yourself enough credit. I believe we have our names for a reason. I mean, think about it . . . Riley
I snorted. “And you’re modest about it, too.”
“The truth is the truth,” he teased. “And Jessica Sweet. It’s perfect for you.”
“If you say so.”
“I know so.”
“Even though I’m lying to my parents?”
I could feel his shrug. “You have your reasons.”
I snuggled against him. “If you could do anything in the world, say, if you didn’t have to be in construction and could go to college or whatever, what would you do?”
“I have no idea. None whatsoever. How about you? What if you could pick your own major in college, what would it be?”
Glancing back at him, I grinned. “I have no idea either. So it seems pointless to take a stand on it if I don’t have an alternative in mind.” I had thought a lot about it and what interested me and I hadn’t really come to any conclusions. It made me feel lazy and indecisive.
But today I didn’t care about being lazy. Riley seemed to like me exactly the way I was.
“I figured why think about it when it can never happen? Waste of wanting, for me. It is what it is.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Nah, not usually. Everyone has a part to play and this is mine. It’s what you make of it. Sometimes I let my temper get the best of me and I struggle with that, but I can’t complain. Not with your ass rubbing against me right now.”
“Pure poetry,” I told him.
“If you want poetry go read Shakespeare.”
“I’d rather stick my finger down my throat than read Shakespeare. I think we’re good.” I never understood poetry, truthfully. It was like a trick, every word meaning something than what it was originally intended. A mind fuck, that was poetry. Who needs that?
“Hey, if you married me your name would be Jessica Sweet Mann. That’s literally the best name I’ve ever heard.”
Or the worst. OMG. It was awful. Yet the fact that he said the word “married” in a sentence referring to me and him made me breathless. He didn’t mean that, obviously. I mean, ludicrous. But why would his mind even go there? It had to be a point A to point B to point C kind of thing, but if he could even mentally cross that bridge, even to tease me, well, that made me shift even closer to him, a girly glow settling over me.
“That name is balls.”
He laughed. “I think it rocks.”
My phone vibrated against my boob. I pulled it out. Robin had finally answered.
She didn’t answer that.
Looking up, I realized that Easton was throwing Cheetos at a woman’s very large backside.
“Hey, stop wasting those,” Riley told him. “They’re expensive.”
“That’s your teachable moment parenting response?” I asked him, amazed. “Nothing about not throwing snack foods at women’s butts?”
“Yeah. That, too.” Riley shrugged. “I told you I’m not that good at this parenting thing. I keep him alive, don’t I? The finer points sometimes elude me. Besides, I would have done the same damn thing when I was eleven. It’s a pretty substantial ass and she’s wearing hot pink.”
I had no problem picturing him as an eleven year old, with a smart mouth and a lust for freedom. He had probably been trying to sneak off to try to get tattooed. “You do deserve credit for keeping him alive. But maybe you should all try to remember that he isn’t in his twenties.”
“I know that. He’d have a job if he was. And he’d be taller.”
Eye rolling. That’s all that demanded. “Easton, why are you throwing Cheetos at her?” I asked, curious to figure out what was going on in Easton’s head.
But he just shrugged. “Because it’s big and right in front of me. I wanted to see if they’ll bounce.”
That’s what I got for asking. The truth, which wasn’t that pretty. “But if she realizes what you’re doing, you’re going to hurt her feelings. No one likes to be made fun of, and you’re basically making fun of her.”
Easton didn’t answer me. He just threw the Cheetos back in the plastic store bag and went back to the pool, jumping in cannonball style.
“Well, that went well.” I felt bad. “I guess I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s none of my business.” Who did I think I was, telling Riley how to handle Easton? Telling Easton how to behave? It wasn’t like I was some model daughter. Clearly. Just ask my parents.
“Don’t sweat it.”
“I don’t want him to hate me.” He was an odd little kid, but I was getting fond of him, and I wanted him to like me.
“He doesn’t hate you. And you’re right, he probably does need better manners, but I’ve been more focused on keeping him. I hate to say it, but it’s better for him since Mom died. Less swearing, less drama, no drugs, no violence. I figure the other stuff will catch up later.”
“I’m sorry. I’m a horrible, pretentious, elitist bitch. Thinking I can come in and clean your house and help you with Easton.” My chest felt tight. “Next time just tell me to shut up.”
“Jess, stop being so goddamn sensitive. I know you’re only trying to help. I appreciate that. And I don’t find you elitist. Maybe a little inexperienced when it comes to the, you know, real world, but if you were elitist, you wouldn’t be with me, and you wouldn’t be living in my house, or being seen riding around in my piece-of-shit Impala. Or at the public pool.”
Maybe he was right. Just because I had grown up in a bubble didn’t make me pretentious. Just inexperienced. It was my mother who likes designer labels, not me. That had never been a priority to me. “I don’t mean to be sensitive. I’ve never thought of myself that way.”
“Well, no one wakes up and says ‘I’m going to be sensitive today.’ It’s probably because you’re tired. I always get pissed off when I’m hungover. Every little thing irritates me.”
“I don’t remember you acting that way at all. You pulled up carpeting hungover and never complained.”
“Okay, you’re right. I am awesome.”
I laughed. He always managed to make me feel better.
He tipped my head backward and I almost went cross-eyed looking up at his super cute face. “You’re more awesome-er,” he said.
While I didn’t believe it, I believed that he believed it.
And that was good enough for me.
When he kissed me, I realized that falling in love with Riley was just like having my head tilted backward— blood rushing, dizzy, hot and desperate, the world spinning.
In bed that night, our bodies close and warm, Riley’s hand firmly on my hip, pulling me tighter in to him, I tried to remember his analogy. Food. This was like food. Like me eating a slice of loaded pizza—pick one piece off at a time and savor it, let all the flavors work their way around my mouth. It wasn’t about efficiency or eating to be finished.
So wearing sleep shorts and a cami but no bra, Riley shirtless in his boxer briefs, I tried to appreciate the now and not the later. We weren’t going to have sex, not yet, not tonight. That was understood between both of us. So I relaxed, letting the tension I usually felt as I raced toward penetration fade away.
“I love your mouth,” he murmured. “Your lips are perfect.” His hand was on my chin and we were lying sideways, looking into each other’s eyes.
