Begin with You

by Burgoa, Claudia

  “That’s two words,” Abby corrects him. “You should work on your lines. Maybe one day you’ll find the one.”

  He glares at her. “Who the fuck said I ever wanted to settle down? That shit isn’t for me. You two kids have fun.”

  “My, aren’t we a little defensive tonight?” She mumbles under her breath.

  “You do look hot.”

  Edible. She wears a long flouncy dress. The fabric is see-through. Under it, she wears a low cut, sleeveless top and a mini skirt that defines her curves and allows me to see her toned legs. Her wavy hair cascades down her back.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself, Wes.” She smiles at me. “But you always look hot no matter what.”

  “Hmm?” I arch an eyebrow. “You think I’m hot?”

  “Good looking at best,” she says disregarding her first comment. “Who really cares about a tall, lean, muscular guy with dreamy deep-blue eyes?” She shakes her head. “Not me, obviously.”

  “I should’ve done this a long time ago,” I say opening the door of the Jeep. I lower my head and take her mouth with mine, kissing her deeply.

  She tastes like strawberries, and I want to lick the rest of her—feast on her. I stop myself before I lose control of my body and do something stupid. Like take her right here, on top of the car.

  “You know those times I’ve baked, and you try to control yourself, but instead you eat almost the entire cake in one sitting?” she asks as she climbs in the car.

  “Uh-huh,” I say, staring at her.

  “Afterwards your face turns red with embarrassment, yet your eyes are satiated, like you just ate a piece of heaven.”

  “Your baking is like a piece of heaven,” I reiterate and close her door.

  When I get in the car and turn on the engine she says, “Well, that’s the same face you make after you kiss me.”

  I laugh, pretending that her analogy makes no sense. But deep down, I know what she’s talking about. That’s precisely what happens to me when I kiss her.

  “Well, I promise not to eat you in one sitting.” I stop at the sign and glance at her. “Just yet.”

  She stretches her neck and kisses my jaw. “We’ll see.”

  26

  Abby

  Edgewood is one of my favorite restaurants. Wes and I come every time we visit Tahoe. The food is incredible, but what I love the most is the fire pit outside on the terrace and the view of the lake. Dinner isn’t any different from before. We usually have artichoke hearts as an appetizer. Wes orders the French onion soup—his favorite. I eat the bacon spinach salad. It’s not that I’m a salad girl, I’m actually a bacon girl. And the bacon they use is crispy and flavorful. Bacon is one of my weaknesses; my favorite food. Every dish in the world should include bacon. Life is better with a daily dose of bacon.

  Over dinner, we talk about the weekend and how to include Sterling. Wes likes to pretend that Sterling annoys him, when in fact he enjoys having his brother close by. Since their father’s death, they’ve become closer. Last year, Sterling moved back to Colorado, and he’s trying to be a part of Wes’ life. Even when he seems like the selfish brat who doesn’t give a shit about life, he still adores and looks up to his older brother.

  “Dessert?” Wes asks, pushing back a plate that contains nothing more than a lobster shell.

  “Not for me,” I sigh looking at the delicious choices. “They need to add a gluten-free option. It’s not that hard.”

  He reaches out his hand to me, entwining our fingers. “We could order ice cream if you want.” Wes kisses my knuckles. “There’re plenty of strawberries at home and chocolate. We could eat them on the terrace.”

  “The terrace?” I stutter as my cheeks heat up.

  My core tightens as I remember the kiss he gave me back there. Before today, his kisses had been gentle, soft, and patient.

  Tonight though, after we watched the sunset, he took me into his arms and without a word, his lips were on me, his hands tangled in my hair, his tongue thrusting into my mouth. I sucked in a breath, and my body froze for a second because I was caught off guard by his roughness. But his scent and raspy moans reminded me that I was safe with him. The kiss was intense, desperate—even demanding and bossy.

