by Leanne Davis
I collapse on her, and she holds my shoulders as if I’m going to fall off the bed if she doesn’t. Her lips touch my skin right where my arm and shoulder meet. She licks the sweat and all. She trails kisses up my shoulder to my neck and ends by kissing my temple. Sweat rolls all over me but she seems to not care. Her sweet kisses are so unlike the hot, wild, uncontrolled, slippery, loud, crazy sex we just experienced in my bed together.
“That was…”
“Yeah. That was.” I say, ducking my forehead into the crook of her shoulder. Now, I only want her to hold me. That sensation is new and one I’ve never had before. But I am craving her touch. Her hands slide over my back, but so soft and innocent now. She squeezes my muscles at random, including my shoulder blades, my lower back, my ass, and my neck. She rubs and soothes and takes care of me. And I luxuriate in it. Without knowing I even wanted or needed it, I have to wonder if it could be the best part.
She kisses my shoulder again and mutters softly, “Don’t leave me.”
I don’t answer but squeeze her closer to me. My heart is shifting. It wasn’t a pathetic, sad cry to manipulate me. But a soft and clearly worded request. A vulnerable heart reaching out for tenderness from another. Putting herself out there and knowing she could be hurt again. Her history with men isn’t one she is proud of. I lift my head and stare into her now serious face. Sweat beads on her brow and rolls down her temples. She’s sexy and sweaty but her gaze is so intelligent. She is insecure and unsure, and yet the hope in her gaze fills my heart to bursting. She is so vulnerable.
She is also the bravest person I’ve ever met.
“I won’t leave you.” I know it’s far too soon to promise that. I rarely make promises that I don’t know if I can keep. We’re starting something that has a fifty-fifty success rate. There is no way of knowing if we are truly compatible or capable of making our relationship work. Being cautious, I know that. But in that moment, nothing matters but her smile. I glimpse the joy, trust, and gratefulness my answer provides for her.
She nods and blinks back the tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”
The confirmation is almost polite. But it breaks my heart. More than any poem or soliloquy could. It says everything to me. As I clutch her closer, I am promising to never hurt her if I can help it. I would also never leave her unless I was sure it was better for both of us.
Now I want to show her that she means everything in the world to me.
Chapter 13
JACEY
“You’re a crazy neatnik.”
His head jerks up as he glances down when I interrupt the long moment of us holding each other. Bathing in the afterglow of spectacular, engaging, and very much connected sex, we lie together, wrapped in an embrace on his bed with the covers sprawled all around us. A sheen of sweat still covers our bodies but we are starting to cool off and dry. He cradles me, letting my head rest on his shoulder while my hand touches his sternum.
“I’m a neatnik? That’s your only comment right now? It must be your favorite remark about me or why would you say it?”
I grin, but he can’t see my face. “Uh-huh. It’s the first thing that surprised me about you. You keep your apartment nicer than I expect Tara keeps her whole house. I don’t think your parents are half as tidy as you are.”
He chuckles as he begins to rub my back harder. I obviously surprised him.
“You’ve mentioned it several times. Yeah, everyone makes fun of me about it. I try to downplay it.” His shoulders shrug, and I have to smile. That’s what I love about him. He makes me feel so relaxed with the simple, easy things he says. He’s so ordinary when we’re alone, yet everything he accomplishes is very extraordinary. The world knows him as a super hero.
And I know him.
Anyone meeting me would be sorely disappointed to learn that I am the girl Wyatt chose, for the moment at least, to be with. I can’t get my head around it. I wonder whether or not this could be feasible. Yet, knowing Wyatt as I do, I trust he wouldn’t just do anything like this with me on a whim. I’m startled and humbled when I realize I am deciding on my own about a guy. For once, I feel like I can trust my own judgment. I know that Wyatt doesn’t want to hurt me, or use me, or abuse me, or just have a one-night stand with me. He’s not wired like that, so I feel confident in believing that much.
