Chapter 35 | Liz

Chapter 35

Liz

M y hands shake as I arrange the charcuterie. I take a small sip of wine and turn my attention back to Spencer. He’s in one of those man sprawls on the couch, arms behind his head, sunk deep into the cushions, legs long and wide. Inviting him over felt natural and completely right when I did it this afternoon after finding out that Zoey was staying in Ardena for the night. But now that he’s here in my apartment and there’s no chance of interruptions, my body is equally burdened with anxiety and desire.

We’ve spent a lot of time together in the past few weeks. If he’s not with Ryan, he’s with me. And we’ve gotten close to having sex enough times that I feel the way his eyes track me as I move through the kitchen, and I know exactly where to touch to make him moan, and yet something always stops us. Mainly me. But tonight, there’s nothing to stop us. He’s here in my house, and I’m wearing a little red dress that cuts in all the right places. I want him to stop telling me a story about his son and instead drag me into the bedroom, leaving our clothes strewn across the floor.

I look back up at him, ready to engage with his story, but he’s watching me with this uncanny smile.

“Having an acid flashback?” I ask, looking around my small apartment. He mentioned upon entering that my space is pretty much his in reverse.

He laughs. “No, I was thinking how nice this is. Thanks for having me.”

His voice dips on that last part, and his eyes meet mine, saying all the dirty things he doesn’t. Apparently, my innocuous text about having dinner instead of going out was not as innocuous as I suspected. He clearly read right through the subtext to my actual request— do you want to skip dinner and bang —because he’s dressed in a button-down with the sleeves rolled up and brought fancy wine.

“Of course,” I say, returning to my appetizers. “It’s nice to have a guest that’s not family here.”

“Does it feel real now?”

I nod. “Almost too real but in this amazing way. I feel less like a squatter and less like this is some weird immersive camp experience.”

“Well, I’m honored that you invited me into your home.”

Into my bed is more like it. I count to ten and then look up at him. It’s never uncomfortable between us, and I’m not going to let tonight go that way. It will or won’t happen.

“You might rethink that when you see this charcuterie tray.” I slide some crackers onto the platter I got at the thrift shop on my way home.

He shrugs. “I lived on pizza rolls and Caesar salad kits for the first four months after my separation.”

An image of a scruffy, sweatpants-clad version of the well-put-together man in front of me pops into my mind. A baseball hat sits low on his head, covering too long and unkempt hair. Though I’ve only known him a few weeks, I suspect this depiction is right on.

“Well, I’m glad your expectations are low because I’m not sure I even have a second serving platter for the main course.”

He walks toward me then peeks at the tray I’ve placed on the counter between us. “You can’t replace a lifetime of kitchenware in a few weeks.” He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. My pulse quickens at his touch, at his lips at my ear and the quick beat of his heart against my back. “I like the dress.”

My head falls back onto him as he kisses my neck. His hands snake their way up my stomach, skimming my breasts. I turn in his arms. “I thought you might.”

His eyes seek mine, looking for approval, for consent. I hold his gaze and give an imperceptible nod— yes, please, yes —before bringing my lips to his. He pushes me back against the counter and fits himself between my legs. I feel him, all of him, everywhere. My body is on fire. I unbutton his shirt and push it to the floor. My hands go to his chest and then down farther, farther, until I hear him moan under my attention.

Our lips never part, each dip and breath deepening the kiss, urging us closer. He kisses down to my chest, pushing the straps of my dress off my shoulders. His fingers slip under the soft material, and a spike of desire shoots through me.

“Shall we take this out of the kitchen?” he asks as my dress slips farther down.

“I don’t know.” I undo the button of his pants. “The cold cuts are creating quite the ambiance.”

“True.” He slips the straps of my dress off my arms and watches as it falls to the floor. “But I like to take my time.”

His eyes rake across my body, and he picks me up, his lips coming back to my chest. He steps out of his pants and kisses me again. It’s dizzying and desperate. I want him inside me now.

“Bedroom’s last door on the right.”

I breathe him in and wrap myself tighter around him, if that’s possible. He smiles against my lips and carries me from the kitchen through the living room and into my bedroom. His mouth never leaves my body, moving from lips to ear to neck to breasts, until finally he lays me back on the bed.

I look up at him, this man who has shaken my whole world, and pull him down on top of me.

O range streaks the sky as the sun starts its ascent into morning. I sit on the small balcony of my apartment with a steaming cup of coffee and a blanket covering my legs, even though the morning is already warm and sticky. I wasn’t able to sleep after Spencer left around midnight. My favorite pillow smelled like him. I loved it, but I also hated it. I changed the sheets, but then the bed felt cold and empty. Finally, I picked up my book—the same one Spencer found for me that first day—and decided to read until I fell asleep. Except I didn’t fall asleep, and then I finished my book. So coffee and the sunrise. Why not?

All these hours later, I can still smell Spencer on me, feel his touch, remember how I trembled as he pushed me over the edge. It was a perfect night. A more-than-once night, and if he didn’t have to leave because of some event with Ryan the next morning, we might never have stopped. I rub at my eyes with my free hand before leaning forward over my knees. I know what’s keeping me up, and it’s not doubt or worry about Spencer. We were good together, more than good. I haven’t had sex like that, well, ever. But I didn’t see Julian behind my eyes when Spencer trailed kisses down my spine, and when Spencer’s lips met the softest parts of me, I didn’t have to swallow Julian’s name. With each thrust, Spencer shattered the already-splintered glass holding me in place. I didn’t miss my husband for one moment of the entire night. I’m not undecided on my marriage. I’m in mourning.