Spending Christmas in Colorado was a tradition that had been in our family for as long as I could remember.  Every year, my brothers and I (and later, their wives and children) would pack up and head to my parents home just outside of Atlanta, stay the night, and get up early for the airport shuttle the next morning.  We landed in picturesque Vail hours later, bright sun reflecting off of a fresh dusting of snow, a world away from the urban metropolis.  

It was so much fun to see my nephews run around in the snow in their winter coats, little arms flapping, little voices screaming and laughing, cheeks red from the cold. They marveled at the snow, since we didn’t get snow in Atlanta, and made snow angels and footprints and snowmen.  I watched them and smiled to myself—someday I’d have little ones of my own, maybe, and I’d make sure they got to see snow and play in it and run around and have fun and be a kid and not have to worry about the strange woman that came around and called herself their mother, but wasn’t.

Dad’s parents passed when he was quite a bit younger. In fact, I never met them. We had always spent Christmas with Mom’s side of the family. They were, to say the least, conservative, but doted on their grandchildren and great grandchildren without restraint, showering hugs and kisses on us as soon as we crossed the threshold of the rustic cabin-like mountainside home. I always considered it a home away from home- in the summer, a golf course and sprawling shopping center were a short ride away; in the winter, the ski slope was an elegant backdrop to the view out of the windows that spanned the living room, dining room, and den.

Christmas was a noisy affair with three boys, my brothers, their wives, me, my parents and my grandparents. Add neighboring families and their children and I was relieved when the day was over and the turkey had been deboned and sliced and put away, the sides were tucked into containers for lunch the next day, after-dinner drinks and dessert had been consumed and everyone wearily ambled off to homes and to bed. The boys, spoiled and exhausted and wearing the pajamas the grandparents gave them for Christmas every year, fell into their bed without argument.  I whispered wishes of sweet dreams as I pulled the covers up to their chins, all lined up in a row, already slack with sleep.

I had my own personal tradition, and that was to sit with a mug of my grandmother’s decadent cocoa and a trashy, smutty novel on the couch in the den, in front of the fire, letting it die down to glowing embers and enjoying the quiet, the scene outside the window as pretty as a postcard.

I had a feeling that JC would call—well, it was Christmas, of course he would call—but I just had a feeling I would get a phone call, pretty late, and I waited up for it. JC was pretty predictable, and like clockwork the Blackberry vibrated against the ceramic mug as I held them both in my lap, deeply engrossed in a romantic story of unrequited love.

‘You awake?’  his text read. I quickly tapped out a message in return. ‘Yes. Are you calling?’

Seconds later, a call popped up, the phone vibrating in my hands. “Hey,” I answered, my voice hushed, even though the bedrooms were on different floors and no one was up. It just seemed to fit the mood.

“Hi, there. Merry Christmas.” I closed my eyes and sighed, inwardly. I had just seen him a short two weeks ago but the sound of his voice made me miss him like I hadn’t seen him in months.

“Merry Christmas to you. How was yours?”

He seemed to be shifting. I wasn’t sure if he was in bed or just somewhere comfortable. “It was pretty nice. Had a good time,” he said after a moment. “You get anything good?”

I snickered and rolled my eyes. “Yes. Money to buy what I want. After 30 years of buying me gifts, my family doesn’t know what to get me anymore. You?”

“Uhm. Yeah. Socks and underwear,” he said with a laugh. “And some music stuff. You know. Guitar picks and audio… stuff. And some games for the Wii. Couple books, from my sister. Stuff like that. Nerdy stuff.”

“Mmmhmmm,” I mused, staring out of the window at the enormous mountain in the distance.  “You know, I find nerds kind of sexy.”

“Do you?” I could almost hear the smile creep across his face.

“Uh huh. All that brain power. That genius. Genius is sexy.”

He made a funny sound and a quick ‘heh’ came over the line. “You’re… you’re mean.”

“What?” I scoffed.  “How am I mean?”

“I can’t… do anything about the things you’re talking about, is why. You’re just building up to when I get to Atlanta, aren’t you?”

“I am,” I admitted, unashamed. “So I’m screwed, and not literally, if you’re not really coming.” I giggled like a schoolgirl. “To Atlanta,” I added.

“Oh, I am most certainly coming. To Atlanta,” he said, his voice hushed. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to it.”

“You? Let’s talk about something else. You’re killing me here.”

I chuckled, blushing and rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “Mkay. So what are you doing the rest of the week?”

“Uhm. I am hanging with the family, you know. I don’t see them all that often, so. Hanging out. I’ve got some friends I want to see.” He yawned, lightly. “And some going out, to do. Which I’m sure you know about, since pictures always seem to show up.”

A mild irritant was popping up, as it did every so often.  “JC… don’t.”

There was silence on the line as he hesitated for a heartbeat. “Don’t what?”

“There is a reason I asked you what you were doing, instead of saying ‘I know you usually go out with your friends and you always go to this club and you always drink this beer because I see the pictures every year’.  You want to know what you do for New Year’s every single year, too?”

After a strained moment of silence, he said, “You’re right. You’re right, I’ll stop. Sorry.”

“Thank you.” He was quiet as the tension dissipated, and then I felt silly for making such a big deal out of his comments. “Sorry. I’m still, you know… adjusting.”

