by Kendall Ryan
“Just breathe,” he reminds me when the hiccups begin to choke me.
Like a good coach, he takes me through the motions. His broad chest expands with a breath, and I follow his lead. Together, we exhale. Over and over, I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, doing my best to steady myself against the storm twisting my insides into knots.
“That’s right. You’re doing great.”
Just as it feels like I’ll never steady again, the sobs subside. Slate rubs deep circles on my back, grounding me more in the here and now. I may not be able to show it, but I’m so glad he’s here. Even his familiar scent is comforting.
He must be trying to distract me because he casually says, “Looks like you made yourself some tea?”
“It’s cold now.”
“That’s okay. Let’s get you in bed. I’ll bring you a fresh cup.”
I look up at him through swollen eyes, amazed by how capable he is in my state of helplessness. I don’t know how to handle myself like this. I’m always the calm-in-crisis friend. The rock. The anchor. Now I’m the one who needs someone to help me to my feet, walk me to my bed, tuck the covers underneath my chin, and bring me a cup of warm tea. Slate does exactly that, all with the gentleness of a true friend who doesn’t ask anything in return.
“What are you thinking about?” He sits on the edge of the bed as I sip on the tea he’s brought me. The familiar scent of lemon, chamomile, and ginger fills the room. Tension Tamer.
“This tea. It’s my favorite.” I smile at him, my expression quizzical. “How did you know?”
“The cover art on the box is a badass princess sitting on top of a dragon.” He grins. “It was a pretty easy assumption to make.”
I let out a snotty laugh, which is extraordinary given the circumstances. Then I take another swallow, deeper this time. The warmth of the tea whispers and caresses the knots of my gut into relaxation. My heart still sits heavy in my chest, but at least I can breathe again.
“Thank you for being here,” I whisper. My gaze lingers on the spot on the floor where I found Penny, just over an hour ago. I can’t decide whether the time lapse feels like years or seconds.
“There’s no place else,” he responds simply. His hand grazes mine, and I catch his fingers desperately in my own. We’re the only two people in the world in this quiet moment.
“Do you want to take a bath? I can run one for you.”
I shake my head. “Will you stay with me a little longer?”
“Of course.”
Slate, my hero for the day, my savior, lies down beside me. He lets me pull his arm around my body, snuggling in close. There are no questions asked, just his firm body pressed protectively against mine.
As my tired, heavy eyelids droop from the weight of the day, one uncensored thought slips out in a soft whisper. “I’m so lucky.”
Is it to myself? To him? To the world? I don’t know, but with that sighed truth, I fall deeply, peacefully asleep.
“Are you free this Saturday afternoon?” I ask Karina, holding my phone with one hand and typing on my laptop with the other. I’ve already sold my basketball tickets for Saturday’s game to a Craigslist scalper to make this event happen and not be out any money. Now I’m searching for a good, decently priced florist. Figuring out refreshments will have to wait until I get a guest head count.
“Not really. Why, what’s going on?”
Maybe I’m just stressed out, but Karina already sounds skeptical.
“Well, Penny died yesterday, so . . .”
“Oh no!” she says with genuine sympathy. “Keaton must be so upset.”
“She really is.”
Remembering Keaton’s tears makes my heart clench tight. When she called yesterday, she sounded so broken. I didn’t even wait for her to tell me what had happened; I just grabbed my keys and hauled ass to my car.
“So I’m organizing a memorial service. It’ll be at Keaton’s apartment, and I was thinking around three o’clock, but the time is flexible depending on when people are available.”
A long pause. “Like a funeral? For a cat?”
“More like a wake, but whatever. Look, I know it sounds silly when I say it out loud, but Keaton is really broken up about this, and I wanted to do something to support her. I figured if we all got together to remember Penny, maybe that would help give her closure.”
“Uh, hmm, I don’t know, I have a ton of wedding stuff to do this weekend . . . and, well . . .” Karina’s waffling fades away into uncomfortable silence.
