“I know, if we get caught it will another decade of being accused of sullying the Golden Child. Again.” He leans in and grazes my cheek with his lips, before the gentle brush of his against mine.
“What did you call me?” It’s hard to stop kissing, but my interest is piqued.
“Did I stutter? Doctor Lachlan Patric Phalen Sterling, AKA The Golden Child.”
I laugh, incredulous. The Golden Boy calling me the Golden Child? Pot, this is kettle, you’re golden. “What are you even talking about?”
“You’re the town’s Golden Child. Everyone loves you.”
He starts talking in an annoying high-pitched voice, fit for an unhinged cartoon character. “Dr. Sterling is so wonderful. Dr. Sterling is so smart. Dr. Sterling is so handsome. Dr. Sterling fixed my ouchie. Dr. Sterling saved my daughter’s life when she consumed dihydrogen monoxide after watching the internet.”
I’m howling with laughter, but his tirade continues. “I could just puke. If they knew half the shit you do behind closed doors they might quit acting like I’m the great Satan of Illinois and you’re the second coming. Claudine Escarole asked me if you have any brothers while you were gone.”
“She’s gotta be eighty if she’s a day.” We look at each other, smile, and say, “Declan,” at the same time. He’s the only one ofmy five brothers deserving of being hooked up with an elderly woman as a practical joke.
“I could make rainbows and gold doubloons stolen from leprechauns shoot straight from my ass for St. Patrick’s Day and they would say ‘look what Lachlan did for the town while Pete was busy farting around.’” He releases a giant sigh. Poor put-upon Pete. If he was trying to stir the pot, he’s done it now.
“That’s total horseshit, Pete! Senior year, under the bleachers. Pinned in a fucking corner, Pete. Your hands were down my pants andI’mthe bad influence. I’m surprised they didn’t accuse me of trying to get pregnant just to trap you with my magic dick. I’m the town doctor and you’re the elected sheriff and they are still talking about it. It’s been almost fourteen years. Fourteen.”
“Lachlan, they tease you because they love you and seeing you blush is one of the most charming things I’ve ever seen. These people adore you. I can’t go five feet without someone telling me how wonderful you are. Me, fuck, they bitch about everything. Fix my ticket, Peter. My neighbor’s dog is humping my cat, Peter. They remind me—while I’m actively ruining a uniform to change their dry rotted old tire—that they can vote for someone else next time. But not you, not their perfect Golden Child. If it wasn’t for me you’d be president, because you’re perfect and I’m holding you back.”
I laugh so hard I start to cry. How did I not know they were doing it to both of us?
He starts up again, bitching, and does the cartoon voice again. “I can’t believe you got someone as wonderful as Dr. Sterling to marry you, Peter. Lachlan Sterling could have anyone, he’s a doctor, you’re just the county sheriff.” He stops, and looks sheepish after his rant. “God, I missed you, I got off work at eleven but I didn’t want to wait another twenty minutes to touch you and I hoped you were feeling the same way. It’s ourfirst time sleeping apart since the wedding and I fucking missed you, Lachie.”
He leans into me, and I nuzzle the top of his precious head.
“Why wasn’t I supposed to kiss you?” He knows that I can’t get enough kisses.
I give him a peck, then answer. “Babe, you hate the taste of coffee. I was getting tired, I had planned to have a mint or two but I was distracted by my raging hard on. I was surprised when your lights came on.”
“I didn’t notice, I was too happy to see you to worry about a little coffee flavor.” He glances at his watch. “It’s after midnight. You know what that means.”
“Happy anniversary, Pete. Fourteen years ago today, you realized you had to have all of this for your very own.”
“That’s not how I remember it at all.”
This is not a new argument. “You asked me how you could learn to kiss before your hot date with Bekka Drake, and I, younger but infinitely more worldly, offered myself as tribute.” For six weeks a year, he’s older than me and old man jokes abound. I live for it.
“I asked for kissing tips.”
“Wiser man that I am, I didn’t mention that I had never been kissed. I offered to be your practice lips, then you took advantage of me. How else were you supposed to realize that you loved me too?
“We need to pick a different year to celebrate. Eighteen was the worst. The moms wouldn’t let us out of their sight after the bleacher thing. I remember writing you so many letters and finally just breaking down and telling you I love you.” I didn’t want to say it first, but I did.
“Did not. I told you first.” He says it with confidence, but he is absolutely incorrect.
“No, you didn’t. You never once said that.” I’m a little indignant. I know I said it first. “I sent you a letter and every time a word ended in ILY I made it all caps. I talked about famILY a lot in that letter. You figured it out because the very next one you said it back.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I said I-L-Y. I. Love. You,” I say. “And then you said I love you.”
“I don’t remember that letter. And who puts it in secret code? I agonized over saying it first.” I put the Jeep in drive. “Where are you going?”
With the door off he can press in against my leg, and his shaft is starting to thicken. “Down boy, I’m going home. To get the box of letters.”
“You still have those letters?”
