53 Letters For My Lover (27 page)

“I just couldn’t not say it anymore.” He leans his forehead against mine and closes his eyes.

I cling to him, not caring that the whole street can see me crying.

“Troy?” A man interrupts. “Troy Heathgate?”

“David?” Troy turns around and breaks into a genuine smile. “It’s been years. Good to see you, buddy!”

They give each other the man-hug, affectionate slaps on the back.

“Is this guy giving you a hard time?” his sandy haired friend asks when he sees me wiping my eyes.

“David, this is BeetButt,” says Troy.

“Beet what?”

I jab him with my elbow.

“Beetroot. This is Beetroot.”

“That’s uh...that’s an unusual name.”

“It’s her stage name,” replies Troy.

“Oh? Are you in show biz?” asks David.

“Best pole-dancer this side of the border,” replies Troy.

My cheeks turn red, but David knows better.

“Good luck with this one, hon,” he says. “Listen.” He turns to Troy. “I have to run, but I hope you’re going to stop by before you leave.”

“Will do. Maybe tomorrow night.”

“Great. I’ll see you then.”

We get in the car after he leaves.

“Pole dancer?” I swing my bag at Troy.

“Well, it’s not entirely a lie, you know. The way you danced around my—”

“Troy!”

His phone rings and he switches instantly to the dignified, composed businessman.

“Tell them a video conference is the best I can do this weekend.” He listens and scribbles a note. “Tomorrow then.”

“Everything okay?” I ask when he hangs up.

“Just putting out some fires.” His eyes soften as they settle on me. “You ready to go?”

I nod. “So where’s this cottage?”

“Niagara-on-the-Lake. It’s about an hour away.”

I sit back, watching the landscape roll by. Evening settles around us, covering rows of carefully tended vineyards with a blanket of stars. The reflections of street lights and cars in my window meld into ghostly forms, glimpses of the past, whispers of the future, until I see Troy and me in the middle of a busy street.

I fucking love you
.

I put my hand up to the glass, but the image disappears.

“You all right?” he asks. “You’ve been very quiet.”

“I’m fine.” I turn away from the window. “How do you know David?”

“David and I go way back. I moved to New York after college and David was my room-mate until I got my own place. We used to drive down here all the time. His dad owned a pub in Niagara Falls. David’s taken over. Maybe we can stop by tomorrow night?”

“Sure,” I reply.

I want to run my fingers over the stubble roughened planes of his face and tell him what I know I shouldn’t. So I take his hand in my lap and close my eyes.

“Shayda.” He rouses me when we get to the cottage. “We’re here.”

It’s too dark to see anything, but when we get inside the cabin, the view is spectacular. The moon is shining through the windows in the living room. Its reflection falls on the lake like thousands of silver fish. Troy opens the french doors to the deck and we step outside.

“It’s beautiful,” I say.

Tall trees surround the little cottage, locking us in a private oasis. The shoreline dips gently into the water. A barbecue. Adirondack chairs. A hammock swaying lazily between tree trunks.

Two people. One weekend. So much love to squeeze into this space.

We step back into the warmth of the cabin, the weathered paint, the worn wood, the homey kitchen, the hutches filled with knick-knacks collected over the years. Suddenly it’s awkward, standing together in this lived in, domestic space, like something that could have been our own.

“I think I’ll go take a shower,” I say.

“And I’ll go get us some take-out,” Troy replies. “Any requests? Need anything before I leave?”

“Just this.” I frame his face in my hands and kiss him.

When I step back, his eyes remain closed.

“Damn. I forget everything when you do that,” he says. “Uh...”

“Dinner.” I laugh.

“Right.” He picks up his keys.

“Troy!” I shout after him.

“Yes?”

It’s just the two of us, but I run up to him and whisper it in his ear. “I need a change of underwear.”

He laughs. “I hope you’re okay with utility underwear because I doubt the sexy stores are open.”

“Granny knickers are fine.”

