Love on the Lake (Lakeside 2)

“I’m sticking around this weekend. How about you?”

“I’m around this weekend, but next weekend I gotta head out of town. I’m always back on Sunday night, though.” He pulls into the driveway and parks the truck in front of the garage. He gives the back of my neck a squeeze and tips his chin toward the garage. “You thinking about inviting me up?”

Of course I am. I’ve been thinking about it the entire ride home, whether I should ask, how I should frame it. Obviously, I’m hoping he wants to come up and get naked with me, but he usually leaves my place at ten, and it’s already close to eleven. “It’s kind of late for you, isn’t it?”

“Is that your way of saying I should take my ass home, or are you legitimately worried about me not getting enough sleep?”

I laugh and shake my head. “You can come up, but don’t call me tomorrow complaining about your lack of sleep.”

“Deal.” He turns off the engine and hops out of the driver’s seat, meeting me around the passenger side. He threads his fingers through mine, and I follow him up the steps to the loft. We barely make it through the door before our mouths collide. We fumble our way across the dark space, banging into furniture. Clothes drop to the floor and we fall onto the bed, groping and caressing.

We’re desperate and needy, frenzied and feral. Aaron rolls a condom on and enters me on one quick stroke, but once he’s inside me, the urgency seems to wane.

The kisses slow and he rolls his hips, grinding against me, pulling me higher and higher until we both tip over the edge.

He rolls us over so I’m sprawled across his chest. I trace patterns on his chest. Most of his tattoos are on his back, apart from the hourglass on his triceps.

“You keep that up and I’m going to pass out on you.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I gotta be up at the ass crack of dawn. I don’t want to ruin your sleep.” He runs his fingers through my hair.

“You won’t.”

“You’re sure?” His lips brush my temple.

“I’m sure.”

“Good, ’cause your bed is warm and I don’t want to drive home,” he mutters, already slipping into semiconsciousness.

I rest my cheek on his chest, smiling as I listen to his heartbeat settle, slow and steady. I nod off, too, and wake up at two in the morning, still tucked into Aaron’s side. I lie there for a while, willing my brain to shut back down, but my bladder is screaming, and I know if I don’t take my medication, there’s no way I’ll be able to fall back asleep.

I carefully extract myself and tiptoe across the room. Not that I need to be quiet. Apparently, Aaron sleeps like the dead. I have confirmation of that when I knock my flat iron off the vanity and he doesn’t stir at all. Once I’m done in the bathroom, I climb back into bed and curl into Aaron’s side. It takes me almost two hours to fall back to sleep, but at least I’m comfortable, and for the first time in forever, I feel grounded. And I want it to last.

CHAPTER 13

THE BALANCING ACT

Teagan

I wake up the next morning to an empty bed. It’s not a surprise, considering it’s after ten and Aaron has to be at work early. There’s a piece of paper on the pillow beside my head. I expect messy, rushed scrawl, but it’s the opposite. And it’s not one line but several, in neat cursive.

Teagan,

Thanks for letting me crash at your place. I probably would have passed out in my truck and slept in the driveway if you hadn’t. And I have a feeling I missed the pillow talk because I was so wiped out. I promise I’ll make it up to you next time.

I’ll be honest, I tried to wake you up before I left for work, but you weren’t having it. You’re adorable when you talk in your sleep.

Have a great day and I’ll see you later at the pub.

~Aaron

I hug the paper to my chest, smiling at the ceiling. I’m not sure whether I believe he tried to wake me up, but it’s possible. Sometimes I can sleep like the dead, especially when I’m late taking my medication, like I was last night.

Early in the afternoon I head downtown so I can stop by town hall and talk to one of the councilors about the possibility of setting up a farmers’ market and what that would entail. The great thing about small towns is that someone is always around and wanting to talk.

I introduce myself to Bernadette, one of the town councilors, who also happens to be Bernie’s wife.

“You’re Donovan Firestone’s sister, aren’t you?” she says as she shakes my hand.

“I am.” I return her smile with one of my own.