I followed her up the stairs to her apartment. My roommate Spanky wasn't wrong about her having a nice ass. I tried to keep my thoughts under control, but my blood was still racing from dealing with those little shitheads by the front door. I'd wanted to use the one kid as a bowling ball and knock the other ones down—bang their heads together until some manners came tumbling out. Little f**kers like that didn't understand reasoning and talking things out. That's what their mothers had been using on them for years, for all the good it did.
If somebody has no sense, you have to smack it into them. That's just how it is.
Once Aubrey and I got inside the apartment, she looked at me with those pale eyes, and I felt the pull of the moon. The force was stronger than ever, drawing us together.
She let me kiss her, and her sweet lips made me hungry. I stopped thinking. All instinct and desire. Her neck. My mouth on her br**sts. Her writhing underneath me. Pushing against me and pulling me to her at the same time. So much confusion and desperation. Up was down, and she let out that sweet cry of relief.
Orgasm.
The little death, as the French call it.
As she came underneath me, my hand deep in her panties, I felt a peace I didn't think possible.
Then someone had knocked on the door, and everything went to shit within minutes.
Total shit show.
I opened my stupid mouth. She heard the things I said. The arrogance. The hubris. And she was not buying whatever I had for sale. Out I went, out the door.
Bad doggie.
Bad Sawyer.
As I trudged down the building's long corridor, each door giving off its own pungent cooking aroma, I tried to believe I hadn't ruined everything between us.
My heart lurched as I imagined I heard her calling me back, but I looked back and saw only walls and closed doors. Only then did I realize she was one of those girls who needs space. Not space forever, but in the beginning. Space all around her. Like the sky around the moon.
That was on Friday, and I would have called, but I didn't have her number.
Over the weekend, I consulted a few of my non-roommate friends, who were much smarter than me, and suggested I call her. On the phone. So I got her number from Bruce, and I did.
Talking to her on the phone made me happy.
But she had a kid, and that scared the f**k out of me. The girl had golden-brown hair and looked full of hope, like the way I imagined Aubrey had looked, once upon a time, before whatever it was happened that stole away her smile.
The little girl looked about the same size as my nephew Toby, and I always had such a great time with the kid. He didn't understand the concept of coloring within the lines, but he had a good eye for composition.
If Aubrey's kid was anything like Toby, I could handle that situation. I would more than tolerate a kid. I could help out, maybe even adopt the kid one day if Aubrey and I got married.
Or at least that was my line of thinking the morning I rode over to pick her up for our trip to the beach. Aubrey wasn't a big talker from what I could tell, but if she did put me on the spot and ask about my level of commitment, I was ready to answer honestly. I was all in. Hers.
The night I called from outside her building, riding away had been so awful, like abandoning the best feeling I'd ever known.
Tuesday.
I pulled up in front of her apartment building at five minutes to ten on Tuesday morning. It was early for me, since I worked nights at a restaurant and even later nights on my art. The top of my head felt tight, like it was being gathered into a knot. Time and sunshine would help loosen me up, and the summer day promised to be a hot one.
Was she expecting me to text when I got there? I squinted up at the corner apartment, and she appeared in the window. I waved up, and she made a hand gesture I took to mean she was coming down.
I sat on my bike and waited. Had she meant for me to come up? I didn't know her buzzer number. Should I send a text and ask? No, she'd think I was an idiot. My mouth felt dry and fuzzy, which was odd, since I'd had nothing to drink the night before.
Aubrey came out of the glass doors, sunglasses on and her mouth in that perpetual straight line, neither up nor down.
Her feet crunched on the gravel as she got closer to me.
Over the sound of the gravel, and traffic and birds in the distance, I said, “How's your little girl?”
She ducked her head and looped her purse across her body in preparation for putting on the bike helmet. “Good.” She licked her lips, looking like she wanted to say something further.
I wanted to fish it out of her, but waited instead.
She continued, “I think she tried to pull a big fib on me this morning. She was going to fake being sick, to stay home and watch her new TV.”
“We could have taken her with us to the beach.”
She raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly at the bike. “Yeah, I don't think so.”
Suddenly I saw my choice of transportation as being the exact opposite of what a single mother would find appealing. My beautiful Harley, my shining joy, turned foolish, just like that.
I had to fix this.
“I'm going to sell the bike now that summer's just about here.” Really? Sell the bike? This nervous Sawyer didn't think about what he said.
She grimaced and pulled on the helmet. “Why?”
“You get a better price for bikes at the beginning of summer.”
“No, I mean why are you selling it?”
I thought about my vow to give Aubrey some space, not to come on too strong. Aw, f**k it. I hated lying.
“Because I'm dating a single mother. And I want to be able to take her and her kid to do things. Like mini golf. Does your daughter like mini golf? What about you?”
I grinned at the idea of Aubrey trying to putt a ball between the rotating blades of a miniature windmill. I would seriously pay to see that.
She shot me one of her Aubrey looks, like a splash of cold water, and I felt like one of those little dogs who runs at the ocean, nipping at the waves.
I started the bike and she got on behind me. Selling the bike would mean no more of her sitting behind me, clutching her arms around my body. I would miss that, but I'd rather be kissing her, and more.
We drove through light traffic—light because it was a Tuesday morning—and I felt like we were in a TV commercial for something, because the weather was so clear and sunny and we caught nearly every green light along the way.
We hit White Rock way sooner than I expected, and I reluctantly parked and let her off the bike. Her arms felt so good around me, like all the goodness in the world wrapped around my torso.
“You warm in there?” I asked. She had on a red hoodie, zipped up, and I realized that with the wind, she'd probably been cold on the ride. I'd been hot, and I should have offered her my leather jacket for the ride.