The Way We Rise

  I could push aside the pile of clean laundry he tossed onto the sofa and wait for him. Or I could put away the laundry and throw away the three greasy boxes of pizza on the counter. And do the dishes in the sink. Oh, who am I kidding? I have to clean this mess.

  I shake my head as I clean Houston’s apartment, mildly disgusted with how much my mother’s habits have clearly rubbed off on me these past few weeks. When I’m done, I smile and breathe a sigh of relief as I sit back on the sofa. He won’t just accept my apology. He’ll be begging me to come live with him after he sees this.

  My smile quickly disappears at this thought. Holy shit. Have I been domesticated?

  My heart races as panic sets in. Maybe I should just leave. I can call Houston later and apologize to him over the phone. Then I can start looking for an apartment of my own with the first paycheck my dad gives me next week.

  I stand from the sofa and head for the kitchen to grab my purse off the table in the breakfast nook, but the sound of the door opening stops me cold. I watch in horror as the door handle turns and Houston walks in. For a long moment, he stares at the sofa, which is conspicuously free of all laundry. Then his gaze shifts to the coffee table, where there are no more empty bottles of Gatorade. Then he turns toward me and his eyes widen with shock.

  “What’s going on here?” he asks.

  Just the sound of his voice, which I haven’t heard in four excruciatingly long days, stirs emotions inside me. I can’t leave without apologizing. I need him to know how sorry I am as much as he needs to know it.

  “This is me apologizing to you,” I reply. “I know why you wanted me to write the book, but I can’t do it. Not because I don’t love you, but because that book is not us.”

  He drops his keys in a bowl on the coffee table. “Not anymore, it’s not. It was erased.”

  I take a few steps toward him. “Houston, since the day I ran into you in Jamie’s office last August, I’ve learned an important lesson. A lesson that I only recently understood when someone gave me a very eye-opening homework assignment.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Homework assignment? What are you talking about?”

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is what I learned from it.”

  He lets out a frustrated sigh. “What did you learn?”

  I take a few more steps, until I’m so close I have to look up at him. “I learned that, whether it’s the love between father and daughter or the love between a man and a woman, you can’t erase love. Not with a delete button or six years or six hundred miles.” I reach up, brushing the tips of my fingers over the sandpaper scruff on his jaw. “That book isn’t us. This is us. Just you and me, getting through every day. That’s our story.”

  His gaze is fixed on something behind me as the muscle in his jaw twitches. “I guess I began to equate fighting for the book with fighting for us.” He sighs heavily as he shifts his gaze to my face. “But you’re right. We’re living the story right now.” His hand comes up, landing on my cheek, rough and warm against my skin. “And there’s no one else I’d rather live it with.”

  He takes my face in his hands and I hold my breath as I close my eyes and wait for his mouth to fall over mine. His lips taste citrusy, like orange Gatorade. His tongue parts my lips and slides into my mouth, sending a shiver of warmth cascading through me. Every tilt of his head and brush of his lips adds fuel to the fire building in my core, until I’m panting like an animal in heat. But we can’t have sex until we’ve hashed out the dynamics of our arrangement.

  Reluctantly, I place my hands flat on his solid chest and push him back. “We have to talk.”

  He looks down at me, his lips still parted and eyes hooded with lust. “There’ll be time for that later.”

  I push him back again as he leans down to kiss me. “No, we have to talk now.”

  He lets out a groan that’s packed with so much sexual frustration I almost laugh. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

  I sit on the sofa and pat the cushion for him. “I think we should move in together.”

  “Great. So do I.” He lunges toward me and I laugh as I push him away.

  “I’m serious, Houston.”

  “So am I,” he insists, his hand landing on my thigh. “I’ll help you move your stuff in tomorrow, but tonight I have other plans for you.”

  I narrow my eyes at him as he slides his hand upward. He glares back at me for a moment before he rolls his eyes and lets out another groan as he removes his hand from my crotch and sits back.

  “All right. Let’s talk,” he says. “I’ll help you get moved in whenever you’re ready.”

