Last Slice of Pie (Starving for Southern Book 2)
Page 11
“I missed you,” she says quietly, and my gut clenches.
“I missed you, too. Every day.” And I did. I took her for granted, knowing she was here if I needed her, and I never gave her the same in return.
Leaning in, I press my forehead to hers and my eyes slip shut as I breathe in the closeness of us. Her hair tickles my face and smells like vanilla, and my heart begins to beat even faster.
Returning her hand to my face, she softly embraces the side of it as my lips drift down her cheek and pause just at the edge of her mouth. Both of us hold still, each breathing harder than normal. The anticipation of something that has been a long time coming surrounds us because we both know the significance of this kiss. It means it’s the beginning, not the end.
Both of us move at the same time, and our lips gently collide.
One, two, three little kisses that allow my lips to soak in the feel of hers and to pull her bottom lip between mine.
Then I press them open, tasting her in a way that’s just for me.
Lexi.
My Lexi.
Time passes as we explore one another. The feeling of her tongue against mine creates a heat that shoots straight down my spine, and her soft warm skin feels incredible under my fingers as she wraps her arms and legs around me. I sink into her embrace in a way I’ve never wanted to with anyone else.
Do I want to strip away our clothes and bury myself inside of her? Sure, but for tonight, having her mouth and her hands on me is enough.
It’s more than enough.
Hours later, I know without even rolling over to look at the clock that it’s four forty-five in the morning. My internal clock was set to this years ago, as most of our practices begin at six. I had forgotten how many windows are in this room and am not surprised to find that I can see her perfectly in the early morning light.
At some point in the night, Lexi rolled over to face me. Her head is now lying on my chest, her arm is draped across my stomach, and her top leg is wrapped over mine. When we were kids, she would just end up facing me, but at some point in our teenage years, we began to intertwine more frequently. Ultimately, this was how we woke up for years, and it’s as if nothing has changed.
Lexi is the only girl I’ve slept the whole night with. Sure, over the years, I made a few appearances at charity events with a friend of a friend on my arm, but a friend with benefits here and there was as far as it ever went. It wasn’t like I didn’t have opportunities for more; girls have been throwing themselves at me since college. The thing I quickly realized was that these girls weren’t interested in getting to know me. They were out for my title: quarterback for the University of Florida and now quarterback for the Tampa Tarpons. My fame is not something I’m good at sharing, nor do I plan to.
When James and I got to Florida, he was in complete heaven, but he was always a social kid. He loved the attention he received, especially from females, and he frequently ended his evenings with one of them, whereas I always went home alone. I didn’t want any distractions. James never did understand, but how could he? I had something to prove, and I needed it more than I needed anything else. He also didn’t know I had slept next to his sister for eight years, and the ghost of her presence was far stronger than any need for someone else.
If and when I needed to blow off steam, I relieved the buildup by hitting the field, the weight room, or the track as hard as I could until everything in me was depleted. Then, to relax, I would find myself on my couch, laptop in hand, watching game film. My main reasoning—wanting to be the best—has never changed, and it’s always remained a core part of my makeup. Nothing and no one was going to deter me.
Having these thoughts and having her back in my arms makes me wonder if she ever filled my spot with someone else. Once James mentioned her dating a guy while she was in culinary school. I think it was for a while, too, but James didn’t seem to think it was that serious. Other than that, he didn’t mention anyone else over the years, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t any. Maybe she just didn’t tell him about it. She’s beautiful and kind, and I can’t imagine why guys aren’t lining up to be with her. The thought makes my heart ache, but then again, I did this. I left her and never looked back.
Slowly, with much regret, I slide out from underneath her, and she curls into the spot where I was. Leaving her here is breaking my heart, but I have to go.
The stairs groan under my weight as I make my way down them. I gather my things from around the house and walk into the kitchen. It’s here I realize, along with the subtle changes she’s made to the home over the years that fit her perfectly, deep down, I long for this to be mine too—this home, her, all of it.
I open the refrigerator, and bright light fills the room. I stare at the lone piece of pie that sits front and center on the pale yellow plate. It looks like a slice of leftover chocolate pecan pie, and my mouth waters. Pulling it out, I don’t hesitate as I eat it and then set the plate in the sink.
Moving through the kitchen, I bump her laptop, which is sitting on the island, and the screen saver pops on, Firefly Kitchen sitting right in the middle. I can’t help but stare at the little illuminated fireflies strategically placed around the logo, each one glowing brightly. I always knew she loved fireflies, but seeing this makes my chest burn. I rub the spot over my heart, and as much as I wish I could stay, I know it’s time to go. Next to the laptop is a notepad and a pen, so I jot down a quick message then walk out the door. The feelings coursing through me are not the ones I expected upon returning to this place—feelings of wanting to stay.
Overnight Breakfast Pie
BRYAN KISSED ME.
For days now, I have repeated this to myself, not because I’m afraid I’ll forget, but because I find it hard to believe. I’ve wondered just about my whole life what kissing him again would feel like, and it was nothing like I remembered. My lips are constantly tingling and his taste is unforgettable, but mostly this time, it just felt right. So right.