“ ‘ts alright. Don’t apologize. Just letting me know what you need. I appreciate it. So you have plans with your family, the next few days?”

We talked a few minutes more about how we would fill the days until we could see each other, until he was yawning heavily and I was yawning in response. We ended the call on a flirty note, with promises to miss each other until we could be together again. I sighed, staring at the phone long after the call disconnected.

“That sounded pretty heavy,” I heard from behind me. I sat up and twisted around, startled. My mom stood, leaning up against the wall, hands in the pocket of her pink terrycloth robe—a gift from me. Her blonde hair, graying in streaks, fell across her face as she tilted her head, a sheepish grin on her face.  “I came down for some cocoa and heard you. I… didn’t want to interrupt. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

I stared at her, not sure how much she heard or how I would explain it or if I even really needed to. My parents weren’t the prying type and we had a great, open relationship because of it. She pushed off of the wall and walked into the softly lit room. “Want to talk? I’ll grab a mug of cocoa and join you.” 

No matter how old I got, I would always need my mom. I dreaded any thought that she would be more than a phone call or a short drive away. Just as when I was a little girl, we sat on the couch together, and I snuggled up against her, sipping hot cocoa and talking. She always had precious pearls of wisdom for me, if I wanted them. I survived many an overdramatic teenage tragedy with those pearls, and I liked to think I was a better woman because of them.

“So,” she said, an arm around my shoulder, her hand resting on top of my head. “This guy. Tell me about him.”

I shared the story, leaving out the parts she didn’t really need (or want, really) to know. She had no idea who he was, though she admitted she’d probably know him if she saw him.  She listened and nodded, chuckling at the story of me on the plane, remarking that I seemed calmer on this trip than the last, when I gripped my Dad’s arm and buried my face in his shoulder through the takeoff and the landing. I would never live down my fear of flying, ever.

I told her more, about him coming to Atlanta to see me, and then the more recent trip to LA and how he shared so much of himself and his past with me, more than I ever dreamed of knowing about him. And how I thought I might be falling hard for him, and how I was afraid of it but didn’t want to be. I couldn’t help falling anyway, despite my fear of what might happen and how it could possibly all be snatched away from me, as soon as he realized I was a person with a lot of issues to work out.

“Well, so… do you think this is something you can sustain, sweetheart? LA is pretty far, from Atlanta.”

I shrugged, not answering. I didn’t know what I knew or thought, anymore. I was following my heart, and the heart wants what it wants. There was something about him that drew me to him, compelled me to him. There was so much sincerity and intense passion and sheer… like. I LIKED him. Beyond anything sexual, we had great friendship, which made the sex that much better. I hadn’t ever had that before and I wanted to keep it as long as I could.

“Just be careful. I mean, I know you are, just…”  Her voice trailed off and she sighed, dropping a kiss on my forehead. “I’m going back up. Are you staying up for awhile?”

She sat up, swinging her arm from around me. I sat up with her, sleepy and foggy. “No, I’ll follow you up. The boys will be up early tomorrow, I’m sure, making noise. I’d better sleep while they’re asleep.”

“They’ll want their annual ski with Aunt Serena. You’ll need your rest.”

The days between Christmas and the trip home just before New Year’s Eve were fun and packed with family events, yet they seemed to drag on and on. The clock ticked slowly, hour by hour until the days had passed and I was packing to go home. I had a party at Melissa’s to attend the next night, no real, concrete plans for New Year’s Day except cleaning and preparing my house for my guest. JC was flying from Miami to Atlanta the following day, and I didn’t even have to share him with Dallas, this trip.

I prepped until the very last minute, rushing out of the house and into the car, the engine whining as I peeled out of the garage and into the street, then the Interstate, then the airport exit. I pulled into the parking lot just as his flight was scheduled to land. I flipped the visor down, checking my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were bright but my cheeks were flushed and my face was pink.  I willed myself to calm down, breathe, relax. I smoothed a palm down my hair, checked my lip gloss and stepped out of the car.

My eyes combed baggage claim for the carousel where his flight would unload. Hartsfield-Jackson was touted as one of the largest and busiest airports in the country. He would have to take the tram from the concourse to baggage claim so it could be as long as a half hour until he made it to that area. I paced, walking down the long aisle in front of doors sliding open and closed and then back again, until the LED screens lit up and an overhead announcement all but screamed that baggage from his flight was beginning to be unloaded at a carousel on the other end of the building.

I started walking, still 13 carousels away, and my phone buzzed in my pocket. ‘I’m here,’ his message read.  ‘I see you.’

My head popped up and I looked around, and ahead of me. I saw a hand wave and I fought the huge smile that wanted to plaster itself onto my face. Rushing toward the carousel, toward him, closer and closer still, I felt like my heart might beat out of my chest. Was it always going to feel like this? It hadn’t really been that long since I last saw him, but I couldn’t wait to see his face, in person.

And then, there he was. Long wool coat, black scarf with fringes, long sleeved white thermal shirt, faded black jeans and white sneakers, messy hair starting to curl up and more than a few days of growth on his chin and cheek—he was beautiful, to me. He was talking to someone and laughing, chattering animatedly, hands flying while he tried to describe something. As I came into his field of vision, he stopped midsentence. His eyes locked with mine and he smiled, wide and with his eyes and held out a hand to me, wiggling his fingers, beckoning me forward.

