“You can still run you know. If you want to make like the Road Runner and bust through the door leaving an imprint of your body behind, I won’t blame you.”

She looks up at me and smiles but I can tell she is kind of serious.

“Listen to me. Nothing matters but you, me, and Gavin. There is absolutely nothing that either one of our families can do to ruin this.”

Ask her to marry you. Do it now!

“Claire…”

“Don’t say it,” she warns.

What the fuck? Can she read my mind? Claire, nod once if you can hear me.

“Don’t tell me it was no big deal and that you don’t care what your parent’s think.”

Oh thank God.

“Fine, I won’t say it. I’ll just think it.”

Will you marry me? Will you marry me? Why the f**k is this so hard to say? There is nothing else more important right now than asking this question!

“I have a great idea. How about you take my mind off of everything by ha**g s*x with me on the kitchen counter,” she says with a wag of her eyebrows.

Okay, this might trump the proposal.

Before I can stop her...oh who am I kidding? Like I’d really stop her from banging me in the kitchen. She leans up on her tiptoes and presses her mouth to mine. The kiss quickly turns deeper and her tongue sweeping through my mouth instantly makes me hard. I pull away from her mouth long enough to lift her up onto the counter next to the sink. Her legs wrap around my waist and her hands go to work unbuttoning my jeans. Before I can even take another breath, her hand is inside my boxers, wrapping around my length.

“Fuck,” I mutter, leaning my forehead against hers as she works her small hand from base to tip, tortuously slow. As my h*ps rock with the movements of her hand, I slide my palms up the outside of her bare thighs, my fingers inching slowly under the hem of her skirt until I wrap them around the strings of her thong that rest on her hips.

She unwinds her legs from around my waist and lets them dangle off of the edge of the counter so I can slide the black, lacy scrap of material off of her and fling it to the floor.

My eyes travel up her long, smooth legs, and her skirt pushes up to the top of her thighs. I let my hands follow the movement of my eyes, touching every inch of skin I look at. I part her thighs as I go, sliding my hands around her h*ps to cup her ass and bring her body closer to the edge of the counter.

Her hands move to the waistband of my boxer briefs and I almost whimper at the loss of her warm palm and fingers stroking me into oblivion. She uses both hands to push my boxer briefs down my h*ps just far enough for my c**k to free itself.

I step closer between her thighs until the head of my erection meets her wet center. Gritting my teeth with the need to bury myself inside of her, I slide the tip of my c**k up through her heat and circle it around her clit. Her legs slide back up the outside of my thighs, and she locks her feet behind my back, her ankles digging into my ass as she pulls me harder against her, and I slip inside of her one slow inch at a time.

“Jeeeeeesus, you feel good,” I whisper against her lips as I rock my h*ps against her.

“This is the best phone call we’ve ever made,” she says with a laugh as she wraps her arms around my shoulders.

“I’ve never made a phone call in the kitchen before. It always seemed unsanitary,” I state as Claire lifts her h*ps to meet my thrusts.

“Please don’t make me think about the fact that you just sliced a roast on this counter,” she says between moans.

“At least we’re doing this after I cut the meat. Otherwise we would have served our family and friends ass-roast with a side of sex juices.”

Claire’s fingers slide through the back of my hair and clutches onto it so hard I wince and slow down my movements.

“Seriously? Do you want me to throw up on you while we’re doing this? Never, ever use that sentence again.”

I chuckle and pull her body tighter against mine, wrapping my arms around her. I try to keep my movements slow but it just feels too f**king good. I kiss a trail down her neck and start to swivel my h*ps in a circle. Claire’s fingernails dig into my shoulder blades, and I feel her entire body shudder.

“Oh my God, keep doing that,” she moans.

I should ask her to marry me now. If I do it while she’s coming, she probably won’t be able to say no. It would be physically impossible. Like performing a sex exorcist. THE POWER OF THE ORGASM COMPELS YOU!

“Oh fuck!” she cries as she pushes herself harder against me and lets her head fall back against the cabinet behind her as her orgasm builds.

