Her eyebrow furrows. “Is the fact that you’ve had a lot of one-night stands supposed to make me feel better in some way?”
Shit. “I’m not saying that to brag about the number of women I’ve had sex with, because the number isn’t really that high.” I mean, not compared to some guys. “I’m telling you this because I actually have a rule about not sleeping with women repeatedly, since I don’t want them to see it as a promise of a relationship. I don’t do relationships.”
“Oh, just like you don’t sleep with people you work with?” Her voice has a flippant tone and I can’t tell if she’s teasing me, or if she’s asking what this is between us if I don’t do relationships.
“Exactly. I’m breakingallmy rules for you,” I say, running my thumb along her jaw. “And I’m going to keep on breaking them, because ...” I pause, not sure how honest I should be here. It’s been two fucking days. And yet, when you know, you know. She looks at me expectantly. “... you’re worth it. And I know it’s early, I know this thing between us is still developing, but ... I don’t plan on ever sleeping with anyone else again.”
She slides her arms up and around my neck, coming up on her toes so we’re nearly face-to-face. “Careful, Tom, you’re starting to sound like a guy in a relationship.”
“Iama guy in a relationship, Avery. I told you back in my office when I first kissed you that it would change everything. I told you we weren’t going back to how things were. I brought you on vacation and I met your parents, and those were also both firsts for me.” I hold my breath as I wait for her to say something, but her eyes are focused on my lips. “Tell me you’re in this with me,” I say, and she glances up.
“Tom, I’ve always been in this with you. I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”
* * *
I wake up on Christmas morning with Avery literally wrapped around me—her leg is swung over mine, the front of her thigh resting right across my morning wood, while she snuggles into my side, her head resting on my shoulder and her arm snaked around my waist. I lie there for a minute, wondering how my life has shifted so dramatically in the past few days, because the man I was before I kissed her would have been having a full-blown panic attack if he woke up with a woman still in his bed, and instead all I can think of is that being here in St. Thomas with Avery has been exactly what I never knew I needed.
Growing up, I never saw the kind of love, attraction, and mutual respect that I think Avery and I are building together. My parents’ marriage was more like a business arrangement, and their three children were assets they liked to show off when it benefited them. The tension in our house was always thick, my parents always at odds about something, unless we had company and then it was like they were actors. And they certainly knew how to act. I never wanted that. Never wanted the hysterical wife who yelled and cried and ranted in private. Never wanted to be the asshole of a husband and father that my dad was. Never wanted children who just got in the way like we always did.
And until I spent the last few days with Avery, I don’t know if I realized that it didn’t have to be like that. That perhaps my parents were unusual in their defunctness, that marriage didn’t have to be a battle, and the family house didn’t have to be the battleground. Or at least, I like to think that it wouldn’t be like that with Avery and me—that it would be more like her parents’ relationship, which is clearly built on love and mutual respect.
Eventually I realize that the two bottles of water I guzzled after the third time we had sex last night means I can’t lie there any longer. Avery sleeps right through me slipping out from beneath her, and I pad from the bed to the bathroom as quietly as possible so I don’t wake her. But when I return and lie down next to her, she opens her eyes, snuggles right back into me, and whispers, “Good morning.”
“Merry Christmas,” I say as I kiss her forehead.
She jolts upright, taking her half of the sheet with her as she does. “Oh my gosh! I have something for you. It’s not ...” She looks around the room and looks a little deflated. “It’s not, like, as lavish of a gift as this trip or anything. But I thought it was the perfect gift for my boss, back before ...” She shrugs.
“Hey,” I say, sitting up and resting my hand along the side of her neck. “I’m sure whatever it is, it’s perfect. And this trip was a gift for both of us. It’s not my Christmas present to you. I actually have something small for you as well.”
“Okay,” she says. “Hold on.” She gets up, and I admire the way my T-shirt looks on her as she walks to her suitcase, grabs a small gift bag, and heads back over to the bed, where she sits cross-legged.
The gift bag and tissue are a little smashed after traveling in her suitcase, but I pull out a square cardboard box inside. When I lift the lid and find a coffee mug, I have to laugh. It has “World’s Grumpiest Boss” written across the side of it. A coffee mug from the girl who only drinks her coffee out of her mugs with silly sayings on them. If we weren’t having sex, it would have been a funny and kind of perfect gift. But now that we’ve taken our relationship to the next nonprofessional level, it feels even more perfect—like she’s welcomed me into this special part of her life.
“You should do that more often,” she says as I grin over at her.
“Do what?”
“Smile. I had no idea you were capable of it until a couple days ago. It’s a good look on you.”
I reach over and pull her to me for a kiss. “Until a couple days ago, I didn’t have many reasons to smile.”
She looks at me, all gooey-eyed, but there’s a trace of pity in that look too. Like she’s sad for me that I didn’t have reasons to smile. But instead of hating that look like I would coming from anyone else, I have this sense of peace—she knows me. She knows the real me, and she knows about my shitty family and that I’m a workaholic, and she’s still here.
“Your gift is right here,” I say as I turn away from her and reach into the deep drawer of my nightstand where I put it when we unpacked. I turn back and hand her the small professionally wrapped gift box, already laughing a bit internally as I anticipate her reaction.
She cups it in her hand and looks at it quizzically. “I still can’t believe you got me a gift.”
“Why? You got me one too.”
She unwraps the box, then pulls the lid open and laughs. When she pulls it out, she laughs even harder.
“It’s perfect,” she says as she looks at the turquoise coffee mug with “World’s Okayest Assistant” lettered across the side.
“You know, I originally bought it because I wanted to see your lips on something I gave you, but now every time you use it, I’m only going to be able to think of us here, half naked, exchanging gifts on Christmas morning.”
She laughs. “This was definitely not how I pictured you opening your gift. I was too scared to even give it to you and was just going to leave it on your desk Friday afternoon after you left for the day.”
“Then you would have missed my smile.”
