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Harrison has tucked the lower half of himself back into his boxers though his pants are still unbuttoned and unzipped. I’d like to be able to enjoy viewing the exposed muscled landscape that makes up the scaffolding of his abs. I can’t, though. For one thing, I’ve wept all over his thick and defined pecks. And for another, I can’t get past this feeling of wrongness. As if the two of us have been unfaithful behind Jane’s back.
I know that’s not true. We never would’ve engaged in an affair while my BFF was alive. It wouldn’t have even entered either of our minds. But now that I’ve felt Harrison kiss me, climb on top of me, and pour his pleasure within me, I feel as if I’ve committed some ghastly transgression. That I thoroughly enjoyed it makes it ten times worse.
It actually hurts to know that Harrison Walcott is the best sex I’ve ever had.
Because we can’t ever have it again. And after all this, I don’t know if I can look him straight in the eye again. Much less be friends.
All I’ll ever see when I gaze at him from now on is a mistake, even if right this minute, my body is aching for more of him.
I must be a bad person. A very bad person.
I abandon Harrison’s warm embrace to seek out my clothing. I can’t find my bra, and what remains of my boy shorts can’t be reassembled, so I throw my shirt and yoga pants on anyway, staying commando.
“I’ll buy you more of those panties,” Harrison states from somewhere behind me, a smile in his voice. “As many and in whatever styles you might want.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I mumble as I focus on my feet. I yearn to tell him to leave again, yet something stops me. It’s like someone has stuck me on one of those amusement park rides where you can’t tell up from down or right from left. My whole world has gone topsy turvy.
I hear the rustling of him donning his polo, then he comes up and hugs me from behind, and even though his hand nudges my breast over the fabric of my top, he doesn’t squeeze it. I’m torn about whether to regret that or be thankful for it.
Harrison pecks me chastely on the temple and whispers directly into my ear. “Unless you’ve changed your mind, I’m going to do as you asked and leave now.” I say nothing. My feet are rooted in place. “It’s going to be all right. You’ll see. I’ll stop by your shop tomorrow.”
And then, he’s gone.
Eight
Harrison
I’m whistling as I troop along toward the Downtown Coffee Shop. This garners more than a few sideways glances since I’ve long been known as the solemn young widower here in town. And I can’t say that I thought my wounded spirit would ever heal, because I certainly had my doubts. But being with Trina has clarified some unvarnished truths for me.
I don’t want to spend my life withering away alone if I don’t have to.
And after feeling the prolonged misery of my grieving, I’m not throwing this opportunity with Trina away.
Now, I just have to convince her that us being together can’t hurt the woman we both lost.
As the bell on the door jangles with my entrance, I spot Trina in one corner with her back to me. Her location is easy to predict. She always comes to this shop to purchase her morning cappuccino. She also always sits in that back corner booth away from whatever sparse crowds that might be present. That booth was her and Jane’s. Their special place. I can’t count how many times I came here and found them huddled up with their heads together, as thick as thieves.
A twinge spasms around my diaphragm at the memory, but even that is fading. It’s time I discover where Trina and I stand.
But first, breakfast. Not for me, but for her.
Keeping my voice down, I order myself a black coffee along with her favorite, a raspberry pastry. I know from experience that Trina loves them but often denies herself of them, even when famished, saying she needs to shed a few pounds. She’s frequently told me that she needs to be more disciplined, but I don’t agree. If anything, she’stoodisciplined, and she deserves to be pampered, even spoiled.
Something I’ll all too willingly do.
And after laying eyes on that voluptuous and lovely body of hers, I object to her skipping treats. There’s not a single thing about her physical form that I didn’t find alluring, so she can put an end to all that shedding a few pounds nonsense. I love how yielding her curves are to my body. How soft and fleshy she is.
To my hands and my eyes, Trina’s perfectlyexquisite.
Once the pastry comes out, I follow the server over to the corner booth, and when Trina peeks up in surprise, I sit opposite her.
“Good morning, honey.” Her eyes widen, the golden green around the pupils gleaming like twin beacons. “Thought we could share some breakfast.”
After that, I lean back against the bench seating and gaze out the front window as if this were any other day. The people of Oak Valley saunter by, a few of whom step in for the morning caffeine, and eventually, Trina speaks.
“Look, Harrison, we need to talk.”
She took the words right out of my mouth.
