was never one to spare the rod, but he wasn’t brutal about it. We were properly punished, at least in his mind, for our transgressions. Usually it was Lachlan taking the beating for something I had done. Dad would never dare hit our mother. He treats her like she’s made of glass.

Even though I respect and appreciate it, I’ve never been able to see myself with one woman like that. My sex drive would never allow it. I had sex for the first time at fifteen with a nineteen-year-old waitress, and I haven’t slowed down since. Lach, on the other hand, is just like Dad. He started dating Lauren his freshman year of college, and they’re still together. He proposed to her last Christmas. My parents love her, and are excited about the wedding. She’s hooked me up with her friends, even though Lachlan warned her not to, and it hasn’t turned out well. Their wedding may be one of my biggest nightmares, all those girls in the same room gunning for me.

Her roommate at Illinois was a particular disaster. Lauren is pretty but plain, perfect for mild-mannered Lachlan, but her roommate was incredibly hot. She must have developed late, because she didn’t know she was gorgeous. I’m sure she was getting attention, but her self-esteem level had already been planted.

After much pleading on Lauren’s part, I finally agreed to a double date. Her name was Sara, and even though she was pretty, she had zero personality. We all went out for pizza, and she could barely speak. She must have been nervous; she was shredding her napkin under the table throughout the meal. I didn’t really care, she was wearing a skin-tight tank top so I was preoccupied by her tits, not her conversation. Lauren made a lame excuse about needing to study, so she and Lachlan left the two of us alone.

“I’m sorry about Lauren, she’s been trying to get me to date for a long time,” she said, finally speaking in a soft, bird-like voice.

“It’s no problem, I can drive you back.”

“She and Lachlan probably want some alone time. Do you want to go anywhere? Maybe take a drive around?” she asked, having perked up quite a bit.

“Uh, sure. Let’s go,” I knew what she was asking for.

I knew that she knew my reputation, and she wanted me. I called up one of my buddies who had his own place, for assistance with Code Green. That was one of our code phrases for having a girl who was ready to go, but needing a place to do it. He bailed for me, and left the key under the mat. I should’ve paid half his rent, I used his place that much.

Sara found her voice and wouldn’t stop talking all the way there. I didn’t make any pretense, I simply asked her if she wanted to go mess around at my friend’s place. She jumped in the car as fast as she could. I’ll admit I was flattered; she was really excited. I should have guessed why; she was a virgin.

When we got to the apartment, she asked for some alcohol.

“I think it will help me, I’m a little nervous,” she said. Her hands were shaking so hard her bracelets were making music.

“I’m sure I can find you something. You don’t need to be scared, I know what I’m doing,” I said, rubbing her shoulders trying to get her to relax.

Virgins who can’t relax can have an unpleasant first time, and I wanted it to be good. Hell, my reputation was on the line.

I found some cheap, heavy-duty tequila, and poured us a couple of shots. She choked and sputtered through the first one. By the fourth, she was downing it like an Irishman.

“Wickham, you’re so good looking, but you know that don’t you? I’ve heard my friends talk about how good you are in bed, and I really want you to be my first. Let’s go fuck,” her lipstick-smeared lips slurred.

I took her by the hand and led her to a back room with a bare futon and wine crates on the floor. She tried to seduce me in her innocent way, by removing her clothes slowly in front of me. It was like watching a kindergartener fumble with a zipper. I was more than ready to get the show on the road, so I offered some assistance. She had one of the best bodies I had ever seen: huge tits, a nice flat belly, and a firm ass. My cock started to pulse anticipating how tight her pussy would be.

The tequila had already kicked in, helping her relax and become aroused. I reached down between her thighs, and her panties were warm and damp. Thank you, alcohol, for making my job so much easier. I laid her back on the hard folded cushion, and slipped on the condom.

“You don’t have to use that, I’m clean. For my first time I want to feel what a real cock feels like inside me. I just had my period so I can’t get pregnant,” she said as she yanked at the condom I was still trying to put on.

What the fuck, why not?

I bent down and put my head between her thighs. I wanted to warm her up even more. I spread open her lips with my fingers, and I explored her beautiful, untouched pussy with my tongue. She was already wet, and I was making her even more pliable. I licked up and down the length of her slit up to her clit, firmly, then softly, teasing her wet opening. I sucked on her clitoris until she was close to orgasm. Once I thought her pussy was ready for me, I positioned myself over her. Teasing her hole with the head of my cock, I slipped just the tip inside. She clenched and it closed.

“Come on, baby, just relax. You know how good it’s going to feel. Give me that sweet pussy,” I whispered warmly in her ear, trying my best to open the lock.

It worked.

She melted under me, and her lips spread open. I pushed my cock inside, forcefully at first, and kept it there. She moaned and whimpered in a mixture of bliss and discomfort. I continued to lie still as her pussy clenched and tightened on my shaft, resisting the intrusion. When I felt her body relax slightly, I pulled out and started over again. Her beautiful legs wrapped around me and she began to move along with me. We grinded against each other slowly, and then the tempo began to rise with each thrust. She caught up to my speed until we were fucking for real.

She got the hang of it, and then some. I suckled her soft breasts as they jiggled in rhythm with my cock pushing into her sweet body. I always thought that a woman having an orgasm while losing her virginity was an urban legend, but she began to shake. Her pussy was so tight I could feel her walls start to quiver around me. I knew how to push her over the edge. I clamped down on one nipple with my teeth, and flicked my tongue forcefully over the soft pink flesh. That did it.

She let out a strangled moan, and rubbed her clit against my body as fast and hard as she could. I could feel her contract and release her pussy again and again through an intense orgasm. She clawed at my back, trying her best to prolong the sensation, until her body relaxed beneath me. I pumped two more times into her, and released cum into her once pristine pussy.

I’m not one to lie and bask in the post-coital glow. Once I’m done, I’m ready to move on. Leave or go to sleep. I don’t need to snuggle and I definitely don’t need to talk. I did have to drive her back, though, so I dismounted and looked around for my clothes. She seemed to have other plans.

“What are you doing? Do we have to leave just yet?”

“Well, I figured we should get going so my buddy can come back home. Besides, it’s getting late, I should get you back before Lauren has my head,” I said, as unemotional as I felt at that moment.

That’s when I heard the sniffling. I looked over at her, and her head was in her hands, and her shoulders were shuddering.

“That’s it? No hugging, no kissing? Wickham, please come back to me, and love me again. I love you!”

She started to have a full hissy fit. She was crying and yelping at me, “I love you, Wick, I love you!”, and working herself into a frenzy. I had no idea what to say. I don’t think I’d ever been that scared of anyone, including my dad, in my life.

She pulled herself up onto her knees and was pawing at my chest.

“Please, Wick, say you love me! I need you to say it! You took my love, now give it to me!”

Holy fuck.

Even for me, what I did next was shameful. I grabbed my keys and hauled ass out of there. I sent my friend a quick text: Hey, man, I may have left something at your place.

When I got back to our place, Lachlan was home already.

“How’d it go with Sara? She seems like a nice girl,” he said, focusing hard on the game on TV. I didn’t say anything, and he looked up at me. “What the fuck did you do now, Wick?”

Needless to say, Lauren was more than a little upset with me after that. I just pray that she won’t invite Sara to the wedding. Even after my shameful behavior, she hounded me for months. I did my best to apologize to her through Lauren, but I disappeared if I saw her around.

* * *

Lauren and Lach’s wedding is coming up. They’re doing it before Lach leaves for spring training. The season was hard on their relationship last year. Lauren was trying to adjust to changing schools, a job and never seeing Lachlan, although I think it was more difficult for him. He struggled between doing what he loved, and not spending time with Lauren. Lach is a relationship person. He needs people in his life at all times. Baseball is perfect for him in a way, because he’s constantly surrounded by like-minded guys. Not a lot of downtime alone.

He and I couldn’t be more different in that way. I struggle with living in the firehouse with so many guys. I enjoy time to be with my own thoughts, and I can’t even take a shit on my own there. I love my job, though, and the guys are great, but I could also live on a deserted island and be just fine. As long as an occasional ship full of swimsuit models that has lost its way occasionally stops by, I’d be happy.

I’ve been planning Lach’s bachelor party, and we’re having it at the station the weekend before the wedding. We needed someplace big enough to hold all the guys that want to be there. Lach’s teammates and the firehouse guys already account for close to fifty guests. That doesn’t include the guys my dad wants to invite, and our high-school buddies. Lach doesn’t want anything X-rated; he begged me to keep it clean and simple: friends, good barbecue, beer and sports on a big screen.

Lauren is having her bachelorette party this weekend. She mentioned that she wanted time to recover and not look hung-over at the wedding. I never thought she was that much of a partyer, but then again, I don’t really know her that well. She did her best to avoid me when we were all at school together. Whenever I’m around, she typically clams up. I always thought she was shy, but Lach said she only acts that way around me. I guess the stories about me make her feel uncomfortable. I want to tell her to shove it up her ass, but I love my brother, so I keep quiet.

Lachlan is worried about her, and that she’ll drink too much. He’s headed to Champaign tonight to see some friends who won’t be coming to the wedding. Once spring training begins he won’t have time to breathe, let alone chill with college buddies. He asked me to shadow her and her friends, just to make sure they stay safe. A friend at the station, Joe, and I get their proposed itinerary from Lach and plan our evening.

“Any of these gals single?” Joe asks with interest.

“I’m sure, but we’re not hanging with them. Our detail is to show up wherever they are and stay in the background,” I let a disappointed Joe know so he doesn’t get his hopes up.

Lach doesn’t want her to think he’s having her watched, but I know he worries about her. After dinner, they’re starting the festivities at Drop, an underground club near Lincoln Park that stays open until four. It’s a cozy place, so being inconspicuous will be difficult.

Joe and I head there around 11:30 pm. We have to make sure there’s a crowd so we can sneak in unseen. There’s a small line beginning to form outside, which is a good thing. That means it’s at capacity inside. After waiting about twenty minutes, we get in. It’s cold out tonight, and some of the girls wearing little clothing bailed on the line. I can feel the vibrations from the music pumping through my body; it’s extremely loud in here. It’s dark, too, so we don’t really have to cloak-and-dagger much. We go to the bar and grab a couple of weird shots, whatever the special is, and some beers.

Lauren and her friends are surrounding a small table, and it looks like they have bottle service. She’s wearing a bridal veil that’s already torn and hanging on to her hair for dear life. I’ve never seen her like this before, and I wonder if Lach has. There must be a reason for him to be worried; he’s not the jealous overprotective type normally. She’s wearing a very short dress with very high heels. I’m impressed at how women can walk in those things when they’re drunk. Her heavy makeup is already smeared, and the night is young. I’m not thrilled to be playing babysitter to her and her friends, but I owe Lach. He’d do the same for me in a heartbeat. Plus, I’m the best man. Isn’t something like this one of the official duties?

Joe and I pull off our best wallpaper impression, and cling to the wall near the bathroom. Joe’s a handsome guy, and quite a few women have come up to talk to us. I’m doing my best to keep my post, but Joe decides he’s ready to say “screw it” for the night, and he starts dancing with a lovely brunette. Lauren and her friends have morphed into a gaggle of loud, irritating drunks. I could end up being here all night, and by the looks of Joe and his new best friend, I’ll be doing it alone.

To ease the boredom, I plop down in one of the trendy stuffed chairs, and drink. A lot. There’s always a line of cabs outside, so I don’t have to worry about getting home. I would have left with one of these hot women, and been balls-deep into her by now, if this was my usual night out. It’s a nice change, though, sitting back at a distance, watching scantily clad women dance in front of me, asses eye level. Makes for a really good boner. Before I leave for the night, I’ll choose one to take with me.

Two of Lauren’s friends are headed my way toward the bathroom. Shit! I recognize one. I fucked her at college after a sorority mixer. She broke up with her boyfriend after our hookup, and she blamed it on me. The only reason I remember her so well, is because I took a class with her the following semester, and she glared at me for four months. I really don’t understand women. They make their own decisions, I’ve never coerced anyone, yet I end up being the bad guy. I’ve never promised a relationship, or even a date afterward. Half of these girls want a ring after one orgasm, but that’s not my problem, that’s on them.

As hard as I’m trying to hide my face behind my beer bottle, she spots me, levels her gaze and turns on her heels sharply in my direction. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Scottish Asshole,” she says through a drunken slur, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

She’s staring right at me, hand on her hip, and wobbling like one of those car-lot inflatable air-dancers.

“You know, just chillin’,” I don’t owe her anything, so I refuse to take a role in her little poor-me, one-act play.

“I thought Lachlan was out of town. Are you two spying on us?” she asks with the hope that she’d be interesting enough for us to care.

“Nope. Just hangin’ with me buddy Joe. He left, though. Found him some good lookin’ ass to take home.”

“All you need to do is look in the mirror for some good-looking asshole!”

I know she’s trying to insult me, but it comes out more like a compliment. I can’t help but let out a laugh. She’s frustrated and turns to walk away. She grabs the arm of the other girl to steady herself so she doesn’t tumble in her sky-high shoes.

I know she’s going to go and tell Lauren, so I guess the jig is up. I flag down the cocktail waitress to settle my tab so I can head home. Fortunately, I have nothing to share with Lach. They got blitzed and danced, but stayed safe for the evening. I get my gold star for a job well done.

As I stand to leave, I feel a small hand grasp my wrist firmly. My head spins as I rise, I didn’t pay attention to how drunk I was getting

“C’mere you!” It’s a very drunk Lauren. “What the hell, Wick? Why are you here? Did Lach send you to check up on me?”

She’s trying her best to yell over the loud music, but I can barely make out what she’s saying. Her veil is long gone, as are the shoes she was wearing. She’s holding a drink of some variety in her hand, but it splashes all over as she talks. She pulls me over into the narrow hallway that leads to the bathrooms. It’s not much quieter, but the music is slightly muffled. She looks pissed, and doesn’t look anything close to the same person I know: Different hair, makeup, clothes and personality. No wonder Lach was concerned.

The next moment happens in a blur. She’s on me like glue. She slams her body hard up against mine, pinning me to the wall. She not very big, but the action takes me by surprise, so I’m powerless for a second. She reaches up on her toes, and kisses me sloppily. She grinds herself against my crotch as her hand grabs at my zipper. I look over with shocked eyes to see everyone at her table staring, mouths agape, including Ms. Bitchface from earlier. She’s mad as hell and yanks her purse off the chair and walks out with two other women.

I try, unsuccessfully, to pry myself loose, but she’s like a snake winding around me. I look back over to where her party was, and they’re all gone. Some friends. You’d think they would have at least tried to intervene on her behalf, especially with her being so drunk. My head is spinning, I feel like I’m about to black out. The music changes and a deep, throbbing beat begins to pump through the speakers. It’s so dark in here; the only lights are strobes that occasionally hit our faces and remind me who’s kissing me. Shit! I can’t do this; she can’t do this. Why is she doing this?

I feel the beat pulse throughout my body, and I can’t help but give in to the overwhelming sensation of it all. I’m near blackout, my dick is hard and the beat of the music feels like fucking. I jump in with both feet, and grab her hard. I press her body against mine, rubbing her over my swollen crotch. I kiss her back as deeply as she’s kissing me, and we’re practically fucking against the wall. She grabs me by the shirt, and guides our linked bodies down the hallway toward the bathroom. It’s a one-person-at-a-time, with a questionable lock on the door.

She opens the door, and we fall back into the dank room. With one hand, she deftly pushes the lock in, and turns her full attention back to me.

“Wick, I’ve wanted to fuck you since the first time I ever saw you. The only reason I’ve stayed with Lach this long is to be near you. I used to masturbate thinking of you after my friends told stories of how good you were in bed. Your big cock, your magical tongue. I want to feel it, Wick. Lick my pussy,” she says as she hops up on the dirty sink and spreads her legs. She holds her knees apart for me, and she’s not wearing any underwear. I’m not sure if she started the night that way, or they came off somewhere during the evening.

My half-asleep brain is registering little, but I know what to do in this situation. When you’re offered pussy, you lick it. I kneel down, and pull her legs open wide. She grabs the back of the sink to hold on. I throw her legs up over my shoulders, to help her gain her balance. That’s when I dive in. I savagely suck her clit, and stick my tongue into her pussy. Her outcry of pleasure is muffled by the club noise. I taste the sweet crevice that’s moist with her arousal. I press my thumb against her asshole firmly, as I continue to lick and nibble the lips of her pussy. She’s completely bald, not what I would have expected, and she has a small heart tattoo on the mound above her clit. Really not what I expected.

She writhes and shoves my head deeper to feel me. She begins to shout, “I’m coming!” and she rubs her bald pussy over my face as she orgasms. My dick is rock hard, and my addled brain has gotten me in this deep, so I pull her down, and turn her around. I yank up her skirt, and plunge myself deep into her swollen cunt. It’s hot and tight from her recent orgasm, and it feels great. I grab her hair and yank her hard against me. I’ve been hard most of the night, and my cock needs to be drained. I don’t have a condom, so I don’t want to come inside her. I turn her back around, and push her down to her knees. I shove my cock into her mouth, and shoot cum down her throat. She chokes on the girth at first, but then drinks it ravenously.

I zip up my fly, and pull her out of the bathroom. I push our way through the tight crowd, we exit the club, and I grab the first waiting cab. We tumble in, I say my address and blackout.

Chapter 12

Jesus Christ, what the hell have I done?

My head feels like it’s going to explode. I don’t know what was in those shots, but they were powerful. I can’t blame the alcohol for this one, though. Even though my memory is playing keep-away with the details, I know what I did.

I’m reluctant to roll over to see if she’s still here. I can’t sense anyone in the bed, so I hesitantly reach my arm over. No one there. Thank, God. I lie on my back and stare at the water-stained ceiling of my bedroom. Some mornings, I’ll lie here and stare at the water marks like clouds, and try to see different images in the random shapes, but not today. All I can see is a piece of shit ceiling, in a piece of shit apartment of a piece of shit person.

I’m the first to admit, I’ve traveled down some morally questionable roads, but never anything close to this. I fucked my brother’s fiancé the weekend before his wedding. The implications of my actions are flying through my head and I can’t think rationally. Will he find out? Should he find out? Will she tell him? Should I tell him?

Lachlan has been the one decent constant in my life, even ahead of our parents even. He knows things I’ve done and loved me anyway. I think he always hoped I would learn from my behavior, and that I would rise up to the standard he holds for me. How could I fucking do this to him? What kind of monster does that to his best friend and brother?

I violently strike my forehead, which is already throbbing like hell from the alcohol, and it does nothing to ease what I’m feeling inside. I want someone to punch me or kick me in the gut to take my mind off of the pain in my heart. He comes back this afternoon, and we’re supposed to have dinner at our parents’ house. No fucking way. How can I ever look any of them in the eye ever again? If my mother ever found out what I did, I think she’d die of a broken heart. I feel stomach acid bubbling in the back of my throat, and I need to vomit. I swallow hard to send it back down.

I achingly roll out of bed to begin to assess the place. I remember once we got here-don’t remember the ride-that she went to the bathroom and came out naked. We fucked again, maybe twice. The first time, I bent her over the couch in the living area. I recall smacking her ass really hard and she let out a scream. My night-owl neighbor gave a hard “knock-knock” on our shared wall. I’ve heard that many times. Then I remember waking up to her sucking my dick, then climbing on top of it. I laid back and let her work it. I don’t think I came that time. Shit! I came inside her at least twice with no condom. Not only did I fuck my brother’s fiancé, I could have gotten her pregnant. I’m so pissed with myself, I kick my steel-reinforced front door with my bare foot and I think I broke my toe. I feel it beginning to swell, but every sensation is numb compared with what’s going on in my head.

The clock reads two p.m. My stomach lurches again as I remember that Lach will be back soon, if he’s not already. I wonder where Lauren is. Her friends certainly abandoned her quickly last night. I wonder if that’s not the first time she’s pulled some shit like that when they’ve gone out. Poor Lach. He deserves better than the two assholes who are supposed to be the closest to him.

There’s a loud knock at my door, which makes me jump. If it’s Lachlan, he’ll read it all over my face. I tiptoe over, and peek out the peephole. It’s Lauren. I open the door fast, and yank her hard by her arm to come inside. Her face is swollen and red. I hope that means she’s been crying and feels guilty. The only shred of decency I’m clinging to is the fact that I didn’t start what happened. She did. The “why” is what I need to know.

“What are you doing back here? What the fuck was that last night?” I shout, so loudly she backs away. This is the Lauren I’m used to.

She’s kneading her fingers so forcefully, I think they’re going to snap off. Her guilty eyes are roaming the place, and looking everywhere but at me.

“Answer me, dammit!” I shout even louder.

“Something bad has happened, Wick. Has anyone called you?”

Oh, shit. He found out.

I run over to my nightstand to check for my phone. It’s not there. I see my jeans still in the spot where I stepped out of them to fuck her, and check the pockets. I have two missed calls from my dad, but he didn’t leave a message.

“Did you tell him?” I shout again, as I grab her by the shoulders. I feel as if I could start shaking her and not stop until she’s lifeless.

“No! Of course not! But someone did. He found out early this morning, Wick. I think Karen must have called him.”

“Who the fuck is Karen, and why would she do that?”

“Oh, you know who Karen is, Wick. You saw her last night.”

Double shit. She used it as vengeance against me.

“You need to listen to me, Wick. Lachlan was in an accident. He was driving so fast, he lost control of his car, about twenty miles from home. Your parents were notified, and they called me. Of course, they have no idea why he was speeding. They were worried about me,” she says as a whisper. She knows that life as she knew it is over. “I couldn’t tell you over the phone, I had to see you,” she says as she reaches a hand up to my face.

I ferociously slap it away.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you even grasp the magnitude of all of this? You haven’t even told me what happened to him. How badly is he injured?”

She starts sobbing.

“Oh, Wick! I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me last night. I’ve been attracted to you for so long, I think Lachlan knew it. I couldn’t imagine getting married and never having a chance to be with you. That’s why my friends left last night. When they saw me with you, they knew the night was over. They’ve heard me talk about you so much, they’re tired of it,” she says, still crying as she follows me around the apartment as I look for some clothes to put on.

The bitch still hasn’t mentioned Lach.

“If you don’t tell me now how my brother is doing, I can’t be responsible for my actions,” I say, an inch away from her face, spitting saliva like a wild animal.

“He’s not critical, but it’s serious,” she says, and stares at her feet, “His pitching arm is shattered.”

Dear God.

