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“For what?” he smiles.
“For feeding me and for listening.” I stroke the stubble along his jaw; the fine hairs feel like a soft blanket against the pads of my fingers.
“You are very welcome.” He holds my face while looking right into my eyes, and I feel the pull to him so clearly. It swirls like a monsoon between us, and goosebumps line my arms.
Wrapping my legs around his waist, I hold him close to me. I’ve neverneededa man to make me feel safe or make me feel good about myself, but there’s something so comforting in knowing that someone does.
Kissing him slowly, I relish in the soft, lush feel of his lips, and his arms wrapped around me.
I had him in his truck on the way over here, and again in the shower when we were supposed to be getting cleaned up. He’s like a drug I keep needing another hit of, and no matter how much I have, I can’t seem to get enough.
I know it’s not the wine because I’ve barely even had a glass, but my cheeks feel flushed and my belly is warm. As my hands slip into his thick hair, I pull away enough to say, “When will I ever get enough of you?” I’m not sure if I meant to vocalize it or not, but it sits between us, a question that doesn’t need an answer, but he does anyway
“I hope never,” he says recklessly.
* * *
Adrian’s truckidles in front of my house. The lights are on, and Noelle is home. Even if she hadn’t texted me earlier to say she made it home okay, I would still be able to feel her presence. It’s awkward to be dropped off at my house by – I don’t even know what to call him. Labels are not something I prescribe to.
Even though the air blasts out of the vents, the cab of the truck feels hot as if it somehow became smaller. It’s different than it was earlier while his hand was in my shorts as the truck hurdled down the freeway towards his shop. Being in front of my house is sobering, as if reality is pressing down on me. My earlier fears are coming back, knowing that she would be home and possibly see Adrian drop me off.
Things between us have been awkward at best since that night I came home late, looking like I’d been thoroughly fucked by the man staring at me right now. Noelle is not naïve and we have an open relationship, but it’s because I care so much about what she thinks of me that gives me pause about this situation. The guilt I harbor is like a dark cloud over me.
His brown eyes try their hardest to look past the wall I erected the minute we entered my neighborhood and fortified as soon as we stopped in front of my house. Ever observant, I know he can feel the shift in me because I can see it in his eyes as he drapes his arm over the seat, shifting his body towards me.
“You haven’t told her about us.”
“There’s no reason to,” I explain, bringing up our arrangement that somehow has started to break loose from the confines I put us in.
His jaw ticks as he stares me down and I can tell he doesn’t like it, but he has no argument for it.
Shifting uncomfortably, the back of my thighs sticks to the vinyl seat because there’s no t-shirt this time to protect them. “I don’t bring men home to meet my daughter, so don’t think you’re being singled out for any reason,” I say, reaching for the door handle but he stops me.
His face is etched with concern. “I haven’t asked you about Noelle’s dad because it’s none of my business. I just figured you would tell me when you were ready.” The mention of Steven raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
My silence is his answer. I’m not giving in easily, and he knows it.
“I’m asking you now.” His eyes pierce into me. Even in the darkened cab I can feel them on me, but I stay silent.
“You don’t want that part of me,” I warn him.
Everything inside of me is reaching for that door, to escape to the comfort of my closet where I can sink between the racks of clothes and hide from the world. It’s been my safe space ever since Noelle was a toddler. Mothers don’t cry in front of their daughters; we do it in private, in the middle of the night, while our kids are fast asleep, safe in their beds across the hall.
“I haven’t asked you for anything,” he says frustrated, and my eyes snap up to meet his.
“Haven’t you?” I ask, facing him. He looks at me confused, tilting his head so that his brown locks fall into his face.
“You’ve asked for my time,” I explain, pinching my brows together. “Time that belongs to my daughter.” I gesture towards the house. “Every moment I spend with you is a moment that I don’t with her. You might think that’s dramatic, but you don’t have a kid,” I say.
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “Before you get offended, just know that being an uncle doesn’t even come close to what it means to be a father.”
“Lake,” he says my name softly, aware of his error too late. When he moves his hand to touch mine, I pull it away because I can’t bear to have his hands on me.
“Being a father is watching your daughter being born with awe in your eyes because nothing will ever compare to it, and then holding her in your arms with nothing but pure, untainted love.”
Adrian’s face blurs as my eyes fill with tears.
“It isnotrefusing to sign her birth certificate because you accuse the woman whojust gave birthof cheating on you. It isnotmaking the mother of your child feel anything less than a fucking goddess for literally giving you a life to hold in your hands. And you don’t walk away when your daughter is two years old, and then blame everyone else but yourself.”
