Love Me Like You Do: Books That Keep You In Bed

by Fields, MJ

  “What?” I asked.

  “Just trying to decide what kind of frame I should get for my certificate and where to hang it.”

  “So cocky, McKnight. I wouldn’t go picking out colors or styles just yet, Mr. Hope-you-can-back-it-up,” I teased, reminding him of the words he’d said to me after I’d told him I would beat him at Mario Kart. The difference was that I’d actually backed up my claim.

  “Oh, I can back it up.” He stepped toward me and nudged my shoulder with his, leaning close enough that his breath tickled my cheek. “I always follow through with my promises, El.”

  My back snapped a little straighter, and I resisted the urge to look at him, knowing my cheeks were probably flushed. Fortunately, I was saved from having to answer because it was our turn to step up and pick our helmets. We grabbed matching ones, along with some kind of weird head-sock, and I said a quick prayer to the hair gods that a) the thing wouldn’t give me lice, and b) it wouldn’t totally ruin my hair when I took it off later.

  The rest of our group selected their helmets as well, and we all made our way over to the track when an announcement came over the speakers telling us to find the karts we’d been assigned. Somehow, I’d ended up in one of the karts at the very front of the pack with Bryce directly behind me.

  Bryce set his helmet down and held out his hand for my head-sock. “Here, let me help you with that.” I could’ve managed on my own, but I liked having his hands near me. My nose wrinkled when he slipped the fabric over my head and into place. “What? Afraid it’ll mess up your hair?”

  “No. Just lamenting the fact that there’s no way to make this look remotely sexy.”

  “Gonna have to disagree with you there, Uno,” he countered, easing the helmet on and fluffing my hair over my shoulders. “I can promise you that this look right here is the picture of a hot race car driver fantasy I never knew I had.”

  Huh. Hot race car driver. Definitely not something I ever imagined myself embodying, but I didn’t hate it.

  We all settled into our karts as the instructor went through another run-down of the rules. The race was three laps around, and the track was long and narrow, featuring a series of sharp turns with stretches of long and short straightaways separating them. It was only a matter of time before someone went sailing into the red and white-striped barrier walls, despite the instructor’s warnings about not bumping other racers into the wall.

  I knew I’d be the first if Bryce had his way. On normal first dates, some hesitation would probably exist on both sides about being ruthless in a competition, with each person feeling the other out and not wanting to show up their date.

  But this was far from a normal date. We’d resorted back to the days when raced each other on bikes around my grandparents’ land or his parents’ winery, desperately trying to back up the shit-talking we did to each other on a regular basis. Back then, our competitiveness was real but innocent; we never wagered anything serious. Hearts and feelings were never part of the equation, never put on the line. Now, whether either of us was willing to admit it, that—hearts becoming vulnerable and feelings taking root and growing—was exactly where this was headed if things between us stayed on track.

  With the blare of the horn, we were off.

  An adrenaline-fueled surge of excitement struck me like lightning as I rounded the first turn. I focused on the next two quick turns and forced myself not to risk a glance to my left, knowing Bryce was probably in the process of overtaking my lead. When I came to a straightaway at about the halfway point, a kart pulled up next to me, and I knew it was Bryce without looking. A grin spread under my helmet until the kart edged forward and he flew by, somehow gunning it around a corner and leaving me in his dust.

  Another kart pulled up next to me, and we were neck-and-neck until I maneuvered my way around a sharp turn, preventing it from passing. Dealing with the other kart slowed me down and allowed Bryce to pull even further ahead. I glanced above the barrier walls and saw him closing in on the last straightaway of his first lap.

  Taking the last turn without slowing brought me closer to Bryce, but not close enough. He used the second lap to stretch his lead, and by the time he rounded the last corner, he was far enough ahead that he had a shot at breaking the record.

  I spent the entire third lap distracted and cursed into my stupid head sock when a kart passed me at the last second, putting me in third place.