Marry me, marry me, marry me.

“Yes! Oh my God yes!”

I wonder if I could pretend that conversation just happened outside of my head and convince her of it. Just start going around telling people she said yes. “Yes, Grandma, we’re getting married! What’s that you say? How did I do it? Oh, I was f**king her on the kitchen counter, you know, where we prepare food, and it just slipped out! No, not my penis. The question.”

I smack a hand down on the counter next to her to hold myself steady as I plunge in and out of her faster and harder, trying to banish all thoughts of talking to my grandmother about slippery penises.

It helps that every time with Claire is like the first time. Just without all the booze, virginity robbing, and not knowing each other’s names. I know more than ever that this is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I slide my other hand off of her ass and glide my fingers down to where we are connected. Claire lets out a gasp as I touched her with the tips of my fingers and draw her orgasm out of her. She comes quickly and moans my name, her breath hot against my ear. It's the sexiest thing in the world and my own release shoots its way up through my body and explodes out of me. I bury my face into the side of her neck and shout the words I’ve been worrying about for weeks. Well, I don’t shout them so much as muffle them really loudly since my mouth is pushed against her skin.

We clutch onto each other for several minutes, breathing heavy and not uttering a word.

Shit! She’s probably mortified I asked her to marry me while I came and thinks it’s just post orgasmic bliss or something equally as f**ked up. That’s why she isn’t saying anything.

I pull my head out of the crook of her neck and chance a look at her. She's looking at me funny, almost like she felt a little sick to her stomach just from the sight of me.

Oh that’s just super. The thought of marrying me makes her want to hurl.

“Um, Carter?”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything,” I tell her quickly.

I think it’s safe to say my humiliation level at this moment is at an all time high. My penis is still inside of her. Does she WANT to make it shrivel up and die by discussing this?

“No, I really think we need to talk about this,” she pleads with a worried look on her face.

I laugh uncomfortably. “Nope, no we don’t. Let’s just pretend it never happened. I’ve already forgotten.”

She pushes on my shoulders and holds me at arm’s length.

“Carter!” she scolds.

“I’m sorry, were you saying something?”

She huffs and rolled her eyes, clearly irritated with me that I don’t want to have a nice, friendly conversation about how she’d rather yak up a fur ball than become my wife.

“Cut it out! This is serious.”

As a heart attack. Or a penis dying in a va**na from a broken heart.

“I’m pretty sure we need to talk about the fact that you screamed 'MOMMY!' when you came,” she hisses angrily.

“Whoa that’s kinky, Carter! Who knew you had it in ya?”

Claire yelps in surprise and my head jerks around at the sound of Rachel’s voice in our kitchen.

“MOM!” Claire yells as she tightens her thighs around me in an effort to get us closer and shield the fact that we are still intimately connected.

“Tsk, tsk. Shouldn’t Carter be the one shouting that?” Rachel asks with a laugh. “Sorry to interrupt kitchen sex. Great idea by the way. Did I ever tell you about the time I had sex in the kitchen of a McDonald’s?”

Claire growls and narrows her eyes at her mother.

“Another time maybe! Just stopped back to get my purse that I left here,” she says as she takes a few steps over to the kitchen table and picks it up off of one of the chairs. “You kids have a nice night. And may I just say you have a very nice ass, Carter. Claire, don’t forget to do your kegels.”

With that, she turns and breezes out of the kitchen, and we hear the front door open and close.

“What was that you said earlier about neither one of our families being able to ruin anything?” Claire asks sarcastically.

12. Stinky Wiener Ticks and Twice Baked Potatoes

“Dude, she thought you called out ‘Mommy’? Oh sweet Jesus, that is the best thing I’ve ever heard! Seriously. You just made my week.” Drew laughs as he pats my back.

“It’s always a pleasure when my humiliation amuses you.”

Drew continues laughing and shaking his head as he works on the car panel in front of him. We have three minutes to do our job on the car in progress before the conveyor belt starts moving the car down the line again for the next pair of workers.

