Page 18 of Bountiful
She laughed suddenly. Zara’s laughter was a rare and perfect thing—a husky burst of joy that tapered off quickly and was over practically before it began. “Fine,” she said, her face already serious again. “Let’s go see some stars.” She sidestepped me and walked toward my truck with her typicalefficiency.
As usual, her mind had turned on a dime, leaving me to catch up andfollowher.
The hilltopwhere I’d chosen to go stargazing was a little farther away than I’d thought. But Zara turned on the radio and rolled down her window. She looked content enough beside me, gazing into thenight.
I didn’t know the right word for what we’d been to each other this summer. It wasn’t arelationship. Neither of us wanted one of those. Zara would call it a series of one-night stands. But that wasn’t quite right, either. Atryst,maybe?
But every single time I came to see her, Zara made it clear that she wasn’t a sure thing. She always let me know she was doing me afavor.
I ate this up, too. Usually, getting sex was easy as a snap of my fingers. There was a certain type of woman who loved hockey, and loved hockey players. I never had to work hard to findmyfun.
In spite of all the nights we’d spent together by now, Zara still didn’t know I was a professional athlete. We didn’t swap life stories—that was another one of her rules. I was just a guy in her bar. And I liked this arrangement just fine, because shelikedme as just a guy in her bar. I didn’t have to be that star and impress her. She never asked me if I knew Tyler Seguin or Henrik Lundquivst. She didn’t want war stories or anybody’s signedjersey.
She justwantedme.
Even if there was no word for it, the thing between us had been great. Every three or four nights I’d gone to the bar alone before closing time, waiting while she finished up, mostlyignoringme.
I’d thought I’d get a warmer greeting as time went on, but my girl made it clear that we only knew each other after all the customers had left. I was her dirty little secret,apparently.
Best.Thing.Ever.
Even though I teased Zara about her long list of rules, I liked them just fine. There was no pressure on me to pretend we had a future together. Our conversations weren’t burdened with expectation. We were free to talk about our favorite movies. (Zara’s wasKill Bill, mine wasThe Blind Side.) We talked about where to eat in Vermont and who made the best icecream.
There was chatting and wild sex. Upstairs in her room I’d had some of the best sex of my life. And—another first for me—it just kept getting better as we spent more time together. It was a revelation, too. I thought I knew everything there was to know about pleasing awoman.
Nottrue.
I hadn’t expected that knowing Zara a little better each time made it more interesting. It was like the playoffs—a seven-game series meant figuring out some things about the other team as the games piled up. We came together with passion reinforced by familiarity and—dare I say it—a kind of respect that I’d never feltbefore.
Who knew? It was knowledge I’d probably never use again, though. Our odd little temporary matchup was coming to a rapidconclusion.
Just like theplayoffs.
She knew it, too. I’d been careful to tell her exactly when my time was up, and that I’d probably never be back. “Who says I’ll miss you?” she’d askedlastweek.
Right.
Now I pulled onto a winding road that took us to a hilltop lookout. When I parked at the top, we were the only car in sight. “Come on,”Isaid.
She got out of the truck, and I grabbed a quilt and a little cooler I’d brought. “Carry this?” I asked, handing her the quilt. I grabbed mybinoculars,too.
“Look at you! Mr. Prepared. Were you a boyscout?”
“Nope.”
She didn’t ask any follow-up questions. Not my Zara. Other women might start the inquisition, trying to learn about my past. Zara just marched into the field ahead of me, chose a spot for the quilt and flung it onto the grass. Then she lowered her elegant self onto her knees and looked up into theheavens.
I joined her a moment later. “Now this is what I’m talking about,” I whispered. I sprawled out on my ass, then pulled her nearer so she could lean her head against my chest and look up. “Want to see thehalf-moon?”
“Sure.” She snuggled a little closer. Her words were prickly, but her body language could never manage the same level ofreserve.
And I liked it in a way I never had before. Cuddly to me was always synonymous with needy. But Zara wasn’t the least bit needy. Her physical affection was an unexpected benefit, demanding nothing of me other than pleasure. I got a quick whiff of the coconut scent of her shampoo. Hell, the scent of coconuts would probably always make me hardafterthis.
I lifted the binoculars to the sky and focused them. The craters came into view, especially along the receding edge where the earth’s shadow hid half the moon. The detail was especially sharp there, where brightness faded into pitch dark. It was breathtaking. Before last month I had never known I could see it formyself.
“Okay, here you go.” I handed the binocularstoZara.
She made a soft sound when she found the moon. She was very still, taking her time, not saying a word. Pure Zara. After a contemplative silence she handedthemback.
