Lauren Blakely - Every Second With You

He looks woozy, and it’s a look he wears well.

“Hi,” he says, after he pulls out.

“Hi.”

“Can I just say it?”

“Say what?”

“That was the best ever.”

I smile. “It was. But don’t get any big ideas and start fighting just so we can do it like that.”

He brushes his nose against mine like we’re Eskimos. “Hmmm . . . I think that’s the perfect send-off into sleep. Though I can’t promise I won’t want to do that again in the middle of the night,” he murmurs.

“I can’t say I’d object.” I switch sides, and scoot in close, tucking myself into him so we’re spoons, and we fall asleep like that, and we don’t wake up in the middle of the night, because sometimes your body has had all its needs met, and sleep is the perfect cherry on the ice cream.

Harley

When morning comes, he’s wide awake and showered, parked on the end of my bed, drawing.

I yawn. “What are you working on?”

“Cherry blossom tree. It’s gonna be hard as hell, but totally badass. By the way, do you like sandwiches?”

“I love sandwiches, and you know that.”

“Then get your fine ass in the shower, because I’m taking you to Ben’s Arcade and Sandwich Emporium.”

My eyes light up. “I’ve heard it’s amazing and that the Brutus is delish.”

“Made with Caesar dressing. Now go, because I have an appointment to see a tattoo artist down the block who’s going to give me some tips on this design so let’s get lunch first.”

An hour later, I’m dressed, blow-dried, and walking into the combo sandwich shop and retro arcade. The sound of PacMen or PacWomen gobbling ghosts bounces past my ears, then fake guns shooting down spaceships, a kaleidoscope of noise, of theme songs and sound effects, and quarters sloshing into machines landing on top of more silver coins. It’s Saturday afternoon and the place is packed. There’s a counter for popcorn, fries, burgers and Cokes with two gangly college-aged students running it, slapping up basket after basket of fries on the counter for gamers. The crowd is a hipster one. It’s as if everyone got the memo to wear faded black pencil jeans, high-tops and band tees.

I never used to feel like I fit in. Back in high school, and even in my first year of college, I felt like a liar, even when I walked through the hallways. I might have been a student like the rest of them, but I was a call girl at night, with a clandestine life, a secret wardrobe, and another name. Here, today, I fit in perfectly, and I love it. I no longer feel like a girl leading a double life.

I am one girl; I am whole.

I survey the menu above the counter and it has all my favorite kinds of sandwiches on it. “Have I ever told you that sandwiches are my favorite food in the whole world?”

“Only twenty times. That’s why I brought you here.”

I laugh, and then it’s our turn so I order the Brutus.

We make our way to a table in the back, but Trey points to the Frogger machine. “Want to go for a round? I’ve been watching this video-game show Let the Wookie Win , so I’ve got all my Frogger skills down.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Really? Frogger tips on a web show?”

“Yeah. Watch,” he says, sliding in a quarter, then proceeding to dart and dodge around every truck, car and cab on the street in the game.

“I had no idea you had this hidden talent,” I tease, and then he loops his arm around my neck, kisses my forehead, and for a moment I feel like we’re just a regular guy and a girl having lunch on a Saturday, our only cares whether we’ve studied for our test on time. And yet, it doesn’t entirely feel like an illusion, because we both know the score, we’re not fooling ourselves. We’re allowed to do normal things, aren’t we? Just because we’re going to be parents in seven months doesn’t mean we can’t play an arcade game, right?

I answer the question for myself.

Right.

We finish the game, and he beats me handily. When our food order is called, he grabs our sandwiches and we sit down and eat.

“So, what do we do now?” he asks when he’s done with his sandwich.

“Well, generally speaking, we bus the tables, and toss out the napkins,” I say, teasing him.

“Ha ha. Funny girl. What are we going to do about the baby? Are you going to finish school? Work full-time? Drop out? Get a shack in Jersey?”

I’m surprised by the simple directness of the questions. How he asked without a preamble or awkwardness. Most of all, he asked without freaking out. My guy is making progress. Majorly.

I snort. “Hopefully not the shack in Jersey.”

He shifts over to my side of the booth, taking my hand in his, grasping it for emphasis. “I want you to finish school, Harley. You can’t drop out.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“We have to be smart then, about everything, and I have an idea.”

There’s a nervous look in those green eyes.

Trey

Funny, how we try to plan for things, and anticipate perfect moments, but then life comes and punches our plans in the mouth, leaving us with big fat lips. But then moments circle back around, and they become more perfect than we could have planned. And this is so much better than a Bed Bath and Beyond card, or the T-shirt I wanted to buy her.

Because this is real, and it’s what we have to do, and it’s the next step. “Harley, will you move in with me?”

She furrows her brow, leans away from me. “Wow. I didn’t expect that.”

“Well?”

“I live with Kristen,” she says, pointing out the blatantly obvious.

It irks me slightly, but I push forward. I’m not backing down. “Harley, we’re having a kid. And you act like moving in together is weird?”

“We have a lease and stuff.”

“I know. But it ends eventually, right?”

She nods. “December, I think.”

“Move in with me then. You need to finish school, and there’s no reason for us to have two places. I know you’re not hurting for money in the short term, and I’m not either, but at some point we have to be smart, right?”

“Are you asking me to move in to save money?”

I shake my head and laugh. “Seriously?”

She shrugs, but her cheeks start to flush, and she knows she asked a silly question.

“I’m asking you to move in with me because I’m ridiculously in love with you. And for the record, I was going to ask you before you told me you were pregnant. This is something I want for us .”

“Really? You were going to ask before?” Her lips start to curve up.

“Yes.” I trace her top lip, mapping the beginning of her smile with my fingertip. “So is that a yes?” This time I’m not going to freak out. I’m not going to shut down. I’m going to face up to the future like a man, and I’m going to be the man she needs.

She nods happily. “Yes. You are always a yes. End of the year let’s move in together.”

Then she kisses me, sealing our deal, and doing that thing she does to me with the slightest touch.

Turn me on.

She turns me on, always. Constantly. I groan as she nips my lips lightly, and then kisses me in a thoroughly sweet but intensely seductive way. She breaks the kiss to whisper in my ear. “You taste like a yummy sandwich.”

I laugh. “So do you.”

“I want more.”

“More sandwich or more me?”

“Both in general. But right now, more you,” she says in a low voice as she presses her lips against my jaw, and runs a hand down my arm, making me harder.

“Now, you’re not playing fair. I have a meeting in ten minutes, and you’re killing me, but I have to take a rain check.”