by Wendy Owens
She stands up and turns toward the door, “Why don’t we call Percy back here and ask her what she thinks.”
“No!” My body recoils as I realize I’m shouting. I take a deep breath. “I’m the one who isn’t normal.”
“Huh?” She moves back toward me, taking her seat once again on the stool. She reaches out and briefly touches my hand. “What are you talking ‘bout, sweetie? Did he tell you that?”
I shake my head. I know she is trying to protect me, but if she could only understand how damaged I am and how Dean is the only one who gets it. “The texts are for me,” I answer, but I know it’s not enough.
“Of course they’re for you … it’s your phone.”
“No, it’s not him who wants the texts. He does it for me,” I attempt to clarify, but her puzzled stare signals otherwise. “When he came here, I told him I couldn’t see him. He kept pushing me to try and figure out why, and he thought it was because of some sort of guilt about Travis and Katie.”
“And it wasn’t?” There is a sound of surprise in my friend’s voice.
I shake my head again. “No, it was because I was scared. I still am.”
“Of what?”
“The pain of losing him. I never realized how much I loved Travis and Katie until they were gone. Don’t get me wrong—I knew they were my life, but after the accident, it was like there was this gaping hole in the center of me. It’s a constant ache that nothing can fill. I don’t ever want to feel that again, so I don’t want to let anyone in.”
“So what does that have to do with the texts?”
“Don’t you see?” I smile and take my phone from her hands, pulling it close to my chest and wrapping my hand tightly around it. “He doesn’t want me to worry, or be afraid. There’s no guarantees in life, and it terrifies me, but Dean texts me so that when we’re apart I don’t worry.”
“Oh hell,” Monica groans.
“What’s wrong?”
I see her eyes grow moist. “That's the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I might have to go puke.”
“It kind of is, isn’t it?”
“I was wrong; he’s perfect for you. God, I need to meet a man.” Monica’s voice quivers before she forces a laugh.
I laugh, too, reaching out and embracing her firmly. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being there over the past few years while I was falling apart,” I explain.
“I’m proud of you.” Her words surprise me.
“What?”
She shakes her head and looks around the kitchen. “I’ve got to admit, I wasn’t sure a year ago if you were going to pull yourself out of this downward spiral, but look at you now.”
“Gee, thanks,” I grumble.
“No, I’m serious. You’ve really done something amazing with your grief … by putting it into this place. It’s amazing—you’re amazing.”
“Thank you.”
“You really like him, don’t you?” I can feel her eyes penetrating me, and I wonder how deep into my soul they can see.
Shrugging my shoulders, I swallow hard and reply, “I think I love him.”
“Have you ‘done it’ again?”
“What are we, back in high school?”
“Oh, come on, I thought I was supposed to be your best friend,” she whines.
I lean across the table and shove her firmly in the arm. “You are, and no, we haven’t ‘done it.’ We’re taking it slow.”
“Now I know he’s too good to be true. Hot as hell and a gentleman; they don’t exist. Take your picnic basket of goodies to Dean before he sends you another dozen text messages, and I’m forced to eat all of the food you made my office to drown my boyfriend sorrows,” she teases.
I laugh, leaning over and dropping the last of the containers into a basket. “I love you, Mon.”
“I know.” She smiles. “I love you, too.”
She follows me out to the main area, retrieving her bag of meals as she exits. Pressing open the door, I lock it behind me. I turn to the right, wave to my best friend, and begin walking.
Dean’s new studio is only a few minutes’ walk from me. There’s something comforting in knowing he is so close to me all the time. It’s hard not to want to spend every second with him. It’s an instinct I’ve had to fight, a struggle to find a balance. I begin to coach myself. You’re going to retain your identity. You’re going to be a sane and non-clingy girlfriend. Oh Lord, you just said girlfriend; you are dating.
I look up, and I’m here. Only a flight of stairs separates Dean and me. I realize I’m not breathing when my phone begins to vibrate in my back pocket. Then I hear the window above me slide open.
“There you are,” Dean’s voice calls out.
I glance up; the sun is creating a halo effect around his head, blinding me from seeing his full features. “Hi.”
“I was just calling you to see if you wanted me to come over for lunch,” he quickly adds. My heart is still racing … why is my heart racing? Dean and I have been around each other every night for weeks, and I’ve never gotten like this. Damn it! Why did Monica have to say anything?
“Too late, I brought lunch,” I reply, motioning toward the basket.
“Oh wow, I’ll be right down.”
And before I can calm my rapidly beating heart, he’s standing in front of me, scooping the basket from my hands and delivering me a huge grin that makes my stomach flip. The only thing to do now is follow him up the stairs.
Climbing the narrow stairwell to the studio loft, all I can see directly in front of me are Dean’s jeans hugging his perfectly shaped backside. One corner of a back pocket is torn and frayed, and I fight the urge to reach out and run the threads through my fingertips.
