Dear Bridget, I Want You Page 13

  I didn’t know whether he was apologizing for wanting me or apologizing for his impending desertion. Either way, I was screwed.

  Naked macaroni was now my very favorite meal. After fucking Bridget in the kitchen, we decided to make a quick dinner. She’d attempted to put her clothes back on, but I persuaded her to cook with me naked. Naked cooking led to naked eating, and I was beginning to think we should just stay naked forever. Naked with Bridget was fucking awesome.

  We were sitting on the floor in the living room with our empty plates on the coffee table. I swiped two fingers across the remnants of sauce on her plate and used it to paint one of her nipples before I bent to lick it off.

  “Mmm. This sauce is fucking fantastic.”

  She laughed. “You’re a little insane, Simon.”

  “Come on, admit it. You just eyed the sauce on my plate and thought about painting my cock, didn’t you?”

  My beautiful, naked girl blushed. “We’re already one over our agreement. Not sure a painting party would be a good way to ensure we kept to the terms.”

  Fuck the terms.

  “About that. We agreed to have sex once only, right?”

  “Well, clearly those terms were modified, but yes, that’s what we agreed to.”

  I nodded. “Good. So there was no other agreement.”

  Bridget squinted. “What are you getting at? I can see the wheels spinning inside that mop-covered head of yours.”

  “Well, we agreed on sex, right?”

  “Yes…”

  “I’d like to point out that it was your former President who declared that sexual relations referred only to the act of having intercourse.”

  Bridget choked on the wine she was sipping. “You want to use President Clinton as your precedent so you can what…feel me up still?”

  I nodded. “Amongst other things, yes.”

  “What type of other things?”

  “Well, I’d like to refrain from making a conclusive list that can be held against me in the form of a second agreement. But I believe cunnilingus, fellatio, fingering, anal sex, heavy petting, handies, pillow pounding, and mutual self stimulation with visualization are all excluded from our deal.”

  “I got the first few.” Her face was adorable when it scrunched up. “But what in the Lord’s name is pillow pounding and mutual self stimulation with visualization?”

  “Ah. I’m glad you asked.” I reached over and grabbed both her breasts. (Have I mentioned I fucking love naked macaroni?) Squeezing those beauties together, I looked up at her and wiggled my brows. I’m going to stick my cock between these beautiful pillows—hence, pillow pounding.”

  Bridget’s eyes bulged, so I took that as a sign I should keep talking.

  “And mutual self stimulation with visualization? You’re going to open these legs wide and show me your pretty pussy while you get yourself off with your vibrator. I’ll be doing the five knuckle shuffle on my wood at the same time. Hence, the mutual part.” I winked.

  Bridget wanted to be appalled—she really did. But her wide eyes dilated and nipples pebbled telling me she really liked my dirty talk even if she didn’t think she was supposed to. “Simon—we can’t do any of that.”

  “And why not?”

  “Let me ask you something serious for a minute?”

  “I was being serious, but okay.”

  “Are you still planning on moving out?”

  My heart sank. I never really wanted to move out to begin with. “Do you want me to move out?”

  I saw the sadness in her face. “Do you think we can live together and keep our hands off of each other?”

  Honesty isn’t always the best policy. I’d learned that in third grade when Alison Eggert asked me if she looked plump in the dress she was wearing. Apparently, yes was unacceptable even if the stripes made her look a bit portly. She never spoke to me again. I put on my best serious face and responded to Bridget adamantly with a lie. “Yes, I do.”

  Bridget’s brows jumped. “Yes? You do?”

  “If that’s what you need from me, yes.”

  She sighed. “God, Simon, why do we have to be in such different places in life and want such different things out of it when we obviously enjoy each other so much?”

  I fucking hated that she was right. “I don’t know, Bridget. But it seems a little cruel, doesn’t it? You haven’t had sex in two years, and I haven’t wanted to be around a woman after sex in…I don’t know…almost my entire adult life. Isn’t there a way for us to live in the moment and enjoy what we have for just a little while longer?”

  She looked back and forth between my eyes. “Where were you planning on moving?”

  “I was going to stay with Calliope and Nigel for a few weeks while I found myself a new flat.”

  “Well, how about this. Why don’t you do that? Go stay with Calliope for a week or two. But don’t get a new place just yet. Let’s keep some distance between us and see if we can be adults about it. Maybe our libidos will cool off, and we’ll be able to resume cohabitating after a little while.”

  I fucking hated the thought of leaving her, even if she was right that it needed to happen. “If that’s what you want, okay, I’ll go stay with Calliope for a while. But I’d like to ask two things from you, first.”

  “What’s that?”

  “One. I’d like to amend our original agreement to one day of sex, twenty-four full hours, rather than one act. Because I want you in my bed tonight, and I plan to fuck you several more times.”

  She swallowed. “Okay. We can do that. What’s the other condition?”

  “I want you to agree to my definition of sexual relations. Because on the off-chance you beg me to make you come, I want to be clear on the methods I’m permitted to use.”

  Bridget laughed. “You’ve got a deal. But you should know, I’ve never begged anyone to make me come in my entire life. So no matter how handsome, well endowed, and witty you are, I doubt that will be happening, Simon.”

