#mark barberio

I trailed off, because how to do you tell someone you’re about to be intimate with that indescribable trauma happened to you and you don’t actually KNOW what to do with a dick since you’ve never had a healthy sexual relationship before? I wasn’t exactly sure, hence why I grew quiet.

Mark settled his hands behind his head— which just accentuated his arms and chest, and I realized that it was really unfair that there are men who looked like this in real life and not just on romance novel covers and I was still halfway shocked that I was curled up on the couch with one of said men— as he responded evenly, “Lemon, just do what you want. It’s ok, I promise.  If I don’t like something I’ll tell you.”

“But I don’t want to do something you don’t like,” I bit my lip after answering. Perfection wasn’t a suggestion with Bill and I hated that I kept comparing them together because Mark was kind and wonderful and Bill was a shitstain on humanity. 

“Babe,” he countered, “I do shit you don’t like all the time. But I stop and let you adjust or call me an idiot or we talk about it. That’s how you ended up on top, remember?”

I nodded and scooted back a little farther down his thighs, trying to sit on my heels instead of his knees. He had tucked his erection under the waistband of his underwear and jeans, leaving the head of his cock sticking out; without thinking, I reached out and, with the tip of my finger, smeared around the precum that had gathered there

His breath hitched, and I heard him hiss through his teeth. He unclenched his hands from behind his head, moving them to grip the arm of the couch instead. I bit my lip, palming him through his jeans and then tentatively, unbuttoned his fly. As I slid his zipper down, I took a moment to appreciate how he was straining against his boxer briefs.

I dipped my hand under the waistband of his shorts and when I wrapped my hand around the base of his dick, his hips jerked and he swallowed a moan. The way his body responded to me made me feel a little dizzy with power; the novelty that I caused him to react that way and that I was calling the shots here was almost too much to bear, but I knew one thing for sure: it was incredibly hot and I kind of loved it. With my free hand, I shoved his underwear down and freed him completely, letting my fingertips trail up his length. His dick jumped into my hand and I enjoyed feeling him, enjoyed the velvety feel of his skin over the hardness of his erection. When I risked a glance up at him, he had sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and his eyes were intense, and laser focused on me. “Is this ok?” He nodded vigorously.

I watched him react as I stroked him, never having the opportunity to explore someone so thoroughly. Precum was dripping onto his stomach and I swiped it up with my finger and licked it off, rolling the bitter taste over my tongue. Mark’s breath hitched again and his dick twitched in my hand.

This time when he exhaled, there was a distinctive “fuck,” muttered under his breath.  Watching him straining, gripping the arm of the couch so hard I thought there would be permanent divots in the leather, I realized he was doing his best to give this completely unpressured experience to me, and as hot as this moment was already, the fact that he could be so unselfish in it, despite everything, only endeared him to me more. 

I rubbed my thumb over the head of his cock, and I saw the muscles in his jaw clench as I spread around some more of the precum that was leaking out.

“Lemon,” he choked out, “Spit in your hand.”

“What?” I asked. His words broke my trance, and even though I understood what he was saying, it took a moment for me to process the suggestion.

“Spit. In. Your. Hand,” he panted.

I did my best to gather enough saliva in my mouth before I did what he asked. The lubrication changed the texture of his skin, and he went from velvet to silk. I loved the feel of him against my hand, the easy slide of him across my palm almost hypnotic. As I stroked him, I felt him get impossibly harder.

He was trying to control the movement of his hips, but they kept jumping up underneath me, shoving the length of him through my fist completely. 

He wasn’t completely shaven, but he was trimmed and I moved my other hand to palm his scrotum, rolling his testicles in my hand. I heard him curse softly as I teased them, felt them tighten as jet of cum landed on his stomach and he groaned, “Fuck. Don’t stop.”

I had indeed stopped what I was doing to watch the cum jet out of him, but with his encouragement, I started again, stroking him through each spurt and firmly holding his balls in my other hand. 

FInally, he was done and he reached down and grabbed my wrists in his hands as he conceded, “Okay, now you can stop. Too much.”

He flopped back, sinking into the couch as he let my wrists go and with his eyes closed he rasped, “Holy shit, Lemon, that was… hot.”

It was hot and now that I wasn’t transfixed by his genitals, I was able to sit back on my heels and just look at him: his hair was disheveled from my fingers carding through it and the cross on the silver chain was resting against his chest, carving a shimmering path through all of the muscles there. I took that moment to appreciate that there were so many muscles. Even if I worked out just as much as he did, I still probably wouldn’t have half the amount of muscles— which I personally thought was unfair.

HIs abs were splattered with his cum and I gave in to the urge to reach down and trail my index finger through the milky fluid, pushing it through the valley of his abdominals. When I risked a glance at his face, he had one eye open and he was watching me carefully, his rakish eyebrow raised. “You’ve never gotten the opportunity to just enjoy someone’s body, have you?” he asked. 

Shaking my head, I impulsively licked the cum off my finger.

He grabbed his shirt off the floor and wiped his stomach off before he sat up. When we were facing each other again, his hand went to the back of my head and he pulled me down for a kiss, his tongue invading my mouth almost like he was trying to lick his own cum out of it.

When he finally pulled away, I had to touch my lips to make sure they were still there. “Come on, Lemon,” he prompted, picking me up and setting me on my feet next to the couch. He made it seem so easy, even though I knew there was no way it was. He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the bedroom, trying to hold his jeans up with his free hand. He ended up kicking them off in the hallway.

Once we were through the door, he pulled me forward and spun me around like we were dancing, his bed hitting the back of my knees and I fell backward onto it. I had been dreading this moment and I shut my eyes, bracing for the moment of panic I knew I would feel when he fell on top of me.

When his weight didn’t hit me right away, I opened an eye to catch him falling to his knees. He had disposed of his boxer briefs and tossed them with his shirt into a pile and I realized he had gotten fucking naked and I had missed the show.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I asked, “Barbs? What are you doing?”

He reached up to hook his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and stripped them off with my underwear in one smooth pull, throwing them in the same pile as his clothes. “I should think that is obvious,” he whispered into the skin of my thigh.

“It’s… not?”

He gave me a look I couldn’t interpret and grabbed me gently, dragging my body toward him until I was almost hanging off the bed. He arched a brow, like that was supposed to give me a clue and I shrugged, clueless. I was still unsure as to what was happening, but I wasn’t uneasy about it, which was a miracle in and of itself. 

He walked closer to me on his knees as he instructed, “Arms up.”

I lifted my arms, more as a reflex than anything, and when I settled back on my elbows, I was naked. It was the first time I had been naked with a man since my marriage, and I fought the urge to cover myself. Mark sat back on his heels for a moment and I could feel his gaze traveling up and down my body. When he spoke, his voice was so soft that I barely heard him murmur, “You are breathtaking.”

I looked down, half concerned that my body had been replaced by body snatchers. But, all I saw was the same old body I saw every day: one with a faint map of stretch marks from gaining weight too fast; battle scars, that were both literal and figurative, from fighting my marriage and myself; a smattering of cellulite, weird tan lines and broken capillaries; and assorted other imperfections that seemed to be emphasized in this moment of vulnerability. Before I could voice any of this, Mark slid his hands from my ankles to my knees and twisted them to skirt along the inside of my thighs. He ran them upwards until his thumbs found the crease along my vaginal lips, which proved to be sufficiently distracting and quieted the self-doubt racing through my brain.

When he pulled my folds apart and blew on my clit, I fell back onto the bed, a whimpered “fuck,” escaping my throat. I felt the smile on his lips as he pressed them to me and licked the length of my pussy.

I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to watch him or just lay back and enjoy the sensations. He explored me with his tongue, his fingers spreading me apart as he licked around my pussy. When he closed his lips over my clit and sucked, my hips arched into his face, and when he slid a thick finger into me, I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

My orgasm hit me like a tsunami; the sensation started to rise, and suddenly I was drowning, my hips bucking wildly into his face. I swear Mark growled when he locked his free arm over my pelvis to hold me in place as he sucked my clit and finger fucked me through my orgasm. As I was coming down, he slid a second finger in with the first and the stretch caused a mini orgasm on the heels of the first. With a flat-tongued lick, he detached from my “pleasure nub,” and I suddenly understood why terrible romance novelists called it such.

He continued to slide his fingers in and out of me, leaving trails of wet opened mouth kisses along my thighs until I relaxed completely, the occasional tremor shaking my body. 

When he slipped his fingers out of me, he sucked them into his mouth to clean them off before crawling over me and resting against the pillows; once situated, he hauled me up his body and arranged me half on top of him, his dick resting along my thigh.

With our naked bodies like this, it painted a stark picture of how different we were. HIs body was thick and toned. I don’t think he had one tiny cell of fat on him and his skin was a dark olive after having been in the sun all summer. I, on the other hand, looked like poorly proven sourdough bread that Paul Hollywood would have been ashamed of… with blue hair.

I felt Mark take a breath below my ear as he whispered in it, “Was that ok? I don’t want to brag, but I have been told I’m pretty good at that.”

I stretched my jaw a bit, willing the muscles to work since all of them felt like they had the integrity of wet cardboard. “I don’t have anything to compare it to,” I ventured, “So you could be the absolute worst in the world, but if that’s the worst, then the best might kill me.”

He went completely still beneath me as he processed my response, taking a moment before he responded, “What do you mean you don’t have anything to compare it to?”

I set my chin on his chest and looked up at him as I clarified, “I’ve never experienced that before?”

He looked a little shocked, and rubbed the hand that wasn’t cradling my ass down his beard as he thought that over. “Never tell Landy this,” he murmured, “but I’m actually at a loss for words.”

I shrugged. “Honestly,” I admitted, “If getting that as my first time meant I didn’t get it other times, I think I’m ok with that.” Mark smiled down at me and I returned the smile before I schooled my face into a more stern expression and continued, “Also, please don’t even mention Landy again while we’re naked, in bed together, or naked in bed together. ”

Mark’s face softened and he kissed the top of my head, chuckling lightly and he concluded, “Well, Lemon, I was glad to give it to you.”

His cock was still hard against my hip, and I ran a finger up the length of him as I began, “You’re still..”

“Mmmhmm.” I felt his chest rumble as he responded.

I looked at him inquisitively, “can I?”

He just looked amused as he answered, “Babe, if it involves you and my dick, I’m going to have very few restrictions.”

I bit my lip and straddled his thighs again, mimicking our position on the couch earlier.

“Do you have… you know?” I hoped he would know.

Mark’s face was caught up in a grin as he answered the question I couldn’t finish, nodding as he informed me, “your inability to finish sentences when referring to anything about sex is adorable.” His long arm reached up and he somehow dug a condom out of the drawer of his nightstand and tossed it near my knee. “Knock yourself out, babe.”

Suddenly faced with a hard dick, a man with his hands folded behind his head, and a condom, I didn’t know what to do or where to start. I looked up at him for guidance and he just shook his head as he told me, “This is your show, Lemon. No judgment.”

I bit my lip and traced the outline of his testicles in his scrotum, fascinated when the skin drew up tight in response to the stimulation. Mark sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t react otherwise. I was nervous all of a sudden and the moment felt charged, in a different way than it had earlier; some of the urgency was gone, and we had all the time in the world, which meant there was plenty of time for me to prove I had absolutely no idea what I was doing and make a fool of myself. I didn’t want to throw all of that at him right now so I just said simply, “You have to tell me what you like.”

“Clementine, you are naked, on top of me, playing with my junk… I like all of this.” He made no effort to hide his amusement. 

I wrapped my hand around his balls and rolled them between my fingers, causing another sharp inhale from Mark and and an exhaled “fuck.”

His dick twitched against his stomach, the tip leaking clear fluid onto his skin. Letting go of him, I scooped it up with a finger and sucked it off. 

His big body squirmed beneath me as he groaned, “Fuck, you are killing me, do you know that?”

Comments like that filled me with confidence and made it easy for me to toss aside all of my hesitation and it occurred to me I should thank him for that later. Feeling reinvigorated and embracing my newly-found inclination for power, I teased him, “You taste good. I didn’t know you could taste good.” I may or may not have made a show of licking my lips to prove my point.

He threw his head back and moaned.

I ripped the condom wrapper with my teeth, gripping his length in one hand and rolling the condom down it with the other. I let him slap back against his stomach and he twitched again as he cursed, “Damnit, Lemon.”

I gave him a sickly sweet smile. Had he not looked so incredibly good imbued with such a level of desperation, this wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun as it was.

“Oh, she’s playing now,” he chirped at me, before looking at me dead in the eyes and stating, “If you had a different past, this would be going way differently.”

