Livvy (30 page)

“Tired yet?” he asks me.

I smile, feeling more relaxed than I’ve felt in weeks. Being done with school for a while, back home in Manhattan, curled up with the man I love... I’m not sure life gets better than this. “Nope.”

“Sure,” he says, not believing me. “We should set your alarm just in case.” I sit up and reach for his phone on the nightstand and set an alarm for an hour later.

“You can sleep now,” I tell him. He’d lied when he said he waits until I doze off to fall asleep. He may not realize it, but he did. He’s always the first one out.

The subdued sound of the clock wakes me, but it takes some effort to wake Jon. After the poking and tapping doesn’t work, I kneel over him and press my lips to his. I realize quickly he’d just been waiting for my kiss. He’s very much awake and alert now.

“Dork,” I say to him as I press against his chest.

“You’re still naked,” he comments. “You always sneak away for clothes.”

“Not always, I guess,” I tell him. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

“Okay,” he says as he stretches across the bed. His sculptured body is beautiful, the way the soft light casts small shadows that highlight each muscle.

“Wanna come?”

He cocks his head at my invitation. “Yes, I do,” he answers before pushing off the bed and following me into the bathroom. I learn very quickly that sex in the shower is much more difficult than they make it out to be in movies. Jon doesn’t seem to have any problems, but the actual act does nothing for me except cause a cramp in the arch of my foot as I stretch on my tiptoes to accommodate him. Fortunately, he spends a lot of time rubbing soap all over my body, and after paying particular attention to the area
he
wants–which I also love–I ask him to rub my foot, too.

While he’s doing that, I get a few strategically placed kisses, too. All in all, it was fun, but we’re short on time by the time we get out.

“Thirty minutes,” he tells me, sounding concerned.

“They’ll be okay if we’re a little late.”

“I don’t want to be rude. They invited me over. They’re including me in everything this week, and I–”

“Hush,” I tell him, placing my finger over his mouth. “I would much rather go over there late looking put together than be on time and look like we just spent the last two hours doing it.”

He laughs a little. “Agreed,” he says, finding the razor he’d packed in his small, leather bag. I take the hair dryer with me as I walk out of the bathroom to get my clothes. The shirt I’d brought with me to wear tonight is wrinkled, still folded in my unpacked suitcase. I consider finding something else to wear in my closet, but decide to try the shirt anyway. I think I remember seeing an iron in one of the guest bedroom closets.

“Olivia?” Jon yells, sounding a little unnerved.

I sort through my dresser drawer, finding some cute underwear and putting them on.

“Olivia?” he calls out again, this time peeking out of the bathroom.

“I’m coming,” I tell him, skipping toward the door. He doesn’t look as happy as I feel right now. “What?”

He points to his jawline, my new favorite place to kiss him. It drives him crazy, and–

“Crap.” His fair skin shows evidence of two marks where I’d kissed him a little too hard. “What?” I ask him again, feigning ignorance.

“Don’t
what
me, Livvy! You bruised me!”

“Oh, that’s
good
. We can say you fell... or that I hit you or something.”

“Yes, because those are so much better than the reality,” he mumbles sarcastically, looking at his face in the mirror.

“The lights are really harsh in here. I’m sure they’re not noticeable in normal lighting.” I pull him out into the hallway and take a few steps back. “Nope, still noticeable.” I start to laugh a little.

“This isn’t funny.”

“Can you maybe grow that 5 o’clock shadow faster?”

“I just shaved it off,” he says through gritted teeth. “Because you wanted me to look put together...”

“For the record, you never have to shave for me, or anyone else. You look very handsome with a little scruff.” I scratch the spot where the bruises are, feeling his smooth skin. “Although kissing this will feel better.” He stands still and lets me press a soft kiss on his jaw. “It will be fine. I have some... some makeup...”

“No.”

“Just thought I’d offer. We could pop your collar or something,” I suggest jokingly, not taking the situation seriously and trying to sway him in the same direction. “Scarf?”

“No.” He rolls his eyes, but I can still see a hint of a smile there. He continues shaving the rest of his chin while I go back to getting ready. On my way to the iron, I check in my closet to see if there’s anything warm enough to wear. I see a flannel shirt I don’t recognize, along with quite a few other shirts. Jon’s brought over some clothes, which utterly pleases me. I’m happy he’s making himself at home.

I find a purple, lacy, summer camisole and pull it over my head. I claim the soft, plaid shirt as my own, and pull it on without asking him if it’s okay. I have to roll up the sleeves a little, and it’s certainly baggy on me, but it looks cute with the tight-fitting undershirt. Sticking with my warm-weather theme, I find a short, black skirt and pull it on. Accepting that it’s really too cold for this, I remember that I have some new, black tights in my drawer. After pulling those on, I return to the living room to retrieve my knee-high boots.

“Well, great, now what am I supposed to wear?”

“Uh,” I say as I twirl around to face him, “for the record, I think you have more clothes here than I do. But if you’re struggling for something, I did bring a nice, cozy Yale sweatshirt–”

“I’d rather go like this,” he says, glancing down at his boxers.

“You’re a stubborn man,” I tell him, stomping past him back into the closet. My favorite pair of his jeans hangs closest to the door, and I grab them quickly, holding them out to him. There’s a nice, white v-neck t-shirt that I assume he was planning to wear as an undershirt. “Take this, too.”

“I don’t like it when you dress me,” he says soberly.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” I look up at him apologetically.

“I like it when you
un
dress me.” He drops the jeans and shirt to the floor and picks me up, carrying me back to the bed.

“We have to go soon, Jon!” He climbs on top of me just long enough to suck on my earlobe, which turns me on instantly. I reach for him as he leaves me, heading back to the closet and picking up the clothes I’d given him on the way.

