He was shaken, and I offered to go with him. He declined, declaring the situation “way too messed up” for me to deal with.
I met up with Leesh and Bennie for a late supper, but declined another night of partying in favor of going to the condo and chilling with a book, hoping Shay would call or text and let me know things were okay.
Which he did the next morning.
Shay: All OK. Sorry for last night. Staying with the family today. See you tomorrow?
The three of us camped out at the condo community pool all day. I squatted under an umbrella to avoid the sun. Leesh was in and out of the pool with other people staying in our building, and Bennie slept in the sun most of the day, a straw hat covering her face.
She’s such a hard sleeper that even crisping under the scorching rays wouldn’t wake her, so I got up every couple hours and misted her with some spray-on sunblock. If she’d burnt, she would be misery on wheels.
Nobody wants that.
Shay texted again late last night as I lay in bed with the light on, my eyes scanning the same page in my book over and over.
We’re meeting up this morning. My last day with him.
Then we’ll never see each other again.
Sure, we can stay in touch through Facebook and e-mail, but to what end?
I have my surgery, and he will be immersed in the rigors of medical school.
Of course, I also dread heading home for another reason: I have to tell Daddy and Jen about the mastectomy.
I hate keeping secrets. I try to justify to myself that I’m protecting them, shielding the family from additional reminders about Mama’s death, especially while Jen is still going through her chemo.
Daddy’s not going to be happy I’ve withheld this from him. Jen either, but I can’t subject them to any more stress.
I know they’ll understand why I’m doing whatever it takes to stay healthy.
To stay alive.
A long, productive life without breasts—or with fake ones—will be better than a short life with my own breasts.
I hop out of bed and hit the kitchen for my morning burst of caffeine. I’m greeted by empty silence, which means Leesh and Bennie are still sound asleep.
A couple cans of pop and a pizza box with a single slice left are all that remain in the refrigerator.
The cold drink slides down my throat, perking me up.
As I nibble on the pizza, I recall how torn up Daddy was when Mama died, and vowed I would never let myself fall in love. People always leave you, one way or another, and the pain would be too much to bear.
I had “boyfriends” throughout college but never anything beyond a few months. The guy would often get to the “I love you” stage, thinking it was the right spot on the timeline or something. When I wouldn’t reciprocate, I’d get a variety of reactions, from tears to “fuck you.” Then they were gone.
Fine by me.
Yet here I was, after less than a week, ready to drop the “L” bomb, which might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.
I should avoid Shay for these last couple days. Spend some more time with my friends.
Knowing them though, they would chastise me, saying I’m stuck with them year-round, and how I should “do the hottie” as many times as possible before my time here was up.
Which I so want to do.
That zebra-striped duct tape Jen tried to tape across my mouth might prevent me from saying something stupid today.
We could still do lots of fun things that don’t involve my mouth.
I tremble at the thought. I already know the guy has some skills with his hands, and from the way he kisses, I’m pretty sure he’d put his mouth to excellent use over every inch of my willing body.
I chew on the last bite of crust, and head to the shower. Time to cool off a little before Shay gets here. A little more touristy stuff today, which some might find boring, but I love. In his company, everything is better than without.
Hell, I have no idea what I’m going to do when he’s gone from my life forever.
I shut the thought out as the tepid water blasts my skin, waking me up more.
Today and tomorrow morning are all that matter.
The air conditioner kicks on as I exit the shower, and my nipples stiffen under the whoosh of freezing air from the overhead vent.
The tightness is a stark reminder of what I’m losing. It’s shallow, but I love the attention my breasts garner. Next to the athletic Bennie and the willowy Leesh, I’ve always been curvier. I love my body, and my breasts were—are—my best feature, and I’m a little sad they have to go. I’ll miss these girls.
I pinch one nipple and watch the reaction. The rosy skin puckers under my fingers and a slight tingling grows between my legs.
After my surgery, this won’t happen again.