I was sure my cheeks were red and inflamed and my grin annoyingly wide, but I didn’t care. I stepped alongside him, under his arm, while he finished his conversation. They shook hands and the man he was talking to stepped aside to catch his suitcase coming around, and waved as he rolled his luggage out of the sliding door.

“Hey there,” he said, looking down at me, still smiling with his eyes, holding me close to him while the multi-colored piles of luggage made their way around.

“Hi,” I said shyly, glancing up at him and then back to the merry-go-round in front of us.

“What’s wrong?” He squeezed my shoulder, jiggling a little. “You shy, today?”

“A little,” I said, pushing away, grabbing his arm, sliding down his sleeve until I held his hand. His fingers wound around mine and we watched the luggage crawl past us until he saw his large black suitcase. He let go to step forward and lift it off the belt, extended the handle and nodded at me to lead the way. Out of the doors, across the street to the parking lot, and up the elevator to the parking garage, then down a few spots to where my freshly washed, waxed, and vacuumed car stood. Keys in hand, I pressed the button to pop the trunk and it slowly opened. He set his carryon case and luggage into the trunk and stepped back to push it closed.

“You alright?” He tilted his head, concern clouding his face. I nodded, and pressed the button to unlock the car doors. “Yep. Let’s go, babe.”

“You don’t seem alright,” he said, ducking into the car, swinging the door closed. “Talk to me. Wait,” he said, swatting my hand away from the ignition. “What’s wrong?”

I was a mess of hand flurries and blushing and giggling. “Nothing’s wrong, JC. I just… I want to get you home where I can hug you and kiss you. I’m in a hurry to do that, so can we go?”

“You can kiss me right now.” He leaned on the armrest between us, over to my seat and close to my face. “Really,” he said, his breath smelling of spearmint.

I closed the small amount of space between us and our lips met, softly. He hummed happy sounds as he moved in the seat and pressed his lips to mine, breathing in deeply through his nose. He turned his head and opened his mouth, his breath hot as his tongue teased my bottom lip. I opened my mouth and sighed into his, groaned as our tongues intertwined and rolled with one another. He cupped the side of my face and stroked my cheek with his thumb. A sharp shock of lightning streaked down my back and I pulled away.

“We have to go,” I said, breathless. 

“Yep, let’s go,” he said, snapping the seatbelt closed. Laughing, he reached for the volume control and turned the music up, probably expecting disco but shocked when Come to Me came blaring out of the speakers.

I laughed, pulling out of the spot and toward the cashier to pay for parking. “That’s a complete coincidence, I swear. It’s just connected to my iPod.”

“At least you have good taste,” he said, his gaze drifting to the view outside the window. It was sunny and clear, but cold, near freezing. The Interstate was packed with cars as I made my way across Atlanta, to my exit, my subdivision, my street, and cozy cul-de-sac. The garage door lifted slowly. I pulled in and the door closed behind me. I opened the door to the house, leaving it open for him to drag his luggage inside.

“You want to follow me up? I have something for you,” he said, huffing as he dragged the heavy suitcase in.

“You do? Oh.”

When we talked about Christmas presents, we decided not to get each other anything, just a card, which I’d sent out with the rest of my cards before I left for Christmas. I would feel like a heel if he had something nice for me and I didn’t have anything to give him in return. Apprehensive, I climbed up behind him as he stomped up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom, where he dropped his carryon case and laid his luggage down on the floor.

I sat on the edge of the bed, wondering what he could possibly have for me, praying it wasn’t something big or expensive. He dug through piles of neatly folded clothes until his hand found a small plastic bag, which he tossed at me while he righted his piles again and zipped the case closed. I held it in my hand, feeling its contents through the plastic. There was a box inside.

“So,” he said, sitting heavily next to me, clasping his hands. Anticipating. He was cute. “Open it.”

I turned the bag over, dumping out a small white box with a flap. I slipped open the flap and turned the box over in my hand. Something heavy plopped out and landed in my lap. I picked it up and sucked in a breath.

In my hands I held a small, rectangular stone. I guessed it was Onyx, the prettiest, deepest blue I had ever seen. Woven through the stone were streaks and swirls of white. It looked like a flat marble, was cast in a setting of sterling silver and strung on a double chain of silver as well.

He was sheepish, holding up his hands in defense when I looked up at him in obvious protest of the gift we said we weren’t getting each other. “I know. I know we said no Christmas gifts. It’s not for Christmas. I saw it, last weekend, and I know your favorite color is blue, and you have a pendant sort of strung like that so I thought you would like it.”

“Look at you, knowing a lot about me,” I said, relenting, impressed. I couldn’t help but smile. He must have predicted my protest and had an argument ready. “I love it, it’s beautiful, and I do love blue. Thank you.” I leaned into him and gave him a loud, wet smooch. He seemed proud of himself as he picked up the box and the bag and tossed them near his luggage. 

“You’re not mad, are you?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head, holding the small stone in my hand. ”I just. I really don’t have anything for you, and I feel badly about that. I should have picked something up for you, I just didn’t know you would bring me something—“ He cut me off with a kiss, and then a finger to my lips when I tried to keep talking. 