 I moved forward, feeling the length of him settle between my pussy lips and I rolled my hips, the friction so good that I swear I could feel it in every inch of my body. The crown of his head dragged against my clit and I moaned as I asked him, “What would you do differently, Barbs?”

As I slid along the length of him again, coating him in copious amounts of my wetness, he hissed, choking out, “We wouldn’t have made it this far; for one, because I would have fucked you over the back of the couch.”

“Oh?” I quipped. I honestly didn’t know being this turned on was even possible and my hands went to my breasts of their own accord, holding them in my hands and rolling both nipples between my fingers.

Mark slammed his head back into the pillows, eyes screwed shut, as he took a deep breath and rasped, “Fuck babe, this is better than literally every fantasy I’ve ever had about you.”

“Really?” I breathed, rocking against him, enjoying hearing him say it. “I’m not really even doing anything…” As the pleasure coursed through my body, I could hear my voice falter and I was pretty sure that Mark was almost at a breaking point, if the tremor I could feel in his thighs underneath me was any indication.

“Really,” he confirmed, as I kept up my steady grind against him, his breath shallow as he continued, “What you’re doing is…..so fucking hot…” I felt him twitch against me as he confessed, “The only thing that could possibly make this better would be if I was inside of you.”

I raised up off of him and the action caused him to open one eye. Reaching between us, I angled his cock just right and started to sink down on it, pausing every few millimeters. Mark arched a brow at me as he watched, admitting, “Lemon, if you want me to beg for it, all you have to do is ask. But since you haven’t, I gotta know, are you trying to kill me?”

I shook my head, realizing that we were on two separate pages regarding my slow pace. “No,” I told him, “I’m just waiting for it to hurt.”

Mark looked at me pointedly and sat up, his arm sliding behind my thighs to prevent me from sliding down on him any farther. “Okay,” he began, “First of all, I think we need a rule: we don’t talk about previous experiences while we’re having NEW ones. Second of all, sex shouldn’t hurt EVER. I mean, unless it’s on purpose and you’re into that kind of thing. If you’re not into that, then it should never hurt. Do you understand me, Clementine?” His voice was firm and once again I had the feeling I may have trivialized something that wasn’t really trivial. 

I nodded because I couldn’t do anything else. 

He pulled me off of his cock and slid us both up the bed until his torso was resting against the headboard. 

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Mark smiled at me ruefully, bringing his lips to my neck as he whispered into my hair, “I thought I just needed to let you figure things out for yourself, but it has become glaringly obvious I need to be an active participant.”

My voice was soft as I responded, half scared and half confused, “I don’t know what you mean.”

We were still pressed closely together, and his hands trailed over my naked body, fingers teasing my nipples, as he directed me, “Kiss me, Lemon.”

I leaned forward and he moved his hands to knot in my hair, my breasts pressed against the hair on his chest as I kissed him. I kissed him deeply, trying to convey with my tongue just how much this all meant to me. 

As we kissed, one of his hands slid between our bodies, his fingers slipping between my pussy lips and softly rubbing my clit. I may have mewled into his mouth, but I’d perjure myself in a court of law denying that. 

While I was rocking into his hand, he grabbed his dick and angled it just right so that the tip slid into me as I rolled my hips. The sensation made me gasp, and I rocked harder, needing more.

“That’s it, babe,” he murmured, “That’s it.” His hands were on my hips, guiding me. I curled my hands into fists on his chest, wishing his hair was long enough to grab like this, but it was still short from a summer wax.

I needed him, I needed to feel full. I slammed myself down on him and he cursed in response, cautioning, “Fuck. Easy, babe.”

“Mark, please,” I whimpered, “I need more. I need you.” My hands unclenched, and I dug my fingers into his chest desperately.

His hands tightened on my hips as his punched up forcefully and he confirmed, “Ok?”

I nodded, almost delirious with pleasure as I begged, “More.”

He set a quick rhythm with his hips, and soon all that filled the room was the squelch of our bodies coming together and our sharp breaths. 

“Fuck, I’m almost there,” he groaned, “Tine, touch yourself.”

One of his hands left my hips and he took my fingers and pressed them to my clit, “Cum with me,” he urged.

“I can’t,” I choked out.

“You can,” he encouraged, “Look at me.” 

My eyes met his and he held my gaze as he continued, “I’m gonna get tested by the team doc tomorrow, because I can’t wait to fuck you skin to skin and fill you with my cum. I can’t wait to make you mine so you never have to worry about a man hurting you ever again. Even me.”

My voice was a whisper, as I whined out “Holy shit.”

“Now fucking cum with me, Clementine.” He punched his hips up hard and I came apart in a million pieces, like a stained glass window shattering from a bomb. He thrust into me irregularly until he sagged against the headboard and cradled me to his chest. 

We lay there in a sweaty mess, panting, until I broke the silence, and repeated, “You want to fill me with your cum?”

“Lemon, I swear to God, if you ruin this perfectly good moment with some self-deprecating sarcastic comment, I’m going to tell Landy you think his magic is dumb.”

I gasped in horror, “You wouldn’t. Also, again with mentioning Landy in bed!!!”

He kissed the top of my head chuckling, “You know I would. Now, just lay there and be quiet and soak in the moment.”

We were quiet again for a long time, long enough that the sweat was starting to dry on my skin and giving me goosebumps. I shivered, and this time it was Mark who broke the silence, asking “Does Daze need dinner or something?”

At the mention of dinner, my stomach growled. “Probably,” I guessed, “I know I need dinner. Why?”

I looked up at Mark and he was staring in the direction of the door as he told me, “Because she’s been quietly staring at me since we finished. Honestly, she started even before that, and if you weren’t half as hot as you are, I wouldn’t have been able to finish.”

I chuckled against his chest and sat up, pulling my leg over him, intimately feeling the loss of him inside me. “I’ll go feed her if you order pizza,” I offered.

Grabbing his shirt from earlier off the floor, I pulled it on, though it hugged my body a little more than I would have liked.

“Babe,” he sighed, “That one is covered in cum, grab a clean one out of the drawer.”

I gave him a saucy wink as I sashayed out of the room, shouting behind me, “Maybe I wanna be covered in your cum.”

He fell over into the pillows laughing and I heard him grumble, “Fucking minx.”

My focus was still on that droplet and it took me a minute to realize that that wasn’t what he was asking about. My voice sounded like it was coming from a different room and when I put the pieces together, I responded, “Oh, I have night terrors,” like I was mentioning I bought the wrong milk and not a serious psychosomatic issue. 

His voice was stern, which pulled me out of my body-hair-water-droplet-related rapt state, when he said, “Clementine.”

Daze retreated to the other end of the couch and gave me a weary look. “I mean,” I started defensively, “I don’t know what you want me to say. I have night terrors. It’s not something I can control.”

He pushed away from the couch and ran his fingers through his dripping hair, looking sort of frantic. “Fuck,” he exhaled, “I thought you were dying. Do you have these every night?”

He was pacing, water was still dripping off of his body and, amongst other things, I was a little worried he was going to slip on the concrete floor. 

The more wound up he got, the tighter I felt the boa constrictor squeeze my chest. I knew that I was only going to get one chance to reason with him or explain myself before I felt like I was going to completely suffocate and it would become impossible to do so, so before I got there, I pleaded, “Mark.”

I don’t know what he saw, but his face closed down and he turned on his heel, walking down the hallway and muttering to himself, “Fucking night terrors.” The loud slam of the door made me jump, and Daze was trying to crawl in my lap, likely because she realized that I was all of a sudden overwhelmed by the feeling I needed to be anywhere else right the fuck now.

I pushed her off of my lap and made my way to the front entryway, snagging my tote on the way. My hand was reaching for the door when Mark came out of the bedroom, tucking himself into his jeans, calling “Lemon?”

My bare feet didn’t make a sound on the polished concrete floor as I walked toward the bank of elevators. Daze was trotting beside me trying to cross in front of my path and I started to dig in my bag for an extra leash; I usually had five on me. You know, just in case. 

I veered right at the elevators since I was still taking the stairs these days, which was when Mark caught up to me, a pair of my of shoes in one hand and his house keys in the other.

“Lemon, wait,” he implored. When I didn’t respond, he repeated, a little more forcefully, “Lemon, babe. Shoes.” How he managed to leap down a flight of stairs and skid out in front of me to block my passage, I don’t know; however, I will say that I wasn’t too wrapped up in my panic attack to prevent my noticing this feat of athleticism and subsequently file in away in my brain as something to appreciate at a later time and place. But now was not it.

Mark knelt down in front of me, laces on my shoes undone, and he slipped a little ankle sock on each foot. Honestly, the image was so ridiculous that it provided me with a moment of clarity just long enough for me to take a deep breath. I used his shoulder for balance as I put one shoe on, then the other. I could feel his body heat through the palm of my hand; his muscles were like granite, and he just felt so warm and solid in front of me. 

By the time he was done lacing both shoes, my panic attack had ratcheted down from a 7 to a 3 out of 10. My fingers were gently tracing random patterns into his shirt, allowing me to feel the intersections of muscles beneath his skin. Mark didn’t say anything as he remained kneeling in front of me, letting me have my moment or ten. Eventually, though, he stood and slid his arm through mine, pulling me in for a hug and setting my hand on his forearm so I could twirl his arm hair, much to my heart’s delight.

Things after that were a bit of blur and I don’t know how far we walked, but we ended up at a small park that was completely devoid of people. Taking Daze’s leash off, I started to dig in my purse and she knew whatever was coming out was going to be for her, so she started dancing on her front paws. I sat on a bench and handed the ball to Mark. He showed it to Daze, who let out an excited bark as he threw it.

He sat next to me, arm behind me on the bench, his voice almost light, as he murmured, “I didn’t know service dogs could play.”

I leaned into his body, suddenly tired even though I had just woken up. Between the night terror and the panic attack, I felt like I had run a marathon. “Dogs are like people,” I reminded him, “They’ll burn out if it’s all work all the time. They just need to be dogs sometimes.”

We sat in silence for a few more minutes before he spoke again. “You know,” he began, “even the most well-adjusted, intelligent man would struggle with this situation, right? And we both know I am neither of those things.”

“What situation would that be?” I asked, playing very dumb.

Mark didn’t pull any punches as, without hesitation, he responded, “Trying to date a woman who has survived some serious trauma and not without physical and mental scars.”

I was glad to hear that, if nothing else, he didn’t say ‘crazy person.’

Daze came back and dropped the ball at his feet; he picked it up and threw it again, wiping his hand on his jeans. “You’ve had a lot of time to get used to what happened to you, to learn how to make jokes about it, but this is all new to me.  I never think it’s your fault, I never think this is something wrong with you.” He took a deep breath before he continued, “You just need to give me a minute to fucking process some shit. Like, when I hear you scream like you’re being murdered on my couch while I’m in the shower, for example. I don’t think my heartbeat has ever been that fast and I am a professional athlete. And then you’re totally just chill, telling me you have Night Terrors like you’re informing me the Queen got another Corgi.”

I cleared my throat, vaguely uncomfortable, informing him, “Actually, the Queen isn’t actually breeding corgis anymore…”

His hand settled on the back of my neck and he squeezed lightly, as a tight smile crossed his face and he shook his head ruefully. “Lemon,” he chuckled, “that’s not the point.”

I halfway turned to face him, asking pointedly, “What is the point then, Barbs? That we’re both perfectly imperfect?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” he clarified. “What I mean is that only one of us can freak out at a time, Lemon, and sometimes that person needs to be me. Like, when you casually drop the bomb that sometimes you wake up screaming, solely because some asshole traumatized you that much.” He looked at me and went on, “And it feels like I have about half a second to process that information and go through a range of emotions related to that. Today, for example, I went from thinking “putting that dude in a hole in the ground is too kind” all the way to “holy shit, what does this mean for my sleep on game days?” in about two seconds flat.” He gave the back of my neck another squeeze before he continued, “And sometimes I’m probably going to need to walk away to process. But I’m not walking away from you, ok?”

I nodded, understanding what he was telling me; as someone who had spent a good chunk of time overwhelmed by a variety of feelings, I didn’t have to imagine very hard what a situation like that felt like for Mark.  “I think that’s fair,” I acknowledged, meeting his eyes. I took a deep breath and continued slowly, “I’m just… surprised you’re willing to try at all.”

He pulled me into his body, whispering in my ear, “Of course I am. But we are going to have to figure something out regarding the shoe situation, because I can’t have you wandering around Denver in bare feet. It’s where I draw the line.”

“That is an acceptable request,” I said through a smile. “I will work on it.”

Daze brought the ball back and Mark threw it farther this time. Clearly upset it was so much farther away, she offered a hysterical bark as she tore after it. 

