“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine.” I’m not a porcelain doll that’s going to break with an orgasm. “Why do you keep asking?”
“Because now I’m wondering if that was the right thing to do. I’m not sure.”
“I didn’t turn you away.”
He pats my hair dry in small locks, squeezing with the towel. “Did you want to?”
“Not at any moment.”
He lets out a breath. “The look on your face when you came. My God. That was fucking amazing. I want to see that look every day for the rest of my life.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“I want to make you happy, too.”
He kisses my cheek and tosses the damp towel to the floor. “You do. Every single day. You do.”
We lie down and he rolls me onto my side, and then he fits himself in behind me. He reaches between us and adjusts his junk so that it’s not poking me in the spine. “That’ll go away in a minute. Just ignore him.”
I chuckle. “Him?”
“Well, he’s definitely not a her.”
No, that’s for sure. He’s definitely not a her.
“Go to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow. I have some things I need to tell you.”
“You promise?” I yawn.
“I swear it.”
And that’s the last thing I hear as I close my eyes.
Mick
We’re at the park the next day when Wren announces, “I think we should play a game.” She’s holding Devon in her lap, because for some reason he’s decided that he likes clinging to Wren. I can’t say I blame him. I like clinging to Wren too. Roxy is toddling around picking up sticks, while Anna swings on the swing set. Chase is in his stroller, being the good boy he is.
“What kind of game?” Devon asks, sitting up so he can look Wren in the eye.
She brushes his hair back from his forehead in a gesture that’s so maternal it makes my head spin. “It’s called favorites. Emilio used to play it with us when we were little and he didn’t know us very well. So, he could get to know us.”
“How does it work?” Anna asks, her feet kicking up clouds of dust.
“We get to take turns asking questions, and everyone has to answer, no matter how ridiculous the question is.”
Devon furrows his brow. “That sounds boring.”
“No, it doesn’t. It sounds like fun,” I say. I’ll take any chance I can get to learn more about Wren.
“I don’t want to play,” Devon says, and he jumps out of Wren’s lap and sprints for the swings.
“Me either,” Anna sings out. She’s already running toward the climbing structure.
I sit down next to Wren on the bench. Roxy is toddling a few feet from us. Wren reaches down and plucks Chase out of his stroller so she can balance him on her knee. So domestic. This could be what my life looks like ten years from now.