This evening, Brent and I had dinner at a nearby restaurant overlooking the water where we dined on overpriced food and watched the sun go down.
It’s nearly nine o’clock when we enter his apartment, and my imminent departure weighs heavily in the air. Lifting one foot and then the other, I remove the black heels from my feet while Brent hangs our coats in the closet. I catch him trailing his hands over my garment before closing the door. Turning to face me, he shoves his hands into his pockets.
“I guess I should start to get ready to go,” I say, slightly melancholy.
“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Five o’clock will be here soon.”
“Yeah.”
Inhaling, I force myself down the hallway and into Brent’s room with him on my heels. I pick up my bag and set it on the bed where he takes a seat. His eyes follow me as I place my shoes in the duffel and then proceed to retrieve my clothes from the closet. Folding them slowly, one by one, I try not to dwell too much on the fact that even though we seem to have come together quickly in the last day or so, we’ll soon be divided by a great distance with no plan for what’s to come next. It’s clear that we both want to be together, but being apart is our undeniable future.
Removing my last item of clothing from its hanger, I finger one of Brent’s shirts, memorizing its texture. I’m going to miss him.
Peeking over my shoulder, I spy Brent lost in thought while staring at his lap. Making a rash decision, I slyly yank one of his white dress shirts with thin blue stripes from its hanger. He has so many that I’m sure he won’t even notice it’s missing. I fold his article of clothing within my own, hiding it from view, and then close the closet door.
Rounding the mattress, I join Brent and start the process of packing and organizing my bag for the journey home. At the bottom of the blue duffel lies a gift for Brent that I brought from Chicago. I had considered saving it for tomorrow, but I think now would be the best time.
I extract the blue-and-silver wrapped package from my bag and place the gift into his hand.
“What’s this for?” he asks, curious.
“Just a little present. Tomorrow’s your birthday.”
He smirks, dimples dancing.
“Did you think I wouldn’t remember?” I ask, mocking astonishment.
“No, I didn’t think you would,” he says, unmoving. “Thank you.”
“Well, go on,” I encourage. “Open it.”
Brent rips off the thin navy paper as I await his reaction. The cotton garment unfolds in his outstretched hands, and a glossy picture that was wrapped inside falls to the ground without him noticing. I bend over to pick it up as he laughs next to me.
“This is perfect,” he tells me, turning the T-shirt around. It displays a graphic on the front that depicts the simple image of a hot dog with the Chicago skyline outlined behind it, referencing the hot-dog shop we went to last weekend. Just below the image reads, Bitches Love Hot Dogs. He lays it against his chest. “Should I wear this when I take you to the airport?”
“Sure. I love a man who wears his wiener with pride.”
“Nice.” He folds the shirt and then sets it aside. “You sure do have a way with words.”
“Or with wieners.”
Brent purses his lips, withholding laughter. “Okay then. Glad we got that sorted out.” He grabs the backs of my thighs, pulling me between his legs. “You really are…you just make me happy.”
“The feeling is pretty mutual.”
His eyes rest on my hands.
“What’s that?” he questions, referring to the picture.
“It’s part of your gift.”
Taking the photo in one hand, leaving the other at my thigh, Brent scans the image of us from long ago. We were freshmen in college, completely in love, and together in a city new to both of us and ripe for our curious minds.
That fall, during our first few months at school, Brent and I explored the sights of the city as much as possible, including Millennium Park. In the photo, Brent is holding me upside down by the knees underneath the metallic, mirrored Cloud Gate, also known as The Bean. My brunette head of hair sweeps the ground, and my middle is slightly exposed as gravity tugs at the hem of my jacket. We were so carefree, the way any young couple should be.
“I remember this day,” he says, tracing the figures on the glossy paper. “It was warm, warmer than usual, and we spent the whole day along the lake. I think we walked all day until the sun went down, maybe even longer. I remember being so tired when we finally made it back to the dorms. You ate a lot of cotton candy at Navy Pier. It was blue. I remember that part because I wanted to kiss you a lot, to help you eat it.”
“I remember that, too.”
Brent scoots up the bed, reaching back toward his bedside table, and he pulls out a stack of pictures from a small drawer. He shuffles through them as I walk around to join him. Finding the one he’s looking for, he sets the pile on top of the table and then hands an image to me.
I’ve never seen this.
“This is one of my favorites ever,” he says.
It’s a self-portrait of Brent and me with my body curled into his side on a grassy meadow. His expression carries an aura of contentment, an easiness that I don’t think I’ve ever seen despite having known him so well and for so long. This picture could have been taken anywhere, but it was definitely taken some time ago. We both look so young.
“When is this from?” My index finger floats along his face on the paper.
“That last day on our island where we grew up, right before we left for Chicago. We spent the whole day there, just you and me. Do you remember?”
“Yeah.” I hand the picture back to him. “I do. It was really overcast that day, and the leaves had just begun to fall. It was early for the season.”
His fingers play with the corner of the photo. “It was the first day you ever fell asleep in my arms.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I had to take a picture, not that I would ever forget.” Turning, he returns the image to the pile and adds the one I gave to him. Taking my hand, he tugs me close to the bed. “We have a lot of good memories.”