I sprint to the table by the front door, and grab my keys. I step into my sneakers without tying them and I run as fast as I can to my car. I realize I don’t even know where I going. She hasn’t told me the hospital. She must realize it too, because she runs out the door.

“He’s at Palos Community in Palos Heights,” she shouts out at me.

I speed off and leave her in a cloud of smoke. Thankfully that would be the last time I ever see her.

Chapter 13

Lachlan is lucky to be alive. He took a turn way too fast, and hit a small patch of black ice. His car flipped three times, and he was pinned inside. Fortunately, no one was on the road around him, so no one else was injured. But I know how long it would take the fire crew to get him out, I’ve been on those calls myself. When I arrive on his floor, my dad is outside his room talking to two of the fireman who helped him. They must have been hanging around out of respect for my dad. He excuses himself and rushes past them to come and give me a bear hug. He’s weeping into my neck; I can’t take it.

“Jesus, Wickham, ’is arm. Why ’is arm?” He sobs in his thick accent.

“I know, Dad, I know. Let’s wait and see what the Doc says first,” I say, not knowing exactly what the extent of the damage is.

“’E brook ‘is ribs on the right, all ‘em. ‘Is arm is shattered up to ‘is should-ar,” he says, and I’m having trouble understanding him he’s so upset.

I speak to the attending doctor on my own. He said it was nothing short of a miracle that Lach didn’t puncture his lungs. His arm and shoulder will require a number of surgeries. He’ll have to have pins and plates put in, as well as reconstruction of the shoulder. His baseball career is over. It’s over, and I’m responsible.

I go into his room, and Mom is sitting on the left side of his bed, holding his limp hand. He’s heavily sedated for the pain. She jumps up, rushes over and clings to me for dear life.

“Why was ’e goin’ so fass, Wick’em? “He knows be-ttar than that,” she cries in her accent. Like Dad’s, it’s difficult to understand her.

I know what she’s trying to say. Lachlan has always been a law-abiding citizen; he’s just never been a risk taker, even as a kid. This is way out of character for him to have been speeding at more than eighty miles an hour.

“Poor Law-rn. She must be de-vah-stay-ted. I can’t b’leeve she hasn’t been here, yet.”

I think we’ll be waiting forever for her to show up. She’s giving herself away by not coming here.

I ignore Mom’s comment, having nothing to say to her about Lauren’s whereabouts, so I release her and go to my brother’s side. It crushes my soul to see him like this. He shouldn’t be the one lying here, struggling to breathe; it should be me. He didn’t do anything to deserve this, other than put his full trust in me and his future wife. His pain is just beginning, and for the other there’s no medicine to help. I stare at him, feeling deep sadness that I took him for granted. I’m going to lose him in my life, and I know it. Even through some miracle he finds his way to forgive me-if anyone could, would be Lach-I’ll never forgive myself. I’ll never be able to look in his eyes again without seeing the pain I’ve caused.

Because of me, he’s lost his career, his bride, his health and his brother. The only thing he has to lean on now is our parents. I have to figure out a way to tell them the truth of what happened. I’ve screwed up in the past, but this one can’t be undone or unpunished.

I walk out of the room without a word to them and I go to the hospital chapel. It’s eerily quiet, and I’m alone. I drop to my knees and cry like a baby, begging God to somehow forgive what I’ve done. I want to feel the paralyzing weight lift from my shoulders, but God is silent.

I’m all alone.

Chapter 14

Three weeks he’s been in the hospital. Just as he makes small progress, something always seems to set him back. Pneumonia set into his lungs, and for him to expel the phlegm is excruciatingly painful. He’s had two surgeries to begin the process of setting the arm, and the shoulder surgery has to wait until it is stable.

His agent has confirmed with the doctors that his career is over, and he has informed the White Sox. There’s been an outpouring of support from their organization, and the entire Chicago fire department. He’s still unaware of most of it. His pain is so profound, that he hasn’t been able to clearly communicate, which for me, is a good thing. It’s offered me much needed time to explain things to my parents, but I still haven’t done so. How do you look into your parent’s eyes and break their heart? I know the longer I put it off, the worse it will be.

No one has spoken to Lauren. My parents are convinced that she’s heartbroken, and that must be the reason she hasn’t been to see him. Even though it’s obvious that something happened to make her behave this way, they will not accept it. As much as I don’t ever want to see her face again, I crawl all over social media to try and track her down. No luck. I took Lach’s cellphone from his belongings a few days ago. There was a text from her the day after the wreck, that said I’m sorry, and that’s it.

Using Lach’s phone, I search through his contacts and Facebook friends. I find Lauren’s bitch friend Karen listed in contacts, and I send her a text: This is Wickham, I’m using Lach’s phone. Have you heard from Lauren? Our parents are worried sick. Please ask her to call me on his phone if you speak to her.

I resist the strong urge to call her out and ask her why she felt the need to upset him like she did by telling him, but I know the answer. She did it to get back at me.

I receive a reply from her: I’m sorry to hear about what happened. You and Lauren didn’t care who you might hurt by what you did. Lachlan is a decent guy, and he deserved to know. Tell your parents that she’s doing OK, and then you can tell them what you did and why they’ll never see her again. Too bad you and Lauren never got together before this. You two are made for each other.

She’s right. I’ve been hiding like a coward, not facing my responsibility. I have to tell my parents what happened. They need the truth about why Lauren hasn’t been around and why Lachlan was speeding. I need to do it separately. I decide to take my dad out for a beer, and let him tell Mom on his own if he thinks it’s best.

I take him to the closest pub where he can get his Scotch ale. He grumbles about American beer, and won’t dare drink the “Paddy Piss” as he lovingly refers to Irish beer. He looks haggard, like he’s aged twenty years over the last few weeks. My heart aches for him, having to watch ones child in that kind of pain, and I’m about to make it a lot worse.

“’Ere’s to me fine boys,” he lifts his glass in a toast, “and how lucky we are to ’ave our dear Lachlan alive.”

He throws back half his glass.

“Dad, I need to talk to you. I know why Lauren has stayed away from Lach’s bedside. She’s ashamed of something she did, and she knows she can’t marry him. She feels too guilty to see you and Mom,” I say as I swallow the biggest sip of my beer my throat will allow.

Dad’s face pales.

“What is it, boy? Tell may!”

“I had sex with Lauren, Dad. I didn’t set out to, it just happened. Lach asked me to follow her on the night of her bachelorette party, and I did. We were both really drunk, and she threw herself at me.”

His eyes glass over with tears. This ox-strong brute of a man is going to cry like a baby in public. I continue; I have to get it all out.

“I’m sick about it. She was never right for Lach, and even told me she stayed with him to be around me. She was a different person than the Lauren we all thought we knew. Lachlan deserves the best, not someone like her.”

Tears stream down his ruddy cheeks as he stares at me with pure disgust. His Scottish roots and his firefighter toughness embody manliness, brotherhood and honor. If I were anyone other than his son, he would have knocked me out cold and spit in my face. That’s precisely what it looks like he wants to do right now. I would take it, too, and not raise a finger in defense.

He drains his glass, slams a twenty-dollar bill on the bar, and walks out. I drove so I don’t know where he thinks he going. A beat later, I’m hot on his heels and he’s gone. When I go outside and look all around, he’s nowhere to be seen. There must have been a cab out front; that’s the only explanation.

I make the drive back to my place, I start my four-days-on schedule tomorrow. I took some personal time off to be with Lach, and everyone understood, but I can’t continue to leave them short-staffed. I keep looking at my phone, thinking I must be missing a call from one of my parents, but it stays silent. No parents, no brother, no woman or friend calling to check on me. What the fuck have I done with my life?

* * *

My mother takes it harder than I even imagined. I knew it would be bad, but she won’t even speak to me. Lachlan has been out of the hospital for three months, living in our parents’ house. He hasn’t been healing well after his surgeries, and his occupational therapy can’t begin until he’s strong enough to handle it.

I’ve had no communication with him, not that I haven’t tried. Our parents won’t let me in the house, and they won’t take my phone calls. They raised us to believe that there is nothing more important in this life than family. They both suffered hardship growing up, and family was all they had. Sometimes the hardship was the family, but you had to protect each other. I pray that someday, I’ll be able to repair some of the damage I caused, but it won’t be anytime soon.

Lauren moved away to California. Karen contacted me to let me know, but I haven’t been able to tell Lach. Karen has developed a sudden case of amnesia, too. She’s been texting me with more regularity about “meeting for a drink” and “want to hang out?” She’s crazy if she thinks I would get anywhere near her or her friends. She denounced me as the devil, and ratted me out to Lach. I don’t know what I’d do if I ever see her in person, so I make damn sure that never happens.

I’ve been a recluse through this situation. The union prevents us from working too many hours, so I’ve had a lot of time alone which for me, is dangerous. I’m afraid to go out to clubs, I don’t want to take the chance of running into anyone. I feel like I don’t deserve to have any fun. When I’m at the station, I workout or read, and when I’m home I masturbate. I haven’t had sex since the night with Lauren, another thing I feel I don’t deserve, but the tension is too much. Yesterday, I masturbated four times–I can’t seem to stop. My penis is sore from how much abuse I’ve given it. I’m going insane not being able to touch a woman, and the self-satisfying just makes me feel worse. I’ve always had a pretty constant stream of indulgent sex. I feel like a world-renowned chef that has to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for every meal. I’m getting the basic need met, but no satisfaction.

My boss calls me in for a meeting when I arrive at work to begin my four days. I can’t be reprimanded for not doing my job; I’ve never been so focused. I’m the first one to check in every shift, I’ve picked up chores from the other guys and I’ve excelled in training exercises. I’ve been the model firefighter.

“Wickham, I’m not going to sugarcoat this, we’re worried about you. You’re doing your job well, but at what cost. You can talk to me, son, we’re a family,” he says, looking earnestly at me for reaction. When he used the word “family,” I feel a pain in my chest.

“I know, sir, thank you. It’s been difficult with me brother. I just feel so helpless,” I say, hiding that I not only feel helpless, but I’m responsible for it all. “I don’t know what to do with me-self.”

He hands me a card with a doctor’s name on it.

“Call Dr. James. She’s one of the best psychiatrists out there. She’s there to help after job related trauma or personal issues. Guys here in our own station have used her with great success. I know your troubles can’t all be from your brother’s accident, there’s more. Wick, you’ve got too much to lose if you shut down your life this young. You have to learn how to cope.” He stands to indicate we’re finished with our conversation, “It’s not required that you see anyone, but I highly suggest it. You can’t properly do your job when your mind is elsewhere. This job is too dangerous and you need your wits about you.”

A shrink? Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. Scottish men don’t go to shrinks.

I take the offered business card, and shove it in my back pocket without looking at it. My boss looks defeated, and he’s such a good guy that I don’t want to let him down.

“OK, I’ll call,” I say, with no intention of doing so.

* * *

Two more months pass, and I can’t stand it anymore, I have to go out. I’m so nervous before I leave home, I throw up twice. That’s never good when you’re planning on a booze-heavy evening, I need something in my stomach. I keep having flashbacks about that night with Lauren in the club bathroom. It makes me horny, and then I feel disgusted and ashamed. I have to have more self-control if I’m going to do this.

I go to a club on the North Side, where no one knows me. I need some drinks, and some sex. I took an expensive cab ride over, so I don’t have to drive home. The place is dark and loud, just like I need it to be. I sit at the end of the bar, and scan the place. There are some beautiful women in here. Not your typical club regulars, but nicely dressed, sophisticated women. This might have been a bad choice of venues. These don’t seem like the type of women I can lure into a bathroom for some casual sex.

Two drinks later, I have an impressive erection from watching all the dancing, but I decide it’s time to go. The whole vibe in here just doesn’t feel right, or maybe its just me. As I pay my tab, a gorgeous, long-legged blonde sits down on the stool next to me. I’ve already made up my mind to go home, so I try not to stare, but she’s boring a hole through me.

“Already leaving for the night? Isn’t it a tad early? You haven’t been here that long,” she says, as she takes a sip of her cocktail through a long, thin straw. Her lip gloss glistens as she purses her lips to sip; I can picture them on my cock. The image makes my pants move.

“Well, not much is happening, so I figured I’d head home.”

“We can change that, right?” Her eyes light up with possibility.

“I believe we could,” I say, holding my hand out to introduce myself, “Me name is Wickham, and you are?”

“Pam. It’s very nice to meet you, Wickham.”

“Pam. That’s a lovely name”

“I love your accent! Where are you from?”

We share small talk and have two more rounds of drinks. Neither of us share anything of a personal nature, just inane chatter. We both know we’re appropriately killing time before we can fuck.

“Now?” I say to her after I finish my beer. She gets the message, and nods her head. I pay for our drinks, and we leave. I love it when a woman is just like me, which is a rare find. She’s not playing games; she just wants to fuck.

I’d rather not go back to my place, and I’m thankful when she tells the cab driver her address. I have the control as to when to leave this way.

Her place is impressive. She lives in a high-rise, overlooking Lake Michigan. We never shared what either of us do for a living, but by the looks of this place she does very well. Shit. She could be a high-priced escort picking guys up in bars. Not that I think a woman would have to be a hooker to have a nice place, but she was there alone eager to leave with someone. Not typical behavior for a high-end club patron.

She walks over to a stunning white marble bar, and proceeds to make us cocktails. She pulls her long hair out of the high bun she was wearing, and it falls sensuously down around her shoulders. She carries our drinks to the sofa, as I join her. She hits a button on a remote, and soft music is playing. I feel like I’m being seduced in a movie.

“So, Wickham, do you have a good story?”

Now she wants to talk? Fuck that. Much of her body is exposed from the tiny dress she’s wearing, and I can see from where the fabric meets her crotch that she’s panty-free and hairless. No, this is happening now.

I set my glass down on the table, and take hers, too. I run my hand up her long bare leg until I reach the warmth between her thighs. Her full body relaxes and she melts into the sofa. She spreads her legs for me, granting me access. My mouth follows the same path as my hand, starting down at her ankle where her sparkly stilettoes are fastened, licking her sweet smooth skin, until I make it all the way to her pussy. Her dress is bunched around her waist, and her head is resting on the back of the cushion. I nuzzle my face in slowly to tease her lips, and she moans. She bucks and grinds her hips toward my mouth, trying to get me to move faster. I purposely slow down, just to drive her wild.

“Yes! Stop. Just like that. Tease me, and then stop … I like it,” she orders in a very loud voice. She likes to direct, and that’s just fine by me.

We move our session into the bedroom, where she has one of the largest mattresses I’ve ever seen. This had to be custom made, I’ve never seen one in a mattress store. We get naked, and climb in. She props me up on a large stack of pillows to be comfortable, as she spends an hour pleasurably torturing my cock. She strokes, massages, sucks, slaps and tickles it. She brings me to the brink of orgasm, then stops until my erection goes down, then starts the whole process over again. Every nerve cell in my body is humming. I’m accustomed to ejaculating whenever I feel like it, during sex, blow jobs or masturbation. This is the first time I haven’t had complete control over my erection.

She decides that it’s her turn, and swaps place with me. She’s splayed out at the head of the bed on the silk pillows I was just enjoying. She tells me what to do, another first, and I obey. I finger her, and suck her pussy aggressively, just as she asks, then stop. I finger her ass while sucking her nipples, then stop. We stay at this punishing rhythm for more than two hours. The sun is beginning to rise, and my head is spinning with erotic pleasure.

She lays me back down to my starting position, and climbs on top of me. My cock pulsates with the rhythm of my heart. She lowers her delectable body over me, and slides herself down, swallowing the full length of my cock with her soft pussy. She squeezes and releases her vaginal walls moaning with each movement. Everything about her and her motions are calculated for maximum pleasure, both hers and mine.

I try to grab her hips so I can fuck her, and she moves my hands. She folds her body against mine so that her pussy is tight, and she grinds her hips. Her pace becomes frantic and she grunts and groans from her exertion. She shoves a breast in my mouth and I latch onto it hard. I suck, and tease with my tongue as I feel her pussy grind even harder against my cock. She sits up and rubs her clit vigorously as she comes on my dick. Watching her amazing body writhe with pleasure makes my own begin to shudder in the most exquisite orgasm I’ve ever had. Prolonging ejaculation made for a highly sensual experience.

I melt into the mattress beneath me, I feel ready to pass out for a few hours or days. I hear her clear her throat in a not so subtle gesture. I open my eyes, and she’s holding my pants with one finger around a belt loop. Wow. I’m being kicked out. This is a new one.

“It was nice to meet you, Wickham, but it’s time to go before you get too comfortable.”

I slowly rise to my feet; my body is limp and exhausted. I shuffle into my pants, and haphazardly throw on my shirt. I suppose I know now how most women feel after sex with me. Getting kicked to the curb feels a little cold. It’s early morning, and there’s a nip in the air. The cold wind buzzes with electricity. Thankfully, she’s not too far from a train station, so I catch the early one that stops near my place. I dive headfirst into my meager bed, and fall sound asleep.

When I wake midday, my head feels clear and I feel renewed. Last night was the first indulgence of any kind I’ve had in months. It’s been said that time heals all wounds, and I hope that’s true. I do notice a strange sensation, though, an emptiness after last night. The sex was fucking phenomenal, but there’s something off. Pam was great, but I still feel unsatisfied. That session last night should have left me feeling perfectly happy, but I don’t. Anxiety creeps up my spine, and I suddenly feel awash with emotion. All the shit I’ve been trying hard to overcome in the past few months bubbles up and I can’t stop it.

The thoughts are relentless. “You don’t deserve to be happy … you don’t deserve pleasure … you ruined your brother’s life …” I feel queasy and lightheaded. I break out into a fierce sweat that drips off my chin. I go to the sink to splash my face with cold water, but it doesn’t help. I feel like I’m going crazy.

* * *

My shift was horrible this week. We had a number of calls, and I’m wiped out. Some of the guys were acting like assholes toward me and I have no idea why. I’ve worried someone will hear through the grapevine what I did, and my career will be over. Dad went back to work, I heard, after taking personal time to help with Lach. There must be buzz about why I haven’t been around his station to see him. We used to get together at least a couple of times a week. Our lives as firefighters are too interconnected to screw around with. If one guy messes with someone, he may as well mess with everyone else, too. It’s a brotherhood in every sense of the word for the men and the women.

On the first of my days off, I search for the shrink’s business card. The anxiety is keeping me up at night, and I’m barely able to function. I feel like a quitter having to talk to someone, but I’m all alone. If I don’t, I’ll snap.

The doctor has an opening the following day at noon. I have a feeling I’m encroaching on a lunch hour, but I think the receptionist is trained to hear for signs that could sound like an emergency. My boss may have tipped off that he had referred me to her and they’ve been waiting for me to call. Either way, I’m grateful.

The office is downtown in a nondescript medical building. A small sign reads, “Dr. James and Associates,” with no other telling information. Discretion is preferred in this line of work, I suppose. The office is small, but tastefully decorated. A mousy receptionist greets me upon arrival.

“Hello, Mr. Dunmore, Dr. James is expecting you. You can go right in,” she says, motioning to the door down the hall. A small embroidered placard dangles from the doorknob. I’m guessing it’s the shrink’s equivalent of a sock on the doorknob in college. Do not disturb.

I open the door, and a familiar scent catches my nostrils. It’s sweet, with a little spice. Fuck. Me.

“Hello there, Wick. It’s nice to see you again,” she says as her gorgeous long-legged body rises from behind her desk.

Our good Dr. James is the woman I fucked the other night.

I stand locked in place. This can’t be appropriate, right? I don’t know what the rules are, but there has to be some rule about not seeing a shrink that you’ve fucked.

“Do you mind closing the door so we can have some privacy?”

Well, maybe there isn’t. I close the door, and approach one of the empty chairs in front of her desk. No way in hell I’m lying down on one of those couches.

“I understand your hesitancy, Wick. Don’t worry I won’t be treating you. I saw your name on my schedule, and knew it had to be you. How many ‘Wickhams’ can there be?”

She’s trying to lighten the mood, but it’s not going to happen. I feel my nerves fraying with every word she speaks.

“Anyway, I wanted to talk to you, in an unofficial capacity of course, before I refer you out to someone else. I enjoyed our time the other night. I was sorry to kick you out so quickly, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I hate to give anyone the wrong impression.”

“No apologies. I respect it. Hell, it was a weird turn of events being on that side of the door for once. Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but I’m going to go. I can handle myself just fine, thanks.”

“If you could, you wouldn’t have called me to begin with. I’m not going to treat you, Wick, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. If you’d like to call for some friendly conversation, I’m happy to listen. Anytime, please,” she sounds sincere.

I shake her hand, take her card with the personal number she scribbled down for me, and get the fuck out of there as fast as possible.

Chapter 15

It’s getting worse. I’ve called out my last two shifts, feigning that I may have mono. My boss hasn’t asked for any proof, I think he knows what up based on my behavior the last time I was at the station. I can’t sleep at night, and I’m a walking zombie during the day. Dr. James–Pam–has called and left a couple of messages with names of other doctors I can see. She’s offered herself as a friend; I’m going to take her up on it. I have to talk to someone.

We meet at a coffee shop a few blocks from her office. She wanted to meet on a Saturday so it would feel more casual. I see her sitting outside wearing big sunglasses, a large coffee on the table in front of her.

“Hi, Pam. Thanks for meeting me today.”

“It’s my pleasure, Wick. Just two friends having some coffee, right?” she asks, trying to ease the awkward nature of the meeting.

I sit and order coffee from a super-caffeinated waitress, and wait. I’m not sure if she wants me to start, or if I let her take charge. We sit in silence until my coffee arrives.

“I would have never pegged you to be a frothy drink kind of guy,” she says, as she laughs at my delicate looking concoction.

“I’m trying to be sophisticated here, gimme a break.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you sound like a sexy Shrek?” She laughs loudly, and the patrons at the next table glare, clearly annoyed. She rolls her eyes and gives them a “fuck off” look.

She’s my kind of woman.

“Would you rather go somewhere a little more private? My place isn’t too far from here,” she points down the street.

My dick swells.

“No, sir, not happening. Put it back in your pants, Wick. If I’m going to be a friend, then see me as a friend, not a sexual partner.”

“Do you have any idea how hard, I mean difficult that is?”

“Yes, Wick, I do. I’m attracted to you as well, remember? We can do this. I know we can. I can help you sort through some of your problems. I know a little about your history. I counseled your father a few months back. I won’t disclose what we discussed, but I’m no longer seeing him. Want to go to my place?”