I squeeze his torso. “Don’t. It’s a quirk.”
“Does it make me more relatable?”
“I hear the laughter in your voice. But yeah, something like that. You can’t imagine how intimidating the entire scope of your accomplishments and all the other things you do and have to handle every day can be. How often I start to compare myself with you but I’m so lacking and ordinary. Lazy even sometimes. You’re something else entirely, Wyatt.”
“Something else…”
I lift my head while folding my hands together. I rest them on his chest and set my chin on top of them. My gaze studies his face, starting from his forehead, my eyes traverse his beautiful warm eyes and the exquisite shape of his nose and mouth. His features are now etched permanently in my brain. Every centimeter is thoroughly treasured, appreciated, and adored by me. My chest swells with emotion. It scares me a little. My torso feels too tight, and my heart is swelling up too big, as if it could explode. There are so many good feelings that fill me and also shock me. I’m uncomfortable in a way. I don’t usually feel so good, and rarer still, I never associate it with someone else.
I sense concern in his tone of voice. It’s humbling to think he’s worried about what I think of him. That blows my mind. His hand runs down the side of my head and tucks the stray strands of my braids behind my ear. The rest of them fall down my back.
“Something wonderful, Wyatt. And something I’ve never known before in anyone, let alone a guy my own age. I almost have to pinch myself when I think that I’m here like this with you.”
“You didn’t expect any of this?”
“No.”
“Can’t you recognize how I look at you?”
“I just refused to believe it.”
His hand cups my chin. It’s hard for me to resist his tenderness and the gentle contact of his touch. I let my face absorb the warmth of his palm, and I close my eyes. His thumb runs along my lips. “I hope that doesn’t become a continuing theme in our relationship.”
My eyes pop open. So much to unpack in that simple sentence. My brain dances all around it. Where do I start?
“Our relationship?”
His eyes tug at mine and hold them prisoner as his mouth twists up and he replies, “Yeah, our relationship. That is, if you want one.”
“You want to begin a romantic relationship with me?”
“That’s all I ever wanted with you.”
Finally it’s out in the open. I sense that in his tone of voice and the sincere look in his eyes. How? I wonder how could he be so sure of me, of all people? He knows about my past and many of my previous actions. But Wyatt is so positive in his suggestion. He seems to know how he feels about me.
I love his words. His committed, sexy words that offer unconditional trust, care, kindness, and commitment. All the things I’ve never experienced. Even our sex feels completely different than it ever did before. Can I say that to him? I’ve never admitted how I felt about sex to anyone. Let alone, the guy I just did it with. Should I? Is that what healthy people do? Talk about it? Tell each other the things they think and feel?
His gaze is centered on my face. Sharp and clear. I know he’s watching me. “What is it?” he asks. Perhaps he can read my mind from the expression on my face. I don’t have an expressive face so that would be quite a feat.
I lower my eyelids to conceal my thoughts in case he can read my eyes. Lowering my chin to avoid the intensity of his gaze, even my skin seems to be telling him how I feel.
“I’ve never talked about it before.”
“What? Having a relationship?”
“Well, no. I’ve never been in one. But I’ve never discussed sex before�
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The soft movement of his fingers on my face captures my attention. Just a light caress and rub. I never tire of his touch. It makes all his words seem true. I might have heard a few words of kindness before, but my heart never believed them. Wyatt’s touch emphasizes his words and makes them true.
“What, Jacey? Tell me what you think. And what you feel. What you liked. What you hated. I can’t read your mind. You have to trust me more and talk to me.”
Hot tears well up behind my eyes. I can’t get over the softness of his tone. The kindness of the words. The sense of renewed hope that he evokes in me and which overrides everything that happened before now. I feel like a new flower, ready to bloom inside my soul and head and heart. Someone might actually love and care about me.
