Maybe it felt more secure lately because he trusted me that way, too.I might’ve been drunk that night, but I still had the memory locked in, vivid and bright as a movie in my head:… I’d do anything for you.Because I can trust that anything you asked me to do wouldn’t be morally reprehense..ible.
Yes, I even had the little stutter inreprehensiblememorized.I wasthattaken with it.
Not sure I reallyrealizedthat I trusted him right back, though.So it was a little bit to process in the moment, and post-orgasm clarity was only so helpful there.
“I want a list,” I decided.
His lips were puffy and red from kissing and teasing.He licked them, then bit down on his tongue playfully.“Of…?”
“Things you wanna do in bed.Wild, dirty, disgusting, hilarious; I don’t care.I want at least five real ideas from you.”
He chuckled and flopped onto his back, stretching upward and arching his back.I ran my fingers slowly over the trail of hair from his chest down to his navel, feeling the flex of muscle beneath skin and a lovely layer of warm flesh.Goddamn, he was just—
“Will you make a list too?”he asked.
I glanced up into his eyes.“Me?Why?”
“Well, I’m giving you my fantasies.But I wanna give you some of yours, too.”
I considered.“But we can veto anything out of the gate.”
“Obviously.”
“And if there’s nothing appealing, you have to say.”
“I will.And you too.”
“Girl, please.But yes, fine.”
Taran laughed again, deep and satisfied, tucking his hands behind his head.“How many things?”
“At least five,” I said again.“That gives us some wiggle room.”
“I could probably give you five right now,” he said.
Delighted, I moved closer, plastering myself to his side and shoving my face into his armpit.Too much deodorant, not enough Taran, but still nice.“Save it, lover boy.”
His chest bounced with laughter.“Words I never thought I’d hear you say.”
And in that moment, it was perfect.
And then came Picklesburgh.
***
Look, maybe you’re a normal person.Maybe you don’t get excited at the idea of pickle-based beer, pickle-and-potato pierogies, and pickleback-flavored fudge.That’s a choice you could make.
But it wouldn’t be mine.Or Pittsburgh’s in general.The Picklesburgh festival got so big a few years back that they had to move it off the Three Sisters—the side-by-side suspension bridges over the Allegheny—because the sheer weight of the crowds wastoo muchfor them.
This year, they decided to put it back on the bridges, which was great for the sake of atmosphere but kinda rough in terms of crowd movement, so I insisted we get there early on the first day.They always run out of the Turner’s pickle iced tea later in the day too, and the experience just isn’t complete without it.Total bummer.
All morning, Toni was blowing my phone up about how she was gonna meet us there.She was back in Stanley Co for her usual two-week visit, which always ended with my birthday.And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to see her, because obviously I did.She was my best friend, and we’d been through hell together, and I loved her.
But her mouth was even worse than mine.And I knew, I justknewshe was gonna say some shit to Taran.So I was trying to put her off as long as possible.I was apparently giving off distracted vibes, because as we settled our pickle-themed lunch bounty on one of the standing tables near an empty stage, he asked, “You okay?We don’t have to stay, if you don’t want.Toni can just meet us at your place.Or somewhere else.”
I shook my head.“No, I’m good.We didn’t get any fudge yet.Oh, shit, I wanted to try the cucumber cocktail over—”
“I’ll get it; you hold down the fort?”Taran was already on his way back to the stall our hands had been too full to stop at before.
