When he pulled up next to my car, he put his hand on my knee before I opened the door.
"Give me your keys."
I tilted my head, wondering if he planned to throw them out of the window. "Why?"
He sighed. "So I can start your car and warm it up."
I handed him my keys, feeling stupid about my obvious misguided assumption.
"Stay here," he commanded, stepping out into the rain and into my car. I watched while he turned on my ignition and adjusted the defrost.
When he came back to his car, he leant back into his seat, staring at me with a soft smile on his face. "That was some pretty intense, crazy sex, wasn't it?"
I laughed, grateful that his mood had improved. "Yes, it was."
"So, I'll see you tomorrow?"
I shifted uncomfortably. He wanted to do that again … so soon? As if reading my thoughts, he added, "I promise I'll be very gentle. I just want to give you a chance to … finish."
I chuckled. "Okay, I can handle that. I'm just surprised you want it again so soon."
His eyes darkened. "Let's get something straight, Marley. I will want you tomorrow and every day after that until I leave. As long as you're up for it, I want you. The German chocolate cake was so addictive that I want it every night."
"Surely, even you can't have that much sex," I replied jokingly, but his intense gaze didn't shift.
"We don't always have to have sex. We could eat, or go to a movie, or just talk."
I crossed my arms and looked out of the window. "That wasn't our agreement, Rick."
"Fine then, I guess we'll just fuck a lot." He looked out of his window, and I wondered if I should step out of the car since it seemed we were done talking. "Unless you think you'll get bored with me."
I had to laugh at his statement, but regretted it when his expression registered hurt. I didn't find it humorous because it was funny or true. I laughed because what he'd said was preposterous.
"Rick, it was the best sex I've ever had." He was going to ruin me for any other man. Rick broke out into a wide grin.
"Likewise." One word, but my insides melted.
I cleared my throat, coaxing my next question to come out clearly, "Perhaps you'll get bored with me?"
I searched his face in the dark for any misgivings. He shook his head as a sad smile crept across his face. "I hope so, Marley."
The words clung to me due to their deeper meaning-he wanted to get bored with me because it would make it easier for him. It brought everything into sharp focus. This was temporary and fleeting. I decided I wanted to get bored with him too. I hoped the intensity and passion I felt in this moment would become mundane by the time he left.
I didn't know what to say, so I uttered a statement that would get us back to banter, to lightheartedness, "You owe me a pair of panties."
He chuckled. "What about the shirt?"
"I can deal with the shirt, but I really liked the panties."
"So did I, but they were kind of in my way. We should go shopping together because I'd really like to pick out a couple pairs for you … or would you consider that a date?"
I swallowed, nervous at the prospect of lingerie shopping with Rick. "I'll pick something out online, and you can pay for it."
"I guess it would be a good idea to open an account somewhere."
"Why is that? You want to buy women's panties?"
He laughed louder this time, but his gaze was still intense. "I plan to rip a lot of them off you."
I gulped. "I should go." I opened the car door, but his hand clasped my shoulder.
"Just so you know, I'm following you home."
I gaped at him. "Rick, I'm capable of driving myself home. I do it all the time."
"Not from my bed, you don't."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "This crazy chauvinistic thing you have going on is a little irritating sometimes."
His face softened. He took my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist. It was an unexpected gesture and completely defused my frustration. "Marley, I want to make sure you make it home. It's late. It's raining. You're tired. You're not wearing any panties. Please, just let me follow you home. I'll do it no matter what you say, but I would rather have your permission."
It was endearing when he explained himself, but I wanted to retain my ire. It was better to have anger or numbness than what I was feeling right now. "Is this your stalker attempt to get my address, Rick?"
Rick sighed, still clasping my wrist. "Marley, I already have your address." I backed away from him slightly. "It's in your HR folder." Oh, duh!
"Oh, yeah. Okay, you can follow me home, but as soon as I get into my subdivision, you're driving away."
"No, I'm not. I'm going to follow you to your driveway, wait until you are safely inside your house and then I will leave."
It seemed pointless to argue with Rick's stubbornness. "Fine, but as soon as I get into my house, you have to pull out."
He grinned mischievously, surprising me. "You should know by now that I don't like to pull out."
I couldn't help but laugh with him. His laugh, the hearty one, was infectious. It also made my heartbeat quicken because it caused his dimple to reappear and his eyes to turn a brighter shade of green. "Fine, I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Wait," he directed and I did because the cadence of his voice had a commanding quality I could not resist.
He came over to my side and helped me out of his car and into mine. Once again, he placed the seatbelt across me. Finally, he leaned in, kissing me gently, barely brushing my lips with his. It left me yearning for more of him-maybe that was why he did it. "Now don't lose me. I know you have a lead foot."
I accelerated out of the parking lot at a steady pace once he got back into his car. I saw his headlights behind me, and I flipped on the radio trying to find the station that we had been listening to. It made me feel like we were in the same car if we were both enjoying the same music. How was it possible that I could miss him already? The whole idea freaked me out. This was just sex. We were fuck friends only.
I laughed hysterically when Relax by Frankie Goes to Hollywood came on. It was exactly what I needed.
I pulled into my driveway. True to his word, Rick remained in his car. Although I thought he was fighting the urge to help me out of mine. I walked into the house and stood by the picture window, where Van Morrison took up residence on the sill. I patted the cat's head, and he hissed at me. It was our usual greeting. My mom joined me, standing behind me. I knew I looked ridiculous, in a concert T-shirt and her jean skirt, with messy damp hair and puffed lips. She had to know it wasn't exactly the same outfit I'd worn this morning.
My mom was not an innocent. She was a child of the sixties. Unfortunately, she wasn't born until the seventies, and didn't reach adolescence until the eighties. She belonged to the wrong decade, but like her predecessors, she believed in sexual freedom and rising up against social norms. She believed a woman didn't need to rely on a man for anything. Apparently, she didn't believe in birth control either, since my sisters and I had different fathers. It didn't matter, we were closer than any other siblings I knew, and my mom loved us completely. Even with that knowledge though, I felt slightly embarrassed about my obvious whereabouts.
"Who is that, Marley?"
Rick nodded before he drove off. "Um, I guess the guy I'm seeing. My boss … sort of." I cringed, waiting for her response.
"Why isn't he coming in?" The question was not what I had expected.
"He just followed me home. He wanted to make sure I made it safely."
She was quiet for a moment, and I wondered how she'd react, since I never talked about guys. "That's very sweet."
I shrugged. "I think it's a control thing," I replied, trying to dismiss it. The truth was I thought it was sweet too, but I didn't want to dwell on it.
My mom placed her arm around my waist. "Marley, there are a lot of men who can make you feel good for an hour, or a night, or a week. There's very few that can make you feel cherished all the time." I blinked rapidly, taking in her words. My mom is giving me guy advice? The same woman who enjoyed her own personal sexual revolution two decades after it was fashionable? I cringed with the realisation that her statement meant she knew about my lifestyle, despite the fact that I was very private.
My years of training kicked in as I managed to make my rueful expression become detached. She matched my expression with a sarcastic one of her own, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. She probably did. "Stop looking at me like that. Do you think I don't know what it means to feel cherished? I do." She smiled knowingly. "I toured with the Dead after all."
I laughed loudly. My mother made this statement often, as if touring with the Grateful Dead imparted a greater insight into life's challenges.