Uh-oh.
Now I knew what he was thinking that looked so important.
Before I could commit to my burgeoning freak out, Mitch kept talking.
“Taking out the time I watched you with that moron but still wanted you, we’re talkin’ two years, Mara, two…fuckin’…years it took me to get you na**d on your back in my bed. Sweetheart, I think you can rest assured that’s pretty much the definition of ‘not easy’.”
I stared at him thinking this was true.
Kind of.
“But, we –”
He shook his head and his arm squeezed as did his fingers so I stopped talking.
“You ran away from me on our first date. You stood me up our second. You gave me attitude the first time your ass was in my truck. You gave me my marching orders in the breezeway before I even got close to getting in there. Billie interrupted me the first time I got to second base. I slept in my bed with you and a six year old twice before I even got you out on a date. And I had to promise my sister she could decorate your apartment when you got your insurance check to get her to babysit so I could actually finally f**kin’ take you out on that date,” he recounted then finished with, “Honey, trust me, that is not easy.”
I blinked.
Then I asked, “You promised Penny she could decorate my apartment?”
“Yeah, and don’t fight her. She’ll listen to you and she’s good but mostly she’s determined. Do yourself and me a favor and just let her do it.”
“But, Mitch, her stuff costs –”
He pulled my face even closer and grinned before he said, “Baby, the markup is outrageous. Wholesale, her stuff costs the same as normal furniture.”
Wow.
That meant I could afford Design Fusion stuff in my apartment.
That was cool!
“Mara,” Mitch called into my thoughts which were right then centered on how I wanted the sofa I saw in Penny’s shop window in my living room and I focused on him to see he was no longer grinning but looked very serious.
Therefore, I braced.
This was good because the second I did, in a low voice heavy with meaning and his fingers at my neck tensing to drive his point home, he stated firmly, “You are not Melbamae Hanover. You are not a skank. You are not easy. You are so far from trailer trash it isn’t funny. You are not what those kids and parents and your mother’s f**k buddies took you to be. You’re Mara, you’re sweet, you’re beautiful and I will not forget until the day I die how beautiful it felt to slide inside you with you wrapped around me, see your eyes get wet and know straight in my gut that you felt how beautiful it was too.”
My eyes got wet right then listening to his words and my arms slid around his shoulders as those words seeped into me, deep into me, straight and true in a way even I, who had a special talent with doing it, could not twist them even if I tried.
But I wasn’t going to try.
“Mitch,” I whispered then said no more because I couldn’t since my throat was closing but also because I didn’t know what to say.
He wasn’t done and I knew this when he pulled me close, dropped back and rolled so he was on top of me, his h*ps between my legs and his face close when he whispered, “You’re hair was softer than I expected it to be, more beautiful when it’s down than I expected it to be. You’re sweeter than I expected you to be, funnier, more loyal and I expected all that to be phenomenal so, I gotta tell you, baby, it pleases me no f**kin’ end to learn the reality is off-the-charts. Better than that, when you get pissed, I gotta fight against goin’ hard. When you smile, I gotta fight against goin’ hard. And when you look deep into my eyes and see whatever the f**k you see and I know how much you like it because it’s written all over your face, I gotta fight against goin’ hard. But even with the promise of that, finally havin’ you is another reality that’s off-the-charts. My guess?” he asked then didn’t wait for me to answer. “Your mother hated you because she knew you were better than her and every day you were a reminder that you would be exactly what you are. So she tried to undermine it. Bring you down by bein’ a serious, f**kin’ bitch and, honest to God, I’ve seen a lot, heard even more but she’s in contention for the worst f**kin’ Mom in history. And still, you beat her because you are all that is you. And, sweetheart, there is a lot that is you and it isn’t only me who sees that all of it is good. It’s just now only me who gets all of it and, after waitin’ years for you, to say that, too, pleases me no f**kin’ end is one serious f**kin’ understatement.”
“You have to stop talking,” I whispered back, my heart swelling so big, it felt like it would explode out of my chest. A chest that was so warm, it was burning, hot and fierce.
“I’m not gonna stop talkin’ until I know you get what I’m sayin’ to you and don’t sweep it aside, determined to believe what that bitch wanted you to believe.”
“You have to stop talking,” I repeated in a whisper.
“Mara, I’m not –”
My hand went from his shoulder to press my fingers against his lips.
Then I told him quietly, “I’m not sweeping it aside.” I slid my fingers from his lips across his cheek and back into his hair as I lifted up and replaced my fingers with my mouth and whispered, “I get what you’re saying to me.” I brushed my lips against his and kept whispering when I said, “Now, you have to make me oatmeal. Because my estimate is we have eight hours for you to convince me I’m the Mara of your world before everything crashes back in on us, I get scared and/or freak out and/or panic and/or another calamity happens I’m certain I won’t survive. Until I survive it with, obviously, your help and all you said to me is less easy to believe.”
I stopped talking (finally), bearing my soul (finally) and held my breath as Mitch’s fathomless eyes stared deep into mine.
Then he asked, “Eight hours?”
“Until we pick up the kids,” I answered.
His neck twisted, his eyes going to his alarm clock then they came back to me and when they did I liked the teasing light in them because it was mixed with something way sexy.
“That’s gonna take a lot of work,” he whispered.
God, I hoped so.
I smiled at him, lifted up again and brushed my lips against his before I said softly, “That’s why we need oatmeal.”
His weight hit me and my head hit the pillows when he muttered against my mouth, “I’ll get it in a minute.”