We sat in silence for a while, watching Daze take her time coming back with the ball; there was a quasi-pattern to her actions, but she tended to rotate between the following: dropping it to sniff an interesting smell, picking it up again, pausing to pee on a dandelion plant, sniffing said pee with the ball still in her mouth, sniffing said pee after dropping the ball, etc.

Meanwhile, I appreciated the fact we could sit in comfortable silence, especially because it gave me time to absorb what Mark had said. After I’d mulled things over, I was the one who finally broke it and asked, “So, what do we do now?” I wasn’t sure if I meant in a general existential way or in this “relationship” or with the afternoon ahead of us, but he didn’t ask me to specify.

He was running his hand down my hair, combing it between his fingers,  and with the amount of time that task was requiring, it seemed that taking a nap while it was still wet was a poor choice, and I was grateful I hadn’t yet seen a mirror. “I don’t know,” he replied, “I was thinking we could order in, but you didn’t exactly get a second date, so if you want to put on something nice, we could go out instead.”

“What?” I was very confused.

“Lemon, I know I’m the dumb one, but this isn’t really that complicated. You asked what we do now, do you want to eat in and bingewatch TV, or go out?”

I blinked, still not understanding. “You don’t want to take me back to my parents?”

His hand stilled on my hair, and I realized I had caught him off guard. “I mean, I can take you if you want to go,” he offered. “Do you want to leave?”

I shook my head.

“Then, I’m lost,” he told me.

“I mean, this has been kind of stupid,” I said, looking at him, feeling like it was a totally obvious assessment of the situation. As he looked back at me with that same look regarding our plans for the evening, I realized there was a huge disconnect somewhere and so, I continued, “Last night I slept for 15 hours. I was awake for like, two, during which you cooked me a meal, then I fell back asleep and after sleeping for however long again, I woke up and in doing so, I scared you half to death. I’m just surprised you aren’t itching to get rid of me.”

I yelped slightly as he dragged me into his lap and I could practically hear him rolling his eyes as he replied, “Lemon, were you not listening earlier?”

Frowning, I answered, “I was paying attention.” 

“Did you miss the part where I said I wasn’t going to walk away from you and none of this is your fault?” Mark asked.

“No,” I grumbled.

“Great. Then, do you want to order in or go out?”

I reached out to finger the silver chain peeking out of his tee shirt, as I offered, “Order in?”

He captured my chin with his fingers and angled my face toward his, confirming, “Order in, it is, then.”

The kiss was hard but brief, though during it, he managed to stand and gently set me on my feet all in one motion and I remembered that I needed to be in awe of his body. 

He cleared his throat and quirked an eyebrow at me as he wondered, “Why are you looking at me like you’re 3 days into going carb-free and I’m a fresh baked loaf of french bread?”

I did my best to school my face into a more neutral look, but he wasn’t buying it. I knew I wasn’t off the hook, but to give me some time, he whistled for Daze, who picked up her ball from the grass and came running. After clipping on her leash Mark tucked me into his side, asking again, “Lemon?”

I sighed, admitting “I just realized today I don’t think I was ever attracted to Bill, but I am very attracted to you.”

The smug practically radiated off of him and I knew I had to clarify, lest it go to his head. So, I continued, “But sometimes, I still want to dump a 1 billion degree McDonald’s coffee over your head, so there is still room for improvement.”

When he spoke it was under his breath and through his smirk as he singsonged, “You liiiiikkee me. You want to dddaaattttee me, you want to kiiiiissss me.”

“Calm your tits, Gracie Hart,” I said, rolling my eyes.

He pulled me impossibly closer, “Mmm I think we both know Sandra Bullock’s tits have nothing on yours and I mean, Sandy is hot.”

I had to concede there, allowing, “Sandra Bullock is hot.”

Mark grinned again and kissed my temple, saying, “My girl has good taste.”

I made a face but let him have the small victory. 

When we finally made it back to his apartment, my phone was vibrating on the coffee table and I grimaced, realizing I hadn’t checked in with Nora yet, save for a brief text this morning. I scrolled to the bottom of the text thread, which took me an embarrassingly long time, and unfortunately, they were still coming in.

Nora: I’m calling Columbo.

Nora: The national guard

Nora: Homeland security

Nora: The feds!

I shot off a response before the situation escalated further, though it did give me pause to consider who might be above the feds on Nora’s hierarchy of emergency contacts; maybe The Pope?

Hi! I’m here, I'm alive! 

Nora: Quick question: WHAT THE FUCK?

Nora: FIRST of all, you are at a cute boy’s house and you don’t text for awhile, ok, I get that. You have better things to do, but Clementine Jones, it has been almost 24 hours and all I got some bullshit brief shit this morning. SECOND OF ALL, take a picture of Mark, right now. Right this second. 

Mark was downing a glass of water and I zoomed in on him with my phone and snapped a picture before sending it to Nora. He lifted a brow and I just shook my head.

Nora: Why is he wearing clothes? Are you wearing clothes? I’m realizing now that maybe we need to have a conversation about the birds and the bees before I sent you off with The Italian Stallion and that’s on me. 

I rolled my eyes at her, even though she couldn't see me.

I have had many revelations over the past 24 hours and 1 of them is that I now know for certain I was never sexually attracted to Bill and the 2nd is I don’t own enough panties.

Nora: !!!!!!!!

Now, Barbs and I are ordering dinner. 

I turned my phone off and set it back down on the coffee table as I was joined on the couch by a tired Border Collie and a less tired Barbs.

“Was it Nora?”

I nodded and settled into the corner of the couch.

Mark snatched up my legs and hauled me down the length of the couch, putting my feet in his lap. He slipped off my shoes and socks, the very same ones he had put on earlier, and started rubbing my feet. I tried to pull them away as I whined, “Mark, stop.”

He stopped massaging, but didn’t release my feet, “What,” he asked, “why?”

“I don’t like it.” 

“Have you ever had your feet rubbed?” he prodded.

“I mean, yeah, like pedicures and stuff.”

“Well, did you like it then?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, suddenly aware of where this line of questioning was going, and it was a checkmate on the conversation. I relaxed back into the cushions grumbling, “Yes.”

“Ah, so you just don’t like ME rubbing your feet,” he teased.

I didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Why don’t you want me rubbing your feet, Lemon?” he continued, pushing on despite my reticence. “You actually fight me every time I try and do something nice.”

“To be fair,”  I said, defending myself, “a lot of this is touch related and I am a little gun shy.”

“Mmmhmmm,” he acknowledged.

He returned to rubbing my feet, and I did my best to relax. When he dug his thumbs into the bottoms of my arches, I may have moaned while my muscles turned to warm jello.

“That’s it, she’s finally relaxed,” he said, with more than a hin of smugness, but I really wanted him to continue doing what he was doing so I stayed silent. Of course, he couldn’t let that go without comment.

“Oh, wow,” he chirped, “No smartass remarks?”

I opened my eyes long enough to roll them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

She had these walls she didn’t even know she had about issues she didn’t know she had, and I really enjoyed taking a sledgehammer to them and getting a little closer to her with every swing. 

Finally, after that moan— which, honestly, had me hard in my jeans— she took a few deep breaths and I literally felt all the tension drain out of her body. 

I knew she wasn’t sleeping, because every so often, her foot would twitch when I hit a ticklish spot. 

“Hey, Lemon?” I prompted, “What do you want for dinner?”

She didn’t open her eyes to answer as she murmured, “Whatever you want, Barbs.”

“Pizza?”

She opened one eye and asked, “If you gorge yourself on pizza, are you going to be slow as fuck at camp on Monday?”

For the first time in my life, I didn’t have anything to say and I gaped at her.

Her smile was small and sly, but I caught it. “You little minx,” I spat, setting her feet back on the couch and levering over her, fitting my hips to hers. “Are you accusing me of being slow?”

“I’m just sayin’,” she intoned, “everyone looks good this summer and it would be a shame if you got sent down because you couldn’t hack it. I’d be forced to take pictures of Gabe… or worse! EJ!”

I kissed my way down her throat as I whispered against her skin, “You say that like you only take pictures of me.”

She squirmed under me as she admitted, “I have a secret folder on my computer that’s just you. I download the excess photos before I turn in the memory cards.”

I sat up a bit and braced myself on an arm above her, looking her in the eyes as I asked, “Seriously?”

She made a face I couldn’t decipher and nodded slowly. 

I don’t remember deciding to kiss her but I just suddenly was, my tongue against hers, trying to coax it off the bottom of her mouth. Her hands hesitantly slipped under the hem of my shirt, and I sat up again, pulling it over the back of my head with one hand.

She seemed to freeze as I did that, and pulled her fingers away. I missed her touch immediately and maybe it was a little selfish but with my free hand, I reached for both hers and replaced each on my body. When I settled back down to kiss her again, the cross around my neck settled in the hollow of her throat.

She removed her hands again, but this time pushed her fingers into my hair as she murmured, “I can’t get enough of your hair.” Finally, the hair gene paid off. 

Her fingertips massaged my skull and I dropped my cheek to her chest, giving a contented sigh. “If you never stopped doing that and I could lay on top of you forever, I might just die a happy man,” I informed her.

She finger combed my hair, nails scraping against my scalp and suddenly the intimate idea of a relationship didn’t sound awful. I currently ONLY wanted to fuck Clementine ANYWAY and if this intimacy and this closeness was a bonus, I suddenly understood all the guys on my team with wives and long-time girlfriends. These were moments that just didn’t come from a one night stand or a hookup. These impromptu moments of intimacy filled a part of me I didn’t realize was empty. 

And just as suddenly, I realized Tine was the only woman I could picture myself with like this, just laying here, while she ran her fingers through my hair, close, intimate, with a weather ear on the golf tournament I had turned on. 

“Mark?” She asked, trailing her hands out of my hair and down my back.

“Hmm?” I resisted the urge to rub my beard scruff against her.

“Are you going to fall asleep?”

I smiled and shook my head against her chest, “Nuh uh.”

She was dragging her fingertips against my skin and I could feel the goosebumps chasing her fingers. “Then can you kiss me?” she asked softly.

I lifted my head and pressed my lips to hers, more than happy to oblige. This time, she was the one to deepen the kiss, her tongue licking across my lips. 

My moan may have sounded more like a growl as my tongue shoved hers out of the way and I kissed her hard. The moment I did, she backed off, almost seeming to freeze. I pulled my lips from hers, sensing her limits and asked “Too much?”

She nodded. I took a breath and slid my arms underneath her body flipping us so she was on top. “Okay,” I affirmed. “What if you drive?” I suggested.

Her knees settled on either side of my hips. I could feel her heat through my jeans and her leggings and I shot a little prayer toward the sky that I would be able to control myself and give her an experience she deserved. 

Tine rocked on my erection, adjusted her position and rocked her hips again, letting out a small gasp.

I folded my hands behind my head contentedly, and she placed her hands on my chest to change the angle. She looked down at me through the veil of her hair that fell over her shoulders. 

“Is this ok?” she asked

“Does it feel good for you?” I responded.

She nodded.

“Then it’s more than ok,” I said easily. 

Her hips rolled again and she bit her lip as she set a rhythm, grinding against me as she whimpered, “Fuck, Mark.”

She was fully clothed and still, it was quite possibly the hottest, most intimate thing I had ever experienced.

She adjusted her position again, her pace increasing and when it started to falter, I grabbed her hips and thrust up against her, holding her steady. As she shivered above me, I did it again. And again. And again. Finally, she threw her head back and her entire body shuddered; I watched as the tremors rolled through her and I was sure I’d never been harder in my life. When she pushed against my chest and tried to wiggle away from me, I stopped moving and she collapsed against my chest. From her place tucked under my chin, I heard her whisper, “Barbs?”

“Mm?” 

“What the fuck was that?” she wondered.

“An orgasm?”

“That’s an orgasm?” she asked in disbelief.

My next words escaped before I thought about them, because all the blood to run my brain was currently in my dick and the affection gripping my heart was almost overwhelming, meaning I was basically fucked. “Babe,” I blurted out, “I watched you have an orgasm in the shower.”

She sat up and looked at me, her face inscrutable. “You watched me?” she echoed.

I grimaced and nodded, elaborating, “I knocked and called your name, but you didn’t hear me.”

“Ok, gross invasion of privacy aside, even that didn’t feel like this.”

“Baby, I don’t know what to tell you. That was an orgasm.”

“Holy shit,” she breathed, sounding a little awestruck.

I pushed the hair away from her face, wanting to check on her, because I figured this was A Lot. “Are you ok?” 

She nodded, smiling as she said, “An entire genre of books and television suddenly make sense.”

