To See You (23 page)

She waggled her eyebrows at me. “You know, I also heard that men think about sex every seven seconds. We wrote a piece on it at
BubblePOP
.”

“That’s a nasty rumor. It’s actually every nine seconds.”

We both laughed so hard, we bent over clutching our stomachs. And just like that, we were back to being long-time friends and newfound lovers.

“Oh, there’s my bag,” Charli said, interrupting our giggles.

Settled in the car, I put on Calvin Harris and rolled down the windows. It was a gorgeous day—no smog, clear blue sky, crisp air. Charli looked like a movie star meets an angel or something like that in her big shades and her hair whipping around her face, sticking to her lip gloss.

I already wanted to beg her to stay. Not to leave. We would send someone to her apartment to pack her stuff and ship it out.

“How about breakfast food?” I asked her. “I’m sure you have to be hungry.”

“Sounds good.”

I shifted gears and willed my hand not to run along her thigh, but it did anyway. Her warmth burned through her leggings, and all of a sudden they were too thick. I wanted them off.

“You look great,” I told her.

“I finally cut my hair. I had to compromise somewhere between the
I go to the office every day
look
and the
I’m a homeless freelancer
.”

“Pretty sure you could never be
that
look.”

“I know. Actually, the weekend my mom came to visit, she dragged me to a salon.”

“Ha! That’s sort of funny.”

“You weren’t there. She has this thing now with me being a professional. It’s so crazy because she was a groupie, wandering all over the country when she was in her early twenties. If she hadn’t met my dad and fell in love, she’d have gone on being a hippie, I’m sure.”

“Maybe she wants something different for you. Parents can be weird.”

“Eh, I don’t know. She’s sort of making me nuts. All of a sudden, she’s not supporting my wants.”

“I can’t say I have experience with it. Mine only wanted to see me grow up. Once I graduated college, they both went downhill so quickly.”

Her fingers laced through mine. I had told her during one of our late-night phone calls about my parents. My dad, no memory. My mom, no mobility. Together, they were a whole, but only half a person on their own.

Charli had said, “I wish we were chatting in person so I could run my hand up and down your back rather than compete with the static on the line.”
She’d actually said that.

She was beautiful inside and out, and again the nerves were back. Not nerves about being with her, but fear of her leaving. I couldn’t let her slip away. Not this time.

Our fingers were still twined together, but I had to downshift and turn into the diner. It was one of those classic LA institutions with jukeboxes on the tables and a black-and-white checkerboard floor.

“Oh, wow, I just realized how much I want a cup of coffee,” she said when I came around to get her car door.

“It was a long flight. You left New York at five.”

She grabbed her tote from the floor and shrugged out of her sweater coat, leaving it on the seat.

We walked into the diner, my arm around her, my heart in her hands.

“Two,” I said as I flicked up two fingers to the hostess.

We were seated in a booth, and I let her slide in first. I sat across from her and our hands met over the table.

“This is sort of odd. It feels so comfortable, like we’ve done this before and it’s part of our routine.” She smiled as she spoke, her hair falling over her right eye.

I used my free hand to swipe it back and said, “I know. It’s all the e-mailing and talking. I feel like I know you better than I know myself. By the way, how’s the book?”

“It’s coming. I still can’t believe I sold the short stories, let alone signed a deal for three books.”

I’d read her stories, against her protests. She’d sent them to me after I begged, and those suckers were good. Not at all sappy like you’d think. Real, poignant, and full of pressure or something. I didn’t know the right word.

“What did they say your stories are full of?”

She laughed. “Angst.”

“Right, I was just trying to remember the word. Char, your stories are great. Your book is going to be even better. You’re a writer. Live it.”

I wasn’t sure why I felt poetic all of a sudden. She did that to me.

“I can’t really compare to anything out here.”

The waitress came over and took our order. Coffee, spinach-and-egg-white omelets, rye toast, fruit. Yep, I ordered that.

“Maybe you’ll get a movie deal next,” I said when the server was gone.

“Oh, stop. You’re ridiculous. I’m a starving writer at the moment.”

I tickled the inside of her palm and said, “You never know.”

“What about you? Are you done with this movie?”

I was working on a horror movie releasing the following Halloween. I hated it. I’d never done one before, and I wasn’t taking on another.

“Thank God, yes. It’s definitely sucking all my creativity. There’s no room to do anything different. The cast is great and fun, but I’ll be happy when it’s over.”

“You’re such a romantic at heart.”

I shook my head, laughing so hard, my eyes were squinting. She was sort of right.

We ate and laughed some more, and then we skipped the tour and went back to my place.

I didn’t mind, and neither did she.

W
e parked in his driveway and my pulse quickened tenfold. I was a wreck. My panties were wet with desire, and my heart was racing on coffee or feelings or both.

It was a cute bungalow tucked back from the street. As soon as I opened my car door, I could hear Harriette barking from inside the house. Layton rolled my suitcase along the concrete, the rattling wheel mimicking the rattle in my lungs.

Lord help me
.

“Hey, girl.” He opened the front door and a whirl of fur and licks took us over.

“Harriette, meet Charli. Charli, meet the other woman in my life.”

“So this is who keeps you warm at night?” It was wishful thinking and prodding all rolled into one on my part.

