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“Shit!” The two bags in my right hand drop to the floor as I attempt to get the key in the door.Live in an apartment, they said.It’s the New York way of life, they said. Well, whoevertheyare, they’re bloody idiots. I’ve been back to my new apartment three times today, each trip with arms full of shopping bags.
Starting from scratch is a lot more work than I anticipated. But day one: I’ve managed to fully stock the kitchen. I’m sure once I start unpacking the bags I’m going to feel much better about this wholestarting freshthing.
But first, I need a shower. I need to get into some comfy pjs and the new pair of pink fluffy socks I snagged today. Before I head to the bathroom, I put the bottle of white wine—the one I just couldn’t walk past—in the freezer to chill. I’m hoping by the time I’m done in the shower I can order some food, drink wine, and unpack my kitchen appliances and utensils.
The hot water running over my back is exactly what I needed. As I lather the coconut-scented suds over my body, my mind drifts to the person I’ve tried my darndest not to think about today. I haven’t allowed myself to remember how his broad shoulders filled out his jacket. The way his eyes lit a trail of butterflies and tingles all over my skin when they roamed up and down my body.
My fingertips trace along my neck, then to the middle of my chest before continuing towards my belly button. Nope, I did not think of the cocky smirk he formed as one corner of his mouth tipped up, almost like he was fighting a smile. Or his voice, that gravelly deep tone that went straight through me. No, I didn’t think about how my vagina begged to be touched when he said my name through the closed door. My hand travels lower to the lips of my core. Spreading them apart, my fingers slowly circle my clit.
“Mmm.” My head falls back, hitting the tiled wall. It’s as if my insides have been strained all day, waiting for a release. Inserting two fingers, I slowly pump them in and out while I press my palm against my clit. “Oh fuck.” I wish this washishand. I wish his mouth was traveling over every inch of my body.
My other hand cups my left breast, pinching the nipple as I imagine what it would be like to have his mouth latched on to it. My fingers pick up their speed. I’m chasing that high, and it’s so close. Shutting my eyes, I conjure up his image in my mind: tall, broad, tanned.Smoking fucking hot is what he is.
Staring right into his dark eyes—or at least how I envision them—I reach my peak. My thighs clamp together. And I come. Falling to the floor, I realize there is no way I can see this man again. I just got myself off to the memory of him. How can I possibly face him now? It’s a good thing I never intended to accept that dinner invite.
* * *
Two glasses of wine later, I’ve ordered in a heap of Chinese food and my kitchen is—well, frankly, it’s a mess. But it’s getting there. Oh, and bonus: I’ve hardly thought about a certain tall-dark-and-handsome stranger. I’m sure by now he’s gotten the point that I won’t be showing up for his dinner invite, not that he left an actual meeting place on his note.
I dial Reilly—if anyone can take my mind off things, it’s my sister. Sitting the phone on a box on the bench, I wait for the video call to connect.
“Holly, thank God you’re alive and haven’t been—oh, I don’t know—stabbed, mugged, or worse, since you’re now living in the most dangerous city in the world.” Reilly worries too much. Is this how every call is going to go from now on? My twin, needing proof of life?
“That’s a little dramatic, even for you. Where’s Bray? Someone needs to rein you in.”
“I’m here, and you and I both know there is noreining inyour sister.” Bray’s face fills the screen before Reilly moves the phone back to hers.
“He’s just leaving for the gym.” I watch as Bray takes hold of her jaw and kisses her like it’s the last time. My heart aches. I’m not jealous of my sister. I’m envious of what she has.
I want a love so deep that I feel it in every tiny cell in my body. I want a love that conquers all. A love that withstands the test of time. I want whattheyhave. I wonder if I’m destined to be the spinster sister.
“Chat later, twin two. Things to do; people to see. Be safe.” Bray waves as he heads out the door.
“I do love to watch that man walk away.” Reilly sighs.
“Eww, no, Rye. Just no.”
“Okay, enough about my hunky hubby. Let’s talk about you. How has the first day or so been?”
“Uh, eventful,” I say as my mind drifts where it shouldn’t.
“Shut the front door! Holly Reynolds, who is he, and how is it that you’ve met someone already?”
“Don’t be stupid. I haven’t met anyone, Rye. I’m just tired. As you can see, I’ve spent the whole day shopping and the night unpacking, trying to jam as much as I possibly can into this pathetically small excuse for a kitchen.” I wave the phone around to show her the progress—or should I saythe mess.
“Jeez, Hol, did you buy out the whole of Walmart?”
“Well, considering I didn’t even have so much as a teaspoon here, yeah, I probably did buy out the whole of Walmart.” The sound of someone banging on the door interrupts whatever smartass response Reilly was going to say. “Hold that thought—that’s my dinner and I’m starving,” I yell a little too excitedly. I place the phone back down on the counter.
“Wait, position the screen so I can see the door… you know, just in case the delivery driver is a crazy axe murderer.”
“You’re literally on the other side of the world. What could you even do?”
“Call 9-1-1?” she questions.
I consider this, deciding that having someone to call the cops (on the off chance I’m about to get murdered) is better than nothing. I turn the phone around so Reilly has a good view of the doorway. “Okay, but if I die, I want my ashes scattered over the library fromBeauty and the Beast.” I laugh.
“That doesn’t actually exist, Hol. Just answer the door, so we can get back to talking about your hopeless homemaking skills.”
