The muscles in her stomach jerked under my mouth as I kissed down her body, sucking and tasting her until she was pulling me up by my hair, over her, shoving my clothes off with grabby, impatient hands.
It was fast, and, fuck, it was probably a little too rough, but I loved the way her tits moved when I pinned her hands over her head and fucked her as hard and fast as I could.
I wasn’t sure what got into me.
A switch had been flipped, some ancient trigger pulled. She’d been gone. I needed to remind her, remind my hands and mouth and cock that this was default: us. The setting didn’t fucking matter.
She came, but just after I did. I don’t know how I managed to actually get her there and not collapse on her. She’d scratched my collarbone when she was close, drawing blood and making me see stars.
I fell over her, heavy, and managed to keep from crushing her with my elbows planted in the mattress near her head.
“Were we loud?” she asked, breathless.
“I don’t have enough energy left to care.”
She giggled beneath me. “Awkward group breakfast at the B&B.”
I rolled off her, dragging my hand across her sweaty torso as I went. “You think I’m letting you out of this room?”
She draped her body over mine, kissing the scratch she’d left on my skin. “Darling husband?”
My blood vibrated at her words. “Hmm?”
“Are we okay?”
Now this—this made me laugh.
“Plum.” I stretched to kiss her. “Never mind what we just did in this tiny bed, we’re always okay.”
Standing, Hanna walked over to the door and grabbed a notebook from her bag, shuffling back to me.
“Roll over,” she said, nudging my shoulder.
I rolled to my stomach and rested my face on my bent arm. The notebook was cool against my back, causing me to startle a little. “What are we doing?”
“I need to make a list of what Caltech needs to bring to the table to beat Harvard.”
I turned my head, barely able to see her over my shoulder. I liked seeing that she could admit that, most likely, every school would want her. But I also didn’t want her to get brokenhearted if she didn’t get an offer from her first choice.
I wondered if I’d pushed too hard for her to rank her preferences, to assume she had her pick.
“When do you expect to hear back from Harvard?”
She grinned, stretching to kiss my cheek. “I heard back from them today.”
Six
Hanna
I knew it was wrong to call Will quite so late, but I hadn’t been able to call him until now, and I absolutely didn’t want to wait until morning. The phone rang only once before he picked up.
“Hey, Plum.”
“Hey, you.”
“This is becoming sort of a habit,” he said, followed by the sounds of the bed creaking.
“I know, we have scripted lines and everything.”
“How was your day?” he asked, voice scratchy and deep. We’d been in a good place when I left for Caltech, so I imagined he’d probably been actually sleeping, not just trying to. I glanced at the clock and felt even guiltier for calling so late.
“It was pretty great,” I said, and noted the pause on the other end of the line. I’d always suspected this particular topic of conversation made Will anxious, but it was only now—since our big blowup—that I knew exactly how anxious, and why.
Looking back, I could admit to having some measure of tunnel vision about my job search. I’d had a list of possible candidates, and I’d checked them off, one by one, not attempting to form any sort of opinion on the outcome until I had all the possible information. I’d been looking at the situation with the logical side of my brain, and quite frankly, the logical side of my brain was an insensitive dick. But now, taking Will’s point of view into account, I could see how unfair that had been, and how it was something we needed to do together, as a couple, rather than me telling him what I’d decided.
I’d long suspected that Will would have preferred a school not in California—or anywhere along the West Coast, for that matter—but in usual Will fashion, he was withholding his opinion until I’d had a chance to express mine. Max was right, Will would probably pack up and follow me to Antarctica if I got a job I loved there.
“It was great,” he repeated, voice a little too careful. “Well that’s . . . that’s great then, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I mean, they were super accommodating. They must have done their research, too, because they knew my favorite band was in town. They took me to a concert at the Rose Bowl, Will. Floor seats. Who does that?”
He laughed in that slow, sleepy way of his, and I could imagine him rubbing his hand over his face. “My guess is a school that wants you pretty fucking bad, Plum. Did you have fun?”
“It was amazing,” I said. “Pasadena is really beautiful.”
“It is.”
The campus was beautiful, the houses were beautiful, the weather was beautiful, but just like with Berkeley, I couldn’t imagine my guy in the middle of it all. Will and palm trees just didn’t feel right. I saw him in the shadow of skyscrapers, hailing a cab and maneuvering us both through crowds and traffic while I rambled on about God knows what, oblivious to everything going on around us. He needed little hole-in-the-wall restaurants and adrenaline, a city with history and culture, four seasons, and winters where we could jog through the snow. Where I’d complain about freezing and he’d do something funny to distract me, and we’d see our laughter in the cold air in front of us. And when I thought about it . . . I needed that, too. Pasadena was great, but it wasn’t right for us.
“It was amazing,” I repeated. “But I don’t want us to live here, either.”
“Okay, so that narrows your choices down to—”
“I think I’ve decided,” I told him. “If you’re ready to really have that talk, of course. I know it’s late there. Or early? For a scientist I’m really terrible with the math of time zones.”
