I huffed a chuckle. “Mine, too, and I get to use it a lot.”
She laughed. Laughing seemed so natural on her, but this was one of those laughs that was on the verge of tears. Still laughing, almost crying, she was beautiful in both.
I couldn’t help but smile at the combination of tears and smiles that she was. That we were.
She flattened her palms on my chest, right below my shoulders, and bent her face over mine. “Oliver?”
This time, she didn’t wait for a response.
“I’ll always want to fuck the mess that you are,” she paraphrased what I had told her before. “And I want you—needyou—to fuck the mess that I am.”
I framed her face with my hands. “Always, even when you’re not a mess anymore.”
She was still half-laughing when we kissed and half-crying when I flipped us over on that sofa and made love to the mess she thought she was.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When orange dusk washed in through the windows, and we were satiated but hungry, January sat up and put her dress back on. “There are leftovers from lunch I packed for you in your fridge. Thought you could use a meal when you got back.”
“And where were you planning on being?”
“At June’s.”
“Can we talk about this?”
“Yes, but I need to eat first.” She chuckled. “I can’t live on love alone.” She patted her thighs as she said that.
I sat up, sank my fingers into her thighs, and kissed her. “I could eat something, too.”
“You already have,” she taunted.
“I meant food this time.”
In the kitchen, we ate leaning against the counter, straight from the containers we had taken out of the fridge.
“Was he always like that?” I asked. I didn’t have to say whohewas. We both knew I was referring to her ex-husband.
January sighed. “Yes, but you know how things get worse with age?”
“Was he ever—”
“Physical? No. Never. He was usually drunkenly asleep.” She reached out her hand and placed it on my cheek, her thumb stroking my stubble.
When we were done, we did the dishes together, and with my hands still wet, I sat her on the counter. We were closer in height like that. I wrapped my arms around her, bent my head, and kissed her. She wrapped her legs around me.
“I have to leave for London in a few days. A planned business trip,” I said.
January skimmed her wet forefinger over the features of my face, featherlike. “I’m not expecting you to stare into my eyes twenty-four seven. I have a job, too.” She smirked.
“But I want to stare into your eyes twenty-four seven. Except, maybe, when I’m looking at other parts of you.” I grabbed her finger and gently bit it, then kissed it.
“I know you’ll be back.” The inflection of her voice made it sound like a question.
“I will. Will you be here?”
“Yes.”
“Here at the house?”