“Know what’s even better?” He cups my bottom. “No underwear, just this plain, juicy ass.”

“Go.” I laugh, pushing him out the door. “Oh, and I need a toothbrush. And a hairbrush. Is there toilet paper in the bathroom? Troy? Troy!”

But he jumps in the car before my shopping list starts unraveling. I shut the door, grinning.

I fish my phone out of my handbag and take a deep breath before calling Hafez.

“Hello.” He picks up.

Please don’t ask where I am.

Please don’t ask what I’m doing.

He doesn’t.

“I just talked to the kids,” he says. “Natasha’s working on her assignment and Zain—”

“Zain’s probably been watching TV all day.”

“Actually, he was playing Bingo with Maamaan and her friends. And winning too.”

We talk for a few minutes. My family is fine. The world has not fallen apart. All I have to do is make it back in one piece.

By the time Troy gets back, my wig is off, I’m fresh-faced out of the shower and wrapped in a towel.

“I don’t have pajamas,” I say, as he appraises me.

“You’re saying this isn’t a planned seduction? You didn’t intend to greet me like this?”

“Nope.”

“Too late,” he says, dropping the bags and kicking the front door shut.

We wrestle on the big shag rug. Well, I wrestle. He pins my hands over my head and laughs as I kick and twist and try to wriggle away. We’ve come a long way.

“Enough.” He kisses me, effectively immobilizing me. “You need to eat if you plan on keeping up with me.”

He takes out two candles and a bottle of wine from a plastic bag before handing it to me.

“What’s this?” I ask.

He looks around and whispers, “Underwear,” in my ear.

I laugh. “And what should I do for pajamas?”

He unzips his weekender and gives me a clean t-shirt. “This looks better on you than it does on me.”

Dinner is the two
of us, sprawled out on the rug, digging into cardboard boxes of kung-pao chicken, and peking duck, and beef with broccoli, and chow mein.

“Like this.” He picks up the rice with his chopsticks and shows me how it’s done.

“Like this?” I catch his nose between my chopsticks and twist.

“You’re not going to have any wine?” he asks after we stop goofing around. “This place has amazing ice wine.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Ah. Yes. Good thing I didn’t go with that for a plan of seduction.” He pours himself a glass.

“Oh? So exactly what plan did you go with?”

“Hey, I bought you a Hanes three-pack. Everyone knows that scores some major kanoodling.”

“Noodles before kanoodles,” I say, finishing the last of the chow mein. I stretch and stifle a yawn.

“Why don’t you go get ready for bed? I’ll clean up here.” He snuffs out the candles and starts picking up the leftovers.

“You sure?”

“Well...I’m hoping it’ll up the kanoodling factor.”

“You’re terrible,” I say.
I love you.

I give him a great, big hug and go to brush my teeth. I’m exhausted, but I’ve never felt more alive. My cheeks are flushed and everything inside feels like it’s zinging and singing and buzzing.

I get into bed, snuggling into the smell of freshly laundered sheets. That’s when it hits me. I’m going to be spending the whole night with Troy. No furtive glances at the clock. No rushing off to pick up the kids or head back to work. My heart pounds at the thought of us in bed for hours and hours.

I listen to the water running as he hops in the shower, the flushing of the toilet, him spitting into the sink as he brushes his teeth. Ordinary, everyday sounds that are so extraordinarily intimate.

“Hey.” He slips into bed with me.

I smile, trying to stay awake. I don’t want to miss a minute of this.

“Close your eyes.” He kisses them shut. “Let go.” His fingers stroke my brow, back and forth. “Let it all go.” He smooths the hair away from my face.

I feel myself slipping away. “No kanoodling?” I murmur.

“What do you think this is? We’re talking level seven kanoodling.” His voice starts to fade.

Lying in his arms is the best place in the whole world.

August 6th, 2000 (1)

Dawn glows around the
edges of weathered white shutters. It takes me a few minutes to realize where I am. Troy’s arm rests around my waist, our legs criss-crossed under the sheets.

