Heavy: A Bad Boy Next Door Romance

by Amelia Wilde

No. Unless Zelda is there, it’s not home. It’s just not.

  There was a small hold-up at the security line—some old man who didn’t understand the whole “shoes off” policy—so by the time I got through, I was ready to burst out of my own damn skin and run through the airport shouting at everyone to get out of my way. Instead, because I don’t want to get tackled by fifteen TSA agents, I take the moving walkways to get to the gate as fast as possible.

  There were only two flights to Stanford, and knowing Zelda, she’ll have picked the early one so she has plenty of time to start setting up her life once the plane touches down.

  Doubt turns over and over in my stomach. What if I was wrong? Then I’m going to be sitting here until the late afternoon. I’m sure as hell not going to call my aunt and tell her that things didn’t work out. And if Zelda doesn’t show up by the afternoon—

  The closer I get to the gate, the more I slow down. The last thing I need is for all the people sitting here to think I’m coming after them. I scan over all the seats, making my way across the gleaming floor, and at the last moment, I catch a glimpse of her hair and I know, I know, it’s her, but before I can say her name, she stands up and whirls around so quickly that she runs into me.

  Her face is white with anxiety, but the moment she raises her eyes to mine, her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s like watching the sun rise.

  “Hey.” I can’t think of anything else to say, couldn’t wipe the smile off my face if I wanted to.

  “Sawyer.” She breathes the word like me showing up in this terminal is a damn miracle, and her eyes go damp with tears. Is this a good sign or a bad one? “What are you doing here?”

  “Well…” For all my planning over the last day, I haven’t planned what to say to her. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “So you came to the airport?” Her forehead wrinkles in confusion. “How—”

  “I ran into Carly at the grocery store. Your best friend, whose name is Carly.”

  She gives me a half grin. “She told you I was going to Stanford?”

  “She sure did.”

  “She told you what flight I was going on?” The words come out of her mouth, and in the next moment I see the realization cross her face. “You had to have a ticket to get through security.”

  “Is that a question?”

  “Are you on this flight?” Zelda shifts her weight from side to side, looking up at me, eyes green and shining.

  I look back at her, letting myself drown in those beautiful eyes. “If I am, would that be a bad thing?”

  Her lips curve down. “I guess it depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Do you forgive me for walking away from you that night like a total—?”

  I raise one hand in the air. “Stop.”

  Zelda presses her lips together and waits.

  “You did what you had to do, and I don’t blame you, okay? I’m the reason we were in that situation. It was totally my fault. You had every right to walk away. If I was you—” All I want to do is lean forward and kiss her, press my lips against the soft curve of her mouth. “I would have walked away, too.”

  Another light comes into her eyes then. “I’m still—” She bites her lip, looking away for a split second. “I don’t want to live like that. I don’t want to live thinking they’ll show up at any moment.”

  I know what she’s really asking me. She’s really asking me if I’m ever going to go back to that life, ever going to do anything that would call Domino’s attention back to me—and back to her. Back to her family.

  I take a risk.

  I reach for her hands and I take them in mine, and I look her firmly in the eye. “I’m never going back to that. Not as long as I live. Even if you tell me no right now, I’m never going back to that. I’ll spend my life—” I just manage to stop a lump from rising in my throat. “I’ll spend my life being a normal citizen, waiting for you.”

  She smiles through a new layer of tears. “What, exactly, am I saying no to?”

  “For starters, me getting on this flight with you.”

  Zelda laughs out loud, and it’s the most gorgeous sound I’ve ever heard. “I was ready to run out of here and see you one last time. I’m not going to turn you away at the gate!”

  “Well, there’s more.”

  She crinkles her nose. “What more could there be?”

  “I might have—gotten myself a job at Stanford.”

  Her eyes go so wide she almost looks like a cartoon. “A job? What kind of job?”

  “Nothing fancy. Night security at one of the university buildings. I say might, because—”

  I don’t get to finish because Zelda throws her arms around my neck and kisses me, hard, her feet rising into the air, her weight against mine, and I forget everything in that kiss, absolutely everything.

  The people around us break into spontaneous applause that carries through the rest of the crowd at the gate. I was so focused on her that I didn’t notice anyone watching, didn’t care that anyone was witnessing our reunion.

  After a long few moments, she breaks away. “I love you, Sawyer.” She has to say it over the noise of the crowd.

  “I love you, too.”

  I only put her down when the whooping stops. The overhead speakers come to life. “Now boarding,” the gate agent’s smooth voice announces. “Flight 189, direct to San Francisco International Airport.” There’s a hint of laughter in that professional tone. “Let’s let our love birds board first, shall we?”

  “We don’t have seats together!” Zelda calls out, still in my arms, right where she belongs.

  The gate agent puts down her microphone and calls out. “I think we can make that happen.”

  I take Zelda’s hand in mine and lead her through the crowd, right up to the counter.

  With her by my side, I can make anything happen. Anything at all.

  Chapter 51

  Zelda

  I settle back into the plush, first-class seat and wrap my fingers through Sawyer’s. His eyes are shining with joy.

  “I never thought in a million years—”

  “That you’d be with me?” I tease.