There was more rustling of fabric and I could tell that Will was sitting up. I imagined him naked, sheet riding just at his hips, his skin warm with sleep.
I was so homesick I could barely stand it.
“No, no. I’m definitely ready to talk,” he said. “Excited, even.”
“Okay,” I said, and blew out a breath. I could feel my pulse hammering in my chest, and I knew this was a big moment. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait until I get back? So we’re face-to—”
“Hanna,” he said, laughing. “I’m ready to start the rest of my life with you. Talk to me.”
“Right, right. Yes. Like I told you before, I couldn’t see you in Berkeley. And I’m definitely sure I couldn’t see you in Pasadena. Caltech was great, but not for me. Not for us. You okay with that?”
“More than okay, Plum.”
“I know there are a few things we’re still waiting on, but I think I like Harvard. Their program is amazing; the school is top-notch, obviously. It’s a little less money than Princeton, but I think I have some negotiating room there, even though I know New Jersey would definitely be the easiest in terms of living arrangements and the general upheaval of our lives—”
“You know that’s not a factor for me,” he said. “You haven’t spent your entire adult life building a career so you can do what’s easiest.”
“I know, and thank you for getting that. I see many blow jobs in your future for being such an amazing, understanding husband. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He paused. “So . . . Harvard?” he asked, and it was impossible to miss the hopefulness in his voice.
“I think so? They really want me, and I think I’d have the most flexibility there, which . . . is something I really want. Balance. You remember that, don’t you?” I said, smiling into my dark hotel room.
“Balance sounds pretty fucking great. So we’re moving back to Boston, then?”
“If you think you could be happy t
here?”
“I think I could be happy wherever you are,” he said, and I was pretty sure he was smiling, too.
If this Harvard thing didn’t pan out, Will and I could definitely not fall back on a career as professional movers.
The first weekend after Caltech, and only three days before our honeymoon, we woke up, made coffee together, went for a run, met friends for brunch, and headed home. It dissolved into chaos from there.
By eleven that morning, we’d accomplished nothing more than covering our living room in folded cardboard boxes. I somehow managed to tape my ponytail to a box, and when Will finally found me, painstakingly trying to remove a strip of boxing tape from my hair, he ended up going down on me on the coffee table.
I wasn’t actually sure how it happened.
Not that I was complaining.
In our bedroom, we decided to tackle Will’s comic book collection.
The bedside table is where most men would keep porn. Though as I watched Will unload precious issue after issue and then stack them reverently on the bed with a sort of wild, glazed look in his eyes, I realized this was identical to his reaction to porn anyway.
I flopped on the bed and started skimming an issue. In my peripheral vision I sensed Will watching me, brows furrowed and a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Hanna,” he said, gently scooping up a few I might, maybe, have accidentally lain on. “Careful, baby. Some of these are older than you are.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
Will began carefully loading them into boxes and I picked up a copy with a particularly busty heroine on the cover.
“Really, Will?” I said, holding it up for him to see. Thanks to a rather large cleavage-displaying cutout, she was practically spilling out of her costume. “I’ve seen a lot of questionable outfits these girls are made to wear, but this is ridiculous bordering on obscene. How could anyone be expected to fight crime in this?”
“Oh, wow,” he said, ignoring my rant entirely and beginning to thumb through the pages. “I haven’t seen this in years.”
“What on earth is her power? Does she pummel bad guys with her boobs? What is this outfit she’s wearing? I think I cover more when I shower.”
“This is Power Girl, and her costume looks like this for a reason.”
“Is the reason so teen boys can wank without actually having to buy porn?”
When he didn’t say anything, my eyes widened.
“Oh my God!” I said.
“I think I’ve got this,” he mumbled, continuing to stack comics in boxes with a lot less care than he had a minute ago.
I rolled on the bed, giggling. “Wait until I tell Max you masturbated to a comic book.”
“Hanna, most guys masturbate to comic books. It’s like masturbation training wheels.”
“Okay, well, you just made this a lot less fun for me, though I will say your boob fetish makes a hell of a lot more sense now.”
And that’s how, by half-past noon, we ended up having sex on a stack of old comic books. He might never admit it, but I think Teenage Will just checked something off his bucket list.
At five, Will was going through a box of books in the living room when I passed him on my way to the kitchen.
“Need any help?” he asked, setting down a massive structural biology textbook and nodding toward my box.
“No, this is light. Just underwear, but I realized I want to go through some of it,” I said. “Don’t have a copy of Power Girl tucked in there, do you?”
“She’s a comedian,” he grumbled, turning on his heel and following me across the room.
“I could leave you alone for a few minutes,” I offered generously over my shoulder.
I set the box down on the counter and started going through it. Will stepped up next to me.
“Oh, I remember those,” he said when I pulled out a pair of satin panties.
“You do?”
“You had them on at your parents’ house when I visited for Easter.”
Ah yes, the fateful Easter visit, when no one in my family knew that Will and I were seeing each other. I lured him into my room and convinced him to have unprotected sex while my family was obliviously hanging out downstairs.