  I let him take me as he wanted. Actually, I matched his rhythm and greediness. It might have been the four daiquiris I drank, or the powerful kiss that made me feel bold, but either way, it quieted my mind to the point that I allowed myself to just enjoy it. An intense fire burned deep inside me. His hands went to my hips. He pressed my body against his. I felt weak; my legs nearly collapsed. Our mouths continued dancing with one another, the same way our bodies do when we’re at a party or a nightclub.

  When he stopped, I whimpered at the loss, but I was thankful that he was able to stop. I’ve got no idea what would’ve happened had he continued.

  He’s like eating a soft, warm, fresh-out-of-the-oven croissant. I want to spread butter and jelly on him and lick it. But I know that croissants contain gluten, and I’m allergic to them. Just like I know that my past experiences won’t allow me to be with him the way normal couples do. It already happened once, in college. I was at a frat party making out with a guy, and when his cold hand touched my stomach, I began to scream, and begged him to leave me alone.

  That’s the only time I ever allowed anyone to touch me like that. My dates before Wes were just friendly meetings where I pretended to be interested, but I always ended up going home, grabbing my phone, and calling my best friend Wes instead.

  “What are you thinking?” He places a strand of hair behind my ear. “You suddenly went quiet, but you look a little flushed.”

  “You’re amazing,” I say, squeezing his hand. “I’m lucky to have you.”

  “We’re lucky to have each other,” he offers, tracing his finger up and down my arm.

  I shiver, and suddenly I want just a little more. Maybe a taste of what we can have because with him I feel incredibly safe. Safer than I’ve ever felt in my entire life. If we do this slowly, I might be able to conquer the power they’ve exercised over me all these years. With Wes, I might be able to take control of myself, my body, and my reactions to others.

  “We can have dessert on the terrace,” I offer. “Why don’t we order Sterling’s chocolate cake and go home.”

  He takes out a small box and hands it to me.

  “You’re spoiling me, Wes,” I gasp when I unwrap a purple heart shaped pendant surrounded by a halo of diamonds. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s to remind you that I’m always with you. A promise that I’ll never leave you.”

  My heart grows inside my chest. He’s perfect. So perfect that I hope he can accept all of me, even the imperfect parts.

  — — —

  We’ve been on the terrace, sharing a platter of berries and a lounge chair. We’ve kissed more than once. If I could, I would frame this moment. This one long, languid embrace where time stands still. I wish it’d last forever.

  As my eyes begin to close, I dare to ask, “Are you staying with me tonight?”

  “What do you want, Abby?”

  I snuggle closer to him. We’re sharing a lounge chair, and he’s the most comfortable pillow in the world. The sound of his heart beating soothes me, and his arms around me feel like the only protection I need for the rest of my life.

  “You,” I answer, kissing his rough jaw.

  “Are you sure?”

  “It won’t be the first time we’ve shared a bed, Ahern.”

  “You’re tempting me, Abigail.”

  “Am I?” I say playfully.

  My fingers skim across his bare arm. They want to touch him a little more. Can I take it without running away screaming for my life?

  “How far can we go?”

  I suck in my breath, going completely still at his question. The only sound I hear is my heart pumping hard.

  He kisses the tip of my nose. “I wish I could read your mind.”

  “I’m glad that
’s not possible. You don’t want to know what’s inside. It’s both scary and sad.”

  If it’s too scary for me to handle, I’m terrified that he’ll leave me after I tell him everything. I touch the pendant he gave me in hopes that what he said is true. He’ll always be with me and nothing can come between us.

  27

  Wes

  After Abby falls asleep, I roll her carefully to her side of the bed and go downstairs for something to drink. I bring the dishes we brought upstairs earlier with me.

  “Hey, you’re awake?” I greet my brother who sits at the kitchen island that’s covered with plastic.

  “She’s not going to be happy,” I warn him when I realize that he’s working with clay.

  “Abby’s cool as long as I clean up my shit,” he protests without batting an eyelash. He’s busy creating some shitty, shapeless piece of work.

  By next month it’ll be at some art gallery selling for a few thousand dollars just because it’s a piece made by the famous Sterling Ahern.

