Bottle Rocket by Erin McLellan

Author:Erin McLellan [McLellan, Erin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Erin McLellan
Published: 2020-06-14T16:00:00+00:00

Leo didn’t want to pull out. He wanted to stay pressed up against Rosie’s body for the foreseeable future. Unfortunately, they were in a sweltering fireworks stand, and he figured they’d about used up all their luck.

He stepped back, but as soon as his body wasn’t holding Rosie’s in place, her foot slipped from the shelf and kicked a box of snappers onto the floor. Several of the snappers popped, and they both jumped a mile.

He quickly steadied her. “You okay?”

She responded by giving him the most un-Rosie-like giggle he’d ever heard.

“I can’t feel my toes, and I’m wonderful.” She laughed again. It sounded so free and full of joy.

He kissed her swiftly, then helped her fix her clothing. She was leaning heavily against the door, her breath slowing in increments. She looked satisfied.

He grinned and tied off the condom. “Let’s scoot, beautiful.”

She sighed and drew him into a gentle hug. “Thank you. This was … wow.”

He pressed his lips to her temple and led her out into the warm night air. She locked the door behind them. There was a trashcan on the far end of the parking lot, and he dumped the condom there.

He met her back at her car and asked, “What next?”

She took her antibiotic and shrugged. “I’m going to pee at the gas station down the street. Then maybe I could meet you at your house. Your Airstream, I mean. I have an overnight bag with me.”

Relief rushed through him. Sex in risky locales was great, but it didn’t allow for the tenderness he craved afterward. He was glad their night wasn’t over.

Within twenty minutes, Rosie was back in his RV, fresh faced and put together. If he hadn’t been there, he would never have suspected she’d just been pounded into next week.

She dropped her overnight bag by his front door and kissed him. It felt so normal, having her there, her greeting him as she came in the door. He could get used to it, he realized.

He’d been painting earlier—a continuation of the doodles he’d started the morning after he’d first seen her again—and his workspace was still messy.

“What’s this going to be?” she asked, studying his canvas. He’d been playing with watercolors, and the picture hadn’t taken shape yet. He was painting by the seat of his pants.

“Haven’t decided,” he said.

She smiled. “It’s colorful.”

“I’m into soft colors right now. Pastels. Dean says it’s my baby-shower phase.”

“What other phases have you gone through?”

“Hmm.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind, and she leaned back into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I don’t know. Up until recently, I’d only done the stylized illustrations. I enjoy that. It makes me good money.”

“What made you start gravitating toward this?” she asked, gesturing toward his painting.

He considered that for a long moment, taking the time to bury his face in Rosie’s honey-scented hair. He’d been enamored with this new aesthetic for over a year. It had started with a daydream. A memory.

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