  I smiled from ear to ear—loving hearing that she’d never begged a man. But even more so, I couldn’t wait to be the first for her.

  My good mood had plummeted the first night I slept at Calliope’s. I wanted to be back at home with Bridget in the worst way.

  Back at home with Bridget.

  What the fuck?

  It wasn’t my home. My home was in England.

  Frustrated, I punched my pillow a few times to fluff it up and laid back down, staring at the ceiling in the dark. For the most part, I lived a very simple life. I didn’t need fancy cars or money. I worked hard, yet didn’t need to be the chief. But every once in a blue moon, something came along and lit a fire under my ass. My desires were limited, but when they struck—they were consuming.

  There were no two ways about it, I desired Bridget Valentine.

  I shouldn’t.

  We shouldn’t.

  But the woman was addicting.

  At four-thirty in the morning, I still hadn’t slept a wink, so I decided to go into the hospital early. Maybe the change of scenery would help, and I could catch some shuteye in the residents’ lounge.

  I was surprised to find Calliope in the kitchen standing in front of the coffeemaker.

  “Does it brew faster when you stare at it?”

  Calliope jumped. She turned clutching her chest. “You scared the fuck out of me, Simon.”

  “Sorry. I thought you heard me walk into the room.”

  “It’s four-thirty in the morning, and I haven’t had my coffee yet. My hearing is still sleeping.”

  “Why are you up so early?”

  “This is what time I get up every day. I teach a 6AM, private, sunrise yoga class over on Gooseberry Beach.”

  “Damn. I didn’t know that.”

  “Why are you up? I thought you said your shift didn’t start until eight today?”

  I ran my fingers through my hair. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  Calliope nodded. The coffee pot beeped to indicate it’d finished
brewing, and she grabbed two mugs from the cabinet above her head. “Still take your coffee the same way?”

  “I do. I don’t change good things.”

  Calliope fixed us both coffees, and together we sat at the kitchen table. “Is the bed in the guest room not comfortable?”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  She sipped her mug and watched me over the brim. “You look pathetic, Simon. Like someone just ran over your dog. When are you just going to give in?”

  “Give in?”

  “That you have feelings for Bridget, and you belong together.”

  I wouldn’t even attempt to lie about the first part. “I do have feelings for her. But we don’t belong together—we want very different things. That’s the problem.”

  “What does she want that you don’t?”

  “A family, for starters.”

  “Why are you so adamant that you don’t want a family to begin with? You’re still so young. You’d make an incredible father. You shouldn’t rule that out as a possibility.”

  “Look who’s talking? I don’t see your house filled with a bunch of little buggers running around. Tell me, Calliope, why is that? Because I’m pretty sure that our reasons aren’t all that different.”

  Calliope looked away for a minute and then her eyes met mine. “Nigel and I have been trying for two years. I’ve had three early miscarriages.”

  “Fuck. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I didn’t tell you to make you feel bad. I told you to prove a point.” She reached out and took my hand. “I was there, too, Simon. I feel as responsible as you do. We were stupid kids when the three of us went out on that lake together. I think of Blake all the time. But I’m not punishing myself by not having children of my own.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing.”

  “Really? Then what are you doing?”

  “I don’t know the first thing about having kids.”

  “Newsflash, buddy, no one does when they start off. You drop them a few times, pull their head out from between the stair balusters, and get scared when their poop turns hot pink to match the crayon they snuck and ate when you weren’t looking. But you figure it out.”

  “Bridget has a kid. She knows what she’s doing.”

  Calliope studied me for a moment. “Let me ask you something. What does Brendan want more than anything?”

  I shrugged. “A new bike. Flat black with flames.” I wonder if they make one my size.

  “And is he allergic to anything?”

  “Latex. What’s your point?”

  “Just go with it. How about his teacher? What’s her name?”

  “Miss Santoro. Cute, but doesn’t hold a candle to Bridget.”

  “Favorite subject?”

  “Science.”

  “And did you go to field day with him a few weeks ago where he smiled all that day and then for two more after?”

  “Yes.”

  “Seems like you know what you’re doing with Bridget’s kid, too, Simon. So what other excuse you got?”

  “Well, there’s the little fact that my home is in England.”

  Calliope shook her head. “What’s back there for you? A home isn’t a bunch of bricks. A home is your happy place.” She looked at the time on her watch. “I gotta get going. But think about it. If I told you to close your eyes right now and imagine being anywhere in the world you could, what would you see?”

  I waited until my friend was out the door before I sat at the kitchen table and shut my eyes for a few minutes. I wanted to conjure up pictures of an oceanfront hut in the Indian Ocean, or the top of the beautiful mountains of Snowdonia in Wales as my happy place. But when I closed my eyes, the only thing I was able to see was Bridget. She was my happy place.

  Fuck. I was even more screwed than I thought.

  I woke up in a cold sweat and with my hand down my pants.

  Lucky for me, no one else was in the residents’ lounge. I’d finally fallen asleep for a bit, only to have the most intense dream I’d ever had in my entire life happen while at work. That was some serious shit. I sat up and blinked a few times. The vividness of it hadn’t been dulled by my consciousness.