I’ll never be able to nurse a child. Knowing I can’t makes me want it.
Shay’s devotion to his family, and memories of my own happy childhood, make my heart ache for a family of my own.
I smile softly. I picture a baby snuggled on my warm comfy chest—the one I have now.
Delaying surgery is an option.
No.
Every day I wait, my chances of developing a tumor increase. I can’t risk cancer for any reason, and I should not have a baby to leave motherless at such a young age. It’s been hard enough without my mama the past six years, but at least I had her until I was a teenager.
If Jen’s cancer recurs, her kids might lose their mama when they’re four years old.
I scowl at my reflection. Why the second-guessing now? The decision has been so easy. As soon as I discovered I was positive for the BRCA1 gene mutation, I researched my options and decided surgery was the right thing.
I slather on the requisite sunblock, and throw on some pink panties and matching bra before selecting a pair of black shorts and a peachy tee shirt. I won’t even look back in the mirror to do my hair. A ponytail will do today. And no make-up.
No need to get pretty for a guy I won’t see ever again two days from now.
***
Shay
Fresh-faced and casual, Thea still looks beautiful. Her pastel tee shirt sets off her beautiful hair and makes her skin glow. Her look is practical for sightseeing, but she still outshines everyone.
Maybe it’s her zeal for life—she never seems to slow down, except when I’m kissing her, which is whenever I can. I missed her so much the past couple nights and want to make up for lost time today.
Our last day together.
“So what’s next?” She stops and stares into a gallery window displaying artist’s renderings of many of the Key West landmarks, framed and ready for hanging.
“Let me think.” I touch my finger to my mouth. “Hemingway Home. The Lighthouse. The Maritime Museum. Butterfly Conservatory. Done.”
We pass on to another storefront, this one loaded with suggestive tee shirts and souvenirs.
I have an idea. “Key West Cemetery. You mentioned going the other day. You still want to go?”
I could be imagining things, but she shudders a bit, and averts her gaze.
“I’m thinking no. I…I don’t want to anymore.”
I suspect there’s more, but I won’t press, the way she didn’t when she touched the scar on my arm.
“Can we go to Paddy’s and grab a bite? A cold beer or two would be fantastic.”
“Sure.” I could use a drink.
We walk a block or two up Duval, and then Thea says out of the blue, “I’m going to miss you, Shay.”
I pull up short, the rubber of my shoes scuffing the sidewalk.
She must sense my surprise, or else she surprised herself. Her grip on my hand tightens. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I mean I’ve had so much fun, and I don’t want it to end. You know, go back to the real world.”
I know what she means. I thought I was ready to hit the books, start dissecting cadavers, and devote every ounce of my time and energy to becomin
g a doctor.
Now all I want to do is love Thea. All day. Every day. I won’t say it, though.
That’s even more intense than her declaration of missing me.
We walk the rest of the way with ropes of tension tied around us.
The bells on the door of Paddy’s jingle, and we’re greeted by my baby brother playing guitar. I’m surprised he’s here since he was a bit rattled after the car accident two days ago and he wasn’t sure this morning if he was up to playing. Despite a couple stitches to the forehead, he’s on stage playing a rousing acoustic cover of a 1980s hair-band hit. Not one my favorites, but Mac is a terrific singer and guitarist, so I think his version sounds better than the original
I’m proud Mac’s getting over his anxiety of playing in public. Appreciative applause and copious tips play a large part in his recovery, I think.
Thea leads me to a booth. She slides in, and I head to the bar and pour a couple drafts.
I think I surprise her when I move in next to her. Though I love sitting across from her, looking at her, I want to be as close as possible. Arm-to-arm, thigh-to-thigh. As much skin-to-skin contact as I can get in public.
With the hope of getting full-on contact later, in private.
She told me her friends keep joking, asking if we’d done “it,” and calling Thea a liar when she told them no. After tonight, I hope she can say no.
And actually be lying.