I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her to my chest. Eventually, her breathing evened out and I was almost certain she fell asleep. I squirmed and tried to snake a hand between our bodies to adjust myself.

“Am I too heavy?” she mumbled.

“No, babe, just… too sexy.”

She snorted into my chest as she rejected this answer, informing me, “You’re such a liar.”

“Lemon,” I sighed, “when you wore that dress did you not look in the mirror?”

“Ok,” she narrowed her eyes at me, skeptical “but I don’t exactly look like every other hockey guy’s girlfriend.”

“But you’re not every hockey guy’s girlfriend,” I retorted, “you’re MY girlfriend.”

She turned her head, our eyes mere inches apart, as she questioned, “Am I your girlfriend? Are you going to put a label on me?”

I pushed her hair out of her face again so I could look at her as I confirmed, “Yeah. I’m gonna put a label on you. So I hope you’re okay with that. And plus, maybe that’ll help keep Comph and Josty’s ass-ogling at bay.”

The smile on her face was faint, but it was there, “They do not do that,” she dismissed.

“You have no idea,” I said earnestly, “I had to threaten all of them.”

“When?” she pressed. 

“When what?”

“When did you have to threaten them?”

I twirled the ends of her hair, brushing it against my beard and pretended I didn’t hear her.

“Barbs, when?” she pestered.

I cleared my throat and mumbled without making eye contact, “thedayicaughtyouinmyarms.”

She turned her head toward me and chirped, “Excuse me, I didn’t catch that.”

I captured her lips with mine for a soft kiss before I pulled back and smirked, “I said, the day I caught you in my arms.”

Her face was soft as she recalled, “Barbs, that was the first day you met me.”

“Nothing wrong with your memory, Lemon.”

He shrugged as he filled a mixing bowl full of water and set it on a towel on the floor for Daze, “I have a service that comes in once a week. They clean and wash the sheets and towels and stuff.”

The Border Collie took a compulsory lap or two of the apartment, then came and laid down on the rug by my feet. I took several pills and washed them down with the water he gave me, being sure to set the glass back on the coaster.

From across the kitchen island, Mark asked, “Do you need to eat a little something with that?”

I shook my head, “No, I’ll be fine.”

Mark gave me a questioning look which I knew meant to ask, “‘I’ll be fine, don’t go out of your way, I don’t want to be a bother’ or ‘I’ll be fine and I really should but also the first thing?’”

I sighed as he continued to rattle around in the kitchen, and before I knew it, I was being handed a piece of toast with some almond butter on it. He sat on the couch next to me while I nibbled on the bread, his arm lying along the back of the cushion behind me.

I didn’t know what to say, I was in his space, he was sitting next to me and it felt so stiff and awkward so I found myself blurting out, between bites, “It’s weird eating something and you’re not eating.”

He reached over and snagged the toast off the plate, and took a huge bite- which was about half of the entire thing. “There, that better?” he mumbled around the bread and almond butter.

I just shook my head, but I did take a bigger bite that I washed down with a sip of water. Mark relaxed against the cushions, the television remote appearing in his hands as he suggested, “Chopped?”

I nodded, finishing my toast. At that point, the plate was empty and I stood up to put it in the sink, but he took it from my hands and set it on the side table, before pulling me into his body, saying, “Relax, Lemon.”

Without distractions, without Gabe, without a party, without anything besides us, it was just the murmur of the TV and the rise and fall of Mark’s chest. This was intimacy at its most basic level. There was no biting wit, no banter, just two people existing in the same place at the same time and I suddenly felt that boa constrictor starting to squeeze my chest again; I forced myself to breathe. Daze sat up and whined.

Mark pulled me tighter into his body until he felt me resist and then he stopped, but didn’t let me retreat. His hand found its way to my back and he rubbed in slow circles. Daze had her paws on my knees, now ready to climb up and lay on top of me. This was such a stupid thing to have a panic attack over. Oh no a man is being nice to me, better stop breathing.

From his perch behind me, I felt Mark smile against my shoulder, the smirk evident in his voice as he informed me, “Huh, I can see down your shirt? What are you, like, a 38D?”

It was so inappropriate, so Barbs, and so unexpected that my chest released enough to allow a wheezing laugh to escape. The boa constrictor slithered away, unsure how to navigate around a 7th grade sense of humor and Daze put her paws back on the floor.

Finally, I was able to take a deep breath or two and I let myself relax against Mark, his arm around me. He hit the volume on the TV, lowering a few notches as he asked, “Do you want to talk about what just happened? And also, about whether or not I was right?”

I just shook my head, informing him, “I’m honestly fascinated that somehow you are deeply introspective and intuitive and so damn dumb at the same time. It’s one of life’s mysteries and apparently an instant cure for panic attacks.”

I took another much needed deep breath. Panic attacks, even short ones, were draining and I gave in to the urge to lay my head on Mark’s chest. He made a noise of appreciation before he pushed me up and held me with a hand while he swept my hair over my shoulder to get it out from underneath me, and it was such a stupid, ridiculously sweet gesture. All of a sudden, I felt very unexpected and unwelcome tears prickling the backs of my eyes and my nose started to run. I tried to sniff quietly.

The arm around my shoulders lifted briefly and then it swam in front of my face, tissue pinched between his fingers. My body shook with a small laugh and I blew my nose--which, there was no way to do with any sense of cuteness or grace, but I had a feeling Barbs might sit on me if I tried to escape to the bathroom. I balled the tissue in my fist and he brushed my hair back with his hand, rubbing my back again as he asked, “better?”

I nodded. I rested my head against his chest again and we sat there for a few minutes before I felt his voice rumble in his chest from behind me. “Do you want to tell me what was going on in your head?” he murmured.

I took another deep breath, trying to compartmentalize my emotions before I answered his question. “It’s not really what is going on,” I started, “it’s more like this overwhelming tidal wave of emotions. I was in a panicked state of survival for so long I don’t really know how to process regular emotions anymore? Everything is either no big deal or A Very Super Big Deal and there’s no in between.”

He trailed his fingers along my arm, “So what was A Very Super Big Deal, just now?”

I lifted my shoulders, shrugging, trying to pinpoint the source of the Deal, both for myself and for him. “I don’t know,” I began. After another moment of thought, I offered, “We’ve never really spent time together where I wasn’t doing something, socializing, working, whatever. Just existing in the moment with you was just A Lot for me. I don’t know how to do that. And then that thing with my hair was just… really sweet and unnecessary and there was something just really selfless about it and that’s new and uncomfortable for me and again it was A Lot and I didn’t know how to process it.”

Mark hummed in acknowledgement, kissing my shoulder lightly. “Aren’t you processing now?” he pressed, “Isn’t this processing?”

Wise Barbs was becoming a frequent contributer to our conversations, and I knew I was going to be a fucking goner for this dumbass.

Daze was still looking at me, concerned; acknowledging her dismay, Mark patted the sofa next to me, saying “Don’t worry, Daisy girl, I’ve got this one.” She jumped up and turned several times and settled into a ball next to me. All of this Thoughtfulness and Caring was a lot, and I still wasn’t entirely comfortable going there, so I steered the conversation back to the mundane and logistic, asking Mark, “Aren’t you worried about the couch?”

True to form, he reassured me, “It’s just a couch, Lemon, just like my truck is just a truck. Now, do you need to process some more? Or can we watch the next episode of Chopped?”

I sighed and settled against him, prying the remote out of his hand to turn the volume up. I finally managed to relax during the appetizer round of the next episode, and that was the last thing I remembered.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Much like she did on the night of Gabe’s first party, Tine went from being awake one minute to absolutely fast asleep the next. Not being able to resist, I snapped a selfie of us — her blue-haired head resting softly on my chest— and texted it to Landy to tell him we would not be attending his game night.

Sorry, Landy. My lady needs some sleep.

Landy: Uh, wake her up and let’s goooooooo. Rematch at CAH. I’m working on upping my depravity game. Prepare to be totally corrupted.

Out of nowhere, it occurred to me that Gabe’s joke about Clementine’s sense of humor, while meant to be lighthearted, was reflective of the fact that he was relatively ignorant of who she really was, or, at least, who she used to be. I realized then that I was probably the only person in the organization that knew Tine’s story, and even so, I only knew a small sliver of her trauma and why she had Daze to begin with.

That felt like too much to explain over text message, and furthermore, was information that was totally not my place to share with Gabe -- notwithstanding the fact he was such a blabbermouth and probably couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. So, I went with the typical toxically masculine response: an insult.

Sorry not sorry, even asleep she’s better company than you will ever be.

I made it through a few more episodes of Chopped by myself before I needed to get up. I laid Tine down on the couch, her knees around Daze, and I half-covered her with a blanket. After grabbing a snack, I returned to the couch and lifted her head, letting her use my thigh as a pillow. I worried I might disturb her, but she remained sound asleep, her features resting in an expression of tranquility and ease. I took a surprising amount of joy in combing my fingers through her long blue hair, which was splayed across my lap. This wasn’t exactly how I planned the evening going, but that was ok, as I realized that this was almost better, at least for her. Not that I’m not wonderful company, but she deserved a respite from the chaos in her brain; a little bit of peace after what she’d survived. She had a lot of walls that would just take time to come down, but sleeping… there weren’t any walls. She existed just as she was. It was almost a compliment she slept so deeply around me, and I knew for a fact she didn’t take a sedative this time as I was sure that the pills she had taken earlier were the exact same pills she normally took around 5pm, the very same ones I had seen her take them several times this week.

I was thankful I had such a deep couch, because its depth allowed me to squish my legs between Daze and its back and still drape an arm around Tine. I didn’t want to watch any more episodes of Chopped without her, so I changed gears and cued up some Game of Thrones, which I had no shame in binge watching. True to form, Clementine didn’t stir, despite the fact that some of the scenes were incredibly loud and I really had no idea how she slept through them. Daze remained awake and watched with me, and she seemed to enjoy the dragons quite a lot. She never made a noise, but perked her ears up when they came on screen and tracked them as they moved around Westeros on my big screen TV.

Eventually, our body heat became too much for the border collie and she jumped down, flopping on the plush rug next to the couch. One fewer body on the couch, albeit a smallish one, did give us a little bit more room so I pulled up the fuzzy blanket covering Tine, curling up next to her, quite happy to be the big spoon. As new as this whole thing was and as unsure as I was regarding almost everything about it, holding her in my arms felt incredibly natural. I turned off the TV, and fell asleep soon after, the steady rise and fall of her chest lulling me into unconsciousness.

When I awoke, it was because I felt a stirring in the vicinity of my chest. Light was streaming through the floor to ceiling windows and Tine had turned in the night, and she was now curling her front into me with our legs intertwined. While my couch was comfortable, my body was protesting at my sleeping the better part of the night on it instead of my premium mattress. I didn’t know how Chara played this game in his 40s— I was barely in my 30s and I felt 100 years old and feeling every hockey game I’d ever played in that moment.

I hugged Clementine to my chest a little tighter, content to stay like that, despite my physical discomfort, for a little while longer or maybe forever, who knows. “Fifteen more minutes,” I grumbled into her hair, refusing to relinquish my grip around her.

She sighed, “This is nice, but aren’t we going to miss Gabe’s party?”

I blinked slowly and the wheels in my head turned. I almost didn’t want to tell her, but I knew I would have to...eventually. “Lemon, babe…” I started, “Gabe’s party was last night. We fell asleep. It’s morning.”

Shocked, she tried to sit up, but she was facing the wrong way and when she rolled away from me, she landed on the floor between the coffee table and the couch. “What?” She yelped. She was clearly starting to panic, murmuring frantically, “I don’t remember…”

“Shhh, Clementine, it’s ok,” I assured her, “You’re ok. You’re safe. You just fell asleep on the couch last night while we were watching TV and I let you sleep. It’s ok.”

She panted trying to control her breathing, and she looked between me and Daze, who was looking very concerned that her charge was now at eye level.

“But…” she spluttered, “I didn’t take a sedative. I swear, Mark.” As clarity continued to dawn on her, she continued, “Oh my gosh, our date!I ’m so sorry!! I slept through our date.”

“Lemon… babe, it’s ok.” I didn’t really want to explain to her at that point just how much I enjoyed snuggling with her and watching her sleep, lest that come across as extremely creepy. But, I didn’t want her to be so upset, or think that she, in some way, let me down. “I probably could have woken you up if I really wanted to go to Gabe’s dumb game night,” I added, “but last night was perfect, ok?”

I could tell the wheels in her head were spinning and I decided to put a stop to that shit. I hauled her off the floor and tucked her back to my front, hugging her against my chest. With a dreamy sigh her breathing returned to a normal rhythm, “You are ridiculously strong and you have no idea how much of a turn on that is.”

