Snack (18 page)

“Hi, you.”

I shake my head at the gorgeous, overzealous, and overly punctual man in front of me. “Hi!”

He pins me with my back up against the door. “All I could think about all day was you—the way you looked this morning in the mirror, wearing nothing but me.”

His words alone have my thighs heating, my core firing. His hands in my hair and his eyes on face and lips cause me to moan. “Me, too.” Snack could easily take me up against this door without complaint from me. “You’re early.”

“Like I said, I couldn’t wait.”

“I’m not even dressed.”

“Even better.”

I push his toward the stairs. Climbing up the stairs behind him, I’m in a very advantageous position to take in an eyeful of his tight, round ass perfectly defined in his jeans.

When we get back to my bedroom I ask, “Well, what do you think? Black or nude?” I hold up the black shoes in my hand and seductively model the nude ones on my feet. Snack doesn’t respond. He stands across the room staring at me. He trails his eyes from my feet up my body. Maybe he didn’t hear me.

“Snack? Which ones?”

Snack prowls toward me. “Uh… what? I got distracted after you said nude.”

Oh. My. God. He’s incorrigible! I throw one of the black shoes at him. He catches it, tosses it to the side, and then charges toward me.

He’s practically growling as he tells me, “They’re nice shoes. I wonder what they’d look like as earrings.”

In a whirlwind of motion, Snack swoops me up off my feet, throws me on the bed and stands over me.

He takes one of my legs and pushes it up until my foot is by my ears. He does the same with my other leg. I laugh throughout this imposed yoga session until he lowers himself and grinds his hardened jean-covered cock into my now damp panties. I rock against the roughness of his jeans.

“There, now your shoes are earrings. And I can pound them off you.”

Snack just went from zero to naughty in less than two milliseconds. I may swear like a sailor, but that was just filthy and makes me want to come on the spot.

“We need to do something about this panty issue.” Snack kisses and sucks my collarbone while rocking against me. He snaps the elastic on the leg of my panties, which only encourages me to grind more. “But I don’t want you to move those legs.”

Barely breaking our scorching contact, Snack grabs a handful of lace and rapidly rips my midnight blue panties from my ass, tossing them over my head. I watch the whole thing in amazement and delight.

I’m soon without my big sweater, and can’t quite figure out how he got it off
and
managed to slip out of his jeans, boxers, and T-shirt while my shoes are still on and up by my head. Could’ve been all the distracting nibbling of my breasts and stomach. However he did it, I don’t care. Snack is working my body and managing my growing need with precision. He’s doing all the right things to bring me to the point of screaming. I just want to touch him. I slip my hand around his throbbing and ample hardness and circle my thumb over the crest of his head. It’s plush and I swear I sense minute pulses under my palm. Just holding him and touching him shreds to bits any control I’m maintaining.

Snack moans. “Yes!”

It’s evident he’s only barely in control also.

I guide him into me not caring that he,
we
haven’t even thought about using a condom. Right now I don’t care. Snack fills me completely. Just as he said he would, he pounds into me, punishing my G-spot and pressing my clit with his thumb. The unrelenting contract and release of my orgasm sends waves of pleasure from my core and I shake all over. All control has officially been lost.

Snack bellows my name and lets his release go. It’s beautiful to see him let loose and relax, sated. Snack drops his head to the space between my shoulder and neck, nuzzling me. “Nude, most definitely the nude.”

I laugh aloud. With Snack still seated in me it causes a few more light contractions and one final wave of ecstasy.

I guess he
was
listening.

Snuggled next to Snack, I mesh my fingers with his. I can detect his ring indentation on the third finger of his left hand.

“Where’s your wedding band?”

Snack is quiet for several moments. I’m about to repeat the question, when he pulls his hand away. He rests it on his rippled abdomen with a smacking sound, almost as if he’s spanking himself, punishing himself. “You don’t want to hear this.”

“Yes, I do.” I tell him and sit up next to him, taking his hand back. I run my other hand over the place where he hit himself to soothe it. “I really do.”

Snack pushes himself up in the bed until he’s sitting with his back against the headboard. We’re face-to-face and naked. I don’t believe it would be possible to be any more exposed.