“Let me be nice to you,” he chided, gently. “This doesn’t have to fair. I saw something I thought you would like and I got it for you. Enjoy it. Okay?” I nodded, my eyes closed, and then open and fixed on him.

“Now, then. You mentioned something about a hug and a kiss, in the car?” 

I squealed, grabbed him by the lapel of his coat and pulled him toward me, leaning back on the bed. He laughed as he rolled over me, a leg between mine and bent his head to press his lips against mine, softly at first. Then, with a groan, the kiss grew to something passionate and wanting, as if we couldn’t kiss enough, couldn’t touch enough. Couldn’t get close enough—I wanted to be closer to him.

“JC,” I said, gasping for air as he tipped his head and his lips traveled down my neck to the collar of my t-shirt. “Your coat. Take off your—fuck. JC, stop for a second.”

He sat up, on his knees and shrugged out of his coat, dumping it onto the floor, then unwrapping the scarf, folding it up and tossing it on top of his coat.

“We ready?” he asked, flicking an eyebrow at me. I answered by gripping his shirt and pulling him down on top of me, my arms flying around his neck, my legs around his legs, closing tight, pulling him closer to me. I whimpered as his lips found mine again and he kissed me, aggressive and powerful. I felt him, growing, pressed into my thigh. It was a heady turn-on to me and my body responded in kind.

A warm hand crawl under my t-shirt, slowly making its way up my side, poking under the band of my bra. His lips left mine and he shifted to one side, leaning on one arm, the other I could see under my shirt, exploring. His hands were warm, so warm, and soft. I loved that feeling. I closed my eyes and sighed, in bliss.

“I like when you touch me,” I said, my voice not much louder than a whisper.

“Yeah?”  He pulled my shirt up, over my breasts. “Lace,” he mumbled, bending down to kiss both rounded, overflowing cups, biting at the thin, opaque material and the nipple straining against it. My hips jerked, the sensation driving me wild, making me want him more. I sat up, pulled my t-shirt over my head and tossed it on the floor, over the side of the bed. He reached behind me and unhooked the clasp and I shrugged the bra off. It landed somewhere near my t-shirt, on the floor.

“Your turn,” I said, grabbing at him, almost shaking. He pulled his shirt and t-shirt under it up and over his head and dropped it near the growing pile of clothing. I drew a shaky breath as I held my hands out to him and as he came closer to me, grabbed him by the waist and pulled him down to me. He laughed and huffed ‘oof’, as he landed on me.

“I don’t think you know your own strength, once you get going.” He adjusted so he was comfortable, then stared down at me, stroking my face, smoothing my hair back. “I missed this face,” he said, bending to peck my lips, softly.

“I missed this one,” I responded, rubbing his cheek. “I know I said you should be yourself, but…”  I scratched at his facial hair, giggling.

He hung his head, laughing. “I know, I know. I got real lazy this trip. I’ll shave tomorrow. Is that gonna be okay?”

“I was kidding, JC. It’s your face. Do what you want. Wow.” He growled and tipped his head, bit at my neck. I squealed, feeling his teeth actually close on a fold of skin.  “Oh my God, please don’t leave a mark,” I managed to get out, laughing hysterically.

“Mmmmmmm,” he hummed, giving up on the biting, moving down to lay his head on my chest. “I like your laugh. It’s so… happy.”

I laid an arm across his back, occasionally scratching lightly, rubbing his warm skin, sneaking a hand under the band of his jeans. He snickered, the muscles in his back and stomach rippling. I felt him smile into my skin, then lift his head a lick a fiery circle around an erect nipple before closing his mouth on it, humming and sucking, then letting it go with a pop, staring up at me, taking in my reaction. He did the same with the other nipple, then began a cycle of back and forth that ignited an already burning need for him.

“I want you,” I mumbled, grabbing him by the arms, trying to pull him up, to my face. “Mmmmph,” he responded, covering my mouth with his, lips hot and wet against mine. He reached down to the band of his jeans and undid them, pushing them down his hips, kicking them off, then reaching for mine. I lifted my body off of the bed so he could pull them down and I kicked them off.

For a few minutes we enjoyed the feeling of skin on skin, intertwined. Head to toe, we pressed together, legs wrapped around each other, chest pressed against breast, my arms wrapped around his shoulders, his at my side, gliding up and down my thighs, his head lying next to mine, our cheeks touching. JC panted like he had just run a mile. I wasn’t far behind him.

“Do you want to use yours, or mine?” I whispered. “I bought the same kind you use.”

He let out a short breath, through his nose. Then, “Yours,” he said, rolling over, onto his back. “Will you-- I mean. The way you do it?”

I glanced over at him as I sat up, his arms spread out on either side of him, a peaceful but expectant expression on his face, eyes closed. I was already looking forward to taking my time, enjoying the few days I would have with him. From the bottom drawer of my nightstand I plucked a small, square package from the box I had just bought the day before and unwrapped.

“What else you got in that drawer down there?” I heard from behind me. I snickered and turned over, straddling him. “I’ll never tell, nosy,” I whispered, just before I leaned down and met his lips in a passionate, breathless kiss. His hands slid up and down my body, lightly, so light it tickled. He moaned and his hips arched up toward me, his arousal demanding attention.

