The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue 2)

“I missed you,” he says. “I missed your confidence. Your humor. Your sexy red lips.”

I smile a little. “They’re not red tonight.”

He lets his gaze fall to my mouth. “Yeah, baby, they are.”

“Well, when you kiss me like that . . .”

“I missed other things too,” he says, lowering his voice, leaning into my ear. “Having you spread out on the bed, just for me. For my eyes, my hands.” As he speaks, he lifts my top, touches my stomach. “I want you.”

“I’m right here.”

“It’s not enough. I’ve never even had you in my bedroom. I want to undress you, stretch you out on my bed, fingertips to toes, your hair splayed on my pillow, and I want to take you over and over until you can’t handle it another second.”

I inhale sharply and turn to wrap my legs around his waist. “We can’t.”

“We can.”

We whisper like two teenagers trying not to get caught. He shoves his hand down the back of my pants, yanking me against him so my clit connects with his hardening cock. “Jesus,” we say in unison.

“It’s not allowed,” I protest. “Somebody has to be the adult here.”

He chuckles. “Believe me, what we’re about to do is reserved for adults only.”

As soon as it’s out of his mouth, a click sounds from the hallway. We detangle at lightning speed, jumping apart a second before Bell wanders into the room, rubbing her eyes. “Daddy?”

“Bell,” he says gruffly before clearing his throat. “Hey, baby. You have a bad dream?”

“No. I’m thirsty.”

Andrew runs a hand through his hair, side-eyeing me. I fix my top, tugging on the hem even though it’s in place.

Bell blinks a few times as she registers me. “Who are you?”

“It’s Amelia,” Andrew says. “Remember? From Aunt Sadie’s work?”

“’Mila.” She nods and yawns. “I’m thirsty, Dad.”

He half rolls his eyes. “All right, all right, I’m going.” He picks up our drinks and mouths “sorry” at me.

The man is at her beck and call, and I don’t blame him. She looks adorable enough to eat right now, half asleep, her hair a rat’s nest of tangles. Maybe I should be annoyed about getting interrupted, but I just want to pull her into my lap and pet her until she falls back asleep. It’s not an urge I’m used to having. Bell somehow manages to be both a vulnerable child and mini-adult, which fuels my curiosity.

She stumbles to the couch, flopping next to me like a rag doll. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

“I know.” I’m about to tell her that technically, it’s been her birthday for over an hour, but I can all too easily imagine how her excitement could lead to an all-nighter. As much as I like her, I also like my sleep. “Do you mind if I come to your party?”

She looks up at me again, blankly at first, and then recognition seems to dawn on her. “Are you my dad’s girlfriend?”

I open my mouth, half with surprise, half to respond. Nothing comes out but an awkward guffaw. “I’m his friend,” I say. “And I’m a girl.”

“I’m not a baby,” she says. “I’m going to be seven. You can tell me.”

And with that, I realize what it is I like so much about her. She doesn’t need to be coddled or treated like a little girl the way I assumed all children would. I proceed cautiously, but I don’t baby her. “What do you think a girlfriend is?”

She looks at me from the side of her eye. “Um. Like, you make him happy when he’s sad. You go out to fancy restaurants.” She brightens. “You can have a picnic. Or you come over for dinner.”

I nod a little. “There is a lot of eating involved when you’re a girlfriend.”

“Not crabs, though,” she says.

“Crabs . . .?” I laugh loudly when I realize what she means. “Carbs. No, this girlfriend doesn’t eat carbs.” I can practically hear Andrew’s exasperation in my head, so I amend. “Well, maybe a few carbs won’t be so bad. We’ll see.”

“You can come over Thursday,” she suggests. “On Thursdays, we have breakfast for dinner. My dad is a really good cook. He makes the best omelets in the world.”

I smile at the picture she paints. Being a girlfriend is slightly more involved than guzzling food all hours of the day, but it’s simple in her eyes. Make him happy. Eat a lot. Kiss . . . “Would it be okay with you if I were his girlfriend?” I ask.

She sighs, her tiny body deflating into the cushions. “I don’t know. He says my mom’s not his girlfriend anymore and never will be. She left when I was three. I don’t think she’s coming back.”

