He groans against my neck and then pulls out of me and reaches for his phone. He pulls his scrubs back into place and laughs as he looks at his caller ID.
“It’s my mother,” he says, leaning over and kissing the top of my knee that’s resting against the back of the couch. He tosses the phone aside and then stands and walks over to my desk, grabbing a box of tissues.
This is always awkward, having to clean up after sex. But I can’t say it’s ever been this awkward before, knowing his mother is on the other end of that ring.
Once all my clothes are back in place, he pulls me against him on the couch and I lie down on top of him, resting my head on his chest.
It’s after ten now and I’m so comfortable I debate just sleeping here for the night. Ryle’s phone makes another noise, alerting him to a new voice mail. The thought of seeing him interact with his mother makes me smile. Allysa talks about their parents some, but I’ve never really talked to Ryle about them before.
“Do you get along with your parents?”
His arm is stroking mine gently. “Yeah, I do. They’re good people. We hit a rough patch when I was a teenager, but we worked through it. I talk to my mother almost daily now.”
I fold my arms over his chest and rest my chin on them, looking up at him. “Will you tell me more about your mother? Allysa told me they moved to England a few years ago. And that they were in Australia on vacation, but that was like a month ago.”
He laughs. “My mother? Well . . . my mother is very overbearing. Very judgmental, especially of the people she loves the most. She’s never missed a single church service. And I have never heard her refer to my father as anything other than Dr. Kincaid.”
Despite the warnings, he smiles the whole time he talks about her.
“Your father is a doctor, too?”
He nods. “Psychiatrist. He chose a field that also allowed him to have a normal life. Smart man.”
“Do they ever visit you in Boston?”
“Not really. My mother hates flying, so Allysa and I fly to England a couple of times a year. She does want to meet you, though, so you might be going with us on the next trip.”
I grin. “You’ve told your mother about me?”
“Of course,” he says. “This is kind of a monumental thing, you know. Me having a girlfriend. She calls me every day to make sure I haven’t screwed it up somehow.”
I laugh, which makes him reach for his phone. “You think I’m kidding? I guarantee she somehow brought you up in the voice mail she just left.” He presses a few keys and then begins to play the voice mail.
“Hey, sweetheart! It’s your mom. Haven’t spoken to you since yesterday. Miss you. Give Lily a hug for me. You do still see her, right? Allysa says you can’t stop talking about her. She is still your girlfriend, right? Okay. Gretchen’s here, we’re having high tea. Love you. Kiss kiss.”
I press my face against his chest and laugh. “We’ve only been dating a few months. How much do you talk about me?”
He pulls my hand up between us and kisses it. “Too much, Lily. Way too much.”
I smile. “I can’t wait to meet them. Not only did they raise an incredible daughter, but they made you. That’s pretty impressive.”
His arms tighten around me and he kisses the top of my head.
“What was your brother’s name?” I ask him.
I can feel a slight stiffness in him after I ask that. I regret bringing it up, but it’s too late to take it back.
“Emerson.”
I can tell by his voice that it’s not something he wants to talk about right now. Instead of pressing it further, I lift my head and scoot forward, pressing my mouth to his.
I should know better. Kisses can’t seem to stop at just kisses when it comes to me and Ryle. In a matter of minutes, he’s inside of me again, but this time it’s everything the other time wasn’t.
This time we make love.
Chapter Fourteen
My phone rings. I pick it up to see who it is and I’m a little taken aback. It’s the first time Ryle has ever called me. We always just text. How odd to have a boyfriend for over three months that I’ve never once spoken to on the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, girlfriend,” he says.
I smile cheesily at the sound of his voice. “Hey, boyfriend.”
“Guess what?”
“What?”
“I’m taking the day off tomorrow. Your floral shop doesn’t open until one o’clock on Sundays. I’m on my way to your apartment with two bottles of wine. You want to have a sleepover with your boyfriend and have drunken sex all night and sleep until noon?”
It’s really embarrassing what his words do to me. I smile and say, “Guess what?”
“What?”
“I’m cooking you dinner. And I’m wearing an apron.”
“Oh yeah?” he says.
