by J. L. Rizzo
I am showered in kisses for that one. Totally worth the price of the ridiculously inflated airfare.
“I’ll book the flights!” she yells, running into the other room.
Now…to figure out how to keep Summer with me…permanently.
Summer and I spent the day talking, reminiscing about our childhoods and talking animatedly about our beloved parents. Our conversations were easy and comfortable as we got to know each other a bit more. I learned that, in addition to being a brilliantly accomplished pianist, she’s also loves tamales, action movies, and playing cards, particularly poker. I have vowed to challenge her to a card game one day, see how good she really is. Although her poker face doesn’t need work. I usually have no idea what she’s thinking.
She learned from me that as much as I love photography, I also love rock climbing, any music by Frank Sinatra, and daily yoga. It’s a necessity to cope with the abundant stress I endure, especially from my father and brother.
But right now, sitting on the plane with her — there is no stress. There is only me and her. There’s no place for her to run in case I fuck up again.
Which is a given.
Because at some point, I always fuck it all up.
“I’m excited for you to meet my mother,” she says, sipping her ginger ale and smiling at me. She’s so fucking beautiful.
“I’m excited to meet her as well,” I say, already having painted the picture of their relationship in my mind. “You seem to take good care of her.” She smiles again. “Will you tell me about her?”
Summer hesitates a moment, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s holding back.
“She’s a lovely woman. Kind. Beautiful. Quietly ambitious.” She speaks about her mother like she speaks about a child. “She’s a little needy, but we have a good relationship.”
“Do you like taking care of her?” I ask.
Her hard gaze confesses her internal struggle. “At times, I do. Yes.”
“But —?”
“But —” she pauses. “But there are times when I’d like more independence. A little…freedom, if you will.”
I turn my body more toward her. It’s easy to do in our larger business class seats. Worth every penny to have some space and privacy with her. “Why do you hesitate saying those words, Summer?”
Shrugging her shoulders, she chews on the inside of her cheek, weighing her response.
“What kind of freedom are you searching for?” I ask.
There it is. Her eyes hold me with trepidation. She’s afraid. “What is it?”
I have to soften myself to allow her to open up to me. It’s the only way I can reach her. So I take her hand and brush my thumb over her knuckles. “You can tell me.”
“I’m afraid to tell you,” she says quietly.
I furrow my brows in confusion. “It’s ok. You can trust me.”
“Can I?” she says a little more defensively.
Shit. I’ve hurt her more than I realized. This must be remnants of not telling her about my mother. I cup her hands in my face and lock eyes with her, my intent clear and unwavering. “Yes. You can.”
She lets out an exhale to release her angst. “You scare me sometimes, Crew.”
Brushing my thumb over her cheek, relishing every stroke, I whisper, “Tell me why.” It feels so good to touch her, but it feels more incredible that she lets me. I can’t keep my hands off her.
Never breaking my stare, she says, “Because you always surprise me, Crew. I never know what to expect, what kind of mood you’ll be in, whether I can trust your word, what you want from me.” She shakes her head in my hands. “You’re an enigma. And I don’t always know how to handle it all.”
There’s more to her confession, much more. I give her the space to allow it to flow. If she’s going to trust me, I need to show that I can be patient and willing for her.
“I heard you last night, Crew,” she continues. “I heard you on the phone. You were really angry at the people you were talking to. I—… I’ve never heard you be like that before. It makes me think that you could someday be that way with me. I would hate it. It would kill me to have you that angry with me.”
“Christ, Summer. I said before…you weren’t meant to hear that. The idea of scaring you —”. I close my eyes and shake my head, letting the ghost of that idea wash away from me. “I never want you to feel afraid with me.” I grab her hands and squeeze them. “I can’t help that you heard me, but I can help with perspective. I want you to always feel comfortable with me. So let’s talk about it. Get it out in the open. What would you like to know? I’ll tell you anything.”
Please, God, help me with this.
She swallows hard past a lump in her throat. “Do I have to tiptoe around you, Crew?” The trepidation in her voice is disarming. “When we first met, at the cemetery, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. Which is why I was probably more candid than I should have been. But then you showed up the next year, and you crushed me when you said that you identified me to your aunt as the girl who’s father died. For some reason, I put this trust in you…this trust not to hurt me. But you did. And it was hard for me to shake off. It’s like we’re on this cosmic roller coaster that only comes around once a year and suspends itself until the next time we meet. I feel like I have to put up a guard with you. I’m just waiting for the moment when I become like the person on the other end of that dreadful phone call.”
“No! God, no. Summer.” How do I tell her this? “This sounds like an excuse, but my brother brings out the worst in me. I enabled him for so long, in spite of my instinct to leave him alone. He played on my guilt and manipulated me more times than I care to admit. Him having sex with Lyanna for weeks behind my back was the last straw. I thought maybe after he got arrested that he’d change, find his self-respect, or at least find some respect for me. I thought Lyanna was…a good person, at the very least. Turns out, I was so wrong. I was an idiot. And I was angry.” I kiss the back of her hand to soften that blow. “Everything was crashing in my face. I felt manipulated. I felt weak. I felt lost. Then I saw you. And I felt like I could breathe again.”