I squeeze my eyes tightly shut to keep the tears inside. I press my forehead into my hands. I never discussed my feelings, which are hard for me to even put into words. I never learned how to admit my feelings or worries because no one asked to hear about them. It’s impossible to know how to put them into words without any practice. But Wyatt asks me directly. He opens a door and offers me something new and exciting and amazing. The overwhelming goodness floods over me.
“It was better than good. I mean, the orgasm… but more than that. It felt…”
“Like it wasn’t just two random bodies doing what nature enables us to do?”
I lift my head, and my eyes are still damp. I can’t help my tears. He gets it… he gets me, yet why should he? He has no reason to comprehend my situation, but he does all the same. I expect to feel sort of weird discussing the subject. Sure, I’ve had sex before. With too many partners to mention. But I never discussed it with anyone. I never had anything to say about it to anyone. It feels peculiar to speak about it out loud.
“Yes. I felt like you were with me, not just a random naked body.” I roll my eyes and frown with frustration. “I’m not explaining it right.”
He smiles and leans forward, his mouth capturing mine. He leans back far enough to rest his forehead on mine. We stare almost cross-eyed at each other. He kisses my lips again. “You’re explaining it perfectly.”
I shift and unclasp my hands from under me. He releases the back of my head to grab my hand, holding onto my fingers and squeezing them. I stare at our interlaced fingers, the most beautiful sight in my life. His long, strong fingers intertwine so neatly with mine. The perfect match of male to female hands. He’s holding me, and I squeeze him. I’ve never had anything like this. I lift my gaze and confess, “I’m so scared.”
He nods, and I know he’s not scared, but he understands my fear.
He replies, “And?” in a small whisper.
“And I’m so glad I’m here.”
His smile gets huge. We don’t move or grab each other. We smile into each other’s eyes, our linked hands as our only connection. It’s the most powerful, meaningful moment of my life. At that perfect instant, I almost think, believe, and feel that someone could finally love me.
WYATT
There are times when Jacey Walker could break my heart in two. Occasionally, it takes over and grips me, although she’s unaware of anything that would suggest how much I feel for her. She’s so delighted. I don’t know how else to describe her response. Everything about us and what we like to do and how we interact never ceases to surprise and delight her. She smiles with unmasked pleasure whenever I open a door for her or serve her a glass of water. Any small gesture of courtesy or chivalry surprises her. She warms instantly and averts her gaze before glancing back at me timidly.
It’s so damn sweet, I do it as often as possible. My heart is bursting with love for her. I want to protect her from anything that could hurt her and show her all the things that might make her smile. Her former life and all the stuff she lived through would probably make me blush, but in our relationship, she’s the one who seems shocked and awed.
We go on dates. That surprises her, too. We go out to dinner and to a movie regularly. I guess she finds it hard to realize I want to spend time with her alone, not always with Kevin and Kayden. The first morning we came out of the bedroom together, we found them in front of the television, playing their games. After a glance and a smirk, they returned to gaming. All the anxiety Jacey was experiencing was released, and her shoulders slumped when she saw their non-reaction. From then on, she was one of us. Always welcome there. She came and went at her own leisure, eating dinner and breakfast and hanging out for days on end. She sleeps with me and still manages to be the loud, fun, interesting, funny Jacey with them. But hell, I selfishly want all that personality to myself sometimes.
So our dates started.
She smiles whenever I show any acts of kindness, decency, and care. She set the bar pretty low, so it was no problem to rise above it and even raise it. That’s what breaks my heart. If I were another type of guy, possibly prone to laziness, selfishness, and recklessness, I could take her for granted, and she’d still believe I was a wonderful boyfriend. Demonstrating to her what she deserves and should insist upon is a humbling experience for me. She is so grateful for common decency, I have to be careful not to ever forget that.
