Riley’s arm brushed against Chelle and she felt a ripple of desire flow through her. When she turned her head, she saw Riley staring at her, the look in his eyes conveying that he was feeling the same thing - or at least something very similar.
“How you doing over there?” Riley asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
“I’m good. I’ve never flown business class, it’s nice.” She tried to inject some life into her tone, to make sure that her voice sounded cheerful and upbeat. Unfortunately, she only managed monotone.
Oh well, she supposed, it was better than sounding maudlin or pissed.
The 'seatbelt' light came on and she reached into her purse to get her cell phone and turn it off before take-off. When she did she noticed she had six more missed calls, the same amount of voicemails, and eight text messages. A quick look to see who they were from confirmed what she already suspected.
She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Great. She was going to have to deal with yet another thing as soon as she got home. So much for a quiet evening to get acclimated back to reality.
She placed her phone back in her bag, clicked her seatbelt into place and leaned back in her seat.
“More work stuff?” Riley asked.
“Oh, no.” Chelle closed her eyes. “I wish.”
“What is it then?”
“Nothing.” She stated.
“Chelle.” He sounded impatient and serious.
She opened her eyes and lifted her head as she mimicked his tone, “Riley.”
“Who were the calls from?”
“Why do you care?” She snapped back at him.
Dammit! Why couldn’t she just talk to him civilly?
He didn’t speak, just waited, patiently looking at her. She sighed, feeling a little guilty and a tiny bit embarrassed for how she was behaving.
“They’re from David.”
“What the hell does that douchebag want?” Riley’s voice was now very low and menacing.
“To talk.”
“About what?” His tone remained intense.
“I don’t know yet.” She answered honestly.
“Are you going to talk to him?” He asked with disgust.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
This conversation was going nowhere and it served no purpose other than maybe to put her in an even worse mood, if that was possible. Better to just nip this in the bud.
She sighed loudly, “A few reasons, actually. One: We still live in the same house. So, obviously, something needs to be done about that, and what that 'something' is has yet to be discussed or determined. Two: We have been together for years and we’ve built a life together. So, yes, I do have a slight level of curiosity about what he might have to say. Three: I was engaged to the man not even a month ago.” She had been counting on her fingers, she now laid her hand on the armrest, “I can hear him out, I at least owe him that much.”
“You don’t owe him anything,” Riley growled.
Ugh! He was so frustrating. She was over it. Time to give Mr. Buttinski seated beside her a piece of her mind.
“You’re right, as a matter of fact. I don’t owe him anything. Just like I don’t owe you anything, including answering your impromptu Spanish inquisition. But,” She threw her arms up in a ta-da fashion, “I guess I’m a giver. So, I will talk to him and I did answer your questions. Now, it’s your turn to answer mine. Why. Do. You. Care?”
Instead of responding, explaining his annoying interest in her talk with David, he leaned closer to her and reached up, threading his fingers in her hair.
Her mind raced. Why, WHY, did that have to feel SO good?
His fingertips brushed the side of her neck and his thumb traced her jawline.
Damn, she loved it when he did that. Perfect! One more thing she was going to miss. She could probably fill an encyclopedia with all of the things she was going to miss about Riley Sloan.
She needed to pull away from him. She needed to keep her distance. She needed to do both of those things now if she had any chance of walking away from these last few days with her heart intact.
But did she pull away from him? Nope! Instead of doing what she knew she needed to do, she felt herself lean into his touch. He must have taken the small movement as the 'green-light-permission-to-pass-go-full-steam-ahead' signal because he crushed his mouth to hers.
She gasped at the sudden contact of his lips against hers. It felt frantic. Desperate. Passionate.
She opened to him and, as soon as their tongues touched, he slowed the frenetic pace, his tongue softly licking, gently probing, and sensuously gliding expertly inside her mouth. Exploring. Inexorably searching every inch.
Seeking what, she didn’t know - but he was certainly thorough in his quest.
It felt almost as though they were making love while only kissing. Every single cell in her body was filled with the delicious sensations Riley’s kiss was causing.
It was amazing. It was earth shattering. It was mind-blowing. It was too much.
Chelle used every ounce of self-preservation she could summon from deep inside her soul and pushed away from Riley.
“Chelle?” He asked through labored breath, reaching for her once again.
She put her hand up and shook her head, “Just…don’t.”
She attempted to calm her racing heart. It astounded her that a heart that was, at this very moment in time, breaking into a million tiny pieces could simultaneously be pounding so strongly.
Well, I guess - learn something new every day, she thought. Honestly though, she would have rather skipped this particular anatomy lesson.
She looked out the small circular window of the plane. Watching the clouds below her, she suddenly felt very small, very insignificant. There was a great big world out there and her problems were miniscule compared to it.
She took in a deep, fortifying breath. She knew she would need time to put herself back together post-Riley, but she was confident that could do it. The world would keep spinning when he was gone out of her life. And she would always have San Francisco. She could hold on to those memories forever.
