by Julie Cross
“Wait.” Tate holds it tight against his chest. “Just a fair warning. This might change things.”
I roll my eyes. “You spent less than ten minutes on it; how much change could this drawing possibly provoke? I want to see it.”
He holds my gaze, looking way too serious. Especially when I demanded the opposite. “You’re sure?”
“I’m positive.” I fold my arms over my chest. “You gave me three boobs, didn’t you?”
Tate hesitates before slowly turning the notebook around.
My arms fall to my sides as I take it in. There’s no stick figure. No figure at all. He didn’t draw me.
A large shaded heart touches the edges of the paper. And in the center, he’s written the words:
I LOVE YOU
I draw in a quick sharp breath and sink back onto my heels.
“Kind of a game changer, huh?” Tate says tentatively. Less confident than he’d been while creating this artwork.
I’m still staring at the words. I can’t look away. But I nod. “Yeah, kind of.”
My gaze shifts to his face. He looks so serious and worried. It’s exactly what I didn’t want to see, except I do now. I really do. I reach out a hand and touch the words in the center of the page.
“You should sign it,” I suggest, my voice barely above a whisper.
Tate keeps his eyes on me while reaching for the pencil, and then he initials the bottom right corner of the page. Slowly, he tears it from the notebook and it floats in the air between us. I don’t want to get up now, but I can’t risk it crumbling underneath us. I slide off the bed and make my way down the ladder, paper in hand. I tuck it carefully under the Monopoly board.
He’s in the same spot, perfectly still, when I return and kneel in front of him. “You made me pose for nothing.”
“I did,” he says.
I push my hands under his sweater, tugging it up over his head. I don’t know why I thought this would be hard. It’s not. But it’s not easy, either.
It’s…inevitable.
How long have we been walking toward this very moment without knowing? Years, I bet.
Something inside me calms, and I’m no longer wanting to rush, thinking that I’ll chicken out. It’s inevitable. All the threads of my life, my future, have changed or been pulled away from me, but this… This bridge between Tate and me somehow emerged in the midst of everything falling apart. Despite how much I tried to stop it. Despite how afraid I was to make that leap with someone for real. Not just a fantasy built to unrealistic measures. Tate is real, and his life is messed up, and my life is more real and messed up than ever. But his heart is beating beneath my hand, and I didn’t ask for it, but he’s given it to me. And there are some gifts you just don’t turn down. There are some threads that you hold on to as tightly as possible.
I work through the buttons on Tate’s shirt, and then I unbutton and unzip his jeans. He kicks out of his jeans and reaches for my sweater. After my sweater is off, my shiny purple bra still on, Tate pushes me back until I’m lying down again.
He unsnaps my jeans but struggles to pull them down.
“Did you paint these on?” Tate’s still tugging and pulling at my skinny jeans.
I laugh, watching him study my pants like a mechanical object he needs to take apart. “I think you just have to let them turn inside out.”
He shakes his head. “Maybe if you lift your hips ten degrees…”
I’m laughing harder now. “Is this how it’s gonna be, goalie boy? Should we get the notebook again and map out a few plays first?”
“You want to have a strategy?” He lifts an eyebrow. “I can do that.”
My pants are quickly abandoned while Tate grabs the notebook and both pencils, before flopping onto his stomach beside me.
Okay, then.
I remove my own damn pants and then roll over on my stomach, our hips touching. It’s definitely getting warm in here.
Tate smirks at me and then quickly draws a line with a circle on top, then arms, then legs. He puts an X in the spot right between the legs. “The X represents the places I’m going to make contact.”
“Now you draw people?” I tear the paper out and toss it off the side of the bed. “No plays.”
I look over at him. My cheeks burn and my gaze roams to Tate’s bare shoulders, then down his back, the muscles moving along with the pencil. But I don’t stop at his back; I drift farther south, taking in his ass, hugged by the navy striped boxer briefs. A shiver runs down my spine.
