Page 65 of That Conflicted Feeling
“Whatwe just did was more than enough pleasure for me,”Ipromise her.
Andit’s true.Imight want to have her all ways tillSunday, but it can wait.KnowingImade her feel as good asIthinkImade her feel is a level of satisfactionIcan live off for a while.
Igrab the wine and the wreath.
“Let’sgo.Aren’tyou supposed to be introducing me to some people who’ll hate me?Andbreaking my heart with stories of howI’mgoing to destroy them?”
19
POLLY
Thesun is like a lightning bolt to my brain asIstumble out of the dark shed whereIjust had world-rocking finger sex in front of a bunch of llamas.
“Oh,God.”Ishield my face from the brightness.
“Youokay?”Maxrubs my back and plants a peck on my temple.Lookat him, being the perfect combination of smoking-hot one minute and tender and caring the next.
Italso gives me another waft of eucalyptus.I’dinitially thought the aroma was coming from the wreath.Itwasn’t until we sat down by the llama shed thatIrealized it was coming from him—that he’d actually used one ofMom’ssoaps.
“Myhead’s suddenly throbbing,”Itell him.
Andit’s not the only thing that’s throbbing.Theripples at my center have barely subsided.Ican still sense where his fingers were.
“Youknow, mine is a bit too,”Maxsays. “Maybeit’s this.”
Ipeek under my fingers to see him holding up the gooseberry and zucchini wine. “Wedrank half of it?Ina few minutes?Urgh.”
Christ,Istill haven’t introduced him to any of theMainStreetshop owners yet, and that was the whole point of being here.Atno time should the point have turned into a mind-exploding orgasm witnessed by three agitated llamas.Myselfish desire for this smart, funny, skillfully fingering man has ruinedOperationMeetThePeople.
“Doyou need to lie down?” he asks.
Idrop the hand covering my eyes soIcan roll them at him.Ithurts a bit, but it’s worth it. “Seriously?Nowyou’re inviting me to bed?”
Hegives me a smile that lights up his face with mischief. “Becauseof your headache.NotbecauseIwant to lie down with you.WhichIdo.Butmaybe now’s not the right moment.”
“Yeah, allIwant to do is get out of the sun, drink a bucket of water, and close my eyes for a bit.”Ipoint at the bottle in his hand. “Thatstuff is lethal.”
“I’llcall a cab.Iremember the name of the company that took me to your protest the other day.Hardto forgetCalamityCabs.”
“You’resafe.It’snamed after the wife of the guy who started it in the seventies.Nottheir driving record.”
“Jeez,Calamityis an even worse name for a person than a cab company.”
* * *
“Hey, sleepyhead.We’rehere,”Maxsays softly as he pushes the hair off my face.
Iopen my eyes to discoverI’vesnuggled onto his shoulder, nodded off, and we’re now outside my house.Thelast thingIremembered was telling the driver where to go, thenMaxsuggestingIclose my eyes whenIcomplained my head was banging like a heavy metal drummer.
“Oh,God.Sorry.”
“Don’tbe.”Hepresses his lips softly to my forehead. “Itwas actually nice having you nap on me.”
Thereit is again, that window to his heart.Andright now, allIwant to do is fling it open and climb through.
Veryaware that we’re being watched by a cab driver—which is better than llamas, or is it?—IpatMax’sthigh discreetly.
“Okay, well thanks for the ride home.”Iturn to the driver. “Andthank you too.”