  I slowed to a stop next to Bryce’s kart and focused all my efforts on being indignant about his victory. But the second he tugged the head sock off, my lips parted and a breath caught in my throat. Nobody should be able to pull off a helmet and head sock and somehow maintain such a level of sexiness. Instead of having wild, windblown zombie hair like the rest of us, Bryce had an early morning bedhead look, and it was the epitome of sexy. Only the hair on each side of his head had moved, and thanks to static electricity, it extended in all directions, but somehow only highlighted his hotness.

  Bryce looked up at the leaderboard, and when he realized he'd surpassed the previous record, a victory smile spread across his face, making him all the more appealing. He swiveled his hips in a hilarious, yet adorable, victory dance.

  “Well, well, well. Looks like I was right to start thinking about frames after all," he said. "But I guess you’ve already had a whole lap to realize that.” His rich, smooth tone dripped with a playful arrogance only he could pull off. That, combined with his victorious smirk, nearly made me drop my helmet so I could fan myself.

  “I can’t decide which quality is more attractive right now—your undying humility or your terrible dance moves,” I retorted, peeling the head sock off and attempting to smooth out my hair.

  Bryce laughed and set our helmets on a table. “You forgot my charming personality and dashing good looks.”

  “It’s definitely not your humility.”

  “Knew it was the good looks.”

  “I didn’t say they were attractive to me.”

  Bryce’s mouth gaped, but only for a second before he snapped it shut and rubbed his hand along his jawline. “Ouch. You wound me,” he jested, grabbing at his heart.

  My eyes rolled of their own accord, but I caught my smile before it could twist my lips. “Oh, whatever." I patted the top of his head. "Your ego’s up here, and we both know that’s the only part of you that’s wounded.” I tilted my head toward a group of elderly ladies sitting at a table across from us, all of them eyeing Bryce with appreciation. “But I bet your fan club over there would be willing to build your ego back up.”

  Bryce followed the tilt of my head, and the women giggled and waved. I couldn’t blame them for staring; now he was the one who brought the whole ‘sexy race car driver fantasy’ vibe to life.

  “Nah, I’m good. Nothing like a shot to the pride to keep a guy grounded. Plus, something tells me you’re bluffing.”

  I crossed my arms. “Why’s that?”

  Bryce leaned across the table, bracing himself at an angle that showcased his toned forearms. I tried not to stare, even though he was close enough that I could easily reach out and run my fingers along the ridged veins. When did forearms become sexy?

  His five o’clock shadow gently tickled my cheek as he whispered, “Let’s see…it’s either because of the ten different ways you eye-fucked me just now when I pulled off my helmet or the sounds you were giving me back in the parking lot. Take your pick.”

  I couldn’t exactly deny either of those allegations, but I realized I wanted to give Bryce a taste of his own medicine. Turn the tables on him. After all, Milo was right—I wasn’t some timid, self-conscious girl who lacked confidence. At least I wasn’t before Bryce came into the picture and made me tongue-tied. I straightened my shoulders, sucked in a breath, and pushed back from the table. “Let’s not pretend I was the only one affected by that kiss.” I dropped my gaze down his body, letting it linger just long enough for him to notice before looking back up at his face. “But the moment’s passed, Caesar. C’mon, let’
s go play Skee-ball. Losing to you doesn’t sit well with me.”

  He grinned. “Better buckle up, then, Blondie; I have no intention of losing to you.”

  We spent the next hour trading victories. I beat him at Skee-ball. He dominated me at air hockey. I narrowly won the NASCAR game. He smoked me at the basketball game. When we were tied at two victories apiece, Bryce suggested pool as a tie-breaker. Technically, Bryce was one victory up on me because of the race, so winning pool was my only chance to actually even the score.

  I rolled up my metaphorical sleeves, twisted my fingers together, stretched them out with a few satisfying cracks, and got to work.

  Bryce was halfway decent, but I was better.

  “Oh, did I neglect to mention that Nana and Pops got a pool table for the game room when I was sixteen?” I asked, batting my eyelashes before bending over the table to sink the last ball. “Oops.”