Chapter Twenty-one
Riley had originally thought that the tense plane ride would be the low point of their trip home.
He had thought wrong.
The instant they had gotten off of the plane, the tension had skyrocketed up from ten to ten thousand.
The thing that frustrated Riley the most was that he knew he had only had himself to blame. He was not only letting Chelle’s bad mood set the tone of their exchanges, he had then gone on to adopt a foul mood of his very own.
For the last hour he had been fighting a powerful, overwhelming urge to turn the car around, go back to the airport, book the first flight out, and take Chelle back to San Francisco. Things had been perfect in San Francisco. God, if he could just get them back to the easy (yet smokin’-hot) camaraderie that they had shared during their idyllic stay there. Although, logically, he realized that kidnapping her and flying her back halfway across the country was not the answer - nor even, you know...legal - he still had to fight the small voice in his head which was screaming at him that it would solve everything. That internal battle had begun as soon as they had started down the highway.
They barely spoke during the entire ride back to Harper’s Crossing. Chelle had just sat silently, staring out the window. Riley had no idea what was going through her head. He knew that she wasn’t ready to return home. He assumed that had a lot to do with Douchebag David. But there was that pesky little voice in his head, which loved to chime in on matters like these, and that little voice told him that he was also a factor in her reluctance to be heading back so soon.
As much as it was killing him to see her so miserable, there was a small part of him that wanted to believe it was partly due to the fact that she would miss the time they had spent together. He couldn't lie. As much as it hurt him to see her hurting, he couldn't help but feel just a tiny bit touched that she m
ight feel that bad at the thought of being apart from him.
Hell, that alone was proof enough, in and of itself, that she deserved better than him, he thought. It just goes to show that I am one selfish asshole.
They passed the sign on the side of the road indicating that they were now entering Harper’s Crossing. They had passed the city limits. That meant that their journey together – both the literal and the metaphorical one – was rapidly drawing to a close. Riley didn’t want the last few minutes they spent together to be wasted with the two of them sitting tensely side by side, not even speaking. So, as they pulled to a stop light – one that hadn’t been there last time he was home – he motioned to an elderly couple crossing the street. Keeping his voice intentionally light, he said, “What’s the story?”
Chelle didn’t respond immediately. Riley was just about to share his answer, even though the person who asks never goes first – but, hey, he would bend the rules for Chelle – when she turned and looked at him like he had just grown an extra head.
“What?” He asked when she continued staring at him strangely.
“You can’t play if you know the people.” She spoke slowly, as if he hadn’t been following along with the conversation.
“Oh, do you know them?” He looked back up at the couple who had safely made it across 10th Street.
“Yes, and so do you. That’s Principal Jenson and his wife Mary. Wasn’t he your principal at Great Oaks?” she asked, furrowing her brow.
“Oh, damn! I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him.” He looked again and thought that he would feel some spark of recognition. That something familiar about him would jog his memory. It didn’t.
He shook his head as the light turned green, “I spent enough time in his office. I should have been able to pick him out of a line up.”
Chelle broke into a half-smile, “Well, I’m sure he could pick you out of one.”
“True.” Riley felt his heart break open just a little more. He paused and then, as he turned his attention back to the road, he said, “I missed that.”
“What? Running into people you don’t recognize?” she asked dryly.
“No. Seeing you smile.”
When she didn’t answer he glanced over and saw that she had tears starting to form in her eyes. God dammit! He was an ass!
“Chelle, damn! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He reached out to comfort her, to rub her knee, but she pulled it away.
Sniffing, she turned to him and put on her ‘bright’ face. She said cheerfully, “No worries. You didn’t.”
She smiled again, probably trying to reassure him, but this time it definitely didn’t reach her eyes. She turned her attention back out the window, to the streets that they were passing.
“Make a left on Grant Line, I live in the third house on the right.”
He made the turn and felt like he was going to throw up. Damn. He had been in battles, he had lost people close to him, he had had to deliver bad news to his unit on more than one occasion. But, in none of those situations had he ever felt like this. Not exactly like this. This was an entirely new brand of misery.
It felt like someone was reaching inside his chest and squeezing the life out of his heart. He was having a tough time breathing. Dammit, he just didn’t want her to go! He just wanted – no, needed – a little more time with her.
Well, maybe he could help her in with her luggage, make sure she was settled. It was the least he could do, as a matter of fact, to make sure that she was tucked safely inside her home. Then maybe he wouldn’t feel like there was ton of bricks sitting on his chest.
Hell, it was worth a shot.
As he pulled into the driveway, she opened the door before he had even come to a complete stop.
“What the…” He threw open his door, hopped out and raced around to meet her at the trunk of the car.
He was about to ask her what the hell she was doing when he saw tears streaming down her cheeks. He froze, not sure how to proceed. His first instinct was to pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be fine. He wanted to tell her that he would never hurt her, and that he would never let anyone else hurt her, either.