“Well, what?” I say, trying not to snap.
“It’s not like Penny even liked me anyway.” Karina hesitates. “To be honest . . . not to disrespect the dead or anything, but did she even like Keaton? She always acted so mean.”
“Oh, come on, she’s just a cat. Was a cat. We can’t—” I correct myself. “Actually, so what if she was a total asshole? Memorials are for the living. What matters here is showing Keaton we care about her feelings. And right now she needs her friends.”
“Look, I’m really sorry to hear Penny died, and I’ll call Keaton to send my regards as soon as I get off the phone with you. But I already said I’m going to be busy all weekend.”
“I promise it won’t take long. All you have to do is show up at her place and say something nice about Penny.”
“And how the hell am I supposed to do that? The last time I saw Little Miss Demon, I almost never saw anything else ever again, and do you know why?”
“Karina, just—”
“Because she went straight for my eyes! So even if I had time, which I don’t, what nice thing could I possibly say?”
“I don’t know, it’s supposed to be your memory of Penny. If you really can’t think of a compliment, then I guess just say literally anything you remember about her that doesn’t involve bodily harm.” I rub my forehead, trying not to sound so frustrated, and drop my voice to a pleading tone. “Please, Karina? This would mean so much to Keaton. There’ll be free food and drinks, and you can leave after five minutes if you want.”
“That’s great, but you’re not listening to me. I have to confirm times for all our vendors and drivers, review the RSVP list and finish assigning seats, get my hair cut and colored, send a billion payments. And I’ve been procrastinating on writing my vows, and—”
I didn’t want to resort to a guilt trip, but Karina’s forced me to bust out the big guns. “Remember your cousin’s baby shower?”
Judging by her heavy sigh, she definitely does. “Slate . . .”
“When the caterer canceled, and Keaton stayed up all night baking four dozen cupcakes?” I press on, not giving Karina an opening to object again. “You owe her big-time. She’s been an awesome friend to all of us for, what is it, ten friggin’ years now?”
“All right, all right,” she huffs. “I’ll figure out how to move things around somehow. Christ on a cracker.” Then her tone softens. “I hope this helps Keaton feel better. Even if I don’t understand why, she really did love that cat.”
“Thank you. I’m sure it will.”
I hang up, realize I’ve been pacing, and sit back down at my desk. Only six more calls to go . . . and given the Late Great Penny’s charming personality, I’ve got a feeling I’ll have to work just as hard for every single RSVP.
But if organizing this thing can get Keaton to smile again, the hassle will all be worth it.
I survey my work with satisfaction. Keaton’s living room is all set up for the wake, and I handled every detail. Well, she insisted on helping me clean her apartment, but everything else was all me.
Near the front door, I’ve set up a long table offering a selection of drinks and finger foods. On the opposite wall stands a smaller table with the urn holding Penny’s ashes, a framed photo of her, and a potted white orchid—the florist suggested something that Keaton could keep longer than a few days. I’ve also put folding chairs facing the couch in a semicircle.
Meera is the first to arrive, five min
utes before three. She presses a wide bowl of syrupy, reddish-brown dough balls into Keaton’s hands. “Hello, dear. I’m so sorry to hear about your loss. Have you been eating well? Take some of these.”
“Oh, thank you. It looks delicious. Um . . .” Keaton looks around for a place to put it.
I shove aside dishes on the already crowded snack table to clear a spot. “Here.”
Before I can help them set out Meera’s food, someone else knocks, and I have to go answer the door.
It’s Gabby, with a gold-wrapped package tucked under her arm. “Hi, Slate,” she says before calling to Keaton, “How you holding up, babe?”
Still at the refreshment table, Keaton says, “Neither of you had to bring anything, you know. I would’ve been happy just to see you.”
Meera frowns. “Nonsense. I couldn’t come empty-handed to say good-bye to Penny. And I know gulab jamun is your favorite.”
“What she said,” Gabby chimes in.
“All right, all right.” Keaton shakes her head, but she’s smiling.
