Read Cheating on Myself Online
Authors: Erin Downing
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Humor & Satire, #Humorous, #Women's Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #Contemporary Fiction, #General Humor, #Humor, #Romance
Cheating on Myself (34 page)
My jeans were already unbuttoned and I’d lost my shirt somewhere in the hallway. When Joe unclasped my bra and held my breasts in his hands, I shivered, despite the heat we’d built up between us. When I was totally naked, Joe took off his shirt and wrapped it around me, then pulled back his covers to reveal a set of cozy plaid flannel sheets. He took my hand and led me into bed. I curled in happily, giggling and tucking my body into the heat from his chest. My whole body tingled when he touched me, and all I wanted was more.
I let my hands linger across his chest, then I pressed myself against him and felt our bodies melt together. Something like a growl sounded from somewhere deep inside him as he kneeled over me and touched every inch of my naked body that was wrapped inside his shirt.
“You look so sexy when you’re in my clothes, but that shirt has
got
to come off…”
He unwrapped me and lowered me into a pile of soft pillows as his mouth worked its way down my body. His tongue left me both cold and hot—skin steaming the moment his lips touched me, frozen and desperate when he moved to another space to light a different piece of me on fire—and all the while I wished his lips could be everywhere at once.
Joe’s hands played with my body the way I’d always known they would—expertly, like he was making music meant only for me. It was as if my body had been out of tune and only knew what to do when Joe was touching me. As first his fingers, then his mouth, reached between my legs, I moaned and rocked under him.
“I want you,” I whispered. “Now.”
He looked up at me and smiled, then played on. Just when I was sure I couldn’t hold out another second, he kissed his way back up to my mouth. He pulled out a condom, keeping his eyes on mine the whole time he put it on.
“Stella…” he murmured, teasing my legs further apart with his own thighs. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, but he opened them and locked his gaze on mine as he pressed himself into me. I gasped as he slid inside, moving slowly at first, then with increasing intensity. Our bodies moved together perfectly, and it was between those flannel sheets that I finally realized what seriously hot sex was like.
After, we lay curled together for a long time, kissing and holding each other and just relaxing into the soft blankets draped across our bodies. He kept his muscled chest tucked up against my breasts and his strong arms held me against him. Joe moaned every time I moved even the tiniest bit, pulling me in closer. Over the next hour, we talked about everything and nothing, wasting hours laughing and enjoying each other. He brought in a bottle of wine and some crackers and brie long after the sun had gone down.
“I have a proposition,” Joe said, late in the night, after he’d sung to me and lulled me nearly to sleep before waking me with more fantastic sex. “It’s just an idea, but let me know what you think.”
“You want me to become your official bell-ringer at Dog Hound shows? Professional bell shaker?” I teased. “How thoughtful of you. All my dreams are answered.”
Joe leaned over to kiss me. “I’m sensing just a wee bit of sarcasm. So let me suggest something similar—without the bells.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Come on tour with us,” Joe said, lifting his eyebrows hopefully. “We just booked a winter-spring tour that’s going to take us out to the West Coast, through Colorado, then back along the Mississippi later this spring.” He rolled over so he was propped up right on top of me, looking straight into my eyes. He spoke apprehensively, as though he was nervous to suggest it—or maybe he was worried about telling me he was going off on tour. “Quit your job. We can drive across the country together. Come with me.”
“You want me to quit my job and come on tour with the Dog Hounds?” I said reluctantly. “Like one of those people who used to follow Phish? You want me to be like a Phish Head!?”
The low rumble of his laugh echoed through his ribcage and I could feel the rhythm of it through his chest. “Not exactly the same thing,” he said, then leaned down to kiss my forehead. “But it’s a very flattering comparison.” He rolled onto his back, but pulled me with him so I was laying on top of him now. My legs wrapped around him and my hands tucked under the back of his neck to feel his soft curls between my fingers. “So? Good idea?”
I kissed him, hard, then pulled back and said, “Good idea. But not now.”
He nodded. “Okay. Mind if I ask why?”
Quitting my job and touring with Joe—just going where the band went and seeing the country and
enjoying
myself—sounded perfect. But I knew it wasn’t
my
plan. It wasn’t my tour, it wasn’t my life, it wasn’t my adventure. If I followed Joe, I would be following someone else and forgetting to force myself to make a decision—again. I wouldn’t be figuring out what
I
wanted to do next. I’d been stuck in a rut for as long as I could remember, and I knew I needed to try to shake myself out of it and fly plan-free for a while.
One of my counselors had told me once that it takes six months to unlearn bad habits. Joe certainly wasn’t a bad habit, but
I
was. I had to get myself unstuck before I could trust myself to not get stuck to something new. I couldn’t settle for folding into Joe’s life… I had to learn how to live
my
life before I could fall into someone else’s orbit again. I owed it to myself to see where life could take me when I wasn’t so busy planning for it.
I didn’t get into all of that with Joe—he’d figure it out eventually, if this thing between us went where I hoped—and thought—it would go.
