by Melody Grace
Chapter Eight
“Juliet? What the hell happened to you?”
Lacey’s voice wakes me up the next morning. I lift my head and slowly open my eyes. Daylight comes flooding in from the living room windows, and I shrink back from the glare.
“So you’re alive,” Lacey says. She’s standing over me, her duffel bag in her hand and a concerned look on her face. So, she’s back from her adventure with Garrett the Bartender then.
I groan. “Barely.”
I roll over, and swing my legs to the floor. I spent the night on the living room couch, too exhausted to even make it to bed. Now, I’m regretting not making it those extra fifteen feet: I’ve got a crick in my neck, and my right arm is dead from being propped up on a cushion above my head for hours.
“You going to tell me why you look like such a mess?” Lacey prods me.
“Gee, thanks,” I mutter, trying to massage some blood flow back into my numb arm.
“Juliet?” Her voice has real concern in it, so I look up and sigh.
“I broke up with Daniel,” I tell her. The words feel foreign in my throat, and for a split second, I wonder if it was all a dream. Is Daniel going to show up at the door to take me out for breakfast like nothing ever happened?
Then the memory of last night comes rushing back to me, in all its messy, painful, jagged glory.
Nope. That was so not a dream.
I look up again. Lacey’s mouth is wide open, and she looks like I just told her I’m getting my head shaved or running off to join a cult. Like I’ve completely lost my mind.
“Well, technically, we’re on a break,” I add, as the details slowly take shape in my memory. “Or taking some time, or whatever you call it.”
Lacey gapes at me another moment, so I slowly get up and begin to tidy up: picking the quilt from the floor where I must have tossed it in the night and straightening up the couch cushions.
I feel a tug on the quilt, so I turn. Lacey yanks it away from me.
“What the hell did you do?” Her voice goes up a level and I flinch. “Jules, we talked about this. I can’t believe you just threw it all away!”
“Lacey—” I try to stop her, but she’s on a rant here: pacing back and forth in our tiny, cluttered apartment.
“Are you crazy?” Lacey demands. “Did you seriously just lose your mind? What did I tell you? This Emerson thing is a blip, a nothing.” She snaps her fingers. “But Daniel, that guy is forever.” Lacey shakes her head. “I don’t understand you. He’s sweet and kind and fixes things! Remember when our fuses all blew and he knew exactly what to do? Jesus, if I had a guy like that…” She trails off, and for a moment, I see something flicker in her expression. “But guys like that don’t pick girls like me. They choose you, and you don’t even realize how fucking lucky you are!”
“Lacey,” I frown, confused by her anger. “I can’t lie to him, I just can’t.”
“So work it out!” she yells. “Do something, apologize, it doesn’t matter, just fix it!”
“It’s not that simple!” I yell back. “I can’t pretend like everything’s OK with Daniel when I feel this way about Emerson!”
“Like you want to rip his clothes off?” Lacey rolls her eyes. “Big deal.”
“No, it’s not like that,” I protest. “And what’s with you? You’re my friend! You’re supposed to be on my side!”
Lacey catches her breath. “I’m trying to understand, Jules, I really am,” she tells me, anguished. “So Emerson is hot, and sexy as hell, and has this…hold over you. But he fucking broke your heart, remember? And you moved on.” She crosses the room to me. “You’ve spent all this time talking about how you need your life to be different, and how you can’t deal with being in love like that again. And now you’re just going right back to him? What happens next?” she demands loudly. “You’re going to just stay in that tiny town with him and live happily ever after until he decides to bail all over again? What happened to making it, the job, the apartment, everything?!”
What happens next?
It’s what my mom asked me, four years ago. It’s what she warned me about. Men like that, you can’t build a future with them. Love that fierce always burns out. She knew that better than anyone. She begged me to leave Beachwood and Emerson behind, and make a real life for myself, not to fall into the same mistakes she did. After Emerson proved her right, I told myself over and over again I would be careful next time.
But look where that’s gotten me now.