***
Thea
I peruse the menu and decide on nachos. I wasn’t hungry when I asked to come here, but now the thought of melty cheese and spicy chili sounds delish.
The lie got me out of a trip to the cemetery. I don’t want to think about death, or be surrounded by it, my last days here.
Warm, living flesh, as close as I can get to it. That’s what I crave.
Shay heads to the kitchen to put in the order then comes back, moving in close to me. His musky, salty scent envelopes me.
I lean into him. Shay watches the television tuned to the cable news channel, and I people-watch as customers come and go. Paddy chats up a few barflies who are stacking empty beer cans in a pyramid on the bar top.
I squeeze Shay’s knee and trace lazy circles around the raised scars. I’d asked how he’d gotten the scars on his arm, and though he never answered, I wonder if he got these at the same time.
We’ve all got things we don’t want to talk about, wounds penetrating beyond the flesh deep into our hearts and souls, so I left it alone.
Shay brushes his callused thumb over the sensitive skin at the base of my neck. I shiver.
A clap of thunder shakes the room, and the skies open up, dumping rain at an alarming rate.
If we can’t do anything outside today, plenty of indoor activities can keep us occupied.
I don’t want the food or the beer anymore. I’m hungry for his touch, thirsty for his lips.
I lean over and whisper as I rub his thigh, “Can we go? To your house?”
He pulls back, looking me in the eye. “Thea, I…”
“You live over the garage, behind your house? It’s private, right?” I bite my lip and hold my breath.
“Yeah.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “Are you sure?”
“Shay, I’ve been sure since the night I met you. Please.”
He throws a twenty dollar bill down on the table to cover the food and beers, and I slide out. He leads me out into the downpour and pulls me into his arms.
While everyone else is running for cover, we’re standing in the onslaught, staring into each other’s faces. His hazel eyes darken, turning brown as he lowers his head.
Water streams down my face and his, rivulets pouring from his strong forearms gripping my hips. His white button-down is plastered to his torso, outlining his broad shoulders and tapered waist.
My mouth waters. My chest is flattened against him, my nipples tight and tingling.
His kisses have always been sweet, tender, and passionate.
His hands cup my face, his thumbs caressing my cheeks.
As soon as his lips close over mine, I know this one will be different.
He nips my bottom lip with his teeth, strokes his tongue over it, and engulfs my mouth with his. The hot pressure of his lips ignites a fire that threatens to torch me where I stand.
The passion? Yeah. Sweet and tender?
Not so much.
Voracious. Hungry.
The fervor of this kiss makes my knees weak. If I didn’t have my arms around him, I would have collapsed into a puddle and washed down the storm drain.
Though I’m disappointed when he breaks the kiss, I know it’s so we can go.
He leads and I follow, stray wet curls slapping against my face. We head toward the seaport, turning down Grinnell to a pale yellow house with a white-washed wood fence surrounding a tiny yard. He reaches over and unlatches the gate, and we run to a two-story structure to the right of the house. A flight of stairs leads us to the apartment above the garage.
He unlocks the door in a flash and we duck in. A gust of wind slams the door with a heavy thud.
Rain pelts the roof and the wild winds echo through the eaves.
The angry weather is nothing compared to the storm brewing in this little room.
My fingers fumble at the buttons of his dripping shirt, revealing his well-muscled chest, the rippled lines of his abs.
I lower my head to lick his skin, the slick, salty warmth an oasis to my sex-starved senses.
Shay’s deep groan makes me hungrier.
I push the shirt from his broad shoulders, the buttons clicking on the hard tile as it hits the floor.
I reach for his belt and undo the zipper, the crisp sound inviting me to kneel and slide the shorts down his hard thighs. His erection strains against the soft black fabric of his boxers and I hook my fingers into the elastic, eager to taste him.
He grips my wrists and drags me up against him.
I melt at the chest-to-chest, thigh-to-thigh contact.
