Pucked Up Love
Page 17
“I know you mean that,” I assure him, “but I mean this, too. I’ve been thinking all night…” I pause, looking for the perfect words to express the truth that’s so clear to me now. “I thought I had to deny a part of myself to be strong for my sister and my students and all the women I care about. But the bravest choice I can make is to be myself, to accept every part of myself as worthy of expression, even the parts that might be hard for me to reconcile with the rest of my life.” I gaze into his kind eyes, wondering how I ever doubted that we could make this work, that we can make anything work as long as we love each other the way we do. “I treasured every second of our lessons, and I love the way I feel when we’re together that way. I don’t want either of us to give up something that feels so right if we don’t absolutely have to. And I don’t think we do.”
His fingers curl lightly into my hip as he nods. “Then we’ll take it one day at a time and keep the lines of communication open. And whatever path we choose, as long as we choose it together, I’m going to be the happiest man in the world, sweetheart. I promise you.”
“So does that mean you still want to be a couple again?” I ask, hope thinning my voice. “Because I would really love to tell Bree that she can have my safe, doorman-protected apartment and move back in with this man I love beyond all decency or reason.”
“Decency and reason are overrated, and hell yes, you’re moving back in.” A wide grin breaks across his face only to end in a wince. “Shit, it hurts to smile that hard.”
“Then don’t smile that hard,” I say, rising from the bed. “I should go and let you get some rest. Do you need me to bring you anything? Some pajamas from home or DVDs or books? Something to keep you distracted until they spring you from this joint?”
“Nope,” he says, without missing a beat. “I’ve got everything I need right here, and I don’t need rest. Now get your ass into this bed with me and let me hold you.”
“But I don’t want to hurt you,” I say, hesitating, though there’s nothing I want more than to wrap my arms around Will and never let go.
“I’ve been stitched up good and tight,” he says, waving me up. “I’m not going to break that easily. Now, woman. That’s an order.”
“Well, in that case…” I wink as I toe off my tennis shoes and crawl carefully into bed beside him, curling an arm around his waist as I rest my head lightly on his chest. He sighs in response, a sound of gratitude and relief that echoes the emotion swelling inside me.
“You and me,” I promise, laying my hand over his heart. “From here on out.”
“Until death do us part,” he says, making me smile as he adds, “And I fully intend to ask you to marry me again before the season is out, so prepare yourself. I’m tired of waiting to see my ring on your finger.”
“Or maybe I’ll ask you first,” I whisper, snuggling closer.
He runs a gentle hand over my hair. “I’ll say yes. I’m a sure thing, baby.”
“One of the many things I love about you.”
“Ditto, Curious.” His breathing grows deeper, more rhythmic and within a few minutes I can tell that he’s asleep. After a few more moments, I close my eyes and slip away after him, secure in the knowledge that he’ll be there when I wake up, today and the next day and for all the tomorrows thereafter.
Chapter 23
Bree
Eight months later…
My sister has always been my hero. Long before she beat cancer or graduated valedictorian or made the Thirty Under Thirty Businesswomen in Portland to Watch list, Hailey was my kick-ass sissy and very best friend.
And Will is the big brother I never had, a true knight in shining armor.
Or knight in shining black leather, I guess…since he and Hailey are living kinkily ever after, but I’ve done my best to put what little I know about my sister’s sex life out of my mind. As soon as it was clear that she and Will were back on the road to forever, I did a Jedi mind wipe on myself.
It worked. Mostly…
Though sometimes, when Hailey shows up for a Saturday morning sister date with an especially goofy smile on her face, I do wonder what naughtiness put the spring in her step. I also wonder if I’m ever going to find someone to put a spring in mine, but that kind of worry isn’t on the agenda for today.
Today isn’t for mourning the state of my tragically ancient hymen; today is for celebrating the awesome and inspiring power of true love. The sun is shining, Oregon is covered in spring green and June flowers, and my sister is getting married on the rooftop of a hotel in McMinnville, Oregon, with vineyards blanketing the surrounding hills and UFO enthusiasts cheering from the streets below.
