He kissed me again as he unbuckled his belt and his jeans. “Say no, Amanda. Tell me to stop.”
I said nothing. Which led him to push down his jeans. They fell to his ankles with their heavy, wet weight. He began working to get his shoes off and his mouth never left mine. His hands were on my skin now, touching and exploring. He pulled down the fabric of my bra, exposing my chest to him and the room. Next thing I knew he had his mouth on one of my nipples. He dragged his tongue over my sensitive flesh.
I caught my breath in my throat.
“Fuck, Amanda, tell me to stop.”
His eyes caught mine. It had been several moments since he’d looked directly at me. Electricity moved through me—something powerful—at just that one look.
“I won’t tell you to stop,” I whispered. I don’t even know why he kept asking me to, what it meant. He was in control, not me, so if he wanted this to stop, he could go ahead and stop it already. But in truth, I knew neither of us wanted this to stop.
A smile, so slight, touched his lips. It was hands down the sexiest thing I’d ever seen in my life. He didn’t speak again after that. He worked at getting the rest of my clothes off, the rest of his off. Then he had me up on the counter, his mouth between my legs.
The world was spinning.
I didn’t stand a chance. I never did. Not once throughout any of this. I think that was why I’d pulled the ‘I love you’ thing with Finn earlier when he was here, made Finn sit between me and this guy while I did his tattoo, because even then I knew I needed a bodyguard of sorts to protect me from this man.
His mouth moved in a slow, torturous motion. I felt myself building rapidly toward the inevitable. Who was he? Just a stranger passing through town. Just some guy I’d never see again after tonight. His hands ran up my thighs. He pushed my legs wider apart. He kept moving his mouth against me. My brain stopped overanalyzing, for a few glorious seconds, and the world melted away.
Sweet bliss hit me. It spread through my body, across my chest, and up my neck. It was pure heaven. The guy knew what he’d done. Because after he moved to kiss me, pressing his lips with my taste on them against my mouth. He let out a noise, a satisfied little hint of a laugh, before he touched gently the spot between my legs. I was wet and still hypersensitive.
“What next?” he asked.
“How about you tell me your name?” I whispered.
~ CHAPTER 7 ~
NICK
All night long, I played with Amanda. I’d never had a night quite like this—one that felt so free and effortless. Considering my ex-girlfriend Emma had been a virgin, had remained a virgin throughout the course of our six-month relationship, and never once did anything physical with me, this felt like a strange contrast.
It was overdue.
And amazing.
We didn’t have sex until the next morning—the sun was close to rising. I hadn’t told her my name all night long despite her asking for it a couple times. I’d avoided it because of Emma. I’d realized I knew who John was. He owned this shop. Emma knew John. Emma had mentioned his name once or twice while we’d dated. I figured John was likely Amanda’s boss. I don’t know if Amanda knew Emma or not. Maybe there were a couple degrees of separation between the two girls; maybe not. Either way, since I was leaving town after all this, I figured it was better if Amanda didn’t know my name.
I came inside her.
A night of foreplay, of messing around without going all the way, and something about the imminent morning pushed me to cross the finish line. Something about the idea of never seeing Amanda again. About this being my only chance to be with her. I was still raw from my breakup with Emma. If I were being honest with myself, still emotional and angry and hurt. But this girl… she wasn’t Emma.
I fucking loved that she wasn’t Emma. That she let me inside her. That she moved with me, matched me, let her guard down completely while I fucked her. Hell, that she even let me fuck her at all. It was a stark difference from my time with Emma. And it was what turned this into so much more.
“Tell me your name,” she cried out. Amanda was still after that one little detail.
I was on top of her, thrusting deeper and harder with every push inside her, losing all my control. I smiled, kissing her, pressing my sweaty forehead to hers.
“No way, sweetheart,” I breathed.
She’d be sore tomorrow from the wild way we were screwing.
I loved knowing that.
“My name doesn’t matter.”
I kept pumping.
She had to be close to coming.
“Damn you,” she whispered. Her mouth dropped open. Her eyes closed. She dug her nails into my forearms. “I hate you.”
I knew she didn’t.
“You’re an asshole.”
I knew she didn’t think so.
She cried out, finally falling over that edge this final time. Seeing her come while I was buried deep inside her, her nipples hard little peaks, her bare skin and all its ink on display just for me, her pink hair, wild all around her head, made me explode deep inside her.
Nothing had ever felt this good.
Or been this easy.
Or felt this right.
I pulled out and I couldn’t stop smiling at her, with her, mesmerized that after everything with Emma, I’d wound up having such an amazing night. Maybe I wasn’t as broken as I thought. Maybe there was hope for me yet. Light at the end of what had felt like the longest, darkest tunnel. I let out a sigh, one of content, and was about to pull Amanda closer. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to tell her how much this night had meant to me. Except our time was cut short when the bell on the front door chimed.
I thought with certainty she’d locked it last night.
I guess not. Or maybe the person who entered had a key.
It was John. The owner. He’d used a key.