Soft light falls on his face, growing brighter by slow degrees. With his eyes closed and the angular planes of his face relaxed, he looks angelic. Angelic with morning stubble. Or maybe that’s just me, looking at him through the lens of my heart, against the halo of the rising sun. My gaze follows the line of his mouth, his absurdly thick lashes, the lock of hair that’s fallen over dark, arched brows. I close my eyes, storing away this moment, this portrait of him, in the ‘special’ archives of my heart.

I stroke the warm wooden beads around his neck, letting my fingers trail to the barbed wire inked around his bicep. He stirs and fixes sleep-drenched eyes on me.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” I smile, loving the sound of his waking voice, low and gravelly.

We look at each other, a little wonder, a little disbelief, on matching pillow cases, learning each other’s morning breath and weirdly, yearning it. My lips brush his and I draw his bottom lip into my mouth, sucking on it.

He growls. “You know what you are?” His finger traces the curve of my lips before he slides it into the warm, wet cocoon of my mouth. “Pure sensuality. Begging to be explored.”

I swirl my tongue around the tip of his finger and get rewarded with a low moan. My lips find his ears, his jaw, his chin. His throat clenches as he feels the swell of my breasts on his chest. I push his hands away as they slip under my t-shirt. It takes a second before he catches the gleam in my eyes. Then he lies back, reining in his passion, willing to yield to my exploration.

My fingers follow the bunching muscles of his shoulders and I graze his throat with my teeth. My tongue encircles his nipple, teasing the sensitive area around it, blowing hot breath over wet kisses until he bucks against me. I move slowly, letting my lips skim the hard slab of his belly, dipping my tongue into the groove of his stomach.

His fingers twist into my hair, urging me lower, but I push them away. My hand slips under the waistband of his boxers. He inhales sharply as I brush past his crotch and start rubbing against his inner thigh. His muscles tense as I slide the boxers off him and release his throbbing erection.

I ignore his hot, engorged flesh and press my mouth to the other thigh, moving it back and forth, little nips here, soothing tongue there, delighting in the texture of his skin and the feel of tight, toned muscle. I cup his balls in one hand and let my nails scrape gently against them.

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, like a big male cat. I look at him and feel a surge of heady power. His eyes are closed, head tilted back, fingers splayed out on either side of the bed. I purr and purse my lips, letting him slip inside my mouth, swishing my tongue over his head. His hips lift off the bed as I take him in deeper, deeper still, until I can’t fit any more. My hands wrap around the rest of him.

He shudders as I let him pop out of my mouth and take him back in, my hands moving up and down, sliding and twisting around him. My head bobs up and down as I relish the wet, slurpy sounds my mouth makes against his hot, hard flesh.

“Fuck!” He grabs my hair, holding it off to the side so he can watch me through slitted eyes.

Our eyes lock and he grows even bigger, his head expanding with the cresting swell of passion. I move my hand to his balls, scratching lightly, applying gentle, circular pressure, until I feel him tighten. My mouth moves faster as his muscles tense up.

“Shaydahhh,” he groans, his thighs trembling under steel-edged control.

I pull my mouth away, stroking him in a tightly clenched fist.

He snaps and yanks me up until I’m stretched out on him, mouth to mouth. His hands plunge into my hair, holding me at the angle he wants so his lips can ravish me. His tongue sweeps my mouth as his hips buck against me, in thick, hot spurts.

“Ohhh.” He squeezes my bottom, convulsing in sweet release.

I feel the slamming of his heart against mine, the tremors running through his body, and I taste the sweet, sweet satisfaction of pleasuring him.

“It’s better than a thousand chocolate snickerdoodles,” I say.

“What?” he asks, still lost and breathless.

“Your face. When you come.”

He thinks about it for a second. “You know what you’re like?”

“What?”

“A giant bundt cake.”

“A
bundt
cake?”

“Yeah. Your face goes all bundt-cakey, like the big ‘O’ in the middle. It’s so fucking sexy.”