  “That I’d get to fly first class.”

  I’m still laughing when he leans over and plants a quick kiss on my neck.

  This is a dream come true. I didn’t expect anything like this to happen while we were driving to the airport, but now that it has, it seems just too fitting. And still surreal, somehow.

  A flight attendant with a big grin on her face and red hair swept up into an elegant twist approaches. “Would either of you like a beverage before takeoff? How about complimentary champagne? I heard you had quite the proposal out there.” She gives Sawyer a wink.

  “Proposal?” He smiles back at her. “That wasn’t my proposal. I was just chasing after the love of my life.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  She disappears back toward the front of the plane and comes back a minute later with small flutes of champagne.

  “We should reunite every time we fly somewhere,” I say in a low voice.

  Sawyer gives a noncommittal shrug. “I’ll do it if you want to.” But his huge smile gives him away.

  I sip at the champagne and settle in to my seat. “This is the life.”

  “Sitting in first class?”

  “Sitting next to you.”

  I let myself bask in it for a moment, and then I sit up straight. “So, tell me the entire thing.”

  “What entire thing?” Sawyer’s not wasting any time drinking the champagne, and I follow his lead.

  “How’d you get a job at Stanford? You don’t know anybody in Palo Alto. Do you?”

  “Not a single person. Except you. In about three hours.”

  “Then—”

  “I begged.”

  “You begged?”

  “I spent most of yesterday on the phone.” He shakes his head at the thought. “I called everywh
ere that might have an opening, but I spent most of my time calling the university. And this guy there, Jason, he agreed to give me a chance.” Sawyer looks into my eyes. “That’s the might part of the equation. I have to meet him today for an interview, and then he’s willing to give me a two-week trial if that goes well.”

  My entire body goes warm. “What kind of job is it?”

  Sawyer finishes off the champagne. “It’s a security thing. Night watchman for one of the buildings there.”

  “Wow—putting your security experience to work already.”

  He laughs a little. “It’s not really experience I can claim, so it was a damn miracle he even agreed to meet with me.” He shrugs. “Plus, it was lunchtime. And I was persistent.”

  “You don’t have to do that for me, you know.”

  “Do what for you?”

  “Work some—” I can’t bring myself to call the job crappy. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, but a university job usually comes with some kind of benefits, even if the salary isn’t high and the hours take place in the middle of the night.

  “Shitty job?” Sawyer’s eyes crinkle at the corner. “Look, I just want you to see that I don’t have to rely on a life of crime to get by. I want you to know that I’m not going back.”

  I lean my head against his shoulder. “I know that.”

  “It’ll be a good change, anyway. A legitimate paycheck. And if it doesn’t work out—”

  “What happens then?”

  “I have some savings. The most important thing is being with you.”

  I take it all in for a long minute.

  “I really, really meant it, out there in the terminal.”

  He pulls back, raises his eyebrows.

  “I meant that I love you.”

  Sawyer leans his head down next to my ear. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve loved you almost as long as I’ve known you.”

  “Almost?”

  “Well, your friend was a bit of a distraction during the first few minutes.”

  “Oh, Carly.” I laugh, remembering her in the club that night, and then I sigh. “I’m going to miss her.”

  “Tell her to visit us.”

  I look right into his eyes. “Us, as in Palo Alto? Or us as in—”

  “Us as in our own place.” There’s a question in his gaze. “If that’s something you want.”

  Relief washes over me. I’m excited to start over, to be in a new place, to try something different, but the thought of getting my own apartment didn’t thrill me. I’m ready to have some consistent company. Sawyer is really the only company I want. “Yes.”

  “Glad you think so.”

  “I do.” I take a deep breath as people start filtering in down the aisle. One man lets out a whoop as he goes by. “We have to start planning.”

  “We haven’t taken off yet!”

  “I have hotel reservations for two weeks, but beyond that…” Something else occurs to me. “Do you have an interview outfit?”

  Sawyer reaches down and pats the duffel bag under the seat in front of him. “I have a date outfit. Think that’ll be nice enough?”

  “If we get you a tie when we land.”

  “Okay, first item on the agenda. Buy a tie at the airport.”

  “Second item…”

  “What should the second item be?”

  “Get to the hotel?”

  He gives me a wicked smile. “If we go to the hotel first, I don’t think I’ll make it to the interview.”

  Heat rushes down between my legs. “Don’t look at me like that—it’s a long flight, and I’m already—”

  “Turned on?”

  “You’re evil.”

  “Not nearly as evil as you.”

  We both laugh, but there’s a sexy undertone that makes me absolutely desperate for this flight and the interview to be over with so we can go somewhere alone. I squeeze Sawyer’s hand.

  “I won’t say anything else.” His tone is earnest. “Except…I know what we should do after we get the tie, after I go to the interview, and after we spend some time together at the hotel.”

  “Go to the pool.” I joke.

  “We can do that,” he says, looking down at me, eyes blue and clear and everything I’ve ever wanted. “But afterward, I think we should spend our lives together.”

  “I’m going to need more details,” I say, pretending to consider the ceiling of the plane. “Our entire lives? Every single day that we’ve got left?”

