3. In Which Emotional Eating Leads to Another Encounter

3

In Which Emotional Eating Leads to Another Encounter

Trigger warning: A long time pet of one of the characters has its last bittersweet day in the following paragraphs. If this is a trigger for you, you can safely skip down to the next box like this one without missing anything vital to Kaitlyn + Matthew's story.

I ’m a liar, at least about the pizza. Dale’s geriatric dog, Walter, wakes up two days later and is unable to move. I call in sick at the bank and go with them to the emergency vet. The three of us sit in the exam room, Walter’s head in Dale’s lap, as the vet tells us the bad news.

Dale’s response surprises me. “Can we be your last patient for the day? I’d like to take him to a few of his favorite places, get him some pizza one last time.”

The doctor smiles. “Of course.”

Dale carries Walter out of the office with me rushing ahead of him to open doors. He lays the dog gently on a blanket in the back seat of his car and turns to me, tears in his eyes.

“Hey, why don’t I drive so you can hang out with Walter? I can be your chauffeur for the day.” He nods and looks away, wiping the tears from his eyes as I take his keys from him. Our first stop is the bakery in our neighborhood where the bakers work in the window.

“Walter likes sourdough and croissants,” Dale tells me as he holds Walter up to see the bakers inside. They smile and wave at him. I wave back and buy us each a croissant to eat outside. Despite his condition, Walter will not be held back from his croissant. In fact, he eats so fast, Dale and I end up feeding Walter ours.

“Where to next?” I ask Dale.

“The dog park. He likes to chase the squirrels.”

We head off to the dog park. And even though Walter cannot chase the squirrels, several dogs and their owners come by to chat as we sit with Walter on the ground. He gets pets from everyone who happens by and by the end, his tail is wagging gently against the ground. We sit out there for hours, just watching everything until it’s well past lunch. Walter’s final vet appointment looms.

“Anywhere else you’d like to take him?” I ask Dale as we head back to the car.

“Tino’s. Whenever I order their delivery, I have to get a personal pizza for Walter, too. He likes mushrooms and olives.”

Mushrooms and olives sound dreadful, but I will not argue with a dying dog’s last wishes. I drive us to Tinos and go in and order three personal pizzas—one for each of us.

As usual, Dale and I eat our feelings and devour our pizzas in less time than it takes Walter to get through one slice. Walter’s appointment time comes way too soon and before we know it, we’re back in the same office with the same vet. Dale keeps Walter in his lap until his very last breath.

We leave the dark office long after closing, empty-handed, Walter’s body locked up in storage, ready to be sent off for cremation. I offer to stay the night on his couch, but he shakes his head and says he needs some time alone.

Alone with my upset stomach and aching heart, I go home, change into sweatpants and a hoodie, and force Stanley to cuddle with me while I doom scroll.

Resume reading here, if you skipped due to the trigger warning.

I should get ready for work tomorrow, but I find myself drifting off to sleep, Stanley having long given up on escaping my clutches.

I’m only half awake when I feel both of my hands being held down against the bed. “Open up, babe,” a voice says in my ear, and I gladly obey as kisses are pressed down my neck and across my collarbone. My left hand is released as the man leaning over me makes his way down to my left breast, his tongue licking and flicking the nipple there as his fingers enter me, moving slowly and carefully.

“Mmmm, I can’t forget the other side,” he whispers as he presses his face into the valley of my breasts before moving on to the other one. He latches on gently with his teeth and lets them scrape all the way to the tip of my nipple. It feels so good. I want to ask for more, but I’m still not quite awake.

“Ready for me, babe?” he asks, his fingers still moving in and out of me in a rhythm that has me arching into his hand. I nod and open my legs wide for him, wrapping them around his waist and forcing him to take me to the hilt all at once.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he groans.

I do feel amazing. He readjusts his arms and I reach up with both hands to run my nails against the back of his head. He sighs as he rocks into me, his rhythm building slowly and carefully until I’m lifting myself off the bed to meet him. I can’t get close enough to him as my own orgasm starts to grow. My body is on fire and I need him to keep moving. His movements grow frantic, the sound of our bodies moving together suddenly loud in my ears as I finally cum, clinging to his body as he leans against my shoulder, muffling his own groan as his body finally reaches its release.

“Fuck, I love you so much Kaitlyn,” says a familiar voice.

Reality, sharp and painful, forces me to abandon the afterglow of awesome sleepy dream sex. Apparently, my subconscious is really feeling the need to air some things out if I can’t have a simple sex dream without all of this extra stuff. Do I secretly believe I’m the wrong girl for everyone?

I suck in a breath and let it out slowly. “Matthew, it’s me, the wrong Kaitlyn again.”

I open my eyes to find myself in the same tiny bed from last week’s dream. I pinch myself, hoping the pain will wake me, but it doesn’t. Matthew reaches up for my ear and gently runs his fingers along the piercings there.

“So, this dream again, huh?” he says, his voice amused.

“What do you mean, this dream again?” I ask him. “This is my dream, not yours.”

He chuckles. “Nope, this is definitely my dream.”

“I’m not arguing with a dream man about whether or not I’m in his dream. I need some clothes, please.”

“As you wish,” he says, mimicking Westley from my favorite movie of all time, The Princess Bride.

“So you’re a fan of The Princess Bride, too?” I whisper. He turns on a bedside lamp—this one much softer than the harsh overhead light from before and politely keeps his back to me as he reaches for the same gray sweatpants and Mike’s Discount Furniture t-shirt on his dresser. He tosses them on the bed, but doesn’t look back.

“I am. My Kaitlyn and I went to see it when it first came out, but she wasn’t a fan.”

“Not a fan?” I scoff. “It’s a cinematic masterpiece.” I pull the shirt over my head as he pulls on some shorts. They’re awkwardly short, but I’m in his bedroom, not mine in this dream, so I keep my mouth shut. “I’ve watched that movie so many times since I was little. It was our Christmas Eve tradition. My parents saw it on their first date.”

“How’s that?” Matthew asks, turning to look at me. “It came out in October.”

I shake my head. “Now I know this is a dream–” I put my right leg into the sweatpants and I’m suddenly back on my couch, Stanley making biscuits painfully against my thigh.