Page 16 of Dearest Ronan

Anyway, while we start our day together, we chit-chat about upcoming plans, such as design ideas I have for Mrs. Archenhood’s project and he tells me about the latest gossip at the docks. Well, I call it gossip. He calls itpersonal news,as if it makes a difference. Gossip is gossip, no matter how well you dress it up. Ribbon and all.

Then when we come home, we cuddle on the couch while watching t.v, eat dinner together, and cuddle some more at night. Wink wink. Nudge nudge.

Oh, and I can’t believe I forgot, but a few days ago while I was at work, he packed up all my stuff from my old apartment and moved it here. All by himself. He even turned in my keys and got my security deposit back.

I’ve never felt so pampered before. When I came home and realized that there was nothing—freaking nothing—I had to do at my old place, I jumped in his arms and kissed his neck all over. He only laughed and told me he’ll take care of me in any way he can.

And not as a father-figure, thank you very much.

Very best of all, I sleep in his room at night but keep all my belongings in the spare bedroom. Only because there isn’t enough closet or dresser space in his.

I don’t mind. It keeps the mystery alive.

Today, we both have the day off. Normally, I’d be as content lounging around the apartment all day, except I’ve got quite the collection of boob sweat caught in my under-wire bra. Nasty. It’s unnaturally hot today, even for California’s standards.

“Please, please, please,” I beg, my hands clasped together with my legs tucked underneath me on the couch.

Ronan sighs. I’m asking to swim in his pool at his soon-to-be ex-wife’s house. Technically, since they’re still married, it’s all his, anyway. Plus, Carolyn’s out of town for a few days, so why not use her air conditioning and pool? I mean, he paid for the thing. He might as well get good use of it. As long as Carolyn isn’t there, of course.

I wrinkle my nose. “It’s so damp in here. Like dirty gym socks.” Thankfully, he laughs.

“Fine, fine,” he placates. “My balls are getting sticky, anyway.” Hey, he said it, not me.

It’s so odd being back here, in this house.

Somehow, it’s the same, but also completely different. The walls used to be light beige, with beautiful artwork lining the walls, most of which were Monet knockoffs of speckled flowers and ponds. I remember irritating the bottom of my feet on the extra coarse carpet before plopping myself on their large sectional. Specifically, I’d pick the middle cushion directly in front of the television.

Ronan and Carolyn would join me on Wednesdays, because Ronan attempted to make that a family night. I say “attempted” because while Ronan sat next to me on my left, Carolyn took the chaise, only to spend the next few hours playing on her phone.

For a solid three months, I could have sworn she was stepping out on him. I learned she wasn’t though, and as far as I know, never has.

During my due diligence of going through her search history and checking her phone over like I worked for the FBI, I found she’d spent hundreds on some little café game.

Sure enough, the next time she sat on that chaise during family time, I peered over her shoulder and spotted that stupid app. She’s just really into them.

Obviously, a lot has happened since then. Divorces, remodels, and moving out, of course.

That much is clear in what I’m now seeing. Where the collection of Monet knockoffs was, rests a giant featured electric fireplace with real red firebricks. The flooring is hardwood, and they replaced the large leather sectional with two smaller white love-seat sofas that face each other.

I don’t want to be here. I’m suffocating.

I remember everything.

“You okay, butterfly?” Ronan asks. His rigid muscles push deliciously against my back while his index finger brushes down my neck. A small moan escapes me, trapping my answer.

When I don’t reply right away, he moves to my front to grab my hand and lead me to the backyard. We’re alone, so no one can see him twist his fingers around mine and guide me like a loving boyfriend, but it warms my stomach the same.

He stares at me like I’m the one. Like he loves me, too.

I gnaw on my lip for several seconds, working up the courage to approach him. Our sexual relationship is supposed to be about healing, but I want to tell him I want more. After all, maybe he feels the same.

Maybe after his divorce he’ll want to date me.

I mean, we’re both catches. Why can’t we catch each other?

I open my mouth to blurt my thoughts, but stop when Ronan strips in front of me, leaving only his swim trunks on. I’ve seen him naked several times already, but there are times—like now—when I can’t believe it’s real.

He jumps into the water, leaving me on a small strip of cement above the in-ground pool. Water droplets fall from Ronan’s hard chest, and I imagine licking each drop with a swipe of my tongue. My knees weaken at my lust, so I carefully sit at the side of the pool. Water shimmers above, beneath, and between my toes.

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