Lord. Will’s entire life had flashed before his eyes when Jensen knocked on the door.
“You couldn’t remember to pick up laundry soap today but you remembered that?” I asked.
“Yeah. Well.” Will was quite a bit taller than me, and even standing at my back, he could peer over my shoulder. “May I?” he finally asked, motioning to the box and its contents.
“Knock yourself out,” I said, walking to the freezer and returning with a pint of ice cream. Spoon in hand, I hopped up on the counter next to him and popped off the lid.
He pulled out pair after pair, wiggling his eyebrows and kissing me full on the mouth whenever one sparked a particularly happy memory. Turns out, unpacking was way more fun than packing.
“Wait,” he said, slowing as he came to the plainer ones toward the bottom. “Why have I never seen any of these before?”
I dipped my spoon into the container and lifted a bite to my mouth. “Because those are my Ladies’ Days undies.”
His eyes flew to mine. “Your what?”
“Menstruation?”
Will nodded, unfazed as he turned back to the box. “Got it.”
“You’re so progressive sometimes it’s actually a little dorky. Cute, but dorky.”
He looked back up again, giving me a crooked smile. “You have special underwear for when you’re on your period and I’m the dorky one?”
I shrugged. “Well, yeah.”
He blinked a few times. “Why do you bother?”
“These days I wouldn’t want to ruin my nice ones, but back in grad school I didn’t have nice ones.” I snorted as I took another bite. “Nobody saw my underwear then. You know, I even remember a Kickstarter this guy did for something called Period Panties. They all had names like Shark Week or Cunt Dracula. I think there was even a pair that said Rambo: First Blood and had a unicorn that had just been in a bar fight or something.” I lifted a bite of fudge brownie to my mouth, only to see Will staring at me. I paused. “What?”
“I can’t decide if that’s terrifying or absolutely genius.”
I nodded, taking the bite and swallowing before saying, “If I’m remembering correctly, it was so you didn’t have to ward off unwelcome advances that week. So instead of saying, ‘Sorry, baby, it’s that time of the month!’ you could just throw this gang sign near your vagina and flash your Period Panties.”
I made what I’m sure was a crude V motion with my spoon directly at my crotch and then took another bite of ice cream.
“Have you always been this weird?” Will asked.
I stared blankly at him.
He picked up a pair of blue cotton briefs. “What’s wrong with these?”
Hopping down from the counter, I grabbed them and tossed them back into the box. “Well, nothing really. Except they look like something my mom would wear.”
“Okay, yeah, you’ve ruined it.”
I laughed, throwing a pair at him. “Ruined what? I’m as lazy as they come, and if not for Chloe I’d probably still be wearing the same pair until the elastic gave out. But no guy actually finds these sexy.”
“You obviously don’t understand a thing about men. Or, specifically, this man.”
I let out a laugh. “I don’t?”
“No,” he said, reaching for a pair of yellow ones. “I’m not scared of periods, and you could walk out in five pairs of the worst underwear known to man, and I would still want to have sex with you.”
“Is that right?”
Will picked up my spoon and the ice cream and took a bite. “Absolutely.”
Twenty minutes later, I walked out of our room—naked except for a white tank and five pairs of the ugliest Ladies’ Days undies I owned—and sat on the couch across from the TV.
Looking u
p from the box he was taping, Will watched me. “Hiya, Plum.”
I crossed my legs, picked up the remote, and turned on the TV. “William.”
He straightened, placing the tape gun on top of the bookcase, and walked the box over to a stack by the front door. Crossing back to the couch, he sat on the edge of the coffee table across from me. “What are you doing?”
“Just watching TV.”
He looked back at the screen, and then to me again. “But you don’t speak Spanish.”
I blinked over at him with a glare and changed the channel. “I was reading the subtitles.”
Will tilted his head, eyes moving from the tips of my toes back to my face. “You look pretty.”
I wasn’t really sure what I was doing, and was actually starting to sweat a little. Why did I always decide to prove a point first and think about it later?
“Thanks,” I replied.
His hand curved around my ankle, his thumb brushing up and down along the top of my foot. Moving my foot away, I stood, turning toward the kitchen and trying to remember everything Chloe had told me about being sexy. I think I shook my ass, but it probably looked more like I had a charley horse.
“Do you want a beer—” I started to ask, but didn’t make it that far.
Will cracked up, bending over laughing before he tackled me back to the couch. “Are you trying to prove a point here, Plum?”
“Yes!” I shouted, trying to escape. “Admit you don’t think this is sexy. Admit it!”
“Are you kidding?” he said, tucking his head into my neck and covering me in kiss after kiss. He tickled my stomach and pushed my shirt up to my ribs. “It’s been long enough, I could absolutely do it again.”
“Are you serious?” I screamed, laughing and attempting to twist away from his fingers.
He kissed his way across my chest and down between my breasts, over my shirt. His fingers moved to the waistband of my panties and he slowly tried to peel them down my legs. Tried being the operative word because five pairs of underwear don’t really fit the same way as one . . .
“What in the actual fuck—” he started to say, tugging at the fabric.