“Fine,” I mutter, and take off out the sliding glass doors in the kitchen that lead to the backyard, sure to close the doors behind me so Sterling can’t wander out. There’s a chilly breeze coming off the lake. All I’ve got on is his thin T-shirt, but I don’t care. There are no other houses around that I can see from here, so no one’s going to see my pointy nipples and naked legs.
Walking over to the small wooden dock that extends from the yard, I find a little boat tied to it. It’s hard for me to picture him in this tiny boat; he’s just too big. I think he would sink it. I climb into the boat and untie the rope from the wooden post. There are two oars but I don’t use them; I just let the wind blow me slowly across the water. From the middle of the lake I can see a few other houses, each with their own little docks and boats. I didn’t explore his house while he was gone, but now I wished I had. There were definitely other rooms—I just lacked the interest in seeing them. Maybe there is a guest room that he will let me stay in while I’m here. Unless he expects me to sleep in his bed every night. With him? I’m not sure I can do that.
I wiggle my left hand, staring at my engagement ring and wedding band. All my memories feel so far away, and I don’t understand how that can happen in just a few months. Everything feels as if it happened a lifetime ago. I can’t remember the happiness I felt every day before the accident. Now it feels like a movie I watched, and not like it happened to me at all.
Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m grieving the loss of Nick or the loss of myself.
I peer over the edge of the boat and see a face looking back at me in the water. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. The girl in the water looks like a sad wreck.
The boat bobbing in the water is making me sleepy, and I wish I had a blanket and pillow with me so I could just curl up on the small floor of the boat and sleep. Better yet, I wish I could fall over the side, float to the bottom of the lake and just stay there.
Dom dude is just as much of a mess as I am. Possibly even more so. He seems sad, but also dark and devious and a bit of an asshole, and yet I see fleeting glimpses of care and compassion in him too. The fact that I got on a motorcycle with him so easily without a second thought and let him bring me here to his house in the woods scares me terribly.
I look back at the house and he’s standing on the dock with a bottle in his hand. I’ve drifted out further than I thought and doubt the wind will be nice enough to lead me back, so I pick up the oars and row back. His eyebrows furrow together when I near, and he grabs the rope from my hand and ties it to the post. I watch his fingers expertly tie the knot and I feel wetness between my legs, thinking of how he tied my hands almost the same way.
He takes my arm and helps me onto the dock. “What the hell are you doing? I thought something happened to you.” He picks up his bottle of vodka and takes a swig. This cannot be good.
“What could happen? I was just floating around.”
“Next time, tell me. You can’t just disappear on me like that.”
“I wish I could just disappear. And why are you drinking?”
“Because that’s what I do.” He puts his arm around me and leads me towards the house. “Its too cold for you to be out here like this.”
As soon as we walk through the doors I can smell food cooking, so he must have started dinner while I was out on the boat disappearing. He doesn’t strike me as the cooking type, but I guess he is just full of surprises.
“It smells delicious. What are you making?”
“Chicken cordon bleu and rice pilaf.”
I can’t hide the impressed and surprised look that must be on my face. “Really? You made that?”
He takes another sip of vodka before answering me, and I’m starting to worry about why he’s drinking and how much of that he’s going to be doing. I really don’t want to be stuck out here with an angry—or psycho—drunk person.
“Yes, I made it. My grandmother loves to cook, and sometimes I just go to her house and spend the day cooking with her.”
Picturing that scene brings a smile to my face. I don’t know many men who would hang out with their grandmother cooking, especially ones that look like he does.