“Jules?” Lacey prompts me, and I realize I’ve been standing there, not saying a word.
“I don’t know.” I hug myself. “I just know I have to see if there’s anything there to make work. I have to be true to myself. Can’t you understand that, even a little?”
Lacey looks torn. “I understand,” she says finally. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re making a gigantic, monumental, epic mistake.”
“Well, just as long as you’re clear about it,” I mutter. It breaks the tension. Lacey cracks a smile.
“You know I want what’s best for you, doll.” She pulls me into a hug. “I just think Daniel is the best. Seriously, you should see the way that guy looks at you: like you’re the most precious thing in the world.”
I let out a long sigh. “I know exactly how Daniel sees me. That’s the problem. He treats me like I’m special and good and pure.”
“Jules…”
“No, it’s true!” I protest. “Even when I came clean about making out with Emerson, he still acted like it was just a mistake, something that happened because I was stressed and confused. He could never believe I wanted it.”
No, I correct myself. Not just wanted. Needed. I burned and ached and begged for Emerson’s touch. When I think of myself, trapped beneath him on that couch, moaning with pleasure from the sensation of his skin against mine, clawing at his clothes, and thrusting up against him…
Emerson looks at me like I’m a goddess, like I’m water and he’s been roaming in the desert for a thousand years in search of just one drop. Like it takes everything in him not to devour me right there where I stand.
Like he sees my soul: raw and damaged and wanting. And he loves me all the same.
“Then I guess you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.” Lacey sighs. “You heading back?”
I nod. “You want to get breakfast before I hit the road?” I ask, looking at her hopefully. Even after everything, I can’t bear the thought that she’s angry at me. She’s been my best friend since the very first day of freshman year, and I can’t imagine life without her. “My treat,” I add. “We could get those chocolate chip pancakes you love…”
Lacey rolls her eyes again, but this time, it’s affectionate. “Way to ruin my rant,” she tells me, smiling.
“So that’s a yes?” I grin, relief coursing through me.
“You know me, I’m a cheap date.” Lacey grabs her purse.
“Shut up,” I laugh. I follow her out the door, but something niggles at the back of my mind. I pause. “You don’t really believe that stuff?” I ask her, frowning. “What you said, before, about guys like Daniel not picking you—”
“Forget it.” Lacey waves my concerns away. “I was just bitching, you know that.”
“Well, you’re wrong,” I tell her, following her down the hallway. “You’re awesome and smart and sexy, and you could have any guy you want.”
“Right now, I’ll take any guy who can give me bacon,” Lacey cracks. I laugh.
“You know I love you, right?”
Lacey links her arm through mine. “Love you too, babe.”
After breakfast, I pack up for the road—for real this time. I don’t pretend to myself I’ll be done in town after just a few days. I honestly have no idea how long I’ll be gone, so I email my professors and study groups to tell them a family emergency is sending me out of town: I’ll check in every day to keep up, and be back at school for sure by finals. By the time I hit the road around midday, I
have a backseat packed with my laptop, all my textbooks and notebooks, and enough clothes and toiletries to last a month.
Not that I even know I’ll be staying that long. Hell, for all I know, Emerson and I will take exactly five minutes to realize the past is the past, and there’s no getting back to what we used to have. He hurt me so bad, I don’t even know if I could trust him again. If I’m crazy to even consider it.
But something in me is certain now: I have to try. I have to sit down, talk to him, and find out if these feelings overwhelming me are just temporary desire and old memories, or built of something more solid.
Is he even the same guy I fell in love with back then?
The thought rattles around my brain all the drive back to the coast, mingling with music on the radio and the sound of the wind whipping through my open windows as I try to get my emotions straight. Because hell, I know I won’t have the time or self-control to figure this stuff out when I’m drowning in those dark blue eyes.
Or running my tongue along his muscled torso, hungry for the salty taste of him.
Think clearly! I order myself, before I can get lost in the fantasy of his body hard and slick against mine. You can’t just go hurtling in there without a plan.
