Page 17 of Liquids

Rig comes back into the room and studies my face. Dave starts shouting something from lower down behind the building, but it sounds like a dog barking in the distance.

“Dave Chapman was the boyfriend you mentioned last night?”

“Yes. Did you throw him down the stairs?”

“Yeah.” He shakes his head. “He’s a world-class asshole. I have no idea what you’re doing with him. He was two years ahead of me in school and he treated women like shit.”

“Maybe I’m a world-class asshole.”

“Babe.”

“He doesn’t treat me like shit.”

He walks around to the other side of the bed and sits down. “Yeah, well … that’s not a surprise.”

“What! Why?”

“Babe, you’re way above his league. He was reeling you in.”

Seriously? “I’m not above his league.”

Rig chuckles quietly and settles back on the pillow, one huge arm tucked behind his head. “Babe.”

He turns on his side, stretches out a hand, and pulls me toward him. “I was looking forward to some morning snuggling. Haven’t had that in a long-ass time.”

“Did you just say the word ‘snuggling’?”

He laughs. “Quit messing around and come here.”

I shuffle over and into him because when you’ve been on your own for as long as I have and someone offers you that, you take it. I like him. And I don’t care how much time I’ve got him for, or even if it’s just toe-curling sex, I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts. At least he’s being clear with me that this isn’t anything. I’ve heard the story about how I’m The One too many times to count, only to be thrown over when some more attractive offer comes along. He moves me around so I’m tucked into his front, and his heat seeps into me, furry chest rough against the skin of my back. My muscles relax one by one.

He nuzzles into my hair and sniffs.

“Notwithstanding that jackass, this is fuckin’ bliss,” he mumbles.

The building’s quiet now. The kids aren’t screaming downstairs, and it’s too early for the smells from Ketley’s to have drifted up this far.

“You don’t mind I … umm …”

“Spit it out.”

“… was seeing Dave?“

“Never expected you’d be celibate, babe. No choirboy myself.” He grunts. “I owe you an apology, though.”

“What?”

“Was an asshole to you when I left town. Bailed on you.”

I stare at the wood paneling that makes up one wall of the bedroom. He rolls onto his back, and I turn over to look at him.

“There’s no real excuse for it. I got a call when I got back to the trailer: They needed me on the rig. An accident. They were several men down. So I had to go back. I didn’t want to go, and I was pissed at having to do it. It’s a hard four-week slog out there, and I’d been looking forward to a break. So, being an asshole, I thought it was best to chalk whatever this was up to one good night. I got to the rig and it played on my mind. So, I wanna apologize for that.”

My eyes are all tight and scratchy. When has a guy ever apologized to me? “That’s okay.”

“No, it ain’t. And it weren’t right the night I said it, neither: I could see it in your face. But, babe, I also need to say to you, good though this is, I wanna be crystal clear I ain’t looking for something more.”

Yeah, he’s laid that out. But God, with sex this great, good for now is fine, isn’t it? More than fine. And I like how straight he is with me.