There was a pause when she realized what she said, and in that moment, I took the opportunity to lever over her, turning her on her back. I settled my hips on top of hers, forearms framing her head and dipped my head, nosing her ear, “Oh? I’m strong and that turns you on? What else turns you on, Lemon?”

Her hands fisted in my tshirt and she seemed indecisive as to whether to pull me closer or push me away.

With just enough chagrin for it to be perceptible, she murmured, “I hate how much I like it when you call me Lemon.”

I pressed my lips to the sensitive spot beneath her ear and chuckled. She responded with a full body shiver, her fingers releasing my shirt and tucking them under the hem, fingers hesitantly touching my skin.

My dick twitched against the crease of her hip and she arched into it. “Kiss me, Mark,” she whispered.

Instead of leaning forward and giving in, I pulled away, sliding out from between her and the couch, though my legs were still resting over hers. With every ounce of determination I possessed, I informed her, “Our first kiss isn’t going to be with morning breath as we dry hump on the couch. Sorry, Princess.”

She wrinkled her nose in the way that drove me wild and I groaned internally. She pouted and when I smiled at her, she announced, “I think I prefer Lemon to Princess.”

I levered over her once again and kissed the tip of her nose before standing up. “Duly noted,” I said simply, and moved toward the kitchen because if I didn’t there was going to be a weapon of mass destruction in my pants.

The first step to this morning was going to be coffee, because I had seen Tine without it once or twice this week and it was entertaining but entirely unfair. Or maybe it was to give the rest of us mere mortals a chance against her wits, but I wasn’t letting my girl into the world unarmed. She was still laying on the couch, finger combing her hair over her shoulder and I clattered around the kitchen, trying to remember if I had anything to mix with her coffee, because I knew she liked it on the lighter side. I just figured whatever cream she used also helped soothe her stomach from the pills and the black coffee was too much acid for her digestive tract in the morning.

Eventually, she sat up, stretched and looked around before picking her phone up from the coffee table. She seemed to scroll for a long time, tapping out a short response before looking up again. “It’s 9am?” she asked, with some surprise.

“Yes,” I confirmed.

Her eyes still creased with sleep and her hair a finger combed tangle she looked positively delicious, “What time did I fall asleep?”

“Between the appetizers and main course of our second Chopped episode.” I tossed old coffee grounds into the garbage under the sink.

She pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers and I chuckled when she realized just how quickly she fell asleep. “Around 6:00,” I supplied.

“So I slept for like 15 hours?”

“Yes,” I answered, pouring our steaming coffee into two mugs. I filled mine to the brim and, for Tine, pulled out various milks: almond, coconut, soy, and some regular cow, as well as some sugar.

She looked almost apoplectic and before I could reassure her of anything else she spat out, “I’m sorry I slept through our date, you must think I am the worst, laziest, most irresponsible…”

I cut her off, not wanting to entertain her insanity for a moment longer, no matter how endearing I found it. Resisting the impulse to actually shush her, I told her, “What I think is that you’re a woman who was stuck in a crisis fight-or-flight response for the better part of ten years and for whatever reason, you feel safe with me. I had the TV on LOUD last night and there were dragons AND explosions, so if that didn’t wake you up, you needed the rest and I was more than happy to let you sleep peacefully for the first time in I don’t know when.”

She sat, hands folded in her lap for a moment, unsure what to say before she looked around the apartment again.

“There’s a powder room just down the hall,” I told her, an answer to the unspoken question I saw forming in her mind.

She disappeared towards it, her giant purse and Daze in tow. I sipped my coffee and leaned a hip against the counter. I didn’t want to think about how much I liked having her in my space.

When she re-emerged, her hair was brushed and falling loose down her back and she had obviously washed her face or taken some makeup remover to it.

“C’mere and doctor your coffee,” I encouraged her, gesturing toward the island.

Her bare feet barely made a sound on the concrete floor; she stepped up next to me and I didn’t move out of the way, but instead just slid an arm around her back and tugged her hips into mine. I watched as she poured heaps of milk into her coffee and added a packet of stevia. The moan she gave as she took the first sip shot straight to my balls and I swallowed hard. “Come on,” I said, giving a tug to her belt loop and moving us toward the glass door.

Outside on the patio, I had a grill, a fire pit, and some comfortable furniture that included a hinged swing. I also had a concrete planter which housed a plant that looked a little worse for the wear, which I hoped she didn’t notice. It was already almost 70 degrees and I could tell it was going to be another beautiful August day in Denver.

Clementine made her way to the edge of the balcony and took a sip of her coffee, staring out into the cityscape and all the people milling about their day below us. She turned to me and told me through a smile, “You really have a spectacular view.”

The sun was highlighting the blue tones of her hair and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I murmured an agreement and in retrospect, I hoped I hadn’t agreed to something outrageous. I stalked over and framed her with my arms, fitting my front to her back. I swept her hair to the side and kissed her neck, unable to resist any longer. “You look stunning out here,” I whispered into her skin, hoping she could feel the smile on my face.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

His beard tickled my neck and I felt myself shiver in spite of the warm sunshine. Setting my mug next to his, I turned in the frame of his arms and slid mine around his neck. It seemed 100% natural and rock up on my toes and press my lips to his.

His arms were rigid and I felt the moment he melted into the kiss. His lips went soft and his arms came around me as he took control. The kiss went from chaste to wet and out of control in about half a second. When he licked across my bottom lip, I touched his tongue with the tip of mine and he jerked me against his body like he wanted to consume me. He tasted like the high end coffee beans he fresh ground and it was intoxicating. When the moment became too intense, I broke the kiss and tucked my head under his chin, resisting the urge to pant like a dog to catch my breath.

His voice was so low I felt the vibrations through his chest more than I heard the words he spoke when he said, “You know, I’m never going to stop doing that now.”

I rolled my eyes and chastised, “That’s a terrible threat, Barbs.”

I felt his fingers under my chin and he lifted it, lips fitting against mine again. When his tongue gently slid along the length of mine, I definitely moaned and the kiss again went from lazy and wet to intense. Mark’s hand slid down my back and he palmed my ass, grabbing a cheek and pulling me firmly into him. I felt him along my hip, hard behind his zipper. In that moment, I was instantly sure that I had never felt physical attraction for Bill, or maybe, any other person ever. In fact, I was fairly sure that I’d never actually been turned on in my life. A switch flicked on in my brain, and suddenly, I couldn’t get enough of Barbs. I wanted to fully consume him and he must have felt the change because he pulled his lips from mine and pressed our foreheads together as he said, “Breathe, Lemon.”

I did as he instructed; one breath turned into two, two into three, and suddenly, everything seemed a lot less urgent.

“Better?”

I nodded and I was only a smidge embarrassed, meaning I only needed to spend, like, 50 years or so in my parents’ basement mulling over the incident and its attendant mortification, instead of the usual one or two hundred such a moment would prescribe.

Mark gave me a quick chaste kiss before he stepped away, impressively grabbing both coffee mugs by the handles in one hand. “Let’s take Daze out,” he suggested, “the poor thing has to be at least 25% pee right now.”

Oh my god, I thought, I was the actual worst. “She probably refused to go out last night.”

Barbs looked uncomfortable as he admitted, “Uh…..I kind of didn’t try and actually, fell asleep on the couch with you….”

When Gabe opened the door with the phone in hand, it was back to Being Chased by Zombies pace and when he snapped our picture, I was pretty sure it was just going to stop entirely. As Gabe went all paparazzi on us he exclaimed gleefully, “Wow, Barbs. Finally! You asked Tine out? That took forever.” I had thought Gabe the Party Planner was bad, but Gabe the Matchmaker was even worse. As if to confirm the thought, he continued, “AND you bought her a bouquet!” I could feel the blood rushing to my face and the distinct urge to be Anywhere Else starting to work its way through my body.

He turned, inviting us into the house, which was huge, and had the most open uncluttered floor plan I had ever seen in my life, despite being full of people. Shouting to the group at large he cried, “GUYS, BARBS BOUGHT HER FLOWERS!!” At which point I realized, to my horror, that the house was entirely filled with COUPLES. Between Mark and I, I’m not really sure who was more surprised but at some point we had both donned identical expressions, gaping like suffocating goldfish.

We looked at each other in anguish, and he pulled his arm from my hand, replacing it with the bouquet in question. “I guess these are for you,” he offered, “and I believe we just got “Landied.”

I looked at him incredulously, almost not wanting to know the answer to the question I heard blurting out of my mouth. “Does this seriously happen often enough that he has his own verb?”

Mark just looked at me and said flatly, “He’s the Swedish Fairy Godmother no one asked for.”

There were at least 32 pairs of quizzical eyes staring at us and I could feel the pressure start building in my chest, sort of like I would imagine one feels when being squeezed to death by a boa constrictor. Sensing my discomfort, Daze whined, and Mark reached past me and pulled the door shut in front of us. He stepped between me and the door, hands on my hips and dragged me into his body. He was so close I could smell the mint from his toothpaste. “Hey,” he said gently, “We don’t have to go in there, we can go somewhere else.”

My brain short-circuited from its short circuit. “We?”

He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering enough I wanted to lay my head in his palm, “Yes. We.. I’m not leaving you alone when you are clearly on the verge of a panic attack.”

And just like that, the boa constrictor around my chest loosened. In a bold move, I grabbed his hand from my hip, weaving our fingers together; if Gabe wanted make-believe, then I was going to indulge both of our fantasies. Mark looked surprised, but the corners of a faint smile appeared in his beard. His eyes met mine and before I could change my mind, I told him, “Open the door, Barbs.”

“Lemon, are you sure?” His fingers squeezed mine.

“Not even in the slightest,” I responded, squeezing his fingers in return, “But I know if I make a fool of myself, you’ll be right behind me making a fool of yourself.”

A grin split his beard, which he had trimmed. It was shorter and sculpted into a neat line on his cheek. The fact that I noticed this was seriously annoying, and I did my best not to let any of that show on my face.

He let go of my hand as he opened the door again, his palm settling on the small of my back; unlike Bill’s, Mark’s gesture wasn’t one of ownership or possessiveness but rather, protection. This time when we entered, only the couples closest to us made eye contact and welcoming noises.

Mel, ever the captain’s wife, breezed by in front of us, dressed in tailored slacks and beautiful blouse and took the flowers from my hands. “I’m sure I have something to put these into,” she volunteered, smiling at me beatifically. The bouquet was really beautiful; it was full of white hydrangeas and peonies with sprigs of eucalyptus to add greenery. It was simple and extremely elegant, and I had to give it to Gabe-- he had taste.

As his wife started looking for something to put my flowers in, Gabe came back with an appetizer plate, informing us, “These are caprese crostinis. Can I get you both something to drink?”

I shook my head, “Just some water for me, thanks. I drove.”

Mark’s lips were near my ear, “I can drive you home.”

Feeling his breath the helix of my ear made me shiver involuntarily and I felt the shudder down in my toes.

He did as well, it seemed, prompting him to ask me, “Are you cold?

I shook my head no, not sure if I was even capable of making words at the moment. All I wanted to do was bury myself in his body, wrap his arms around me and just absorb his warmth, his essence, just him, like reverse mitosis. He stepped behind me, his warm hands settling on my exposed shoulders and then sliding down my arms as he tried to warm me up.

I tried not to flinch when I felt his fingers glance over my collar bone. Mark murmured a comment about me being tense, but Gabe caught the flicker of the flinch and he regarded me with a veiled curiosity. I really hoped Gabe would let it go; tonight did not seem like the right time to divulge that I had been strangled several times by Bill. Amongst other things, it wasn’t polite party conversation, even I knew that.

Mark’s voice was against my ear again and he murmured, “Do you have a sweater in the car? Do you want me to get it?”

I nodded because it would give me space to think and dug around in the tiny navy wristlet that was serving as my purse for the day. How I managed to lose my keys in something so small was a mystery, but finally, I dug them out and dropped them in Mark’s palm.

In the meantime, Gabe put a crostini in my free hand and said, “Eat this. If you think no one has noticed that you never eat food and only take pills all the time, you would be wrong. It can’t be good for you to take medication on an empty stomach.” He was mostly right and was indeed meddling, but I was way too distracted by how delicious the appetizer was to give a damn. I covered my mouth as I spoke, asking “Oh my god, Gabe, did Mel make these?”

He laughed and patted the top of my head cheerfully; my confused look was met with him responding, “You’re new here, but pretty soon, you’re going to laugh too. My wife is a horrible chef. She could burn water.” Mel made eye contact with me across the huge kitchen island and winked. I had a stinking suspicion she could cook just fine but why would you argue with a husband who wanted to do domestic things?