“We really do.” I place my hands on his broad shoulders. “Some of the best.”
“We’ll have more.”
“I hope so.”
“We will,” he says with an impish grin. “Thank you for my gift.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything. Your visit is plenty.”
“The visit is for me. The gift is for you.”
“If you say so.”
The happy mood dissipates.
Wrapping his arms around my waist, Brent pulls me flush into his form, resting his head just below my breasts. Surprised by his sudden gesture, I stiffen for a moment and then envelop his head with my hands.
“Thank you,” he says.
Releasing me from his embrace, Brent tilts his head upward. The longing is evident, dancing around his features. Words are hidden behind his lips, phrases he’s not sharing with my ears.
“This is harder than I thought it would be,” he states.
I let out a shaky breath.
He’s referring to tomorrow.
Less than forty-eight hours ago, I was anxious and excited while flying cross-country just to see him, to give us a chance, to see what is left. And now, our time is up.
This is supposed to feel like a beginning, but an ending is lurking, taunting, as time shrinks around what we are. It’s taking us away from what we’re trying to be.
“I don’t want to go,” I whisper.
He tugs me onto his lap. “I want to beg you to stay.”
“Do it,” I plea, wrapping my arms around his neck. The thought of remaining with him, not leaving in the morning and dropping everything for us, paces through my mind. “Ask me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“It’s not time,” he utters into my hair. “I
want you to stay, to have you here, to keep you with me.” He takes my face into the palms of his hands, forcing me to look at him.
The raw emotions swimming through his eyes spark a tear to erupt from my own, and it runs down my cheek.
“This is the only place I want to be, with you, but you need to go back.”
I search his face, trying to understand what he’s telling me. The rejection hits my heart severely, opening a familiar wound.
“You have an unfinished life there,” he continues. “And I’m not taking that away from you.” He glances at my middle. “Again.” His thumb wipes away the salty rogue. “I will come see you, I promise. We will make this work. God help me, I will make this work, but I don’t want any regrets. I don’t want you to give up what you’re doing.”
I rein in my emotions and think with my mind. He’s right. We’re on separate paths, but this is not impossible.
“I understand.” I slowly exhale. “I don’t want any regrets either. I don’t like it though.”
“Neither do I, but this is the way.”
“I know. I know you’re right.”
Brent kisses the place on my cheek where the tear fell, wiping away its existence. The soft caress of his mouth is an apology. Searching my face with sadness cloaked in bravery, he traces my lips with his thumb, adding pressure at their center. My heart warms as love lights his whole being, igniting a sensation within the room. No words need to be said. He’s telling me everything he is.
Kissing his thumb, my breath flutters around the map of his fingerprint, filling the unique part of him with my inner being. He sweeps the hair away from my neck and sears the newly exposed area with his hot, wet mouth. I melt into a gelatinous form as he lines my flesh with his tongue, skating along my jaw. Gripping his arms, I mold the pads of my fingers into the indentations of his biceps before slinking down his sides to where his shirt meets his belt.
“You deserve my time,” he says. His breath floats across my skin, and his fingertips trace the shape of my shoulders and then along my arms. “My undivided attention.” He kisses me in that space behind my ear, that oh-so sensitive place, thawing my insides. “And I’m going to give it to you.” Along my throat, the heat of his breath touches the neckline of my dress. “And we’re going to have many more good memories to come.”
“I want a memory,” I say, pushing my breasts upward toward his mouth. “Send me back with one.”
“I’m going to give you one you’ll never forget.”
Circling his hands around my shoulders, Brent tugs the zipper of my strapless dress down to my lower back. Sliding his hand into its interior, he flirts with the hemline of my panties. He rises from the bed with me in his arms, and the dress falls to the ground when my feet touch the floor. Taking his time, Brent kisses my shoulders, arms, chest, and stomach, his hands shadowing the path of his mouth over my entire body, as he savors and worships my form.
“It’s like you were made just for me,” he whispers into my ear, his hands unfastening my bra and tossing it aside.
“I think I was.”
With little patience, I push my thong down my hips, allowing gravity to take it. Brent hauls me up by my ass and backs up toward the bed. He sits us down with my legs spread around him. His mouth feverishly joins mine, asking for more with his tongue and heart, and he takes everything I am. I can feel his soul calling me, reaching in and beckoning for my own, requesting permission to dance together in a promenade of our design. Wanting just that, I release any hesitancy.
It’s clear that no one else can have me because it’s always been him. I’ve been unknowingly waiting for him all this time. Life was moving on, but I never did—at least, the part of me that matters, my heart, never did.
My hands peel off his shirt and toss it to the floor. I undo the belt at his waist and unzip his pants, and then I reach down, gripping his length. He clutches the back of my head with one hand and cups my breast with the other as he deepens our kiss while I stroke him slowly and then faster with a firm grasp.
“Ruby,” he growls. “Fuck.”
Firmly gripping my ass, Brent lifts me from his lap, twists around and lays me on the bed. He backs away, kissing every inch of my naked physique, and then he pushes his pants and boxers to the floor in a singular motion.
