Page 65 of Two Wrongs

I nervously shove my hand through my hair, probably making a mess of it. “If this turns you on, wait until you see my garden in the spring.”

Immediately I realize that was the wrong thing to say. Her head falls forward, and she wraps her hands around her stomach. Once again the elephant in the room has made its presence known again. She doesn’t need to say the words, we both know she won’t be here when spring rolls around.

Wren clears her throat. “You’ll have to send me some pictures. I’m sure it’s lovely.”

With my hands on her hips I turn her around. She’s pinned between me and the counter. Her hands rest on my biceps, and we just stand together. Looking at her hurts, but I know that all too soon I’ll miss this pain. “If there was one thing in this world I could have just for me, it would be you.”

Her fingers tighten where they rest on my arms. “Maybe someday we won’t have to sacrifice our happiness for everyone else.”

Letting go of her waist, I lift one hand to cup her face. My thumb traces her cheek bone, helping me memorize the delicate structure of her face. I want to burn every part of her into my brain, because I know I’ll never get over her. I won’t tell her that, because, while I know my life has fundamentally changed, I love her enough to hope there’ll be more for her after me.

“I’m not going to learn how to cook like this,” she says, lightening the heaviness between us.

I take a step back and let her turn around. She follows my example as we chop, dice, and sauté ingredients side by side. When it’s time to shove our masterpiece in the oven she asks, “Where did you learn how to cook?”

Of course she knows at least some of my history with my parents. Liam grew up not knowing his grandparents on either side, and I imagine he’s told her about them at some point in the seven years they’ve been together. If he hasn’t, she could have heard it from town gossip. My parents were notorious drunks. Their shouting matches, when they were both drunk, had the cops out at least once a month when I was growing up.

“Dolores taught me,” I finally answer her. “She said that I needed to step up and give Liam the home I didn’t have, and she’d show me how. By the time he was in high school he was usually too busy for dinners at home, but when he was younger I was quite the homemaker.”

Wren looks down at her clothes, which are splattered with sauce, and there’s even a streak on her cheek. “Meanwhile I look like I tried to bathe in pasta sauce. I’m going to go clean up before it’s ready.”

“Good idea. I’ll set the table.” I wipe the sauce from her face, and stick my finger in my mouth. “Tastes good,” I hum.

I shove my hand down the front of her pants, and seek out her clit, rubbing it until I feel the bundle of nerves swell under my touch. She’s already wet, so I’m able to thrust two fingers deep in her cunt and give her a preview of how hard I plan to fuck her after dinner. I take her right to the edge and pull my fingers free. Slipping my fingers into my mouth, I lick them clean. “But, you taste better.”

She lets out a low groan, which makes me want to tease her more. I lean down next to her ear. “I plan to eat you for dessert. I’m going to bring you to the edge over and over again, until you beg me to let you come.”

Wren shivers. “How do you know I won’t just go take care of myself in the shower?”

I grip her chin in my hand. “If you touch what belongs to me without my permission I’m going to spank your plump ass, and you won’t get to come at all.”

She pouts, and I can’t resist the urge to kiss her full lips. “Be a good girl and I’ll make you feel so good tonight no one will ever live up to what I can do to you.”

She stretches up on her toes and kisses my cheek. “You’ve already done that,” she whispers before she runs from the room.

* * *

The shower kicks on,and I hurry to create a romantic atmosphere for the two of us. I’d avoided doing things like this because I was afraid it would make it harder to let her leave when it was time. Her whispered words let me know it’s already too late. If this ends, when it ends I correct myself, it’s going to hurt like a bitch. It doesn’t matter if that’s tonight or in two weeks. Nothing I can do will lessen the blow.

So instead, I decide to live without regrets. Not showing her how I feel isn’t going to save either one of us the heartbreak we both know is coming. My only hope now is that the memories we make now will last the rest of my life.

I can easily say this is the first time in my life I am upset with myself for not caring about things like dishes and place settings. My cabinet has an assortment of mismatched dishes I’ve purchased as needed from a local thrift store, and unfortunately my silverware is the same. I’m able to find two plates that are close to the same color, forks of a similar size, and some tea lights I don’t even remember buying. Using my phone, I find a playlist with some rock ballads and hook it up to my bluetooth speakers. It might not be as romantic as classical, but at least it won’t put me to sleep. Sleeping during a date is not most women’s definition of romance.

Maybe the next guy she is in a relationship with will have his shit together and be able to make her a romantic dinner without starting a fight because he’s afraid to lose her. Even simply letting that thought enter my mind has my fists clenching. Every instinct wants to scream that she’s mine and make sure every man around knows it. The worst part is, a dark part of me wants Liam to find out, if for no other reason than to end any thought he has of getting her back.

The timer dings at the same time the blow dryer kicks on. I figure I have enough time to make a salad before she’s done. I’m digging through the refrigerator for ingredients for the salad when there’s banging on the front door.

As Wren has pointed out many times I’m a grouchy asshole. I’ve got one real friend, and I don’t bring women back to my home. I have no idea who could think pounding their way through my door is a good life choice, but I’m going to correct them quickly and go back to spending time with my woman.

I rip open the front door, ready to rip someone a new asshole, only to find Wren’s best friend, Audrey, standing on my porch. My forehead scrunches in confusion. I thought Wren said they hadn’t spoken much for a while. I’ll have to talk to her about not sharing details of our relationship together to people who could talk to Liam. It is bad enough Bess and Donovan know, but I feel fairly sure they’ll keep our secret.

Something feels off about her showing up at my house, so I stop myself from asking her if she’s looking for Wren. My eyes slip down her body, and a sick feeling fills my stomach. She looks nothing like the primped party girl I’d seen hanging around Wren for the last several years. Her hair is piled in a messy knot on top of her head, and not in an adorable way like when Wren does it. There are bags under her eyes, and she’s practically swimming in fabric when I’ve only ever seen her parading around town in tight tops and pants. She’s trying to hide something, and I pray I’m wrong.

The thing is, when I was a senior in high school, and Melinda found out she was pregnant, she was so exhausted the first few months she looked a lot like what Audrey does right now. Right down to the super baggy clothes she thought would hide her growing belly.

“Where’s Liam?” she asks in a rush. The way she looks around her, it’s obvious she doesn’t want to be here, but her need to find my son made her brave enough to come to my house.

With one hand on the door frame and the other on the door, my body language screams she’s not getting let into the house. “Why are you looking for my son? Aren’t you Wren’s best friend?”

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