“—give it all I’ve got, I know. I know, Dad. I don’t need that reminder.”
And I didn’t. I repeated that mantra until it pounded through my body, beating in time with my heart. It kept me centered when the work was exhausting and aggravating, and detached from everything I loved about schools. It kept me going when I debated how many more brick walls I could safely demolish with sweet talk and pastries. It kept me driven when I wanted to spend my mornings wrapped in Matthew’s arms, avoiding the world beyond his touch.
Dad didn’t deserve my sharp tone or my impatience, but a small part of me wanted to wallow in defeated misery for a moment, and he wasn’t having it.
“Make it through the mission, Lolo. It’s a long one, but you knew that going in. You knew the stakes, and you knew the score. Get your head in the game, and don’t let the scenery slow you down. You’ll regret it.”
I’d heard this speech before, as had countless Navy SEALs. There was a gravity to his words, a weight that pelted my skin like the driving rain, chasing me toward my destination. It worked; this speech had pushed me through my toughest college courses and the most difficult days in the classroom. It made my issues feel insignificant, irrelevant, and surmountable. Nothing stood in my way after one of the Commodore’s ‘leave nothing on the road’ speeches.
“I know, Dad. I’m on it.”
“Excellent. Now let’s talk about you coming to Cabo for Christmas. It’s the only thing your mother wants, and you know what happens when I don’t get her the right gift.”
*
Matthew’s head restedbetween my breasts, his arms wrapped tight around my body, and we stared out his bedroom windows while I ran my fingers through his hair. It was the kind of drowsy euphoria I adored, the languid place where we were sticky and sweaty, and staying entwined was the only option. We dug in, clinging to each other, pulling and squeezing, and just wanting more contact because there was no other way to express the fiery, desperate desire between us.
“I like being with you at night,” he murmured.
His words vibrated against my nipple, and I squirmed beneath him. “Me too.”
“And I like waking up with you.” He shifted, suddenly fascinated with my nipples and inspecting them with his tongue.
“Mmhmm.”
“And I like fucking you in the middle of the night.”
“Also good,” I sighed, my hands fisting in his hair. His fingers traveled down my belly and toward my center while his teeth scraped over my nipple, and I closed my eyes, enjoying this orchestrated attack on my body.
“And you need to find a new place, right?”
“Mmhmm.” Didn’t want to think about that right now. At my price point, apartment hunting aligned with the college calendars, and I missed the critical September move-in window. The options this time of year were woefully anemic, but Shannon was lining up tours after the holiday and she promised to find something spectacular. Moving and packing and figuring out how to get all of my shoes into tiny city closets weren’t my favorite discussion topics.
“So why don’t you move in with me? You can live here, and we can do this every night.” He was hard against my side, and I knew he was a breath away from levering up and fitting himself inside me.
“Don’t we already do this every night?”
Matthew’s fingers retreated and he released my nipple without ceremony, leaving me aching and on the verge of incoherent begging. Sitting back on his heels, he stared at me, seemingly unconcerned with the erection pointing in my direction. I tried not looking it in the eye, but it was hard to miss.
“No, Lauren, we don’t. I wait all day for an opening from you. Then I persuade you to have dinner with me. Then I convince you to spend the night with me. And that’s what we do every day.”
I didn’t see it that way. To me, there was no doubt we’d see each other but we didn’t figure out the where or when until later. Our days were hectic and often took us in unpredictable directions. Why not wait until the evening to make plans? And it wasn’t like we hadn’t been together every night for the past two months.
“Sometimes I think you’re still looking for exits,” he said. He stood, pulling on pajama pants and pacing in front of the windows. This was the side of him I rarely saw: angry Matthew. He typically operated within degrees of seriousness, all piercing stares and hipshot stances, and I knew he didn’t get all the way up to angry very easily. “I always feel like you’re five minutes away from blowing me off.”
“I’m not, I’m just—”
“—busy, I know. I’ve heard all about your schedule and the demands of your work.”
There were only two ways to have this discussion: as mature adults, talking it out over coffee and pastries, or as lovers, intoxicated from happy sex hormones, and free to be totally honest and bare with each other.
Coffee and pastries made the most sense for a normal couple, but I was more interested in the naked option. If he dropped those pants and came back to bed, we’d be able to sort this out the only way we knew how.
“That’s not what I was going to say.” I sighed and ran my hands through my hair. I reached for his t-shirt and pulled it over my head.
“I want to be with you. Here, a new place, I don’t care, but let’s do it. Think about it. We basically live together. Nomadically, of course. The only thing that would change would be figuring out where to go and staying there.”
“Matthew, I don’t think I can do something like that right now.”