I broke the kiss and made a trail down his neck to his collar bone and his chest, taking a second to admire it. It was exactly how I liked it-- enough hair to look manly but not so he looked like a beast. Perfection. Slow, wet kisses past his chest and down to his stomach until I reached his waist, then even slower as I crawled past, lower. I stopped and looked up at him. His eyes were half closed, his mouth slack, watching me.

I planted tiny, light kisses around him, watching him grow more erect before my eyes, the more I rubbed and kissed and nipped at him. His breathing had quickened and when he reached the point where he couldn’t take it anymore, he quietly pleaded, “please?”

My eyes shot up to him, then back down as I gripped him gently, bathing up one side and down the other and back again. His hips started to roll and a gasp escaped him. I opened my mouth and closed it over him, then started a slow rhythm.  He moaned and grunted, his head thrown back, hips moving in rhythm with me. “Faster. Please. Faster,” he whispered.

Before JC, that wasn’t something I really enjoyed or felt I even did very well. It was always pretty much a duty that I did because I should-- he had changed all of that, for me. He seemed to enjoy it, which made me enjoy it more. From the sounds and movements he was making, I guessed I was doing a pretty good job.

“Yeah,” he said, very suddenly, tipping his head up to watch. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.” His breath caught and he twitched in my hand, grunted that he was close.

I looked up at him, a look I hoped was seductive and told him he was safe to let go. I kept moving, and he got the message. He let out a gut level groan, arching up into me as I sucked him in and back to the back of my throat. He shuddered, then I felt a hot splash, and then he relaxed against the bed, heaving, out of breath, his skin a deep red, and covered in a mist of sweat.

“Fuck, that was good,” he said, gasping, swallowing panting, wiping his brow. “So good. So really good. Thank you.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” I said, smug as I ripped open the foil packet and rolled the thin film down, the solid column beginning to rise again, at my touch.

“You look like you know you’re getting it back.”

“I know I am,” I said with a wink. “Ten-fold. Check it.” I climbed off of him and lay next to him while he checked and adjusted the condom, then rolled toward me. Then sat up.

“What’s good for the goose,” he said, the sexiest look I have ever seen on his face. He made his way between my legs and wrapped his arms around me. I held his face in my hands, brought him toward me and kissed him, playing with his tongue, swirling and pulling at his bottom lip.  

Warm hands slid down the sides of my thighs, his fingertips tickling my skin, goose bumps popping up in waves. Then his lips followed the same trail. Up one leg, over my stomach, down the opposite leg then back up to lick at a nipple and then a wet path from my ribcage down my body.  Random, soft kisses were planted here and there, up the inside of my thigh until he found the spot he was looking for.

I sucked in a breath, loudly, as soon as I felt him, anticipating what was coming. He licked and nibbled and my hips could not stop rocking. I grabbed a handful of hair with one hand and propped myself halfway sitting up with the other, watching. His tongue lightly brushed across me, very sensitive, almost painfully so. I shook and moaned and thrashed and then he stiffened his tongue and licked harder. I moaned louder and pulled him closer to me. “Oh my—Fuck,” I moaned, almost unintelligibly.

“Mmmmmmm,“ he responded, the vibration making me almost cry, and moved his hands under me to pull me closer to him and hold me where he wanted me, flicking and sucking and around and around and up and down, relentlessly. I ground my hips into him, moaning loudly, every nerve ending about to explode.

“Shit, I’m--you’re—oh my God.” I couldn’t even finish my sentence. I gave up watching, fell back and writhed in his grasp until—sweet, painful, wonderful release. I heaved a giant, loud sigh, my body arching up off of the bed. JC didn’t stop until my hips stopped moving and I pushed him back, almost in tears. Spots and flashes flew around the room, and I tried hard to blink them away. I couldn’t breathe, and I was trying so very hard to catch a breath. He crept up my body, flush and pink and sweaty, dropping light kisses here and there until he was hovering over me.

I knew he was watching me and I couldn’t handle the pressure. My cheeks were on fire, and I felt the blush crawl up my body and my eyes water and the swell of emotion coming, so fast I couldn’t stop it. I covered my face with my hands and pressed my lips together, but that didn’t mask the high pitched wail that came, followed by sobs that wracked my body. I rolled over, away from him, grabbed a pillow and buried my face in it.

I was sure he had no idea what was happening or why and maybe he was a little afraid but he didn’t show it. I let my tears flow until they subsided, all the while feeling a warm hand rubbing my back, down the side of my body, down my thighs and back up, across my shoulder, pushing my hair back from my face.

I laid there, my face still buried in the pillow, no longer crying but gravely embarrassed. I sniffled as the last few hiccups escaped. A wad of tissues was pushed into my hand and I wiped my face under cover of the pillow. Then I started to laugh.

It was just a chuckle, at first, out of embarrassment. It grew to a giggle and then for no reason at all, I was laughing so hard I couldn’t get a breath. I finally found the courage to turn over, but not to look at JC, lying on his side, leaning on one elbow.

“Are you okay, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?”