John’s skin was a canvas for all the artwork he’d accrued over his lifetime. He was in his thirties. The kind of guy who seemed like he knew exactly who he was and didn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought of him. “Wow,” he said, seeing us both naked and in an overly precarious position. He covered his eyes with one of his hands immediately.
“Holy shit,” Amanda whispered. She climbed away from me and began scrambling to get dressed. The easy smile I’d put on her lips disappeared in a second.
I wasn’t all that embarrassed. John seemed more embarrassed than me. “Not exactly how I wanted to start my morning,” he grumbled.
“I know. I’m so sorry, John.”
“I have rules about having sex on those couches. I told you them when you first started working here, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. You did.”
Amanda pulled on her jeans. Then, suddenly, she had on her bra, her shirt, even her shoes, before I had stood up from the couch. She tossed my shirt at me, still damp, shoved my pants into my arms, and gave me a look like I was the enemy.
Or maybe that look was fear.
Was this my cue to leave?
Suddenly I felt sick to my stomach. I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave. My car was packed to the brim with all my belongings, ready for my move back home. My parents were expecting me later tomorrow after my twelve hour drive up the coast. I’d even promised my friend Lou I’d see her first thing this Friday. But Amanda… I don’t know, part of me wasn’t in that big of a hurry to leave her.
“Is it safe for me to open my eyes yet?” John asked, still hanging out awkwardly next to the front door with his tattooed fingers over his eyes. He seemed like a decent guy. I bet he really did have them covered.
I pulled on my pants and shirt.
Amanda looked upset. Whether it was with me or the situation, I didn’t know for sure. “You can open them,” she announced now that I was also fully dressed.
“Alright,” John said. He removed his hand from his face. “Let’s pretend like this never happened. And don’t let it happen again. I mean it.” He walked deeper into his shop. He passed us without making eye contact, bef
ore he disappeared down the hallway.
“You should go,” Amanda muttered. She looked ashamed. I wasn’t ashamed at all. Or worried about what John Michaels thought of me. Then again, if John had recognized me, if he knew I used to date Emma, which he probably did, it was only a matter of time before Amanda learned who I was.
“Yep,” I said to her. “Thanks for last night, Amanda.”
She couldn’t even look me in the eyes, but I kissed her on the cheek anyway. She flinched a little at my touch. Did she regret everything? Because I regretted nothing.
“It was the best,” I muttered. “And I really mean that.”
I walked for the door. A lot of the sadness and emotions I still felt from my breakup with Emma came flooding back. Almost like my heart was splintering open for the second time. Only this time, it wasn’t Emma doing it to me. “My name is Nick,” I said, in case anyone was listening, pushing open the door, letting the cold morning air inside.
The sky on the other side was a striking painting of pinks and oranges as the sun had started to show. Right this moment though, I would have preferred last night’s monsoon.
“Nick Jasmine,” I added. And then I walked out the door.
~ CHAPTER 8 ~
AMANDA
I was mortified. John Michaels was this no-nonsense kind of a guy. He came to work, he did his job, and nobody fucked with him. Now I was always going to be the girl he caught buck-ass naked on his precious leather couches in the waiting area of his shop.
Seriously, he loved those couches. They were this tan leather that he’d drawn, or maybe burned, his designs into. More than the ink on his skin, they showed just how talented he was. Since the moment I started working here, I’d looked up to John. I wanted to be him. Now he probably thought the worst of me.
For the rest of the day, I kept to myself. I tore up the drawings I’d been working on before Nick came back last night. The one of another tattoo idea I’d intended to present to my first client today. It had been the same style as Nick’s turtle.
Speaking of Nick. He’d said his name just before he left, and I had a pretty good idea who he was now. Emma Winchester, a friend, had been dating a guy named Nick. An out-of-towner. She had a new boyfriend now, but the guy she’d previously been seeing was a marine biologist, who would bore her to death with his stories about dolphins... and sea turtles. That explained a lot. She told me once that he was so boring, she literally fell asleep during a sit-down dinner with him. No wonder Nick had been a man of so few words last night.
Sex with him had been good. More than good—fucking amazing. But between John catching us, and learning Nick was my friend’s ex-boyfriend, I was pretty glad he’d walked away.
Later that day, as the sun was beginning to set, I stepped up to the railing at the end of the pier, staring down into the greenish-gray waves below. “Hi, Bobby,” I breathed, “how’s the catch today?”
“I caught four so far.”
He had. I saw the fish he’d caught lying there, flapping out their last little bit of life next to his cooler a few feet away from his feet. Four was decent.
“Where’s your pole?” he asked me.
Bobby was my father’s friend. All my life, since before I could walk, my Daddy brought me out to this pier. He loved it. He’d spend hours here. His whole life always revolved around the next fish on his line. We ate fish for dinner eight nights out of seven each week. What we didn’t eat, my father would sell. His obsession with the sea and the fish was the whole reason Mom left us years back. Now Daddy was gone too. It was just Bobby I had left. Other regulars would come and go. Some men I’d known my whole life just like Bobby. But without fail, no matter the weather, Bobby could always be found at the end of this pier each and every evening. Just like my old man.
“I screwed up at work today,” I muttered. I came tonight not to fish but for some connection to my dad. “Big time. I thought about quitting all day.”
