A text came in not long after he left.
Deacon: What’s the difference between Super and Super Plus?
Carys: Super Plus is bigger, more absorbent. But I don’t really notice a difference.
Deacon: Am I…Super Plus or Super? ;-)
Carys: Definitely Super Plus.
Deacon: So, you notice the difference then…when it comes to me?
I rolled my eyes.
Carys: Oh yes.
Deacon: Damn. I’d hate to be Regular. Or worse, Light. (Shivers) That would suck.
Shopping was always an adventure with this man. Deacon stopped texting, so I assumed he’d found what he needed and left.
A few minutes later, another text came in.
Deacon: Do you think Sunny would like this?
He’d attached a picture of himself flashing a huge smile and holding a mini toy shopping cart filled with plastic fruits and vegetables.
Carys: Hard to tell. But I think it’s adorable.
Deacon: Show her the picture. See if she reacts.
I brought the phone over to where Sunny was playing. She smiled when I showed her the photo. But I suspected it wasn’t the toy.
Carys: She smiled. But I’m pretty sure she’s smiling at you. She’s just as smitten as I am.
Deacon: I fucking love you, Carys.
My heart wanted to leap out of my chest.
Carys: I fucking love you, too.
Deacon: Not to be confused with loving to fuck you…because that I certainly do as well. But I fucking love you even more than I love to fuck you.
Since the day he’d come back from Starbucks with the coffee cup that said “I love you, Carys,” our phone calls and text exchanges rarely ended without him telling me he loved me. And hearing it never got old. It had taken me probably ten minutes to notice the message written in black Sharpie that first time, but when I did, I broke out in tears. Things had only gotten better since.
Everything was perfect, aside from the fact that I still didn’t understand why Deacon was so unsure of his ability to be a good partner. His actions proved otherwise. Something was missing, but I hesitated to push him for answers because we were in a good place. Still, his warnings haunted me. I sometimes worried that one day he’d wake up, realize the responsibility he’d taken on—and bolt.
* * *
At least for now, Deacon and I were masters at making the most of our time together. As soon as the sitter arrived later that afternoon, we went next door. Whenever we had alone time, we went to his apartment to have sex to make sure we got that in. Then we’d head out, grab a bite to eat, and enjoy the city. Today, rather than sex, I used the time in his apartment to pleasure him, sucking him off while I rubbed my clit until we both came together. After we were both sated, we showered and ventured out for our date.
Deacon and I decided to go to Central Park. We took a quick train ride, and then walked the rest of the way. On our walk, Deacon stopped in front of a store. He took me by the hand and led me inside. On the shelf was a football with I Love New York emblazoned on it.
He spun it over his finger. “Would you want to toss this around with me?”
Deacon hadn’t touched a football since college. This was monumental.
“Of course I would. I’m thrilled you want to try.”
He smiled and kissed my forehead. “It’s time.”
“This will be my first time throwing a football,” I announced.
His eyebrows lifted. “Yeah?”
“I’m a complete newbie when it comes to handling any balls but yours,” I teased.
“Maybe we should keep it that way.” He winked.
When we got to the park, Deacon demonstrated everything I’d need to do, standing at my back and holding me close as he reached his arm around me. He tried to teach me the proper way to hold the ball.
“Put your middle finger right there at the top of the lacing.” He spread my fingers apart. Then he stopped to kiss my neck.
“I thought this was a football lesson.”
“Mmm. I can’t help it. Anytime I’m close to you, I need to touch you—making up for all those months I held back, I guess. Now I’m addicted to you.”
I smiled. My body was constantly aware of him, craving his touch every second we were together, so I was no less addicted. I’d never been in a relationship that was as sexually gratifying as it was emotionally satisfying. I’d thought I was in love with Charles before he burned me. But I’d never experienced anything remotely close to what I felt for Deacon. If this didn’t work out, it would be my biggest heartbreak.
Deacon took the football from me and began to demonstrate. “When you throw the ball, it’s going to roll off your fingers like this, so you get a spinning motion.”
The few times I tried to replicate his technique were a disaster.