“Well these are divine, Gabe, I think I’ll have another,” I snagged another from him and had barely wolfed it down when I felt my white cardigan settle over my shoulders and Mark’s hand found its way back to my lumbar.

“Have a drink if you want,” he murmured, “I will make sure you and your car get home safely, ok?”

I nodded, resisting the urge to turn my head just enough to make my ear collide with his lips.

“So what are you drinking, Lemon?” Gabe, ever the hostess with the mostest, seemed quite intent on meeting all of his guests’ needs, I’d give him that.

I cleared my throat, “Umm, bourbon on the rocks?”

Gabe and Mark looked at each other and there must have been some kind of hockey telepathy going on, because there was a pause before they both laughed, probably at the absurdity of a recent college graduate and former housewife drinking bourbon. “Coming right up,” he said.

Gabe wandered off with his tray of appetizers and Barbs wandered in the direction of the wet bar, leaving me and Daze alone and unattended amidst all of the couples in the room.

I pulled the cardigan tighter around my shoulders and fortunately, I was saved from the awkward task of trying to insert myself into an existing conversation by Ryan Graves. He walked up, his arm around a woman who looked like the quintessential girl next door; she spoke first and offered her hand, saying cheerfully, “Hey, I’m Frankie, Gravy’s girlfriend. Not to be confused with Frankie the goalie. I know we look alike and it’ll be tough to keep us straight, but such is life, right?” Her enthusiasm was infectious and I couldn’t help but return her smile.

Ryan’s huge hand cupped my shoulder joint in a greeting and I was beginning to learn this team was a touchy-feely bunch. I shuffled my clutch and Daze’s leash into my left hand and shook Frankie’s, introducing myself. “Clementine,” I said, “it’s nice to meet you.”

She shook my hand warmly before she confided with a smile, “I’m so glad I’m not the new kid on the block anymore. I love your hair, by the way.”

I absentmindedly brought my fingers to my hair after she released my hand, “Thanks.”

She gave me a knowing wink, “It will match Barbs’ third jersey so nicely.”

“Oh, we’re not… I mean, we’ve only had one date,” I stammered.

Mark returned and slipped my bourbon into my hands, “So, you admit it was a date?”

Ryan and Frankie exchanged a meaningful glance and Frankie sucked her lips in between her teeth like she was trying not to laugh. And then she reached over and patted my hand, “Call it what you want. These boys will just have to deal.”

Mark’s hand took its now-customary place on my lower back, and he took a swig of his light beer. His eyes were amused.

After some light small talk, Frankie and Gravy wandered off, leaving us alone together. I felt the chest behind me expand like he was going to say something, but we were interrupted by Andre and his date, who was beautiful, but obviously older than him. Andre was like a golden retriever puppy: happy, wiggly, cute, and kinda dumb. Daze, recognizing a kindred soul, gave an uncharacteristic “boof” and wagged her tail at Andre. He gave me a pleading look that would have rivaled any 5 year old and immediately dropped to the height of the dog when I nodded to give him permission to pet her. I had to hide my grin behind the hand holding my rocks glass.

His date looked unperturbed and just smiled fondly at Andre before offering a manicured hand over his head to introduce herself. “Hi,” she jumped in, “I’m Stephanie.”

My mind started to race. STEPHANIE. But that was a common name right? Mark’s hand stiffened against my lumbar and it was then that I knew it was the same Stephanie.

I felt the Stepford persona take over and I delicately grasped her fingers and plastered a smile across my face as I responded automatically, “Nice to meet you, I’m Clementine.”

“Oh, Clementine!” she cried, her smile turning genuine and warm as recognition lit her features, “Mark has had nothing but good things to say about you.”

I didn’t really have anything to say to that, and I looked at him over my shoulder in surprise. He had set his mostly empty bottle on the counter and was rubbing the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable and embarrassed.

Andre chose that moment to stand up, and even he picked up on the tense silence that pressed our little group, his smile faltering a little as he struggled to read between the lines of the situation, clearly realizing that there was something he was missing. This all felt reminiscent of a time when I met one of Bill’s mistresses; despite everything, he never even attempted to hide her and all of a sudden, I felt the boa constrictor curl around my chest again and this time Mark’s hand on me just made it worse.

Daze nudged me with her nose and I was thankful for her. I stepped away from Mark’s touch, from Stephanie and Andre and the oppressive feeling of awkwardness that was ensconcing the situation and excused myself saying, “Sorry, I’ll be right back. I need to take Daze out.”

I was halfway to the front door before Mark caught up with me, but he didn’t touch me; He didn’t even speak until we were outside. When we’d made it to the front lawn, he reached for my shoulder and rushed out, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I did not handle our conversation yesterday well at all, and Stephanie was kind of collateral damage this morning, but she is surprisingly wise and she actually helped me get my head on straight and given a moment by ourselves I would have told you what happened. I didn’t know Andre was going to bring her, I swear.”

The roaring in my ears was so loud I was only hearing every other word he was saying, and the negative voice inside of my head was hooting and hollering as she rolled around laughing.

Despite all of that, I had heard enough and I stopped short, turning to face him. I was so tired, all of a sudden; I didn’t want to play games and I didn’t want to be fed any more bullshit and I just didn’t have it in me to enable any more pretense and didn’t even try to fight it and be patient with him so I just spat out bluntly, “So why was she at your house at 9am, Mark?”

He gaped like a fish for a moment, taken aback. “I said I wasn’t handling it well and I relied on unhealthy coping mechanisms.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, hopefully conveying the deep skepticism I felt about what I was sure was his newly acquired vocabulary word. “Unhealthy coping mechanisms?” I repeated. “You know what a coping mechanism is?”

He shrugged boyishly, shaking his head. “I didn’t until Stephanie and I had a long conversation this morning.”

Oh...oh. “Oh. Is she your therapist? Did I jump to conclusions?”

“Uh, no....” he admitted sheepishly, “She is definitely a hookup, but I mean she might be...as her actual job. I don’t actually know what she does? But like, she helped a lot. And I kind of spilled my guts to her and she told me I was an idiot.”

I knew I didn’t have a right to be mad at him; I was the one who dropped the bomb that CAUSED him to go running right into Stephanie’s vagina, but fuck rights, I was. I was mad. And she was right, he was an idiot.

*~*~*~*~*~*

This day could NOT have gotten worse, and then Stephanie showed up with Burky and I thought I was going to hurl my guts into the nearest sink. However, Daze peed right on a bunch of the flowers lining Gabe’s lawn, and I took a bit of pleasure in that. Landy’s name was at the top of my shitlist; the only person above Gabe on my list, of course, was me, because after last night I seriously felt like the most royal King Dumbass of Douchebaggery on this side of the Mississippi River, if not in the entire continent of North America. Hell, maybe even the Western Hemisphere at large.

Getting back at Landy, though, was a problem for a different day, because after Clementine and Stephanie met each other, I could tell each realized who the other was and I had an entirely new shitstorm on my hands, which is how I found myself chasing Clementine out of Gabe’s house, trying to make her understand what had happened and why and that it was nothing other than that truly, I was a giant moron.

“Clementine, please,” I started, “Just hear me out. She really helped me this morning. She… fuck, what word did she use… she helped me with my emotional labor. I realize I’m stupid and I didn’t handle what you told me well at all.”

She stopped abruptly, and let Daze sniff as she echoed, “Emotional labor?” If anyone could master looking surprised and impressed and skeptical in the same expression, she nailed it.

Now, I’m not usually one to beg. Or to whine. Or pout my lip. But it was time to bring out the big guns. Using a combination of the three and doing my best human heart eyes at her, I asked again, “Please. Please, Clementine.”

Suddenly, she looked bored. And suspicious. Cocking an eyebrow at me, she clarified, “Please, what?”

I took a deep breath. “Please let me take you on a second date. Please give me another chance. Please let me explain. Just, Please. ”

She started walking again, albeit at one tenth of her normal speed-walking pace, letting Daze sniff her way down the street as she questioned me, “Why should I do that Mark? Dating me isn’t going to be easy. I’ve never had a healthy relationship, I don’t even know if I can, and eventually, we will have to talk about what happened… to me. And I gave you just the briefest glimpse last night and you literally tripped and fell into another woman’s vagina.”

I swallowed, “Actually…” Fuck. I rubbed my forehead. I really didn’t want to talk about this with her, but I really felt like I needed to tell the truth about not actually sleeping with Stephanie. I mean, it wasn’t a bad thing. It made me look bad. But it was a good thing? Maybe? Ugh. Feelings. Why was this so difficult? I took a deep breath, steadying myself before I confessed, “Actually, that part of me did not meet any part of her. We didn’t actually do much at all, because I couldn’t… It didn’t… There were some,” I swallowed, “performance issues on my part. And if you could keep that to yourself, it would be appreciated.”

Her footstops stopped and Daze looked back slightly concerned; it took me a minute to read the look on her face, and much to my relief, it wasn’t judgment or derision but rather amusement and incredulity. She cocked her head and studied me as she snickered, “Did you just admit an erectile dysfunction problem to me, Barbs?”

Her eyes glittered dangerously and I felt the need to get in her space because gleefully evil Tine was hot. I placed my finger on her lips and reminded her, “How about we keep our voices down and NO. I don’t have an ED problem.”

She pushed my hand away from her face, “Really?” she chided, the smirk evident in her tone of voice, “cause it sounds like it.” She was driving me crazy in the best way. Grabbing her fingers, I spun her around, so her back was pressed up against my front and I leaned down to whisper in her ear. She squirmed a bit, as if testing my hold, if I would let her go. When she determined she had free will, she stilled and I could see her pulse thrumming in her neck.

“Mmm no. And yes, I’m sure. Because all I have to do is think of you, naked on top of me. How good you’d look riding my cock. How hot it would be to watch your face as you lose control and cum all over my dick. And then I’m all ready to go.” True to form, I felt myself get hard behind the zipper of my jeans. I pulled her tight against me and I heard her small gasp when she felt it between her asscheeks. “So the problem definitely wasn’t me. The problem was she wasn’t you.”

Daze sat on the rapidly cooling pavement and I willed my erection to go down, but the citrus undertones of Tine’s perfume kept invading my nose and it was almost like my dick had heard the insult to his abilities directed at him and was going to remain hard enough to cut glass to prove a point.

I couldn’t see her face but I could feel her smile all the way down to my dick and she squirmed in a completely different and maddening way, “You’re having a problem now, aren’t you, Barbs?”

I swallowed and let my hands rest on her shoulders, instead of what I wanted to do which was wrap my arms around her and hold her tight against me. “Maybe.”

Sucking in a deep breath, my thumbs rested on either side of her spine and of their own volition, they began to move.They slid across her sweater, smoothing the muscle beneath it and I heard her draw a surprised breath and wince before she caught herself. There wasn’t a lot about her case online and I imagined it was because most of it had been scrubbed to protect the son of a bitch who hurt her, but there was obviously a ton of physical abuse the way she reacted when I touched her.

She was stiff beneath my hands and I lightened the pressure, but kept my hands on her shoulders. I swallowed and when I spoke my voice was low, asking her “Is this okay?” Her nod was almost imperceptible.

I don’t know how long we stood there, my fingers moving across the muscles in her shoulders as I chased the tension from them. Eventually, she gave a small contented sigh and her free hand reached up and covered one of mine.

This felt like a big moment for her, and I was content to let her have it. When she finally turned, her arms were wrapped around my middle and she tucked her head under my chin. It was reflex to embrace her back and I pressed a kiss into her hair without thinking. “You ok, Lemon?” I repeated.

She nodded into my chest, her voice small, “Yeah, I’m ok. Walk me back to the party?”

“Yeah, babe.”

With that, she stepped back and took my hand. Daze was totally bored by all of this and barely sniffed a fire hydrant.

An errant strand of hair fell in front of her face as she looked down at our hands. I tucked it behind her ear and when she looked up at me from beneath her eyelashes, she looked 10 years younger and nothing like the haunted woman I saw this morning.

I didn’t know what caused it but I knew I never wanted to be the cause of the weight on her shoulders. “Lemon,” I murmured, “Is everything ok?”

Her smile reached past her eyes and through her lips and across her body and probably through her entire being as her eyes met mine and she nodded, laughing, “Yeah Barbs, just can’t wait to see how you fuck up the second date.”

I didn’t know what I did to cause this change; I was thankful I didn’t seem to have damaged whatever we had irreparably, yet. God, I wanted to kiss her but waiting at least 24 hours after my tongue had been inside another woman’s vagina was probably just good manners. “Oh, I get a second date now?”