But, the problem was, he knew that was a lie. Those would be hollow assurances, designed to make the two of them feel better in the moment, but containing no actual truth.
The truth was that he might be able to protect her from the rest of the world...but he would never be able to protect her from himself. He would hurt her. He was sure of that. It was in his DNA.
“Chelle…” He began still uncertain of what to say.
Sniffing and, from the looks of it, trying desperately to put on a brave face, Chelle patted the trunk of the car, “Pop it, so I can get my bags.”
He did as she asked and reached in to pull out her suitcase and carry-on. As soon as he had them out of the trunk, Chelle reached out and tried to take them from him.
“I got it,” she said firmly.
“It’s okay, I’ll take them in for you.”
She shook her head decisively, “Nope, really, I’ve got it.”
He heard someone clearing their throat loudly and looked towards the house. He saw David the Douchebag standing on the porch, arms crossed, glaring at them. Riley's gut tightened. Even if this asshole hadn't hurt Chelle, Riley would have wanted to knock him out based on nothing more than the incredibly smug air of self-righteous anger that was coming off of him in waves at this moment.
Holy shit this guy was a douchebag!
Riley looked back at Chelle. She was holding out her hands, waiting for him to hand over her luggage. Well, hell, she could stand there all day and he still wasn't about to let her drag these heavy bags up those steps. He was that much of a gentleman, at least!
He turned and began walking towards the steps that David stood at the top of, glaring silently.
“Riley, give me my bags,” He heard Chelle say with an urgent note in her voice as she quickly fell in behind him.
“I’m just taking them up to the door.” He turned to look back at her, hoping to gauge just exactly how mad she was. He didn’t want to really, truly piss her off...but there was no way in hell that was she going to carry anything that heavy when he was around!
Her shoulders slumped and she sighed loudly, making her displeasure known. “Fine.”
As he turned back around he saw David had moved to stand directly in the path to the front door.
“Where do you think you’re going, Sloan?” He puffed out his chest.
Riley had to suppress a laugh. Douchebag David could not be serious.
“Move, David.” Riley didn’t mean it to come out sounding as harsh as it did, but he was not in the mood to deal with this crap. If Chelle wanted to, that was her prerogative...but that didn't mean he had to.
“Leave them by the door and then get the hell off my property.” David slurred.
Two thoughts immediately filled Riley’s head. First, this guy really wanted to get his ass kicked. Second, David was hammered.
After setting the luggage down by the door Riley turned back to Chelle, “I’m not leaving you with him.”
“I’ll be fine. He’s harmless.” Chelle rolled her eyes.
“Hey,” David tried to step closer to them but ended up tripping over his own feet. He grabbed the railing and was able to steady himself. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not even in the room.”
“This is a porch.”
David glanced around, surprised, like he hadn't even realized where he was.
“Don't talk about me like I'm not on the porch.”
Riley tried to quickly assess the situation, to decide if it was actually safe to leave her here with him. Before he could come to a determination, however, Chelle pushed past him and opened the front door. Stepping inside, awkwardly pulling her baggage along with her. David stumbled through the door in her wake.
Before shutting the front door behind her, she looked up at him and smiled – a sad smile,
but a smile nonetheless – and it hit him like a ton of bricks. “Thanks for everything, Riley. You’ve been amazing. I really do appreciate it so much.”
With that, she shut the door. He stood for a moment on her porch, stunned and feeling at loose ends. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled out his phone and scrolled to a familiar number on speed dial.
--- ~ ---
Chelle leaned her forehead against the wooden front door. Her body felt so heavy. She wanted to crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head and hide from the world.
Well...first she wanted to order a pizza and get some ice cream...but then she wanted to crawl into bed and stay there.
“What the hell were you doing with Riley Sloan?” David asked through clenched teeth.
The way he said Riley’s name made her want to punch him in the face. Suddenly, she felt the full force of why everyone always called him Douchebag David. She had never been able to see it before. But now, the derisive note in his voice as he slurred Riley's name really brought it home to her.
Still, she had to admit – he wasn't the only one that viewed Riley that way. People always treated Riley like a delinquent, a troublemaker, like he was some kind of hoodlum. She hated it. That wasn’t the Riley she knew.
“It’s really none of your business, David,” She said calmly as she made her way to the kitchen, hoping that a glass of water would calm her jangling nerves.
“Like hell it’s not. You’re my fiancé!”
Chelle spun around faster than she even thought was humanly possible. “No, David, I am NOT your fiancé,” she said tightly, her voice trembling with barely contained rage, “Your fiancé is about ten years younger than I am, has blonde hair and stellar filing skills, and is currently pregnant with your child. Ring a bell?”
“Kayla and I are over, Chelle.” He made the announcement and looked at her expectantly as if she was going to swoon, or jump for joy. When she did none of those, he actually moved to take her hands in his.
My Last - Riley & Chelle Page 19