I’m stunned. My dad went to a shrink? He must be in more pain than I realized, which makes me feel even worse.

“Yeah, please. Thank you, Pam.”

Her place looks considerably different in the daytime. At night it was warm and sensuous, but now it’s bright and airy. That helps; I was worried I’d have a boner walking in and remembering that night. She sees right through me.

“It’s OK, Wick, to remember I mean. It’s only natural; we did have a good time. Have a seat, I’ll grab some muffins, I’m starving.”

“I’m not sure about this, Pam,”

“Wick, I enjoy helping people, it’s what I do. You’re in pain, and you need someone to talk to. I can’t see you in the office, but I can try to help. You guys mean a lot to me. My dad was a firefighter.”

“What? Where?”

“In Boston, where I grew up. He was killed in the line of duty. They were trying to put out a fire at a meth lab, and it exploded. Took out my dad and one of his best friends,” she sighs. “I was eleven. It was hard on me and my brothers. The only reason I made it through that time was by seeing a therapist. I knew then that’s what I wanted to do with my life. You guys have a hard job, and it tries the best of families. Add a tragedy, and it can be devastating.”

She tears off some muffin, but doesn’t eat it. She ponders it, rolls it around in her fingers, and drops it back to the plate.

“I suggested to your father that I’d like to do some counseling with your family all together, but I never saw him again. Have you spoken to him?”

She’s digging right in, going straight for the gut.

“No, but I think you already know that.” My words come out garbled, something is stuck in my throat.

* * *

I can’t seem to get enough. I feel guilty that I monopolize every minute of her day when she’s not working. The last few weeks have been the most educational of my life. I’ve never had a friend who I could speak to about such emotions. I was never close enough to women, and my brother was my go-to for everything. She’s been pushing me to contact my family. I gave up trying months ago, thinking that if they were ready they’d come to me.

“It’s time, Wick. You know deep in your heart they want to see you, and you them.”

Monday morning, I decide today is the day. I’m not going to call, I’m going to the house. I’ve missed my family so much, and I can’t live with the pain for one more day. I’m grateful for Pam pushing me as much as she has.

My body starts to shake as I turn down our street. I see Dad’s pickup, and my mom’s Buick in the driveway. There’s a sleek BMW out front, really out of place in this neighborhood. I pull behind Mom’s car in the driveway, and I wait. I crane my neck to peer in the windows, and I see Dad walk by. C’mon, Wick. You can do this.

My legs feel like jelly as I walk the short path to the front door. I don’t think I’ve ever rung the doorbell of this house in my life. I press the small plastic button and wait. I hear voices, probably arguing over who will get the door. It swings wide, and I’m face to face with my mother. She screams and throws her arms around my neck.

“Wick’em! Dear Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”

I start to cry, involuntarily. I’ve missed her like breath in my lungs. She pulls me by the hug into the house. I look over her little shoulder, and see Dad and Lachlan staring at me, both white as a sheet.

“Hamish! Get over here. It’s our boy!”

Dad walks toward me with shoes made of lead.

“’Ello, son.”

He grabs me while my mom’s death grip is still in place. He just about squeezes the life out of her, as he wraps his arms around both of us and tightens.

I never understood the story of the prodigal son when I was younger. I thought it was bullshit that the spoiled son came back home and the dad makes a feast to welcome him home, as the other brother got nothing. I see it now. I’ve had my suffering and learned the lesson, but there’s the brother, looking at me, who I can’t ignore.

You expect parents can forgive you for your wrong doing, but a sibling you could lose for life. Looking at Lachlan now, I have no idea what he’s thinking. One thing that made him such a great pitcher was his poker face; there was no way to tell what was coming next. Mom and Dad break away from me, so that I can approach him.

His arm is still in a sling, and I can see pins sticking out along the side of his upper arm. Tears begin to flow again, and I grasp him as hard as I can.

“I’m so sorry, Lach! I never meant to hurt you, I love you!”

I feel his warm arm surround me, and he pats my back. I collapse with relief and joy.

We talk for hours, and Lach and I spend the night. Mom can’t stop crying. He gives me a chance to tell my story, and what’s gone on in my life since, which isn’t much. He is finishing his undergraduate degree in December, and then he plans to take the LSAT for law school. He’s even started to see someone. She’s a physical therapist assistant at the practice where he goes for rehab. He jokes that he’s not ever going to ask me to follow her, and the arrow strikes hard through my chest.

“As God as me witness, Lach. I’ll never hurt you again.”

“I know, Wick, I know. Lauren cheated on me before you. I was lying to myself thinking that she would change once we were married.”

“I was so drunk, Lach, that’s not an excuse, I know, but…”

“It’s done, Wick. Thank you for coming home.”

Dad admits that he’s been keeping tabs on me through friends.

“I must be honest, Wick’em. The men in your station have picked up word of all this somehow. Can’t imagine who’d spread such filth, but they know,” he says, looking down, knowing what it means.

It explains the attitude of everyone at the station lately. I can’t go back there; all my progress with Pam will go down the drain if I’m around that negativity. Dad is close with a chief up on North Shore, and thinks he can get me in. It’s a small town, and no one at the station will know about me or my reputation.

Chapter 16

Pam is happy with the progress I’ve made. Reconciling with my family has removed much of my stress. Even though I want to work on the trust between us as individuals, I know we can all move forward.

“You know I’m proud of you, Wick. You’ve shown a great deal of strength facing your problems head on, and look where it’s gotten you. You have a new job, a new home, and a relationship with your family again. But…” she waits, as if she wants me to finish the sentence.

“What? Spit it out, Pam, don’t start beating around the bush now.”

“Your sex life, Wick, and your emotional well-being, too. How have you been handling your sex drive?”

Oh. I had no idea that’s where she was going with this.

“Are you still feeling guilty when you have sex?”

I stay quiet.

“Come on, open up to me. This is your biggest hang-up, Wick, and it’s at the root of your problems in your life. Why bother healing your relationships if you’re not going to address the reason they were broken to begin with? Don’t you want a loving relationship in your life someday?”

“I haven’t had sex since you and I were together. I’m afraid to. It was good with you, but then I felt a lot of guilt that I had ruined so many lives with sex. I’ve done some pretty cruel things to some nice people by only listening to my dick. I only masturbate once or twice a day now.” Her mouth drops open.

“Does that seem functional to you? Do you do it for tension release, or are you sexually aroused all day long?”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever separated the two. Yes, I’m horny all day. I notice every gorgeous female body, and it stays with me until I can relieve myself. I feel like having sex all day, everyday. I thought all men did.”

“Not like this. You have to learn how to say no to your urges sometimes. That’s what maturity is all about. Remember when we had sex, the slow measured pace? It was nice, wasn’t it? You need to learn how to control your sexual impulses. If you can do that, you might be able to progress to a loving relationship with a woman. That won’t happen until you get some control.

“I have a friend who can help you. You and I have grown close, Wick, so you know how alike we are. I’ve had the same struggles as you when it comes to a healthy sex drive. I’m learning to control my body and my mind to feel a deeper connection, sexually. Would you be willing to meet my friend with me?”

If that’s what she taught, then by all means.

“Yeah, I’d meet her. Do we do this in a bedroom? Do we have sex with her?”

She laughs, and shakes her head.

“Oh, Wick. Meet me here Saturday morning. We’ll get started.”

* * *

“Uh, no, Pam. Not happening.”

She and I go to a yoga studio in her neighborhood. When we walk in, the only person here is a guy. In Spandex. To complete the picture, he’s doing a headstand.

“Get your ass in here. He won’t bite,” she laughs, and pulls me into the studio.

He sees us, and rights himself for introductions.

“Hello, Pam. Is this Wickham, I assume?” He reaches out his hand, and I reluctantly take it. “I’m Eric. Very nice to meet you.”

My head is swimming; I have no idea what’s about to happen.

“Wick, Eric is a Kundalini Yoga practitioner,” she says as if that announcement means anything to me. She sees the less than impressed look on my face, so she continues: “I’ve been studying with him for the last two years. It’s allowed me to become focused, and mindful of my body and my sexuality.”

OK, she lost me. I’m not having a three-way with her and Eric-the-yoga-man. My body language gives me away, since I’m all but backing up and running like hell out of this place. I don’t even want to discuss this in front of the dude, let alone, have him “help” me, when I don’t need any help. I’ve never had difficulty in that department, and if it ain’t broke…

“I know what you’re thinking, Wick, and it’s not like that. Other than talking about it, nothing sexual will happen in here. It’s about learning how to control your body and mind so that you can connect with the rest of the world in a deeper manner, both emotionally and physically. You’re a wreck, Wick,” Pam says, sounding frustrated with me. “Wouldn’t you like to have a relationship with someone, something other than a few empty hours at a time? We’ve discussed this. I know you’re ready to move on: Trust me, this will help if you commit to it. Are you willing to at least try? For me?”

Shit. I can’t say no to her. She been a lifesaver to me, and I still don’t really know why. She’s a wonderful person, and the best listener I’ve ever met. We’ve connected on a higher level than I have with anyone in my life. I could never talk to anyone in my family about my sexual guilt. She sees right through my bullshit, and calls me out to own it.

I know I’m too old to be living the one-night-stand lifestyle, anymore. After I made the worst decision in my life, sleeping with Lauren, the little voice in my head won’t shut the hell up. I do want something deeper with someone. Only recently have I paid attention to the other people in my life and my relationship with them. Where I used to only see the downside of having a girlfriend or wife, I now feel slight pangs of jealousy that I may not ever have that one person with whom to share my life. I can’t imagine what someone else might see in me, that would cause her to want to have a relationship. Sex has been the only way I’ve ever known to connect with women, and that connection only lasts until orgasm.

I do need help.

“OK, OK. I give. But, the second this gets weird, I’m out of here.”

She laughs at me, and we join Eric in the small studio down the hall.

Eric is sitting on a thin mat with his legs crossed. My build doesn’t allow for that type of flexibility. I probably look like I’m in pain, because I am, when I try to sit down in that position. If we have to stay like this longer than two minutes, my legs are going to fall asleep, and I’ll look like a newborn calf trying to stand for the first time when I try to get up.

“Pam has given me a brief synopsis about why you’re here, Wickham. Would you like her to leave and we can talk privately?”

“No, it’s ok. She’s knows me better than I know myself, apparently, so I’m good.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I met Pam here during a beginner yoga class she was taking with a friend. I could tell she wasn’t really interested in being here,” he smiles over at her, “and she was flirting with the men, and wasn’t really pay much attention to the instruction. After class was over, I asked her to stay for a moment. She took this to mean I wanted to have sex with her. She propositioned me as soon as the studio emptied. Sex was emanating from her pores.”

“Nice. I’ll bet it was a great thing to see,” I say to her, wiggling my eyebrows.

They don’t like the joke.

“I was a slut, Wick. My life was a mess. I was giving so much of emotional effort to patients all day, that I had no desire to get close to a man. I wanted no-holds-barred sex, but it wasn’t helping me be fulfilled in my personal life, and it was hurting. I felt used and empty, and even more emotionally exhausted afterward. I was trying to connect, but in a really screwed up way. As a therapist, I need to be mindful about what I say and how I behave, and I was living on autopilot. Eric saw that in me, and has been the catalyst that is changing my life. I saw the same in you because I know how to read the subtle cues. I saw myself in you.”

Ouch.

I silently nod my head, and stare at my feet. Shame and guilt are new emotions for me, and since Lauren, and it’s made me reflect on my life. If you believe in fate or destiny, which I’m beginning to, then I have to believe she was put in my life for a reason, just like Eric was for her.

“Well, that’s pretty much my story, too. I started having sex at a young age, and loved it,” I say with a smile, “but these girls would hang all over me, and it was annoying as hell. I learned quickly that if I cut them off fast, it made my life so much easier. Sure they would be mad as hell, but they would eventually get over it. So I thought. Some don’t and they try to make your life hell. That’s what cemented the fact that I didn’t want relationships, too much drama.

“My brother, Lachlan, loved to have girlfriends–someone to cheer him on at the games, and be there whenever he called. I don’t think he lost his virginity until college, and that would have been with Lauren,” I don’t think twice when I say it, but as I hear it come out of my mouth, I feel like I’m being stabbed in the heart. Poor Lach.

“Anyway, that’s how I ran my life until I fucked up and screwed my brother’s fiancé the week before their wedding.” I stare down, again feeling the shame. “That fucked up my life pretty good, and I haven’t been the same since. Pam has helped me see that I use sex as a block for any kind of real relationship. My fucking around almost killed me brother, and it changed me life. I carry that guilt around, and I can’t seem to let myself to have true pleasure because of it. I feel like I don’t deserve it. When Pam and I met at the bar, it was the first time I’d had sex since all that shit went down, and it was good. Really good.” I see her blush. “But the next day I felt sick. Why should I still be able to fuck around while I wasn’t speaking to me injured brother, it felt wrong.”

Thanks to Pam, that’s the first time I’ve said all of that aloud, altogether, and it hits me like a punch in the face. How could I have been so fucked up for so long, and turn a blind eye to it? In the past I would never have opened up about anything, let alone something this personal, to anyone, including my brother.

Eric nods, and I sense that he knows my story only too well. He’s lived the same life at some point. You can tell when someone feels sorry for you, or if they empathize with you and have been in your shoes. So here we sit. Three fucked up people, well, one and two who were, trying to make our lives better. It feels pretty damned good.

“All right, Wick. Take all of that, and mentally ball it up and throw it in the trash. It’s over and nothing can be done to change the past. You have to reflect on it, feel it, and move on. No more beating yourself up about it. Use that energy to focus on what you need to move forward, and stop putting yourself in reverse.” It rolls off his tongue is a sincere, but practiced, manner.

Simple words, yet powerful. Feel it, then forget it. Also, easier said than done.

“I get that, but I feel like if I forget, then I’ll make the same mistakes again. I’ve put myself through hell, rightfully, over what I did and if I fuck up again I don’t think I can handle it.”

“That’s why you’re here; it’s a step in the right direction. Focus on the good that could be done with all that negative energy being channeled in the right direction,” Pam says as she pats my barely bent, shaking knee.

“I probably could have solved world hunger by now,” I say.

“Well, maybe a bit of a stretch. How about we focus on solving the puzzle that is Wick?” she smiles warmly at me.

“OK, I’m ready.”

* * *

Eric explains that all we’re going to do today is breathe. I could have stayed home for this part. I know how to breathe.

“It’s a special type of mindful breathing, known as ‘yoga breathing’ or ‘Pranayama,’ which means to extend the life force. You will learn to breathe mindfully, and with intention,” Eric says, taking a deep inhale through his nose.

“Not with the intention to stay alive?” I joke, to a lukewarm response.

“The breath controls life, and we must learn how to control it in order to move on with our practice. Once you’ve mastered how to breathe, you can move forward.”

I keep all the sarcastic remarks I’m thinking to myself this time. If the guy wants to teach me how to breathe, I should be kind enough to let him.

He and Pam lie back on their mats with their knees bent. Thank God, I can finally get out of this position, assuming I can get out of this position. They fall into a meditative breathing rhythm, their hands placed on their bellies. Inhale through the mouth, hold, exhale slowly through the nose. I try to follow their movements as he coaches me through it.

“Fill the belly like a balloon, and expand the chest,” he says as he shows me first.

We lie here for at least twenty minutes, just breathing. At some point, my body gave in and became aware of and grateful for the increased oxygen. When I lift weights, I hold my breath to create an anaerobic movement to contract the muscle. This feels different. I can feel the sinew in my body relax into the mat, and deeper into the floor.

“All right, that’s enough for today. Come back whenever you’re ready, OK?” Eric says, softly, but loud enough to break my meditation.

I feel like I’ve slept for eight uninterrupted hours. I groggily open my eyes, and see Pam standing over me, hugging Eric and thanking him for his time. I rise, and thank him as well, and we leave.

“I hate to admit it, but I feel fucking great.”

“I knew you would; it’s the best nutrition you can give your body. Fully oxygenated blood heals everything,” Pam says, as we sit on the same couch at her place where we started to bang each other’s brains out that night.

“Thank you, Pam. I owe you so much, I don’t know what I can do to repay you. One question, though. If you’re trying to change, why were you out trolling the bars for someone to pick up that night?”

She winces at my question.

“First of all, I wasn’t trolling, I was there with friends. Secondly, you’re ridiculously gorgeous; and third, I told you, I wanted to try out some techniques on someone other than Eric.”

“Whoa, wait a minute. What was all that talk about controlling the sex drive and not having sex? What the fuck, Pam!”

“Slow down, Wick. Eric and I are not in a relationship, we are using our bodies with each other to learn and experiment. It’s not sex the way you think about it. Most of the time, there is no orgasm. We’re practicing Tantra.”

If these two are trying to get me to stop thinking about sex, then why are we discussing Tantra?

“Isn’t Tantra like becoming a sexual expert?”

“No, not even close. It’s about having a closer connection than just sex. It’s about giving and sharing, selflessly, with another person. You don’t think about your sexual needs; you share in a mindful experience. It’s incredible. The idea is to become enlightened, and not burdened with the need to exhaust your sexual energy and juices.”

“Juices? Gross, Pam. I happen to enjoy exhausting those ‘juices,’ or at least I used to.”

“See? That’s the whole point! How do you feel after you orgasm? Tired and physically spent, right? Imagine having that pre-orgasmic feeling feeling last, and feeling that energy flow through your entire body and not just momentarily out of your penis. Now, I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, not at all, but to experience things on a higher level we have to learn to control the baser bodily functions. That’s the goal, Wick. It’s about control. When you become healed and whole sexually, you’ll be able to connect on a more emotional level with someone. Do you get it?”

It still feels strange to discuss my sex drive on a clinical level. It was incredible with her that night. Delaying my come with her all night at first felt frustrating, but the pleasure was so much deeper. My world is opening up before me, and I’m going to jump right in.

Chapter 17

I have the breathing down. For weeks, the three of us have been breathing together. After her bombshell about them having sex, or whatever they have, I notice how cohesive they are. Their breaths match, inhale for exhale, and they move in unison. I’ll bet their time together lasts for hours.

When we arrive at the studio today, there are floor pillows sitting on our mats. I’m still not fully convinced that we won’t all have sex together, so I see this as a sign.

“What are those for?” I ask, warily pointing at them.

“Where going to begin our meditation today. Your breath is under control, now we begin to work on the mind. Meditation will unlock the chakras in your body,” Eric says, squatting unnaturally into a pretzel.

“What the hell are chakras?”

“Chakras are the energy centers in our body that govern our most basic needs to our most enlightened and spiritual selves.”

I try to appear as if I understand, but Eric sees right through me.

“I realize to someone new to the practice that it’s counterintuitive to the way we have been taught how to understand our bodies, at least in the Western world. It’s a more logical and accurate way to understand our body and how it connects to the universe.

We start with the “root” chakra, which is located at the base of the spine. It’s where all energy begins. Picture a prism in your mind. The root is associated with the color red. Like the hot center of the Earth, the root is a ball of pure energy where we begin and are grounded in our lives. If the root is out of balance, you feel less grounded, and chaos ensues. When balanced, there is strength and security.

Kundalini is Sanskrit for “coiled up,” like a snake. In the root, our energy is coiled and tight like a spring or a snake that is ready to attack. When the energy is awakened and allowed to flow, it makes it path up the spine and through the six other chakras of the body, the last one being through the top of the head. It’s not difficult once you learn about the chakras to see where your energy is blocked in your life.”

Easy for him, maybe.

“The next stop is the pelvic chakra, which is associated with water. When in balance, we feel fluid and our creative juices flow. Our sexual energy is centered here. Our life juices also live in this region. When continuously released, we feel depleted, and less creative. Our life force is spent. When the life energy is stored and saved, it helps to elevate you to a higher plane of consciousness. If never allowed to reach this level, relationships and creativity will suffer.” He waits for acknowledgment of what he’s been saying, “Does any of this seem to ring true for you, Wick?”

Well, so far my root and pelvic chakras are whacked out. I can’t wait for him to continue. Crap.

“Yes. It does, Eric. How do I fix them?”

“It’s not a quick and easy fix. That’s why we begin with meditation. You’re breathing well, now we need to tap into our energy. In Kundalini we use mantras and chants. It helps to vibrate and ‘awaken’ the chakras. I’ll show you.”

He begins to chant something in a different language, and it reverberates throughout the room. I can feel his energy awaken from here. I can only imagine what it’s like inside his own body. It seems odd looking at it from the outside, but you can’t argue with the results. I’ve never met a calmer, more centered person in my life.

Pam is in her own area, deep in meditation. She didn’t pay attention to any of our conversation; she was able to focus that quickly. I need that focus in my life–everywhere from my job to my personal life.

Eric finishes his short demonstration, and we sit on our pillows. He starts me off with the basics.

* * *

The past few months have changed my life immeasurably. When I think back to the person I was almost two years ago, I know I wouldn’t recognize him. I can’t fathom how out of control my life had become, and I didn’t know it. It took a major fuck-up for me to see that I was on a dangerous path in my life.

When I first began to work in Glencoe, I was miserable. I missed being in the city. During the day all I could see were super-rich, bored housewives shoving their kids off to nannies as they shopped. Now, I appreciate the beauty of the small town I help protect, and the gift of a quiet place to find peace. I still love the city, but there’s something truly fulfilling in recognizing the people you serve in the community. I feel connected with my job for the first time.

Not having to live at the station allows me the freedom to have sessions with Pam and Eric whenever I feel like it. I learned about the remainder of the chakras– navel, heart, throat, third-eye and crown–and their meaning and associated energy. I don’t ever aspire to true enlightenment, so I stick to what my body and mind need the most.

It took me a while to learn how to awaken and recognize my sacral or pelvic chakra. Eric explained to me that when the sacral chakra is in alignment, I would be able to pull energy for creativity, movement, procreation, desire, pleasure and relationships. I cook everyday, trying to use my creativity in a healthy manner.

The desire and pleasure part is more difficult. I’ve had, and enjoyed, spontaneous erections throughout my life, and acted on almost all of them when I could. When I was younger, I probably masturbated more in a week than an entire high-school football team would in a month. My brain has been slow to get the message on the erections, but I have worked diligently on learning to control them, not eliminating them. I meditate everyday, morning and night, and practice my yoga moves that help to recirculate my sexual energy. I haven’t masturbated to what I used to think was “completion” in months. The exhaustion and guilt that came after ejaculation, have been replaced with a deep, sensual desire for a strong personal connection.

