by Shandi Boyes
“Compliments to the chef,” we recite at the same time. Wesley’s voice is firm and clear, mine is nowhere near as strong.
The laughter that roars around the fire curtails the shakes impeding my body. I swallow down the bile sitting at the back of my throat before lifting my eyes to Jenni when she says, “You’d swear he thought your . . .” she stops talking and waves her hand over the lower half of my body, “was a buffet table.”
“He did,” I retort, my words half-shaky, half-playful. “He only said it after burping. Like he literally just sat down for a meal. . .” My words trail off when I realize my panicked state has me revealing more than I intended.
I keep my massively dilated gaze front and center, not the slightest bit tempted to gauge Carey’s reaction to the second half of my confession. My attempts at acting ignorant only last as long as it takes for Carey to excuse himself from the gathering and pace toward the edge of the property that showcases the coastline of Bronte’s Peak in all its glory.
Over the next twenty minutes, the heaviness on my chest lightens as the Rise Up crew continue with their game of truth or dare. I try to participate to the best of my ability, but my constant sneaky glances at Carey dampen my efforts.
I tilt toward Wesley. “Are you ready to head out soon? My feet are killing me.”
My feet are screaming in pain, but that’s just an excuse I’m using to talk to Carey. My dad’s family is proof that there is no better way to spark a conversation than to say goodbye. I swear every time they visited when I was younger, hours of the day were wasted chatting in the driveway.
“Yeah,” Wesley replies with a concise nod of his head. “I’m dying to call home and tell them about my week.”
I snuggle into his neck, taking a moment to bask in the excitement beaming out of him. I’m so glad his career is progressing forward in leaps and bounds. He deserves the recognition for his years of dedication to the music industry more than anyone.
“Give me a few minutes to say goodbye to Carey, then I’ll meet you at the gate,” I suggest, nudging my head to the dividing fence between Noah’s property and the cabin Cormack rented for us.
I laugh when Wesley says, “From what I’ve been told, you only need five.”
After ramming my elbow into his ribs, I rise from my seat. Just before I pace away, Wesley seizes my wrist. “Chin up, Poppet. He wasn’t looking at you with anything but concern.”
My heart swells, beyond pleased he knows me well enough to know where my thoughts drifted without me saying a word. “I love the way you love me.”
Wesley smiles so broadly, the moon no longer exists. “I love the way you let me love you.”
Grinning, I stride toward Carey with a newfound spring in my step. I’ve learned a lot the past three years, but my biggest lessons were discovering that my past can only affect my present if I let it, and only I have the power to influence my future.
The crackling of energy overtakes the sound of waves breaking on the shore when Carey lifts and locks his eyes with me. I can tell just by looking at him that he is still hurting from losing his family, but that isn’t the only flare of emotion I see. I know he is interested in me. I just don’t know if he wants to forget his past or create a future that yields his interest.
“Hey,” I greet him, my one word breathy.
“Hey,” he replies.
An awkward grin tugs my lips high. “One day we are going to get past these lame greetings.”
My smile turns genuine when Carey replies, “God, I hope so – this is fucking awkward.”
“Not as awkward as being eyeballed from afar,” I quip, gesturing my head to the fire pit. I don’t need to crank my neck to know we have gathered numerous pairs of eyes. I can feel their intrusive stares.
Carey laughs a scoffing chuckle. “True.”
A zing of pleasure jolts up my arm when he encloses his hand over mine and guides us into the unlit pool area. Even surrounded by darkness, I’m not afraid. Astonishingly, I don’t remember what fear feels like when I'm in Carey’s presence, which is both a terrifying and heartening notion.
Once we’re shadowed by the pool patio, our eyes meet. Something so great passes between us, it forces words out of my mouth I never wanted to say to him. “Ask me anything you want to know. I’ll answer any of your questions.”
I stare at him with my stomach twisted in knots, my hands shaking. Every therapist will tell you that admission is the first step to recovery. Even if it is true, it doesn’t make it easy to do.
