Beyond Eighteen(66)

“Babe, I wish I could take you but I have that conference call with Gary at 9:45. Besides, Joanie is waiting for you to pick her up. You’ve got to go,” I said as I dragged my hands across her thighs before capturing her hands and pulling her to sit up.

“Okay, fine; but just tell me I have time to take a shower!” she groaned.

“Yeah, I can stall the driver, but you’d better hurry.” I pulled her up until she was standing. I noticed her blonde hair, knotted and twisted with the evidence of our incredible moments last night and this morning. I pushed my hands through the back of her hair before clutching both sides of her face. “I love you…now get your ass in the shower,” I demanded. She smiled then pushed her mouth to mine, giving me a fast peck before heading to my bathroom. Damn, she tastes like strawberries laced with sweet whipped cream. Her flavor lingered as I slid my tongue along the ridge where my lips met. God, I wanted to taste more.

I would have preferred to sneak into the shower with Wilson, but I had to take a moment to pull it together, put on a pair of Levi’s and a random t-shirt. It was totally fucked up that we had to rush to get her ready to leave, but that was the way it was going to go. It was time for me to start handling my business. And the first order of business was to get my girl and her best friend in a limo waiting downstairs. I heard the water shut off, then listened as Wilson hummed a couple of bars to a song before her hums turned into words. “And I feeeel your finngerrrs, pound like thunnderrr…and I am so muuuuuch mooooore... I’m so much mooore. You’re turn, turn, turn, turning me on…like a slow fire burn…I know that it’s wrong, still I run, run, run, run right into you.”

My mind vacillated between the pure fucking turn-on of the tone she sang the verse in and the reality of the lyrics she chose to sing. I decided to make a mental note…ask Wilson who sang that song and make sure I download it immediately onto my iPhone.





****

Not long after Wilson was showered, dressed, and had me download the song (which was a duet between Matt Nathanson, of course, and Jennifer Nettles called Run; and it was, according to Wilson, the sexiest lovemaking song ever), I grabbed her suitcase and we traipsed downstairs hand in hand.

I was about a quarter of the way down when I saw Allen, our driver, in the foyer talking with my mom like old friends, sharing their favorite memories of my father. My mom broke out into a giant smile as she saw Wilson and me. Her damp eyes looked like they were recalling every time in my life where she’d greeted me at the bottom of the stairs.

“Allen and I were just sharing some old stories about your father,” Mom said against a bubble in her throat.

“Good morning, Miss Wilson, Mr. Goldstein,” Allen attached to Mom’s words. I wanted to remind him not to call me that name; it was reserved for my father. But, seeing that he found solace in the only name to connect me to my father’s legacy, I didn’t correct him.

“Good morning, Allen. Good morning, Mom, I bet you and Allen both have enough stories to keep even the busiest of people captivated,” I answered as I set Wilson’s suitcase down and pulled her against my side, embracing her in a one-armed hug while I shook Allen’s hand.

“Oh, well, your momma has more stories than anyone I know,” Allen answered.

“Well, let me say…the Aspen morning has paid you the best attention,” my mom sang, changing the subject as she pulled Wilson into her embrace. “You are just bright eyed and glowing like an angel,” Mom continued as she played with Wilson’s hair. I noticed Wilson put on her disappointment-masking smile. I knew it had nothing to do with the attention my mother was giving her and everything with what she would be missing when she headed back to California.

“Oh, Nancy, you’re too nice. Morning, Allen, good to see you again,” Wilson replied.

He nodded before collecting Wilson’s suitcase. “I know Miss Wilson is short on time, so let me load this while you all say your good-byes.” He shuffled out the front door as he caught Joanie, about to knock.

“Oh, pardon me, Miss,” Allen apologized as he shifted past J and carried Wilson’s suitcase down the stairs.

“J! What are you doing here? I thought we were going to pick you up,” Wilson called out as she rushed over and hugged her best friend.

“Oh, so this is Joanie?” my mom asked as she looked over at me then back to the two embracing.

“Yeah, this is Wilson’s best friend-slash-sister,” I answered her as I walked toward them.

“Hey, so how did you get here?” Wilson questioned Joanie casually.