Ben
My mother’s living room is in utter chaos, wrapping paper and bows and boxes over every square inch of the floor. My very spoiled girls are running around mom’s house with new toys, mostly playing, occasionally fighting. I’m deep in the sofa, stuffed from dinner, exhausted from the day, and completely distracted by memories of KT.
Thankfully, Mom, my sister Jackie, and her husband, Raul, are debating politics, which I never get involved in. They’re also giving me a pass because they know how draining holidays can be for me.
Jackie is several years younger, and she and Raul haven’t had kids yet. We lost our dad twelve years ago to a heart attack, but he was a workaholic, so we weren’t exactly close.
I should start working on the dishes, but I'm going on about three hours of sleep, and I have to work first thing tomorrow, three twelves over the next three days. So, yeah, maybe I’m giving myself a pass too.
Hands clasped over my stomach, I’m wishing I hadn’t eaten so much. I might have to go for a short run when we get home, just to keep my body digesting. I’ve only made it to a couple of CrossFit classes since we moved, and I already feel like I’m pulled out of alignment and overly stressed by fatigue. I need to get my shit together. I need to set and keep a regular exercise schedule, eat better, finish unpacking, find a nanny.
Get laid.
That idea flips a switch in my brain. I stop thinking about all I have to do and start thinking of all I want to do, which brings me back to KT. While Jackie and Raul debate the nation’s budget crisis, I let my eyes close. Let my mind drift back twelve hours, to the feel of KT’s lips. To the heat of her tongue. I think about the way she welcomed the surge of passion, the way her body pressed and moved against mine.
“Sex. Just hot, sweaty, raw sex for the sake of sex.” Her words drift through my head for the hundredth time today, and images flicker through like a slideshow. I wonder if what we consider hot sweaty sex is the same thing. I mean, sex is sex. You can only do it so many ways, right? But maybe not. She’s ten years younger and clearly more experienced. I’ve never been intimidated by intimacy before, and I don’t know what to do with this.
I’m getting way ahead of myself here. Just because she offered doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. Who the hell knows what will happen between now and when we see each other again? She could lose interest, I could lose interest, our schedules could make it impossible, the kids could keep us apart. When I really stop to think about starting a relationship, I always hit the wall that tells me it’s a pipe dream and heartache waiting to happen.
Not for the first time, I see the unadulterated wisdom in her “No befores, no afters. Just hot, sweaty, raw sex for the sake of sex” idea.
“How are you liking the house, son?”
I open my eyes and pick up
the conversation like I’ve been listening the whole time. “It’s amazing.”
“What’s your favorite part?” Jackie asks.
“The view. I can’t imagine ever getting tired of seeing the lake and the mountains. I love waking up to it.”
“Did I tell you Levi Asher is one of the developers?” Jackie asked.
I search my mind. “Do I know him?”
“He was in my class. He’s got a construction firm with another friend. He’s dating one of the three women working on the property.”
Oh, Christ, please do not tell me it’s KT. “Who’s that?”
“Laiyla Saxon. You probably don’t remember her. She was two years younger, rich parents, came up during the summer to spend time with her grandfather, Otto. He willed her the lake land, but she didn’t do anything with it for a while. The renovation is a real benefit for everyone buying in Whisper Cove. It will keep your view beautiful.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“They’re really nice, all three of them. I’ve met them in town several times, and the other two women are just as pretty as Laiyla.” Jackie gets a sneaky grin on her face. “Might want to make a stop on your way home, introduce yourself.”
I’d love to stop, but it would be to intimately introduce myself to KT. Of course, with three little girls in tow, that’s a nonstarter.
“Sounds like Mom’s been coaching you.” I rub the fatigue from my face. “I’ve got enough to handle right now, thanks.”
“Is Violet doing any better?” Mom asks.
My mind turns toward my oldest, who, for the most part, has been an angry hotbed of fight instigation between the three girls. “She’s a little better with me, but she’s raising hell with Isabel.” The teenaged babysitter I’ve been using is on the edge of quitting. “Violet’s still instigating fights, sassing, and pushing back on everything—bedtime, meals, rules, homework.”
“Homework?” Jackie asks.
“Her teacher gave everyone homework over the Christmas break.”
“I hate when teachers do that,” Jackie says. She got her degree in education, following in my mother’s footsteps, but then went into medical transcription. Now she runs her own business transcribing for the doctors at the hospital, so she makes her own hours. In fact, she told me about the job opening in the ER.