Page 4 of Restored Dreams

“Sure,” she agrees too eagerly. She isn’t looking at me, but my eyes focus on her body. She’s wearing some kind of athletic dress—form fitting, brightly colored, top shaped like a bathing suit. Fuck me when she changed in front of me. Throwing caution to the wind, she almost found herself on the bed and me between her thighs, taking that dress back off her. Yet there’s no chance in hell Lily would ever want me to touch her again.

Don’t touch me. The sound of her voice rings through my head from twenty plus years ago. It was a far cry from all her other requests. Touch me, Brut. Taste me.

I need to get out of here.

“I’m heading out for something to eat,” I say although my feet stay planted and my hands come to rest on the kitchen island.

“Okay.” Her answer comes too quick as if she wants me to leave, and I once again consider the possibility of her meeting someone here. She said no one was joining her, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to hook up with someone. The thought makes my stomach sick.

“Since we’ll be roommates for the week, maybe we should work something out in regards to…umm…you know, if you want someone here…” I’m scratching at the back of my head, not able to put into words what I’m suggesting. What the hell am I doing? I don’t want to give her an out. I don’t want her to bring some random guy here. I don’t want her to do anything with another guy.

She stops from her busy movements of opening cabinets and filling the refrigerator. Pausing with her eyes aimed at a cupboard, she speaks. “You mean you want a code or something in case you want to bring someone back here? Like a sock on the door or something?”

Her words tease, but her voice strains. Did her eyes close with what she just suggested? I lean to the side and tip my head, hoping to get a better look at her face. We don’t need a freaking sock.

“I don’t need to bring anyone here,” I offer. “I can always go…” other places. I swallow back the remaining suggestion. What the fuck am I saying? The words run together, screaming in my head like a freight train. Now, I’m thinking of Lily going other places, with other men, and doing other things with them. I’m not liking this image any better.

“I guess we could exchange phone numbers, and you could text me. Like a 411 or S-E-X, which would be 7…”

Did she just spell out sex?

“3…”

Her finger dials in the air.

“9,” she says hesitantly. “I think.”

What the hell?

“We could use that as a code.” She’s looking at me, bright blue eyes smacking me in the cheek with the innocence of her suggestion. Fuck no.

“Yeah, umm, I think we’ll be good. You can use the code with me if you need to, you know…” I don’t know why I’m stammering or why I’m offering for her the use the 739 option. I don’t need her texting me that she’s having sex, or wanting sex, unless it’s with me. Never gonna happen, pal.

“Oh.” Her hands flutter in the air. “Oh, I’m all set.” Her face pinks. “I mean, I have other means…” The blossoming pink deepens to sunburn red as her breath hitches. “I just…I’m all good on my end.” She exhales sharply and returns to opening and closing cabinets although I notice she’s no longer placing anything inside them.

“Okay, well. I’ll see you later.” My knuckles rap on the island counter before I spin for the side exit. “Don’t wait up,” I throw over my shoulder and then want to punch myself in the face for being so snarky.

5

Seashells by the seashore

[Brut]

The next day starts early although I purposely returned to the house late. There’s no sign of Lily, and I panic for a moment, thinking she decided to leave after all. My heart drops with the possibility. I was such an ass yesterday.

Then I find small traces of her presence. An open book on the arm of the overstuffed chair. A glass in the sink. Leftovers in the fridge from the dinner she must have made the previous night. When I see her Jeep still parked next to my SUV in the drive, I exhale in relief. Removing my board from the back of the truck, I remind myself I’m the reason for her vanishing act all those years ago, but she doesn’t have an excuse to disappear from here.

I promised her we’d work out this arrangement, and I mean it. The fact she even spoke to me is huge progress. Her smile gives me hope she’s forgiven me.

Fat chance, pal, I scold myself. I’ll never deserve her forgiveness.

As I stroll down the beach, carrying my board under my arm, Lily appears before me but doesn’t notice me. She’s walking funny, knees bent outward and open a bit too wide for a normal stance. She looks like she has crab legs. Her hips shimmy as if she’s doing a convoluted dance. She’s definitely quirky.

“What the hell?” I mutter with laughter, recalling the sound she made while standing in her bedroom yesterday. She snorted—nasally, cute, and eccentric. I hate that I don’t recognize her noises. At one time, I knew all her nuances—her purr, her moans, her sighs.

As we grow closer to one another, I notice her hands are curled in fists as though she’s holding something. Her full fingers don’t allow her to grab the shirt tied at her waist, so she’s trying to use her elbows to hitch up the material. Slowly, I understand the shirt must be coming loose with her movements, and she’s trying to catch it before it falls to the sand. Her knees bend farther outward as if she can stop the slipping with her awkward crab-like walk.

“Can I help you?” My voice carries, and her head shoots up. Her expression shows I startled her, and something falls from her fisted fingers. She reaches forward as if to catch it, but whatever it is drops at her feet. She bends to pick it up with her occupied fingers, and the shirt at her waist releases as she stands. I’m not quite fast enough to grab it, having to stake my board in the sand before reaching her. Her hands go for the fallen clothing, catching it with her wrists at her knees while more items release from her palms. She looks awkwardly ridiculous and stunningly adorable. A soft giggle of frustration escapes her.