The UFO enthusiasts weren’t a planned part of the celebration—Hailey somehow managed to book her wedding on the same weekend that McMinnville is flooded with people who believe in little green men and green beer and how much fun it is to blend their appreciation for the two during a week-long festival—but I think they add flair and fun.
My mother, however, is not amused.
“What is that on that man’s head?” Mom fusses, her blond brow furrowing as she leans over the railing to peer at the street below.
I glance over my shoulder. “Antennae maybe?”
“Do aliens have antennae? Are they like insects? And why is that woman’s baby painted blue, honey? She’s green, and the baby is blue.”
“I’m guessing the father must be blue,” I offer dryly. “Or maybe the grandmother or grandfather, but I’m not an expert in alien genetics, so don’t quote me.”
Mom shifts her narrow gaze my way. “Very funny, Sabrina.”
“Just trying to lighten the mood, Mother. It’s all in good fun, and Will and Hailey don’t seem to mind sharing their special day with people in alien costumes.”
“But what if we can’t hear the vows?” Mom fluffs her bob with one ring-laden hand as she tsks. “And why are those men dressed like hammers? That makes absolutely no sense.”
“Hammerhead alien? Like a hammerhead shark?” I glance back down at the street where the men dressed as hammers are cavorting down the parade route behind a group of cackling witches. “Or it could have something to do with beer. Don’t they have a hammerhead ale or something?”
“I have no idea, but I could go for a drink. A strong one,” Mom says, making me laugh as I kiss her forehead.
“Then I’ll go fetch you one, sweet mama. Don’t worry. It’s all going to be perfect. You just wait and see.”
I cross the roof to the bar on the other side, where a number of the groomsmen are already crowded around a table nursing a pint as they wait for the festivities to begin. I sidle up to the bar beside a familiar pair of broad shoulders and nudge Shane Wallace’s elbow with mine. “You ready for this, best man?”
He shakes his head as he shifts my way. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
I grin. “Nervous?”
“A little,” he admits, rolling his bright blue eyes. “Mostly about the reception toast. As soon as that’s over, I’ll be golden. I’m not a fan of public speaking.”
“Just imagine everyone naked,” I offer. “That’s what I’m going to do during my speech. It helps.”
His lips curve on one side as he clears his throat. “I think I’ll pass on that.”
“Why?” I tease. “Most of the people here would probably look okay naked. Even my mom’s a babe for fifty-two.”
Shane’s face wrinkles in an expression of horror so intense I can’t help but laugh.
“You’re evil,” he says, nudging me in the ribs with his elbow. “I’m a gentleman, Sabrina. I don’t imagine ladies naked, especially ladies old enough to be my mother. Besides, I have my own coping strategy, thank you very much.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, still giggling.
“Reminding myself that I’m in the home stretch around here. This is my last season with the Badgers. So if I screw up and make a fool of myself, they can only make my life miserable in the locker room for so long.”
Shane’s dark blond brows draw together. “No, I’m not quitting. I was transferred to Kansas City. I thought you knew. Hailey asked if she could invite you to my goodbye BBQ in June, and I said yes…”
“No, she hasn’t asked me. At least not yet. But she’s been busy with the wedding, so…” I shake my head numbly, feeling strangely abandoned. Shane and I have been hanging out a lot more in the past few months. I thought we’d become good friends, but apparently I was wrong.
Why didn’t he tell me himself?
And why do I suddenly want to dive into his arms, hug him so tight he can’t breathe, and beg him not to go?
“Brendan’s retiring to go coach the new expansion team, and I’m going with him,” he continues. “I’m actually looking forward to it. I’ll always love Portland, but I’m ready to move on, try something new.”
“Yeah, I mean…that’s great,” I say, feigning interest in scraping a bit of stray pink polish from next to my thumbnail. “I hope it’s awesome.”