I didn’t want to bring up how much he changed again; I’d already nailed the lid on that issue.

We’d talked about his transformation incessantly over the first few weeks before Layton had finally said, “You changed too, Char. You’re doing your own career thing. Less crazed with appearances. You’re happier, I believe. So am I. Let it go.”

So I did. I’d already spent too many sleepless nights wondering if I didn’t deserve Layton because of my past bitchiness.

“Check your fears and all your bullshit at the door,” Layton had said, and that’s what I was continuing to do, even now.

“She does keep me warm while working, lying at my feet, but there’s only one gal in my bed these days, and she’s never even seen it.”

Oh.

“Come on. Let me get you a glass of water or something and you can relax.”

Relax? I wanted him to jump me.

He pointed out the living space and the kitchen, and led me to a small back patio. There I collapsed onto a lounge chair, more tired than I cared to admit.

“Pellegrino?” Layton called from behind the sliding screen door.

“That would be amazing.”

He reappeared with a tall glass of bubbly water, a lemon wedge floating at the top, and I took a long sip.

“This is glorious.” I sighed, and he sat on the end of the chair and gathered my feet in his lap, slipping my boots off. “That’s even better.”

“Relax,” he told me. “I’m going to walk Harriette around the block so she settles down, and I’ll be right back.”

All I could do was nod, the sun shining on my face, its heat warming my bones. Or was that Layton?

I didn’t know, but I suspected the latter. I felt so good, and within minutes I drifted off.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.”

I felt his knuckles brush my cheek and my eyes flickered open. “Wow. I didn’t mean to do that, fall asleep on you.”

“Feel better?”

“Yeah.”

He stared at me for a beat, then two, and then he leaned in and brushed his lips against mine. He was perched on the edge of my lounger, next to my hip, and his eyes were wholly focused on me.

“My breath,” I murmured into his mouth.

“Is fine,” he murmured back before taking advantage of my protest and slipping his tongue inside my mouth.

In one quick move, he leaned over me and released the lounge flat, never moving from my lips. He made sure I didn’t fall suddenly, keeping hold of the back of my neck, guiding me slowly into place before he stretched out on top of me.

“This okay?”

When I nodded, he nudged my legs apart with his knee and weaved his legs with mine, pressing his erection into where it counted. My leggings did little to stop the sensation, and I was pretty sure I might orgasm from dry humping in clothes.

Seriously.

His hand moved down my side until his thumb stroked along the waistband of my pants. “I need to touch you a little, mix your scent with mine.”

His scent was divine. Piney, a little sweaty and musky from his dog walk. It exuded strength. I would drink it if I could.

The perimeter of the yard was lined with heavy bushes, and tall trees swayed overhead. No one could see us as I arched off the chair, his hand inside my leggings, grazing my most sensitive spot. When I called out his name a moment later, I tried to whisper, not sure if anyone could hear us. But then I didn’t care.

With his weight lifted off of me, raised on his elbow, Layton brought me to orgasm right there in his backyard with only a few flicks of his finger. All I could think about was returning the favor.

“Layton,” I mumbled.

“Good? Do I make you feel good? Because this makes me feel on top of the world, touching you.”

“Yes, oh, yes, Lay.”

Rather than pull his hand away, he gave his finger another swirl, a flick, and then a squeeze, and I was riding another wave toward orgasm.

“I want to touch you,” I breathed out.

“Right now I’m touching you, beautiful. Later, we’ll take care of me.”

I wanted to pound his chest and scream
now
but then he slipped two fingers inside me. “Oh God.”

My second orgasm hit hard and then I lay like a fish on land. I flopped back on the chair, my back sore from arching and my heart racing to nowhere but getting Layton inside me.

“Can we go inside? Maybe to your room?” I found the moxie to ask in a rather demanding way.

He scooped me up and tossed me over his shoulder, making me gasp with surprised giggles as he slid the screen door open and carried me all the way back to his king-sized bed. He placed me gently on the comforter before shimmying my pants down and gently removing my thong.

Then he took off his jeans, followed by his boxer briefs, gazing at me the entire time. He reached out for my shirt and pulled it over my head. Kneeling, straddling me, he slipped my bra off and traced my nipples with his finger.

I brought my hand under his shirt, wanting to touch him. “Can you take this off?”

“Yeah. It’s an old habit.”

I scolded myself for forcing the issue but when he removed his shirt, my hands were drawn to his chest like a runner to a finish line. He was handsome, graceful, and hot. His body was made even more beautiful by his insecurity.

He leaned in, still keeping his weight off of me as he reached into his bedside drawer. He set a condom on the bed but ran his erection along me—already dripping and not so eagerly waiting. I lifted my hips to meet him and he slid along my wetness, almost sliding inside me.

Playtime over, he grabbed the condom and wrapped himself, and then he was home. He drove deep, stilling himself at the end of each stroke.

“You’re so gorgeous. I could spend forever like this, looking at you,” he said when he bottomed out. “But every time I sink inside you is delicious.” He moved again, completing the circuit. “And then I pull out, and it’s even better when I dip in again.”

Layton moaned, I arched, and he picked up speed. We sped to the finish, our skin touching, our scents mixing, and our mouths fused. I came yet again, a record for me, and he didn’t last much longer.