After a couple of months of training, Pam offers to teach me some of the tantric activities that she and Eric practice. She lectured me first about what to expect.

“Tantra is not about sex, it’s about connection. If you focus solely on the grand finale, you’ll miss the amazing range of feeling the rest of the show offers. You’ll be more sexually attuned with yourself and your partner, and less concerned with how it’s “supposed” to go. Orgasm is never the goal connectivity is.”

I’m nervous, I haven’t had sex of any kind with a woman since Pam and I were together. Once I began to study with her and Eric, I became so much more focused on getting myself under control, and I didn’t want to screw it up.

We start in her sumptuous bedroom. Candles are lit, no other lights are on, incense is burning and soft music is playing.

“All the senses should be incorporated to fully experience the moment. Sight,” she waves at the ambiance; “sound, smell,” she inhales deeply close to my chest; “taste,” she licks the skin on my neck; “and touch.”

We sit naked, face to face on the floor atop soft pillows. She places her legs over mine and wraps them around my waist. Our noses touch.

“Now, we breathe each other.”

She places her open lips directly in front of mine without touching. She begins to breathe, deeply and slowly into my mouth. We sync our rhythm, her inhale is my exhale, and mine is hers, and we maintain this as our eyes are connected. I’m uncomfortable at first, but the longer we hold our breath and gaze, the easier it becomes. We become one unit. A living, breathing organism each the host and the parasite, giving and taking, yin and yang.

It’s the most intimate activity I’ve ever experienced with another human being, and by far, the most pleasurable.

After ten minutes of breathing exercise, she takes my hands and places them against her chest. She maintains eye contact as she breathes with purpose so I can feel it. Avoiding her breasts, she lowers my hands down her torso, and settles beneath her belly. She breathes deeply once again and continues the path down to her pubic area. She breathes again and I feel heat radiating from her groin. It’s intense, and I get an erection. She keeps my hand in place, as she places hers on my shaft. No grabbing or pulling, she gently rubs the head back and forth with the soft pad of her thumb. She guides my hand to press against her opening, and I feel her wetness against my skin.

My arousal is full as she continues to lovingly massage it, slowly and purposefully. There is no rush, no end in sight. It’s just about the moment. By now I would have thrown her on her back, and have been finished in four strong pumps. Whenever I think back to those occasions, I feel like such an ignorant fool. The amount of pleasure I was wasting just trying to shoot a load as fast as possible is embarrassing. I couldn’t have cared less if the girl I was with was enjoying it in any way. I liked to lick pussy because it would get them ready faster and I could slip right in.

I only revisit those times in my head so that I can remember just how much I’ve learned. It’s no longer just about sex; it’s about finding that human connection that I’ll have for a lifetime. I’m ready. I’m beyond ready.

After a few breaths, my erection goes down, even with her continuing to massage it. It still feels just as good, but I train my body to know that it doesn’t have to stay tense and hard to be enjoyable. I gently caress her lips and place my fingers between the folds. Her soft warmth makes them feel like velvet. I could stay like this all day; it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever felt. My cock responds to the pleasure I feel in my brain, and she smiles and keeps the rhythmic touch going on the head.

I no longer have feelings of guilt associated with pleasure. It has been replaced by a mutual fulfillment with another person. As I keep learning and practicing, I can foresee a time where I could self-satisfy to harness this energy.

She releases me, and uncoils her legs from my waist. She gently eases me back, so that I’m lying flat on the blanket. She oils her hands and begins to massage the area around my balls, and below. One hand grabs the base of my shaft, and she strokes up and twists with the other. She alternates hands again and again until I’m close to orgasm, and then she stops until I get soft again. She presses into the area in between my ass and my balls, and I feel a deep pulling like an orgasm, but my dick is soft. I’ve never felt anything like it; it’s incredible. My body relaxes deeply into it, and she begins our breathing again. We breathe together as she manipulates my sensitive body. I come close to ejaculating, and she stops until it passes. She goes back the perineal area again, sticks a finger into my ass to massage the prostate.

The sensation is so intense; I feel an orgasm roll in from deep in my gut. It catches me by surprise, and I give into it fully. I don’t ejaculate, and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It lasts ten times longer, and is a hundred times stronger than any orgasm I’ve ever had. I don’t feel tired, I feel energized. She allows time for my breathing to slow and join hers again.

Since I don’t know the techniques, yet, I can’t reciprocate for her. I ask her to show me, but she laughs and tells me that’s a full day of lessons. Instead, she climbs up onto the pillow, and lies on her stomach. She offers her body up to me, and I willingly accept. My dick cooperates, and I enter her from behind. She instructs me to lie against her, while my dick is inside, and stay still. I go soft and hard again, as I remain in her warmth. She squeezes then releases her walls around my shaft, and I linger in the sweet torture. No rush, no end goal, just pure pleasure.

She reaches around to encourage my hips to move.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Wick. Let me feel it,”

I press into her firmly, and push her body against the pillow. She bucks her rear, which I take as a sign to dive in. I comply, and we begin to fuck hard. My nerve endings are still singing from the sweet orgasm I’ve already had this evening, and it creates an unfathomable feeling in my gut.  I press a finger inside her ass, and I press her clitoris with another. She shakes with relief as an orgasm rips through her, and onto me. I feel her body contract and convulse with pleasure. I’m hesitant to release my ejaculation, I’m scared I’ll return back to my use-it-or-lose-it ways if I do. She encourages me through it, and I give it to her. I fill her with me cum, and it’s exquisite. I pump slowly, mindfully, into her relaxed body. Even though the physical action was the same as in the past, nothing else about it ever will be.

I know how to control my body, and use it for what it’s intended for; To reach a deeper connection with myself and those around me. To show compassion and open my heart up to love and possibility with someone.

Chapter 18

I’m worried.

Pam and I have been sharing this sexual relationship for a few weeks, but I may have to stop. She and I have confessed to one another that while we’re extremely close friends, we’re not destined to be more than that. I know she’s ready to move on in her life, and so am I. We fulfilled a need we both shared to be able to experiment and trust someone in a safe environment. No judgment.

I’m so scared that I’ll have no idea how to act when I finally meet someone. Even though I practice my poses and meditations everyday, and I’m committed to it, I haven’t had sex with someone outside of this realm in a very long time. What if I can’t? How am I supposed to have a normal sex life now? The thought of reverting back to who I was long ago, frightens me to my core. Having casual sex with no connection or emotion can’t ever happen again. I have to stay strong and committed to the change I made in myself.

Pam has the same fears, and we agree to keep each other in check. It may not ever be much of an issue for me, though. Being a small town public safety officer doesn’t exactly put me in many situations to meet women, and there’s no way anyone I know would ever see me again.

* * *

Months pass. My habits have become so predictable, it’s embarrassing. I work the day shift during the week with a weekend thrown in once a month. I’m at Mom and Dad’s house on Sundays for dinner, and Lach and I watch football until late and then I head back home to start it all over again. Throw in the occasional side trip to see Eric or Pam, and that’s it. The old me would have been bored out of his young mind, but the new me is focused and balanced. I’m content.

The Bears have a bye this weekend, so Lach and I make plans to help Dad paint the dining room on Sunday to surprise Mom. He’s sending her on a spa day for her birthday, so we’ll have most of the day to get it done. I work on Saturday, but I’ll head up early in the evening so we can get started first thing.

Our little downtown is busy today. The weather is nice, and everyone is taking advantage of warmer temperatures before winter settles in. The park across the street from the fire station is buzzing with little humans, and their mothers, who, unaccustomed to the job, are taking the job from the nanny today. This town has a great deal of hired help in the households, in the form of gardeners, nannies, drivers and personal assistants. Some have personal chefs and live-in staff, too. Our population often doubles from Monday through Friday.

I enjoy walking around on patrol and getting to know people. It helps to be on friendly terms if there’s ever an issue to deal with. As I round the corner near the coffee shop, I notice a shock of the most beautiful red hair I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen more than my fair share. Having spent my youth in Scotland where it’s a bit more prevalent, I guess that’s why I notice it. I look over at her, and she’s in full-blown panic. About ten feet behind her is a little toddler, thinking she’s paying hide and seek with her.

I try not to frighten the little one, so I crouch down to her level and hold out my arms. At first glance, she hesitates, and then she climbs right up. I would normally be concerned for a child who would go so readily to strangers, but she’s too young for that lesson. She grasping at the air in the direction of the redhead, so I assume the woman is who the toddler is looking for. I watch her for the briefest of moments. Her face is perfect, albeit worried, but there’s a sweet soul within. She’s desperate to find her baby, and it breaks my heart.

“Miss, does this wee one … ” I begin as she snatches her out of my hands.

She cries as she runs all the way back to the park to get her stroller. It’s a real shame she’s married; she’s a beauty.

I take the train to Mom and Dad’s, I don’t want to mess with traffic. During my long ride, I can’t help but daydream about the beautiful woman from this morning. I’ve never been so drawn to someone before; she left quite an impression. Before I know it, the ride and the fantasy about the redhead, is over. Lach picks me up at the station.

“How’s everything, Wickham?”

“It’s going well, thanks, man.”

Our family has grown closer since all the drama a while back. Once I got my shit together and became the man I should be, everything else seemed to fall into place. I’ve never been closer to my parents, or Lach. I never divulged what I’ve been through; I just let them know I was getting some much-needed therapy. Lach is engaged, again, to the girl he’s been seeing for awhile. I’m really happy for them. He doesn’t have to ask anyone to keep an eye on her.

Lach and I work hard at prepping the walls to be painted that night, and we finish the job by noon. It’s a small house, and a small dining room, so even with some goofing off it was a fast job. Mom is thrilled, and insists we all stay for dinner. I have to work in the morning, but I decide to stay over. I’ll just have to get up at the crack of dawn to make it back on time.

The train is packed with commuters headed into the city. As it continues to drop off passengers downtown, the train’s load lightens a bit. I look up when the door opens, and see a familiar mess of color.

My redhead.

It would appear that she’s on her way home from a hard night of partying. Considering the guy she’s with is checking out the other guys, I’m guessing he’s not her husband. At least I hope for her sake he’s not. Her makeup is halfway down her face, and her clothes are rumpled. She’s still stunning to look at, at least to me. I can’t seem to pull my eyes from her.

She notices an ad up high above the windows and starts to scream at it. The person looks so different in the picture, but no doubt it’s her and her wee one. She’s being silly, and talking nonsense to the photo. Her “friend” is already passed out in a seat. The other passengers are annoyed, ready for her to shut up.

On instinct, I approach her to try and calm her down. She looks at me, and I think I see a small glimmer of recognition. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. She willingly sits down with me, and I speak to her in a whisper to try to quiet her down. The riders seemed appeased. She’s safe.

One thing I’ve learned through yoga training, is how to calm people down without them realizing it. This little trick helps a great deal when doing my job. Speak to the person in question in a slow, measured cadence, and try to get her to breathe with you by letting her see or sense your body moving with each breath. She’ll begin to mimic the breathing rhythm without realizing it. Before you know it, the situation de-escalates into something easier to handle. This is less difficult to do if the person isn’t drunk, which she is.

I ask her about the photo and the little girl, and she gushes. She adores her baby, and my heart constricts upon hearing her express her devotion. I’ve given up judging other people, as much as is humanly possible, but I can’t help but wonder why she would be out with such a little one at home. Maybe it was a special occasion.

She doesn’t tell me her name, even though I ask a couple of times. I’m concerned she won’t make it home safely. Her snoozing partner-in-crime is about to slide out of his seat. I don’t think he’s going to be much help. We both rise when our stop is called. I was ready to stay on just in case she wasn’t getting off here. Her friend wakes up, and surprisingly assists her off the train. He must have called a cab when I wasn’t looking because he pours her into one waiting across the street from the station. I don’t even realize that I’m standing nearby staring at them until she throws me a wave. I’m embarrassed to have been caught, but I can’t take my eyes off of her. I should be escorting her home, instead of that asshole, to make sure she’s safe.

~Part Three~

Chapter 19

I’m frozen in place.

Is this why Wick wanted to bring me up here? To have a quiet place to tell me his life story? He’s silent for the first time in more than an hour. He told me his life story, and he’s poised on the edge of his chair like a cat about to spring. He’s nervous, waiting for me to speak.

He’s given me so much to process, I don’t where to jump in.

“Please, Becca, say something. You mean the world to me, and I need to know if you hate me. I can take you back home if you never want to see me again, and I’d completely understand. I’m not the same person I was back then.” He pleads at me with his eyes.

“I don’t know what to say, Wick. I had no idea that your situation went so deep. I just thought that maybe something physical was wrong or you were concerned I would hurt you if we consummated our relationship. Do you think that?”

“I’m scared to screw everything up with sex. Our time together is special to me, and I’ve worked hard for control over my sexual life. I’m attracted to you, and have been since that first day I saw you. I feel like I could lose myself in you and mess things up.” He approaches me slowly as he stares deeply into my eyes. “I love you, Rebecca.”

I throw my arms tightly around his waist and squeeze.

“I love you, too, Wick! I have for so long now. I think I fell in love with you on our first date. It’s been breaking my heart that we haven’t been physical. I’ve wanted to say the words, but I’ve been scared that you were going to back out of this relationship because you didn’t want to be with me sexually. I thought I didn’t turn you on.”

“I think you’re aware that’s not the case. I know how many times you’ve seen me hard as a rock. I’ve wanted you so badly, and I’ve had dreams of us being together. I’ve even had a couple of intense orgasms in them. My training has served me well.”

He bends down and envelopes my mouth with his. He takes his time with the kiss, and teases my tongue with his. It’s deep and more sensual than any other time before. I think he’s more relaxed, now that I know his story, and he can give into it without fear.

He lifts his head, and places his forehead against mine.

“Thank you for listening to me. I had no idea how this weekend would go. I had no intention of spilling all that information, but I knew that if I didn’t start at the beginning, it wouldn’t make sense. I retrained my body to reject everything I knew about sex in the past, and I have a deeper understanding of what it means to be joined together. I hope you can continue to be patient with me.”

What? Still nothing?

“Um … OK. You still don’t feel ready? Is there anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He picks me up, and carries me back to the bedroom.

Oh.

He places me gently on the bed, and takes a step back.

“What I meant when I asked for your patience was that I can’t rush through any of this. If I get too excited, I’ll need to calm myself down. I want to connect with you, Becca, I’ve never wanted anything more. I’ve only experimented using what I’ve learned with someone I don’t love. I know this will be incredible for both of us, but it will take effort on my part. Do you understand?”

I nod. Fireworks are exploding in my gut, but I try my best to appear calm. I’ve waited for him for so long now that this could be excruciatingly difficult.

“I’ll let you lead the way, Wick. Let me know what to do. I’ll follow, OK?”

“Thank you, me love.”

He bends down and chastely kisses me.

And it begins.

My heart is knocking against my ribcage; it’s the loudest sound in the room. He’s standing near the bed, staring at me.

“Your so beautiful, Rebecca. In my wildest fantasies, I could have never imagined falling in love with a woman like you,” he whispers to me, while trailing his fingers lightly over my face. “You have no idea how much your understanding means to me. I know everything I’ve been through and learned about myself was for this moment.”

He brings my hand up to his face, and kisses my fingers. His emerald eyes have darkened with desire. His thick lashes tangle as he squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. His body enlarges as his abdomen fills with air, and he looks like a warrior readying himself for battle. It sends my tortured libido into overdrive. My breathing accelerates, and warmth circulates deep under my skin.

He grabs the bottom of his sweater, and pulls it slowly over his head, tossing it aside. His eyes wander over my face and robed body. I’m not going to take it off; I want him to set the pace. Even though the room is cold, he appears radiant. His skin glows with arousal, it’s almost too much for me to take in. I want him now, so badly, but I promised I’d show patience.

He drops his sweatpants, and, dear God, he’s glorious. I saw him naked last night before he got into the hot tub, but that brief glimpse pales in comparison to seeing him now, like this, fully aroused, at eye level. He steps out of his pants, and sits next to me on the bed. His weight forces the mattress down and rolls me over into his side. He lovingly pushes my wayward hair out of my face, and tucks it behind my ear.

He grasps the belt to my robe, and waits. I give him a fast nod of approval, and he unties it. He pulls it out from underneath me, and pulls me upright.

He sits in the center of the bed, his legs crossed. I’m impressed: He’s incredibly flexible, especially given how much muscle he has. He gently pulls me to sit on his lap. He takes the belt from my robe and wraps it around our waists to tether us together. I’m given a killer smile; he likes this position.

“Give me your eyes,” he whispers and I’m not sure what he means. “Look into my eyes, and don’t turn away. It’ll feel awkward at first, but just trust me.”

Our faces are nose to nose in this position. I stare into his luminous eyes, and fall deeply into a pool of green. After a few moments, I understand what he means. It is awkward, even with someone you love. Eyes are the trapdoors into our deepest emotions. I feel as if he can read every thought I’ve ever had. I instinctively look away.

“No, baby, no. Back on me, please,” he says, smiling, and I comply.

We pass through all the necessary phases: awkwardness, silliness, stillness, and then bonding. After a time, I no longer feel uncomfortable; I feel a profound sense of connection. His face is rife with emotion. It’s clear he’s unsure about how I will respond.

He pulls the belt a little tighter, and our torsos become one, sharing a single breath. My mind ruins this blissful moment, remembering what he told me about his friend, Pam. I can’t bear the image of the two of them like this, sharing this intimate moment.

He picks up on the shift in my emotion, and appears frightened.

“What is it, Becca? This is the time to be honest with one another; we’re both vulnerable. Please share what you’re feeling with me.”

I feel ridiculous, but I know I can’t hide it. I’m jealous.

I wiggle a little to have some space.

“I’m sorry, Wick. It’s just that this is so intense, and you’ve shared this with someone else. I don’t know how it can be special for you after that, because for me, this feels like everything. I’ve never shared a bond like this with anyone, and we haven’t even had sex. I’m jealous that you and your friend were together,” I whisper as I inspect my bellybutton. I can’t look at his face or I might cry.

He touches my forehead with his to get my face to rise.

“Have you ever had sex with someone you didn’t love?”

“Yes, I have. Why?”

“You were satisfying a basic need, not trying to make a relationship, right? Pam and I needed each other to practice. Neither of us had special people in our lives; we both wanted to find someone. It was necessary for us to try and perfect the things we learned. That’s how we knew we weren’t right for each other. You can’t emotionally connect with someone you’re not right for, no matter how hard you try. I do understand, however. I can’t stand the thought of you touching another man with your beautiful body. It makes me sick inside.”

His words are honest and heartfelt. I try my best to push those jealousies as far away as I can. I snuggle myself back into his chest, and he tightens the belt again.

All the while we’re in this position, his cock swells and recedes. At certain times, it’s uncomfortable to sit on. His control of his body is honed as sharp as a chef’s knife, and it’s impressive to witness. Most other men could never withstand prolonged intimate foreplay such as this. For him, it seems to slow his system, so that he can linger and enjoy the sensations. Every touch is intentional, and with purpose.

We return to our previous position, and lock eyes once again. After taming my feelings of jealousy, having the slate wiped clean, I feel freer to indulge. We touch noses, and he leans in for a quick kiss.

“I couldn’t help myself. You smell so delicious.” He smiles innocently, as if he’s just stolen a cookie from the cookie jar.

I know I promised to be patient, but I’m only human. No woman alive could keep herself off of him the way he looks at this moment.

I grab his face and ferociously kiss his warm mouth. He’s surprised and responds with matched enthusiasm. Last night we’d had a lot to drink, but right now we’re sober and fully aware of what we’re doing. His cock becomes rigid under me, and he shudders. He pulls back after another sloppy kiss.

“Wait, darlin’, wait. Do you remember what I told you about how I used to be? I can’t ever go back to being that person. I’m afraid to give in too quickly, so I can’t fuck this up. I love you, and I can’t lose the way I almost lost everyone else in my life. I fucked up a lot of things with my selfishness. I know it just seems like sex, but this is the first time I’ll be having sex with someone I love.”

“I’m sorry, Wick. You asked for patience and I threw myself at you. I’m the one being selfish. You won’t ever be that person ever again, no matter what you do. You’ve learned from the consequences of your actions. Your family loves you, and I love you. You won’t hurt me, I know it.”

“After I had sex with those other women, I would push them away. I couldn’t stomach the thought of anyone getting close to me, so I shut them down. I had no interest in anything long-term. I trust in everything I’ve learned and how far I’ve come, but now I have something to lose.”

He looks somber. He asked me to go slow, but I pushed him. I could be the one to fuck this up with my selfishness.

“I won’t let it happen again.” I cross my heart in a silly gesture to lighten the dark mood. “Let’s start again.”

“No. I’m letting my fear of the unknown get in the way. We’re ready to move on.”

He interlocks our fingers, and lies back on the bed, pulling me on top of him. He reaches around and pulls a downy blanket over us. He closes his eyes, and hums rhythmically.

I lie still and enjoy the vibration coming from his body; it entrances me. His hands are on the outside of the blanket, rubbing my back firmly and pressing my body into his as he continues to hum.

“Join me,” he says quietly, not breaking the cadence of his humming.

I join in, and our bodies become electrified with energy. I’m simultaneously deeply relaxed and have a heightened sense of sensation and awareness. It’s transcendent.

Our warm bodies melt into one another, and sway in unison in no particular direction. The feeling is sublime. I could stay like this for hours on end. The rhythm almost puts me to sleep.

“No time for napping, missy,” he says with a grin, and lazily rolls over on top of me.

He startles me with a warm kiss on my neck.

“You’re pulling back for me, so I’m pushing forward for you. Only seems fair,” he says in a playfully sarcastic tone.

We’ve been in this bed for a couple of hours, yet it feels as if only a moment has passed.

He lowers himself under the covers, almost down to my feet. He kisses me lightly on the inside of my ankle, balancing his touch ever so delicately on my nerve endings. His hands follow his mouth, and massage the warmed skin behind it. It’s sensual and loving. When he reaches my upper thigh, I assume he’ll bypass my crotch.

I’m wrong.

He spreads my lips delicately with his fingers, and kisses my long-overheated crevice. The action startles and delights me, and I choke out a garbled sound of pleasure. He doesn’t speed up or slow down; he stays the course with slow and steady pressure with his tongue. He moans intensely against my flesh, enjoying it thoroughly.