In a raw and pained voice, Snack paints a tragic picture. “I took it off and gave it to Megan in the hospital right before she died.” He swallows a few times and drops his gaze from my face to our hands. “I slipped it on her thumb and then they started turning off all the machines and she…” Snack’s voice tightens and practically disappears. I squeeze his hand gently and he looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “She squeezed my hand. Just like what you’re doing. It was probably just a reflex or something.” He pauses a long time, exhales. “And then she was gone.”

Running my thumb across his cheek to catch the lone tear that just fell, I say, “That’s messed up.”

“Yeah, we had a lot of talks toward the end. Long talks. About how I was supposed to keep going? Be happy. Find love. Believe it or not, she even mentioned you. I think she knew how I felt about you. She even told me not to feel bad about that. What a request.” Snack replies as he wipes the back of his hand over his eyes before any more unwanted liquid escapes.

“She was a pretty remarkable person.” I say with full honesty. Even from the grave just as she had in life, Megan was being kind to me. She was giving Snack back to me.

“Minnie, what I told you last night? It’s true. I was scared to move it to another level with you for fear of losing you forever. Of being hurt. But it was more than that. Your brother constantly telling me not to hurt you, it really stuck. I never wanted to hurt you.”

I take Snack’s other hand in mine. “I know that now.”

“I tried to duplicate the connection we had with my… with Megan, but I couldn’t.”

I completely understand about trying to make another relationship feel like what I felt when I’m with Snack. Isn’t that what I’ve been searching for? Trying to do with Henry? And failing miserably. This conversation hits a little too close to home. “So, you kept me on the reserve list. You wanted to make sure you had a deep bench!”

Snack smiles and laughs, a strained laugh, full of suppressed emotion, but still a laugh. He pulls my hands toward him. “Look at you! Using a sports analogy.”

“I’ve lived my whole life around men. I know sports,” I pronounce defensively. The thing is I’m
not
lying. I still
do
live with men. Well,
man
. Henry’s face flashes in my mind. I really need to tell Snack about him. Or do I? If I’m going to end it with Henry tomorrow, why should I tell Snack? Wouldn’t it just hurt him? I dismiss the internal debate and refocus on Snack.

“No, you’re not on the bench. I… I’m pretty sure you’re my closer.”

“Closer?” Honestly, I really didn’t know that much about sports.

“Jeez, Minnie. You know as much about sports as I do about Star Wars. The pitcher that closes the game. Brings it all home. Wins.
That’s
the closer.”

Throwing a leg over Snack, I straddle him his lap. “Are we talking about football or baseball?”

Snack releases my hands and places his on my hips, tracing circles with his thumbs around my hipbones. “We aren’t talking about sports at all. We are talking about us.”

“I’m so confused right now. I don’t know if I should be offended or flattered.”

Snack chuckles. He encircles my waist with one arm, dragging me up his body. “Flattered. Always flattered. You always said, ‘If we break up—that’s it!’ That’s why I always said we weren’t. NBU, never broken up. Because the game, our game, our love, it never ended, and you’re going to win it for us. My closer. My girl.”

Did Snack just say in a roundabout way that he loved me?

Leaning in closely, I hold his face in my hands and with my eyes look deep into the blueness and wordlessly communicate, as clearly as I can, that he’s a wonderful man.

Wookiee marches up the length of the bed and settles right by Snack’s hand. He makes a soft low growl. Snack ruffles the fur on the top of Wookiee’s head. “Don’t worry buddy. I’d never hurt your mommy.”

So says he. I’m now so crazy about Snack, I’m in more danger of being hurt than ever before.

Snack dropped Wookiee and me off at the train station. I told him not to stay with me until the train came. It would only make it more difficult to leave. He kissed me hard like he was marking his claim and then more softly to show me how much he cared. When he stopped, he whispered, “I love you.”

He said he loved me! At that moment, I’m pretty sure a full Fourth of July fireworks display along with accompaniment by The London Symphony Orchestra directed by John Williams went off. I was out of my mind with happiness. Snack loves me!

I giggled and channeled Han Solo like he did all those years ago. “I know.”

Snack smirked. “I deserved that.”

Resting my head on Snack’s shoulder, I sigh.