My lungs cease their movement.
He’s gorgeous, a fucking masterpiece.
Every contour of his body is so defined, purposeful, and impeccable. His arms and chest with the unexpected sexy addition of ink are amazing. I bite my lip to hold myself in place. The tautness of his abs lead down to the V-shape indention near his hips, accentuating the path to his length, which is pointed straight at me. I exhale. His powerfully strong legs provide a sturdy base to his impressive form. I clench the space between my thighs.
I could stare at him all day.
I want to touch him, absorb him all day.
Brent retrieves a condom from the bedside table drawer and puts it on as I sit up, coming to my knees. I run my hands up his firm chest, unable to wait much longer.
I need to touch him.
Once his hands are free, he flirts with my nipples, my curves, my backside, and my mound—a passionate kiss following every touch. Brent lifts me up with our bodies flush together and I wrap my legs around his waist. He turns us around, and lowers us onto the bed, with me on his lap.
“This isn’t good-bye,” he reassuringly says, touching his forehead to mine, as his hand lines my spine. “I will see you again. I promise, I’m not letting you go.”
I lock my lips with his, sealing his words into an agreement with my entire being. Our kiss brands them in my heart, my soul, and that space only created when we’re together, merging us as one.
Reaching between us, I palm his hard-on and guide Brent into me. He cups my ass and gently pulls me closer as I wrap my arms around his neck. I roll my hips over him, his length gliding in and out of me.
“Everything about you,” he says, his mouth at my neck, “is gorgeous and beautiful.”
“Brent,” I gasp.
“And fucking fantastic.”
We gyrate our hips in rhythm. Our bodies are tightly woven together, and our hands are everywhere at once. Brent’s mouth dips below my chin, asking to take my breasts, and I arch my back, giving him full rein of my body.
It’s his, too. It always has been.
His tongue flicks and laps at my nipples, taunting them, causing my breaths to quicken.
Wanting to kiss him, to see him, to feel him, I draw myself toward him and take his mouth with mine. Savoring everything he is, I create a memory of us, one to carry with me for as long as it takes until we can make another one. I roll my hips faster, loving the feel of him inside me, as he fills me in so many ways.
I moan into his mouth as the pleasure slowly builds deep and heavy inside. I clench his shoulders tight until intense waves release through my every muscle and every cell. Brent pulls me down over him one last time, letting himself go while simultaneously holding me tight.
His lips come to my ear. “Soon. We will be together again soon.”
NINE
The lights illuminate the airport drop-off area in the predawn hour. Brent puts the car into park, and I concentrate on my lap. It’s early, too early, but my entire body is alert despite the hour.
Time keeps moving on.
I wish it wouldn’t. Good-bye has come too soon.
Bravely, I face Brent, forcing myself to keep marching forward. My flight is in about an hour, he has team practice soon, and my life waits for me two thousand miles away. I’m having serious second thoughts about boarding the plane. I need more time.
“Call me when you get there?” he asks, placing his hand in mine.
“Sure, I can do that.”
He squeezes my fingers. “It won’t be long.”
“I know.”
“My season will be over in about a month or sooner, and I’ll have a break. You can come out again before then, if you wa
nt. We can figure it out.”
“Okay,” I barely muster. More syllables are outside of my emotional boundary this morning.
Leaning over the center console, Brent palms the side of my face, looking straight through me, into me. Moisture glasses over his green orbs. This is hard on him, too.
“Call me when you board,” he says, adamant.
“I will. Happy birthday by the way.”
“Thank you.”
He fervently kisses me. Tears erupt, trickling down my cheeks.
This is our last kiss, our last touch, our last moment.
No, it isn’t. There will be more.
I open the door, and Brent comes around with my bag in his hand. He transfers it into my possession…in slow motion.
“Just so you know,” I say bravely, “I’m going to miss you.”
“The feeling is so mutual.”
He takes me in his arms, and I let myself love him, allowing my soul to feel.
“I’ll call you every day. It will make it easier,” he says.
“It can’t make it worse,” I mumble into his chest.
“Have a good flight.” The words contain a simple message, but this departure is full of complexity.
“Thanks.” I pull out of his embrace and shrug my bag over my shoulder. “I will.”
“Don’t forget to call me when you board.”
I smile at his insistence. “I will, I promise.”
“Go on. You don’t want to miss your flight.”
I steal a kiss from his mouth and then turn toward the sliding glass doors, not allowing myself to look back.
Forcing my legs onward, I head straight to the kiosk, print out my ticket, and then unhurriedly make it through the security line. To bide my time, I get an overpriced mocaccino because chocolate helps everything, and then I settle into the gate area where other passengers are starting to gather. My flight isn’t for another forty-five minutes. Being idle is not good in times like this, allowing second-guesses to creep into the mind. Brent and I talked about this, and there’s no reason to get irrational now. I’ll see him again soon.
The boarding area is filled with sleepy passengers and the scent of coffee beans, evidence of the early morning hour. I close my eyes, not from fatigue, but to let it all settle in.
Deciding Tomorrow Page 6