Tate holds my face with one hand, gently directing my attention back to the notebook. “Focus, Claire. I know how much I can distract you…”
Tate picks up a pencil again and writes: I really want to kiss you now
My pencil presses to the paper, forming a reply.
OK
Tate leans closer, his warm breath on my neck, his lips grazing the bare skin. Goose bumps burst from every bit of flesh near his mouth. A fire builds in my stomach. He lifts an arm across my back, leaning over me and sliding the notebook in front of us. I tilt my head, allowing him more skin to kiss. He kisses my neck and collarbone. I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of Tate’s moving fingers and lips and whatever else he can use over my neck and back. He unfastens the clasp on my bra. My breathing hitches when his hand drifts under me, brushing lightly over my boobs. I grab his hand beneath me and hold it to my heart, forcing him to drape his body over me, all the bare skin touching bare skin. Tate nibbles on my ear while he writes something else.
You smell so good
He slides down my body, his thumbs latching onto the waistband of my panties. But he doesn’t take them off. He’s carefully moving his lips over my skin, making a straight line from between my shoulder blades to the lowest, lowest part of my back.
My stomach flutters as Tate slides the straps of my bra down my arms. I try to roll over, but he’s pressing too much of his weight against me now and planting too many amazing kisses on my shoulders and back for me to give my body any kind of directions. He slides another hand underneath me, dragging it down my stomach. He makes gentle strokes over the front of my underwear.
“Feel good?” he whispers.
I pull back a little from Tate’s hand, my body stiffening.
His hand stills, his heart pounding against my back. “It’s okay if you…you know.”
I rest my forehead on my arm and let my hips press back against his hand. I can’t help it. It feels so good. “It’s better if I wait.”
“For what?” Tate says, and I hear the smile in his voice. “You’re that close, huh?”
I grab his wrist and yank his hand out from under me. “Don’t get cocky.” I shake my head, not surprised by Tate’s laughter that follows. “Bad word choice.”
“Can I be completely honest?” he says, the teasing dropping from his voice.
“Only if it’s literal honesty.” I turn my back to him and pull both his arms around me so we’re spooning now. Except Tate is very careful to keep his pelvis a couple of inches from touching me.
“I’m putting every single bit of brainpower I have into not losing it,” Tate says, his voice low and sexy in my ear, but in his tone, I hear the nerves, the vulnerability. I relax further into him, sliding his hands over my breasts. “I’m not exaggerating when I say this… I’ll be surprised if I even… I’m just too— You’re too—” He draws in a sharp, ragged breath, and I take a few seconds to relish in the fact that I’ve obviously driven him to this point. This is extremely good for my ego. “I’m sorry, I know you probably have big ideas and—”
I place a hand over his mouth, covering it gently. He’s not allowed to apologize for things that boost my ego. Then I close my eyes and listen. Tate relaxes a bit, his fingers wandering over the front of me again. “Let’s make one more rule, okay?”
“What’s that?”
I turn my head, getting a view of his profile over my shoulder. “We lose it when we lose it, and we don’t worry about which thing is h
appening right then.”
“Thank God,” he mutters under his breath.
And then I’m suddenly pulled tighter against him, Tate’s hand drifting inside my panties. The hazy, I don’t care about anything but this good feeling air is engulfing me, and I know everything is about to explode. I stick a hand behind me and reach for the band of his underwear. He instinctively pulls away, but I get my hand around him anyway. There’s moisture at the tip and for a second I hesitate, too many health and religion class lessons explaining exactly what that bead of moisture contains popping up in my head. I shake off the thoughts because no baby-making zones are currently being invaded without armor. We’re okay.
I hold him tight in my hand, my head falling more to the side with each movement of his hands on me. Heat is bursting from the places his fingers touch. I bite down on my lower lip. He plants more kisses against my neck, and I’m gone. Lost in this place where self-consciousness rarely exists. I grip him tighter and move my hand up and down a few times until he comes.