I feel spasms in my gut trying to assemble for what I can sense will be a mind-blowing orgasm. He senses it, too, and travels away from my sweet spot. He spends as much time on my stomach as he did on my crotch, not showing favoritism but instead earnestly appreciating it all. He maintains the steady beat of a metronome with each kiss–the same measured time and intensity with each one. It lulls me into a meditative state, like before.

He reaches my breast, and applies light suction to the nipple. His stiff cock presses firmly against my upper thigh; he’s enjoying this as much as I am. He presses my nipple against the roof of his mouth, and hums loudly. I feel a tingle sprint a straight path to my clitoris. I’ve been aroused for so long, he could make me orgasm this way. He feels my shudder, and moves his mouth to my other breast and repeats the action. My hips buck to find some relief for my throbbing crotch. His cock is tantalizingly close and it grazes my lips as he moves his body. I instinctively grab his ass and press my clit up against his cock, which elicits a powerful orgasm that pulls strength from every other nerve in my body.

I gasp for air, as my body betrays us both and unleashes the chained-up lust pent up for weeks. Through the pleasure-induced fog in my brain, I hear him whisper close to my ear, “It’s OK, sweet Becca, I want you to feel it. Rub it on me,”

His sexy accent and warm breath in my ear send another wave of ecstasy through my body. I don’t feel guilty about it; I give into the sweet pleasure. I look into his face as he’s watching me experience pure bliss.

“You look exquisite, my love. So beautiful like that…”

His voice fades, and he covers my gasping mouth with his in a sensuous kiss. I try to control my reaction, but I find myself clawing at him like an animal. I want more. I need more. He breathes along with me, mimicking my rhythm, until it returns to normal.

He then reaches down and slips a finger inside me.

“So wet, and so beautiful. I’m ready baby, are you?”

What? What did he just say?

“Yes! Of course I’m ready!” I say loudly, showing off my enthusiasm.

He kisses me again, slowly this time, then rolls off the bed and grabs his phone. Such a strange turn of events.

He notices that I seem baffled by his abrupt departure, so he points to his phone as music begins to play. Ambiance. The man thinks of everything.

He returns to my side, and lies still as the music fills the room. It’s an unusual blend of New Age and slow rock. The slow thump of a bass drum adds a sensual mood to the otherwise relaxing tone.

He’s doing his deep breathing routine again, so I follow suit. Whatever he does, I’ll do. It’s worked pretty damned well so far. After a few minutes, he shifts his body so that he’s hovering over me like a table–a table with a long, hard, extra leg dangling down. He lowers himself into a plank, and kisses my neck. He presses back up and repeats the action, again and again. He’s getting his workout while teasing the devil out of me. It creates alternating warm-then-cold sensations, and heightens my awareness when he gets close. I’m holding back with everything I have to not grab him and shove him inside me.

His shoulder muscles are quivering and he rests his body fully down on top of mine. He’s heavy, and damp with perspiration. If men had a universal scent, this would be it. All of my senses react to the stimulus that is he, and it makes me feel alive.

He gives my body a break from his weight, by sitting up and bending at the knees so that he’s straddling me. There is something to be said for being extra flexible, especially in the bedroom. Thank you, yoga.

He runs his large hands up my torso and stops at my breasts. He caresses them firmly yet adoringly, as he stares into my eyes.

“My heart won’t slow down, Becca. All the breathing in the world can’t slow down what you do to me. I cherish you and want to worship your body. Are you ready?”

I think I made myself abundantly clear before, but I vigorously nod my head. My brain seems to have cut off communication to my mouth to focus on other things.

He moves his legs so that he’s sitting back on his feet, then he opens my legs and places them on either side of his hips. It elevates my lower back, so he places a pillow under it so I can relax. He takes his beautiful cock in his hand, and begins to stroke my lips with the head. I sharply inhale; the anticipation is maddening.

He takes his time introducing his body to mine. He sticks the head in, just the head, and he stills, eyes closed, breathing in rhythm, a look of unadulterated pleasure adorning his gorgeous face. His bright smile contrasts with the dark scruff of his two-day, unshaven face. He is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, and right now he’s almost deadly. When he whispers in his accent, “You’re perfect, Becca. We’re perfect together, can you feel it?” as he gently begins to move, the feelings I have for him become overwhelming. I feel a tear roll down from the corner of my eye and hit the pillow.

He sees it, and it startles him.

“Are you OK, Becca? Did I do something?”

I grab his hands and interlace my fingers with his.

“It’s wonderful, Wick, you feel incredible like this. I feel like I never want to leave this spot, right here with you. I love you so much,” I admit, as more tears join the first.

Poor thing, we’ve waited so long, and now I’m crying through it. I turn my face to the pillow to wipe my eyes, so I don’t have to let go of his hands.

“I’m sorry, this is crazy!” I say, laughing, and instantly feel calmer.

He leans down, our hands still clasped, and he kisses me deeply, allowing his tongue to explore my mouth. I kiss him back with as much love as I can possibly inject. As he leans down, his cock pushes into me deeper, and I moan as our mouths seal together. It elicits a guttural moan from him, and I feel it vibrate all over my body.

He balances his body on his elbows, as we continue to make out. He opens his eyes, and looks right into my soul. He questions me using only his body, and I respond in kind. I give him the go-ahead using only the expression on my face.

He lowers his head next to mine on the pillow, as he enters me fully. I feel him bite the pillow as he releases a louder groan this time. His heart is racing and his breathing is erratic. He pauses once he fills me completely, and our bodies are as close as they can physically be. Shakily, he begins his breathing exercise, and regains control. He seems relieved, and after a moment, he begins to move his hips.

He pushes once, hard, against my pubis, then withdraws his cock lazily until he’s almost out of me completely. I squeeze my walls as tightly as I can to try and hold onto him. He grunts, and pushes through the warm tightness until were locked in place once again.

I reach around and grab his strong ass; I feel the muscles flex with each movement. He sucks in a breath as my hands make contact, and he yells, “Fuck, Becca! That feels so good.”

The rhythm picks up and we begin to move in unison. He grabs the heavy down comforter that surrounds us, and throws it to the floor. It frees our bodies to really start fucking. I see a small glimpse of the wild man he used to be. If this is him under control, I can’t imagine how much he must have indulged back then. He presses my hips against the mattress with his rough hands, which prevents me from moving. I lie back and take what he’s giving me, heart and soul.

He declares his love for me again and again, as we make passionate love for the first time. We’ve held so many unspoken emotions for so long now, and it feels incredible to shout them with wild abandon.

He flips us over so that I’m on top, as he takes another deep breath. I can feel the difference between his yoga breathing and regular breaths. He’s trying his hardest to make this last. He pulls me down against his chest, and presses me into him. We’re both slippery from sweat, and I kiss his salty chest. I suckle his nipple and feel his cock pulsate in response. We’re finally lovers, and I want to explore every inch of his body.

I decide to help him out, and slow things down a little; it’s too good to rush. I remove myself from his cock, and I crawl down the bed, as he did earlier, to learn his body. He has the sexiest legs–firm and chiseled, with muscle in just the right places. I spread open his legs, and he stops me.

“Are you sure about this?”

I know why he’s reluctant, but I find our combined scent incredibly arousing. I nod my head to let him know I’m more than sure. I want to do this.

With my right hand I grasp his hard dick, and I lower my head to reach his balls. I take one into my mouth, as I stroke his slick shaft. He tries to watch, but gives up and throws his head back against the bed. He mumbles something in a heavy, brogue-laden stream of words I don’t understand. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard come out of a man’s mouth. I’ll have to ask him later what it all meant.

I make lazy work out of pleasuring his balls. I tug them as I consume his delicious cock with vigor. Not one inch is neglected as I get to know the new favorite body part of his. He’s struggling to maintain his discipline, which appears almost painful. I think he’s near the breaking point, so I stop to give him a chance to regain his balance.

“Thank you, my love. That was fucking incredible, but I don’t know how long I could have held myself. Your mouth is remarkable,” he says as he touches my cheek. I climb back on top of him, and we make out sweetly as we slow the pace again. “I’ve dreamt of this moment so many times, and it’s even better than I could have fantasized. I don’t want it to end.”

He doodles on my face with his fingers, as he gazes into my eyes.

“I feel the same way. However, if it doesn’t end at some point, I think I’ll pass out from the experience. Remember, this is my first time with all of this! My nerves are overwhelmed.”

“I know they are, love. This is a different experience for me, too. Passion and restraint are two edges of the same sharp sword. I’m juggling it the best I know how.” He looks so incredibly irresistible as he hangs his head with this admission.

I hold his head in my hands, so I can look him directly in the eye.

“We’ll figure all of this out together. I want you to teach me what you’ve learned.”

I mount his cock and squeeze him tightly. I lean down and place my hands on his chest so I can have a good angle. He moves his hips to meet my body, to push himself deeper inside me. This is it. No more slowing down, I want to feel this man.

I grind my pelvis against his body, feeling every swollen inch of him inside me. I squeeze, then raise up, squeeze, raise up, while he lies back and basks in the euphoria of it all. He clutches my hips and holds me steady as he pumps his cock into me. He’s really moving hard and I grasp the headboard to help steady my body as we fuck our brains out.

He’s worked up a feverish pace, and I’m trying hard to keep up with him.

“I’m close, love, are you going to come for me?” he asks as more sweat beads on his already damp brow.

My pussy constricts his cock as my orgasm builds.

“Yes, Wick, come with me,”

He lets out a loud grunt as his orgasm rises and he releases himself into my body. His fingers are digging into the flesh on my hips as he grinds my body against his for mutual gratification.

I feel my orgasm begin inside me, someplace I’ve never felt before, and as he continues to grind, it explodes and spreads to the rest of my body. I hear a disembodied version of my voice scream Wick’s name, but it sounds far away like an echo. He extends his orgasm by humming a mantra-like sound as his spasms slowly fade. I collapse onto him, and roll easily into the nook of his arm.

We both drift off into a deep, dreamless slumber.

I awaken, sweaty and delirious. I fell asleep under his arm, and covered by the comforter. I’m drenched. I’m also dehydrated: My mouth feels like I’ve been chewing cotton balls. He’s still asleep, his long lashes twitching; he must be dreaming. I’d give anything to be able to share that dream; I hope I’m in it.

I peel my body from his, as I desperately need to go to the bathroom. He doesn’t budge. My skin freezes on contact when the air slaps my damp skin. I let out a loud, involuntary squeal, but it doesn’t wake him. I run to the bathroom, sit on the block of ice that is imitating a toilet, and then I run back to the room and dig around the bed until I find the robe. It doesn’t help at all, so I grab his sweater and pants and put them on. I find the wool socks of his that I was wearing and throw those on, too. Nothing in my wardrobe is heavy enough to block the chill I feel in my bones.

I glance at the clock; it’s after noon. We’ve been in bed for hours. I haven’t eaten or drunk anything all morning. I can’t believe I don’t feel worse. I go to the kitchen to finish making the coffee he had started before our conversation and mind-blowing sex. My brain is humming with all the information he had spilled. He did a complete one-eighty on me. He went from telling me almost nothing, to telling me everything about his adult life. I’m so glad that he’s back speaking with his brother and parents. His eyes twinkled when he spoke of them; I can tell he has great affection for his family.

I wasn’t so happy to hear about all of his conquests, though. It sounded like he went through dozens of women, and never cared for any of them. He’s quite the contradiction to the person he described. It’s difficult for me to imagine him being so shallow and uncaring. I guess I should be grateful for all he’s gone through, or else I wouldn’t be here with him now.

I would like to meet his friend, Pam. It would probably be a mistake, but my curiosity won’t go away until I do. He owes her a great deal for helping him through his tough times, so I have to put a positive spin to my impression of her, but all I can think about is them together in such an intimate way. It is all new to me this morning, and my body is reeling from it. I’m achy, and my nervous system is exhausted from all the starts and stops. It was incredible, though, and so worth it. We connected; we truly made love. I felt as if he could see into my soul, and I into his.

He’s a reformed sex addict, and wants to have true love in his life. My heart flips when I think that it’s me he’s fallen for. He’s never been in love before, and he expressed it freely to me this morning. I’m one lucky girl.

I realize I’ve been staring out the window daydreaming when I feel his warm hands grip my shoulders. I almost jump out of my skin.

“Jesus! You scared me!” I say loudly as I spin around to face him.

“Nope, not Jesus, just me,” he says as he kisses my nose. “I was going to rub your shoulders, I thought you may be sore from this morning.”

“Well, in that case,” I respond, and turn back around to let him finish the job.

He kisses the back of my head, and then my neck as his strong hands perform their magic. If I had any stress in my muscles, it’s melting fast. His hands roam down my arms, and he wraps his arms around my waist. He buries his nose deep in my hair, and inhales deeply. His exhale is a low hum, and it travels straight to my groin. He must have hypnotized me; I feel as if my body has been conditioned to respond to him.

“I need nutrition, and coffee first. Lots and lots of coffee,” I say as I unwillingly squirm from his grasp to finish what I was doing. “We need to eat or they’ll find our emaciated but happy bodies up here in the spring.”

He backs up a little, and throws up his arms in a gesture of surrender.

I make a huge brunch. I use just about everything I can find in the fridge to make a buffet. Our banter has changed. He’s changed. He’s no longer the reluctant man I met, but relaxed, free-flowing with conversation. My heart breaks thinking about how hard it must have been to keep all of that inside, and the worry it must have caused him wondering how I would react to it. I’ll admit, my stomach did quite a few back-flips as he spilled his story, and I’m sure he knew it. I don’t have a great poker face, I’m an easy read.

We spend the rest of the day cuddled up in front of the huge fireplace, and we talk about everything. I learn about his childhood in Scotland, he wants to take me there, as well as his love of baseball, and most other sports. But he’s happiest when speaking of Lachlan. I don’t think it’s the guilt talking; he genuinely adores his brother. I know this has to make everything that happened that much harder to handle. He avoids more discussion about that; instead, he focuses on what Lach is doing now.

I did most of the talking when we first met, so there’s not much more to tell him about me. He knows how happy I’ve been since moving close to Melanie and her family, especially having the kids around.

“You really adore the little lass, Lou, don’t you? I was convinced you were her mother the way you reacted when we met. I was really hoping you weren’t, but I’d never seen an aunt or babysitter love a child that much. She’s a lucky little girl,” he says, smiling sweetly, stroking my hair.

“I miss her. Can we video-chat them? I know it seems weird, but I really do miss Lou and the boys.”

“I’d love to! Get your phone.”

I dial Mel’s number on video-chat, and she answers quickly.

“Hi, Bec! How’s it going? Are you and Wick, enjoying yourselves?”

Oh, God, how embarrassing. She drawled out enjoying, and the intonation is a dead giveaway that she and I had discussed this before I left. Wick leans into the picture.

“Hello, Melanie. How are you?”

I see her face redden through the small screen.

“Oh, hi, Wick! I didn’t know you were there. Thanks, Bec, for the humiliation.”

“We called to talk to the kids, are they around?”

“Brian is out with the boys, but your crazy girl is here. Want to say ‘hi’?”

“Of course! Put her on!”

The screen image is jumbled as Melanie walks around following Lou, trying to get her to stay in one spot.

“It’s Aunt Becca, Lou! She and Wick want to say ‘hi’.”

She squeals, and grabs the phone from Mel. All we can see is her hair, she’s holding the phone against her head and saying, “Hi Bec-ca, I wuv you.” It breaks my heart, but in a good way.

“Mel! Fix the phone so we can see her.”

She takes the phone, and holds it so Lou can see us. She blows us kisses, and says, “hi”, over and over. I want to hold her so badly.

Wick talks to her, and she loves it. She loves him. She crawls up on him whenever we’re around. He hasn’t been around kids very much, but he’s a natural. He’ll make an incredible dad someday. I’m daydreaming, seeing him play with little red-haired babies. Jesus, Becca, get control of your imagination.

Lou drops the phone, and I hear Mel yell about something.

“Gotta run, Bec. Y’all have fun!”

Wick laughs at Melanie’s accent. I can make mine practically non-existent when I try, as he can with his.

“Do you find the manner in which my sis-ta speaks, humorous, Mista Dunmo-a?”

I lay it on thick. His eyes widen and his breath quickens. He likes it when I do this, apparently.

“It’s funny when she talks; it’s sexy as hell when you do it. Say something else for me.”

“Ah could neva jus turn it off and on, Wick-em. A propa south’rn lady would neva hide her go-geous south’rn drawl,” I drawl, batting my eyelashes.

He smacks his face with both hands, and falls back on the couch.

“Look what that does to me, Ree-bay-ca,” I don’t know if he intended to say my name in his accent quite like that, or if it was an exciting accident, but it’s hot as hell. His erection is very evident, even through his thick pants.

“Well, sir! How rude. I do not participate in pleasures of the flesh! How dare you show that to a righteous woman!”

He cracks up laughing, and lays down on top of me.

“I’m only so happy to show you how a ‘proper’ Scotsman behaves around the woman he loves,” he boasts as he presses his substantial flesh against my thigh.

I can’t help but laugh, but I see a suddenly serious look on his face. He places his hands on my cheeks, and stares intently into my eyes.

“I love you, Becca. I’ve never said that to anyone outside my family before. I didn’t even think twice when I said it this morning for the first time. I’m in love with you.” He leans in for the softest of kisses. His lips brush mine lightly as he lingers, staring into my eyes.

Sincerity pours from his soul. I’ve never felt so cared for in my life. I’ve been on my own since I was young, and have taken great pride in being self-sufficient. Emotionally, I built a wall to protect myself from ever needing another person. That wall has crumbled. I need this man like the blood in my veins–not to help or rescue me, but to enrich my life, sharing a love with him.

“I love you, too, Wickham. I’ve said it before, but I’ve never felt anything like this so I don’t think I meant it back then. Thank you for opening up to me, I didn’t really expect all that from you.”

He appears worried.

“Did I share too much? I’m sorry if that was hard to hear. I could never sit and listen to you talk about how many men you had been with. Just the thought of someone else’s hands on your body makes me sick,” he spits out, looking volatile.

The mood changes quickly.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. It’d be a pretty boring tale to tell. I’ve forgotten every other man I’ve ever been with up ’til now. You’ve given me a wonderful case of amnesia,”

That seems to work, and his face softens once again. I’ve only ever seen him as serene, but I just got a glimpse of what his temper must have been like. Wow. Thanks again, yoga.

“Wick, I’d like to go with you to see Eric sometime. I’d really like to get into yoga, I could use the flexibility to keep up with you. How often do you go?”

He looks pleased by the request.

“I’d love nothing more than to share it with you. It’ll change your life; I know it did mine. Eric and I practice whenever the studio is free and I’m off. We can go Monday evening if you’d like.”

“Will Pam be there?” I ask quietly. I don’t want to come off as jealous again.

“Maybe. I can tell her not to come if that makes you more comfortable.”

“I know you’re friends, but I can’t meet her just yet. I still feel uncomfortable about your relationship. Is that childish of me?”

“Of course not, Becca. I understand. I wouldn’t be very kind if I met someone you’d been with either. I’m glad you haven’t dated around here, and that we’re not in New York.”

He won’t need to meet Justin. I think Justin may still be a little sore that I left him hanging like I did, and I think he might say something to me. That would be bad. I change the subject.

“So, I believe you were going to show me how a Scotsman treats his lady?”

Works like a charm. His eyes light up and he’s back on top of me in a flash.

Chapter 20

Monday morning, I float into Melanie’s kitchen. We returned last night, and my feet haven’t touched the ground since.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in. You look… happy,” she says, smirking, as she cleans up the breakfast dishes.

“Oh, Mel, I am. He’s perfect. We had the best weekend ever,” It sounds so cheesy, but it’s the truth. I’ve never felt so happy.

Lou toddles over to me, and I pick her up and twirl her around.

“Are you kidding me? Who the hell are you, and where is my sister? Did you turn into Julie Andrews about to sing The Hills Are Alive?”

“Oh, shut the hell up,”

“OK, so you’re not Julie Andrews. Don’t keep me in suspense. Other than the obvious fact that y’all finally had sex, how was it?”

“He opened up to me, Mel, a lot. I don’t want to give up too much, because it was very personal, but he’s been through some shit. He told me he loved me, too. It was a really big step for both of us.”

Lou squeals for more as I put her down. Melanie turns on a colorful kiddie show on TV and Lou is instantly mesmerized. She plops down on a big pillow, and sucks her thumb.

“All right. I suck as a mom. I’ve got a TV-addicted, thumb-sucker, but it sure calms her down. Let’s go in here so we can talk.”

We head back to the kitchen, and she pours some coffee.

“OK, so he’s perfect. I think we already knew that going in, right? Gorgeous, kind, soft-spoken, what else is there?”

“He’s got a lot more to him below the surface, Mel. I really think I’ve found ‘the one’.”

“The one what?” Brian asks when he enters the kitchen, a squirmy Lou under his arm. “Good morning, Bec. What did you find?”

He walks over to Melanie and gives her a surprisingly sensuous kiss in front of company. I instinctively turn my head; this feels too intimate to share with them, and a little weird. Lou is arching her back trying to escape his grasp.

“I’m taking this one for a run in the stroller. Don’t worry, I’ll bundle her up. She needs some fresh air,” he says as he applies a raspberry to her tummy that elicits an ear-piercing squeal. “I’m glad that you think Wick is ‘the one,’ Bec. I really like him, too.”

Crap. He understood what I was talking about. I didn’t really want to share this news with everyone, but I guess there’s no harm in it. Good news should be shared, right?

“Thanks, Brian. I really do. He means a lot to me.”

I look at Melanie, and she’s beaming. I can tell she’s mentally preparing our wedding already.

“Stop, you. He and I have a long way to go before we get there.”

She smiles and clutches my hand.

“I’m so happy for you, Bec. I promise not to push, and when I do, just tell me to back off. I love to see people happy, you know that. I can’t help myself.”

* * *

The weeks since our trip are incredible. We’re back to taking it slow, but in a much different way. He’s patiently teaching me some of the techniques he’s learned to restrain his impulses. Combined with meditation and yoga, I feel more grounded and calm. Sex is no longer a rush to the finish line but a winding path to explore and enjoy, sometimes never seeing the end at all.

I still haven’t been able to practice with him at the studio, though. Two guys on the force with him were injured on the job, and his work schedule has been erratic with everyone to cover pieces of their shifts. He gets frustrated when he can’t get into the studio, and it shows. He’s more impatient in the bedroom, which makes him nervous. Yoga keep him grounded, and focused on his discipline.