Of course back then, I was over the moon, and years later I’ve concluded it was a pity kiss, one I practically begged for the night of our senior prom, something I’ve spent reliving in my mind over and over again regardless.
That night, anger and disappointment coursed through me as I got out of James’s car and slammed the door. Even though we didn’t discuss it directly, Bryan knew I wanted to go to prom with him. I even accepted that he hadn’t asked me because he didn’t ask anyone else either. I just assumed since we were riding with James and Marie, ultimately we’d be together. He knew I had been looking forward to it, and he also knew I had turned down several guys who had approached me. I just wanted to go with him when really I never should have gone at all. Talk about humiliating. I showed up with the three of them, and then the minute we walked through the door, it was as if I was forgotten. For two hours, I watched him dance with girl after girl, and after seeing enough, I told James I had a stomachache and needed to go. He handed me his keys.
Walking up the front steps to the house, I let out a deep sigh as I decided to head back to the old oak tree to sit on the swing. The boards groaned as I walked around the veranda, and my heels clicked against the wood. I leaned against the railing and slipped off my shoes. I didn’t care if my feet got dirty; I just didn’t want GiGi to know I was home already. She had worked so hard on making my dress and helping me get ready, and I didn’t feel like answering her questions as to why I wasn’t still there.
The fabric of my dress was so light and so soft, and I ran my hands over the skirt to attempt to soothe my bruised heart. I had seen a dress I loved in a magazine, and GiGi had insisted she could make it. My dress was one of a kind, and I was so proud. She ordered in yards and yards of the most beautiful sea foam fabric I had ever seen. We picked the color because it matched my eyes, and we thought it would complement my skin tone the best. The dress was strapless with a sweetheart top, and it was tightfitting to the waist. She hand-sewed tiny crystals and pearl beads into a beautiful intricate p
attern across the bodice, there was a wide sash at the waist that tied in the back, and the skirt was layer after layer of this beautiful organza fabric that fell to the floor. We were right—no one had a dress like mine. I felt beautiful, almost like a princess . . . it was just too bad there wasn’t a prince.
I remember the moon being high and full, and as I approached the tree, I held up my hand to hold it in my palm. Movement to my right had me gasping and jumping.
“And if you are to love, love like the moon loves. It doesn’t steal the night, it only unveils the beauty of the dark.”
“What?” I asked, stunned to see him walking toward me.
He shoved his hands in his pockets as he moved closer to stand beside me and looked up at the moon.
“I read that quote once. It was by someone named Isra, and I thought it was nice.”
It was nice, and the moon was definitely loving him in the dark that night. Bathed in the pale light, his skin looked like it glowed, and every angle of his face was highlighted.
“What are you doing here?” I took a step back.
“I saw you leave.” He looked back at me.
“So?” I shook my head. “There was no reason for me to be there any longer.”
He tilted his head to the side, watching me, frowning. The swing behind us creaked as it moved in the breeze.
My heart ached with a mixture of disappointment and anger. I had wanted to give him a piece of my mind. I’d never asked him for anything, and although he owed me nothing, I couldn’t understand why this one time he couldn’t have done something for me. Years and years I’d sat on the sidelines, figuratively and literally. I’d always been there for him, and I knew he knew it.
Letting out a deep sigh, he pulled his hands from his pockets and started walking toward the swing. “Come sit with me.”
Following behind, I watched as he sat near the middle and bent over so his elbows rested on his knees. He clasped his hands together, and I sat on the edge, as far away as I could get.
Silence surrounded us as he began to rock us with his shiny black shoes. Back and forth, heel to toe, he pushed, not once looking over at me. I didn’t know why he was there, why he wasn’t talking, but then again, he never spoke much.
Trailing my eyes up from his feet, I admired the way his tuxedo pants hugged his thighs and the coat stretched across his back. White cuffs stuck out from under the sleeves and were adorned with silver football cufflinks, a sentimental gift GiGi had given both him and my brother. On the inside, I almost smiled at them, but the sight of him as a whole was too much. He was too much.
Everyone has the moment—you know, the one when you know you’re never going to get what you want—and I realized this was mine. I’d always understood that Bryan wanted great things for himself and I wanted those things for him too, but I was never going to be a part of it.
Minutes passed, and my heart broke even more as I finally understood why he kept me close but also pushed me away. He had to choose, and he wasn’t choosing me. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I refused to be that girl. Instead, I just basked in his presence as he stared at the ground with his hair falling across his forehead. He continued to rock us back and forth.
The anger I had felt slowly slipped away, and a crushing sense of loss set in. Soon enough, he’d be gone, and who knew if he’d ever be back. Another breeze blew by, and the tall grass around the tree swayed, seeming to urge me on with a wave goodbye. I was going to lose something that had never even been mine.
I was used to the silence from him. He always spoke best through his eyes and his hands, but right then, I needed something from him, and he knew it. I was certain he knew how much prom meant to me.