Her warm smile makes this confession all worth it.
“You and I — we understand each other. We share something that only we can appreciate. We have empathy for one another. We work for it. Sebby, Lyanna, Drew…none of them really know me. They don’t know my situation, my position in life. But you do, Summer. You do.”
“I don’t know you that well, Crew.” Her innocence pulls me closer to her.
“You know me better than you think you do, Summer.”
I brush my fingers down her cheek and feel her tremble beneath my touch. She laughs nervously. “We’ve only known each other for, like, four days,” she chuckles. “There’s a lot more to uncover.” Taking a few moments to think, she finally shows a mischievous smile. I’m so intrigued. “In fact —. You said ‘none of them.’ Is this the part where I’m supposed to ask how many girls you’ve been with, Crew?” she asks, trying to lighten the mood.
I playfully tease her. “Do you really want to know the answer, Summer?” I catch her wandering eyes. “Because I sure as hell don’t want those answers from you.” I wink at her to break the tension.
“You don’t?”
I shake my head. “No, Summer. None of that matters. None of them matter. Because I’m here. With you. And not just for one night this time.”
Summer holds her breath for a moment longer than normal.
“At least, I don’t want it to be,” I confess quietly.
Summer’s eyes wander around the cabin momentarily, and I know she has a lot more on her mind. But I also know that this is a makeshift safe zone. She can’t run away from me if she doesn’t like what I’m saying. So I might as well say it all.
My heart thunders in my chest. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, Summer.” I hold her chin with my hand. “You just have to ask.”
Biting her lower lip, Summer filters th
rough all the questions in her mind, prioritizing them. It’s a precarious position I’m creating for myself, but I want her to trust me. Carte blanche.
Summer finally says, “On the phone, you said to Drew that you think you have to finally tell me something.” She purses her lips together. “What do you have to tell me, Crew?”
“I have a lot of things to tell you, Summer,” I say jokingly. “I mean we’ve only known each other four days.” She laughs at my joke, and it’s such a lovely sound.
I look down between us to find my courage on the floor. “I have a lot of things I want to tell you,” I say more seriously. Will you be mine? Will you move in with me? Will you make me yours? I shift my eyes to hers. “But I need you to trust me when I say that I’ll talk about all of it when the time is right.” I swallow the courage, hoping it grows in my body. “Do you trust me on that, Summer?”
Taking a few breaths, she suspends me in agony. If she doesn’t trust me, then I don’t have a fucking chance with her.
Her face is serious but softens, “I want to trust you, Crew.”
“You can, Summer. Please.” I beg her, which is huge for me considering that I’ve never had to beg for anything in my life. Except when I was 10 years old. “I never want to hurt you. I promise you that.”
The tension around her eyes melts away with my words. “I trust you.”
With those three words, I feel like I actually do have a chance with her.
“Will you always be honest with me?” she asks, shrugging one shoulder — her telltale sign that she’s feeling insecure.
“Always,” I respond without hesitation, calming her doubts.
Summer chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment. “I don’t want to be an ex of yours, Crew.”
I kiss her once, hard. She needs to know how serious I really am. “That will never happen, Summer.”
Her smile is worth all my pain.
19.
Summer
“Say whatever you want about flying, but this is probably the best Riesling wine I’ve ever had.” I take another sip and smile at Crew. Delicious. Both of them.
“Have you had good wine before?” he asks.
“I have.” I take another sip then settle my cup on the service tray. “When I was younger and touring, my parents would let me sample sips of their wine from the different cities we visited. They said that I would develop a taste for it, and eventually I’d be able to determine good wine from foul wine.”
“They let you sip it even though you were underage?”
I nod. “Most kids in other countries have small cups of wine. France. Spain. Italy. It’s common practice.” Then a thought occurs to me. “You’ve traveled around. I would think you would know that.”
His smile says it all. “You’re right. I did know that. But I didn’t know that about you,” he holds my stare a few extra moments. “Maybe they wanted you to be a wine connoisseur,” he jokes.
“Instead of a classical pianist?” I laugh back. The twinkle in Crew’s eye stops my heart for a moment. “Maybe.” I shrug. “Or maybe they wanted me to be a poker player.” He has no idea how good I am.
The squint in his eyes says it all. Bring it on, Evans.
“Well, if it counts for anything, I’m glad that you’re a pianist.” He winks at me and sips his beer. “Otherwise I may never have met you.” He nudges my shoulder.
“Yes. And it only took you 14 years to speak to me. You cut it pretty close there.” He laughs loudly, giving me a fine view of happy Crew.
“Well, I would’ve spoken to you earlier if you didn’t look like an angry teenager who was PMS-ing at the time.”
Bold. Good thing for him I find boldness incredibly sexy.
“Maybe I was just trying to fit in with all the other kids at school,” I tease.
“Don’t conform, Summer. It doesn’t suit you,” he chuckles.
“Oh, I don’t know. All those other girls were getting dates to the Prom. They must have been doing something right.”