He laugh-grunts. “Why don’t I believe you?”
I look up sharply. “No, I do. I just wish you’d told me yourself.”
“I just did,” he says, holding my gaze with an intensity that makes me feel too warm despite the cool May evening.
“You know what I mean,” I murmur, my pulse beating faster.
“No, I’m not sure I do, Bree. I don’t think it would have changed anything, do you?”
My mouth opens, closes, opens again, but no words come out. Shane and I have danced around this subject more than once, but he’s never gotten this close to flat out saying that he wants more than friendship. And I’ve never gotten this close to confessing that it’s impossible for me to be more than his beer and antique-hunting buddy.
Even though I want to.
Even though I have naughty dreams about sexy Shane Wallace more often than I would like to admit.
Even though he’s not only drop dead gorgeous—with soulful sky blue eyes, boy-band perfect tousled blond hair, and a smile that makes my belly flip in strange but lovely ways—he’s also tons of fun, adorably goofy, and unfailingly kind.
He would be the perfect Number One if I were capable of making that leap. If I weren’t a weirdo with a medical condition crazy enough to ensure I’ll probably spend the rest of my life alone.
“Blah,” I finally blurt out, because words have failed me.
“Blah?” Shane arches a teasing brow.
“Yes, blah.” I flip my bangs from my forehead with a nervous flick of my fingers before I lift a hand to the bartender. “A white wine please, sir. A big, nerve-soothing one. For the mother of the bride.”
“Is she having wedding day jitters?” Shane asks, gracefully changing the subject.
“No, I think she has an alien phobia.” I lean back against the bar, glancing across the roof to where my mother is still shaking her head and clucking at the UFO parade streaming by below. “Or maybe just a weirdness phobia. Mom likes to color inside the lines.”
“It must have been hard for her. Raising a weirdo like you.”
Grin curving my lips, I bonk Shane’s shoulder with mine. “I am not a weirdo.”
“Weird,” Shane insists.
“Like you’re one to talk. Last time I checked you were still collecting creepy salt and pepper shakers.”
“Not creepy. Unique.” He pauses, lifting a hand to adjust the flower crown that’s been slipping down into my eyes all afternoon. “I have a deep appreciation for unique things. And unique people.”
My lips part and electricity prickles sweetly across my skin, promising that this could be the night, that Shane could be the one, that things could be different this time if I’m careful and honest.
But how to be honest about something like my crazy something?
Shane says he likes unique things, but I doubt that applies to the unique insanity of my whacked out immune system. My body turned traitor to love.
Or sex, anyway…
And what man wants love without sex?
Certainly not Shane. He may be a sweetheart, but he also oozes sex. He sizzles with it, exudes an “I’d love to pounce” vibe that makes me anxious when we’re alone. It’s one of the reasons I prefer to hang out with him in public places, with other friends. I’m afraid that I’ll do something, say something, confess something I shouldn’t.
I’m allergic to semen, Shane. It makes my entire body break out in hives. Sexy, huh? I can imagine myself saying it now. Can imagine the expression on his face as he realizes I’m definitely not his kind of unique. Not any guy’s kind of unique.
Thankfully, before I’m forced to find something to say, I’m saved by the bartender plunking a glass of wine next to my arm. “Thanks.” I grip the thin stem like a lifeline as I glance back up at Shane. “Good luck. I’m sure your speech will be great. I’ll be rooting for you.”
“Ditto, doc,” he says.
“It’s going to be a long time before I’m a doc,” I remind him. “If I ever get there.”
“You’ll get there,” he says without a trace of doubt. “I believe in you, Sabrina Marks. And I’ll miss you. Take care of your self, okay?”
“Okay,” I echo as my heart does a somersault behind my ribs and my throat squeezes tight. Why, oh why, does he have to be like this? So wonderful? So kind? So absolutely irresistible in every way?
