She gives me a surprised look. “Yes, Mia. Your father would hand you the moon if you’d let him.”
I search her face for signs of ulterior motives. “Does he give you his credit card a lot?”
Jessica laughs, unoffended, and takes my arm in hers. “All the damn time. I haven’t used it until now, though. But I really can’t stand football, so let’s pretend I’m only doing this for you.”
I release a short laugh. “I like you, Jessica.”
She winks. “I like you too, Mia.”
Three decadent, blissful hours later, I wobble-walk into the ladies’ locker room to change into my street clothes. I feel like I’ve been through a blender. In a good way. Like Klaus the Humongous Russian massaged all my mismatched pieces back together.
Drunk on endorphins, it takes me three tries to clasp my bra. “Motherfu—”
“Amelia, right?” asks an unfamiliar voice.
I glance over my shoulder, expecting a spa employee. Instead, I find a beautiful woman in her mid-thirties with long, wavy dark hair and a big smile. Her eyes are dark but expressive, currently radiating excitement, and she’s wearing the spa’s white robe.
“Uh, yes? Have we met?”
Do I owe you money?
Did you have my brother’s secret love child?
It’s worse.
“I’m Marianne.” A trim, feminine hand extends toward me. “Vincent’s mom.”
My heart slams into my spine. “Oh! Oh, wow. Okay. Hold on.” I quickly pull on my shirt, internally grimacing at the garish display of color. The red shirt and yellow shorts aren’t even on the same style planet, the shirt primary red and the shorts halfway between lemon and orange. Jameson was right. I look like a blind retiree.
Smiling like I’m not dying inside, I shake Marianne’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself at the hockey game. You were probably wondering who the random chick talking to your son was.”
She laughs, an airy, addictive sound. “Oh, I knew who you were the second I saw you. Vincent told us all about the nice, pretty lady with pastel pink hair. Any luck with the surfing lessons?”
I don’t miss the knowing gleam in her eye. “Nope. I guess Leo thought cold-calling him for a business proposition was a little presumptuous.”
Marianne looks crestfallen. “Darn. I was really hoping to hear you were dating.”
I’m not sure how many more shocks my heart can take. “What? No. That’s crazy. We’re, uh… not even—”
What the fuck happened to my ability to lie?
“I know he drove to your place after the hockey game last week.”
Full. Stop.
My knees decide to take a break, depositing me ungently on a wooden bench. “Jesus,” I mutter. “I don’t know what to say.”
Marianne sits beside me. Up close, she’s even more lovely. I can definitely see a young Leo trailing after her. They would have been beautiful together—the proof of it lives in their son.
“I’m not here to interfere or offer advice,” she says softly, “and as much as I may want to, I won’t make excuses for what a complicated man Leo is. I think you know.”
I sigh. “I don’t think he’s complicated. Just burdened by excess morality.”
Marianne laughs delightedly. “You do know him well. I take it you were once in a different kind of relationship? I’m not judging.”
Oddly, I can tell she isn’t. I give a short nod. “We were.”
“Well.” She pouts. “Shit.”
I shrug, ignoring the pang in my chest. “It is what it is. Can’t change the past, unfortunately. Or Leo’s mind.”
Marianne gives me a long, searching look, then smiles softly. “It was really great to meet you, Amelia. I hope I see you again soon.”
She gives my shoulder a squeeze, then stands and heads for the exit. Pausing in the locker room doorway, she looks back.
“I do have one bit of advice. Take it or leave it. I’ve known Leo a long time. He’s many things—bullheaded being one of them—but he’s also brave. If you mean to him what I think you do, give him a little time to come around.”
“Thanks, Marianne,” I say politely.
But I’m lying.
41
embrace the wind
My days off this week are back-to-back. I take it as a sign and fill my calendar with activities that used to make me happy. On Wednesday I go skydiving in the morning and paragliding in the afternoon. Then on Thursday I take the first boat to Catalina Island and spend the day scuba diving. By the time I arrive home, my credit card hates me, but I feel good. Proud of the fact I didn’t spend my time off wallowing. I crawl into bed that night and pass out without thinking of Leo once.