Now I knew what he was thinking that looked so important.
Before I could commit to my burgeoning freak out, Mitch kept talking.
“Taking out the time I watched you with that moron but still wanted you, we’re talkin’ two years, Mara, two…fuckin’…years it took me to get you na**d on your back in my bed. Sweetheart, I think you can rest assured that’s pretty much the definition of ‘not easy’.”
I stared at him thinking this was true.
Kind of.
“But, we –”
He shook his head and his arm squeezed as did his fingers so I stopped talking.
“You ran away from me on our first date. You stood me up our second. You gave me attitude the first time your ass was in my truck. You gave me my marching orders in the breezeway before I even got close to getting in there. Billie interrupted me the first time I got to second base. I slept in my bed with you and a six year old twice before I even got you out on a date. And I had to promise my sister she could decorate your apartment when you got your insurance check to get her to babysit so I could actually finally f**kin’ take you out on that date,” he recounted then finished with, “Honey, trust me, that is not easy.”
I blinked.
Then I asked, “You promised Penny she could decorate my apartment?”
“Yeah, and don’t fight her. She’ll listen to you and she’s good but mostly she’s determined. Do yourself and me a favor and just let her do it.”
“But, Mitch, her stuff costs –”
He pulled my face even closer and grinned before he said, “Baby, the markup is outrageous. Wholesale, her stuff costs the same as normal furniture.”
Wow.
That meant I could afford Design Fusion stuff in my apartment.
That was cool!
“Mara,” Mitch called into my thoughts which were right then centered on how I wanted the sofa I saw in Penny’s shop window in my living room and I focused on him to see he was no longer grinning but looked very serious.
Therefore, I braced.
This was good because the second I did, in a low voice heavy with meaning and his fingers at my neck tensing to drive his point home, he stated firmly, “You are not Melbamae Hanover. You are not a skank. You are not easy. You are so far from trailer trash it isn’t funny. You are not what those kids and parents and your mother’s f**k buddies took you to be. You’re Mara, you’re sweet, you’re beautiful and I will not forget until the day I die how beautiful it felt to slide inside you with you wrapped around me, see your eyes get wet and know straight in my gut that you felt how beautiful it was too.”
My eyes got wet right then listening to his words and my arms slid around his shoulders as those words seeped into me, deep into me, straight and true in a way even I, who had a special talent with doing it, could not twist them even if I tried.
But I wasn’t going to try.
“Mitch,” I whispered then said no more because I couldn’t since my throat was closing but also because I didn’t know what to say.
He wasn’t done and I knew this when he pulled me close, dropped back and rolled so he was on top of me, his h*ps between my legs and his face close when he whispered, “You’re hair was softer than I expected it to be, more beautiful when it’s down than I expected it to be. You’re sweeter than I expected you to be, funnier, more loyal and I expected all that to be phenomenal so, I gotta tell you, baby, it pleases me no f**kin’ end to learn the reality is off-the-charts. Better than that, when you get pissed, I gotta fight against goin’ hard. When you smile, I gotta fight against goin’ hard. And when you look deep into my eyes and see whatever the f**k you see and I know how much you like it because it’s written all over your face, I gotta fight against goin’ hard. But even with the promise of that, finally havin’ you is another reality that’s off-the-charts. My guess?” he asked then didn’t wait for me to answer. “Your mother hated you because she knew you were better than her and every day you were a reminder that you would be exactly what you are. So she tried to undermine it. Bring you down by bein’ a serious, f**kin’ bitch and, honest to God, I’ve seen a lot, heard even more but she’s in contention for the worst f**kin’ Mom in history. And still, you beat her because you are all that is you. And, sweetheart, there is a lot that is you and it isn’t only me who sees that all of it is good. It’s just now only me who gets all of it and, after waitin’ years for you, to say that, too, pleases me no f**kin’ end is one serious f**kin’ understatement.”
“You have to stop talking,” I whispered back, my heart swelling so big, it felt like it would explode out of my chest. A chest that was so warm, it was burning, hot and fierce.
“I’m not gonna stop talkin’ until I know you get what I’m sayin’ to you and don’t sweep it aside, determined to believe what that bitch wanted you to believe.”
“You have to stop talking,” I repeated in a whisper.
“Mara, I’m not –”
My hand went from his shoulder to press my fingers against his lips.
Then I told him quietly, “I’m not sweeping it aside.” I slid my fingers from his lips across his cheek and back into his hair as I lifted up and replaced my fingers with my mouth and whispered, “I get what you’re saying to me.” I brushed my lips against his and kept whispering when I said, “Now, you have to make me oatmeal. Because my estimate is we have eight hours for you to convince me I’m the Mara of your world before everything crashes back in on us, I get scared and/or freak out and/or panic and/or another calamity happens I’m certain I won’t survive. Until I survive it with, obviously, your help and all you said to me is less easy to believe.”
I stopped talking (finally), bearing my soul (finally) and held my breath as Mitch’s fathomless eyes stared deep into mine.
Then he asked, “Eight hours?”
“Until we pick up the kids,” I answered.
His neck twisted, his eyes going to his alarm clock then they came back to me and when they did I liked the teasing light in them because it was mixed with something way sexy.
“That’s gonna take a lot of work,” he whispered.
God, I hoped so.
I smiled at him, lifted up again and brushed my lips against his before I said softly, “That’s why we need oatmeal.”
His weight hit me and my head hit the pillows when he muttered against my mouth, “I’ll get it in a minute.”
