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“Oh, that’s right!” Edie says, grinning as if she’s about to make a love connection.
Faye is quiet, and I trace my fingertips up and down her spine.
“Who would Zeke like?” Liza approaches, wearing a sweater that’s entirely too tight and too low-cut for a casual brunch.
“Uncle Rick,” Darwin says.
“Oh, maybe you know him?” Liza says. She steps closer, as if she’s tempting me with something I want.
I let my fingers coil around Faye’s waist, remembering how it felt not long ago to grip her there as I buried myself inside her from behind. I look down at her, and as if she can sense my thoughts, she blushes.
“Their uncle Rick used to play for Boston,” Faye says, demurely.
I nod and narrow my eyes as if to ask if she’s alright. She nods and presses a small smile to her lips.
“They called him ‘the Rocket,’” Liza says, her voice sharper.
The Rocket? Holy shit.
“Your uncle is Rick Ridgefeld? Six-time league MVP? Two-time Gretzky-award recipient? Rick Ridgefeld?”
The siblings laugh and Edie grins. Faye is quiet and looks over her shoulder, as if looking for the emergency exits.
“He should be here any minute,” Edie says, scanning the room.
“Yeah, I’d love to meet him,” I say, linking my fingers with Faye’s and tugging her toward the omelet station. “But first, we should probably eat something.”
“Oh, definitely. We all know how Faye Ellen loves her bacon,” Liza says with a wide smile.
Faye’s smile falters.
“You don’t want to do a day of spa treatments on an empty stomach!”
With that behind us, I tug her toward the buffet and we eye the options. I order omelets for us — ham, cheese and broccoli for me, cheese and green chile for her — while she gets us coffees, and we settle at a table in the corner. She picks at her plate quietly, the flush from this morning vanished.
“Omelet not good?” I ask.
“Oh, it’s fine. Just not that hungry.”
“Faye,” I say, waiting for her to meet my gaze. “After what we just did? You must be famished.” She blushes and her eyes dip.
“It’s so dumb.”
“What is?” I ask, taking her hand in mine and leaning closer.
“Do you ever go home, and feel like you revert to who you used to be? Like, people expect you to be the same person you were when you lived there? And it’s just easier to go along with it than to fight it?”
“Sure,” I say. I get it. When I go home, my parents expect me home by ten.
“Well, it’s like that,” she says with a deep sigh. “I get into this world and it’s like I turn into someone I don’t want to be anymore.”
I brush a golden lock behind her ear and kiss her softly.
“Then let me remind you,” I say, palming her cheek and turning her head to face me. “You’re strong, Faye. You’re brilliant and sharp-witted. You know what you want and what you don’t want out of life, and you’re beautiful. Jaw-dropping beautiful. Outside and in.”
I lean closer, so that I have to whisper in her ear. “And you feel incredible, both outside and in.”
Her cheeks flush as I nip at her earlobe, and she lets out a sharp laugh.