“You show me a man who ain’t screwed up before at work. I’ll show you a liar. It’s okay, ’Manda, we all screw up.”
“It was so embarrassing though.”
“The sea don’t care what happens. You come here. You see how big she is. And you know you’re small.”
“Are you saying we’re all insignificant?” I asked him.
“I’m saying life’s too short to worry about what other people think of you.” Well, he had a point there. “Here,” he said to me. “Take my line for a minute. There ain’t nothing a fish on the end of your line can’t fix.”
It was fishing, not an ice-cold beer. But for Bobby, for my dad, that was the simple truth. Coming out to the ocean, standing on the end of this pier, feeling the breeze, watching the waves, holding a pole with bait on the end of the line—it could help heal anything.
It put today in perspective, almost instantly.
I had a really good night last night with this really handsome stranger. A man who, in my opinion, didn’t seem boring at all, who treated me nicely, who smelled like heaven, and who must be passionate enough about sea turtles to get one permanently on his ass.
I smiled, thinking about his tattoo, shaking my head. Then I wished that I might get to see him again one day. That I might get a second chance with him. Because I’d let him walk away and something told me I shouldn’t have.
~ CHAPTER 9 ~
NICK
Twelve hours in the car and one night sleeping in a questionable motel—here I was. The wind in my face, standing on the top deck as I rode the last ferry of the day from Portland to Peaks Island. It was freezing this time of year in Maine. I should have stayed with my car on the lower deck. But since it had been nearly a year since I’d last been home, watching the island grow closer and closer from the vacant top deck of this boat was sort of a ‘welcome home’ ritual.
As I stared down the harsh wind, I realized... damn, I forgot my hat.
I’d forgotten it on the counter at Kill Devil Ink; For a second time, I’d carelessly left it behind. I’d probably never see that hat again. Losing it stung. That hat once belonged to my late grandfather. Something I found in his attic after his death. One of the only possessions I had that linked me to him. It was something I’d worn continuously throughout my late childhood, into my teens, even in college. If my house, if I ever owned a house, were on fire it would have been at the top of my list of things to save. Only more recently I’d become better about not wearing it nearly every day of my life. But knowing it might be gone forever weighed on me.
The ferry finished its approach toward Peaks Island. I left my bitter cold post on the top deck, returned to the lower deck, and climbed into my car. I started the engine, taking a breath, closing my eyes for the last couple seconds of freedom.
Welcome home, Nick.
* * *
“Mom!” I called out. The gate to the driveway had been left open, the front door unlocked, the lights in the foyer all turned on, but I yelled into an empty house. It smelled like something had been baking. When I went into the empty kitchen, I even opened the oven, peaking inside. Nothing. But it was still warm.
Where was everyone?
“I’m supposed to tell you to go find them out back,” said a small voice. One I knew very well, but it was a voice I’d never heard inside this house.
I caught my breath and turned around. It was Lou; my best friend in this world. Holy shit! Standing. Breathing. Looking relatively normal, in normal clothes that I was willing to bet my mother had bought for her. Despite how much of today I’d spent with only depression running through me, I smiled at my best friend. It was surreal to be seeing her anywhere outside the library she called her home.
“It’s a long story,” she whispered, catching my confused expression.
This was amazing. “I have nothing but time.”
From the looks of it, she’d even been showering regularly. I’d only ever seen her hair greasy and matted to her head. Today her hair looked washed. “You don’t, actually,” she whispered. “
There’s a welcome home party waiting for you. See the tent?” She nodded at the window.
Sure enough. I saw the tent outside, like a wedding tent, and about a million cars parked in the grass around the outside.
I cringed.
“It’s supposed to be a surprise,” Lou told me. “So, surprise!”
Oh God, my mom knew no limits. I should have expected this. I didn’t care about some party, where all the people in attendance were either my parents’ friends or my brother Mick’s baseball connections.
“I’m more surprised to see you here. Healthy. Outside the library.”
“The library’s having renovations. I was forced to leave. I had nowhere else to go.”
“You should have told me this.” We communicated through emails. She used to use the computer at the library. Now what was she using? My mom’s? The old one in my room?
“I guess I wanted to surprise you, too. I’m going back upstairs. Have fun at your party. It’s great to see you, Nick.”
I would have hugged her. But I’d never hugged her once since we’d been friends. She needed people to keep a few feet of distance, which I’d always respected. Lou was like a sister to me. She had her phobias; phobias I still, to this day, didn’t fully understand. But what made us friends was that she was the only person who understood, accepted, and respected my own phobias in return.
Lou went upstairs. I knew all of this had to be hard on her. And I’d try to talk it out with her later. But for now, I needed to go deal with my family. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, I was good at something Lou wasn’t good at: I could put on a mask when I wanted, a smile on my face, a spring in my step, an easiness in my voice, and I could approach the world. I could trick others into believing I was relatively normal. Charming even. I did it so well, I’d easily slept with my pink-haired girl two nights ago. Though, truth be told, I wasn’t entirely sure how much of my time with Amanda had been me acting verses me just being me.
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