We were on the stoop of Landy’s front door when she tugged my hand, suddenly serious, and informed me, “That was the first time a man has touched me in a romantic way that didn’t cause me pain… and I decided I liked it.”

She pushed open the door and went inside, leaving me standing at the threshold feeling like the Hindenburg had just crashed. I took a deep breath, and then five more, trying to get my heartrate down. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears and I don’t think I have ever been so angry. Finally, I envisioned that news being put into a box marked “Deal With Later,” and I decided maybe Stephanie was right. I needed to find someone to talk to because it wasn’t my job to help Clementine; it was my job to just be there for her and dealing with my own feelings about what happened to her was my own problem.

The rest of the party seemed to go by in fast-forward. I did my best to always have one hand on Clementine and I noticed that, when I didn’t, she stood close enough that our arms touched, or she would step into my space enough that our hips touched. I didn’t know if I would ever know the extent of what she had had to endure, but if she wanted to be touched, I would oblige. She was experimenting with something new and I was more than happy to be her guinea pig.

Landy had organized a rotation of games that pitted the couples against each other and Clementine and I made a surprisingly ruthless team; she was every bit as competitive as I was. Every now and then, I risked a glance over at Burky and Stephanie and I was reassured to see she seemed to be having fun and my teammate was taking care of her. She had absolutely owed me nothing after this morning but regardless, she took the time to help me and for that, I wanted good things for her. I had even seen her chatting with Clementine and I had a moment of panic before they caught my eye and seemed to be laughing at my expense. I deserved it.

Tine was on her 3rd bourbon on the rocks and kicking everyone’s asses at Cards Against Humanity, because her selections were so often depraved and beyond fucked up that nobody could even touch her.

Daze was under the table and she stood up, putting her paw on Clementine’s thigh at the same time the woman covered a yawn with her hand. The party was starting to wind down-- 17 couples had dwindled to about 10. My hand slid up her bare back, her sweater hanging on the back of the chair, and my fingers settled on the side of her neck, pressing her towards me. I felt her resist and I relaxed my grip; when her brain caught up with her physical reaction, she leaned her ear toward my mouth. “Do you want me to take you home?” I whispered.

She looked down at Daze, the dog’s paw still on her thigh and she nodded. I stood grabbing her sweater and purse thing in one hand before announcing to the room, at large, “Well everyone, it’s been real and it’s been fun, but it ain’t been real fun. I’m going to take Clementine home before she turns into a pumpkin.”

I settled her sweater over her shoulders for the second time of the evening, and Gabe met us at the door. “Are you driving her home in her car?” he asked.

We both looked at Clementine who gave a sleepy nod.

Landy then looked at me, and even though I was still kind of peeved at him, this was his house and he was the host. “Hey man,” he said, extending his hand toward me, “why don’t you leave your truck keys with me, and I’ll pull it into the driveway when everyone leaves?”

I dropped my truck keys into his palm and clapped him on the shoulder, which was hockey guy speak for “I love you man,” and Daze and I managed to guide Clementine toward the street.

In her sleepy tipsy state, she seemed even more touchy-feely and I draped an arm around her shoulders as hers circled my waist. It was affectionate and couple-y, which was a weird combination for me.

We stopped in front of her car, the paint looking like a rich lavender under the artificial glow of the street light. I held her wallet-purse-thing up and informed her, “Lemon, I need your keys, babe.”

She sighed and reluctantly let go of me to dig around in what I assumed was a magic pouch, because she dug around in it for quite some time, far longer than its size would suggest possible, before she came out with the keys. Unlike a lot of women’s keys, she just had her car key and what I assumed was a house key on a plain ring with a hook. Any other woman I dated seemed to have 10 key chains linked around each other plus half of the keys to the city all jumbled together in one giant mess.

Sticking the key in the door, I unlocked it and held it open for her. Daze jumped in first and headed toward the backseat as Clementine slid into the passenger seat.

Her head leaned against the window as I rounded the hood of the car and slid into the driver’s seat. My knees were jammed up next to the wheel and I leaned down, struggling to find the manual seat adjustment.

I took a moment to orientate myself with the car in the dark, making sure I knew where the gear shift, blinkers and lights were. Finally, I was ready to set off and turned on the car. It rumbled to life and I couldn't help but smile. When I looked over, Clementine was resting her head against the window, her face turned toward me, and she was smiling as well, her eyes drooping with exhaustion.

“Ok Lemon, where am I going?” I asked.

“Oh, right,” she said, before she dug her phone out of her wallet, typed in the address and stuck her phone into the cradle clipped to the air vent. The address was in Cherry Creek, which was one of the older, more prominent neighborhoods in Denver and I felt better knowing I wasn’t going to drop her off in some sketchy neighborhood.

In the dark, my hand found her thigh and I was grateful the old car was an automatic, because I left my hand there as I drove, following the turn by turn instructions.

Her eyes had drifted closed, but she placed her hand over mine and I knew she was still awake. “Did you enjoy the party?” I asked her softly.

A faint smile appeared on her lips as she replied, “Yes, I actually did. I’m just not used to socializing this much. It’s draining.”

The drive only took about 15 minutes, which was much too short for my liking and our route took me to a newer build, right in the heart of Cherry Creek. It was a house that rivaled what many of my teammates owned, and I remembered her mentioning living with her parents. Or someone did? I didn’t remember where that information came from, but it was in my brain nonetheless. I pulled into the driveway and lightly squeezed her thigh, whispering, “Lemon, babe, you’re home.”

She stirred but her eyes didn’t open and I gently shook her leg, “Clementine,” I repeated, a little more loudly, “wake up.”

I looked back at Daze, who had sat up in the back seat as we pulled into the driveway; however, she looked completely unperturbed, so I figured this was just a normal sleep. It didn’t seem like Tine was going to wake up easily and she had conked out so hard, I honestly didn’t know that I really wanted to wake her up. Crap. Now what did I do? Did I leave her in the car and lock her in with her keys? Did I carry her into the house? She had to have a house key on her ring. Did I carry her to the front door and ring the bell, waking up her parents?

I watched her for a moment, weighing my options. I didn’t like any of them. Leaving her in the car was easiest. But, it also felt really shitty. Trying to carry her into the house and finding her bedroom would probably lead to a police call, so I went with option three.

She was lighter than she looked when I picked her up from the passenger seat and I realized she had probably lost weight in the last few weeks, which was concerning. I gave a low whistle for Daze and she jumped out of the car, dragging her leash behind her. I managed to close the door and lock it, cradling Clementine against me with one arm.

Daze trotted ahead and scratched at the door repeatedly while I made my way up the walk. There was a light shining through the window, and I hoped that meant at least one of her parents was awake.

I was almost to the front door when it was flung open by a concerned looking woman, who I assumed was Mrs. Jones. She looked exactly like the mother of the woman in the photograph, but not like the woman in my arms and somehow that made perfect sense in the most fucked up way.

“Oh my goodness!” the woman exclaimed, “Is she ok?”

I swallowed, the awkwardness of the moment dawning on me, “I think so?” I nodded, hoping I sounded more assured than I felt. Belatedly, I added, “Daze seems unconcerned, so I think Tine’s just asleep.”

Clementine’s mother hovered around us while I kept moving toward the door, continuing her onslaught of questions. “Did she take a sedative? She normally takes a sedative to sleep. She should know better than to take one before she’s home!”

“Um, no, ma’am, I know she normally takes pills around 5pm and Daze didn’t signal tonight and I didn’t see her take anything. She just had a couple drinks. She fell asleep as I was driving her home.”

Her mom stopped and regarded me for a second, context dawning on her as well. I suddenly knew what animals at auction must feel like. I was being judged and I hadn’t met muster. “And who are you?” she demanded.

A man appeared in the doorway, still dressed, unlike his wife, who was in a nightgown and satin robe, and his voice sounded across the threshold as he reassured her, “Doris, that is Mark Barberio, defenceman for the Colorado Avalanche.”

She put her hand in front of her face, “Oh, wonderful, just want this family needs: another scandal.”

I felt my eyebrows raise as the man waved me inside, confirming, “Best get her in here before we become neighborhood gossip again.”

I suddenly felt the urge to turn around and put her back in the car and take her home with me and I decided if I was ever in this position again, that’s exactly what I would do. These were supposed to be her PARENTS, and they were acting like she was a burden on their social standing. Like anyone on this street was still awake and cared about what these people did.

He held the front door open as I entered their home, Daze on my heels. “Her suite is at the back of the house on the ground floor,” he directed.

Her suite? Who the fuck were these people? I moved in the direction he pointed, past the living rooms (plural), the dining room, and kitchen. Then, I entered an almost entirely separate wing of the house, which had french doors that opened into the garden. It was grand and beautiful, but knowing Clementine, she would have lived in a closet with a cardboard box just to have parents who loved her unconditionally and didn’t make her feel like a burden.

Her bedroom was an eclectic mix of the traditional decor her mother obviously preferred and the bohemian whimsy that suited Clementine. There were fabric covered lamps on several different surfaces, and a gentle glow lit the room as her mother hit the switch. It was comfy and cozy and somehow perfect for her personality. Her bed was unmade and Daze jumped on it and circled several times before curling into a ball at the foot of it. I set Tine in the bed, arranged her head on the pillow and took off her shoes.

It felt incredibly awkward seeing her vulnerable like this, especially in front of her parents, and I pulled the covers over her body. She had reapplied her lipstick at some point during the night and a thought occurred to me, leading me to ask, “Does she have those make-up wipe things? I don’t want her to stain her pillow or whatever.” It was a weird request, but I knew she wouldn’t want makeup staining her bedding.

Her father remained expressionless but her mom jumped slightly and started toward her ensuite bathroom. She returned with a package and for reasons unknown, handed them to me. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled one out of the pack, gently wiping the makeup from her face. She looked pale when I was done, the rosiness from the bourbon long having left her cheeks.

Her hair spread across the pillow, dark against the white floral bed linens that her mother had obviously chosen. The urge to touch her was overwhelming, and I pushed a lock of hair from her eyes. Her father cleared his throat and I was suddenly embarrassed that I got so lost in an intimate moment with her parents standing right there.

“I uhh, just get going.” I stood up and balled up the used wipe, shoving it into my pocket. I had to turn sideways to slip past her two parents to return into the hall and her father pulled the door closed behind me. Pulling my phone out to get an Uber back to Landy’s, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“You good to get home, son?” he asked.

I nodded, “Yeah, I’m just going to call a car, if you don’t mind my waiting out front?”

Her father nodded, and I noticed his wife hadn’t followed us to the door. “Of course,” he assured me, “And I don’t think I need to mention that this little incident should stay between us?”

I had no idea why these people were trying to see some kind of scandal where there wasn’t one. “No, offense sir, but your daughter just fell asleep on the ride home, and she obviously needs the rest. It was just a team get-together before the season starts, not a wild party.”

He shook his head, “She really needs to be more careful about her medications.”

“She really didn’t take anything in the last few hours,” I disagreed. I didn’t tell him I watched her like a hawk to make sure she ate something with her meds or giant vitamins.

“Son, she takes the sedatives to sleep because she’s such a light sleeper that everything wakes her up. Been that way for at least 10 years.” This seemed to be the final thought on the matter, his tone conveying that it would not be discussed further.

I sighed, “She’s not my wife or girlfriend.”

“Uh...ok,” she said skeptically, “You should probably tell your face, then. Cuz from the look on it, I assumed. You look like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.”

I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to share with Stephanie because come on, what kind of relationship advice could a rando puck bunny dole out to her failed booty call from the night before? This was completely outside of the scope of normal and I felt totally in over my head and with all of that running through my mind, I didn’t know what else to do so I blurted out, “I… like her.”

The whole thing was so hard to fathom that you would think I had just confessed to axe murdering an entire sorority house or something equally atrocious. Though, being a thirty year old man harboring a fangirl-like crush on this beautiful and complicated woman with whom I worked felt comparably as damning.

Stephanie looked at me, unbothered, and quipped, “Well, then you should probably fuck her, not groupies at bars.”

She made it sound so simple. I ran a hand through my hair and tossed my phone on the bed, “It’s not… she’s not…I don’t…”

Stephanie sighed, a newfound understanding illuminating her face as she supplied , “Ah, this is a relationship girl and you’re not a relationship guy.”

In my mind, it was a little more complicated than that, but I guess if you put the problem in a nutshell, that’s all it was. Relationships were not something I’d taken a whole lot of time to think about and all of a sudden, I was emotionally invested in this woman and I had no idea why or what to do about it, and furthermore, I didn’t know how to be a relationship guy, or even if I wanted to be. Casual hookups were my sweet spot, and plus, even if I wanted to be in a relationship, what could I offer her other than money and a spotlight? I didn’t know how to help her emotionally.

