“Yes, thank you.”
“You ready to go now?” he queried, even though neither of us had cleaned our plates and that so went against the grain for me, it was difficult to give him my answer.
But I did.
“Yes, that probably would be best.”
“Right, Eliza,” he said on a curt nod. “I’ll get this soaking. You get dressed.”
“I can help,” I offered.
His eyes came to me. “Get dressed.”
That hurt. It shouldn’t. It was me putting an end to this.
But it did.
I got up and went to gather my clothes. I took them to the bathroom and got dressed.
By the time I came out, the dishes were cleared, soaking in the sink, jelly and ketchup still on the table.
“Be out in a second,” Johnny muttered, moving by me to go down the hall.
He disappeared in the bathroom.
I felt the sudden need to cry.
Instead, I went to his wall of windows, leaned a shoulder against one and looked out.
It was then I knew why he didn’t give up this place that reminded him of his dad.
The creek was wide and meandered slowly. Some of the trees grew straight out of it, their wide trunks serving as banks. Even that early in the summer, there was so much foliage, the sun struggled to get through but the power of it was such it cast streaks of bright against leaves and trunks and glimmered in the clear water and stone creek bed, making it appear magical.
I could stand out there with coffee every morning for fifteen minutes, half an hour, ages, just letting the peace of it and the gently turning water wheel calm me.
I wouldn’t have that opportunity, then or ever.
Johnny called from behind me, “Ready?”
I pushed away and looked to him to see him in another T-shirt and a different pair of jeans, wondering inanely (knowledge I’d never get either), where he got his clothes from, and I nodded.
I went to the island to get my purse, made sure my phone was in it, then followed him out the door.
He didn’t lock it behind him.
I moved at his back toward the truck, feeling a melancholy steal over me when he walked right to the passenger side door.
He opened it.
I started to shift around him to get in position to climb in but stopped when he slammed the door and turned to me. Hooking an arm around my waist, he pulled me around, put his hand to my stomach and pushed me against the truck.
My heart started beating hard as I tipped my head back to look up at him.
“You just got your fill or what?” he asked coldly.
“Sorry?” I whispered anxiously.
“Is that your play?” he demanded to know, the ice still in his tone.
“My . . . play?”
“Cut the crap, Eliza. What the fuck?”
I stared up at him.
“I don’t know. I’m not a woman,” he went on. “Only know the different reasons a man goes alone to a bar. The reason I hit Home last night was not the way it turned out to be. But I figure, one of the reasons men go alone is one of the reasons women go alone. So is that it? You went to find yourself some cock. Found it, got your fill, now you’re done?”
I felt my eyes get wide.
“You don’t owe me dick,” he continued. “I got it good so I’m not complaining. But assuage my curiosity. What the fuck?”
“I’ve never . . . not ever . . .” I trailed off, not knowing if I was offended, hurt, angry or all three.
“You’ve never what?” he pushed tersely.
“This,” I said, throwing out an arm to my side.
His heavy brows shot together. “You tryin’ to tell me you were a virgin?”
“Of course not,” I answered fast.
“Then what?” he pressed.
“Hooked up,” I told him.
“You’ve never hooked up,” he stated, making it clear he didn’t believe me.
“Well, I’ve hooked up but not hooked up hooked up. Like, you know, what we did. Meet a guy, and then, you know, leave with him and then, well . . . what came next.”
He glowered down at me.
“I don’t know the protocol,” I blurted.
The glower wavered as he asked, “The protocol?”
“I don’t know how to act. What to do. I mean, what do you do when a hookup is obviously coming to an end?”
“Jesus,” he whispered, now staring at me like he’d never seen a woman in his life.
“I . . . in there . . . you were . . . you’ve been . . .” I stuttered then changed courses, “This isn’t like a get-to-know-you date. I know how to do those. This, I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You want some insight?” he inquired.
By the look on his face, what I knew was I did not.
Even though I didn’t, I tentatively nodded, such was the only response I could give due to that look on his face.
I was wrong, that hooded brow with those thick eyebrows could be ominous.
“When the man you’ve outstandingly fucked four times opens up enough to tell you he’s havin’ a rough time because his dad died three years earlier, on this day, this being the reason he went out to get a few drinks the night before, you don’t immediately set about scraping him off so you can get on with your day.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he shot back.
“I didn’t know,” I pointed out gently (and it must be said, since that look was still on his face, carefully).
“And that makes it okay?” he asked.
“Well, um . . . no. But, in my defense—”
“You’ve never hooked up and don’t know the protocol,” he finished for me.
Right then, that totally sounded weak.
I pressed my lips together.
He studied me a few seconds before he asked, “Honest to Christ, you’ve never picked a guy up and fucked him before?”
I shook my head slowly.
“You’re a prude,” he stated.
“Well, not recently, but, um . . . yes,” I confirmed. “My mom wasn’t and my sister really wasn’t, so someone had to be around, you know, to feed the dogs and get in the car and pick them up when they got in situations and, uh . . . other stuff. Though, that said, it really just comes naturally, until, like I said but you already know since you were there, recently.”
“Why am I pissed at you and still wanna laugh my ass off?” he asked curiously.
“Because I’m being an idiot?” I asked back in answer.
“Yeah, that’s why,” he agreed.
I fell silent.
Johnny didn’t break the silence.
I couldn’t take the silence so I surged ahead.
“I can cook, like I told you, but, I don’t want to brag, I’m actually really good at it. So, to make up for being an idiot, if you want, you can take me to my car and I’ll get stuff sorted to make you dinner and you can come over later. Meet the babies. I’ll feed you and then maybe do some other, you know, stuff, to um . . . make up for being an idiot when you’re having a rough day.”
“So what you’re saying is you’ll feed me, introduce me to your pets and then fuck my brains out.”
I got a becoming-familiar trill down my spine, looked to his throat and muttered, “Something like that.”
“Iz.”
I looked into his eyes.
“I got a tradition for tonight that I do by myself. But tomorrow, I’ll be over.”