"We'll get one. And groceries." I want to get some nicotine patches; for the first time in ages I have reason to care how my breath smells.
"You mean get out of bed?"
"Yeah."
"And put clothes on?"
I nod. "To go grocery shopping? Probably a good idea." The tip of his cock nudges between my open legs. I add more condoms to my mental inventory. He lowers his head and traces the edge of my nipple with his tongue, wetting it before blowing softly on it. I watch my nipples crease under his touch. Justin never paid much attention to my breasts and it caught me unawares last night when Jaime sucked at them and set off a bunch of nerves I never knew I had. Just the touch of his breath makes me shiver, thinking of how his mouth felt.
"Can't we just go as we are?" he murmurs, his hand on my hip.
"It'd be kind of cold."
"Counting on it. We'd have to huddle together for warmth."
I arch up into his hand, the movement spreading my legs wider so that he's almost inside. He's only the second man I've ever had and I'm so pathetically grateful to discover that another man can make me feel the way I thought only Justin could. "You want to go again?"
He sighs. "I do, but don't you think you should call your dad?"
I blink up at him. "Way to kill the mood," I say, half annoyed, half relieved. I feel bad enough that I spent most of last night comparing him to Justin, especially when they're nothing alike. Jaime is a far, far better man. No question.
He flops down next to me. "Come on. Please. Just let him know you're okay. You can't be mad at him about Vegas forever."
"Who said I was mad about Vegas?"
"It's obvious. You said yourself that those annulment papers broke your heart. I figure your Dad was the one who shoved them under his nose, right?"
I scowl at him for a moment. If I weren't so chilled out from a night of really good sex then I expect I'd be pissed at this kind of deduction. As it is I just grab the covers in mock outrage and pull them up to my chest. "I don't like you."
"You don't have to like me," he says, looking way too pleased with himself. "Just let me give you orgasms and we're good. Now text him already."
He's not going to let this go, and worse, he's right. I compose a quick text - I'm safe. With Jaime. Don't worry. xoxo Amber. "There," I say, shoving the screen in his face.
"No 'I love you'?"
"No. He's British, you dingbat. If I told him I loved him he'd think something was really wrong."
Jaime sighs. "Okay, fine. Thank you."
"What for?"
"For doing what I asked. I like your old man, for what it's worth. I don't like the thought of him worrying."
I hit send and kiss him quickly, before he can spot the tears I'm trying to blink back. I know sooner or later he's going to raise the subject of going back to L.A., but at least now I have some means of distracting him. I don't ever want to go back. I just want to stay here with him and never put our clothes back on and do filthy things to one another whenever and however the mood takes us.
For our shopping expedition I get dressed up in the standard off-duty movie-star get up - yoga pants, sweatshirt, baseball cap and giant sunglasses. "You couldn't look more L.A. if you tried," he says.
I dig him in the ribs as we enter the supermarket. "Shh. Be gentle with me - it's my first time."
"In Big Sur?"
"No. Grocery shopping with a man."
He looks at me like I just told him I was abducted by aliens. “What, never?”
“Nope.”
“But you got married. You never bought groceries together?”
I reach out and grab a bag of lemons, remembering the pleasure I’d used to feel before Justin, back when I’d drift around the exclusive little groceries up on Laurel, where every new ingredient presented new possibilities and menus.
“We didn’t have that kind of relationship,” I explain. “Justin always said we were soul mates. We weren’t meant to be bogged down in the mundane details that kill people’s passion.”
Jaime gives me a look – part amusement, part pity – and confirms my deepest, darkest most secret thought; that Justin was really just a silly, pretentious kid with an attitude problem. Maybe he deserves more than that, but I’m evil and I can’t stop. “One time he said pie was bourgeois,” I say, eager to make Jaime laugh. “It was ridiculous really – I probably could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times we saw each other eat.”
“In how long?”
“Eighteen months, give or take. Is that weird?”
He shakes his head. “Bizarre.”
“I thought so. And I used to like grocery shopping.”