  “Every single day we’ve got left. And who knows? Maybe a few after that, too.”

  I kiss him again, deeper, harder, taking it right to the point of no return, and then pressing myself back against my seat, fingertips to my lips.

  “Every day,” Sawyer whispers into my ear. “You can bet on that.”

  Epilogue

  Sawyer

  I stand nervously at the top of the steps, trying not to sweat in the summer-weight suit my dad helped me pick out via video chat. The nondenominational officiant we hired on short notice leans forward, a calm smile on her face. “You’re doing great.”

  “We haven’t started yet.”

  Right on cue, Max hits play on the iPhone hooked up to a speaker, and an instrumental version of a popular club hit that sounds surprisingly fancy starts playing.

  We’re having a wedding, in the middle of August, and we planned it in two weeks. According to Zelda, it’s “very DIY.” But I don’t give a shit. I just want to be married to her.

  The wedding is a rush job because my dad took a turn for the worse in July, and Aunt Linda called me and said I’d better come back. The moment I walked into the room, I knew. It wasn’t going to be one of those times he recovers. As soon as I had a free moment, I texted Zelda and told her to book a flight. Her bosses at Stanford understood.

  Right now, my dad is sitting in the sun wearing his best shorts and t-shirt, his head leaned back, the light shining on his face. It’s a small crowd—just him, my Aunt Linda, Zelda’s parents, and a couple of friends—but I don’t need anyone else.

  My dad perks up when Carly goes by. She and Max are the only other people in the wedding party. I can’t help but laugh a little bit. My dad might be on his way out, but he’ll still appreciate a gorgeous girl.

  Carly gives me a wink and moves up to the last step on the front porch, and Max makes his way down the aisle to stand across from her. The way they smile at each other makes me wonder if something is going on, but I can’t pay much attention because Zelda makes her way out from around the side of the house, and it takes my breath away.

  She and Carly and her mom went wedding dress shopping in the city. All I knew before this moment was that they got the dress on sale and that it hardly needed any alterations, which was lucky, because they only bought it last weekend.

  She’s an absolute vision.

  The creamy white sits gently over her skin, and somehow it’s the perfect balance between satin and lace, between front porch and fancy event. Her hair is loose over her shoulders, held back with only a few pins, and curled so delicately I don’t know if I ever want to touch it. A crown of flowers rests on her hair. She holds a bouquet of summer flowers, the bright colors lovely against her dress.

  There’s a pat at my shoulder. I tear my eyes away from her for a single second to find that the officiant is offering me a tissue. It’s only then that I realize there are tears running down my face.

  I’m so damn happy my heart aches. The song changes, and Zelda turns, coming up the aisle by herself, radiant in the afternoon sun, beaming at me. Just beaming, like I’m the best thing she’s ever seen. I never want to forget how she looks right now, walking gracefully down the front walk, our tiny gathering standing up, smiling at her.

  She pauses by her parents, kissing them both on the cheek, and then crosses back over the sidewalk to do the same for my father.

  “I’m sorry I can’t stand,” he says, and there’s a collective stifled sound from everyone else. To their credit, nobody bursts into
tears, not even Jem.

  “Don’t be sorry,” Zelda says, and reaches down to squeeze his hand.

  Then she turns back to me, and everyone else drops away.

  I offer her my hand and help her climb the porch steps, and her smooth skin feels so good against my palm that I might never let go.

  “Hi,” she whispers as the officiant starts the ceremony. We worked with her on it so it would be short and sweet and we can get straight to the party. There’s only so much my dad can handle.

  “Hey,” I say, and Zelda’s grin widens. She told me a few weeks ago that every time she hears it, she thinks about the time we first met.

  I’d laughed. “The first thing I ever said to you was ‘hey.’ That’s not the most romantic story.”

  She’d risen up on tiptoes to kiss me before whirling back to the stove to finish cooking. “It’s plenty romantic to me.”

  The officiant is talking about love, and meaning, but none of it registers because all the love in the world is standing right in front of me, and sitting right down on my dad’s front lawn. These are the people who decorated the porch this morning, making it look like a real wedding venue. Zelda’s parents found a professional photographer to take photos of everything, and they paid his rush fees. And Zelda—Zelda never even blinked when I proposed to her in the airport when she touched down two weeks ago. She didn’t seem to care that I wanted to have a hasty wedding, and that it wouldn’t be a big fairytale event.

  Her eyes had glittered when I told her I was sorry it wasn’t going to be a big to-do. “You think I’m the kind of girl who needs that?” She shook her head. “All I need is you.”

  Something shifts, and I snap back to reality just in time for the officiant to ask me to place the ring on Zelda’s finger and repeat after her. The delicate gold band slides on without a hitch.

  “I, Sawyer, take you, Zelda, to be my wife, for richer or poorer, through thick and thin, through sickness and in health, in sadness and laughter, and everything else that comes our way, until the very end of my days.”

  Tears spring from Zelda’s eyes, and she pats at her face carefully with a tissue from the helpful officiant. She gathers herself, and takes her turn putting the thicker band on my finger, her small hands holding mine in hers.