“How in the hell did you diffuse the situation? That’s what I want to know!” Jim walks up behind me to grab a clipboard off of the table and makes some notes, waiting patiently for my answer.

“Well, having her mother walk in on us helped. Claire was completely focused on her making comments about my ass rather than on the fact that I may or may not have called out something completely inappropriate during sex. Is it wrong that I’d rather she thought I did call her ‘Mommy’ instead of just admitting I really said ‘marry me’?” I ask.

“I dated a girl once who liked to call me ‘Daddy’ in the sack. It was kind of hot until I actually met her dad. He looked like Danny Devito, but shorter and with less hair. He always smelled like farts and swiss cheese and liked to bark at hot chicks when they’d walk by him in public,” Drew tells us.

“I take that back. It would have been less painful for her to think I proposed than to hear that story,” I say disgustedly.

“So what’s the plan now? So far a baseball game and post-coital hasn’t worked for ya. Got any other tricks up your sleeve?” Jim jokes.

“I was thinking about doing it over dinner maybe. Someplace really romantic. Isn’t that what you said I should do that night after we tried on tuxes?”

Jim looks at me in confusion. “I did? I don’t recall. Although I woke up at three in the morning in your bathtub with no pants on that night, so it’s possible I had some really good ideas.”

“Ooooooh! You should totally propose at our rehearsal dinner next weekend,” Jim says excitedly as he slams the clipboard down on the table.

“Really? I don’t know. It seems like kind of an intrusion on you and Liz. That's your special day.”

“Slow down there, Miss Manners. I’m not asking you to have a double-wedding with us. Just pop the question over dinner. Please, God, give me something else to think about right now other than aisle runners, boutonnières, and swatches,” Jim complains.

“Are you wearing a Swatch Watch for your wedding?” Drew asks, forming the letter “X” with his arms in front of him and pronouncing the words with flair.

“Funny. Just wait until Jenny gets her hooks in you and you have to deal with her psycho mother. Every time Mary Gates walks in the room and shows me a ribbon sample I want to say, ‘Did you see that? The f**k I give. It went that way.’ I’m about one tablecloth color away from just telling everyone to bring a side dish and a lawn chair to our backyard and have Drew get ordained on the internet to do the ceremony,” Jim complains. “Liz asked me the other day what I thought about twice baked potatoes. How the f**k should I know? Was I supposed to be thinking about twice baked potatoes all this time? Is this where I went wrong? Are grown men supposed to have an opinion about twice baked potatoes?”

Jim looks like his head is about ready to explode. He stands there with his arms outstretched like he's pleading for understanding or some sort of man hug. Since Drew and I aren’t the man-hugging type, Jim finally drops his arms and continues with his rant.

“And my parents, being the good Christian people they are, think one bottle of wine on every table is enough liquor. My mother’s exact words were, ‘If we run out, we run out. People will just have to make do with water.’”

Drew’s mouth drops open as the car we finished moves down the line and a new one follows in its wake.

“Water? At a wedding? I don’t understand,” he asks in confusion. “Did you invite Jesus? That’s the only way that will be acceptable.”

“Please, for the love of God, propose to Claire at the rehearsal dinner so my future mother-in-law will squeal in someone else’s ear for one night. I beg of you,” Jim pleads.

I think about Jim’s suggestion while I get to work on the next vehicle. The restaurant where the rehearsal dinner will be held is a really beautiful place. And our friends will all be there to witness the event, something I’m sure Claire will love. The more I go over the idea in my head, the more excited I become. The rest of the night at work flies by as Drew and Jim help me come up with the perfect plan to ask Claire to be my wife.

~

The following Friday evening, Claire, Gavin, and I pull into the parking lot of Pier W, a beautiful landmark restaurant in Cleveland that is designed to resemble the hull of a luxury liner. Its location, perched high on a cliff overlooking Lake Erie, gives it a breathtaking view and makes me one hundred percent certain I have chosen the best location for a marriage proposal.