I dream about him instead. It’s an old dream, the one where I’m surfing on sand dunes. Only this time the dunes are moving like real waves, a fierce wind driving coarse sand into my eyes. Leo is waving from the top of a nearby dune, flickering in and out of sight like a mirage. No matter how hard I try to reach him, the sand waves push me back, back…
I wake up covered in sweat, with just enough light in the sky to give me an excuse to get up. Grateful I’m working the breakfast shift today—I’m in no mood to go surfing—I take an extra-long shower and nurse two cups of coffee. At seven thirty, I grab a granola bar and head out. Ferdi slips outside with me, embarking on whatever adventures his day holds.
Even though November is in full swing, there’s a wicked heat wave in town. And heat wave means thousands of people flock to the coast. The café is slammed for breakfast, barely slows midmorning, and ramps up again at lunch. Outside, the boardwalk and beach are packed with the usual circus of tourists and locals.
“Dying,” gasps Trish, sagging against the hostess podium in a rare lull. Her dark skin glistens with a sheen of sweat, her cheeks deeply rose. The air conditioner stopped working an hour ago. Ceiling fans whir overhead, but without a breeze they’re just stirring hot air.
Fanning myself with a menu, I nod. “Shouldn’t have bothered showering this morning, that’s for sure.”
I glance back to check on my tables, and when I turn back around, a familiar figure stands in the doorway.
Déjà vu.
Vincent waves at me and steps inside. “Hi, Amelia! It’s hot today, huh? Bet you wish you were surfing.”
“Hi,” I say weakly, my gaze darting past him but not finding an adult. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“Half-day today. Dad picked me up. He forgot something in the car, but he’ll be here in a sec. Oh, I’m supposed to give you this.”
I accept a folded square of lined paper, aware of Trish’s avid focus and my own pounding heart. This can’t possibly mean what I think it means.
“Open it!” says Vincent brightly.
“Yeah, open it,” hisses Trish from the corner of her mouth.
The paper is smooth, almost cool. I unfold it to find a square of writing in the center.
Trish leans over my shoulder. “Here’s a pen,” she whispers, pulling it from behind her ear and all but shoving it into my fingers.
“Hi, Dad!”
My head whips up. The first thing I see is a bouquet of wildflowers. The second thing is a set of hopeful, crystal-blue eyes. I blink hard, but he’s still there. So is Vincent, who grabs the flowers and pushes them into my arms.
Behind me, I hear several “Ahhs” and “Ohhs” from customers and coworkers.
“She hasn’t circled one yet, Dad,” whispers Vincent.
Leo glances at the paper, currently crumpled against the stalks of flowers. I can’t feel my face, but I must be smiling or crying or shaking or something, because Leo grins.
“Are you busy tonight?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Can I pick you up at six?”
I nod.
He takes me to a popular sushi joint in Santa Monica. The place is wall-to-wall people, and the servers must be part-time acrobats for how fast and skillfully they move in the narrow ai
sles between tables.
Up until we were seated, I was nervous Leo was nervous, and constantly scanned him for signs of distress. Though I didn’t find any, I wasn’t convinced of his shift in attitude until we sat and he reached across the table to link his fingers with mine. Since that moment, I’ve been in heaven.
The restaurant is so loud we don’t talk much, but communicate in subtle touch. He barely looks away from me throughout our meal, following the path of every morsel to my mouth with hungry eyes. The air between us grows painfully electrified.
I never knew eating could be foreplay.
When I lick a drop of soy sauce off my lip, Leo’s expression turns pained. He lifts a hand. “Check please.”
Giggling like teenagers, we hightail it back to his car. In unspoken agreement, he drives to my place. It’s closer. By the time we get inside, my hand is down his pants and my bra dangles at my waist. Undressing the rest of the way isn’t graceful, but it’s fucking perfect.
“God, Amelia,” he groans, peppering kisses across my breasts as he carries me to the bedroom.
