Page 62 of Forget About Me

“I’ll never not be a Bostonian, no matter how long I live on the West Coast.” I reach past her to turn on the shower in the tiny bathroom.

“Live? Not lived?”

“Well, I do still have an apartment there. And some work commitments. But I’m here now,” I add when her eyebrows knit together. “Except for the shoot I have right after the show closes.”

She nods briefly before whipping her hair up into a messy bun and tipping her head at the compact shower. “Maybe we’d better do this one at a time.”

“Sure, whatever you want. I’ll get coffee started.” Kicking myself for bringing up California, I grab a clean towel from the small dresser outside the bathroom. “This is for you.” She’s already singing in the shower, her mellow alto filling the space along with the shower’s steam. Setting the towel on the sink, I throw on some sweats and put some music on before making coffee. While it brews, I pull breakfast options from the fridge, wishing there was bacon.

How had I lived without this? Giving up bacon was a challenge, of course, but Lucy? There’s nothing in the world like Lucy's body. Even now, after I’ve caressed every inch of her over and over again, all night long, she still shudders with pleasure with each kiss. She creates an urge to give and take pleasure that’s as sweet as it is shattering.

I don’t think I can pretend that I don’t love her anymore.

So whatdowe do now? Despite the ease between us, I’m still in dangerous territory.

“Your turn,” Lucy calls breezily from the bedroom. When she emerges seconds later, wearing one of my button-downs and not much else, her smile makes it clear that she’s still with me.

Maybe it’s as easy that. Maybe we can simply move forward, let go of the past, and find a new future together. “Coffee will be ready in a minute.” I kiss her lightly on the nose. “And I am here. Now. With you.”

“Me too.” She drags a finger along my jaw before returning my kiss. “Get cleaned up, and I’ll make some breakfast.”

Slapping me on the butt, she dances into the kitchen, moving to the beat of “Just What I Needed” by The Cars, and I have to make myself get into the shower. After fueling up, we have the whole day together.

And if all goes well, we’ll have the next and the next and the next.

LUCY

I can’t imagine how I’ll ever get off this couch. There’s aStar Trekmarathon playing at low volume on the TV, and coffee cups and other dishes are scattered across the low table. My head’s on Ben’s lap, he’s absently playing with my hair and every goddamn inch of me is satisfied.

Yeah, that’s what I said. If I can spend a day fulfilling all my desires, I may as well say whatever words I want. At least inside my head.

Thank goodness Cindy took my Saturday shift. Time with Ben is precious if he’s going back to California when the play’s over.

He draws a finger over my brow, which probably just creased with worry. “Tell me about your job at the vet. Are you happy being a—what’s your actual title?”

Instead of answering, I grab a pillow to put under my head. “Your thighs are hard.” They may be lovely to look at, but they’re not very comfortable to rest on.

“You on the other hand”—he grunts as he hauls me up to sitting so he can lie with his head in my lap—“make an excellent pillow.”

“Part of the joys of eating what you want.” Flopping back into the comfy, old couch, eyes on the ceiling, I nestle into his embrace. “Though I guess no one would ever hire me to model their clothing.”

“I would.” He snuggles in under my bra-free breasts, punctuating his words with kisses. “I’d hire you to model naked, in lingerie, anything. I don’t get why women want to be so skinny. It does nothing for me.”

I pat one of my rounded hips. “Lucky for me.”

“Lucky forme.” He burrows into my side, where he knows I’m ticklish. I squeal and squirm, but he gets me on the other side with his hand.

“Agh! I thought there was no tickling!” I try to pry his naughty hands off me but I’m laughing too hard and he’s way too strong.

He stops suddenly. “I won’t tickle you if you answer my question.”

“What was the question again?”

“Are you happy at your job?”

“Hm.” I drop my head back on the cushions again. “I guess. I mean, I don’t know. It’s a job. The days fly by, and it’s rarely boring. I do wish it were a bit more challenging and I wish I made more money, but you don’t work at a vet’s office to get rich.”

“Not even if you were the vet?”

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