“Even right now, as happy as I am, I’m so afraid it will happen again. Something bad. I’m afraid I’ll lose you. How can I deserve you after passing you over not once but twice?”

Picking up my head and twisting in the seat to face him fully, I kiss Snack one more time. “You know I can’t promise that it won’t, but I’ll do every thing in my power to make sure it doesn’t. I’m gonna miss you.”

Snack kisses me gently and whispers, “I don’t want to have time to miss you. I’ll see you soon… real soon!”

The train journey back into the city was like waking up from a dream. The closer I got to the city, the more I was conscious of the unpleasant task ahead of me.

When I finally return home after my extended weekend with Snack, I’m not greeted at the door. No, Henry is sitting on the sofa, drinking what I’m sure is a some pretentious artisanal craft beer out of a pint glass, tapping away on his laptop, and watching an episode of something on the Esquire Network.

He barely looks up when I enter. “Welcome back. Why’d you stay in Downers Grove for so long?”

I don’t expect him to be so direct, but I’m not sensing he’s angry. He still isn’t giving me his full attention. Actually he’s acting like its just any old late afternoon and I haven’t been away from him for almost four days.

“Uh, I hung out with an old friend.”

“An old friend?”

“Yeah. Marcus Snackenburg.”

“Snack?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’d say he’s more than an old friend, wouldn’t you?” He has finally stopped typing and watches me take off my coat and put away my things.

“Uh… yeah,” I mumble and turn away, pretending to dig for something in my purse. Oh my God, he knows! How could he possibly know? How guilty am I? I live in the Midwest, but right now I’m far away, lying on a beach of guilt with grains of sand made of guilt. Water comprised of guilt laps at my toes. When things can’t get much worse, a giant saltwater wave of guilt crashes down unexpectedly, waterboarding me with guilt. I
should
be feeling guilt. In this moment all I have is guilt. All the guilt I was actively ignoring all weekend.

“He’s your best friend, right?” Henry shrugs.

Oh, thank God. He doesn’t know. I have to tell him. I can’t wait. That would be wrong. Or is it? Because, well, Snack didn’t really say we were going to
be
something. The last thing he said before I got on the train home was that he would see me soon…
real soon
. That’s not the promise of a future. Not that I have or really want any kind of promise from Henry, either.

Henry has continued talking while my brain—and my heart, if I’m telling the truth—is back with Snack in the loft above the café, reliving our sleepover.

“I figured he was, considering all those stories you told me about when you were kids.”

As I walk by the couch, Henry reaches up and pulls me down for a peck on the lips. Wookiee growls loudly from my purse at him in protest. The kiss is automatic, dictated behavior without meaning. It’s clear to me, I don’t feel for Henry the way I do for Snack. Still, I am in some sort of relationship with him.

“Yes. He’s my best friend.”

Wookiee sounds his exception to my statement in a low, huffy bark.

“Oh sorry, buddy.” I pluck Wookiee out and nuzzle him in apology. He licks me in acceptance. “And you! You little monkey-faced fur boy, you’re my bestest, best friend.”

Henry lost interest as soon as I geared my attention to Wookiee and is back at his laptop. “Well, glad you’re back. I even missed the tiny terrorist.”

Wookiee, again, growls deeply at Henry when he makes eye contact.

Henry pays no attention. He never does. And then he abruptly changes the subject. “Wanna fuck later? It’s been awhile.”

Wanna fuck? Is that really how we talk to each other? Is that really what I was OK with? It used to be a turn on. Now it just feels… gross.

“Maybe,” I say evasively. “I’m kinda tired.”

“OK, whatever.”

I’m perfectly fine, really relieved at his response. I think I have my answer to my dilemma because “OK, whatever” is not the response of someone who’s been missing you. For someone in love, being perfectly OK with “OK, whatever” isn’t, either.

As much as I wanted to call or text Snack after I left Downers Grove, I didn’t. I wanted everything to be settled with Henry before I communicated with him again. I didn’t want anything potentially in our way. Snack didn’t contact me, either. My hope is that he was missing me, but giving me space. I vowed to myself I would text him right after I talked to Henry tonight after work. It would be a little more than twenty-four hours since I last saw Snack. That wasn’t too long.