I nodded and sniffled, then laughed for a few seconds more. “Uhm. Yeah. I’m okay. Just… that was just… so fucking good,” I said, and burst into laughter again. I glanced up at him, his brow furrowed, his eyes dark, his face contorted in confusion. I laughed harder, then regained control.

He cupped my face, turning my head so he could see me, and stare into my eyes. He still looked concerned, but now seemed slightly amused. “You know, they say people who laugh a lot for no reason are crazy.”

“I’m in therapy, remember?”

“You okay?” he asked again, softly, dropping a kiss on my temple. I nodded, again.

“Yes, I am… I am fucking fantastic,” I sighed, then giggled. I couldn’t help my grin. “I am wonderful. That was just—it was just really good. Like right on the cusp of ‘so fucking good I could cry’ and, I don’t know, I guess maybe I had a lot of pent up emotion, and I really missed you, a lot, and I was really looking forward to right now, this moment, right here, and…” my voice trailed off as I glanced up at him, bent over me, so concerned and caring that it made my heart hurt.

“Okay,” he said, understanding, nodding slowly. “So uhm. Is that… will that happen a lot? Just. I kind of need to be ready for that.”

“No,” I said, reaching up to scratch at the hair at the back of his neck. “No, it won’t happen a lot. It might never happen again. I don’t really know. I don’t exactly plan it.”

“Okay,” he said again. “Uhm. So. Can we…?” He was incredibly cute, at that moment, wanting to move on but not wanting to seem insensitive.

“Yes, we can,” I purred, pulling him down toward me, lifting my head to meet his lips halfway. He moved so he was laying half on, half off of me, looking down on me.

He wiggled his brows, starting to laugh a little, himself. “By the way,” he said, chuckling, gliding a hand down my thigh. “That was the best blow job I’ve had all year.”

My jaw dropped and I laughed with him. “Let’s see if we can improve on that as the year goes on, shall we?”

“Gladly,” he said, before dipping his head into another kiss. A hand brushed across an erect nipple and he flicked at it. The desired response came from my hips underneath him. He moaned into my mouth and moved all the way on top of me. I wrapped my legs around him and arched up toward him.

“Mmmmm…” He hummed. “God, you’re so sexy. You drive me crazy, woman.”

I moaned and moved against him. “Likewise. Please,” I whispered.  

“Help me,” he whispered back. His lips found mine again. I reached between us and guided him to me and he slid in. I sighed, loudly, smiling. He felt like home- comfortable and right. 

“Fucking shit, you feel good!”

JC laughed at my response. I didn’t care. I had missed him. This. I wound my legs around him tight, my arms around him tighter. As our bodies moved together, I talked to him, how he liked it. He moaned quietly, sighing, groaning, slowly speeding up. The headboard started a low tapping against the wall, mimicking his rhythm. I hardly heard it as I enjoyed being with him, close to him, one with him. His steady movements were driving me out of my mind, again, and I felt another climax building.

“Son of a…. motherfucking…. FUCK!” My hands unwrapped themselves from his neck and flailed, grabbing onto anything they came into contact with. I squealed as a wave washed over me, crashing and washing over and over again.  “Don’t stop!” I called out, as if there was a chance he was going to. He didn’t—in fact he sped up, pushing harder, his breaths coming in gusts, grunting with effort, shaking himself.

“Are you coming?” I breathed in his ear, gripping his shoulders, feeling the muscles working overtime. “Come for me, JC.”

“Ye—yeah. Yeah!” He thrust hard, grunting loudly, shaking and sweaty and red in the face and out of breath and so, so, so sexy to me. After he stopped moving, heaving on top of me, I grabbed the sides of his face and brought him to me, ravaging those cherry red lips, kissing him with as much passion as I could stir up. He tore his lips from me so he could catch his breath, his head lying next to mine, his lips on my neck.

“I swear, you’re gonna kill me, one day,” he said, swallowing, gulping air, his hot breath on my neck. I smiled and turned my head toward his.

“It’s such sweet pain, though, isn’t it?”

“Unnnggghhh,” he groaned, then rolled to the side, laying on his back, arms outstretched, a satisfied smile on his face.  “I am definitely happy I came to Atlanta,” he panted.

“I am definitely happy that you did, too.” I rolled toward him, onto my stomach, propped up on my elbows. “Hey, uhm…”

“Hmmm.” he grunted, his eyes closed.

“Are you freaked out? About the… the crying thing?”

His head rolled toward me, and his eyes opened, just barely. He shook his head, slightly. “You cried, once before,” he said. “The first trip. At my house. Remember?” I did remember. I also remembered we didn’t really talk about it and the crying wasn’t to nearly the same extent. “I just needed to know I didn’t hurt you. Everything else is just…well, it’s just Serena.”

Sheepish, I bowed my head, then brought it up again. “Thanks. For understanding. Or… just not letting it freak you out. It would have been okay. I expected it.”

He shook his head, again, seconds away from sleep. “I’m okay, sweet girl.” I reached up, under the pillows and pulled the duvet and sheet down. He woke up long enough to climb inside the cool sheets, and curl up on his side. He extended an arm in invitation for me to find my spot, an invitation I could not refuse. I snuggled close to him, my back against his chest. He moved closer still, his thighs against the backs of mine, an arm across my waist. A few minutes later, the even, heavy breathing and steady rise and fall of his chest told me he was asleep. I was right behind him.