A plan. Right. That’s what I need. Because four years is a long time. We’re not kids anymore: I’m on the edge of my future here, and I need to know where this is going. If there even is a this to go somewhere. Will it be any different this time around? I know I’m a different girl from the one he knew back then, and even from the few short conversations we had this week, I can tell, he’s a different man too. Harder. More demanding. It thrilled me, but part of it scared me too. I pride myself on being careful and cautious now, and aside from the crazy stupid things I’ve done in the last few days, I know that isn’t just going to melt away the instant I see him again. So what makes me think I could even risk my heart again, if I had the choice?
The miles slip by, and still, I don’t get any closer to the answers. But as I drive headlong towards all this confusion and uncertainty, I realize that I don’t feel stressed, or worried anymore. I’m breathing easy, a flutter of excitement in my stomach. The closer I get to Beachwood and Emerson, the more right I feel, like I’ve been charged with a magnetic force, and everything’s pulling me to my North Pole. Arguments and questions and all these thoughts rattling around in my mind—they fade away the nearer I get to him, drowned out by the vision of his eyes and lips, and the sweet, hot anticipation of finally being in his arms again.
By the time I cross the bridge and head through town, I feel like every cell in my body is alive—calling out to him in a deafening chorus of desire. I planned to head back to the beach house and pull myself together before calling him, but as I pass Jimmy’s Tavern, my body has other plans. As if my hands are possessed, I suddenly yank the wheel around and pull a screeching U-turn into the parking lot.
I stop the Camaro with a jolt, breathless. Now that I’m here, so close, all my nerves come flooding back. Just because he called and wanted to talk, it doesn’t mean he’s not mad at me, or that he wants to work things out. He could still be furious about Daniel, or—
Enough delay, get your ass in there!
I scramble out of the car before I can change my mind, not even stopping to check my reflection in the rearview mirror. I slam the door behind me and cross the parking lot in quick strides, my nerves doing a crazy dance in my stomach.
I push open the Tavern doors and step inside. It’s early afternoon, so the place is pretty empty: just some guys in the corner playing pool, and a few people eating at booths along the wall. I sweep my gaze around the room, eagerly searching for any sign of him. I don’t even know if he’s working today, I just know I can’t wait a single minute more to see him: I’m so pent up with nervous anticipation, it feels like I’m going to shatter into a thousand pieces.
I walk deeper into the room, still looking around. And then I see him.
His back is turned to me, and he’s delivering some food to the corner booth. I freeze, every nerve in my body sparking to life as I drink in the sight of him. He’s wearing a red T-shirt that hugs every muscle of his broad shoulders, and his worn jeans drape perfectly from the curve of his ass.
Even just the back of him is enough to reduce me to a fluster. I feel my skin blush, and I have to fight to catch my breath.
Then he turns and sees me.
Emerson stops. He takes a moment, just staring, like he can’t believe it’s really me. Then his expression changes. His eyes darken, and the look he gives me is so full of hunger that I feel it slam right through me, liquid hot desire flooding right to my core.
Oh God.
I feel my legs buckle, as Emerson abandons the dishes on a table and crosses the floor towards me in long, purposeful strides. I open my mouth to speak, but he doesn’t pause a second, he just grabs my arm and pulls me after him towards the back of the room. I let out a yelp of surprise, but he doesn’t slow, he doesn’t relax his grip on me for a second, not until he’s dragged me behind the bar and into a small storage room at the end of the hallway.
He slams the door behind us and backs me up hard against the wall, still holding me in an iron grip. I gasp to catch my breath, a thrill shooting through my veins. The length of his body is hot and hard against mine, his face just inches from me. I can feel the pulse of his heartbeat, and heat of his breath on my lips, sending shivers through my body with each ragged gasp of air. Even in the dark of the room, I can see the desire burning in his eyes, the light of a thousand fires raging, threatening to consume us both.