Carey scrubs his hand across his chin and asks, “You described our night together?” The unease of his words make his statement sound like a question.
Shocked by the simplicity of his question, I nod my head. I truly expected him to start with the big hitters and work his way down. I never suspected he’d begin our conversation at a point that instantly eased my hesitation.
“Why?” he asks, shock evident in his tone.
I shrug my shoulders, aiming to lessen the impact of my reply. “Because it was the truth.”
When my confession gains me nothing but silence, I add on, “That night was wonderful, Carey. A night I’ll treasure for years to come.” I throw all my dignity out the window when I say, “A night I’d give anything to experience again.”
I take a step closer to him, fortifying the undeniable connection between us. It is so strong, even a man trapped in the hell of grief would be able to feel it. I stand so close to him, my wine-scented breath bounces off his lips and fans my mouth. When he lifts his hand and places it on the edge of my jaw, the muscles in my cheek twitch. He sweeps his thumb across my cheek, removing the invisible tearstains my watering eyes are begging to release. The gentleness of his touch and the concern in his eyes tell me he didn’t miss my earlier panic, he just chose to leave the decision up to me on how much I'm willing to share. This makes me like him even more.
I nuzzle into his hand, ecstatic to once again feel his skin on mine.
Reading the relief in my eyes, Carey mutters, “I’m broken, Gem. You can’t fix broken,” ever so quietly. The pain in his words adds to his confession. He truly believes he is beyond fixing.
“Nothing is unfixable. You just haven’t found the person holding the right type of glue.” I balance on my tippy toes so we share the same breath. “Give me the chance to prove that to you,” I shamefully beg.
My every wish, desire and want is granted when several seconds later, the most delicious pair of lips I’ve ever tasted push against mine. Carey strokes his tongue along the ridge of my lips before sliding it inside my mouth in a slow and controlled lick. I fall into his kiss, carried away by the sensuality of it. Carey knows how to kiss. Contrary to the lie I told last month, he adds the perfect amount of tongue and pace to have my toes curling and my libido skyrocketing. I could garner a lifetime of treasured memories from just one of his kisses and erase a mountainload of nightmarish ones.
When a rowdy cheer pummels our eardrums, Carey pulls away. I try to hold in my whiny moan about the loss of his contact, but my mouth relinquishes it before I have the chance to fully shut it down.
A grin curls on my kiss-swollen lips when Slater yells out, “She only requested five minutes alone with you, GI Joe, not an in-depth frisk.”
My small smile turns into an idiotic grin when Carey’s threatening charge towards Slater has him diving out of his seat and hotfooting in to the cabin. “Abort mission!” Slater chuckles.
Happy he has subdued the cheeky banter firing from the men of Rise Up, Carey returns his eyes to me. After rubbing his thumb over my kiss-swollen lips, he says, “I’ll see you around.”
Silly giddiness clusters in my womb as I reply, “Not if I see you first.”
As much as it kills me to do, I pace toward the gate Wesley has his hip propped against. The cheeky grin on his face indicates he not only witnessed the exchange between Carey and me, but his concerns about Carey are weakening.
“I either need a few minutes alone or a col
d shower,” Wesley jests before curling his arm around my shoulders. “That kiss was nearly hotter than my wicked thoughts of seeing Emily and Jenni make out.” He moans in a way only appropriate for the bedroom.
I slap him on the chest. “You’ve seen how protective Noah is of Emily. He’d have a coronary.”
“Yeah because all the blood in his body would be rushing to his cock,” Wesley fires back, laughing.
When we merge onto the patio of our cabin, I swing my eyes back to Noah and Emily’s pool house. My heart beats triple time when I spot Carey still standing in the same spot I left him. Childishly, I wave at him. My pulse surges into dangerous territory when he waves back. Yes!
Chapter 23
Hawke
I should feel bad for kissing Gemma. Guilt should be making it hard for me to breathe. But all I'm feeling is hope—hope that I get to do it again.