I press my lips together, suddenly, inexplicably, overcome with a wave of tears. Because of what’s behind her, but more because of what she has ahead of her. When she’s older, it won’t be so cut and dry. She was abandoned—there’s no way around it. I have the urge to protect her from that, even though I know I can’t. What I could do for her one day, though, is be there. That could ease the sting. “You have your dad, though. He’s not going anywhere. And your Aunt Sadie and Flora and that man with the strange name.”

She giggles, seemingly unaffected by the intense conversation. “Pico.” She coughs a little and says out of nowhere, “I want you to come to my party.”

I was going to anyway, but my relief is immense enough that I smile. “I’d like that.”

“Back to bed, Bell,” Andrew says from behind us, and I realize he’s been gone much longer than it takes to get a glass of water. “It’s late.”

She gets up and plods back to her room. Andrew follows. He reappears a few seconds later, quietly shutting her door behind him.

“Either she’s exhausted or she’s showing off,” he says, gesturing for me to come closer. “Normally, getting her to sleep shaves a few days off my life.”

I smile. “She’s sweet.”

“She’s bossy.” He massages my shoulder. “Ready for bed, girlfriend?”

I blush. “You heard all that.”

“Yeah. And it was pretty fucking cute.” He kisses me on the lips. “I like it, her calling you my girlfriend. I think I’ll call you that too.” He nods behind him. “My bedroom is that way. I’ll get your bag.”

In the hallway, a few pictures hang—Bell’s school photos and some of Andrew and Bell with Sadie and Nathan. I stop in the doorway of his bedroom. It’s as simple as the living room. Only the necessities. The comforter on his solid, wood-framed bed is white like the walls. Nightstands flank the bed, one with a lamp and alarm clock, the other one with a book. Nothing more.

Andrew comes up behind me, drops my duffel at our feet, and wraps his arms around my middle. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“I haven’t brought anyone here before,” he says. “You’re the first.”

Warmth fills me. I look around the room. It’s his safe space, and he’s inviting me in. But Bell’s presence sticks to me like an extra limb. I feel her a couple rooms away. I turn in his arms. “Thank you. I’m going to stay in the guest room, though.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “What? Why?”

“This is about more than us.”

His face softens. “I know, but you heard her. She’s okay with it.”

“She doesn’t understand it,” I say. “Let her get to know me before she wakes up and finds me in her dad’s bed.”

He cups my face, running his thumb along my cheekbone. “I appreciate that, but I’m a grown man. I can make love in my own home.”

My breath catches. Andrew and I have made a few different kinds of love, but something tells me it’ll be different in his bed—his domain. My insides tingle with anticipation, but I swallow them down. “I’m new at this,” I say. “The kid thing. I don’t want to screw it up.”

“You will screw it up. So many times. So many ways. Seven years later, and I’m still figuring out how to be okay with the fact that every day, I fuck something up.”

I wrap my hand around his wrist and kiss his palm. “You’re a go

od dad. A good man. A good boyfriend.”

“Easy for you to say,” he says, grinning. “I’ve only officially been your boyfriend for five minutes.”

With a last kiss, he shows me to the guest room, where he leaves me alone with my bag. I perch on the edge of the bed. I’ve slept by myself almost every night the past year, yet suddenly I feel Andrew’s absence acutely.

I have to give him credit for what he’s done. He’s the personification of “actions speak louder than words.” I can trust him. I knew it early on, but I wasn’t sure I could trust myself. After a few minutes have passed, and I haven’t moved, I stand up from the bed and tiptoe into the hallway, back to Andrew’s room. I knock lightly.

Andrew opens the door in only his boxer-briefs, filling it with his six-foot-plus frame. Without a word, he pulls me in and locks the door behind us. He engulfs me in a hug, consumes my mouth with his. Separating only to discard clothing, we stumble to the bed, leaving a trail of underwear. He ushers me under the covers, climbs over me, and hides us under the comforter. “Back-up plan,” he teases, “in case she breaks down the door.” I smile into his mouth. He nabs my bottom lip with his teeth. “Have I ever mentioned how it feels when I’m the reason for your smile? Like a million bucks.”

My grin fades. I touch his face. He’s so good to me. And if he keeps this up, I won’t have a chance. I’ll fall over-the-edge in love with him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, but I think he knows I’m perfectly fine, because he kisses the tip of my nose.

“I’m happy.”