sex. But she had especially missed married sex, where sex didn’t have to end because of a condom, but you could stay joined until the man’s cock softened enough that he slipped out. She missed a man’s softened cock between her legs in their shared dampness.
Well, that wasn’t going to happen while she was dating. That was a committed, monogamous relationship feeling only.
She shimmied a little and adjusted her panties so they were back in a comfortable position. Married sex was a thing to miss, but this non-married sex had been wonderful and she’d take advantage of it for as long as she could.
She swiped the empty foil packet off the counter and tossed it into the trash. After Caleb was out of the bathroom, she slipped in and she washed her hands. To her pleasant surprise, Caleb was already getting out plates for dinner.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said as he rested two plates on his forearm. “I figured we were both hungry, so I should get everything as ready as I could.”
“I don’t mind at all,” she said, enjoying the truth of that statement. He stood in her kitchen like he belonged there.
CALEB TOOK THE plates to the dining room while Beck grabbed flatware and wineglasses. They both came back for the pizza box and wine bottle. Which had come first, she wondered, his ability to move through another person’s space with no self-consciousness or his reporting? He’d said he started reporting with his college paper, and it was fun to imagine him busting into the dean’s office, some hot question on his mind and his reporter’s notebook in hand.
For some reason, she didn’t picture him as a hot college student with his romantic hair and intense green eyes. He’d probably had the eyes, but she imagined him more awkward, with a buzz cut, maybe, and needing time to grow into his limbs. It fit better with how at ease he could make her feel—like he knew what it was to be out of place and ensured those he cared about didn’t feel that way.
Cared about. Silly turn of phrase after one date. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get ahead of herself.
“The pizza’s gotten cold,” he said, pulling her out of her imaginings as the box slid out of his hands to the table.
“It’ll be good anyway. And it was a good trade-off,” she said, with a shy smile, the idea of caring about someone after one date lingering in the back of her head. What did it even mean to care about someone? And how much did letting a man inside you change that? How much did being inside a woman change that?
Did sex have to change it at all?
“Absolutely,” he agreed. “This is a nice room, by the way.”
“Thanks.” She hesitated, with more she wanted to say on her tongue and too much on her mind to remain light and funny. Of course, he’d not remained light and funny with her—not with that story over drinks. If he could share something so personal, so could she.
She was at least that brave. And he was at least that safe. “One night, not long after Neil moved out, I was sitting on one of the barstools, eating a frozen dinner, when I realized that I had this huge house and was only using one bathroom, one bedroom and the kitchen. So I’ve been eating in the dining room ever since.”
“Making the space your own. I remember that feeling,” he said with a nod, and she knew she’d made the right choice—the right choice about everything tonight.
Caleb reached out and opened the pizza box. To Beck’s surprise, he first grabbed her plate. “How many pieces do you want?”
The pizza smelled amazing. It had lamb meatballs and kale, and she could eat every slice, if she put her mind to it. Back when Neil had first moved out, she’d been afraid to allow herself any indulgence, for fear that she wouldn’t be able to stop. Like with the dining room, she’d been letting her fear ruin her enjoyment of her house, of food and of her life.
“Two, please.” They were small pieces, and she had come a long way since Neil had moved out.
He placed two pieces on her plate and then set it in front of her and filled up her wineglass. “Mind if I take the rest?”
“No. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.” He took the other two pieces and then sat back in his chair.
They each ate a couple bites in silence until Caleb took a sip of wine and cleared his throat. Beck looked up from her own food. “I was the one who moved out. I moved into this random town house. It was the first thing I could find after we decided to separate. I still live in it, actually.”
He took another drink of wine and she realized that, for the first time tonight, he was nervous—though he probably didn’t realize it. “I spent the first three months thinking, ‘this is where Leah would put...’ whatever it was I was holding in my hand. She was particular about where she put stuff, more so than I am. I think it took longer for me to get used to putting pictures up where I wanted them to go than it took me to get used to sleeping in a bed alone.”
“I’m still not used to that,” she admitted before she took another bite of her pizza, which was salty and rich and delicious. After she swallowed, she said, “It’s one of the reasons I got a dog, actually.”
“Seamus sleeps on your bed?” he asked, with a raise of one eyebrow as he looked around the room for the dog. “Will I fit, too?”
Her forty-five-pound hound mix sat patiently by the edge of the table, waiting for handouts. Begging was on the list of things to work on, after he stopped jumping up on people.
Beck shook her head and chuckled. “A dog on the bed seemed like a good idea at the time, but Seamus doesn’t like sharing a bed with me any more than I like sharing a bed with him. He likes his personal space. I don’t like to be kicked. I got him an expensive dog bed for the bedroom and now we’re both happy.”
“Good. I was hoping to stay the night. And I don’t share.”
Warmth from the pizza, the wine and the heated look in his eyes spread through her body. “I was hoping you would, too.” He would wrap around her body quite nicely in a bed, her butt tucked against his crotch and his arm draped across her shoulder. Both naked, because they’d just had sex and she was the satisfied kind of sleepy that only came post-orgasm.
Yes, quite nicely indeed.
The thought was as delicious as the pizza.
“Like you, I miss sharing a bed.” He put his wineglass on the table and picked up the last slice of pizza on his plate. “It’s not enough for me to want to get remarried, though.”
And—like God had snapped Her fingers—all her warmth was gone. “Not get married again?”
“No. Divorce was horrible.” There was pain in his voice and his eyes, though when he blinked, it seemed to go away and he was back to being a charming man who seemed to have no problems. Did the mask fit so well that he’d forgotten he wore it?
“Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce.” He recited the words with the flat expertise of a man who dealt in facts for a living. “The odds aren’t good, especially given how bad the bad can be.”
“But...” She took a deep breath to control the sinking feeling in her chest. “The good can be really good. I remember being happily married.” She remembered the fighting more, but the good memories were in her head. Somewhere.
He shook his head. “I’m not sure I had anything good enough to make the bad worth it. Leah isn’t a bad person—we just suffered the difficulty of two people making a life together and not picking that right person to do that with.”
“Why date?” She wanted to get to know the world of men, sure. Have some sex and have a good time. But getting married had always been at the back of her mind,