  Bridget and I were in the supply room here at the hospital. Everything was in black and white—our clothes, our skin, the supplies—everything except her mouth. Her fucking lips were painted blood red—gorgeous, full, glossy, blood red. And those lips were wrapped tight around my cock.

  I’d woken up with a hard-on and my hand around my cock. That shit could have been embarrassing. Checking the time on my phone, I still had a half-hour before my shift started, so I decided to take a shower—an ice cold one. When I was done, and no longer at risk for being arrested for public indecency due to the outline of my cock straining through my pants, I still had a few minutes to kill, so I decided to run out for coffee.

  On my way back, a poster of a woman hanging in the window of the CVS caught my eye, and I wandered in. The next thing I knew, I had eight different shades of red lipstick tested on my hand.

  “Is there a certain shade you’re looking for?” The clerk smiled warmly.

  “Actually—I like the one in the window. The brunette with the bright red lips, but I can’t seem to find the right shade.”

  She ran her finger across a plastic dispenser full of at least a hundred different shades and tapped her nail on one. “Here it is. It’s new. It’s called Drama. The sample isn’t out on display yet, that’s why you couldn’t find it, but I can open this one for you to try it out.”

  “Thanks.”

  She looked up at me. “It will really look bold with your fair skin and blue eyes.”

  What? “Uhhh…it’s not for me.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She gave me a look that said bullshit, and continued to open the packaging.

  “No, really. It’s not.”

  “It doesn’t matter if it is. We all need things in life to make us feel beautiful.”

  What has my life turned into? This whole situation might have been comical had I not been totally freaked out that I didn’t give a shit if anyone thought I wore lipstick or not, so long as I found that color. Packaging open, the clerk twisted the bottom of the tube and the reddest of reds color rose from the canister. It had a shimmery wet gloss to it that was almost exactly from my dream. Unfortunately, my body recognized it, too. Shit. “I’ll take it. Thank you.” I snatched it from her hands and began to walk toward the register before this got even more embarrassing.

  “Wait!” She yelled after me as a hurried down the aisle. “Don’t you want a sealed one?”

  “Nope. This will do.”

  The Emergency Room was busy for most of the morning. So, lucky for me, my little dream had been put on the back burner. Until Bridget arrived for her shift. We’d stolen glimpses of each other across the ER, but it wasn’t until I was finishing up suturing the knee of a woman who had taken a fall, that Bridget was on my side of the oversized room.

  “Nurse Valentine?” I yelled as she was passing by.

  “Yes?”

  I cut the suture and tied the last stitch. “Would you mind bandaging up Ms. Axelrod? I need to go speak to Dr. Wong before he goes upstairs for rounds in a few minutes.”

  “Sure. Of course.”

  I looked at the patient. “You’re in good hands. I’d let Nurse Valentine take care of me anytime.”

  Bridget tried to hide her smirk, but I caught it. On my way out of the treatment room, I turned back around. “When you’re done, we’re almost out of 3-0 and 4-0 sutures, as well as bandages and tape—if you wouldn’t mind restocking.”

  Bridget’s brow furrowed. “Really? I just restocked everything two days ago in this room.”

  I shrugged. “Must have been a run on cuts and bruises.”

  “Okay. Sure.”

  Leaving Bridget to finish with the patient, I quickly went to the supply room to empty my pockets of all the shit I’d swiped from the drawers. Then, I wen
t to the nearest vacant treatment room where I could keep my eye on the supply closet and wait for Bridget to walk in.

  “What are you doing, Simon?” Bridget was reaching up to the top shelf looking for supplies when I walked in and locked the supply closet door behind me. I walked to stand right behind her, effectively blocking her between the shelving and my body from behind. Then I caged her in by grabbing either side of the shelving around her.

  “How was your night last night?” I asked to her back.

  “Fine.”

  “Did you sleep well?” I ran a finger up and down her exposed arm. Her breath hitched and goosebumps prickled.

  “What are you doing, Simon? We’re at work.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me how I slept?”

  “Will you back up and give me some space so I can turn around?”

  I did, giving her maybe six inches. But my hands didn’t let go of the shelves, so when she turned around, she was confined by my body surrounding her on three sides. “I slept like shit. I’m glad you asked.” Of course, she hadn’t.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well, Simon.”

  “I did manage to get an hour nap in this morning.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “But you screwed that up, too.”

  Her neck pulled back. “I screwed your nap up?”

  I nodded slowly.

  “How, exactly, did I screw up your nap?”

  “You were in my dream, and you were wearing something very special.”

  She swallowed. “What was I wearing?”

  I dug into my pocket. “This.”

  Rightly, she was confused. I was holding an unpackaged tube of women’s lipstick. “Whose lipstick is that?”

  “I went to the store and bought it this morning when I woke up. I opened it to make sure it was the exact color you needed.”

  Her breathing grew heavier. “You bought me the lipstick I was wearing in your dream?”

  “Did you ever dream in black and white before?”

  She shook her head.

  “Everything in my dream was black and white…” I rubbed my thumb over her lips. “…except for this.”