  “And you’re not going to hold my new job against me?”

  His head snaps in my direction. “Of course I won’t do that. I’m not a total jerk. Do you promise you won’t hold my job against me?”

  I cock an eyebrow. “Why would I hold your job against you?”

  “You know I love my job, Rory. And there are going to be times when I don’t come home early, because we’re testing out a new flavor or a new system. And there’ll be times I come home a little drunk for the same reason. I love my job. And just like you don’t want me to tell you how to do your job, I need the same thing from you.”

  I can’t help but smile. “I love that you have a passion for beer. I would never get mad at you for that.”

  He bites his lip as he looks down at me, his blue eyes dark with desire. “You know what else I have a passion for? Dinner. I’m very hungry.”

  I chuckle. “I get it. You want to perform oral sex on me. But can we please finish our conversation first?”

  “What else do we need to discuss?”

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Birth control.”

  His eyes widen. “Oh, yeah.”

  “I’ve been on the pill for a while, but, well, you know it’s not one hundred percent effective.” A sharp pain twists in my chest as I think about the abortion I had six years ago. “We need to agree on what would happen if… if I should become pregnant.”

  Houston turns his body toward me and takes my face in his hands. “Now it’s my turn to apologize.” His eyes shine with a steely resolve. “I’m sorry I asked you to get an abortion. Maybe we weren’t ready back then, but I have no doubt that you would have been an unbelievable mother. And you would have whipped me into shape. I made a huge mistake. I know that now.”

  I blink furiously to clear my vision. “Thanks, but you don’t have to apologize. Neither of us were ready.”

  “Maybe not. But if you were to get pregnant now, I’d hope for twins. Or triplets. Fuck, I’d have a thousand kids with you.”

  I laugh out loud. “No, no, no. No triplets. And you can take custody of your thousand kids and go live in a shoe for all I care.”

  He smiles as he leans in and stifles my laughter with a deep kiss. The kind of kiss that could make a girl forget her name. When he pulls away, I draw in a large breath of Houston-scented air, as I’m suddenly feeling a bit woozy.

  He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip as he stares at my mouth. “Is it dinnertime yet?”

  My chest heaves as he looks up and our eyes meet. “I hope so. I’m starving.”

  “We’ve lived together a week and you’re already cheating on me.”

  Houston’s eyes widen at my accusation, then he lets out a nervous chuckle. “What are you talking about?”

  He closes the front door behind him and my gaze follows him as he hangs his coat in the closet and crosses the room toward me. He drops his keys in the bowl on top of the coffee table, where my feet are propped up, then he takes a seat next to me on the sofa. I turn my cheek to him when he leans in to kiss me on the lips.

  “So you’re not denying it?” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Rory, how can I deny something that’s so completely ridiculous?”

  I turn to face him, fixing him with a savage glare. “I saw it!” I reply, pointing at the TV. “You binge-watched three episodes of Break
ing Bad without me.”

  He hangs his head, but I can still see him trying not to smile. “You’re right. I cheated. But it’s not my fault, baby,” he says, looking up at me. “They got me with those damn cliffhangers.”

  I shake my head and let out a heavy sigh. “Well, now you’re going to have to watch them all over again with me. That’s your punishment.”

  He leans in and kisses my neck. “Do I have to pay attention, or can I practice my knitting while you watch?”

  “Practice your knitting? Is that code for sticking your needle in my loop?”

  He brushes his lips over the sensitive skin along the curve of my neck. “You catch on quickly.”

  My eyelids flutter as he lays a trail of kisses up my neck and buries his nose in my hair. His hot breath thunders in the shell of my ear, sending shivers through me.

  “I’d better get an awesome sweater out of this,” I say, my voice shaky with desire.

  “I’ll make you a whole fucking winter wardrobe,” he replies, sliding his hand under the Barley Legal T-shirt I’m wearing. “And I’ll throw in a pearl necklace free of charge.”

  I shake my head, unable to hide my grin. “So generous.”

