Don't Let Go(10)

How do we walk away from that? Those words had haunted me ever since.
I swallowed hard, blinking my tears free to see his profile, and turned around. I walked as quietly as I could back up the path, thanking God I wasn’t wearing heels to clack on the sidewalk.
Was he remembering that same night? Was he thinking about us? Of course not, I chided myself, wiping my eyes. He was back here with a gorgeous girlfriend and plans for the rest of his life. He wasn’t concerned with the nostalgia of an old flame. That look on his face earlier had been totally natural. We both were a little taken aback for a second at seeing each other again for the first time, that’s all. Had he stayed in town, we’d have become dulled to the other’s presence after a while, as all breakups go. We never got the chance to dull. So now—twenty-six years later—we’d have to awkwardly do that.
My cell buzzed as I got to my car, and I checked to see a text from Becca.
Out 2 eat wth Lizzy & Darlene. Spnding nite with L.
I leaned against my car and steadied my breathing, still feeling the burn behind my ribs. Why was he back? Why couldn’t he just stay gone?
I cleared my throat and shook the thoughts free. I had other issues. It’s a school night, I texted back, in full words, rebelling against the text-speak. I remembered her troubled expression from earlier and felt a stab of concern and curiosity. And wondered what she was really up to. I remembered seventeen. Way too well.
They go 2 school 2, was her reply. Quizg 4 the govmt test. L mom said ok.
Quizzing, my ass. She’d forgotten she’d already copped to that. But too tired to pick that particular battle, and remembering I’d dumped her at lunch with her dad, and knowing Lizzy’s mom was somewhat of a Nazi June Cleaver in workout clothes, stricter on Lizzy than I could ever be accused of, and would probably feed her a four-course breakfast in the morning and personally supervise homework, I broke my own rule and gave in.
Loves, I texted. Our trademark word since she was little.
Loves :).
I got in, fixed my eyes, got my shaky nerves under control.
And called Patrick.

? ? ?

Patrick was a guilty pleasure, unlike anything I’d ever done before. Never in my life had I had a one-night stand. I’d gone from Noah to a rotation of random losers to Hayden. After my divorce I went solo for a very long time. Deciding that I was clearly not cut out for relationships, I focused on being Becca’s mom. Once I did start dating, it was small-time. Only one ever got close to being serious, and when it did, I doused it. I wasn’t looking for another husband, or even a significant other. So when Patrick sidled into my world with his no-strings-attached, let’s-just-have-fun sexual whirlwind, I was ripe for the picking. And he was fun.
Fun.
Like taking off on a motorcycle and feeling the wind whip by at eighty miles an hour, just to stop and eat pizza and have sex in a field kind of fun. Okay, we really only did that once, but it was so outside my box that I’d never forget it. Ever.
We didn’t talk about our personal lives, other than the obvious surface things like he knew about Becca and he knew I owned a bookstore. I knew he had no kids and headed up a construction crew.
That about summed up what we needed to know to make small talk during rest periods. Because we didn’t hook up for the stimulating conversation.
I crawled back in bed, propping up on an elbow so I could stare at him. The new morning light peeking through the curtain was just enough to highlight all I needed to see. One arm was thrown over his head and his face was relaxed in sleep. He’d shaved for me because he knew I couldn’t stand the scratchiness, but the darkness was working its way back onto his jaw.
Patrick exuded raw sex appeal. Anyone could say anything they wanted about his crude language and rough exterior, he was hot. And was a product of the life he chose. Construction guys don’t worry about what wine goes with what entrée, they are just happy that there’s wine. And they don’t call it an entrée.
The sheet was tangled around him, a leftover result of the monkey sex we’d had around two. I traced a finger down his chest, in awe as usual of the muscle definition that continued into his abs. He was my age, roughly, or so I assumed. That was another thing we’d never actually defined, but although his body didn’t look it, I felt like he was in his mid-forties.
He drew in a deep breath as the touch stirred him from sleep, and he opened his eyes slowly and blinked at me.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said.
“Hey, yourself.”
He wound a finger around one of my locks and pulled me to him for a kiss. I dropped a light one on his lips and he chuckled.
“You’ve already brushed your teeth, haven’t you?”
I snickered. “Of course.”
He nodded, eyes drifting back closed with a lazy smile. “Of course.”
“Want some coffee?” I asked. “I just made some.”
“Not just yet,” he mumbled. “I’m gonna go see if I can hit this dream up again.” I ran my lips lightly along his arm and then moved to his stomach, kissing the parts the sheet didn’t cover. “Mmm, but if you keep doing that—”
“What will you do?”
“Probably not much till you make me go brush my teeth.”
I gave his stomach a nip and laughed as I pushed off the bed. I was restless. I’d already had two cups of coffee and showered, and aside from being naked was nearly done getting ready for work. Two hours earlier than necessary. It was like my skin couldn’t be still.
I eyed Patrick’s flannel shirt where it lay over my chair in the corner and opted for my big floppy warm robe instead. As sexy as wearing a man’s shirt felt, that struck an intimate chord with me that I wasn’t interested in pursuing. I took the stairs softly, stepping around the creaky spots out of habit. Hearing the familiar ka-thump, I turned to see Harley, our pit bull, exit from Becca’s room. The giant brindle-coated teddy bear slept in Becca’s bed every night whether she was there or not. Although she could put on quite the guilt trip when she felt like the girl abandoned her.