The questions linger as I proceed to get my mother gently drunk, ensuring that by wedding go-time she’s sufficiently relaxed not to care that someone is blasting the theme song from The X-Files so loud it’s competing with the wedding march as Hailey glides down the aisle. But it’s hard to be stressed out when in the presence of this kind of love. Hailey and Will are shining, glowing, sparkling with love, the pair of them so perfectly in sync in their adoration that the gathered friends and family spend most of the ceremony sighing with sappy happiness.
The reception is just as lovely, with a delicious meal, inspiring toasts—Shane’s is as perfect as I expected it to be—and Will and Hailey spinning around the floor for their first dance like they were made to move together, to be two halves of one whole. To be forever.
Forever…
I want that.
But I would be happy with much less—with a summer love or a summer fling. Or maybe just a really sexy June, during which I might finally be able to ditch the V card that’s weighing me down, making every obstacle to finding Mr. Right seem even more insurmountable.
Usually I know better than to hope for such things. But whether it’s the romance in the air or the moonlight on my skin or that third glass of wine I probably shouldn’t have sipped quite so fast, by the time Shane asks me to dance I’m starting to wonder if I’ve been too hasty.
Too close-minded.
Too eager to shut things down when I should be lighting them up.
As Shane pulls me into his arms, one big hand flat on the small of my back and the other curled around mine, I let myself sway closer than I would have before. I pull the spicy-sweet smell of his cologne deep into my lungs and relish the way his scent makes me ache in places someone who’s “just a friend” shouldn’t.
Though really, it’s his fault for having such strong hands, such pretty muscles, and such a sexy neck. How have I never noticed what a delicious neck this man has? I tilt my head, drifting closer to Shane as one slow song ends and another begins, bringing my nose closer to his smooth skin as I draw in another breath.
“Bree?” His voice is a deep rumble that makes me want to rest my ear on his chest and let the reverberations fill me up like a seashell.
“Yes, Shane,” I murmur, starting to feel a little drunk on his scent.
“Are you sniffing me?”
I giggle, clearly tipsier than I thought if he’s caught me so easily. “Yes. Sorry. Your cologne is yummy. It reminds me of Christmas, but not i
n the bad way.”
“What could possibly be bad about Christmas?”
“Well, last Christmas, my parents told us they were divorcing, so that sucked,” I say, my spontaneous over-share confirming my tipsy suspicions. I should retreat to my room until I recover mouth control, but instead I say, “But I meant the best parts of Christmas. Cider with an extra cinnamon stick and fresh cut pine trees and big fluffy socks warm right out of the drier.”
Shane makes a dubious sound, but when I look up at him, he’s smiling. “Thank you, but it sounds like I need to find something a little less seasonal for summertime.”
“No.” I scowl. “I like it. No changing. You’re already moving away. That’s enough changing.”
Shane purses his lips as he nods. “True. I am.”
“You’re leaving in June?”
“Beginning of July, right after the fourth,” he says, his words fanning the hopeful fire smoldering in my chest.
It’s crazy. I shouldn’t even consider it. I shouldn’t even consider considering it.
“So we still have time to make it to the west side for another batch of dirty fries,” he says, the word ‘dirty’ on his full lips making me break out in a fine layer of sweat between my breasts. It’s a cool night, and my pink flapper-style bridesmaid’s dress is anything but heavy, but I’m clearly losing my mind.
And my self-control.
And my sense of self-preservation.
This isn’t just crazy, it’s dangerous. But there’s something about this night, this man, and Shane’s voice as he asks, “You all right, doc?”
I shake my head and lift my chin, bringing my lips closer to his. And then, before I know what my crazy mouth is going to do next, I’m kissing him, pressing onto tiptoe, wrapping my arms around his neck, and going for it with everything in me. For his part, Shane doesn’t miss a beat. One moment, there’s enough room between us for the Holy Spirit, the next, he’s pulled me so close my breasts are flattened against his powerful chest, and our hearts are pounding in time and tingles are sweeping through me from head to toe and back again until I’m dizzy.