I’m unhinged. Dying to have him inside me. But I’m also drunk on his response to me. It makes me bold. It makes me free.
Before Leo can lay me on the bed, I wiggle from his arms, jerk him around by the shoulders, and shove his chest. He lands on his back, eyes wide with surprise, miles of beautiful, aroused male for my viewing pleasure.
Dipping my fingers between my legs, I cup a breast with my other hand. “Do you want this?”
He hisses, his cock twitching in anticipation. “You have no idea how much. Come here, please.”
I drag wet fingers to my clit and play with myself, delighting in his agonized groan. It doesn’t take long for me to be perilously close to orgasm. “I like it when you beg, Leo, but I also like it when you take what you want.”
In two seconds flat, I’m facedown on the mattress. Leo’s hot body descends on my back, his teeth finding purchase on my shoulder. I’m still reeling from sensory overload when he drags me to my knees and slams inside me.
“Fuck! Yes!”
I don’t know which of us the words come from, if they’re spoken or in my mind. But his next words ring loud and clear, punctuated by deep, possessive thrusts.
“I’m keeping you,” he murmurs darkly. “This pussy belongs to me. It’s been mine for years, but I was too much of a chickenshit to take it. I’m not making the same mistake twice. Do you understand?”
My filthy unicorn.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I gasp with every breath.
“Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours!”
“Nothing is going to come between us,” he growls. “I won’t allow it. You. Are. Mine.”
“Oh… God…”
I come so hard I see white. Leo is seconds behind me—hot breath on my neck and a low grunt in my ear. He collapses atop me. The weight of him is so epic I don’t care that I can barely breathe, and I even murmur a protest when he flips us over so I’m sprawled on his chest. Stroking the sweaty hair at my temples, he gently lifts my head.
“I love the look on your face right now.”
“Derrrf?”
His smile is smug. “Exactly. Freshly fucked. No guards up, no thoughts, just feeling.”
I smile and kiss his chest. “Shut up, Leo. I’m not thinking. Talking requires thinking.”
He chuckles and wraps strong arms around me, shifting us once more onto our sides. I bask in the afterglow, my limbs loose and warm, my face tucked against his neck.
“Amelia?”
“Hmm?”
“I meant what I said.”
“I know. My pussy belongs to you.”
He pinches my hip. “That, too, but I meant the other part.”
“Too much thinking,” I moan.
“I’m keeping you,” he whispers.
My heart swells, so full, so hot. “Okay,” I whisper back. “Can I keep you, too?”
“I’m already yours.”
A smile on my face and peace in my heart, I drift to sleep.
42
sparkle
Leo is horrible on a surfboard.
Really, really horrible.
Some people get on a board for the first time and take to it like it’s in their blood. Some cellular coding allows them to harmonize their bodies with the water and the board beneath them. There’s a learning curve, obviously, but it’s worlds easier for them to expand the new skill. I’m not an extraordinary surfer by any means, but I’m still one of the lucky ones. It’s in my blood.
The longest Leo has stood up is five seconds, timing courtesy of a hysterically laughing Vincent. He, on the other hand, is a natural. Up on his first try, even managing a few short trips on waves.
After his umpteenth wipeout, Leo paddles to where Vincent and I stand in thigh-deep water, our boards floating nearby. The sun is warm overhead, though we’re in full wetsuits because the water’s bloody cold in December.
Leo is understandably disgruntled by his performance, but he’s mature enough to laugh at himself. “So much for impressing you,” he says, hopping off the board and wiping water from his eyes.
“You suck, Dad!” exclaims Vincent. Leo sends a funnel of water into his face. “Hey!”
“Don’t embarrass me in front of the lady, bud!”
Vincent chortles. “You don’t need me for that.”
Cue water fight.
Watching them hollering and laughing, I’m high on happiness. The last five weeks with Leo have been frighteningly perfect. During the week, we juggle schedules to see each other at least every other day. He has a toothbrush in my bathroom; I have one in his. When my work schedule allows a weekend day together, we take advantage. We’ve already been hiking, kayaking, and cycling. Once, we spent an entire day making love.