Soon Karina arrives, also bearing a gift. More and more of our friends trickle in over the next half hour.
As the room gradually fills up, Meera looks out of place, a little old lady surrounded by people in their late twenties and early thirties. Once everybody has helped themselves to snacks and drinks and found a seat, Keaton and I take our places on the couch, and I clear my throat to get everyone’s attention.
“Thanks for coming. We’re gathered here in memory of Penny,” I say, trying for a casual, yet heartfelt tone. “She lived a great life with her loving owner, and passed away peacefully in her sleep at the age of seventeen. She will be greatly missed. We’ll all remember her beautiful orange coat and her . . .” Lust for destruction. “Proud, spunky spirit.”
Hoping I’m not making this sound ridiculous, I sneak a glance at Keaton, only to find her eyes brimming. Okay, she’s into it, which is all that matters. Let’s forge ahead.
“Now, let’s all go around and share a memory of Penny.” I look at Karina, the next person in the circle.
Karina passes her gift to Keaton. “Go on, open it.”
Keaton obeys, revealing a bottle of pink nail polish. She gives Karina a questioning look.
“The color is salmon,” Karina says. “Because salmon was Penny’s favorite food, and it reminded me of her.”
“Oh, I get it.” Keaton smiles at her. “Thank you. I’m amazed you even knew that.”
Karina shrugs, grinning back. “You talked about her a lot.”
“Me next!” Gabby hands over her gift. “I found a pair of fuzzy purple slippers like the ones Penny ate last year.”
That actually manages to get a laugh out of Keaton.
We continue around the circle, each friend sharing a cute anecdote and sometimes a small memento related to Penny.
Finally, we reach Meera. “I remember when you first came to live here,” she says. “I could hear Penny the moment you stepped out of the elevator with her carrier. All the way down the hall to your door, yowling, growling, just so angry! So offended—how dare you move me, she said!”
Keaton lets out a waterlogged giggle, and Meera’s smile deepens the crow’s feet around her dark eyes.
“But as soon as you put the key in the lock, she stopped. Like she knew this was her new home. This was where she was supposed to be.”
Keaton gives a loud, wet sniff. “Aw, Meera . . .” She blows her nose and takes off her glasses to wipe her eyes.
“That’s a really sweet story,” I say truthfully.
I didn’t expect to actually feel moved today—I thought our little get-together would be all about Keaton—but even the people who hated Penny are smiling despite themselves.
Our guests linger for another hour or so, finishing their snacks, talking with Keaton, drifting away one by one until the apartment is empty. I start cleaning up the refreshment table, packing leftovers and wiping up spills and stray crumbs. Keaton joins me, so close our elbows brush as we work.
After a few minutes, I hear a quiet sniffle and look up at her. “You okay?”
“I don’t know what to say, Slate. I really needed this. I didn’t even know how bad I needed it until you . . .” Her voice quavers and she looks away, blinking rapidly but smiling. “Thank you so much for organizing everything. You didn’t have to.”
I give her a quick squeeze. You’re welcome doesn’t seem adequate. “It’s like Meera’s story about Penny. I knew this was where I was supposed to be.”
As soon as I say it, I realize it’s true. And not only when Keaton is sad and needs comfort. In every mood, in every situation . . . I belong by her side. It’s where I feel the most right.
Oh shit.
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach. It’s in that instant I know.
I’m falling for her.
I turn back toward the table, trying to stay totally focused on cleaning. This was absolutely not in the plan. We were supposed to just be fooling around, giving Keaton a chance to practice and get more confident in bed. We assured each other over and over that sex wouldn’t change our friendship.
Well, falling for someone is a pretty big damn change, isn’t it? You idiot. Now what the fuck do I do?
If she doesn’t feel the same way, telling her will make everything weird. Even if she does share my feelings—not that I can allow myself to consider the possibility—then what happens next? Could anything even work between us? She practically lives at the office.
