“Yeah,” Christy said. “I really like it so far. It’s taken some getting used to, though. He’s a neat freak and I’m not, so I have to pick my clothes up or he gets crabby.” She shrugged and nodded as Sara said something. “Yeah, that too. He doesn’t have a problem with my underwear lying around, though.” She listened and then grinned down at me. “Of course, that’s his favorite part.”
I ran my hands up her torso and cupped her breasts. She tried to shove me away, but I ignored her. Then I began unbuttoning her blouse, which earned a stern glare. I ignored that too and peeled the silk away from her body. She wore a plain white bra with lace trim on the cups. Sadly, it fastened in the back.
“Yeah, I need to go too,” Christy said into the phone. “It was good talking to you, though. Sorry we missed you in San Francisco. We’ll try to give you more warning next time.” She nodded. “Uh-huh. You too. Okay. Take care.
Bye.”
She thumbed the switch to hang up. “You’re horrible.”
“I know,” I said, unrepentant. “But I can’t help myself. I like playing with you.”
“Not while I’m on the phone.”
“Why not? Sara couldn’t see.”
“Someone else might. The door’s wide open.”
“So? Trip and Wren have seen you naked.”
“But not with you groping me.”
“You want me to stop?”
“I didn’t say that,” she admitted. “Just… maybe… be more discreet.”
“Are they even home?” I paused to listen, but the house was quiet.
“No. They went to sell his car to a guy in one of his classes. They said they’d be back in time for dinner.”
“So we have the house to ourselves?”
“Yes, Mr. Groper.”
I grinned as artlessly as I could.
She didn’t buy it.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That depends.”
I waggled my eyebrows.
“You really do think you’re God’s gift to women.”
“I’m God’s gift to one woman,” I said. “You.”
She couldn’t help but smile. Then she leaned over to replace the phone handset in its cradle. She sat back on my hips and gazed down at me for a long moment.
“Promise you’ll let me call my parents after?” She held up a finger. “And no groping!”
“No groping. I swear.”
She nodded and slipped the blouse from her shoulders. Then she reached back and unfastened the bra. The cups fell away from her firm breasts as she slid it down her arms. I waited for her to toss it aside and then pinched her nipples. She closed her eyes and squirmed as I gently twisted them.
I pulled her down for a kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Even if you drive me crazy sometimes.”
“Crazy in a good way.”
“Very good. But still crazy.”
“Sorry. It comes with the package.”
“I know. I can feel your ‘package’ now.” She moaned softly and pressed her crotch against it. “He’s very excited.”
“He misses you.”
“Do I need to say hello?”
“He likes talking to you.”
“Well, then… we’d better see what he has to say.”
Life settled into a routine pretty quickly, as it always did. Every day I woke up early and went for a run, although I hated leaving Christy and our warm bed. I needed the time to myself, though, to plan my day and think about anything I needed to work through.
Christy was usually awake by the time I returned, and she was always in the mood to fool around. Sometimes she started without me and smiled guiltily when I rejoined her in bed. Other times she waited until she could play with herself while she sucked me off. She was self-conscious about her sex drive sometimes, but it was just as high as mine.
After we relaxed and caught our breath and talked for a while, she’d bounce out of bed and dig through her pile of clothes until she found something to wear to go to the pool with Wren. I’d toyed with the idea of a clean floor rule but abandoned it pretty quickly. A semi-messy room was a small price to pay for having her with me all the time. Compromise. Besides, I kept my studio neat and tidy, so I had a place to retreat when I needed to escape the chaos.
Trip and Wren found their own routine that worked with ours. She went to the pool with Christy several mornings a week and alternated aerobics in the afternoons on the other days. He met me for class on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and we went to the Bubble afterward for a workout.
His accounting class met on Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, so I had time for judo practice with Glen.
I also started work on my project for design class. Joska had told us to choose a foreign architectural style, and Christy had suggested Japan, naturally. I checked out a stack of books from the library and even borrowed some photo albums from Sayuri. She’d grown up in Yokohama, in Kanagawa Prefecture. Her father had owned a drug store before the war, so they’d been able to afford family trips and a camera.
I started reading up on Japanese architecture and soon became fascinated by what they did with wood and laminates, which dovetailed nicely (pun intended) with one of my other classes, Structures in Wood and Steel. I started my project with a thoroughly traditional design along the lines of a Buddhist temple, but Christy took one look at my sketches, shook her head, and suggested something different.
“You aren’t Japanese,” she said. “Just like you aren’t Frank Lloyd Wright or Eero Saarinen. That’s what Siobhan tells me all the time: I’m not Bernini or Canova. ‘Don’t do what they did,’ she says. ‘Be inspired by their work, but
create your own style.’ It’s good advice.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “What do you suggest?”
“Something modern and airy, like your museum, but with a Japanese feel.
Here, let me have your pencil.”
I handed it over, grabbed another from the cup on my new drafting table, and moved aside to let her draw.
Christy started with a version of the Daibutsu statue from the Kōtoku-in Temple in Kamakura. Sayuri and her family had visited it when she was a girl, and she had more than a dozen snapshots in one of her albums.
I moved behind Christy and leaned over her shoulder. She smiled, kissed my cheek, and returned her attention to her work. I sketched around her as she added details to the statue. She offered comments as I outlined the building and added design elements.
“Make sure you curve the roof,” she added. “It’s a Buddhist thing. Evil spirits can only move in straight lines.”
“Got it.”
We worked together for several hours before a sound at the door broke our concentration.
“I brought you dinner,” Wren said. “I kept it warm as long as I could, but when it was clear you weren’t coming down…”
I looked at my watch and realized it was after ten o’clock. “Sorry, I guess we were in our own little world.”
“You were cute,” she said, “standing together as you drew.” She shook her head in amazement. “I wish I had a tenth of the talent either of you have.
I’d be set for life. You make it look so easy.”
“If people knew how hard we work, it wouldn’t seem so easy at all.”
“You can say that again,” Christy agreed tiredly. Then she grinned at me.
“Now you see why I forget to eat sometimes?”
“Oh, brother.” Wren set the tray on the unoccupied drafting stool. “Trip and I’ve had a long day, so we’re going to bed. Don’t stay up too late.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I teased, “we won’t.”
She rolled her eyes but gave Christy a friendly kiss on the cheek. Then she stood on tiptoe and did the same to me. She left with a wave.
Christy and I tore the foil off the plates and dug in.
“I think I have a pretty good idea how to finish the building,” I said when I finally came up for air. “The interior needs to be open. I like those sliding panels that redefine the space—”
“Fusuma,” she said.