Page 45 of Last Love

Presley

Discussion Topic 6: Risk Assessment is Mandatory

I can do this.

Like I know I am physically capable of having a conversation.

I can talk to Ry.

I can do more than find a way to get naked – or stay naked – and have crazy, hot, “ohmygod why weren’t we doing this sooner” sex with him.

Which is what we probably would still be doing if he didn’t have to work today.

Apparently, unless he requests off, he works every Saturday.

It’s a shop rule.

Or is it garage?

Is there a difference?

He used them interchangeably last night while telling me about work over Thai food.

We sat on my living room floor – something Xander would’ve never done in a million years – and just chatted. I loved hearing about what he does, his co-workers, the fact that he took the time to encourage me to try some of everything we ordered – which was all new to me – yet constantly reassured that it was alright if I didn’t enjoy it.

I liked having the freedom to share.

To not share.

He might’ve gotten one bite of my Pad Thai shrimp but that was all.

It was so different than the way I’d been living for the past five years that I ditched what would’ve been an easy segue into talking while giving my lady parts a rest for another round of sex.

We didn’t even make it to the bed for the night.

Ry simply grabbed the throw pillow from the couch, the blanket, and we curled up together right there on the rug like cave people.

It was the sexiest most sensual shit I think I’ve ever done in my adult life.

And had he not had to be at work at six a.m. this morning, it’s probably where we’d still be.

He left at five to get back to his place, shower, and put on actual fresh clothes.

Him going to work was absolutely needed, both for my sanity and my pussy’s sake.

I spent most of the morning unwinding and collecting my scattered thoughts around bagels.

There’s not much else in the house.

Going grocery shopping is next on my list today.

Right after having a hard, “what the fuck are we really doing”, conversation with my other half.

I know referring to him as that is borderline insane – especially considering he’s virtually a stranger still –; however, it’s what he is.

It’s what he’s always been.

Hopefully will always be.

Ugh.

Totally gotta tuck that shit in for a while.

Ry’s exit out the front door for his lunchbreak is about fifteen minutes later than anticipated. He did fair warn me that due to what he does and his bottom of the totem pole position that his time is required to be more flexible than others. To my surprise, he doesn’t seem to be bitter about it at all nor in a rush to climb to the top.

Again, it’s so different than I had been experiencing.

I know eventually I’ll stop making the comparisons, but I’m sure it’ll take a minute…that it’s okay that it takes a minute.

Hm.

I’ll figure out a way to ask Katherine about it.

His face continuously lights up more and more with each step my direction. The instant I’m within reach, he plants his hands on my baby blue, lantern sleeve mini dress covered hip and pulls me into him. “Hey you.”

The greeting swiftly followed by a soft, chaste kiss. “Hi you.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t have long for lunch today. Garage is backed up by two hours and since we’re not open on Sundays, no one leaves tonight until every job that’s supposed to be done is done.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah,” he grunts his unhappiness before smiling sweetly, “but I appreciate you coming to see me. You make everything so much fucking easier.”

There’s no stopping the swoon that slips free.

“You’re not pissed we haven’t been texting, are you? The shit has been insane in there and-”

“Ry,” I warmly interrupt with a small tug of his work shirt, “we’re not in high school anymore. You don’t have to justify having a life outside of me.” The statement becomes the transition I need to get the harder conversation really going. “Why don’t we grab something to eat from one of the food trucks across the street and just touch base on a few things?”

“Fuck, you even sound like management.” He grows an amused grin. “You definitely fucking run your own place.” His hands slip off my hips so that one can fold with mine. “Tell me more about what you do.”

After adjusting my clutch purse in my grip, we begin our walk with my mouth moving a mile a minute. I start at the very beginning. I give him a brief guided tour from child development classes I took in college, jobs I had, to Katherine believing in the lucrative idea I had. To my surprise, his attention never waivers. It doesn’t gloss over. Most importantly, it doesn’t feel like he’s simply just waiting for his turn to talk.

He seems genuinely interested.

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