“Now, Olivia,” he says, “when I do that later...” He touches his own earlobe deliberately. “...that means I’m ready to go.” I stare at him as he pulls on the jeans, noting how perfectly they look from behind.

“That’s the sign?” I ask him. He slips into the t-shirt next, looking over his shoulder at me to catch me ogling him.

“Yes.” He grabs the jacket I was going to hand him anyway and pulls it on. I stand up and straighten out my skirt.

“But I thought you were always ready to go,” I tease him.

“I am,” he says with his sexiest voice and a glint in his eye. He turns serious quickly. “Unlike some people, who still have wet hair.”

“And no makeup,” I add, slipping past him to go back into the bathroom. I start putting a little powder on when Jon returns the hair dryer to me. He kisses my neck before leaving me to finish getting dressed.

Dad and Trey are in the front yard playing catch when we pull up. My brother immediately throws the ball to Jon when he steps out of the car. Jon’s reaction is quick, grabbing it inches before it hits the passenger window.

“Trey,” my dad says. “We don’t throw the ball at cars, do we?”

“I was throwing it at Jon!” he argues.

“And what if he’d missed it?” Dad asks.

“He never does,” my brother states simply, grinning widely. Jon walks toward him and steals his cap, running away from him as he squeals and chases him.

“A little early to be practicing ball, isn’t it?” Jon asks.

“In this household, baseball is year round,” Dad answers. “We’ve got to work on that pitching arm. He’s got to take after his father,” he says jokingly.

“When are we going to go test your rocket, buddy?”

“Do you want to see it?” Trey asks my boyfriend excitedly. “I finished it.”

“Where is it?” he says, putting the cap back on my brother’s head. He follows him into the house as I give my dad a big hug.

“Glad to be home?” he asks.

“Glad to be done with school for awhile,” I answer. “And I guess it’s nice to see you.” I nudge him to show him I’m messing with him.

“When’d you get in?”

“Around four, I guess. Jon and I watched a movie when I got home. I just needed to zone out for a bit.” I’m not sure why I felt the need to offer him any explanation about the last few hours, especially when I had to lie about it, but I did.

“How was your test today?”

“Simple. Art history’s my easiest class.”

“You’ve got to be cold,” he says, eying my outfit.

“I am,” I admit, walking quickly into the house. I go directly toward the kitchen to see my mom. Jon is inspecting the soda bottle rocket in my brother’s room, asking Trey about all the little details he’s added.

“Hey, Mom!”

“Sweetie, come taste this,” she says.

“Why are you cooking?” I ask her warily.

“Because Kaydra asked me to help with sides this year, and I don’t want to let her down.”

“Then let Dad do it,” I encourage her.

“I can do this, Liv,” she says stubbornly as she holds a spoonful of potatoes to my lips. “Blow on it. It’s hot.”

I do as she asks and take a bite. “What is that supposed to be?” I ask, trying to scrape the weird taste off my tongue with my teeth.

“Squash casserole?”

“I thought they were potatoes with cheese, Mom. You hate squash,” I remind her. “
I
hate squash. Why would you choose to make something you hate?”

“Is it bad?” she asks.

“It’s not potatoes with cheese,” I tell her.

“What are we doing in here?” Jon asks as he follows Trey in. My mom puts the spoon down and gives him a hug.

“Livvy’s just reminding me that I can’t cook.”

“I didn’t say that. I said you picked the wrong thing to cook.”

“Liv, I didn’t think it was that bad,” Dad says.

“Jacks, you said it was good!”

“And it is,” he says, trying to reassure her. “For squash...”

“I love squash,” Jon says. “Casserole?” He eyes the pan on the stove. Mom gets a clean spoon and hands it to him. “I’m starving,” he gushes before taking a bite. We all wait for his opinion in silence. He smiles and takes another bite before telling Mom it’s good. “Better than my aunt’s,” he adds.

“Suck up,” I mumble to him. “Mom, why are you making this tonight anyway?”

“Because I don’t want to take anything bad to Thanksgiving. We always talk about Jen’s dishes behind her back. I don’t want to be that person this year.”

“You’ll never usurp your sister, Mom. Don’t worry. Stay away from the garlic, and you’re golden. She puts garlic in everything,” I explain as an aside to Jon.

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Trust me,” I assure him. “There aren’t enough mints in the world...” He laughs at me, sneaking one last bite of my mother’s side dish.

“You can take some home with you,” Mom says. “Do you have a fridge in your dorm?”

“No, but...” He looks around uncomfortably for a second. “My friend across the hall does.” I know he has no intention of going back to Columbia until next week. I guess it still feels weird to him, too, admitting that we’re essentially living together this next week. Surely my parents realize this. Surely we’re not fooling them at all.

“Put a little aside for me,” Dad says before kissing her on the cheek. “Dinner should be here any second.”

“You ordered in?” I ask him.

“Mom was sick of cooking.”

“Right,” I laugh.

“Italian. We just got some different pastas. That okay?” he asks us both.

“Perfect,” I say.

“Lasagna?” Jon asks.

“Of course,” Mom says. “I remember how much you liked it before.”

“Thank you,” he says to my mother, looking genuinely excited. “I’m starving,” he says again.

“You can have more of this,” she offers.

“I think I’ll just have some water for now. I’m thirsty, too,” he adds as he goes to the refrigerator and finds a bottle. “Want some, Olivia?”

“Sure.”

“Emi,” Jon starts, “is there something I can bring to Thanksgiving?”

“Just yourself, honey. You’re a guest.”

“Livvy and I could try to make something... if it will help.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s fine, Mom. We could make a fruit salad or something. That would be easy.”