My muscles relax, my eyes closing, nothing but my pounding heart to listen to. I feel Tate’s kisses, light and sweet, all over the back of my neck and shoulder.
“Don’t move,” he whispers.
I hold perfectly still while he plucks a tissue from the little built-in shelf by our heads and wipes off my hand. I turn over on my back, looking up at Tate. “Would that technically be called sex?”
He balls up the tissue, resting it on the shelf, and then reaches for a bottle of hand sanitizer. Once the bottle is in his hand, he buries his face against my neck. “I’m sorry.”
I laugh. “What are you sorry about? You know how many friends I’ve had to listen to whine about how long it took for them to give a guy a hand job? I know a girl who passed out one time from low blood sugar.”
“Stop right there,” he warns. “I know one of your friends a little too well.”
“I wouldn’t go there.”
A huge glob of blueberry-scented hand sanitizer lands in my palm. Tate rubs my hand with both of his, then he grabs me around the waist and drags me underneath him. My now-calm body is already stirring again, looking right into those green eyes and the tousled hair. His forehead touches mine and he breathes out the words, “I can think clearly now.”
“Good for you.” I comb my fingers through his dark hair. “I feel kind of drunk.”
“Good.” He smiles. “Because I have something I need you to tell me.” When I nod, he continues, leaning into my hand while it drifts through his hair. “When you pictured how this would go—you and me—what exactly did you picture?”
I tilt my head, pretending to think hard about this. “Well, we were on a stage and you were wearing a Romeo costume—”
“You pictured me in tights?”
“Leggings,” I correct.
Tate stares at me until I finally concede to the lie. “I guess I didn’t exactly picture it. Not all the details.”
He nods and then kisses my forehead. “Okay, close your eyes.” I squeeze them tight and Tate continues to kiss my face in several different places. “We’re having sex—”
“Really? I can’t feel a thing.”
“Be serious,” he says, but I hear the smile in his voice. “Imagine we’re having sex.”
“Are you wearing a condom? What color is it? Neon?”
“Claire,” Tate groans, and then he dips his head and tugs at my earlobe with his teeth. “Humor me.”
I roll out my shoulders and smooth my expression. “Okay. We’re having sex.”
“So what do you see?”
I work hard to imagine it for real this time. But I don’t really see anything tangible. Real-life Tate begins kissing me, and in my imagination, my legs wrap tight around his waist and my fingers press into his back. We’re so close, so connected. My breath gets caught in my throat.
“You’re blushing,” he says against my lips. His mouth moves to the front of my neck. “Your pulse is racing. Tell me.”
So I do. I spill out all the words I just thought, and when I finish, Tate is staring at me, wide-eyed. “That’s it?”
I nod, my cheeks still hot.
“No Romeo?” he asks.
I slide my hands from his hair to his face. “You’ll do.”
Without releasing me from his tight hold, Tate reaches toward the end of the bed, fishing around in the pocket of his jeans. He drops three condoms on the bed beside us. “We’re gonna use these.”
I lift my eyebrows. “All of them?”
“We might.”
The lines of will we or won’t we blur in a tangled web of kissing and touching and Tate using his teeth to drag my panties all the way to my ankles when I bet him that he couldn’t do it. Eventually, after his underwear is on the floor, he sits up. He holds up one of the condoms and tears it open. I watch him roll it on, into place, and my stomach does flip-flops, expecting him to jump right to it. But instead, he takes his time, working his mouth over my body again and again.
And then Tate is positioning himself between my legs, but still I tense up, even before he’s gone anywhere inside me.
He must sense my nerves because he waits, kissing me longer, rubbing my neck and shoulders with both his hands.
“Relax,” Tate whispers, his voice filled with a calmness that washes over me. “I can stop if it hurts. It’s no big deal. We’ll do it again tomorrow. Or in an hour. Or five minutes…”
A laugh builds in my throat until it emerges, my whole body shaking and loosening. My eyes flutter until I close them completely. And in the haze of laughter, I feel Tate pushing inside me and then the laughing cuts off. I open my eyes. I’m sure they’re huge with surprise. Did that really just happen?
