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“My pleasure.”
***
“How’s your barbecue?” Rueben asks from across the table.
“Orgasmic,” I tell him, shoveling the last few bites of my mac and cheese into my mouth. I have no clue where I’m putting it. I was full five minutes ago, yet here I am, stuffing even more food into my face. I’m going to have to spend a lot of time on a treadmill when I get home.
Another wave of misery sweeps through my blood as the hours slowly tick by, the minutes steadily press on without so much as a care. Every time I look at a clock, I get more and more depressed with each passing second.
Last night, he took me out to eat at Blake Shelton’s restaurant in downtown Gatlinburg, and then we took an aerial tram up the mountain. The views were breathtaking; almost as gorgeous as the ones Rueben has from his back deck. Afterward, we came back to his place and took advantage of the hot tub until we were both relaxed, tired, and ready for bed.
But we didn’t sleep.
Not at first. We had our fill of each other, first with me pressed against his bedroom wall and a second time bent over the bed. Then, and only then, did we finally pass out from exhaustion, our own bodies to the point of collapsing, despite the desire we may have felt swirling around for each other.
Today, he took me on a tour of the town. We did a few touristy things, including buying matching T-shirts and coffee mugs. We visited the Titanic Museum and rode go-karts at an outdoor racetrack. We ate taffy and pretzels with cheese as we walked amongst the people, our hands linked whenever we could.
Now, we’re at this hole in the wall barbecue joint with the best BBQ brisket sandwich I’ve ever had and trying to ignore the fact tonight is our final night together. “I come here a lot,” he confesses, wiping his hands on his napkin. “I’ve never had bad food.”
“I can see why. If I lived here, I wouldn’t cook at all. The food is to die for,” I confess, patting my belly with one hand and shoving my cardboard tray away with the other. “So full.”
Rueben chuckles and reaches for my hand. He’s been doing that all day, as if he can’t stop touching me. “Ready to head back?” he asks, tossing a few bills on the table for the tip.
“You may have to roll me up the mountain,” I groan.
He throws me a smirk and a wink. “You still look pretty fucking fantastic from here.” To prove his point, he takes a slow perusal, his eyes scanning me from head to toe, each second feeling like a caress.
We head out together, and when we reach Rueben’s vehicle, he asks, “So what do you want to do tonight? More sightseeing? Maybe head to Dollywood for some rides?”
I stop at the passenger door and turn to face him. Shaking my head, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and slide my hands along his neck. My heart hammers in my chest and emotion clogs my throat at the words he hasn’t said. What do I want to do…on my last night here.
“I don’t want to do any of those things,” I whisper, sliding my hand up into his hair.
Rueben pulls me flush against his body, his hard erection pressed between us. “What do you want to do?”
“Be alone. With you,” I confess, stepping up on my tiptoes and grazing my lips along his.
I can feel his smile. “I was hoping you’d say that. Come on.”
Rueben lets go before the kiss can turn into something indecent and opens the passenger door. He drives quickly along the now-familiar streets, heading to his home in the mountains, my hand still in his on the console. Everything about this trip has been so unexpected. From running into him at the airport to sharing a living space for the past week. My eyes burn with unshed tears at the prospect of this all being gone tomorrow.
When we pull into his driveway, Rueben hops out and comes around to my door. I’m getting used to this little touch of chivalry, something I wasn’t accustomed to in past relationships. He leads me into the house, stops and locks the door. He turns and frames my face with his big hands, the softest of touches that make my body ignite.
“Go put on your swimsuit,” he tells me.
“Umm, I don’t have a swimsuit, Ruby,” I tease him. He already knows full-well that I wore only a T-shirt last night in the hot tub.
“Oh, that’s right. That’s okay. You look better in my T-shirt anyway,” he tells me, running his finger along my bottom lip. “Go get ready and I’ll turn on the jets.”
Upstairs, I find another one of his shirts in his dresser. Bringing the material up to my nose, I inhale the scent of laundry detergent and Rueben’s unique smell. It’s like the scent of his skin carrying the shirts to the dresser absorbed into the material. It smells amazing, just like him.
Just one more thing I’m going to miss come tomorrow.
I slip into the bathroom, pull my hair up high on my head, and freshen up my lady bits, donning only Rueben’s blue tee when I return downstairs. Outside, the air holds the slightest chill as the sun drops behind the trees and darkness starts to fall. Rueben is there, wearing only his boxers and holding two glasses of wine. I take the offered drink and bring the glass to my lips. The liquid is cold and sweet, a favorite amongst white wines. I glance down, his erection very much present as he looks at me over his own glass, taking in his large shirt hanging on my smaller frame.
“Interesting swim trunks,” I comment, sipping my drink.
“I figured since you were going all casual, I’d do the same,” he says. Last night he threw on his trunks before hopping in the hot tub. I have to admit, I like this view much better.