We’re at dinner, a rare night out instead of eating at my place or at work, and it’s lovely. He insisted we dress-up and go out. A bottle of champagne on ice is waiting at our table when we arrive.

“What’s all this?” I ask nervously, realizing that I could have missed the signs and that he may be proposing. My heart starts to flutter like a hummingbird.

“Well, you obviously don’t remember,” he says with a smile and a playful roll of the eyes. “Happy six-month anniversary.”

I’m embarrassed. We’ve been so calculated to move at a slow pace that I haven’t paid attention to any of those details. We haven’t discussed marriage or timetable, we’ve just been mindfully present in each day we’re together.

He pours us some bubbly, and holds my hand for a toast.

“To the most amazing six months of my life, and to the stunning woman who’s responsible. I love you, Rebecca.” He ends the toast with a soft kiss on my lips, and we clink glasses and drink. Our eyes stay locked on each other.

“I had no idea, Wick, thank you. In some ways, I feel like we’ve been together much longer than six-months, and sometimes, I feel as if we’ve just met. I learn something new every time I’m with you. I love you, too.”

He extends over the table to give me a longer, lingering kiss. I’d love nothing more than to flip the table over, just like in the movies, and ravish him right here and now. He has the exact same expression on his face, but he begins to breathe deeply. I join in. The sexual tension isn’t gone; it’s just placed on a low shelf for now.

Our conversation is free-flowing but familiar. I adore everything about this man. I get lost in his eyes as he speaks. He’s telling me a funny story about the man who got locked out of his apartment, naked, and the neighbors called the station to report him. His beautiful eyes twinkle as he laughs, and I feel like I’m falling into the abyss. I can feel his throaty laughter in my belly, and it sends a warmth throughout my body. I’ve never felt so, attached to anyone in my life. When you practice staring at one another while naked for minutes on end, it creates a pathway into the soul.

“…this guy’s arse was white as a ghost!” He giggles, but he’s interrupted by my cellphone. So few people call me this way that I’m startled and grab it quickly. I apologize to him for the interruption with my eyes.

It’s my agent, Barry.

“Hi, Barry, it’s been a while. Listen, I’m at dinner; can I call you tomorrow?”

“This will only take a second. You’ve been offered a job in St. Louis, for a hair products line. They love your hair, and want to feature a redhead in their campaign. You were their first choice. I need you on a plane with me on Wednesday to meet them. I need an answer, so I can get back to them.”

I’m so taken off guard, I say, “Um, OK,” and hang up the phone. I’ve been enjoying the hiatus I’ve had ever since doing the ads with Lou. They’ve been wildly popular, and different versions of our shoot have popped up all over town. It’s also provided a nice revenue stream for both of us.

Hair products seem like a no-brainer, so I might as well do it. I don’t even need to worry about what I’m eating tonight, it certainly won’t show up in my hair!

I look at Wick, and he looks concerned. “Is everything OK? You have a strange look on your face,” he asks.

“Yes, I’m fine. That was my agent, Barry. He has an offer for me, but I have to go to St. Louis day after tomorrow to close the deal. It’s for a hair-products company, I don’t even know which one.”

He brightens.

“Well, that’s another great reason to celebrate!” He refills our glasses, and I toss the burning bubbles down my throat. “I’ll miss you, but I’ll feel a lot less guilty about my work schedule this week, and by the weekend, it should be back to normal.”

He reaches over once more to give me a sweet kiss.

“I’m proud of you, baby. I don’t really like sharing you with the world, but if I have to, I guess your hair is safer than your body.”

We finish our romantic meal, and go back to my place.

“Can I stay tonight? I’m working late tomorrow, and I won’t get to see you before you leave for St. Louis.”

“You know you don’t have to ask, Wick. I think we’re way past that point, don’t you?” I say, pulling him by the shirt collar into my living room.

“Of course we are. I just like to ask, makes it feel special.”

I use some of the techniques I’ve learned from him to hold back and not rip his clothes off right now like I so badly want to. He looks adorable, and when he says such sweet things, I could ravage him right where he’s standing.

Instead, I calmly take his hand, while breathing deeply, and guide him to the bedroom. Tonight, I want to take the lead. He softens his stance and silently relents to my unspoken, yet obvious, request.

I turn on one lamp, only to see the candle that I light. The scent of sulphur is quickly replaced by the sensual musk scent of the wax. I turn the lamp off, and the room glows with a calming aura.

“I’d like to try something, Wick. I’ve been doing some homework on Lingam massage.” His eyes light up as I say this. “Are you interested?”

I’ve been studying up on Kundalini yoga, and how to release the chakras. Tantric massage is a useful technique to help your partner relax and enjoy pure sexual release of energy, whether there is an orgasm or not. I wanted to surprise him, and now is an opportune time.

“I’m impressed, love. I would love nothing more than to check your homework, you know, to make sure your studying properly.” He looks as eager as a child on Christmas morning.

He lies down on the bed, head raised to watch, and a pillow under his hips. It hits me like a brick to the head that this may not be the first time he’s experienced this. What an idiot I am, of course he’s done this, no doubt with Pam. As I reach for the oil in my nightstand, I pause.

“What it is, Becca?”

“I’m sorry, Wick. This is all new to me, and I was so excited to show you what I’ve learned. But Pam’s done this to you, hasn’t she?” I feel a little sick asking this, but I have to be honest.

He seems ashamed.

“Yes, Becca, I can’t lie. She and I didn’t have the relationship that you and I do. It was only for experimentation, nothing more. This means so much more. Please don’t think about all that, it’s the past. Let’s focus on the here and now, the two of us together. Can you do that?”

I am so protective of him and our relationship, that it’s impossible to put these thoughts out of my mind completely. I hate that she knows him like this, but I know it was different. I do my best to brush it off.

“I’m fine, it’s OK. I’ll try to do better,” I whisper as seductively as possible, trying to get past my bitterness for her.

I pick up the bottle of scented oil purchased online for just this occasion from the top of my nightstand. He sees it, and looks impressed again.

“You’re really prepared, aren’t you? You amaze me, my sweet Rebecca.”

He leans forward for a loving kiss, and all is forgotten. It’s just him and me, and I kick all unwelcome thoughts away.

I settle into the space between his open legs, and sit cross-legged between them. The oil is light and smells heavenly. I forgot a towel, so I lay his undershirt beneath him. I slowly pour a generous helping of oil over his cock and balls. He hums with satisfaction. Trying to remember all that I read, I begin under his testicles.

I locate the small indentation between his anus and balls, and I press gently. He pushes back against my hand; it must feel pretty good. Using my other hand, I delicately begin to massage his sac, as I continue to apply pressure on the sweet spot. His cock rises to the occasion. The oil makes easy work of gliding my hands all around his testicles and pubic bone. I remove my other hand from the spot, and starting at the base of his shaft, I squeeze gently, and glide my hand up to the head. Using a twisting motion, I lower it back down. I stay in a constant rhythm, while continuing to massage his balls.

If he’s had this done to him before, you’d never know it. His reaction is exactly what I was hoping for. He looks delighted, impressed with my knowledge. I thought I would come across as a bumbling idiot since I’ve never tried this before, but I guess he approves of my self-taught method.

I continue this action for a while, until I feel his cock begin to twitch. I stop, allowing him to breathe through it. When I pick back up, I try something different. I return to pressing the sweet spot while stroking his shaft. That area is like the magic button, and his body involuntarily spasms as I apply pressure.

He approaches orgasm a few more times, but we take our time, knowing that it isn’t supposed to be the end result. If it happens, that’s OK, but the intention of the exercise is to be pleasure and control while trying to awaken the groin chakra. The pleasure can be turned back into the body or expressed through ejaculation, but either way it’s a wonderful way to connect with a partner.

I love watching his beautiful body react to my touch. His eyes are dark and glistening from pure pleasure. His body is like an all-you-can-eat buffet, and I can’t get enough.

He’s in an almost meditative state, having turned the sexual energy inward as he controls his orgasm. There’s one last thing I want to try. I apply more oil to my hands. With my right hand I stroke his cock, and with my left hand, I insert a finger on into his anus, about an inch. I crook my finger and locate the prostate. I massage it gently, and vary the speed and pressure. I return my right hand back to the sweet spot. From what I read, this is the main event. This combination is supposed to drive him wild, and I’m not disappointed.

He moans loudly, and calls my name in his sweet accent over and over again. I remove my finger, and before I can grasp his cock, he begins to have an explosive ejaculation. His abs are flexing tightly as are all the muscles in his legs. I see veins pulsating on his face, as he grinds his teeth together in the decadent indulgence of sweet bliss. His orgasm seems to last for a least a minute or longer. He gasps for air, as he comes down from a great high.

His chest rises and falls, he’s trying to regulate his breathing back to normal. I take the shirt from beneath him, and clean him up as best I can. I throw the shirt, and the extra pillow below him to the ground, and climb into the nook next to his body. He grasps me tightly, and hugs me to his chest. He kisses me on the head, and keeps his lips in place. I feel comforted and more than a little proud of myself. I was able to give him pleasure that he could control and relax in, without him doing all the work.

I’m incredibly aroused, but I feel satiated having watched his experience. I was the giver, not the taker, of the act and I liked it. This was more than just a hand-job. It was another way to deeply connect with the man I love, in a way that he’s comfortable with.

“I love you, Rebecca. So much …,” he whispers as he falls asleep.

* * *

Wednesday morning arrives all too quickly. I didn’t get to see Wick at all yesterday, and won’t again until Friday. My agent and I are at the airport by six a.m. These people are going to see one haggard-looking model. Thank God it’s for hair products and not wrinkle cream, or they’d fire me before they hire me.

It’s a productive couple of days. The company is a start-up, aiming at specialty high-end salons and retailers. They have a large amount of seed capital and are using it for a full-out media blitz. Glossy magazines, commercials, billboards: the works. They’re starting regionally, with plans to expand nationally within two to five years. It’s perfect for me. A few days of work every few weeks or so.

Wick’s been at the station the last few days, and I’ve spoken to him only once. We’ve texted a few times, too, but that’s it. I miss him terribly. I’m thankful that my days have been consumed with meetings, but he’s in the forefront of my thoughts. I’ve never come close to falling for someone this hard. I think of him, I dream of him, and I feel lost whenever I’m apart from him. When I close my eyes, I see his emerald beauties staring lovingly at me. I’m hopelessly gone.

Our flight is delayed by more than an hour, and we don’t land until late Friday evening. He sent me a text letting me know that he’d be waiting for me at my place when I got in. It makes every second I’m not there feel like an eternity.

Barry pulls in front of my place, and I barely wait for the car to come to a stop before I hop out. He yells at me, and I throw him a half-wave goodbye. The door is unlocked but it’s dark inside. I thought I saw Wick’s car, but maybe I was mistaken. I wasn’t really paying much attention to the parking lot.

I hear a light snoring as I turn on the lamp in the living room. He’s sound asleep on the couch, and there are roses in a vase in front of him on the coffee table. I want to pounce on him, he looks so adorable, but I let him rest. I know it’s been a long week for him, and I’m sure he’s been waiting here for a while.

I tiptoe to the bedroom to drop my bags. The phone in my purse buzzes, and I fumble to dig it out. Melanie has sent me a text. It’s unusual for her to be up; she’s usually asleep on the couch by nine.

Hi Bec, I hope all went well in St. Louis. Call me in the am. XO

Strange.

I wander around the room, so revved up from the trip and the anticipation of seeing Wick that I can’t seem to settle down. I turn on some quiet music and unpack my bag. As I lean over the suitcase, I feel strong arms surround me. He’s incredibly warm, and I feel every nerve in my body relax with his touch.

“I’m sorry for falling asleep, gorgeous. I wanted to greet you with open arms. Do you forgive me?” he asks in his sleepy, sexy-as-hell accent.

I answer with my body.

I turn around, and meet his face with mine in a deep kiss. His warm tongue tangles with mine, and the warmth radiates throughout my system. His hands clutch my face, and move to my hair. He removes the clip I have holding my thick twist, and my hair tumbles down around our faces. He buries his nose in it against my neck, and inhales.

“I like your scent, Miss Rebecca. This will do just fine …”

“I’m glad you like it; you’ll be smelling it a lot. It’s one of the many products I’ll be pushing.”

He digs his fingers into my scalp, and begins to massage it. I can’t imagine anything feeling better than this in this earthly world. We continue to kiss as he makes love to my head with his hands. A loud moan escapes my mouth, and he grunts.

“Ooh, what that sound does to me,” he whispers through our kiss and I melt.

He leisurely undresses me as our lips stay conjoined. He shuffles out of his pants, and yanks his sweater over his head. He folds back the comforter on the bed, and pulls me in with him. I think for certain we’ll make love, but we don’t. We kiss until we both fall asleep wrapped in each other’s grasp.

I wake to the sound of Wick cursing quietly when his leg hits the bed’s footboard. I know it hurts, but he looks so cute I can’t help but smile.

“I’m sorry to wake you, love. At least you look concerned for my well-being,” he says with sarcasm and a smile. “I have help my dad this morning with a project, but I’ll be back this afternoon. Can we have a nice dinner out tonight or would you rather stay in?”

I roll out of bed, stark naked, and roll my tongue up the side of his neck to his ear. I whisper, “What do you think?” and he shivers.

“You got it, love. Fuck the dinner,” he says as he looks down, and drinks in my nakedness. “This is really unfair, miss. I’m already a half-hour late from watching you sleep this morning. I couldn’t seem to tear myself away from your beautiful face.”

I like his parents, a lot, so I feel a pang of guilt making him late.

“I’m sorry. Call me later, OK?”

“No need for apologies. I’d happily stand here all day and commit you to memory like that.” He shakes his head as he continues to stare. “But I do have to run. I love you, Becca, I’ll call you later.”

With that, he’s out the door.

I throw on some sweats, and start a pot of coffee. It’s early, but I’m too wired now to go back to bed. I remembered the message from Mel last night, and I know she’ll be up early so I may as well call her.

“Hi, Mel, I knew you’d be awake. What’s up with that text last night?”

“Hi, Bec. How was your trip?”

“It was fine, thanks. Great potential for some steady work. Anyway, about your text.”

“Can you come over this morning? I’d rather talk to you in person.”

What the hell: Why is she being so evasive? It’s not like her.

“OK, sure. I’ll see you in a little while.”

I get to her house, and it’s quiet. It’s never this quiet on a Saturday morning. Someone must have died.

“What’s going on? Where are Brian and the kids?”

“They went out for donuts and Brian was going to take them to the zoo. He’s trying to spend as much time with them as he can before season workouts start back up.”

She’s not looking at me as she speaks. She’s shuffling around the living room, arranging and re-arranging pillows on the couch.

Nothing feels right about this.

“Cut the crap, Mel. What’s going on, you’re weirding me out.”

She looks up, and her expression worries me. She looks sad.

“Have a seat, Becca,” I obey as she continues to shuffle around.

“You have to sit, Melanie. I can’t follow you around the room it’s making me sick. You’re scaring me. What is going on?”

She finally sits down next to me.

“Well, Brian, Jason and some of the other players have been doing some off-season conditioning. Jason thinks it a good idea to keep Brian’s Achilles injury flexible, so he’s gotten Brian into all kinds of different activities. The other guys have seen the benefits, so they all go along with whatever Jason recommends,”

I’m trying my best to see how this will form into a story of magnitude, but I can’t.

“He found a yoga studio in the city that he really likes, and the owner gives them access to a large private studio to do specialty training. Brian has really noticed a difference in his flexibility.”

I throw her my best, “get the hell on with it” look. She nods.

“Brian saw Wickham there on Thursday morning.”

Ah-ha. This is the big build-up, they all know Wick does yoga. So what? They’d never know what type of yoga he practices, and even if they did, it’s no big deal.

“I know, Melanie. Wick is really into yoga. He got into it as a type of therapy. It’s really helped him a lot, and I’m glad Brian has enjoyed it. Is that your big news? Trust me, you’re going to love a flexible man!”

I start to laugh, but she doesn’t join in. She still looks way too serious.

“I’m not finished, Becca. Brian saw Wick there with a woman. Not only that, he overheard an interesting conversation. You know Brian, he’s never one to spread gossip, but he was concerned enough that he told me about it.”

My throat becomes dry, and my palms are sweating. I don’t want to hear this.

“He said that he walked out of the studio to grab some water, and he heard a guy who sounded just like Wick. When he looked around the corner, Wick was standing in the hall outside one of the studios having a deep discussion with a blond woman. He said her hands were all over him, and she was telling him she loved him over and over again. Brian said Wick looked up, so he hid behind the wall. When he looked back, they were kissing.”

I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. This can’t be possible. He was working all week, and he’s been complaining that he’s had no time to go to the studio for a session with Eric. My shoulders are tensed, tight as a drum, sending a shooting pain to the back of my skull.

Poor Melanie looks like she’s about to be sick. This has had to be eating her up inside, thinking that Wick would do something this despicable.

“I thought about not telling you, but I could never live with myself. I don’t know what it all means, and you can do whatever you want with the information, I’ll stand behind you. Wick has never struck me as the cheating type, and I know that type all too well. Does he have any ex-girlfriends that you know of? I thought I’d remembered you saying he never really dated anyone. Jesus, I can’t stop talking. Say something to make me stop talking!”

She’s wringing her hands, and she stands up once again to re-arrange the pillows.

It had to be Pam, but what the fuck? He would have told me about going to the studio and seeing her, right? He told me that they agreed they didn’t care for each other, so now out of the blue, she’s professing her love for him? Unless, unless … it isn’t out of the blue. Maybe he’s been seeing her the whole time. It would explain how he could so easily put me off me sexually if he was still “experimenting” with her.

“Do you mind if I call Brian? I want to hear the words from him. I believe you, but I need to know what he thought he saw.”

She shakes her head, “Of course, Bec. I understand, I’d do the same thing.”

I dial his number, and he answers quickly. He must have known we were having this conversation.

“I’m sorry that Mel had to tell you about what I saw. I hope you know I like Wick a lot, he’s a great guy, and I only mentioned it because I love you and I was concerned.”

“I know that, Brian, and I love you too. Can you tell me exactly what you saw?”

He reiterates what Melanie said, with one exception.

“Whoever that woman was, she knew about you. I heard her say, ‘She isn’t right for you, Wick, I am. You know how good we are together.’ She seemed a little nuts, Bec.”

I take Melanie’s hand, and pull her in for a hug. She’s sniffling as I leave. It takes all my strength to lift my leaden legs and get to the car. I feel like I’m more dangerous on the road right now, than if I’d drunk four bottles of wine. I’m hurt, confused, and I feel betrayed by the one man who swore on his life he’d never betray anyone ever again. I guess it’s true, that a tiger can’t change his stripes.

Chapter 21

Wick won’t be over until later tonight. I have all afternoon to stew, and that’s not good. I’ve been on my computer trying to spy on Pam. I found her Facebook page, she and Wick are friends so it wasn’t so difficult, and I spend a couple of hours pouring through it: typical pictures of family and friends, but none of the two of them together. She’s very pretty, and has an incredible figure. But I’m just adding fuel to the jealousy fire by snooping.

He texts me a couple of times during the day. I miss you and I love you. Even through text, I don’t offer much in the way of a response. I’ll see you later, is the best I can do.

I can’t wrap my head around it. He’s been so honest and forthcoming since our trip, how could he lie? He never told me he was going to the studio, but I assumed that he was too busy because of his work schedule. I would hope that a chance meeting with Pam is something he would mention, but I’ve expressed my insecurities about their relationship, so I just don’t know.

At noon, he sends me a text saying that he’ll be finished early and should be at my place around three. I need something to occupy my mind for the next three hours, but every time I try to focus on something else, he creeps back in. My stomach is filled with dread, and I just can’t shake it.

I open the freezer to stress-eat some Ben and Jerry’s, when I notice a vodka bottle. I know the notion one little drink will help calm my nerves, is the biggest lie I can tell myself when feeling like this, but I pour a heavy dose into a drinking glass over a little ice, very little, and add a quick splash of orange juice to make it seem less as if I’m drinking straight from the bottle. The next thing I know, Wick is standing above me, attempting to wake me up.

“Becca, love, are you OK? Come on, you’re really frightening me.”

My eyes grudgingly open to a face filled with panic. At first glance I’m thrilled to see him, but then the anger and dread flood to the forefront of my brain. He’s been lying and possibly cheating on me. Behind him I see the empty vodka bottle on the counter. Shit. I sit up, and try to form a sentence.

“Wickham. What the fuck …” The words slide from my mouth without much form.

He’s confused.

“Becca, are you drunk? Why were you drinking in the middle of the day?”

He couldn’t have given me a more perfect opening. If I were sober, I could eloquently express my feelings, but, alas, I am not.

“You’re a fucking liar. Did you fuck her, Wick? Did she lick your balls, too?”

Now he’s even more confused, and laughing at me, which pisses me off even more.

“Don’t fucking laugh at me! Do you laugh at Pam?”

His face pales.

“Why do you keep bringing her up? I told you: That was long ago, and I didn’t have a relationship with her. You and I can’t move forward if you’re stuck in the past. I’m begging you to stop.”

“No! You stop! Brian saw you with her at the studio when you told me you were working! He fucking saw you kiss her!” I belt out. I’m not quite sure how much of this is intelligible, it sounded garbled coming out of my mouth–but he heard it.

He gives me a weird, sad smile, grabs his keys and walks out.

What the fuck?

My head is pounding from screaming, so I lie myself back down and pass out.

* * *

When I wake up, the sun is going down, and there are no lights on. My head is in a vise. My eyeballs are so dry I can hear them when I blink. I have a haunting memory of confronting Wick. Part of my mind is trying to trick me into thinking it was just a dream, but my gut knows it wasn’t. I try to recall what I said exactly, but I can’t. I know it couldn’t have been good, because he’s not here. I look at my cellphone to see if he left any messages.

Two texts from Melanie, curious about how it went, but that’s all I see. Nothing from him. I really fucked up. I wanted to have a mature conversation about all of this and get to the truth of what happened. Now, he’s seen me as some sort of drunk psycho, throwing accusations at him. It will be difficult to regain the moral high ground.

After a thorough vomiting, I take a long, hot shower. My eyes are swollen as if I’ve been crying. I can’t lose him, but I have to know the truth.

I feel little better after the shower and crawling into some nice comfy sweatpants. I have to get this over with. I call his phone: no answer. I send text after text: also no answer. He’s ignoring me. I’d rather be screamed at than ignored any day. I don’t think this is going to get me anywhere, I have to go see him. Now is not the time for vanity; I grab my car keys and drive over to his place looking like an extra from a zombie movie.