As for me, settling down has never been on my horizon. Staying casual has worked out great for my whole adult life. Just enjoying life to its fullest, always open to whatever adventure comes along next. Can I really give that up? Would I even be a good boyfriend? Would I live up to Keaton’s expectations?
Look what happened with Tanya. Hell, look what happened with Mom and Dad. Those are the only two outcomes I’ve ever seen—either a relationship makes you miserable, or it’s amazing and then fate rips it away and you end up miserable anyway.
Still, I can’t shove down these feelings and pretend they don’t exist.
I keep my eyes downcast, afraid of what my face might reveal, even as I can’t bear to step away from her.
“So, um . . . do you have plans tonight?” she asks. There’s a hopeful look in her gaze, like she wants me to stick around.
And really? There’s no place I’d rather be.
“Not really. If you feel up for going out later, we could go out to dinner,” I say. While I wait for her to answer, I toss the rest of the trash into the can.
“Slate,” she says quietly.
I turn to look at her and am struck by the look in her eyes—the naked vulnerability and gratitude that pins me to the floor. “Yeah?”
She leans ever so slightly closer. “Well, I . . . I have some ideas for how to thank you for today.”
I almost tease her for forgetting that she already thanked me. Then I realize what she means, and my mind threatens to go blank. “Oh. Um. You don’t have to do that.” Sex is the last thing on my mind right now. I just want to be here for her, and help any way I can.
“But I want to.” Her face is barely an inch away now. And then—
Keaton’s kiss is gentle and soft, but so needy I find myself kissing her back, wrapping my arms around her, helpless to hold back all the tenderness I feel for her. I need to give her everything; I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to. She lets out a happy sigh, as if she already knows that.
We part slowly. Smiling at me, she takes my hand and leads me into her bedroom.
My heart pumps out an uneven rhythm. If this is how she needs me—shit, I’m game.
We struggle to undress each other while locked in a deep kiss. But being with her like this feels so good, I don’t want to stop. I lie back on the bed, letting my eyes rake over her bared body, and grin when I catch her ogling me in the same way.
“Get that gorgeous ass over here,” I say. “Come ride my cock.”
We didn’t get to try out girl-on-top at the hotel, or any other new positions for that matter, and I want to make up for the chance we never should have missed.
She purrs with enthusiasm and climbs onto the bed to straddle my hips. My breath hitches as her already-wet pussy brushes the head of my straining cock. It’s in that moment I remember I’m supposed to be teaching her, trying to impart some wisdom.
“Come here. Tease me a little first.”
Keaton pauses, considering, then rolls her hips down, rubbing herself against my rigid shaft. She lets out a sigh of slight relief at the friction. She keeps grinding on me, stimulating herself while slicking up my cock with her own juices.
My breath hitches in my throat as I watch her move experimentally. Pushing up onto my elbows, I guide her mouth to mine, and we kiss deeply as Keaton continues her sweet torture.
Finally, when neither of us can stand the wait anymore, she sinks down onto me. We both groan as her wet heat slowly envelops me. It seems like an eternity before my cock bottoms out inside her and her pelvis rests completely on mine.
She lifts up, then slides back down, pulling a gasp from both of us. Then again, with more force, and again, soon finding her rhythm. I brace my hands on her hips to guide her body above mine.
She cries out when my fingers touch her clit. She rides me faster and faster, plunging herself up and down on me, moaning every time I strike that sweet spot inside. I rub her clit faster and buck up harder to meet her thrusts. I’m desperate to make her come; I need it more than my own release, my own breath. I’m drunk on the sight, the sound, the scent of her, how stunning she is in her passion. And when our eyes meet, a wave of tenderness and desire threatens to drown my heart.
She throws her head back. “Oh, Slate . . . oh, oh, I’m gonna—” Her words dissolve into a wordless moan.
Her inner walls clench around my cock, nearly pulling me over the edge with her. Through the blinding pleasure, I struggle to keep rubbing her clit, wringing every last drop of ecstasy out of her orgasm until she whimpers with overstimulation.