Stephanie flipped open a small compact mirror she pulled out of her clutch and studying her reflection, said to herself, “Yikes.” Taking a wipe out of her tiny purse, she wiped the makeup from under her eyes and scrubbed her face then looked at me and said, “Yikes,” again, this time presumably referencing the feelings I’d caught regarding Clementine. She turned to face me after putting the compact away and said “Ok, Barberio. I am feeling generous after that amazing cunnilingus last night, so you’re going to give me coffee and I’m going to walk you through some of this emotional turmoil. But first, put on pants and probably a shirt.”

Ten minutes later, she was sitting at my kitchen island, heels hooked over the rungs of a barstool and nursing a hot cup of coffee. “Ok,” she said plainly, “So what’s your hang up on this girl?”

I frowned and rubbed the back of my head like friction would make the answers come to me. “Uh... well, I mean, I think it starts with her name, Clementine and she hates it.”

She almost spit up her coffee, “Her name is Clementine? Is that why you called me Orange? She set her mug down, a loud clunk emanating from the granite countertop. She shook her head, eyes wide as she told me, “This is worse than I thought. You need to get your head on straight. Try therapy, damn.” I don’t know what look came over me, but she picked up her mug again with a sigh and took a sip. “You made me cum like 3 times last night so I guess I can do some of your emotional labor. Lay it on me Barberio.”

Since I didn’t have anyone else to talk to, I unloaded everything on this poor girl. I spent 20 minutes talking -- about how I’d never met anyone named Clementine, I’d never met anyone LIKE Clementine, about how amazing I thought Clementine was from her hair to her car and even the information from yesterday that set me spinning and caused this whole situation. I set out creamer and sugar and kept refilling Stephanie’s coffee mug.

She paused mid-sip, “Wait… You said her name was Clementine?”

“Yeah,” I nodded.

Stephanie’s brow furrowed in confusion, and honestly, I was shocked that after my verbal diarrhea, that was the detail that seemed to puzzle her. She pulled her phone out of her clutch and tapped on it wildly for a few seconds before turning it around to face me and asking, “Is this her?”

She was showing me an article from the newspaper a few years ago. A gaunt, blonde woman with Clementine’s face was holding the arm of a cop. Her face was smiling, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes; the effect was eerie, and without any warmth present on her face, she looked almost soulless It took me a minute to realize that the woman in the photo was indeed the same woman I knew, the difference between the two of them was so striking. The officer in the photo was accepting some kind of award.

The headline on the article read, “Allegations cause decorated officer to transfer out of Colorado.”

I pulled the phone from her fingers and skimmed the short article that followed; to my dismay, I soon found out that it did not paint Clementine in a very favorable light. It glossed over the things she had hinted at: emotional abuse, physical abuse, rape, and controlling behavior but instead of extending any sympathy towards her, it focused on how she was ruining the career of a decorated police officer and some other yadda yadda blah blah blah thin blue line crap and it trotted out her multiple hospitalizations and stints in mental healthcare facilities.

I felt sick reading it, and only part of that stemmed from realizing the severity of Clementine’s situation; somehow, it felt inappropriate reading about something so personal in the newspaper, like I was intruding into a part of her life where I didn’t belong and that, even though it was none of my business, I wasn’t getting the information directly from her. I knew that the media could be nosy and that some reporters were scum; hell, being in the NHL had taught me that and when you’re a professional athlete, it’s just part of the gig, but when you’re a victim of domestic abuse? That was low. “Whatever happened?” I asked Stephanie as I handed her phone back to her.

Stephanie shrugged, “Not sure,” she said quietly. “They went to court and ended up settling, I think. I think the department paid her off and transferred Officer Williams somewhere else. No one really knows what happened to her-- She never gave an interview with her side of the story. The only info that came out was all conjecture and then his version of events which wasn’t, of course, the same story. It was a big deal on the local news for months a few years ago.”

I was furious and horrified and I wanted to beat that guy into a bloody pulp and build a cage around Clementine to protect her so she never got hurt again. And, I felt even more awful when I realized that this just made my situation with her about ten times worse.

As I mulled over these thoughts, Stephanie took a sip of coffee and studied me from over her mug, watching my face change. “So,” she said, after a moment, “you just went from furious frowning to looking like someone kicked your puppy.”

It was my turn to shrug as I finally found words to put to my feelings. “This just makes her even more unattainable for me. I can’t fix it. I don’t know how to deal with this.”

“Maybe that’s not your job,” she said simply and took another sip of coffee

“What?” I really wished I knew what she was talking about. But honestly, I had no idea. Obviously, if I wanted to give things a shot with Clementine, I’d have to find a way to get past all of this stuff and figure out what to do about it and I had absolutely no idea where to even start.

“Maybe it’s your job to handle YOUR emotional baggage, which includes how you deal with what happened to her, but it’s not your job to make her better. She is doing that herself. It’s your job to just be a decent human being, and do your own work, while you let her do hers.”

She set her empty mug down and I filled it again, before taking a good look at her. With the veneer of the team floozy stripped away, without the makeup, with her hair up in a messy bun, She was actually quite pretty and perceptive and I realized I was an idiot which was a theme lately. Putting the coffee carafe away I felt like a broken record as I asked again, “What?”

I had to give it to her; Stephanie was being incredibly patient with me, considering it was becoming all the more clear that I had the capacity to handle these types of emotions with the same aptitude as your average fourth grader. That must have been some head I gave last night. She smiled at me as she said evenly, “She is responsible for her own baggage. Just treat her like a normal human being. I bet that’s really all she wants anyway, to be normal.”

“But how?” Had I been any less desperate, I wouldn’t have even asked. But I was, so I did. Cuz I had no idea how to treat her normally, not after hearing about all of the stuff she’d been through. I wanted to treat her like the finest china.

“Just be yourself,” Stephanie informed me, as if the answer was obvious.

I tapped my fingers on the counter, still troubled by this. “But what if that isn’t enough?”

She gave me a droll look before she snapped her fingers in front of my face “THER. A. PIST. That’s your confidence problem not hers.”

All of a sudden, her phone vibrated; after taking a look at the notification, she informed me, “My car is here. I guess if I see you around, I’ll know you didn’t get your shit together.”

She climbed off the barstool and walked toward my front door, waving casually as she said “See ya, Barberio.”

With that, I was alone in my apartment again and it felt like a yawning cavern without the peppy blonde. There was no skate, so I did a light workout by myself in the building’s gym then attempted to go over some paperwork from my agent. But, it didn’t matter how long I stared at the papers in front of me, I didn't see any words; I just saw Clementine’s face. Not her real face, but the one from that article, that gaunt, fake, Stepford wife face with haunted eyes. I realized that her eyes didn’t look like that anymore-- there was weight behind them, sure, but they looked jovial and full of life, and despite the flickers of self-doubt I’d seen them occasionally possess, they had a host of emotions behind them. The woman in the picture looked empty, broken, hopeless. Numb. The lights were on, but no one was home. I wanted to rescue her more than anything.

I had a feeling I had ruined any chance I may have had with that phone call this morning. She seemed like the type to dip her toe in the water and if it was too cold, she wouldn’t try again. I didn't know how long I was staring out of my front window, but it was only when my phone chimed, reminding me of the thing at Landy’s, that I got my shit together and went to get ready for this shindig. I made a note to ask my agent about programs that helped women escape abusive situations before ripping the sheets off my bed and disappearing into the closet to throw on party clothes.

While I drove over to the captain’s place for what I expected to be part player meeting/part football and beer, I stared at the small bouquet of flowers in the passenger seat of my truck. I didn’t know much about flowers and shit, but when he had said “centerpiece” I had imagined something a little more grand than the small, but obviously tasteful, bouquet next to me.

But I seriously didn’t know about this stuff, and even more so, when Gabe was involved in party planning, the overall plan was anyone’s guess, so maybe it was part of some larger masterpiece. Or they could have given me the wrong flowers. When I turned down his street, there were cars lining the sidewalk; this was definitely more than an informal team meeting and I wondered who the schmuck was that was about to get tricked. I had to park halfway down the block and I was gathering the flowers and getting ready to get out of my vehicle when I heard the familiar rumble of a classic car park behind me; next thing I knew, it stopped and I heard the door slam; my heart started galloping like a herd of stampeding bison.

It wasn’t particularly hot in Denver--a dry 80 degrees--but I felt a drop of perspiration drip down my collar anyway. Grabbing the flowers, I got out of the truck and I was met with the single hardest metaphorical dick punch I have ever experienced in my life. I felt the air leave my lungs and I couldn’t refill them. Clementine was in a knockout dress, her hair falling in a dark blue waterfall down her back. Daze had a matching yellow collar with a bow. This must be what having a concussion felt like.

She blinked at me and Daze offered a half-hearted wag of the tail. “Clementine,” I greeted her with a nod. My voice sounded strained, even to my own ears, probably because I still couldn’t breathe.

Hers was decidedly more self-assured, and she responded, inclining her head in my direction as she stated, “Mark.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, at in that moment I was filled with self-loathing.

I tried to swallow the boulder lodged in my throat, but couldn’t so I choked out around it, “You look amazing.”

“Thank you…” she said evenly, “You look,” she gestured toward my outfit of a plain tee and jeans, which I had put exactly zero effort into, “stupid hot. Emphasis on stupid.”

An insult! That was good, right? If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t bother to call me stupid to my face. I felt a slightly hopeful smile creep across my face as I nodded and complimented her, “Everyone is an idiot compared to you, Lemon.”

It didn’t fail to cross my mind that she didn’t look a single thing like that photo I had seen in the article. Her face wasn’t gaunt and her hair wasn’t stringy and lifeless; she had curves I wanted to sink my fingers into, her face was so so expressive and full, her lips always tinted red from her favorite shade of lipstick long after it had worn away, and then there was the crinkle she got between her eyes when I called her Lemon; I’m pretty sure there was a word for what I was feeling, but it wasn’t coming to my mind.

Finally, she seemed to focus on the flowers in my hands and all of a sudden, that mask I had seen in the photo slid across her features and into place, as she concluded, “Flowers, huh? Must have a hot date.”

The self-loathing settled in for the long haul. Shit. Fuck. I was mad and confused and embarrassed and also, fairly unsure I had ever felt so many feelings at the same time “No. No.” I backpedaled, “No… seriously no. These are for Landy.”

Her eyebrows arched with veiled amusement as she chuckled, “Oh, I mean, he is pretty hot. But I think he’s taken, Mark. Sorry to be the one to tell you. Or is that a hockey thing? Flowers for the captain?”

Jesus titty fucking Christ, I cursed interally, if I could pull my foot out of my mouth for like 2 whole seconds that would be great. “No.” I clarified, “He asked me to pick them up. This is for a centerpiece or something.”

Her face transformed again and I felt the knot in my stomach unfurl just a bit. “Mark,” she laughed, “That’s like the worst lie I have ever heard.”

“It’s not! I swear!” This was getting worse by the second and five minutes ago, I didn’t even think that it was possible for things between us to get worse. That is, if there had been an us. Or if there was still one. I wasn’t sure. But I knew one thing, and that it was that I was going to fucking kill Landy.

She shook her head and with the kind of assessment that only someone knowledgeable about flowers (aka not me) would be able to make she confirmed, “Those are not centerpiece flowers.”

I knew it!!! Fucking Landy. I couldn’t help the little hop I did in frustration, “I thought that!” I blurted out, trying not to sound defensive, or self righteous, “Honestly, Landy just asked me to pick them up, I swear.”

She gave me a look, obviously still skeptical and unconvinced, I didn’t blame her.

“You know how Gabe is!” I sputtered, hoping she did indeed know what I meant. “He asks you to do something and you do it and you don’t know what you’re doing and then it’s not even what you thought it would be but he works his Swedish magic and next thing you know, you’re, like, here.” I finished, rather lamely. She offered me a sympathetic smile, which I took as a good sign. Recomposing myself, I took a deep breath and offered her my arm, venturing, “If you’re not too disappointed in me as a human being, may I escort you to the door?”

The Clementine I knew slipped out from behind the mask and she rolled her eyes, relenting, “I can’t exactly keep my moral high ground when you’re so polite.”

I rolled my eyes skyward in return, and thanked the Lord that my mom pounded some basic human decency into me from a young age.

She took my elbow, setting her hand on my forearm. It felt ridiculously natural and I loved how, unconsciously, she circled her finger in my hair. Daze sat as we reached the stoop and I pressed the doorbell.