*

Unable to sleep for very long, I slipped out from under JC’s arm, leaving him in the warm bed, still curled up on his side, an arm tucked under his head, his lips closed in that cute pout. I liked to watch him sleep, but I had things to do.

After stepping into the bathroom for a minute and slipping on a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants, I crept down the stairs and through the living room, flipping on the satellite radio and turning it down so it played softly, and walking through to the kitchen. I hummed and sang along to the late 90’s hits, prepping dinner. Soon, the scent of chicken rose from the vents in the countertop rotisserie and roasted potatoes from the oven and crisp, steamed vegetables from the steamer, cooking to a perfect texture. If I timed it right, everything would finish perfectly and at the same time, piping hot, and then I would wake up JC so he wouldn’t sleep all day and be awake all night. Unless he wanted that.

“All we need is something to drink,” I said, to myself, headed for the pantry. The stairs were right above the long, closed in room, and I heard footsteps coming down and bare feet pitter-patter on the tile of the kitchen floor.

“There better not be a giant mouse in my kitchen,” I called out.

I heard a low chuckle, then bare feet coming toward the doorway. I smiled as I caught sight of him, in fleece pants and dark t-shirt. He reached up toward the doorjamb, hooking his fingers around it, his weight shifting to one leg. He had the sexiest ways of just standing there. I shivered, just looking at him.

“I was on the Mickey Mouse Club, you know.” His voice was still deep and a little gruff from sleep.

“So, you’re saying I have a—“

“Giant Mouseketeer. In your kitchen,” he finished, laughing at his joke.

I shook my head.  “That was awful, honey. Just… terrible. Really bad.”

He shrugged, almost swinging from the doorjamb into the room. “I didn’t think it was that bad. You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m trying to pick a juice,” I said, finally picking up a bottle of fruit juice and a 2 liter of Sprite. “Dinner is just about ready. Do you want to make punch?”

He stepped aside, watching me walk out of the room. “Sure,” he said, dropping his arms and coming to stand next to me. “What do I do?”

Over dinner, JC demanded a simple run down of my family, because when I tried to tell stories, he had to keep stopping me to ask who was who. “Just tell me the basics,” he said, shoving a forkful of potatoes in his mouth.

“Okay. So my dad, Terry, is an Accountant. Married to Donna, a Nurse. My dad has his own practice, now; my mom is head of Nursing at Atlanta Women’s Medical Center. I have two brothers, both younger. Garrett is Operations Manager at a warehouse. Married to Kim. They have two sons, 7 and 5, Matthew and Devon.  Chris is married to Andrea, they have one son, he’s 4, named after his dad, and we call him CJ. Garrett and Chris both live in Atlanta, like five minutes from each other but way the hell across the Interstate, almost in Alabama. You clear, so far?”

“Yeah, just the… people past your immediate family, I get confused.”

“Okay, then. My dad has a brother, named Walter. Married to Esla, she’s from Trinidad.  They live in Tampa. They don’t have any kids. My mom has one sister, Grace, married to Edward. They live overseas, as Edward is British. They have two children, Elizabeth-- Not Becky, not Beth, not Liz, but ELIZABETH-- and William. We haven’t seen Grace in… probably, I don’t know, 7 years or so. Not estranged, just… Edward really likes England and acts so put out whenever he has to come to the U.S. “

“So how did Grace meet Edward, if he hates the U.S.?”

I shrugged. “In England, of course. She went over there for some trip one summer. She met him, fell in love, never came home. The Grandparents were NOT happy about that all. Not just because she ran off, but because she was living with him. And that meant they were having sex, and oh, dear.” I rolled my eyes and got up from the table, serving myself more potatoes and sat back down again.

“Anyway. Grace and Edward got married about three years after she was supposed to have come home. The Grandparents have come around to him, slowly but he’s so… snobbish… sometimes. And you know, my grandparents aren’t very uhm...” I pondered the right word. “How should I say this? They’re kind of snobby themselves. I mean, they live in fucking Vail, for heaven’s sake. They’re from Denver. They have money and they like to make sure people know it.”

“Really,” he said, chewing, nodding, contemplating. “Do I seem like that?”

A laugh shot out before I could stop it. “No, sweetie, you don’t.”

“Why not? I mean. I have money. I don’t seem like I do?”

I shook my head, slowly, incredulous. “JC. You wear the same shit over and over again, and not really, terribly expensive stuff. I mean it’s not JC Penney but it’s not like, gold plated sun glasses, either. You drive a nice car and you take good care of it, but again, you’ve driven the same car for years. Your house is very nice but it’s far from the mansion you could have. And you’re very quiet and unassuming and you don’t, like... I don’t know. You don’t step into a room and scream, “I’m rich, bitch!”

He laughed, a hearty chesty laugh, one where his eyes disappeared, laughed so hard that he had to set his fork down and lean his head against a hand. “Wow,” he said, coughing and sputtering, still laughing. “I just got a mental image of myself doing that and it looked stupid.”

“You okay? You want—here let me get you some more juice.” I grabbed his empty glass, refilled it and set it next to him. He sucked down half of the glass, before he set it back down again.

