Page 25 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

Peter laughed. “You don’t know how much.”

Again, we were left in comfortable silence, staring into each other’s eyes.

“Last person to the bed has to wash the dishes when we finally get out of the bed?” Peter suggested with a nonchalant shrug.

Laughing and doing everything we could to be the first to his bedroom, Peter and I rushed from the kitchen and ascended the back stairs.

“We should grill steaks one evening,” Peter said as he moved up behind me, pressing himself against my back before kissing my neck.

Even though we were standing in the middle of a grocery store, I found that I was unconcerned that anyone might see. Of course, it was nearly ten o’clock at night, and the store was mostly empty. Anyone who is in a grocery store so late in the evening has likely seen worse things than one man kissing another man’s neck.

“I will make the dishes to go with the steaks if you grill them,” I said, turning my head to kiss Peter.

Electric tingling seemed to have overtaken my body for the day. Every little touch from Peter since breakfast made my body react in ways I’d never experienced before my trip to the U.S. We’d spent the entire afternoon in bed, and even as the sun set outside, we stayed in bed. Hands, tongues, lips…and other parts…explored every inch of our bodies. When we weren’t exploring each other’s bodies and moaning with desire, we were laughing and holding each other. Staying in Peter’s bed with him for the entirety of my trip began to sound wonderful to me, even if it was unrealistic.

Hunger interrupted our enthusiasm for our activities. We’d finally crawled out of bed, showered for the second time together, and put our jeans and t-shirts back on. Seeing Peter clothed, after so many hours of nothing to hide his nakedness from me, seemed odd. But it was necessary.

Do you want me to put the sheets in the washer? I’d asked after we stood by his bed, freshly showered and clothed.

I wouldn’t. Peter had replied. If we wash the sheets every time we have sex, that’s all we’ll be doing while you’re here.

Promise? I had asked.

Of course, Peter had been serious. Washing the sheets every day would have been a ridiculous idea. Not having sex would have been worse.

Maybe every three days? I had teased him.

Peter had thought about this. Maybe we need to use one of the guest rooms for all the sex so our sleeping area will stay clean?

Laughing, we kissed for far too long as we stood beside his bed, and found that the evening had slipped away. Finally, we forced ourselves to leave the house and drive to the grocery store.

“Why are there so many cereals?” I asked, interrupting our kiss by the meat selections. “But the bakery is…not good?”

Peter laughed uproariously.

I winced. “There is sugar in everything.”

“Do you hate it?” he asked before giving me another quick kiss.

“I love sugar,” I said with a shrug. “I am just wondering. I hope that is not rude.”

“No,” Peter kissed the tip of my nose, then, with obviously great willpower, forced himself to step back. “Most of the prepared foods here are full of salt or sugar. Or chemicals. You have to kind of expect it here if you don’t want to be annoyed all the time. Or don’t buy prepared foods, I guess.”

“Can we buy some of the cereals?” I asked impishly.

“Absolutely,” he said. “You’ve had cereal before, though. Uh, right?”

“Of course,” I said, as though this was the most preposterous thing I’d ever heard. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve just never had a cereal with ten spoonfuls of sugar in each bowl.”

Peter pinched my side playfully and I laughed, slapping his hand away.

“I know Canada has to have sugary cereals,” he said. “I’ve seen them when I’ve been in grocery stores there. And I know they have them in France in, like, the American section of grocery stores.”

“Of course,” I said, “but not in such abundance. And I have never bought them, so I have never tried them.”

“Okay,” he said. “We will introduce you to the U.S. sugar crisis.”

“Wonderful,” I said and rubbed my belly hungrily.