  Bryce’s head dropped down, and he groaned in defeat. “I’d like the record to reflect this was not a clean victory,” he said, meeting my gaze with a disbelieving smile.

  “Thought you liked it dirty? Thought you said you didn’t mind going down?” I asked, biting my lip and stepping closer. “I gotta say…not many things feel better than being on top. Wouldn’t you agree?” I tilted my head back and traced my fingers along the scoop of my tank top. He froze, eyes widening in shock. “What’s the matter, Bryce? Afraid I’ll beat you at your own game?”

  I had to admit, this seductive sex-kitten act felt really good. Natural, almost. Which was strange, considering how much my attraction to Bryce had thrown me off initially. But, if there was one way to snap me out of my uncertainty over the way grownup-Bryce made me feel, it was competition. Competing against each other eliminated the potential for awkwardness from being on a first date and reshaped the parameters of our relationship.

  Bryce leaned forward, boxing me in, then reached around my body to put his pool stick away. He braced his hands against the wall on either side of me. “Afraid you’ll out dirty-talk me? Please. I’d fucking love to see you try, El. But I told you we’d take it slow, and that particular competition is a slippery slope into the danger zone. Plus, I think I wanna drag this out and enjoy this side of you a little more.” He brushed two fingertips along the same path my hand had just traveled, then leaned back, his blue eyes conveying all the dirty thoughts his mouth left unsaid.

  I swallowed hard and blinked slowly. “Drinks! We need drinks. I’ll go. Be right back.” I ducked out from under him and hightailed it toward the cafe without looking back.

  Holy crap. In what world did I think I’d ever be able to talk sexier or dirtier than Bryce? Just hearing the word fucking coming out of his mouth had me squeezing my thighs together.

  After hurriedly buying two beers, I walked back toward the table, gripping the plastic cups as if the condensation would seep into my skin and cool off more than my hands. Fortunately, between the relaxed smile Bryce wore and the refreshing taste of the summer shandy, we successfully avoided veering into conversations with more than a PG-13 rating.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed after Bryce mentioned something about renting a house a few blocks from Sipology, the bar his cousin managed. “I just realized you were going to tell me something yesterday when it started pouring, and then you never got to tell me. Something about your concept of home.”

  The conflicted expression that fell across his face confirmed I’d been right to bring it up again. He dropped his eyes to study the last of his beer, leaving me to wonder if he would reply, or if he’d try to brush off the topic.

  “Bryce…” I started, but quickly trailed off when our eyes met.

  His eyes darted away after a heartbeat, then, exhaling slowly, he looked back up at me. But as he opened his mouth to speak, my phone buzzed loudly against the table, lighting up with my sister’s name.

  “Crap! Sorry,” I sputtered, scrambling to silence the device.

  “I told you that I didn’t call you after I moved back because there are complications in my life.” He paused, then added, "That wasn’t exactly a lie, but it’s definitely not the explanation I should’ve given you. There’s so much more to it. The truth is—”

  My phone started vibrating again. Sophia. I silenced it again and flipped it over. It wasn’t like her to double-call, but she’d have to wait.

  I gave Bryce my undivided attention, urging him to continue.

  “The truth is, about a year and a half ago I got a call from a hospital in California on behalf of my ex-girlfriend, asking me to please get to Monterey Park as soon as possible. They wouldn’t tell me what was going on over the phone, but I assumed something had happened to Bridgette and that she still had me listed as her emergency contact. I caught the first flight I could and got to the hospital later that day. They immediately started asking me all kinds of questions. Did I know she had listed me as her baby’s father? Did I know anything about her whereabouts? Did she try to get in touch with me? At the time, I was too stunned to put the pieces together; all I could say was that I hadn’t seen or spoken to her since she moved to California six months prior. She’d never told me anything about being pregnant. They told me Bridgette had been thirty weeks along when she gave birth to a baby girl a week before, but had disappeared without a trace sometime during the previous night. None of it made any sense. Until they took me to the NICU and I laid eyes on the baby. My baby. She was tiny—just over three pounds. So much of her was hidden behind wires and tubes, but she was the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. After I held her and let the magnitude of the situation sink in, they sat me down and explained the risk factors associated with her prematurity.

