“We’ve been talking about me moving in with you eventually, and maybe we can do this,” he says. “It would be killing two birds with one stone. You get a new house, and I get to move out of my parents’.”
I cross my arms and lean my hip against the same counter he seems to have a keen interest in. I eye him up and down, wondering if he’s hiding a large cardboard check in his back pocket. “Did Ed McMahon pay you a visit?”
“Who?”
“Never mind,” I say, shaking my head. “I forget that you’re a practical zygote.”
He scoops me in his arms, and I squeal when my butt lands on the cold surface. “Imagine us in that huge tub,” he whispers, painting a tempting picture. He trails his nose against my jawline, and I feel it low in my belly. “I think it has water jets.”
“I hear they’re amazing for achy muscles and stress relief.”
“That’swhat we’d use them for?”
I drape my arms over his shoulders, and he naturally closes the narrowing space between us. “Are you serious about this?”
“Why not?”
“Um, because.”
“Because…”
“Because you don’t have a job,” I say as plainly as possible. I hate to point it out, but it’s the truth. While he managed to snag an internship with The Hope Foundation seven months ago, shortly after he moved back in with his parents, it still remains an unpaid position. We hashed over whether or not he should take it, weighing out the pros and cons. Like if it would be worth him living off Top Ramen and asking his mom what’s for dinner most nights to save a penny on groceries. But he didn’t have very many options. And I’m so happy he did. While he’s been chipping away at his savings after he cashed out what was left of his 401k, he’s finally at a job he loves. He enjoys working with his boss. He’s respected and appreciated. Valued.
“I have a job.”
“I meant one that doesn’t pay in Post-it Notes and paper clips.”
“Ah, you mean actual money.”
I pat a consoling hand on his bicep, offering a light squeeze to soften the blow. “I don’t think the bank will take stolen office supplies as payment.”
“Well, then…” His voice trails as if he has something hidden behind his words. Maybe this open house visit wasn’t as fortuitous as I thought.
“What?” I tug at his secret, hoping he’d unravel it quicker if I pull at the thread and pop it open for me to finally see.
“It’s a good thing I’m going to start getting paid real money.”
My face lights up. “They offered you a position?”
He nods vigorously. “Just last week. You are now looking at The Hope Foundation’s newest finance manager.”
I kiss him, gripping his face with my fingers and hooking my ankles behind him. “I’m so proud of you.”
The small room, normally echoey with the tiled walls and porcelain, grows quiet, the only sounds coming from our labored breaths and stifled moans. “If this is how you react to my news, what are you going to do when I bring home my first paycheck?”
“I think you’re forgetting that I am a self-sufficient woman who does not love for money,” I tease.
“So you’ll put out even if I was a penniless intern?”
“Baby, I’d put out even if you had to sneak me into your parents’ house at two in the morning again.”
His warm hands travel up my bare back and tuck under my bra. “That was kind of fun.”
“It was.” I never thought at the ripe age of forty, I’d be sneaking into my boyfriend’s parents’ house to have sex with him on his childhood bed. But him fucking me with his hand clamped over my mouth was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever done.
Though, much like how his parents have been supportive of our relationship, I don’t think they’d be opposed to illicit sleepovers considering he’s in his thirties, well past the time for a talk about the birds and the bees. Especially now that their son may be leaving the nest once again.
“So?” Andrew asks, cutting into my amorous daydreaming. “Should we go for it?”