What I did say was, “Because I’m going to Italy. I’m leaving in a few days. One of the ladies from my water aerobics course invited me to join her, and it sounds exactly like what I need right now. I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be gone. And then, when I get home, I’m going to take some time to decide where to go next. On my own. But hopefully there will be a lot of
this
happening?” I kissed him again. “You won’t mind if I come and visit you on tour, will you?”
Joe smiled. “You’d better come visit me.” He pulled me in closer. After a few moments, he whispered, “I’m glad you’re finally getting to Italy.” He kissed me tenderly, then said, “But before you go, I hope you don’t mind spending most of your time between these sheets. Because I’ve got plans for us.”
I kissed him again and curled up inside his arms. “I don’t mind at all. You know how much I enjoy a good plan.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A few days later, I strapped my seatbelt, grinned at Heather, and dug through the seat pocket in front of me. Ten minutes to take-off, and then I was officially on my way to Italy.
I’d organized the seat pocket so my book, gum, and a magazine were close at hand. I didn’t like to get up before the pilot gave his permission to do so.
“I bet you’re the kind of person who reviews the safety instructions,” Heather observed as I shuffled through the papers in the fabric folder in front of me.
She wasn’t wrong. But I wasn’t going to admit it, so I ignored the draw of that laminated little card (but seriously, what
would
I do in the event of a water landing?) and pulled out the airline magazine, flipping to the back.
“Ooh, look at all the movie choices!” I announced giddily.
“Woop-de-doo,” Heather muttered. “Wake me up when we get there.” Then she pulled an eye mask out of her purse and strapped it on. In elegant script across the front, it read:
Wake me for coffee. Otherwise, let me rest in peace
.
In less than twelve hours we’d be in Italy. How could she sleep? All I could do is squirm in my seat and think about how much had changed for me in the space of just a few months (and wine. Who wouldn’t be thinking about wine?). This was the first time in more than ten years that I’d decided what I wanted to do—all by my adult-self—and
done
it. No list, no checking with Erik, no worrying about who might have another big idea about what I should do instead. Joe and I had left things up in the air, promising to figure out what would happen next
sometime
. Not before I left, not necessarily next week, or before he left on tour, but eventually. We were enjoying each other without forcing a label on it, and that felt perfect to me.
As I listened to the hum of the engines and watched the safety video and tried to ignore the fight happening between a teenage girl and her mother behind me, I thought about my list of life’s goals and how something so seemingly well thought-out had led me so far astray. It probably should have taken me less than twenty years to figure out that a fifteen-year-old really shouldn’t be making decisions for a grown woman (as evidenced by the argument I was eavesdropping on behind me). The fact that a boy with a mullet and taco breath and a probable case of genital warts was on my life’s list at all should have told me something sooner, but alas, you live and learn.
Sure, the list had served me well in some respects. I had plenty to show for what I’d done and seen and learned. I certainly wasn’t going to waste time now regretting the uptight tendencies of my twenties, much like I wasn’t going to continue plodding along toward a predetermined future.
As a first step to my “list recovery,” I’d finally showed Lily and Anders the wedding dress still wrapped in plastic at the back of my closet. Instead of throwing it away, I decided it would be fun to throw myself a kick-ass thirty-fifth birthday bash in a few months. I’d invite everyone to wear the skeletons of old dresses… futzy-prom-fluff (left unzipped to fit), bridesmaids-dresses-from-hell, or a never-used wedding dress. I figured everyone had a few old relics in their closet they’d get a kick out of resurrecting for a night. What could be more fun than laughing at bad decisions from the past over a few drinks? At least those bad decisions would get to step out of the closet for a nice night out on the town.
There was still that one big thing left unfinished on my original list. I still wanted to get married—but it didn’t need to be now. I’d realized finishing every single thing on your list of life’s goals before you were thirty-five was even more depressing than never finishing at all. So the wedding that had seemed so important when I was with Erik would just have to have to wait.
When I finally gave myself permission to move forward without a plan, I had easily come up with some new stuff I could add to my list of life’s goals. But I had decided rather than spell them out and stress over the details of whether or not I finished what I set out to do, I’d finally scratched the list altogether. It was gone, stuffed unceremoniously in the shredder at Centrex.
The airplane’s engines roared and I glanced out the window, watching as we rolled onto the tarmac. The only list I was keeping now was in my head, and it had only one thing on it: go with the flow. And that’s what I was about to do. The plane raced down the runway and we soared into open air.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ERIN DOWNING
has written more than a dozen novels for adults and young adults. She loves writing funny, contemporary stories filled with sexy men, hilarious friends, and women who can stick up for themselves. When she’s not writing, she enjoys drinking wine with friends, watching cheesy romantic dramas on TV, and walking her adorable dog (and kids) around the lakes near her house.
Before becoming an author, Erin worked as a book editor, spent a few months as a cookie inventor, and also worked for Nickelodeon. She has lived in England, Sweden, and New York City, and now resides in Minneapolis with her amazing husband, three charming children, and one fluffy dog. More information about Erin and her books can be found on her website:
www.erindowning.com
.
Twitter:
twitter.com/erindowning
Facebook:
facebook.com/ErinDowningBooks
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Erin Downing Author Profile
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