12. October 30 –Savannah

"Ihad a weird dream last night."

I stagger into the kitchen and open the vitamin cabinet. Wilder's at the table, enjoying a cup of coffee and, oddly enough, reading my Time magazine. Shaking a few aspirin into my hand, I reach for a nearby bottle of water, shove the pills into my mouth, and toss my head back to swallow.

"Was it that you got drunk on spiked pickle juice and humped my leg until you orgasmed in your pants?" Wilder asks.

It. Wasn't. A. Dream.

"If so, I know it wasn't a nightmare, at least. By the way, I figured you would be hungover, so there's a greasy breakfast sandwich in the fridge for you. You're welcome."

"I'm welcome for which one?" I ask, not looking at him. I don't know whether to be embarrassed and run from the room or own this like a rockstar.

"Oh, you're welcome for both, ma'am."

I turn to face him, and he winks. A blush creeps up my cheeks, and he licks his lips.

"I'm sorry. That was embarrassing."

"It absolutely was not," he says. "I've made women lose their minds with my dick, tongue, and fingers. I can now add making a woman come with my femur to my sexual history. I have no regrets. We should make out like that more often, cuff buddy." He raises his glass in a mock toast and gets up from the table.

"Where are you going?" I ask, worried he'll change his mind about it being a good thing and walk away before I can offer him the sober real thing.

I really don't want him to leave. Truth be told, I want to spend the day with him. I had fun last night. I know it won't last forever and will be over in February, but last night felt like I had a real boyfriend.

I liked it. I liked his coworkers and their wives and girlfriends. I liked dancing with Wilder and seeing him happy around other people.

I also really liked his leg last night, what I can remember of it, and the fact that he didn't take me up on my offer to ride his dick warms my heart. I wouldn't have woken up with an ounce of regret this morning if we did have filthy sex last night, but I appreciate the gesture of making sure I give good consent. Not many guys I know would have been so considerate.

I look him up and down from behind as he reaches into the fridge and brings out his lunchbox and a breakfast sandwich wrapped in a yellow wrapper. The urge to run my hand up his spine as he fumbles for a piece of fruit to add to his lunch is strong.

"I have to go to work today," he says.

"On a Sunday?"

"They do oil changes on Sundays, too." He gives a short laugh and hands me the breakfast sandwich. "For you. No hangover ever wins against a greasy bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit."

I take the sandwich and fiddle with the wrapper while he stands in front of me. We've been kissing each other goodbye in the mornings, so he must be waiting for his peck on the lips or cheek. Our kisses haven't been hot or filled with want in the morning, but they've been nice.

He steps forward, and I put my hand on his chest, not to stop him, but to accept that he's in my space. "Do you want your goodbye kiss, Wilder?"

"Yes," he deadpans.

I purse my lips in a peck position and stand on my tiptoes, expecting the simple, dry kiss that he'll press to my lips before walking out the door.

"A real kiss," he whispers, stepping closer and cupping my cheeks.

My eyes open, and his are right in front of my face. His nose practically touches mine, and his eyes are black holes of desire.

He strokes my jaw with one hand and runs the other down to my throat, not squeezing. He lets his fingers rest there, probably feeling the speeding pulse moving through my neck. His heart pounds under my own hand. I move up a fraction of an inch just as he moves down, his lips crashing over mine.

I haven't kissed him like this yet unless drinks were involved or we were putting on a show for my mother. Our lips move in perfect tandem like we've been together for years. I move my hands from his chest and slide them up his back, moaning a little against the tongue exploring my mouth. He tastes like black coffee and biscuit, and I devour his mouth like breakfast.

He breaks the kiss first and nuzzles my cheek with my nose. "Have a good day, Savannah," he whispers, his voice husky, and I can feel his erection through his jeans.

Should I offer to handle that before he leaves for work? My mother and Melissa would both tell me to give him a quick jerk or blowjob in the kitchen before he left for work so he'd remember me for the day, and my mouth waters at the thought. I've only blown one guy and was terrible at it. I'd probably cause him to be late for work because it'd take forever.

While I debate helping his boner, he kisses me on the forehead. Melissa has always talked about how that's the sweetest thing a man can do to you, and I understand it now. He lingers there for just a second, but I can still feel the warmth of him when he pulls away.

He turns to leave, and I reach out for him, my fingers barely grazing the fabric of his shirt so gently that he doesn't feel it or turn around. If he turned around right now, I'd drop to my knees and vow to do my best on him.

Instead, he heads to the door. "I'll see you when I get home, snickerdoodle," he waves over his shoulder.

"I close this evening. I'll be home late. Also, I have a library conference this week. I'll be out of town until late Thursday night. I forgot about it. Will you be fine here all week by yourself?"

He pauses at the door, and his shoulders slump. "I'll see you when you get back," he sighs, shutting the door to the apartment before I can call him back to me for dirty fun.