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Not yet, though. Right now, I need to get myself ready and give her some space to gather herself, and then, then, I’ll give her a lesson in assuming.
Because I don’t regret anything about our almost-encounter other than the fact that I have to use the qualifier of “almost.”
I run a hand through my hair briefly, pausing to watch them for a moment before heading back to Maria’s room to gather my stuff. It’s a short, silent trip down the hallway, and the absence of Izzy’s cries now is a stark hole for my own.
On the inside, of course. I mean, I’m not bawling out loud, but I’ve never wanted to stay somewhere more in my life.
The bed is rumpled and the covers askew, both from getting up in a hurry and from what we were doing before that.
And I can almost feel the warm flesh of Maria’s thighs in my hands and taste the promised land of what’s in between.
I lick my lips and force myself to move to the side of the bed, grabbing my shirt that’s on the floor and throwing it on with rough, irritated movements.
We will try this again. One way or another, Maria and I will finish what we started.
Unfortunately for me, it just won’t be right now.
Taking a quick trip into the bathroom, I wash off my face and run a hand through my hair to tame it a little and give my teeth a scrub with my finger and toothpaste.
I feel at least a little refreshed, and now I’m ready to take on not only my day at work, but also saying goodbye to Maria.
As I head out of her bedroom, I flick off all the lights other than the soft lamp at the side of her bed, grab my phone and keys off the nightstand, and walk back down the hallway toward Izzy’s room. I can still hear the faint sounds of Maria shuffling around in there, despite absolute silence from Izzy herself.
Just before reaching the threshold of the nursery, my phone buzzes in my pocket, making my eyebrows draw together. Who the hell is texting me this early in the morning?
I unlock the screen and scroll into my messages, where a brand-new one from “C” sits right at the top.
Part of me knows I shouldn’t open it, but another part of me is too curious not to.
C: Sometimes when opportunity knocks, it’s from the same side of the door you’re already on.
Okay, why did I open this thing again?
Annoyed by Cleo’s vagueness, I click out of her text without answering and shake my head at my phone. Just below her message, though, is an old thread with Maria, and an idea hits me.
Quickly, I type out a message and hit send, confident that her phone is still in the bedroom on her nightstand, and tuck my cell back into my pocket.
Not wanting to disturb them if Izzy’s almost asleep, I only peek into the nursery, holding on to the jamb of the door and leaning inside. But I’m surprised to find that Izzy is already back at rest, fast asleep in her crib, while Maria paces the room doing mundane chores.
“Ria,” I call softly, getting her attention just as she’s tucking some outfits into the top drawer of Izzy’s dresser. Her head jerks up at the sound of my voice, and she glances back at Izzy, who hasn’t even shifted an inch.
I wave Maria out of the room, and she comes—hesitantly.
I wait just outside the door for her and then nod toward the living room when she stops right in front of me.
She takes the lead, and I watch her hips sway powerfully from side to side. I practically have to bite into the flesh of my lip to stop my groan.
I cannot fucking believe I’m leaving right now. What a fucking douche adult Remy has turned out to be. Seventeen-year-old Remy never would have made this same decision. Not in a million years.
No, when it came to Maria Baros, seventeen-year-old me had balls and brains.
Twenty-Seven Years Ago…
Senior year, Friday night in early October
Remy
Two steps out of the locker room and my arms are full of cheerleader. Excited, exuberant, and enthusiastic, Maria never waits for me to get any farther before throwing herself into my arms, win or lose.
But this time, with a win against our biggest rivals in the county, she has so much energy she nearly knocks me over.
“You played awesome!” she squeals into my ear and plants a smacking kiss to my lips.
I spot Winnie and Isabella giggling over Maria’s shoulder, always amused by how “lovey-dovey” the two of us are. But Wendy Winslow always taught me to show affection for the people I care about. It’s like writing a story, she always says. You have to show them, not just tell them.