“Bryan.” I needed him to acknowledge me. “Tell me why you’re here and not at the dance.”
His feet froze and the swing stopped. I couldn’t tear my eyes off him. Everything about him always seemed so mysterious and closed off, but I knew him. I knew him even better than James did. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he sat back against the swing, unclasped his hands, and roughly ran them up and down his thighs as if wiping them off. He looked away from me, out across the fields, and he still didn’t speak.
“One thing.” I had said this to him so many times over the years. It had become the only way I could get him to open up and let me know what he was thinking. He never wanted to have a conversation with me—or anyone, really—but he could handle telling me one thing at a time. All I could hope for after feeling the rejection from earlier was that he’d answer me.
He relaxed his shoulders and pushed off the ground. The swing began to move again, back and forth, back and forth. Patience was something I’d always had a lot of when it came to him. Most people got frustrated with his lack of enthusiasm for joining in on conversations or answering questions, but I knew he just needed time.
Finally, he glanced over at me out of the corner of his eye and reached out to grab my hand. I loved when he held my hand. Mine was so small in his, and it felt so right and perfect to me. His thumb gently rubbed across the back of my hand.
Bryan had never had a girlfriend. So many times over the years I had hoped if he did, it would be me, but he never said anything. I knew he cared for me by the way he looked at me. His eyes had always been expressive, and the words weren’t needed.
“I really did want to dance with you at our senior prom,” he said quietly.
“So why didn’t you?” The swing stopped again and he slowly looked over at me, the shadows of the night still partly covering him. I looked in his eyes, and the light of the moon reflected off the silver shade they’d shifted to. He leaned his forehead against mine, and I couldn’t help but gasp and inhale the scent of him. He smelled like grass from a warm summer afternoon mixed with mint. I loved the aroma.
Neither one of us moved, the wind slightly pushing the swing and blowing his hair across both of our faces. Reaching out, I grabbed his wrists, pulling him up as I stood.
“Will you dance with me now?”
Standing next to me, he looked me up and down, and his mouth quirked up on one side, revealing that tiny dimple I loved. Bryan never really smiled, but when he did, it was breathtaking.
“But there’s no music.”
“Sure there is—can’t you hear it? Our song is playing.” I held my arms out wide and swayed. Both of us listened, and the sounds of the night wrapped around us: the tall grass bending in the breeze, the leaves rustling on the oak tree, the melodic notes of the wind chime on the back porch, and the cicadas singing to each other across the fields.
Bryan stepped closer and placed one hand on my lower back to pull me in. My eyes shot to his just before I laid my head on his chest, wrapped my arms around him, and slid them up under his jacket. His other arm ran up the length of my back, and his fingers brushed against my neck and into my hair.
He laid his head on top of mine, and slowly we began to sway. He must have felt my heart pounding against my chest, because he pulled me closer and embraced me tighter.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he mumbled in my hair. It wasn’t very long, but GiGi had known just what style I needed to go with my dress. She’d parted it on the side and swept it across my forehead, pulling it all back into a messy but elegant chignon. She had twisted and braided different pieces and pinned in little crystals and pearls that matched the dress. We’d copied my makeup out of the same magazine I’d seen the dress in, making my eyes smoky and my lips a glossy pink. For the first time ever, I felt beautiful.
It turned out that dance with him under the oak tree was a thousand times better than one at prom ever would have been.
“One thing?” he asked me.
I pulled back and looked at him. His mood had lightened and his eyes sparkled. I knew what my one thing was; it had been the same thing for so long. I’d never had the nerve to tell him, at least not until that night. Something about this night felt different between us.
“I want you to be my first kiss.”
“Hmm.” He licked his lips, and his eyes shifted back up to my face. He didn’t look angry; if anything, he looked intrigued. He moved his hand from my neck to my cheek and lightly cupped it; I couldn’t help but lean my head toward the contact. His thumb moved across my skin, and goose bumps raced down my arms.
“Cold?”
“No.”
His eyes trailed back down to my mouth. I wasn’t sure how much time passed, because in so many ways it stood still. Bryan tilted my head backward and lowered his lips to mine, his moist, full, and warm lips. Oh my God, this is happening. Heat flashed through me, and I felt it from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
Gently, his lips moved with mine. His tongue ever so lightly ran across my bottom lip, and my lips parted as I leaned in closer to him and let out a sigh. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath. Bryan used that movement as an opportunity to deepen the kiss, and I was officially lost in him. Being wrapped up in his arms, the smell and taste of him—it was more than I had ever dreamed of.
That first kiss came so easily to us. It was as if we had been kissing each other every night for the last eight years, no stumbling or awkward movements. We were completely in sync with each other, and slowly but surely, Bryan’s emotional wall slid down. His arms tightened even more around me, and I felt like he was trying to consume me. He wanted that kiss with me too, and that made my heart soar.
Standing under our oak tree in the moonlight, kissing the boy I had loved so much for so long—it was the best moment of my life, and I never wanted it to end.
“Why are you frowning?” Marie asks, standing next to me.