Love and heartache do not define you.
They are a part of your story.
-Author unknown.
Chapter 24
Three days later. . .
Music blasts my eardrums as I move through a crowded living room jam-packed with Ravenshoe’s finest. The scent of sweat-slicked skin on overheated bodies lingers into my nostrils, adding to the horrific thump of my head. When news of the band’s upcoming tour circulated through the town, Ravenshoe locals got together to send the boys off with a mighty bang, bang being the prime word for my pounding head. Throw together Ravenshoe’s stifling temperatures, dozens of horny young adults, and a DJ whose idea of party music is soundtracks with nothing but bass, and you have the perfect recipe for a migraine.
In my attempt to dull the ache, I push through the throng of people grinding against each other to reach a quieter region of the party. My lungs are replenished with fresh air when I enter the back patio of Nick and Jenni’s modest four-bedroom house. Although there are still a decent number of people mingling on the manicured lawn, it is nothing compared to the numerous bodies lining every inch of the floor space inside.
I loosen the strap of my camera so I can rub a kink in the nape of my neck. While relieving the tension of a long day, a flicker of light in the back corner of the property obtains my attention. Okay, I’ll be honest. It wasn’t just the flicker of light, it was the quickest glance of a profile standing behind the light that secured my devotion. Carey.
The blaring music roaring out of the speakers dulls with every step I take down the paved path. When I stop on the stoop of the pool house I saw Carey in, I run my hands over my hair and ensure my clothing is sitting right before raising my hand to tap on the glass sliding door. My knock stops midair when the door suddenly slides open, startling me.
“Hey,” Carey greets me before propping his shoulder onto the doorjamb.
His efforts to ease our awkward greetings have improved dramatically compared to mine. I don’t even bother issuing him a greeting. My eyes are too fixated on categorizing every dip and crevice of his bare torso to articulate a response.
After absorbing his unbuttoned business shirt and bare feet, I drift my eyes past his shoulder. “Are you busy?” I cringe, loathing that my voice comes out tainted with suspicion.
My eyes rocket back to Carey when a rare smile etches onto his mouth. “No,” he replies with a curt shake of his head. “Did you want to come in?”
“Do you want me to come in?”
Carey responds to my pathetically woeful question by waving his hand across the front of his body. Ignoring the way my arm brushing past his nearly naked torso sends my libido into overdrive, I pace into the small but homey space.
“Is this your place?” I question after taking in the well-designed in-law’s suite with muscular features and smooth artistic lines. The space isn’t overly large, but it is well furnished.
Nodding, Carey walks to a small bar set up between two antique bookshelves. “Isaac wants me to stay on site when Nick and Jenni are home.” A grin tugs my lips high when he grimaces. “There was no way in hell I was going to sleep inside—their walls are paper thin—this was Isaac’s compromise.”
“It’s nice,” I reply, my voice conveying my honesty. “Private too,” I continue when I notice he has his own entrance attached to a back alley.
Acting like I can’t feel the chill my brief glance in the alleyway caused, I turn my eyes to Carey. I smile and shake my head when he soundlessly offers me a drink by shaking the whiskey decanter in his hand.
“I wouldn’t say no to a bottle of water if you have it, though? My head is thumping.”
Not speaking, Carey sets down the whiskey decanter and walks into a sleek, manly kitchen on his right. He returns not even two seconds later with a bottle of water in one hand and headache tablets in another.
Smiling at his thoughtfulness, I accept the items. After swallowing down three tablets and half a bottle of water, I connect my eyes with Carey. “Why are you half-naked?” I stumble out before I can stop myself. My response can’t be helped. My brain has turned to mush just from spending the last thirty seconds ogling his rock-hard six pack.
I suspect my question will have Carey tugging at the edges of his shirt. What I didn’t fathom was that he would thrust his hands into his pockets—exposing even more of his deliciously taut skin—before answering, “I was about to take a shower.”