“Sweet Thea.” He strokes a callused finger down my cheek, over my lip. I draw his thumb between my lips and suck on it.
His devilish pseudo-smile flares up, and I grin back.
“Why can’t I stop kissing you?” I quake at the deep rumble of his voice
A rhetorical question with no answer.
I can’t stop kissing him either.
He sucks at my lower lip, zipping a line of heat straight to my crotch.
If my panties were damp before, they’re drenched now.
Tingles of pleasure skitter across my skin as he tangles his hands into my hair, loosened from the elastic by the strong winds and heavy downpour. I cling tighter to his solid frame, my soft curves molding to his hard planes.
He pulls me deeper into the kiss and explores the recesses of my mouth, his wet tongue dueling with mine in a battle of wills I’m sure to lose. My hands move of their own volition, stroking the soft, thick hair at the nape of his neck.
He pulls his lips from mine and trails hot kisses down my jaw, to my neck arousing sharp, prickling, swirling sensations I’d never imagined were possible.
Thunder rattles the windows, and the vibrations radiate to my toes.
He kisses me again, and I dip my tongue inside, savoring the malty hint of beer clinging to his mouth. The coil of desire tightening inside me the last couple days is unraveling.
The realization hits me like a boulder.
Shay will be the last man I make love to as myself, as I’ve always been. He’ll be the last to know the real me. It’s a heady thought, and I want to give him everything I have.
His lips leave mine again, and I clutch at him to pull him back in
The light kisses he dusts across my cheeks, my chin, my nose, are gentle, sweet.
Heartwarming—and a little scary.
I remind myself to tamp down such emotions.
This is no more than straight-up vacation sex.
That. Is. All.
His kisses esc
alate from soft to hard, slow to fast, sweet to sexy.
He’s going to be the death of me. I can’t take this teasing any more.
I stroke my tongue over his full lower lip, nipping it with my teeth. He responds in kind, and I growl, the primitive sound surprising me.
A moan erupts from him as well. I pull away, and he reaches for me, trying to pull me back to him. But his protests turn to satisfied grunts as I yank my shirt over my head, then unfasten my water-logged shorts and slide them down.
My nipples are tingling, my breasts heaving as I gulp for air under his heated gaze.
The need for him to look at me is a hot, delicious ache in the pit of my stomach.
I reach behind my back to unhook my bra, but he reaches out and stops me.
“Please,” he chokes out, “let me.”
I turn my back and pull my hair up. His long fingers trail a path of fire from my nape and down my spine before unhooking the bra. He pushes the straps off my shoulders and pulls the cups away, my heavy breasts spilling forward into his large hands.
My knees buckle from his scalding touch.
He sweeps me into his steely arms, carries me across the small room through a door, and lays me on his bed.
He kisses me again, his tongue sweeping along the outline of my lips, his teeth nipping at my mouth.
“Please.” I take his hands in mine and lay them on my aching breasts.
His large hands were made to hold me.
A thumb and forefinger pluck at each engorged tip.
Of his own volition, he leans over and laves at one hard peak, sucking and licking. The friction elicits a tugging sensation deep inside me.
“Oh, yeah…”
He moves to the other breast, paying her equally divine attention. My fingers grip at the comforter. “Please, Shay. More.”
He slides to the end of the bed and does something unexpected.
He massages my feet, running his finger along the sensitive arch of one foot, then the other. Then he presses a spot under the middle toe, massaging deeply, and once more I’m sure I will orgasm.
I quiver thinking what he’ll do when he makes his way between my legs.
My fears about him finding my soft body unattractive are drowned by his every touch. He teases and taunts and tugs at my flesh with his hands, his hot tongue following the path blazed by his hands. I throw my head back, wet strands of hair sticking to my face. His tongue circles my navel, tracing the lacy outline of my panties, kissing the inside of my sensitive thigh before closing his mouth over the flimsy silk separating me from absolute ecstasy.
Goodbye to You Page 6