My heart clenches when I see his jeep out front. Warring emotions of wanting to kill him and wanting to hug him jumble my thinking. I lightly knock on the door, and he answers. No shirt and low-slung, ratty jeans. I take that as a challenge to my fortitude.

“Hi. Can I come in?”

He nods, and takes a step back so I can enter. He closes the door, but remains stuck in the same spot. I feel his eyes boring into my back as I walk in and sit down. This is not going to be easy.

“I apologize for before. I had a bit too much to drink,” I begin. He snorts at my comment. “And I don’t remember much of what I said. I’m guessing it wasn’t kind.”

After a long pause, he comes to sit on the couch, but as far away from me as he can.

“Why were you drinking so early today?”

“I couldn’t wait to see you, but I had some things on my mind. Things we need to discuss, Wick,” I reply with a little more backbone this time. I have to remind myself that there is a reason I’m upset.

“Yes, Becca, we do. Why are you so hung up on Pam? I’ve told you time and time again that it’s you I love, but and she and I have a history together that I can’t change.”

“Brian saw you with her at he studio this week, Wick. That’s not what I would call ancient history.” (You go, girl!)

I stop patting my own back when I see his face. It’s true. He did see her, and he lied about it. Well, a lie of omission, but a lie all the same.

“He said she was hanging all over you, saying that she loved you. Is that true?”

His beautiful eyes are glazed over, dull. He’s not yet said a word. He looks down at his large hands, and inspects his nails.

I wait. And wait. And wait some more.

I don’t know what he expects me to do or say, but it’s clear he’s not talking. This is more like the Wick I first met: Closed off from communication.

I get up and pour myself a large glass of water to ease my cotton mouth, and plop back down in the same spot. I kick off my shoes to indicate I’m not going anywhere without some explanation.

He’s had enough of the standoff apparently because he rises, walks to his bedroom and closes the door. Not a word the entire time. I don’t know how to deal with this. I want to fight, yell, cry and throw things. I need this to be cleared up. All I want to do is run into his bedroom and snuggle deep into his arms, but I can’t. I wish he had the same need, because if he did he’d come clean and make me understand. In my eyes, his silence is an admission of guilt.

I remain steadfast that I’m not going anywhere until he tells me what happened. It’s late, but with my afternoon blackout, I’m not very tired. I grab the throw at the end of the couch, and snuggle up to watch some infomercials. He’ll have to talk to me at some point.

I wake up with the sun darting through the window, and piercing my eyes. It’s early, but I feel pretty good. Much better than I did yesterday. His bedroom door is open, but I don’t hear him. I look out the window and see that his Jeep is still here. He must have gone for a run. I take the opportunity to go to the bathroom to freshen up. I fully intend to take up residence on his couch until he gives in. I love him too much to throw this away without an explanation.

I steal a banana from the bowl in the kitchen, and sit back down on my new home-away-from-home. I return Melanie’s many texts, with one of my own, “I’m working on it,” to settle her down. Otherwise, she’ll lay siege to my phone all day with questions.

The front door opens, and he strolls in, sweaty from his run. I sit up tall and smug, ready to start the conversation, but he walks right past me to the bathroom. I know Scottish men have a reputation for stubbornness, but this is ridiculous. He must have to work today, so what does he expect me to do?

He walks out of the bathroom, stark naked. I swallow hard. A dripping-wet body on display is not a fair way to fight. I assume he’s going to get dressed, but instead, he walks in the buff to the kitchen and proceeds to make himself breakfast. Two can play at this game.

I stand up and slowly peel off my clothing. I linger as I fold each piece before I place it on the table. I walk into the kitchen, and squeeze past him to get some juice from the fridge. I hear a slight catch in his breath as I bend over to leisurely inspect the contents of the refrigerator. The two of us are in a naked standoff in his small kitchen, vying for space to make ourselves breakfast.

If I weren’t so angry, this would be hilarious.

I go about my business like I own the place. I decide it needs a nice housecleaning. I open the windows and grab the vacuum cleaner from the closet. His apartment is on the first floor, so anyone walking past would have a perfect view. I’ve struck quite a nerve. He storms over and slams the window shut. He closes the blinds, and pulls the drapes. He’s made his point. No one gets to see me naked but him.

I can’t help but notice his impressive erection when he walks by, such a beautiful sight to see. He goes into his bedroom and slams the door. I hear him speaking to someone, and I put my ear to the door to listen. He’s calling out of work today, and he never calls out of work. We could both be in for a really long afternoon.

When he emerges from the room, he walks over to where I’m sitting on the couch and sits down next to me. OK, good, he’s ready to talk. I turn to face him, and purse my lips, waiting for an apology and an explanation. Instead, he reaches for the remote and turns on Sportscenter. I turn to face the TV, feeling foolish, and we sit in silence and watch the highlights. This won’t work.

I go back to my housecleaning. That seemed to get him riled up before. I find some spray cleaner and a rag, and begin to thoroughly dust the living room. The TV really seems like it needs a good cleaning. I can’t help but my move my rear along with the motion of my hands as I dust. He’s still as a statue. I hear his breathing, but it’s raspy. This is working just fine. Now it’s time to give the coffee table where his legs are perched my full attention. I’m completely blocking his view of the TV, and he has no choice but to stare at my breasts that are gently swaying as I dust. I begin to hum as if my actions are perfectly mundane.

In a flash, he’s on me. He kicks the coffee table out from under me, my rag hovering over the now empty spot, and he grabs my shoulders. He crushes his lips on mine, and I’m quick to return the intensity. He’s angry, I feel it, but he’s aroused. I see the disconnected, animalistic side of him that’s he’s buried so deeply inside. His erection pokes sharply into my stomach as he clutches me even tighter. His body wants to fuck, not make love, and he’s following his instincts for the first time in a long while.

He picks me up by the waist as if I weigh nothing, and deposits me over the arm of the couch. My face is planted in the cushion, and my rear is up in the air facing him. He kneels and buries his face aggressively into my crotch. I cry out in surprise, and pleasure. His tongue plays with my lips and wet slit. It drives me wild. This will make me orgasm in a matter of seconds if he continues. He covers my pussy with his entire mouth, and sucks forcefully. My clitoris awakens and my nerves begin to tremor with an impending orgasm. He must feel it, because he pulls away, and begins to lick my ass. I scream out as he inserts two fingers deep inside me, as he continues to tease with his tongue.

Before I can give in completely, he stops, and rises up behind me. He plunges into me deeply, as he grips my ass hard with both hands. My face presses into the sofa cushion as he thrusts; with each one, he lets out a loud grunt. The detached, hedonistic nature of our sex is intoxicating. Sometimes you just need a little down and dirty. His guttural sounds are getting faster, and I know he’s close. Three more hard thrusts and I feel his abs contract as his cock releases deep inside me. He stills, emptying himself completely.

As the last spasm wanes, he pulls out and walks to the bathroom. Well, geez. Wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am feels appropriate right about now. He re-emerges holding a towel and wearing a pair of gym shorts. He unceremoniously tosses me the towel as he goes to pour himself a beer. Seems awfully early to start drinking, but I guess I’m not one to judge. I wrap my lower half in the towel, and move as quickly as I can to the bathroom. I clean myself up and grab his robe off the back of the door. I can’t be exposed if he isn’t.

When I return to the living room, he’s on beer number two. His sips are large pours into a gaping mouth. I was so close to orgasm a couple of times, but I never made it. I feel edgy and more than a little annoyed. I believe he did that on purpose, as punishment. The air has cleared of sexual tension, and I can hope that now he’s ready to talk. I want him to speak first, so I sit and wait. I watch as he pours the rest of the second beer down his throat and he rises to get number three. Jesus, I’ve never seen him drink like this.

I’m the first to break.

“OK, Wick. I give. I’m waving the white flag. If you don’t speak to me, I’ll leave. I get the message that even though you have the explaining to do, I’ve crossed the line. I know you and I are inexperienced when it comes to handling relationships, but this is ridiculous.”

He contemplates something as he stares out the window beyond my shoulder. After a few moments, he finally starts to talk.

“I needed to see Eric. It had been awhile since I’d had a session with him, and I felt like I needed some grounding. I didn’t mention it to you beforehand, because I made the plans last minute when I got off of work early. He had some studio time free, so I rushed over to see him. He mentioned to me that Pam had been having a hard time, that the guy she’d been seeing broke it off with her,” he says, a sad tone to his voice, as if he genuinely feels sorry for her. “Eric had been trying to get her to come in to meditate with him, to help her get over this guy. She had come for the first time when I was there that night. As I was leaving, she was coming in, and she went a little crazy. I hadn’t seen or talked to her in a while, and I guess she’d missed me. She sort of snapped and started clawing all over me. She was begging me to have sex with her like we used to, and claimed she loved me. She was confused. We’d never had a loving relationship, and she knew it. I think she was lonely and confused.

“Brian couldn’t have heard our whole conversation, because I talked her off the ledge. I told her that I’d met the woman of my dreams, and that I’d never been happier in my life. She knew it just by looking at me. She said she was ready to leave Chicago and move on with her life. She asked for a kiss to say goodbye. That’s all Brian saw. If he had have heard the whole conversation, he would have heard me professing my love for you, and saying goodbye to a good friend who’s helped me immeasurably. I never said anything about it because she’s leaving for good, and the mention of her only seems to upset you. I don’t blame you for that, so I didn’t want to hurt you, especially since we’ve gotten so close. I’m sorry for not telling you about it, but I can’t believe the way you reacted. You could have just asked me, but instead you accused me of doing something I didn’t do. I could never hurt someone again, Becca, I’ve learned my lesson. If I ever wanted to be with someone else, I would say it, but believe me, there is no one else but you. I don’t know if there will ever be anyone else for me ever again. My future begins with you.”

I should be thrilled with this admission, but he looks sad. I broke his heart by accusing him of being that same guy he was so long ago. He’s worked so hard to put that jerk behind him, the fact that I would think of him that way is devastating.

I place one hand on his thigh and he covers it with his own. We sit together in silence. I’m ashamed, and I have everything to lose if I lose him, and I can’t bear that thought. I hang my head as I speak.

“I’m sorry, Wick. I knew in my gut there had to be an explanation, but I just can’t stand the thought of losing you. You know how much I hate the thought of the two of you sharing such intimate moments, so when Brian told me what he saw, I snapped. Can you understand? Can’t you try to put yourself in my shoes for a minute?”

He wraps his large arms around me in a tight embrace. He’s thinking about it from my perspective, and he gets it. It would kill him if he’d heard that I’d been seen with another man, especially if we shared a history.

We hug each other while rocking in a slow silent rhythm. We’re both forgiven.

Chapter 22

Our relationship has been building beautifully over the past few months. We’ve been spending a lot of time with Melanie and Brian, and the four of us get along well. Wick didn’t harbor any resentment toward Brian for telling me about Pam. If anything, he respects Brian more for watching out for me. Wick’s happy that I have family who’ll always have my back.

I finally got to meet Eric. Wick and I try to make it to the studio together at least once a week for sessions with him. I’ve never felt better in my life. I feel stronger now, both physically and mentally. Wick and I practice at home every chance we can. I’ve learned so many things, and I’m more in tune with the Tantric principles when we make love. The connection we share when we stare deeply into each other’s eyes, touches a part of my soul I never knew existed.

Wick and I are headed over to Mel and Brian’s house today for a cookout. Brian leaves for training camp next week, and it’s become a tradition for them to host a few other players, coaches and their families for a summer bash.

I see Jason, Katie and their kids walking over as we pull onto their street. I beep the horn and Katie waves back vigorously. She’s one of my biggest supporters with Wick; she adores him. She’s always had good instincts when it comes to people, a sixth sense or something, and she’s cheered us on from the beginning.

“Hi!” Katie squeals as we emerge from the car. She trots over and gives us both a big hug. “I’m so glad you’re both here. I feel like it’s been ages since we’ve had a chance to catch up.”

She links her arm in mine, as Wick and Jason fall into step as they walk behind us.

“Mel always keeps me up to speed with you two. Bec, I’m so happy for the two of you. Wick’s a good soul; don’t ever let him get away. Maybe a spring wedding?”

I hear a loud snort as Melanie greets us at the door. I’m thankful Wick didn’t hear Katie planning our future.

“Jesus, Kat. Stop marrying everyone off already!” Melanie says not quite as quietly as I would have liked considering Wick is but four feet behind us.

“Well, when it’s right, it’s right. Why wait?” Katie has to get in her last two-cents. “Besides, Louise is practically in college now, and we need some babies!”

Lou appears as if she was conjured up when Kat said her name.

“Aunt Becky!” she screams and jumps into my open arms.

I really can’t believe how fast children grow. Since her birth, my life has been turned completely upside-down, but in the best way possible. I’m close with my family once again, I have an amazing man in my life, and I’m modeling again on my own terms. When I lived in New York, I never realized how many people had control over my life. I thought I was independent, but I really wasn’t.

Wick comes over and grabs Lou out of my arms. She squeals with delight. Ever since their first meeting, these two have been close. His eyes twinkle whenever she says his name. We’ve never discussed kids, or even marriage for that matter, so I don’t really know how he feels on the subject. I know he loves Lou, and loves family, so I’m hopeful. His brother, Lachlan, proposed to the girl he’s been seeing, and he asked Wick to be his best man. I assumed he would, but Wick wasn’t so sure given his past behavior. Lach has forgiven him–at least that’s how he acts–and he was proud to ask him. Wick can’t fully forgive himself for what he did, even though he’s moved on, so it meant the world to him for Lach to put his trust in him.

There are quite a few people at the party already, and the house is jumping. Kids are in the pool, and the adults look relaxed and happy. Most of the men have a stressful two weeks ahead of them at camp, so they’re letting their hair down. I recognize the two young girls approaching us as the ones who watched Lou at the game last year.

“Hi, Louise. Can we take her?” one of the girls asks Wick as Lou climbs on his back. “We’re supposed to be watching her.”

Lou wants no part of a separation from Wick, and the girls struggle to get her away from him and into the other room. I can hear her complaining loudly as they try to distract her.

“I love that little lass. She’s adorable, just like her beautiful aunt,” Wick says, as he kisses my neck.

He leaves me to go and talk with the guys outside. As soon as he walks away, Melanie comes over and just about yanks my arm out of the socket.

“Ouch! What the hell are you doing, Mel?”

“I completely forgot to tell you, but Justin is coming today. Brian asked him to come, not even remembering about your history. I’m so sorry,” she says, looking worried.

Oh, shit.

I never even called the guy back, and he hounded me for weeks after we slept together. I pray that he brings a date so he won’t want to talk to me either.

“Shit, Mel! I never told Wick about him. Since it was just a one-night stand, I didn’t even think about it. I hope to God he won’t say anything,”

But as soon as those words leave my mouth, I feel a wave of dread washes over me. He’s just walked in the front door, and is making a beeline for me. Holy crap. Melanie looks like she’s swallowed a bug, but she steps in and tries to diffuse the situation.

“Justin! It’s great to see you! Brian and the guys are outside if you’d like to join them. Can I get you something to drink? The bar is stocked, and the cooler is over there. How’ve you been?”

She doesn’t stop running her mouth for a minute. He’s been ambushed, and doesn’t know how to react. He looks at me, and I pretend that I didn’t see him. She shoves him out the back door, and he is handed a beer before he can realize what happened.

“OK, now if I can do that for the next couple of hours, everything will be fine!” she says with a huff, as she wipes nervous perspiration off her forehead.

I look through the kitchen window and see Wick talking to Jason and a couple of coaches, while Justin talks to Brian and a couple of guys I don’t know. They’re only a few inches away from each other. I just hope it gets busy enough that they don’t have a chance to chat.

About an hour later, the place is buzzing, and there are kids everywhere. Melanie set out a small buffet just for them, and after they eat she shoos them inside to watch a movie upstairs on the large TV. Now it’s just the adults outside. I’ve been helping her, so I’ve managed to stay busy and out of Justin’s sight. Everyone takes their plates full of food to sit at the tables she arranged on the lawn. Wick makes it over to me; I haven’t even spoken to him since we walked in the door.

“Hi, love, where’ve you been hiding?” he asks, as he gives me a quick peck on the cheek, and pulls me into his side.

“I’ve been helping Mel. I’m sorry. How are the guys?”

“Guy are guys. You’re much more interesting to be around. Let’s go eat, I’m starved,” he says innocently, but the look in his eyes is intense. He’s hungry for me, and I feel it.

We make our plates, and sit together at the table closest to the house where Katie and Jason are seated. Katie talks about the women’s shelter, and all the work she and Mel have been doing over the summer. Wick is intrigued, and offers suggestions about how he can help get the fire department closest to the center to help. The two of them are deep in conversation, and are throwing ideas around like darts. Jason and I smile at each other; we’re enjoying watching them plan to save the world.

That’s when I feel someone sit down right next to me.

Shit. Shit. And triple shit.

“Hey, sexy. Long time no see …” Justin slurs. He smells like beer.

I remember him bragging that he didn’t drink very much, so his tolerance must be low. He’s drunk.

Quadruple shit.

“Hi, Justin, it’s good to see you. Can I speak to you in the house?” I ask as quietly as possible so Wick, who’s right behind me, can’t hear.

“Now you want to talk to me?” he asks loudly, and it gets Wick’s attention.

Wick looks at Justin, who’s staring at me, then looks at me, confused. Katie jumps in to try to save the day.

“Justin! It’s so good to see you,” she jabs Jason in the ribs for help. “How’ve you been? Jason, take him over to our house and show him your new weights. I bet he’s got some good pointers for you.”

She grasping at straws to remove him from the table. Justin ignores her, and won’t stop staring at me.

“I see your face every day. Your picture is on an ad on the train. I haven’t stopped thinking about you. We were so good together.”

He places his hand on my thigh, and the next moments play before me like a slow-motion film. I see Wick reach in front of me, practically knocking me to the ground, and his hand lands firmly around Justin’s throat. I stand up to get out of the way. Justin appears shocked at first, and then becomes enraged. He reaches out to grab Wick in the same manner. The two of them look like fighting dogs that grab hold and won’t let go. Their faces are bright red; they’re struggling to breathe.

Jason and Brian are quick to jump into the fray and separate them. Justin and Wick both bend over and gasp for air.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Justin spits out at Wick, obviously not discerning that he’s with me.

Wick gets back up in his face.

“Don’t you lay a fucking hand on her. Don’t even look at her. She’s mine, you asshole. I don’t know who you think you are, but if I ever see your face again I’ll break it in half,” Wick says in a deadly low register, his accent making it difficult to understand.

The point gets across, and Justin allows Brian to walk him inside. It happened so fast, that none of the kids heard what happened, and was over before most of the other guests saw. Thank God.

Wick wastes no time, and begins to walk toward the front door. I have to double-time to catch up with him. He doesn’t stop or turn around; he’s on a straight path to the car. He throws open the driver’s side door and gets in. I race to the other side before he can drive away. He doesn’t start the engine, so I think he wants me to get in.

I close the door, and we’re ensconced in the silence of the car. His chest is rising and falling rapidly; he’s struggling to get himself under control. I’ve never seen him lose his temper. He usually maintains a cool façade no matter what the situation. Granted, we haven’t been confronted with something like this before.

Never did I think that we would run into Justin like this. I hadn’t given him another thought since the night we were together, but he clearly remembers me. I didn’t bother telling Wick because I didn’t feel the need. Must we tell each other about every one-night stand? I think Wick was caught off-guard. He liked it that I had no sexual history since I moved to Chicago. What guy wouldn’t? Or what woman for that matter? No one likes to hear those stories. I see what problems it created for him and me because of my jealousy regarding Pam.

Other than pure anger, I have no idea what he’s feeling. His eyes are closed, and he’s deep into meditative breathing, trying to calm down. I’m grateful he wants a clear mind before we have the inevitable discussion. I try to emulate him, but I’m not as skilled. My heart is racing too fast to slow it through breathing. I’m scared to death of what he’s going to say.

He breaks the pose, and rubs his hands on his face vigorously. He’s ready to speak.

“Do you have something to tell me, Rebecca? Who was that guy and why did he feel like he could put his hand on you?”

I try to swallow and find my voice, but my mouth is bone dry.

“I’m sorry, Wick. I made a huge mistake before you and I met. I let Melanie and Katie set me up with that guy, but it was a terrible date,” I say as he continues to stare out the front window.

“One bad date and he acts like that? I don’t think so.”

“Well, we slept together. I wasn’t interested in him for a relationship, but it had been so long since I’d had sex that I allowed it to happen. He tried to contact me for a long time after that night, but I ignored him. I know it’s a terrible thing to do to someone, but I just didn’t know what to say. I really never thought I’d see him again, so I didn’t mention him to you. I didn’t want you thinking about it and becoming jealous.

“I know I sound like a hypocrite, especially after I gave you such a hard time about Pam. I’m sorry. I never want to hurt you, I love you.”

He closes his eyes, and rests his forehead on the steering wheel. He remains silent. To my surprise, he starts the car, and drives back to my house without saying a word.

He parks the car in front, and takes my hand as we go inside. He’s no longer giving off anger vibes, but I’m not sure exactly what emotion has replaced them. He’s difficult to read.

Now that we’re alone, I feel the need to continue with my apology.

“Please, Wick, don’t be angry with me. I didn’t even like him, he was incredibly boring …”

He stops my rant with a sweet kiss.

“I don’t want to hear about him anymore, what’s done is done. However, I do want to hear about every other guy in your life, no matter when it was. I want you to tell me all about your first love, first kiss, your third-grade crush, whoever. I want it all. Imagining you with another man or thinking that you have any other men in your head is hard for a guy like me. I have to know that if we ever run into anyone in your history, I’ll know about it.”

“I don’t think that’s such a great idea, Wick. When I heard about Pam, all I could do was obsess over her. Maybe we should just let the past stay in the past.”

“No, I can’t do that. Please, humor me.”

We sit on my sofa, and I tell him all about my uneventful love life. I tell him about Charlie, in fourth grade, whom I’d let kiss me on the cheek and then thought I’d gotten pregnant from it because I had the stomach flu afterward. I tell him about my first what I thought was love, in seventh grade: A beautiful boy, Roger, who turned out to be gay once we reached high school. I tell him about Harrison, and the details of our relationship.

He sits quietly, contemplating and consuming every story I share.

