nothing, just breathed him in, his tang, the hint of leather, and held him back, tight to me.
He eventually pulled his head away and I took my cue, giving him my mouth.
He kissed me, deep and long, before he broke it.
“Get rid of this condom, be right back,” he whispered.
“Okay,” I whispered back.
He touched his mouth to mine again before he pulled me off him, set me gently in bed, then exited it and walked to the bathroom.
I watched.
I stretched after he disappeared.
And I smiled when he came back.
“Green, you.”
“Red. So . . . coffee.”
“Cream, no sugar. You.”
“Black, no sugar. Food.”
“Tacos. You.”
“My dad’s pancakes. Alternate, steak. Now movies.”
“Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. You.”
“The Way of the Gun.”
Good choice.
“Song,” he said.
“Vintage, ‘Life in the Fast Lane.’ Not as vintage, ‘Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town.’ Somewhat recent, ‘White Trash Millionaire.’”
“Babe.” He grinned. “Black Stone Cherry?”
I grinned back and said, “You.”
“Vintage, ‘Midnight Rider.’ Totally bad but still good, ‘Party Hard.’ Underrated, ‘Play Guitar.’ Inspired, ‘Bittersweet Symphony.’ Love song, ‘Where Dirt and Water Collide.’”
“The White Buffalo,” I whispered.
“‘Wish It Was True.’”
“‘The Observatory.’”
“‘I Got You.’”
We stared at each other through the shadows cut by moonlight, finding ourselves connecting in new ways that were not as exciting as giving each other orgasms, but they were just as important.
“Vacation,” he said.
“Beach. You.”
“Long stretch of road, my girl on the back of my bike.”
How did that sound better than a beach?
“Mountains or city?” he asked.
“Mountains. You.”
“Totally. Girl name,” he said.
That came as a surprise.
A sweet one.
I melted into him.
“Clara,” I said softly. “You.”
“Amity. Now boy.”
“Boone. You.”
“Rhodes. So, how many?”
“Two.”
“Two.”
God.
We so worked.
And Rhodes was a cool name.
Not as cool as Kane.
Still.
He fell to his back, pulling me on top of him.
I settled in.
He slid my hair back and held it in both hands.
“Winter or summer,” he whispered.
“Essence’s garden is pretty in the winter, but only if there’s snow. It’s magical in summer. So summer. You.”
“Can’t ride a bike every day in the winter.”
“Yeah,” I replied.
He kept my hair held back in one hand and moved his other so he could wrap his arm around and hold me at the waist.
“Never cut your hair,” he murmured.
“Never cut yours,” I murmured back.
His face got soft, he used my hair to guide my mouth to his and then he kissed me.
I just lay on top of him and kissed him back.
“She wanted to be a therapist.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Physical therapy, she thought.”
His hands moved on me, light, soothing, but he said nothing.
I burrowed closer.
“We’d have binge nights. Buy a bunch of junk food. Watch entire movie series. Star Wars, Empire, Return. Godfather one, two and three. Kill Bill. Lord of the Rings. Harry Potter was a whole weekend gluttony sort of thing.”
Rush remained silent.
“She liked Whoppers and Doritos. I’m a Milk Duds and Fritos Honey Barbeque girl.”
Rush started playing with the ends of my hair.
“I sprained my ankle once, the day before one of her charity runs. She showed that morning with a wheelchair. To this day, I have no idea where she got it. But that was Diane. She came up with the wildest ideas and had it in her to see them through. She pushed me in that chair through the whole race. She came in last. Everyone thought there was something wrong with me and we got this huge ovation when we came over the finish line. We didn’t know how to tell hundreds of people I’d just sprained my ankle, so we went with it. Did it up big. Diane took bows. I blew kisses. We made a big show. Amy stood on the sidelines laughing herself sick. It might not have been nice, but it was funny, and I don’t think I ever laughed that hard or that long in my life.”
Rush kissed the top of my head.
I closed my eyes.
“I miss her,” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he whispered back.
“And what sucks more is, I started missing her way before she died.”
Rush quit playing with my hair and just held me close.
“Yeah,” he repeated.
I pushed my face in his throat and thought of Whoppers, Fritos, Han Solo, Uma Thurman, Legolas and how good it felt when your sides hurt because you were laughing so hard.
Then in Rush’s arms, after nine months of holding on way too tight, I let the bad of Diane go.
But I held on to the good.
“She sold you?”
My voice was rising.
“Babe, I told you she wasn’t a great mom.”
Not a great mom?
“She sold you.”
“Her man had some money troubles.”
“I don’t care.”
“These troubles involved the