  He yanks my top off roughly and I laugh as he twirls it over his head and tosses it onto the floor somewhere near the TV. His lips land on my neck and I swallow hard as he sucks on my flesh while undoing my bra. He slides the straps off slowly, then he unceremoniously chucks it onto the floor with my shirt.

  His large hands grab my waist and he lifts me up so he can place me in the corner of the sofa. His eyes are wild with hunger as he tugs my panties off. My back is against a pillow while my head rests against the back of the couch.

  Pulling off his T-shirt, he smiles as he kneels down on the floor in front of me and spreads my legs apart. “Have you been thinking about me today?” he says, sliding a finger between my wet folds.

  “Yes,” I reply, my chest heaving with anticipation.

  One of his hands spreads my lips apart while his other finger lightly caresses my throbbing clit. “Did you touch yourself?”

  My eyelids flutter as the pleasure builds. “No,” I breathe. “I wanted to wait for you.”

  He softly squeezes my clit between his thumb and forefinger and I whimper. “Next time, I want you to touch yourself, but I want you to call me first so I can listen. Okay, baby?”

  His voice is so commanding, yet reassuring. Just the sound of it is getting me close to coming.

  I nod. “Okay.”

  He lowers his head between my legs and my eyes roll back as the orgasm builds. He kisses my clit firmly, then sucks on it the way he sometimes sucks on my tongue. Every nerve ending in my body is zinging with pleasure. A warm rush spreads through me. I grab the back of his head to hold us both steady as my legs begin to quake.

  “Houston.” I whisper his name the first time, then it comes out progressively louder the next six times, until I have to push him away because I can’t take it anymore.

  He pulls his head back and chuckles as I writhe with the aftereffects of the orgasm. “That was a good one,” he says, sliding a finger inside me.

  I flinch a little at how quickly he finds my G-spot, then I shake my head adamantly. “No, please. Give me a minute.”

  He smiles as he pulls his finger out and slips it into his mouth. “Mmm… That’s like your secret sauce.”

  I laugh as I try to sit up, but he places his hand on my shoulder to push me back. He shakes his head as he grabs my hips and angles my body a little. He stands up and I marvel at the sexy cut of his muscles, the way they move as he takes his pants and boxer briefs off. I draw in a deep breath as he straddles me with one of his knees on the seat cushion and one foot on the floor.

  He bends down and brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. “I was fantasizing about this mouth all day today.”

  He kisses me slowly and my breathing quickens as I taste myself on him. His tongue plunges inside my mouth and I reach up to hold his face as I suck on it. Threading his fingers through my hair, he grabs a chunk of my hair and tugs my head back. Adrenaline courses through me, making me tremble as I watch him stand up while maintaining his hold on my hair.

  “Open your mouth,” he commands me.

  I lick my lips then open my mouth wide as his erection advances toward my face. The corners of my mouth burn as his cock stretches my lips. He thrusts slowly at first, his eyes locked on mine, occasionally pulling out to ask if I’m comfortable. But I know when his grip on my hair tightens and he pushes in farther that he’s going to come soon. My eyes begin to water as he hits the back of my throat and activates my gag reflex. He eases up a bit and I take the opportunity to curl my fist around his cock. Wrapping my lips tightly around my teeth, I pump my fist and bob my head in a sensual rhythm. He grips the back of the sofa to steady himself, and tears slide down my temples as he finishes in my mouth.

  Twenty minutes later, Skippy is seated patiently at my feet as I stand in the kitchen wearing nothing but a Ducks T-shirt I found a few days ago, stuck between the wall and the back of the hamper. I dig through the utensil drawer for the microplane I brought with me when I moved in, then I use it to shave some Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese onto our postcoital dinner salads. Houston enters the kitchen freshly showered and fully clothed in a T-shirt, jeans, work boots, and jacket.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, making no attempt to hide my disappointment.

  He shrugs as if to imply that this isn’t his choice. “Just got a text from Troy. Pilot vat sprang a leak. We’ve got hot mash all over the floor, and one of the guys slipped and burned his arm. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “But you haven’t eaten,” I protest.

