Page 93 of When We Met

“Is this okay?” he asks, waiting.

I nod.

Our mouths connect, frantic, eager to give this a meaning. While he works my sweater off, tossing it next to the sugar and flour on the counter for the cookies, I unbutton his jeans. Clothes are quickly discarded, our mouths never separating in the process.

He’s trying to fuck me on the edge of the counter before my jeans are all the way off, and when they are, he lays me across the counter so my ass is facing him. I’m not exactly the right height for his six-foot frame, but we manage when I raise up on my tippytoes. I curl my hands around the sink in the island for leverage and look back at him over my shoulder.

He’s focused on my ass when he enters me from behind. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. Words aren’t needed for this. It’s two people, unsure what the future holds, but desperate for one another. He moves faster than ever before, wildly clutching my body. And though I don’t come, watching him, straining, movements turning erratic as he chases his need, it’s worth it.

He pushes into me one final time and then holds me firmly against the countertop, his body slumping forward and using me for support. “Holy shit,” he says as his body recovers from the tremors. Stepping back, he stares at me, breathing heavy. I take in the sight before me. His jeans around his ankles, hard cock hanging out, muscles tensed. Jesus. If I could take a picture and save this moment, I would.

We catch our breath in silence, dress in even more silence until we’re standing there, staring at one another. He runs a hand over his face, then through his hair. He swallows, steading his breathing more. “You didn’t… come. Did you?”

I shake my head. “No, but that was so hot it doesn’t matter.”

“I’ll make it up to you later.” He adjusts the sleeves of his flannel. “But I should go get the girls.”

Hope rises inside me. Later. There’s going to be a later. “Right.” I nod, relieved he’s not kicking me out. “We did promise cookies.”

He nods, a soft smile forming but not taking over. “We did.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

He tips his head toward the garage door. “Yeah. Let’s take the side by side.”

I chuckle nervously and button my jeans. “Are you going to toss me out the side? I think I’ve seen this in movies. If you want me to leave, just let me know. You don’t have to kill me.”

He blinks, keys in hand, and then his brow furrows. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Okay. I’ll be right there. Just need to, you know, clean up.” I gesture between my legs, as if it wasn’t obvious.

He says nothing more and walks away.

I use the half bathroom next to the laundry room, curse myself out in the mirror, and then meet Barron in the garage. He’s sitting in the side by side staring out at the driveway as the sunshine hits his face. I look over at him, the brown in his eyes so beautiful and dark, but I can see the worry written on his face.

I don’t say anything. I wait until he does. He’s just inches away but it feels like miles.

Swallowing, he clears his throat. “Did she ever say anything to you about why she left?”

I think about the few conversations I had with Tara about Barron and the divorce papers. “All she ever said was that she couldn’t stay in Texas any longer. She felt… trapped.”

He breathes in, slow and deep, his eyes ahead. Nodding, he starts the side by side. It hums to life and the anxiety gnaws at me because I don’t know what happens next. While I was open to whatever life had to offer me when I crossed over that California border, I hadn’t anticipated Barron Grady.

I might have gone overboard on this

KACY

When I think about Christmas, I think of two things. An artificial tree that stood thirty feet tall in our foyer, and my dad singing “Jingle Bell Rock” to me while beating chopsticks against my bedroom door because he was shit-faced drunk at four in the morning. I also remember the time my mom called the cops on my dad because he put his hand through a window after finding her in bed with his friend. Good times.

Another Christmas memory. Opening presents with my mother and getting everything she approved of, and nothing I wanted.

That changes today. Christmas Eve and I’m making the girls do everything Christmas-related while Barron helps Morgan bring in cattle before another snowstorm hits tonight.

Look at me in my snowman apron I got in Amarillo the other day. Don’t I look festive? I have matching pajamas for me and the girls too.

Glancing through Barron’s grandmother’s cookbook, I look up at the girls. “What cookie should we make next?” I ask the girls, my apron covered in flour. Okay, Barron’s kitchen is covered in flour too, but I’m sure he won’t complain. He’s looking forward to cookies when he gets back and I’m looking forward to cockies.

Sev groans, her body half on the counter and feet dangling in the air as she holds herself steady on it. It looks like she’s trying to body surf. “All this Christmas is makin’ my head hurt.”

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