“I assure you, you’re existing correctly,” Dean tells me.
“For letting me kiss you and remember what it’s like to…to be wanted again.” I babble on. “Do you want me?”
I look up at him, and Dean swallows. He takes both my hands in his. His watchful brown eyes track my own, snow piling up on our shoes and hair, our fingertips and cheeks turning burning shades of pink. He hesitates for a second before speaking.
“The year I graduated high school. It was so cold, and so rainy all the time. In fact, the whole winter had been terrible—it was the wettest winter on record. There was frost well into April. We all ached and craved for that first warm day of the year, when you could see the crocuses blooming so we could have class outside. So we could ride our bikes home. So we could dip our feet into the river.”
I watch him hungrily, folding my fingertips into his as my stomach flip flops and my heart races, confused by his sudden story.
“Winter finally surrendered a few days into May,” Dean licks his lips and continues. “It was so beautiful outside. The flowers on the trees were finally budding. I remember we stopped for popsicles at the 7-11 on the way home from school. It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted. I still remember the way that cherry popsicle tastes, even now.”
“What does this have to do with?—”
“I like living in a place where you have to earn your seasons. But to me, you’re a late spring day when I can have a cherry popsicle on the way home. I want you more than I want that popsicle.” Dean’s honesty sends sizzles down my spine and my face feels hot even though we’re covered in snow. “I want you. You’re that cherry popsicle.”
Before I can muster a response, Dean grabs my hand and pulls me close. I’m caught off guard when his lips move over mine in a soft sweep. Shit. This kiss is nagging and aching for more. His tongue caresses my bottom lip and slides over my own.
I’m feeling lifted, like I’m floating as his hands come up to hold my cheeks to anchor me back down. They’re warm from being in his pockets, and the heat is welcomed on my face.
Our cold noses bump as I fumble with my hands, searching for his face. Something flutters deep in my belly as I shift to kiss him back.
He tastes like strong coffee and rye bread, like breakfast on Christmas morning. He brushes through my hair, careful not to pull my hat from my head. I shiver when our tongues finally touch. Getting here might have been a steep mountain climb, these kisses are the sunrise at the summit.
He growls, placing hot kisses on my neck, oblivious to the snow falling around us, snaking a hand underneath my coat to grab my hip. Dean gives me another deep, soul searching kiss before pulling away with a small smile on his face.
“We better get going,” He hops down from the rock and offers me a hand once more, and I eagerly take it this time, ready to feel his skin on mine again.
On the drive back to the Monarch Resort, Dean is all I think about.
His palms spreading across my cheeks. His fingers flirting with the edge of my sweater, touching my bare skin. The way his lips caress mine, the way he groans quietly in the back of his throat when I press my tongue to his. It’s all so frustrating, but in the best way.
I watch his hands gripping the steering wheel and I wish they were gripping me. Am I jealous of a hunk of metal? Yes, I am. I’m so jealous it makes me sick, and I’m tempted to root through my bag to take a pepto, but I know this time the unfamiliar feeling will settle soon.
Except, the feeling doesn’t settle. Not when I watch him pump gas in the side view mirror. Not when I watch him order a coffee through a Dunkin Donuts drive-thru and pay in exact change from the pile in the cupholder. And definitely not when I watch him eat an old-fashioned donut without dropping a single crumb.
Why is he sexy as fuck eating the world’s plainest donut?
Damn. I didn’t know my hormones could come roaring back to life so quickly. I get kissed twice and I’m completely losing it over this man. I have a record scratch moment—Dean is totally worth losing my thoughts over. He’s intelligent, he’s got a goddamned doctorate of pharmacy, for chrissake. He’sinfuriatingly good-looking in the color red. And while he came off a little brusque and surly in the beginning, once I got to know him, it turns out he’s actually quite compassionate and caring. I flashback to when I had the panic attack in the car. It wasn’t a fluke.
I don’t know why I even need convincing, this man is totally worth losing my post-loss virginity over. I resolve to myself that it’s totally fine to ogle him. He clearly has a thing for me based on the way he kissed me. It’s purely physical, I assure myself.
It’s late morning when we make it back. It doesn’t seem to have snowed here, thankfully, making parking easy. Dean is exhausted, and I feel so dirty and grimy from not showering last night, so we agree to go our separate ways for the time being to rest.
Once alone in my room, I shed my clothes to get in the shower. It isn’t until I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror that I notice the bruises on my neck. They must be from Dean. I brush a gentle finger along them. It’s been so long since I’ve had bruises like this.
Part of me is scared by their appearance, but part of me feels like it was about time. I spent so long holding out, thinking that Andy could be the only one meant for me, that I was destined to be alone forever.
But Dean.
I’ve finally given myself permission to feel again, and oh, god, it feels like I should have done this a long time ago. Being wanted has bandaged up the loneliest parts of me. I know it’s not the magic cure I’ve been on the hunt for, but having the undivided attention of an attractive, magnetic force of a man is freeing.
I giggle to myself at the sight of the bruises, feeling giddy. Still, the feeling of being dirty is particularly bothersome, and I turn on the water as hot as I can stand it. Once under a steady stream of water, I scrub my face and arms with a washcloth ashard as I can. I scrub my scalp when I wash my hair, massaging the tension I’ve held in my head all week. I always feel more like myself when I’m clean.
I think about Dean’s hands doing it. My stomach flutters at the thought of him naked. In the shower with me, scrubbing my scalp. My face gets hot and I know it’s not the hot water by the feeling between my legs. This fucker. I hear him saying he wants me in his throaty voice.
I finish washing up, determined not to let my desire overpower me. I’m going to play it cool. And if I can’t play it cool, I’m going to play it dumb.
I Was Her Lover by Andy McKinney