  He kisses me on the forehead and pats Skippy on the head. “I’ll grab something in the restaurant. I’ll be back soon.”

  I sigh as I take my salad to the living room, feeding the grilled chicken from Houston’s salad to Skippy while catching up on Breaking Bad. Houston is gone no more than twenty minutes when I get a text message from him that makes me smile.

  Houston: Make sure you have Skippy close by to comfort you while you watch episode 13.

  Me: Thanks for the tip.

  Houston: There’s more where that tip came from.

  Me: Very punny. See you soon. :)

  * * *

  When I wake in the morning, Houston is laid out facedown on the bed next to me. He came home at almost midnight last night and headed straight for the shower, claiming he was covered in sour mash. When he fell asleep, I resisted the temptation to smell the clothes he threw in the laundry basket.

  Houston hasn’t given me a reason not to trust him. And I will continue to believe him until I get a solid reason to suspect he’s doing something other than working late, as he has been doing more frequently over the past two weeks since they started testing out a new summer ale in their pilot brewing system. I’m guessing that whatever happened with the vat yesterday will only set them back, and he’ll probably have to work late again tonight.

  Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, I realize Houston will be getting up for work in about twenty minutes. I don’t have to start getting ready for work for another couple of hours, so I decide to make us some breakfast. He’ll need a good meal to deal with the aftermath of whatever happened at the brewery yesterday.

  Sliding out of bed, I stealthily leave the bedroom. I wash my face and brush my teeth quickly before I head to the kitchen to cook. The orange juice is freshly squeezed, the eggs have been whisked, and the bacon is sizzling in the cast-iron skillet by the time Houston stumbles into the kitchen.

  His hair is sticking out in all directions and a large crease slashes across his left cheek. He squints at me through the light pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. All I can think is that he looks absolutely exquisite, the way the morning light bounces off his golden-caramel hair and paints buttery streaks of light over his taut abs and broad shoulders. He’s glowing. God, the man is hot,
sizzling perfection. I can practically hear the fizzle of the fuse in my head, followed by the loud pop! of fireworks going off inside me.

  “Look out!” he shouts, reaching for me as if he’s about to save me from an incoming grenade.

  He yanks me away from the stove, but not before the grease in the skillet pops, splashing a walnut-sized blob of hot grease onto the top side of my forearm.

  “Shit!” I scream, with only one thought in my head: Get to the sink!

  Houston beats me to it. He grabs me by the waist and sets me down on the counter next to the sink, then he turns on the faucet. I place my arm under the stream of cool water and sigh with instant relief. Then I let out a few curse words as the stinging returns.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, his eyebrows knitted with genuine concern.

  I sigh as I pull my arm out of the water and laugh. “Maybe you should turn off the flame on that skillet.”

  He reaches back and turns off the range, then he turns back to me, shaking his head in dismay as he examines the screaming pink mark on my arm. “What would you do if I wasn’t here?” he says as he grabs a blue ice pack out of the freezer and holds it against my arm.

  I flinch a little as the cold gives me a good shock. “Um… exactly what I just did? It’s not like I’m going to die from a grease burn.” I remove the pack from my arm and set it on the counter. “It’s too cold.”

  I coil my arms around his neck and he smiles as he spreads my knees apart to get closer to me. He slips his hands under the Ducks T-shirt I’m wearing, his eyes widening as he slides his hands over my bare ass and realizes I’m not wearing panties.

  “No panties and you’re sitting on the counter? You’re a dirty girl,” he murmurs, his mouth hovering over mine as his hand slides between my thighs.

  He kisses me slowly as his finger glides into me. I moan into his mouth and this only urges him on as he uses his other hand to grab my ass firmly and pull me closer to the edge of the counter. His finger pierces me deeper as the rough of his palm rubs hot friction into my clit. And just when I think I’m getting ready to climax, he removes his hand from between my legs and tilts his head back to watch my face.