We clicked as soon as we met. I noticed it immediately, and it was much more than my friendship with Dani. Dani and I were always close, and we cared and respected each other. But with Jacey I felt an instant connection. Her honesty and truthfulness transcended the usual impressions of proper and civilized. The chemistry that connected us was on a level I never experienced. I am usually very analytical, and I try not to overstep the comfort zones of others. It was hard for me to restrain my passion unless it was directed toward a goal like good grades or football. Sure, I had other ambitions, but they were in line with any type A personality.
What I lacked, however, was emotional passion. Jacey Walker created that inside me. By breaking my heart and setting it on fire, all at the same time, she ignited something that never went out. Stirring the embers with a sultry glance, a smile, or a touch (and any touch will do), the passion I felt centered on her personality. Her words, her thoughts, her ideas, and her smile. Her damn smile grabbed me in my guts, twisting them up and squeezing them, but I must admit I enjoy the experience. She makes me aware of everything in my life. For so long, I lacked emotions, and only behaved myself and achieved my goals without any soul or spirit.
When Jacey started attending my football games, however, I suddenly had a brand new audience to perform for. Now I was only playing for one. And she knew jack about the game I persisted in trying to impress her with. In the end, she made me play better. She brought me back to my former self. Which hasn’t happened since that night last year with Hans and his merry tribe of assholes. She has no idea how much she’s helping me through it, but she is.
She stays with me longer than just the weekends now and doesn’t mind commuting back to Silver Springs to go to work. We don’t broach the subject yet of staying at my parents’ house together. It’s too weird to contemplate. So, when I come home, I just eat dinner, chat awhile, and return to my apartment. I think I’ll stop living at home after this. Even as early as this summer, I think I’ll stay in Portland and get a full-time job so I can figure my shit out.
It wasn’t unusual for Jacey to stay at my place more often than at my parents’ house. They were both supportive, considering how awkwardly bad the situation could become and how quickly that could happen. But they are the first to acknowledge that she isn’t their daughter or ward, and she certainly has the right to make her own decisions. They asked me once if I was sure about pursuing a relationship with her, and they ended it with their usual advice to me, just be careful. I am careful, in all ways.
One evening in late December it got dark at four-thirty. I came in from finishing up a group project for my Communications class. We met in one of the cafés just a few blocks away. When I got back to the apartment, Kevin glanced up and said, “Hey, Jacey told me to tell you she went out to grab some ice cream.”
I glance
outside, seeing the dark skies and imagining her out there alone. She’s probably ten times more streetwise than I am, but I can’t stop myself from wanting to protect her. I text her, and she doesn’t answer. I slip my shoes back on and grab my coat. It’s cold outside now, and I walk fast towards the Silver Spoon, her favorite place near campus. She loves their ice cream, and I like knowing she eats there all the time. I hurry down the stairs to the stadium, going past the track and towards the hill. Concern tweaks my brain. Why isn’t Jacey answering my texts? She’s usually right on top of it.
“Hey, Kincaid!” I glance to my left when I hear my name being called. I lift a hand in greeting to a guy in one of my classes. Preoccupied, I hasten my pace. Then I see the ice cream shop. Our ice cream shop. We go there every time she visits me on campus, at least once. And there sits Jacey in the brightly lit, homey, tasty ice cream shop. She’s dipping her red plastic spoon into a bowl piled high with two scoops of blue ice cream. Blueberry is her favorite as it turns out. The spoon disappears into her mouth. She’s smiling and tilting her head, so her heavy braids swing over her shoulder and fall towards her breasts. The back of the head I see before me suddenly starts to register.
It’s a blond head. I can’t see the rest of him because he’s in the booth, and I can’t see over the back of it. I walk a few steps around the corner of the shop. It’s a glass front, and as I walk around, it all comes into view.
There, across from Jacey, sits Hans.
She rises to her feet, frowning at me. I see Hans starting to get up. I turn… no… Fuck. No, I’m not facing him… or them. Together. On the sidewalk here. I can’t believe she’d meet him for an ice cream. Like it’s the most innocent thing to do.