  “It was…terrifying, to be honest. In an instant, without warning, I became a dad. To a baby with a laundry list of potential health complications. The next few months are a bit of a blur—I can probably count on one hand the number of times I left the hospital. Bridgette never came back; she fell completely off the grid. I called her parents, who were also my bosses, and they were as stunned as I was, but were absolute godsends, taking turns flying down until I was able to bring Peyton back to Seattle. Becoming Peyton’s dad flipped everything about my life upside down, but I wouldn’t trade that title for anything."

  He paused, and I wanted to say something…anything…but words escaped me. I could barely process everything he’d just said.

  Bryce has a baby.

  He’s a parent.

  “Look, El," he said. "I know this is so far beyond anything you were expecting me to tell you, and I know it probably seems like I should’ve told you sooner, it’s just…you have to understand how protective I am of Peyton. For almost two years, this little girl…,” he stopped to pull up a picture on his phone and hand it to me. “She has been my life. My world. My only priority. So this—going out, letting myself have a life—is all a little new to me. Uncharted territory.”

  I took the phone on autopilot, replaying his words inside my head. An endless sea of questions flooded my mind with each piece of information he gave me. But as soon as I laid eyes on the tiny figure smiling at me through the phone’s screen, my heart filled with an indescribable warmth that silenced all the questions.

  I felt my lips pull into a smile.

  "She’s beautiful." I couldn’t tell how old she was in the photo—maybe six months—but she was his spitting image with big blue-ish eyes and dark lashes and a smile that matched her dad’s.

  In that moment, I understood.

  Why he moved back.

  Why he jumped on board with taking things slowly.

  Why he seemed to carry the weight of the world at times.

  But what I didn’t understand was his reluctance to tell me about her. It was the one question that refused to be silenced. And, ultimately, it was the one question I didn’t want to ask, but needed answered.

  “Bryce,” I said, though it came out as a hoarse whisper. “She’s so precious. Amazing. Perfect. I don’t…I don’t know what to say. This is just…�
��

  “A lot, I know,” he supplied for me with a nod. “I get it.”

  I was relieved. He seemed to understand my need for a few minutes to digest everything. I had no idea how long I stared at Bryce’s phone—at Peyton—before I looked up at him again.

  “You have a baby. You’re a dad,” I stated dumbly, feeling my eyes widen as the words left my mouth.

  Bryce nodded slowly, keeping his gaze on me to gauge my reaction.

  Despite my efforts to care for Sophia when we were still with Helen, I’d never been a ‘baby person.’ I didn’t play with baby dolls as a kid. Never really felt any maternal instincts.

  But seeing Peyton’s picture…I don’t know.

  Maybe it was because I’d once considered her dad to be my best friend.

  Maybe it was knowing that she’d been abandoned by her mom, like I had been.

  Maybe it was knowing that Bryce must’ve felt so incredibly overwhelmed.

  Maybe it was knowing that, despite everything I went through as a child, Peyton had already overcome so much more.

  Something about this little girl in the photo made me want to protect her from the world.

  It was a foreign feeling, and I had no idea what to make of it.

  “Where…who’s with her right now?”

  “She’s in Washington with her grandparents. When I moved us here, I promised them Peyton would come back for visits. It’s the least I can do after everything they’ve done for me, for us.”

  I nodded, still struggling to wrap my head around everything. I picked up my drink and gulped the rest of it down, hoping it would calm my racing thoughts.

  It didn’t.

  I can’t believe he kept this from me.

  “Bryce,” I finally said, fingers absently picking at the frayed hem of my shorts. “I get that she’s your priority, and she should be. One-hundred percent. And I get that you’re protective of her. I do. But I don’t get why you waited until now to tell me. It’s not like I’m some random stranger you just met and asked out. You’ve had multiple opportunities to tell me before tonight.”