  Who knew that playing with dough as a child would pay off so much when he grew up?

  “When did you two started banging?”

  I huff and set the dirty dishes in the sink.

  “I take your silence and brooding to mean that you’re still petting the lizard, palming the oyster, milking the moose?”

  Under any other circumstance, I’d lash out about those childish terms. Instead, I laugh. Those were the terms Dad used a few times when we had the talk, or to remind us that jerking off was normal, but we should do it discreetly.

  “I swear he gave me the sex talk every time I went out on a date,” I say rolling my eyes.

  As of today, I still have the first condom he gave me. It was just too fucking weird to use it. I couldn’t tell him no thank you, I have a box. My first time was at fifteen, and I already knew all about condoms and not knocking up the girl.

  “His sex talks were annoying,” Sterling groans.

  He’s right. Dad was uncomfortable and honestly, they were awkward as fuck.

  “Your thing goes inside her, but you have to be careful because you can hurt her. Make it meaningful.” Sterling tries to imitate Dad’s voice. “Thank fuck I’d had sex way before he said that shit or I might still be a virgin.”

  “Why?”

  “Because sex is like bungee jumping. If you overthink it, you’ll never do it.” He shrugs.

  “That’s a strange comparison.”

  “Well, if I’d have known that I’d hurt Kara—that would’ve fucked with my head,” he mentions his first girlfriend. “Back then I was an idiot who would do the impossible just to make her happy. I wouldn’t have made a move if I was afraid that I wasn’t good enough or that by doing so, I’d inflict pain.”

  He presses into the clay harder. I remember Kara. She was his first kiss, his first love, and I’m pretty sure she’s still his kryptonite. They seemed so in love until they hated each other just as fiercely. He changed so much after they broke up.

  “Remember when Mom caught me milking the moose,” Sterling releases a loud laugh, waking up the dog who’s sleeping close to his feet.

  He’s sweeping his feelings about Kara under the rug.

  “We don’t pet the lizard in the media room,” I imitate Dad’s voice, giving him that same angry glare.

  “He never told me not to watch porn,” Sterling grins.

  “I miss him,” I say grabbing a glass and pouring myself some milk.

  He continues molding the clay while staring at me. “I always wished I had a relationship like the one you two had.”

  Sterling’s face sags. “We never understood each other. Sometimes I hated him and hated you too,” he confesses.

  “Because I wasn’t his son?” I cock a brow unsure of how to react.

  “No, I never thought about it like that. You are one of us.”

  “Then why?” I set down the empty glass of milk and cross my arms listening to him.

  “I wanted him to accept me and for you to support me even when I fucked up.” He presses the clay tighter, his forehead wrinkles. “You just saw me as your annoying little brother, and you always agreed with him when he criticised my life.”

  He takes a deep breath. “You made me feel like I was a fucked-up kid who never belonged.”

  I laugh at the irony because all my life I worked hard to please my parents. It wasn’t a competition against Sterling, but I knew that no matter what he did, they’d always love him more. I had no idea where I stood.

  “Did you ever think that I felt like I was walking on a tight rope afraid to fuck up?”

  “You were perfect,” he says.

  “I wasn’t, and it was fucking hard to be what he needed. But I had to be, or he might just treat me like shit or kick me out of his house. I wasn’t his real son.”

  He drops the piece of clay in his hands and his gaze flies to find mine. Those eyes, dark green just like Dad’s, observe me for several minutes.

  “Fuck, of course you thought that. If he treated me like shit he would be worse with you, wouldn’t he?”

  I nod once, shoving my hands inside my pockets.

  “Sorry, I just thought … fucking hell.”

  “Dad was hard on you because he was afraid,” I confess what I’ve known all along.

  “Afraid?”

  “Of your freedom. You didn’t need Dad because you were your own person since you were little, Slugger. But he believed if you turned out to be like him, then you would depend on him.”

  He remains silent for a few seconds, nodding several times while working.