He wiped the side of the glass, condensation already dripping onto the wood of the table. “You think I should start acting more rich?”

“Hell no,” I said, smacking at his hand. “That’s what I like most, about you. You don’t seem to take yourself too seriously. You don’t seem all caught up in who you are and what you’ve done and who your friends are. I could say mean things about people you know who do that.”

He lifted his hands and brows at the same time, glancing up at me. “Don’t say it,” he said, quietly.

“I’m not. I’m not. Just, I could. I’m just saying, don’t become that. I don’t like that.”

He sniffed, and then cleared his throat, sitting forward, pulling at a fringe on the placemat. “Then, I better not, huh? I need you to like me. I need you to like me, a lot.”

I tipped my head, trying to see his eyes, but couldn’t. “I do. I like you a lot, JC.”

“I like you, too. A lot.” He winced as he pulled a thread out of the placemat. I shrugged at it.

“So do you ever see Elizabeth—Not Becky or Liz – and William? They live in England?”

“Yes. They live in England. I talk to them more than I see them but I do see them, when they come to visit. They usually come in the summer. To Vail. They hate winters in the U.S. England is cold enough, they say.”

“Have you been?” I stared at him, and blinked, waiting for him to remember that I nearly broke down into tears during a simple five hour flight. Realization hit, and a slow smile crossed his face. He pointed, shaking a finger at me. “Forgot. Yeah. So you haven’t. You should. You know, if you can manage the flight. There’s tons of places you’ve never been that you’d love.”

“Like?” I picked up his plate, completely clear of food. He drained his glass of juice and got up, following me into the kitchen.

“Like Brazil. Like, Rome. I mean, you’re Greek, right? You should go, to Greece. Greek islands are nice.”

“Baby steps, honey. I’m freaking out just thinking about flying to Greece.”

He rinsed plates and glasses and silverware and dishes and I loaded them in the dishwasher. Not the Chasez Way, but he shook his head and stood back and didn’t argue, though I could see that he wanted to say something. I laughed, to myself, and continued to load it my way, in which the dishes came out perfectly fine.

“Is that it?” He stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands on his hips, surveying. The dishwasher rumbled behind him, the table was clear and wiped down, the counters clear, the sink empty. I dumped the small amount of dirt into the dustpan from sweeping, put the broom away and washed my hands.

“That is it. Thanks for your help.” I hooked my hand in his elbow and pulled him toward the living room. “Let’s watch a movie, or something.” 

There was something so… domestic about making him dinner, talking about my family, and later his, him helping me clean up and then lounging against each other on the couch, watching stupid movies and talking through them. JC had a story for everything, and I let him tell every one of them, relishing in the fact that I was laying in his arms, resting on my long sofa, his breath on my neck as he talked, laughing at the silly things he said.

Between movies, I got up to make a batch of cookies—he seemed to be hinting that he would like some, and finally, with a roll of my eyes, I offered to get up and make them. As I slid the cookie tray into the oven, he flipped from channel to channel, stopping on a commercial.

“Hey, Serena,” he called, from the living room. “You think I need veneers?”

“Don’t you dare,” I yelled, from the kitchen.

“Why not?” he yelled back. He wasn’t that far away, he was just being ridiculous. I poked my head around the corner to watch the commercial with him. I glanced over at him and shook my head.

“Don’t you remember when Hilary Duff got hers? She looked like a horse. She couldn’t even speak. No.”  I ducked back into the kitchen to clean up.

Suddenly he was behind me, right up against me, arms around my shoulders so I couldn’t move my arms. “You don’t think my teeth look weird?”

“No, I don’t think your teeth look weird. I think your teeth look normal. You have character.”

“What if I don’t want character? What if I want to be able to smile without the gap showing?”

I turned my head so I could see him, and give him a disapproving look. “Would you rather have a gap, or would you rather look like Gary Busey?”

He flared his nostrils, actually thinking about it. Then, tucking his bottom lip over his bottom teeth, he reared his head back and made horse sounds. “This isn’t sexy?”

“Not at all, sweetheart,” I said, laughing, leaning against him. “Can you let me go? I need to pull the cookies out, in a minute.”

He stepped back, running his tongue along his teeth. “So, no veneers, honey?”

“No veneers. You really think you need them?”

He shrugged, climbing up on a bar stool, leaning onto the counter. “It’s been suggested. Multiple times. Enough that… I’m kind of thinking about it.” His gaze lowered to the Formica countertop, his lashes shading his eyes.

“JC, sweetie.” I stood next to him, a hand on his back, and dipped my head so I could see his eyes. “Do you want them?” He shook his head, then shrugged. “So, why are you thinking about it?”

“I don’t know. I guess if people say something enough times, I start thinking something is wrong.”

I leaned my head on his bicep, my hand sliding around his waist. “There is nothing wrong with the way you look. Nothing. And if you like what you see in the mirror, then let people talk and suggest all they want. I know you know this, JC.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath, sitting up, lifting his arm up and around me. “You’re right, I know. Sometimes I just need someone to tell me I’m being stupid. Thanks.” He pressed his lips to my forehead, lightly, just as the oven timer went off. I felt him smile against my forehead, then push me toward the oven.

“Cookies!”