“Then there was this one guy who really took my breath away. He was my knight in shining armor, rescuing my sweet niece, not once, but twice. It turned out that under his armor, there were a few tarnished spots, but he’s tried his best to polish those out. I never knew that the type of love I saw in movies really existed. That the mere presence of someone could make your legs feel weak. That he’s the first thought in your head in the morning, and the last one you have at night. That guy has made me forget about all the other men I’ve ever known.”

A huge smile breaks his stony countenance.

“Thank you, my love. Thank you for sharing your stories with me, and thank you for loving me. I feel whole with you in my life,” he whispers as he leans in for a kiss. A kiss that becomes needy and passionate almost the instant our lips touch.

“Mine are the only lips you’ll ever touch again, my Rebecca. I love you.”

His words feel like warm caramel pouring through my body.

I was scared that he would be more upset that I hadn’t told him about Justin. I think after the initial shock wore off, he realized that he was no hypocrite. He’s had quite an illustrious past, and any day the tables could be turned. A woman from his past could be anywhere, anytime.

He told me his stories, which were admittedly hard to hear, and he now knows all mine. We have a clean slate, with no surprises ahead of us.

Chapter 23

Wick and I decide to celebrate our one-year anniversary by going to the Bears game with Melanie and our group, just like our first date last year. He insisted on meeting up with us just as he did the last time. He admitted that waiting for me to walk up and having a chance to spy on me before I saw him made for one of the greatest days of his life. This time it’s even better, because we’re in love. The sight of him makes my stomach flip.

The Bears are leading their division, so the game is a sellout today. With our crazy crowd it’s a little difficult to look out for him and manage the kids. I’m walking with Lou, holding her hand, while Mel talks on the phone with someone. We get squashed together when another large group of people tries to pass in front of us. I get separated from Lou’s tiny hand, and begin to panic. I push Mel to get her attention and she ends her call. We all spread out and look for her. Mel’s boys call out for her, since she sometimes thinks this is game. I run as fast as I can up and down the concourse where we were walking, but there are too many people to see someone that small. My mind races with terrible outcomes.

“Excuse me, miss. Does this wee one belong to you?”

I turn around, and see two loves of my life, smiling together. Those were the first words I ever heard come out of his mouth. Wick is holding Lou high on his large shoulders, and she’s giggling in delight.

I give him a bear hug, and wag my finger at Lou.

“My dear, you are going to be the death of your poor Auntie Becca!” I say, and Wick laughs. “Thank you, once again for saving the day, sweetheart. I love you.”

I give him a kiss, and Lou wiggles to get down. Wick hands a squirmy Lou over to Melanie.

“Get a harness for that girl, will you?” Wick says, laughing as Melanie thanks him profusely.

She digs through her large purse, and finds a long hair ribbon. She ties it onto the back of Lou’s little overalls.

“There, a perfect leash. I’m going to have a drink,” Mel says, as she turns and grips Lou’s tether as she runs in front of her.

Our group reassembles and heads for the elevators to the luxury suites.

Wick pulls me back, so that we’re alone.

“I saw you in the crowd, and I was happily watching you. That’s when I saw you two get separated. If we ever have a wandering child like her, I may never let her leave the house.”

I heard him loud and clear. If we have a child. He’s speaking in plurals and I like it.

The day is perfect, except for the bitter wind and mist off the lake, but in my world it’s warm and sunny. Wick and I are in our own little bubble, ignoring everything around us. This time last year, I was just cracking the outer shell in getting to know him. Now we’re meshed together, deep in each other’s lives. We know all about each other, the good and the bad, no secrets.

The Bears win the game, and the crowd is going wild. He and I remain in our seats, gazing at each other. He’s been particularly attentive today, and I’ve noticed.

“Are you as happy as I am, Wick? I have to pinch myself that it’s only been a year since we were here, awkwardly getting to know each other. In a way it feels like yesterday, but it also feels as if I’ve known you my whole life.”

“I feel the same way, love. I’m grateful to you for having the patience to stay with me and help me work through my issues. To celebrate, I’d like to take you back to the restaurant from that first night.”

We haven’t been there since our first date. It was so romantic that now seems like the perfect time, especially with him in this mood.

“Absolutely, Wick. You know how much I loved that place.”

We make a hasty exit, and Melanie and Katie give us knowing grins as we leave. They probably think we’re rushing out of here to go have sex. Anyone watching us today would likely assume the same.

We brace ourselves against the cold, just like last time, and rush to his car.

“Our reservation isn’t for another hour. Do you want to go have a drink beforehand somewhere?”

“I’m good staying right here with you in this warm car,” I say seductively, smiling as I peel off two of my layers.

He keeps the engine running to keep the heat going. He turns on the radio to a soft rock station. I feel like I’m in high school again. He leans over and we begin to kiss. Our rhythm stays slow, in time with the music. I’m overly aroused and feel like I could rip his clothes off with my teeth. Instead I refocus, and enjoy the present, his soft, warm lips caressing mine in a loving gesture.

He breaks our trance when he notices the time.

“Shit, we’re late! Where did the time go?”

We’ve been kissing for over an hour, and it felt like five minutes. My body is thoroughly heated, as are my loins, and my lips are swollen. Best damn feeling in the world.

He speeds over to the restaurant, and parks the car haphazardly. My state of bliss is rudely interrupted by all the rushing around. I guess he’s worried they’ll give away our table.

He practically pulls my arm out of its socket yanking me from the car and pulling me with him into the front door.

“Jesus, Wick! Slow down, what’s the big rush?”

When my eyes adjust to the dim lighting, I can’t believe what I see. Dozens of lit candles cover every table. I look beyond them and see that our families and friends are packed in the room. Melanie, Brian and their kids, Katie and Jason’s family, Lachlan, his fiancé, and Wick’s parents, and many more. It’s not even close to my birthday, so I stand, shocked and confused.

I turn back for an explanation from Wick, and he’s kneeling on one knee, looking up at me.

Dear God.

“My dearest, lovely Rebecca. Since the first day I ever laid eyes on you, I knew you were the one for me. I felt a unique connection with you the first time I ever touched your beautiful face. I can’t imagine living on the same planet as you and not sharing every waking moment with you in my arms,” he pauses and pulls a box out of his jacket pocket. “I’ve had this for quite a while, but I wanted the timing to be perfect. Will you marry me, my sweet Becca?”

My eyes fill with tears of joy as he slides the ring on my shaking finger. I feel my head nodding “yes” as he stands and picks me up. He squeezes me tightly and spins me around in full circle. My head is in outer space, floating above it all. None of this feels real.

The love of my life just proposed to me in front of all of our family and friends. He must have been planning this for quite a while. I can’t believe he pulled it off without anyone spoiling up the surprise.

I return back to the here and now, and see that everyone is clapping and whooping for us. Champagne is being poured, and I’m handed a full glass. Once everyone has a drink, Wick pulls me to his side and raises his glass. Everyone in the room follows suit.

“May the best you've ever seen

Be the worst you'll ever see;

May a mouse never leave your pantry

With a teardrop in his eye

May you keep whole and hearty

Till you're old enough to die,

May you be just as happy

As I wish you to be.

“This is my wish for my dear Rebecca and for all of you, our family. My God bless us now and forever. Slainte!”

We swallow our drinks, and begin our beautiful celebration.

He’s going to be my husband.

Chapter 24

Wick doesn’t want us to jump ahead of his brother Lach’s wedding, but theirs is still quite a while off. Lach doesn’t graduate until next year, and he and his fiancé don’t want to start planning until he finds a job.

If Wick had his way, we’d be married by a justice of the peace today. I don’t want a huge wedding, but I do want to include our families and special friends. I want to see Melanie’s boys in their tuxes and my little Lou in a little flower-girl gown.

We are unexpectedly lucky to be able to reserve a Saturday date at the Stan Mansion in Logan Square after a last-minute cancellation. The venue is an old masonic temple that has been restored. It’s lovely inside and out. However, it only gives us three weeks to prepare.

I hustle to find a dress, while Melanie and Katie take the lead finding their bridesmaid dresses and helping me organize everything else. We’re keeping the number below a hundred guests, which is about as intimate as we can get given family and close friends.

Wick has never been happier. He is so excited at the prospect of being married, and wants to be involved with the decisions. He requested white heather and purple thistle for the flowers: It’s a traditional Scottish thing. He’s also going to pin a small piece of fabric to my waist, the Dunmore family plaid. It looks like a piece of a tablecloth from an Italian restaurant, red and white squares. I saw a picture of his parents’ wedding, and she was wearing the same patch of plaid that I will be. My family has never had a lot of tradition, unless you count the weird southern ones, so I’m proud to carry on the legacy.

Our wedding is set for the nineteenth of November, the Saturday before Thanksgiving. We’re going to stay in Chicago for the holiday since our families will all be here, and then we’ll leave for our honeymoon the following Sunday. We’re going to Scotland for two weeks to visit his relatives, and see his hometown, I can’t wait. He really wants to visit Georgia, but that trip will have to wait: My kooky relatives might be a deal breaker for him.

We decide now that we’re engaged, to hold off until our wedding night to have sex. The anticipation will build to make the night even more special, or so I keep telling myself. He’s been diving deep into meditation to help. We sleep together, which makes it all the more difficult. When he wakes up beside me in all his glory, it’s almost impossible not to jump him.

“It would seem I have a little problem, love. I had a dream about you last night, and I’ve been a little bit uncomfortable,” he says as he rolls over on top of me, and presses his marble-like erection against my stomach. “Thank God we only have three more days, I’m a bit eager to make love to my wife.”

He says “wife” with a huge smile and a nuzzle into my neck. I can’t believe in a few short days we’ll be official. All of the rushed planning has created a slight distraction from the fact that we’re getting married, as silly as it sounds.

He gets out of bed with a groan, and puts on his jeans and a thick sweater: one of my many favorite outfits of his. He looks like a male model–slight scruff to his beard, the mussed hair and the tumbled clothes. The difference is that the models I know take time to look like that; for him it’s effortless.

“Dad, Lach and me are going to get our suits today. I’ll be back later to grab my stuff.”

From tonight until the wedding, he’s staying at his parents’ house. His mother insisted so we could have our privacy getting the last minute details ready.

He won’t tell me what the suits look like. Melanie, Katie and their girls are wearing emerald dresses, so I pray he went with basic black. He’s also chosen all the music for the ceremony and the reception. If I had any time on my hands to stress all the details, I might be freaking out about lack of control, but it’s been good for me to learn how to relinquish having a say in everything. Melanie, on the other hand, is about to lose it. It’s driving her crazy that he’s keeping some things secret, which he finds very funny. He’s been teasing her about the light pink tuxedos and it’s working like a charm.

The morning of the wedding, I receive one text from Wick: Thank you for sharing your life with me today. I promise to love you more each day than the one before. I cherish you, my sweet lass.

I send back: I love you, too. Look for me later. I’ll be the one in white.

The girls look beautiful. Grace and Lou have their hair up in high buns with heather in them. Mel and Katie have flowing curls, and look stunning in the dark green. My dress is a fitted lace bohemian-style, with a slight train. My hair has soft curls with a loose braid around the crown. Small white and purple flowers are woven through it. The purple really stands out against my red hair; he made a good choice.

When we line up at the doors to enter the ballroom for the ceremony, I hear Katie gasp. She’s at the front of the procession and can see into the room. She pulls Mel by the arm to show her whatever it is that surprised her. Needless to say, I make a push toward the door to see for myself. They stop me in my tracks.

“No, Bec. You need to be surprised,” Mel says, a strange look on her face.

Panic rises in my chest. I don’t need bad surprises right now; I’m about to get married! They look at each other, and then back at me once more. I can’t read their faces at all. Too damned late to do anything now, I’ll just take it all in, I proclaim to myself.

That’s when I hear it.

A piercing noise, that is so haunting I get chills: Bagpipes are playing. No wonder he didn’t want me to know, it’s a spectacular surprise. The wedding planner lines us up, and my sweet baby Lou walks in first. I can hear the “oohs” and “ahs” from here. She’s carrying a small basket with white heather to sprinkle. After a moment or so, I hear a slight thud sound and raucous laughter. If she fell, I don’t think anyone would be laughing, but it’s Lou so there’s no telling what she’s done. Mel rolls her eyes as if to say, “What fresh hell is this?” and makes me laugh.

She and Katie follow Grace, and it’s just me and Dad, waiting our turn.

“I like Wickham a great deal, sweetheart. You both did well finding each other. Of course, if he screws up in any way, he’s gonna have a big can of whoop-ass to deal with!” Dad says in an exaggerated Georgian accent. I laugh, then cry as he offers his arm.

It’s time.

When the doors open, the bagpipes begin to play the Scottish wedding march. It’s touching, but it’s not what takes my breath away.

Wick, Lachlan and their dad are dressed in full traditional Scottish kilts. They have bolero-style tuxedo jackets and ties on top adorned with large silver buttons. They’re also wearing tall white socks, and black shoes that lace up to the calf. They look incredible: especially my husband-to-be.

His muscular legs and chest were made for this outfit. I can’t believe how gorgeous he looks. His kilt is the familiar Dunmore plaid, with dark green accents. I’m standing still, mesmerized by the sight. I feel a slight tug on the arm that’s linked with my father’s. How embarrassing! I’m holding up my own wedding by drooling over the groom. After I get over the initial shock, I notice the look on his face. He’s beaming with pride. His eyes are tearing up, and I see a tear roll down his cheek the closer I get. I can’t take my eyes off of him.

I kiss my father, and he and Wick share a hearty handshake. Dad leans in and whispers something to him that pales Wick ever so slightly. With a not-too-subtle slap on his back, Dad takes his place next to my mom. Wick’s shocked look lasts only a second, then his glance is back on me, replaced by one of love. We join hands and stand before the minister.

Our vows are short and sweet. We promise to love, cherish, and never ever to quit on one another. The minister performs the traditional “handfasting,” where our hands are bound together during the ceremony by a piece of plaid. I love how Wick wanted to incorporate so much of his history into our wedding.

The rest of the evening disappears in a blur. I’m thankful we have plenty of friends taking pictures and video, or I might not remember it.

The last surprise Wick wanted for the night, was to choose the location for the wedding night. We’ll stay at my place through Thanksgiving until the honeymoon, but he wanted someplace special for tonight. How in the world could I say no?

After saying our extended farewells, we climb into the back of a warm, waiting limousine. My faux fur wrap does nothing to keep out the bitter Chicago air, but the warmth of his arms and the limo make me incredibly comfortable. I could sleep in here.

“Well, that was fun. We should do it again sometime, really soon,” he says with a chuckle as he pops open a bottle of chilled champagne. “Sir, may we have a nice tour of the city?” he asks the driver, who doesn’t look surprised.

Wick has every last detail planned.

“Here’s to the newest Mrs. Dunmore, and the man who’s lucky she said yes,” he toasts us, and plants a kiss on my lips.

“Here, here, Mr. Dunmore. ’Tis I who is the lucky lass,” I say, feigning my best Scottish accent.

His mouth drops open.

“Screw what I said before, to the hotel, and now!”

“No, Wick. I’m enjoying it in here, it’s so cozy. Let’s enjoy it while we have it.”

He reluctantly agrees, and downs his drink. He raises the partition between us and the driver for privacy.

“Oh, I’ll enjoy it if you insist,” he says, and he’s on me in a flash.

I have just enough warning to toss my drink to the floor as I feel his strong hands clasp my face. We’ve exuded sexual tension all night: I feel as if everyone at the reception could feel it. He would dance with me, then pull me to a quiet corner for a quick make-out. That’s not easy to do at your own wedding. This limo ride is delicious foreplay, and I intend to enjoy.

He pauses for a moment to remove his jacket and other items from his outfit. I have no idea as to the name of these things, but I’m sure I’ll learn. I unzip my dress, and wiggle it down past my hips. He takes notice of my lacy undergarments, and he’s pleased. He runs a finger along the edge of my thin panties, and I hear him breathing erratically. He follows his touch with soft kisses, skimming my skin lightly with his tongue. It’s maddeningly provocative.

He squats down in front of me, and presses his face deep into my crotch. He bites the lace and rips it with his teeth. I feel his tongue separate the remaining fabric, and he finds my warm, wet slit waiting for him. He lovingly strokes the folds, alternating between firm flicks of the tip of his tongue and soft, rhythmic lapping. The motion of the car bumping along the rough streets adds to the sensation. He’s enjoying it, a lot. Moans escape his busy mouth; he’s relishing me. For him, with all he’s been through, this finally means much more now that we’re married. Once he decided to change his life, his focus became one of finding true love, not just sex. We have it, and it makes the sexual connection that much greater.

I’m getting close to orgasm, and I try to stop him. I want him to be inside me. He’s made it clear that he’s not going to stop until I come like this first. His tongue pushes in and out of my slit, as his fingers do their magic on my clitoris. I involuntarily grasp the back of his head and press against him as hard as I can. The waves begin deep within me, and roll into an intense orgasm. I cry out, as I feel him nuzzle into me even harder. I gasp for air, as I ride the waves through to the very end. Not exactly how I thought I’d start our wedding night, but that was incredible.

He sits up and takes a large swig of champagne straight from the bottle.

“This is good stuff, but you’re even sweeter.”

He leans in to kiss me deeply, and I taste my saltiness and the tartness of the champagne mixed in his mouth. It’s a sensuous delight.

I reach down and place my hand on his bare thigh. His hard muscle, covered by soft hair, tenses at my light touch. I let my hand roam under his kilt–these things are pretty great–and I feel his cock straining against the wool. He certainly went traditional, no undergarments at all. I’m glad that when we were doing the Highland fling with his brother and dad that we didn’t have any mishaps. I definitely don’t need to see them like that.

He groans as I squeeze it firmly. He breathes deeply through his nose, his taletell sign of control, and pushes a strained breath from his mouth. He climbs back up on the seat, and it’s my turn to take pleasure in attending to my husband.

I raise the thick fabric covering his lower half, and his erection springs straight in the air. I lick my lips to show him my intention, and he throws his arm over his eyes as he drops his head back on the car seat. My entire body is heated up from before, and my mouth is extra warm. I clamp my lips around the head, and I slowly push my mouth down to meet his torso. I have to take it slow, or I’ll choke. I keep the suction of my mouth tight, as I make my way down, one inch at a time. All his muscles tense and quiver with delight. He’s clenching his teeth as if it’s painful.

“Are you OK?” I ask, just to make sure.

“Holy fuck, Becca. I’m trying my best not to come in your mouth right now, it feels that good. I’m not doing that to my wife on our wedding night, no way.”

I’m satisfied with his reaction, so I go on. I wrap his cock with one hand, as I twist my head back and forth, going up and down his long shaft. I take his ball sac in my other hand, and lightly squeeze it as I tickle his “spot” with a loose finger. It makes him shudder, and I know he’s getting close.

He pushes my shoulders back abruptly so that I break suction and have to sit up. His brow is sweaty, and his eyes are dark. He presses a button on the console next to his arm.

“To the hotel now, please. The most direct route you can go,” he says to the driver. “I can’t wait any longer, love. I need to feel my beautiful bride. You know, in Scotland, the bride and groom used to consummate the marriage before the reception began. That was a long time ago, but I can see the benefit in it. I feel like I’ve waited for you for a lifetime, and now I can’t wait one more minute.”

He helps me get back into my dress, as he replaces his accoutrements. He tries to fix my wild hair, and gives up. He pulls out my braid, as the wild flowers fall around me.

He whispers, “So beautiful,” and it hits me in the heart.

The way he’s looking at me, I know he’s not talking about my outside beauty, but what he sees inside. I’ve had a long career in focusing only on the outside, that it’s a difficult transition for me to have someone love me for who I am, not just what I look like. He’ll never know how much that means to me.

We arrive at our hotel, The Langham downtown. I can’t believe he booked us here: this is the pinnacle hotel in all of Chicago. I’ve done modeling shoots here.

“The Langham? Are you serious? This place is incredible, Wick!”

“Well, I figured we deserved the best tonight. When we get to Scotland, the accommodations in some of the areas may be a wee rustic. My gorgeous wife needs to be spoiled tonight.”

We check in and we’re given the luxury suite. He carries me over the threshold, and I smell roses and lavender as we enter from a huge floral arrangement on the center table.

“Wickham, seriously? This suite has to be over a thousand square feet!”

“Actually, it’s twenty-five hundred to be exact, and I’m going to have you on every single inch of this place so we should really get started,” he says with a little laugh.

He sets me down, and makes fast work of getting me back out of my gown. My torn panties are removed and tossed aside. I’m standing fully nude in my red-soled Louboutins.

“Oh yes, I like it. You, in nothing but the heels, with mussed hair. You have no idea what a gorgeous sight you are to behold, and you’re all mine. My wife.”

He unhooks and removes all of the complicated pieces of his wedding suit. It probably took him longer than me to get dressed. He scoops me back up, effortlessly, and carries me into one of the three cavernous bedrooms. This one has floor-to-ceiling views of the riverfront, and it’s a spectacular sight. We’re not here for the view, however.

He lays me down on sumptuous gray satin bedding. The only light in the room is coming from the windows. His face is bathed in changing neon colors from a building across the water. He closes his mouth over mine, and we really begin to make love. Slow, deliberate touching. No rush, no goal in mind, just a pure connection between two people deeply in love.

We climb under the covers, and hold each other tight.

“This reminds me of the night, well, day, in the cabin. I was so nervous after telling you my story, that I was sure you were going to run for the hills and never want to see me again. If I couldn’t be honest with myself or the people I loved, then change wasn’t possible. I needed you to know everything. I felt like the weight of the world was off my shoulders, but I was worried about you.” He looks so serious. “Thank you for believing in me, and not judging me by the man I used to be.”

“No one is perfect, Wick. We all have things we wish had gone differently in our lives. I’ve told you before, had you not had the courage to change, we never would have met. All of that ended up with the two of us together, so how can I view it in any way but positively? I love you …”

“I love you, too, my sweet lass.”

Those are the last words spoken for a couple of hours. My entrancing husband makes slow love to me all night long.

My life, my heart, my true love.

About The Author

Betsy Anne is a happily married, hopeless romantic. Her first novel Mine, Not Hers was completed in April 2014 and published digitally and in paperback on Amazon.com. She and her New Jersey born husband, Henry, enjoy hanging out with their children and families, their secondary children (two cats and a dog), and spending time at their beach house in South Carolina.

Visit Betsy Anne at www.betsyannebooks.com, Facebook www.facebook.com/betsyannebooks, and Twitter www.twitter.com/betsyannebooks.