  “I loved him, but at some point, I wanted to be as far away from him as possible. He didn’t understand me or give a fuck about my art.” He lifts the unshaped piece of clay. “This is me. My heart and my soul. I do as I want with it and share it with the world. You should try it.”

  How ironic, my little brother giving me life advice. I’ve been so wrapped up in my father’s world that I lost myself. I lean my head against the cold steel door of the refrigerator absorbing his words. The six years I spent at Stanford were the best. Even though I studied business, I took computer classes. My master’s degree included a major in information systems. Computers are my passion, but Dad didn’t see it my way. He was shaping me to become him.

  Why is it that I continue to work so hard for his approval? As I open my eyes, I see my brother enthralled by his work. Sterling had it right. If he treated his own blood like he didn’t matter, how would he have treated me if I didn’t do as he wished? I was just a kid he picked up from the streets.

  And that fear prevails.

  “Dad would be happy to see you with Abby,” Sterling says out of nowhere. “He wanted her to be an Ahern, and if he had a choice, of course, he’d have chosen you to be with her.”

  “Are you telling me you have a crush on her?”

  “No, of course not. I can’t emphasize enough that she’s like a little sister to me. We might not have grown up together, but I see her as part of the family. You never did. Ever since she arrived, you saw her as the girl you had to save.”

  He goes quiet for several breaths; I assume that our conversation is over and march toward the stairs.

  I stop when he asks, “Why is it that you feel the need to save her?”

  “That’s not why I love her.”

  “You didn’t answer my question, Weston.” His eyes narrow. “I like to observe, analyze, and study the human form as well as people’s behavior. She’s not yours to save, but she could be yours to love, Weston. Be careful.”

  “Why the warning?”

  “A hunch.” He shrugs and goes back to work. “Good night. Ask my girl to take Terry on her daily run, please. He’ll enjoy it.”

  — — —

  Abby

  As the sun rises and the morning brings a new day, I want to go back in time because I don’t want the moment to end. I just hope that last night was the first magical night of many.

  I str
etch and listen carefully to the sounds of morning. The birds sing, and I smile when I hear the loud barks coming from downstairs. Wes’ side of the bed is empty but still warm. He spent the night with me. For the first time in weeks, the nightmares stayed away, and I didn’t wake up at all. I’ve missed this—feeling refreshed and ready to start my day.

  I get out of bed, put on a pair of shorts, my sports bra, and fetch my wireless headphones that are inside my purse. It’s time for my morning run. When I arrive downstairs, I find Wes shirtless trying to catch Terry. I can’t help but laugh at the two of them. A six-foot-tall man chasing a tiny French Bulldog puppy. The little dude’s tongue is hanging out while he smiles happily because his new buddy is playing with him.

  Wes stops, glaring at Terry with frustration.

  Pup one, Wes zero.

  His rubs his chest with one hand and then sets it on his waist as he catches his breath. A glimpse of his naked torso makes me want to run my fingers across the firm lines of his broad chest—trace the bear tattoo on the left side of his sculpted pecs. I lower my gaze toward his muscled stomach which is chiseled into a perfect eight pack. The ridges and lines continue downward, but I can’t see more because they are covered by a pair of basketball shorts.

  “You like what you see, Abby girl?” His cocky voice breaks through the hazy lust.

  “Do you need help?” I ask, composing myself.

  Instead of waiting for him to agree, I lower myself and call Terry who wags her tail and comes running toward me.

  “That’s cheating,” Wes complains, handing me the leash and walking away.

  “Do you want to join us?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Good morning to you too, Ahern,” I say working on the leash and rubbing Terry’s tummy.

  “How is that cheating?” I find Wes in the kitchen and walk to him. He’s preparing coffee, and I hope it’s for me.

  “Hey,” I say, rising on my tiptoes and giving him a peck on the lips.

  “Good morning, beautiful. How did you sleep?” He raps his knuckles along my jaw and hands me a mug. “You attracted him with your cuteness.”