“I have a cat, too, but she’s probably hiding.”
Jay bends down and indulges Roscoe. “Did you ever wonder … what it would have been like?”
I know immediately what he’s asking, without him having to spell it out. What would it have been like if we’d had the baby.
“I do.” I say, knowing he wonders too, or he wouldn’t be asking.
We’re both quiet with our own thoughts as he rubs Roscoe’s belly. Would we still have been together if we were parents? Would we have made things work? Our child would have been a full-grown adult this year, twenty-one years old. How is that even possible?
Maybe we would have had more children, too. Sometimes I wonder what kind of mother I’d have been.
“Want something to drink?” I ask, breaking the silence.
Jay looks up, his expression somber. “Sure. Water would be great.”
He follows me into the kitchen, still quiet as he watches me take down a glass and fill it with ice and water from the dispenser on the refrigerator door. When I offer it to him, he takes both it and my arm, setting the glass on the counter beside us before pulling me close.
When his arms wrap around me, I lean into his chest, letting my head rest against his shoulder like I used to. He caresses my back with long strokes that soothe my wistful thoughts.
I miss being held by someone. I love my independence, and at this point, I probably wouldn’t be able to blend my life with someone else’s, but sometimes you just need to be in someone’s arms and forget about life’s sorrows for a few minutes.
I suppose I get a similar sense of comfort being with Roscoe and Bea, but having Jay hold me feels reassuring on a different level.
“We would’ve made things work,” he says, and it takes me a moment to place his words in context.
Is he saying that if we’d had the baby, our marriage would have worked out? Would we have fought less, or kept things like money worries and his jealousy from driving a wedge between us? Would we both have tried harder if there was a child impacted by our relationship?
It’s really just a huge, irrelevant what-if. That’s not how life worked out.
Jay lifts my chin and searches my eyes. In his, I see both his regret and his determination to right past wrongs. His hand rubbing my back presses me closer to him as he lowers his lips to mine in a kiss that’s tender and full of comfort.
I kiss him back, part of me wishing we could rewind time and do things differently, the other part of me knowing things would have still turned out the same.
He angles his head, deepening the kiss at the same time that his hand strays lower, skimming below my hips, his fingers trailing lightly across my ass, setting off a chain reaction of sensations in nearby areas in my body.
I raise up on my toes to reach him better and discover a hard bulge in his pants.
“What are you doing?” I ask, when he wraps his hands under my thighs and lifts me onto the counter. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Roscoe, resigned, turn and head back into the living room.
“I can’t get enough of you,” Jay says. His lips slide down to my neck where he lays a line of kisses against my tender skin.
I spread my legs so he can move in closer. “It’s like we’re teenagers again.”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s much better than that.”
And he’s right. Sex was good then, but there were worries, insecurities, and an underdeveloped awareness of my own feelings — not to mention a lack of knowledge about my body and what pleases it. Now, there’s really nothing to worry about except making each other feel good, and we both know exactly how to do that.
Jay’s hands slide up my legs, his thumbs pressing into my inner thighs, making me wet before he’s even touched my pussy. He unzips my pants and does a quick, little lift-pull maneuver, leaving me naked below the waist like a signature magic trick.
He buries his face between my legs and licks, and oh my god — suddenly, I need him so badly.
I slide my hands under the collar of his shirt and press my fingers into the firm muscles on his back as he flicks his tongue over my clit at a frantic pace.
Hanging tight to his shoulders for balance, I rock against him, once, twice, three times, and then I come, crying out, the sound too loud in my small kitchen.
He pushes two fingers inside me, and my pussy throbs against them as I grind into his hand, riding the waves that wash over me.
When I’m past the peak, barely catching my breath, Jay tosses me over his shoulder, my ass in the air, and strides into my bedroom, where he lays me on the bed.