Tate stops moving, holding himself in place. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”
Okay. So it hurts. A little.
It takes me several seconds to absorb everything—the feeling of Tate inside me, on top of me. The sting of pain is already fading. I must have been quiet for too long because concern fills his face. “Claire?”
“I’m okay.” I slide my arms underneath his, wrapping them around his back. “Just…go slow.”
He frees one hand from behind my head and slides it down my leg, pulling it around his back. He does the same thing with my other leg. “Like this?”
Yes, like this. It’s just how I’d pictured it in my head. I knead my hands into Tate’s back and eventually slide them south, pulling our hips together even more. He makes long, slow movements that build one on top of the other. And still it’s not enough. Something isn’t enough.
Tate stills again, dipping his head, lips on my ear. “I love you.” His eyes meet mine again and he’s breaking all the rules. So am I. There’s so much intensity on his face when he repeats those three words again. “I love you.”
And there it is. That perfect bubble of heat and emotion and holding each other tight that I saw—and felt—inside my imagination.
I love you.
I love you.
I press harder into his back, bringing us closer together, more connected. We kiss and kiss until my body is on fire again, and then Tate deepens his movements, not much but enough for me to feel him come inside me.
He shudders for several seconds and then his mouth crashes into mine. I love you. I love you. I don’t know if he’s saying it or I’m saying it. It doesn’t matter. We don’t even need to say it. It just is.
Chapter 41
–Tate–
When I spot Roger in the garage, cleaning the back shelves, I don’t even think about the stolen keys in my pocket or the fact that I should probably use this as an opportunity to put them back. I head right in and ask him what he’s up to.
Hearing my footsteps, he turns. “My cabin keys…have you seen them?”
My face and neck heat up. I look anywhere but at Roger. He already knows. I can tell. “Uh…”
“Let me guess.” He continues wiping his hands, speaking calmly. My heart is pounding, anticipat
ing an angry reaction from Roger. “You didn’t ask me for them because you didn’t want to talk about what I brought up yesterday at the hospital?”
Yeah, pretty much. I keep my mouth shut. But I do take the keys from my pocket and hand them over.
Roger pulls himself up to his feet and accepts the keys. A flash of my dad, pissed off and shoving me toward the truck, hits me hard.
I swear to God, kid, if you ever touch my goddamn keys again…
I’m still bracing myself for yelling, at the very least, when Roger says, “I wish things were easier for you, Tate. I really do. The last thing I want to do is scare you off. I won’t push you anymore, but if you need to vent about anything, or if you need advice, you know where to find me.”
At first I can only nod slightly and turn around to leave, but I stop myself before I’m out the door. I spin around again and Roger waits for me. “I shouldn’t have taken the keys without asking. I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”
“The place is still standing, right?” He waits for me to nod and then adds, “Catch any interesting fish?”
Uh…
My face heats up again. I scratch the back of my head. Roger laughs. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
“Sorry,” I repeat.
“How about you help me get the oil changed on the minivan and we’ll call it even?”
“Yeah, sure.” I nod. “The tires haven’t been rotated in a while, either.”
Roger looks at me and lifts an eyebrow. “Looks like we’ve got an afternoon of work ahead of us, then.”
We work in peace for a good hour before my dad’s truck rolls into the driveway. I know Roger sees the truck, but he takes my cue and neither of us stops what we’re doing.
It takes several minutes for Dad to appear in the garage, Jody beside him. “Get clean,” Jody demands. “We’re going out to dinner.”
I’m already spinning excuses in my head. Dad opens his mouth to chime in. “It’s your sister’s last night in town…”
“You guys go ahead, then. I’m— I’ve got homework to do.”
Dad waves a hand. “You don’t need to worry about any of that—you heard Coach Redeck. You’re already a top academic recruit; no need to lay it on so thick.”