“I know.” He’s breathing hard, and I don’t think it’s from running up the steps. “I’d recognize it. But can you please buy it off whoever owns it? You look so good I had to stay under the tablecloth or advertise the goods to the entire wedding. Ahh, watch it when you unzip my fly, I’m… thank you, you always were good at that.”
He holds the dress while I step out.
And suddenly it’s not four or six or eight years ago. It’s now, and we know each other more deeply than we ever could have imagined as twenty-two-year-olds.
I don’t want to hear the little voice that says knowing someone is not the same as knowing how to make a life with him.
I only want the voice that fills me with smug, hot certainty that he can’t choose between fucking me up against the wall or doing it in bed so he can fall asleep inside me afterward.
That voice pushes me to take his hand and pull him to the stairs. I’m sure he’s got his own voice that tells him I want it to last forever, and also that I’ll change my mind about that sometime after the third orgasm, when I’ve had my fill of his hands, and his mouth, and his body.
And I know he’ll always, always try to give me everything I want.
And he does.
Chapter Twenty
SCENARIO 6: FUN AND GAMES
Partnership is a continuous discovery of the familiar and unexpected. A successful relationship depends on partners finding common ground while enjoying the ways each is different.
Discovering your partner(s) anew means releasing your old ideas about love and remaking the rules of the relationship. It’s harder than it sounds! Familiar environments and routines nudge you back to your old rules, which feel comforting even if they’re unhealthy.
In Scenario 6, you’ll help your characters overcome their outdated relationship habits. Create a scenario set somewhere the usual rules don’t apply: on vacation.Where would your characters go to leave their comfort zone? What will they dare to do together? What rules wouldyoubreak with your partner(s), if you could?
Tip: for legal reasons we must advise you not to break any laws in effect in your territory.
—The Second Chances Handbook
It’s much nicer on the North Pacific than at the office. The sun’s not warm, but it’s brilliant, with the novelty of wide-open sky in every direction—although I do prefer the security of mountains at my back.
The ferry rumbles serenely through the surf, rolling with occasional rough patches of tide. Deep cobalt waves fizz with whitecaps, the air fresh with salt spray and possibility. Under my feet, iron decking hums along with the engine. Small islands slide by, ochre-trunked arbutus trees twisting over rocky, log-strewn coves. Offshore, the mermaid-hair blades of bull kelp stream in the sharp tidal current.
Tobin suggested we drive the ninety minutes to the coast. Maybe so we could get properly out of our environment and into the romance of the open ocean (such as it is, on an island-hopper ferry). Maybe so I couldn’t make an unscheduled departure from the ship this time. Fair, given what happened before.
But I’m optimistic that being trapped onboard for hours means we’ll finally finish a scenario.
I took the afternoon off work to avoid the weekend sightseeing traffic on the famous Ocean-to-Peak highway, a spectacular winding track carved into the coastal mountainside, with a flimsy-looking guardrail separating the road from a hundred-meter dive into the waves below.
I wasn’t being productive at work anyway, just messing with my presentation—adding a slide catering to Craig’s useless feedback,afraid he won’t pick my pitch without it; deleting it again because it’s ridiculous and I’ll end up fielding silly questions.
Craig got wind of my last-minute personal time and dropped by my desk to ask where I was going. I could’ve corrected his impression that I had a job interview at Keller. Instead, I improvised a cagey conversation using my inner Sharon, who refused to answer questions Craig didn’t ask. He loved it, getting so energized he almost ran back to his office afterward.
“Hey,” I complain, as Tobin takes advantage of my distraction to shrug his hoodie over his bare chest. “I was drawing that.”
From a respectful distance comes a chorus of groans. I kind of love his growing crowd of fans for not even trying to be discreet, but I’m also tempted to pretend I’ve spotted a pod of orcas off the bow, so everyone will rush to the front and leave this corner of the observation deck to us.
“This stateroom is breezy. And not very private,” he adds over his shoulder. A fifty-something man blows Tobin a kiss, getting an outraged arm smack from his partner; a trio of teenagers dies of embarrassment as a parent hauls them away.
“I’m a serious artist.” I lick my thumb to smudge the lines. I succeed in putting a big wet thumbprint right between his legs. It could be a fig leaf, if I squint.
“You must be finished by now.” He peels himself off the lifejacket locker he’s been using as a makeshift fainting couch and comes to peer over my shoulder. “I asked you to draw me like one of your Paris boys. I didn’t mean draw me like the ones who only have one nipple.”
I cradle my lumpy, crooked stick drawing to my chest. “It’sImpressionist,” I huff.
“I’ll show you Impressionist.” He leans down to kiss the sweet spot at the corner of my jaw, then laughs when I shiver. “See? Made animpression.”
I wish we hadn’t walked on the ferry just to save a few bucks. If we’d had his truck…