Wickedly dirty images of us in the shower rush to the forefront of my mind. They all involve Carey and me in a vast range of Kama Sutra positions, and it reminds that I should look at doing some Yoga classes in the near future. There is no use conjuring up advanced sex positions if you can’t even handle the Downward Dog.
Mortified at my lack of self-control, I stray my eyes to the floor. “Well, I better get going so you can have your shower.” The throatiness of my words gives away my excitement. “Thanks for the water.”
With my gaze planted on the ground, I make a beeline for the door. Well, I assume I'm heading towards the door as I have no clue which direction the exit is. My frenetic speed slows when Carey asks, “Do you like pizza, Gemma? I just placed an order if you want to stay for a slice?”
Fighting the urge to do a little jig, I reply, “Obviously, I love pizza. That’s why I had to wear those hideous panties you shredded off my body last month. They help keep the cheese on my backside instead of on my thighs. Don’t you know big booties are all the rage right now?” My mouth gapes, shell-shocked at the bluntness of my reply. The only wish I'm making when I blow out my birthday candles next year is the wish for a filter.
My panic recedes when Carey’s beautiful laugh sounds through my ears. Not wanting to miss witnessing the core-crunching event, I snap my eyes to him. Just as I suspected, his beautiful smile clears away my insecurities.
“If you think that’s funny, you should see me trying to get into them. Achieving world peace would be easier.”
I feel like I’ve hit a home run in the playoffs when Carey laughs again. God he has a beautiful laugh. Manly with an edge of huskiness that hits every one of my hot buttons.
Once his laughter settles down, he locks his glistening eyes with me. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab a quick shower and be out in a few.”
It’s a painstaking fight, but I manage to hold in my inappropriate reply that I’d prefer to join him in the shower than sit on his fancy couch alone.
Awkwardly pretending I can’t feel his heated gaze, I pick up one of the car magazines off his coffee table and sit down. I stop aimlessly flicking through the magazine when Carey calls my name. “If the pizza man comes, my wallet is on the coffee table,” he advises, nudging his head to his wallet.
“Okay,” I reply, smiling.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve flicked through every magazine on Carey’s coffee table, and adjusted the bracelets lining my wrist numerous times.
“How long does it take to shower?” I mumble to myself, my words snarky.
I’m not annoyed at Carey; I’m peeved at myself. The past twenty minutes have been pure torture. Imagine knowing a gl
adiator-sized man with an anaconda cock you know intimately—and would do anything to experience that level of intimacy again—is naked only mere feet from you, yet you can’t do anything about it because you have morals and principles to abide by. It is days like today I wish I was even ten percent of the woman I used to be. That Gemma wouldn’t have doubted the chemistry bristling between us. She would have seen an opening and ran for it.
Tortured—there is no other word to describe how I'm feeling right now.
Doing anything to quell my desire to interrupt Carey in the shower, I snag his wallet off the coffee table and crank it open. A chuckle parts my mouth when I see his horrible license photo. Carey is a beautiful man, but this photo is atrocious. My gaped mouth snaps shut when I notice his date of birth. It is the same day as mine: June sixth.
Feeling guilty for prying, I close his wallet. Before it fully snaps shut, the overhead lighting in Carey’s house reflects on a shimmering of color peeking out behind a stash of crumpled bills. Curious to discover if he has replenished his condom stash we depleted our first night together, I pry his wallet open further.
“Oh my god,” I stammer out, my words choked by remorse.
A wave of emotion slams into me when I carefully open his wallet more, fully revealing the black and white image hidden between notes. My breathing pans out as I cautiously remove the picture. Even faded, it doesn’t take a genius to realize what this photo is. It is an ultrasound picture of Carey’s son, Malcolm. From the small portion of white writing still visible on the edge of the black surface, it appears it was taken mere weeks before his death. It is a cruel, yet beautiful reminder of what Carey had and lost.