“Those girls getting dates had nothing to do with them doing anything right or wrong. They got dates because most of those guys asking were shallow assholes who were only interested in getting laid. And the girls fell for their contrived charm,” he responds quickly.
“So does this mean you didn’t go to Prom?” I playfully ask, wondering if he’s one of “those guys.”
He smiles at me, his green eyes understanding my intention. “I did go to Prom actually.”
“And?” I’m almost too embarrassed to ask but summon the courage. “Were you just looking for an easy lay?”
He laughs again, his shoulders dancing a little. “Not exactly.” He takes another sip of his beer. “I took my cousin who got dumped the night before.” He winks at me. “I think I’ve proven that I can be patient when I want to be.” His crooked smile makes my heart flutter.
Holy hell. He’s referring to the fact that we didn’t sleep together last year. Which provided me a year of endless agony. “Yes, I suppose you can.” I smile at him, the sexual tension thick as fog. “I have a confession to make, Crew.”
He takes another sip of beer, his brows shooting up in surprise. “Fire away, Summer,” he says, placing his beer down with delicate precision.
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly parched. “That guy in the band…Xaden?” Crew’s disgust at the mention of Xaden’s name is all over his face. I love that he’s bothered by another guy’s name.
“What about him, Summer?” he says with a clenched jaw.
Here goes. “I didn’t have sex with him, Crew.”
“Ok,” he drawls out.
“He wanted to.”
“Christ.”
“We had a casual relationship —”
“Summer, if this conversation ends with me wanting to break his neck, I might stop speaking if I were you.” His jealousy sweats out of his pores. “This plane is a confined space.”
“Jealous much?” I joke, cutting the tension.
“Summer —”
“Just. Hear me out.” Crew’s exasperation is palpable. “I found him attractive, and there were moments that I wanted to explore…opportunities with him. We kissed —”
Suddenly Crew grabs my face and crushes his lips to mine, making my knees weak, causing all thoughts to vanish. His kiss is desperate, filled with passion and hunger and power and jealousy. His tongue finds mine, devouring me with each soft groan. Holding nothing back, he drenches me in his passion. I want him more for making me feel like he needs nothing else but to kiss me.
When he loosens his grip, he pulls away, his eyes soft yet commanding. He’s all I see. I’m all he sees. There’s no doubt in my mind that no one else will ever compare to Crew Evans.
“Well,” I begin but don’t finish my thought. It’s hard to think when he’s this close to me.
Crew’s wicked smile grows with each passing second. “I told you I wanted to make you forget about him.”
“Forget about who?” I say with feigned ignorance. He gives me a chaste kiss.
Taking a moment to pull my thoughts together, I still want to say my peace. “If I had any doubts before —”
“Doubts about what, Summer?” He says my name so softly, a quiet melody rolling off his lips.
I exhale my nervousness. “About you.”
The tension he builds around his eyes is noticeable in spite of his attempt to play it cool. “I was going to say that kissing Xaden was a far as I got. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you, comparing him to you. I know last year we said that I’d be better off going to Europe without an excuse to hold anything back. And you were right about that. But what you don’t know…is that, as much as I wanted to sleep with Xaden or Nick or anyone else, I just couldn’t.” How do I make him understand? “Because they weren’t you.” I feel my face redden with embarrassment.
Crew brings one hand underneath my chin and kisses me once, softly and slowly — the complete opposite of the kiss we just shared.
“What do you mean, Crew?”
He swallows hard. “Would we still be sitting here if you knew that I had slept with Lyanna? Or Sarine? Or Melinda?” I don’t know what I hate more — those names or his speaking those names. I shrug my shoulders quickly, hoping to quell the rising disdain. “I didn’t think so. There were girls I hung out with, but none of them mattered. Because it was always been you.” He takes another sip of beer. “Walking away from you last year…it gutted me. I missed you so much. But I wasn’t going to create a situation where you had an excuse to walk away from me again.”
Crew puts his hand on my knee, heating everything from within me. “Last night…,” he starts but shakes his head a few moments before he finishes. “Was exactly what I hoped it would be. And I want more, Summer. Much more.” He squeezes my knee, igniting the impulse to jump on him right in his seat.
“Keep thinking those thoughts, babe.” His laugh is playful, but his eyes scream his carnal thoughts. “Watch what happens.”
Holy hell. A delicious threat. How can I get more of them? And how do I get him to follow through?
At 10pm, we finally get to my house from the airport. I’m exhausted. I didn’t get much sleep last night being with Crew. And today has been an emotional day. I’m looking forward to a long, restful sleep in my own bed.
My mother and I live in a two-story townhouse in the West Village. It’s a quaint little neighborhood lined with bare trees, brick stoops, and intricate balustrades. Yesterday’s snow is still on the ground, although the wonder of the snowfall has been plowed away and replaced by heaps of dirty snow at the bottoms of those trees.
My bedroom is on the first floor along with the spare room and piano room. The kitchen, great room, and my mother’s bedroom are all on the second floor. I chose this floorpan intentionally, as it’s easier for me to come and go without disturbing my mother’s privacy. She’ll often come downstairs, just to be near me, but I wanted to give her the chance to find her own space, hoping it would encourage her be more independent.