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Since the crash, I haven’t been with a woman. Only me and my trusty hand whipping out pitifully dull orgasms and feeling like shit about it after.
But that?
That left my legs shaky and my body feeling a satisfaction I’d long forgotten. I’m not sure I could have handled fucking her out in the yard. Probably would have come the moment I sank into her.
I release my spent dick and turn around to face the spray. I let it hit my face, washing her essence away, although I can still taste her on my tongue.
God, she tasted good.
I want to do that again, but it’s the sudden realization that to do so would imply there’s something between us.
And there’s not.
There can’t be.
She’s not only my opponent in a legal battle, but I’m not interested in any type of relationship. Not interested in friends, lovers, or even family. Certainly not interested in a fuck buddy.
Not really.
I mean… she’s as close as I’d consider.
Mentally chastising myself, I step out of the shower. After I’m dressed, I head onto the back deck.
Tilden is gone, and I see she’s left the bird feeders and stakes behind. I know without a doubt she’s not coming back for them.
With a sigh, I resolve to finish the cleanup. I won’t call the cops. Never would have, to be honest. And truthfully, it was a little shitty the way I’d just walked away, so I’ll give her a pass.
A chipmunk sits on the deck railing and when I walk out, he makes no move to scamper away. I walk by him slowly, and he just watches me.
At the bottom of the steps, I see plastic bags of birdseed and nuts. I expect Tilden meant to take them home, but she’s not coming back for them.
I glance at the chipmunk watching me, his little tail aflutter.
My eyes fall to the bag of peanuts still in their shells.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Chiding my weakness, I bend over and open the bag. I grab a handful and place them on the railing at the top of the steps. I move down to the ground and watch as the chipmunk darts forward and stuffs two in his mouth, one in each cheek pocket. Without an ounce of fear, he scampers down the sloping rail that runs along the steps, straight at me. Then he leaps to the ground, hangs a sharp left, and darts under bushes twenty yards away.
Maybe that’s where his home is.
Shrugging and putting the little rodent out of my mind, I head to the far side of the yard. I notice a beer is missing, and I’m guessing Tilden took it. The one I’d left in the chair’s cup holder is warm, so I pour it out. Cracking a cold one open, I settle into the chair and stare at the trees.
What’s Tilden doing on the other side of this copse? Did she go shower to wash away what I did to her? Did she touch herself the way I did in my shower?
Or could she be over there making voodoo dolls in my likeness so she can poke them with stick pins?
I’m betting the latter.
Leaning back, I stare into the canopy of leaves. Tilden’s the first woman I’ve touched since I let Darcy suck my cock. That occurred the night before the Columbus road trip, so it’s been a long, dry four months.
Not that I’ve been interested in anyone.
Darcy and her duplicitous ways killed that.
Well, and the plane crashed. It not only took away my opportunity to make things right, it took my friends.
Fury flushes through me, and I throw back a long swallow of beer. Then despair kicks in as I bemoan how unfair fate was to knock that plane from the sky before I could ease my conscience. Not only was I left with survivor’s guilt, but I’m completely awash in shame that I did my teammate wrong and couldn’t correct the situation.
I tried, though.