Despite Leo’s insistence that it’s okay, I haven’t stayed over yet on the nights Vincent does, mainly out of respect for their bonding time. But they’re both working on me—Vincent’s fond of telling me how dumb it is when I’m not there for breakfast.
Vincent… God, I adore that kid. He’s witty, smart, and kind, just like his father. We’ve taken him to a Kings game, the arcade, and had several pizza-and-movie nights. But my favorite moment of all was when I dropped him off at a friend’s house for a sleepover one night because Leo was tied up on an emergency call from a client. Driving Leo’s car—and Leo’s human—and knowing that both father and son felt safe having me do so was a defining moment of my new life. I floated on a pink cloud for days.
Our Thanksgivings were separate, but Marianne extended an invitation for me to join them for dessert. After being assured multiple times by Leo that the offer was genuine, I bit the bullet and showed up. Of course I was worried for nothing. She and Celia are some of the most good-natured, humble people I’ve ever met. Both of them were beyond tickled by Leo’s casual signs of affection—a hand on my back, a kiss on my cheek, a whisper in my ear.
I’m in love with him.
So hopelessly in love.
Back at Oasis, when Callum asked me what romantic love felt like, I didn’t know how to answer him. I could only relate via my unhealthy patterns of my past. Turns out I had no fucking idea what love felt like because I’d never been in it before.
My answer would be different today. Love is waking up in the middle of the night and feeling someone’s hand in yours. Love is squabbling over the remote and playing footsie during dinner and peeing with the door open and planning for birthdays and holidays. Love is the firmest ground in the world and a never-ending fall.
“What are you smiling about?” asks Vincent, poking me in the arm.
I grin down at him. “I’m happy.”
“Me too! You know what else?”
“What?”
He splashes me in the face. Leo thinks it’s hysterical—until Vincent and I attack.
After dropping Vincent off at Marianne and Celia’s, Leo and I grab burritos to-go and take them back to h
is place. We eat in the living room by the light of the fireplace and an enormous Christmas tree the three of us decorated last weekend.
We inhale our food, then clean up and return to our spot before the glowing fireplace with glasses of wine. It’s not really cold enough for a fire, but Leo knows I’m a sucker for ambiance.
“So what’d you get me for Christmas?”
Leo smirks at me, the firelight playing over his features. Lounging on an elbow with his bare feet near the heat, he looks cozy, content, and ridiculously sexy.
“Nunya business.”
“Come on,” I whine. Switching tactics, I run a hand up his thigh to his crotch. “I’ll give you a handy if you tell me.”
He chuckles, lifting his hips to give me better access to his zipper. “You’ll do that anyway.”
I swat his hard stomach, then tilt my head. “You’re right. But I still want to know. Or open a present.”
He gapes. “What’s wrong with you?”
“My mom was like a little kid at Christmas. It was her favorite holiday, but she couldn’t stand waiting for the actual day. Starting on the twenty-second, she’d let us open one small gift after dinner. Basically you’re disrespecting Sloan tradition if you don’t let me open something.”
Leo laughs. “That’s low.”
I offer my sweetest smile.
Grumbling good-naturedly, he rolls toward the tree and snatches a small, flat box from a branch, then tosses it in my lap. “There you go, master manipulator.”
I squeal and clap excitedly, then lift the box. It’s light in my hands, wrapped haphazardly in newspaper with a generic red bow stuck to the top. Since Vincent’s wrapping is borderline Pinterest-worthy, I know this disaster is Leo’s doing.
“You really missed your calling as a backup Santa Claus.”
He chuckles. “Hey, it’s not the wrapping that counts. And I did put some thought into it—I used the Sunday Funnies. Come on, quit staring at it and open it. The suspense is killing me.”
I tear the paper, exposing cardboard, and pull off the top of the box. Under a small piece of tissue paper is a delicate gold chain. My breath stalling, I lift the necklace to see the circular pendant.
The Fall Before Flight Page 19