“Tell me ‘no,’” he demands hoarsely, echoing the question he asked just two nights ago. Then, I didn’t have the strength to answer, but this time, I dig deep into the last reserve of control I have and breathe my reply, the word falling from my lips in a moan of pure, desperate desire.
“Yes.”
Emerson’s eyes flash with victory, and then there’s no time left for coherent thought because he’s closing the distance between us, his lips coming down to claim me in a devastating kiss.
I fall, completely.
His mouth demands everything, and I answer with all I have to give, reaching hungrily to tangle my fingers his hair and claw at his shirt, desperately pulling him closer, deeper, into me. Emerson’s body slams against mine, and I groan into his mouth, our tongues entwined as we plunge deeper into the intoxicating sensation of this kiss. I have no boundaries anymore, no sense, nothing holding me back from the demands of his body and our lips and the deep liquid pool aching low in the center of me. My breasts are hot and swollen under my shirt, and just the pressure of his chest pressed against me is enough to send ripples of aching pleasure through my body, but it’s not enough.
I’ll never have enough of him.
Emerson breaks the kiss, licking a blazing trail down the tender skin of my neck as his hands rove wildly across my bare flash. I tear at his T-shirt, finally pulling it over his head as he rips my blouse open and buries his face against my chest with deep groan of pleasure.
Oh God. I slide my hands across the glorious warmth of his bare shoulders, gasping as his tongue dances across my breasts. His hands gently squeeze and mold my flesh, pushing the flimsy fabric of my bikini top aside until his mouth finally closes over me, and then I’m gone. My head falls back, drowning from the pleasure of his tongue and the firm, wet rasp of sensation flooding across my skin. He gently licks and nibbles at me until I’m desperate, aching against him, and then he finally he closes his lips around my nipple and sucks, hard.
Holy hell!
A foreign cry rips from my lips, but he doesn’t stop, he just turns his attention to my other breast, teeth gently scraping the sensitive nub until I’m mindless with frustration and deep, aching desire. I’m liquid, helpless, every heartbeat drumming out a desperate plea I feel throbbing to the very core of me.
Emerson lifts his head. His eyes are two dark pools of desire, a clouded night’s sky. He catc
hes his breath a moment, unsteady, and then drops a kiss on my lips. Sweet. Almost tender. I barely have time to take it in before he grabs my shoulder and spins me around, pushing me this time so my bare chest is slammed up into the wall, my cheek pressed against the cold concrete.
I gasp, my heart skipping with the thrill. I can feel him up against me, a solid wall of muscle trapping me in place, the hard ridge of him pressed against the small of my back. I can’t move or see the expression on his face, only hear the hoarse groan Emerson sounds as he twists a handful of my hair and yanks it to one side, kissing a searing trail along the curve of my neck.
I whimper, bound and powerless against him, and oh God, loving every minute of it. His hands roam around to my front, across my breasts, tugging and teasing at the tender flesh before they slide down my stomach with heart-stopping intent. My legs give way, and I sag back against him as his fingers slip beneath the waistband of my skirt and under the thin lace of my panties, blazing a determined trail to the tight, aching center of me.
“Emerson!”
I hear my desperate cry as if from far away, through the rush of blood pounding in my ears. The world doesn’t exist anymore, nothing does, even my body has been reduced to just gasps and pleas and the desperate ache that won’t be soothed until his palm slides firm over me and his fingers find my tender flesh at last, and curve up to push inside of me.
Oh! I shudder against his hand, whimpering and twisting in his iron embrace as I frantically thrust against the rhythm of his fingers, shivers of pleasure spiraling out like silver cobwebs across my skin. Emerson groans, and I feel the deep vibration of his voice against my neck as his fingers press, and tease, and flutter inside me, and then he pulls free and I cry out, empty and aching until he finds me again, thumb pressing down with a new pressure that makes my knees give and my body ache and my bones cry out for release until finally the endless slow build becomes a deep surge, and with one last hard spiral of his fingers I shatter against him, falling into the velvet darkness.