He moves quickly, the stale air shifting around him, carrying his scent to me. I close my eyes for just a moment, drinking it in, a mingling of mint and soap. When we reach the top of the stairs I glance to my right, where a window overlooks the bar below.
“This place is really coming together.” I attempt to make small talk, but really I’m just trying to distract myself from the way his arms look as he shifts things around on the nearby table, making room for our lunch.
“Thanks. Once I get the booth done I’m going to actually have some design elements put into the space.” He motions to the partially framed wall in the corner.
“What kind of design elements?”
“Oh,” he begins, clearly excited. “I was talking to Molly from the bar downstairs, and she said she knows a mural artist who can paint the huge brick wall for me. He’s working on some design ideas right now.”
I pause. Instantly I am uncomfortable when I hear Molly’s name. Don’t be that girl. You’ve never been the jealous type … don’t start with him. He likes you, I remind myself. “That sounds amazing,” I say, then force a smile.
I scan the oversized room one last time then turn to see Dean hesitating over the basket, unsure where to begin. “Here, let me do that.”
I rush over, welcoming something to focus my attention on other than his broad shoulders. I’ve managed to hold it together for weeks now around him, and one comment about sex from Monica, and I can’t carry a cohesive thought in my head. I’m going to kill her.
Staring intensely at the basket, I first pull out a Tupperware container with a special treat I made specifically with Dean in mind. He’d made a comment the other night that he saw no fault with adding bacon to every dish conceivable.
“What’s that?” he quickly asks, moving in close.
I smile, pleased he notices so quickly. “Candied bacon.”
“Oh no, you’re not teasing me, are you?”
“I swear, I candied it in a mixture of honey and maple syrup,” I insist, pulling a piece from the container. “Here, try it.”
Cupping my hand with his, he doesn’t take the bacon from me; instead, he uses me as a utensil and eats directly from my fingertips. I feel my knees buckle slightly, and I attempt to steady mysel
f. He pulls the bite into his mouth, and his eyes roll back in his head, but he doesn’t release my hand, still holding it with both of his. He lets out a groan that signals he has found a level of ecstasy.
“Like it?” I giggle.
“Like it? Oh please tell me you’re putting this on the menu.” Just as he says the words, I watch his eyes shift down to our hands, still joined together around the bacon. He goes in for another bite, but instead, the corner of his mouth shifts it aside, and he takes my sticky fingertip into his mouth for just a moment.
He lets his lips linger before pulling away and, with a wicked grin, he adds, “Delicious.”
I set the half-eaten bacon strip on the nearby lid of the plastic container, and without thinking I lick the last of the sticky residue from my fingertips. I realize my fingers are still wet from his mouth, and it’s all I can think about. His mouth, those lips, anywhere and everywhere on my body.
The one time we had sex before, I couldn’t quit thinking about Travis. I want Dean so badly, but I also don’t want to put myself through that again. I try to think of anything except Dean’s lips. My fear of losing self-control and being at the mercy of his mouth fades away when I feel his arms wrap around me. My heart is racing, and I can’t think straight, but there’s a sweet relief of being here in his arms. An overwhelming feeling that I’m not alone. An intoxicating idea I haven’t experienced in a very long time, and one I’ve missed desperately.
His arms pull in tighter, pressing my back against his chest. I release my muscles into him, allowing the lines between us to blur. His warm breath is on my shoulder, and I wish I could see the deep blues and grays of his eyes, but I dare not move for fear of this moment disappearing.
“What are you thinking about?” His words are soft and deep.
Swallowing hard, I push down the scattered thoughts of doubt that are creeping in and force a smile. Words said with a smile are, after all, always more convincing. “Just enjoying the moment.”
He breathes out again, his exhale syncing perfectly with mine. He runs the back of his fingertips down the bare skin of my arm, causing my entire body to convulse in delight. I continue to shiver as his hand traces the outline of my hip before traveling back up my side, my arm, and then my shoulder.
“Are you all right?” he whispers in my ear. I can feel the delight in his words, the pure joy it brings him to put me in such a state.
“I’m just worried about the food getting cold,” I answer, feeling my control slipping away.
Reaching around me, he uses my hips to turn my body until we are facing one another. My eyes avoid his as my tongue slips out and moistens my lips. I’m trying my best to cling to my sanity with every passing moment, but with each inch that closes between us I’m more and more frightened because I feel the last pieces of restraint slipping away. My lips part, a breath escaping as my gaze meets his.
He pulls me closer, a smile in his eyes. He breathes a small laugh. “I’m not really hungry right now—well, at least not for food.” And with those words, it’s as if a thread snaps, and I’m lost in him.
“Oh yeah?” I grin, surprising myself by the playfulness in my question.
“MacKenzie Phillips! Are you flirting with me?” Dean asks. My stomach twists as I hear my last name, a connection to my past, a connection to Travis.
I hold my breath, staring at him. Travis is gone; he’ll only haunt you if you let him, I tell myself. Dean is perfectly broken. He thinks he is just like me, but I know I’ve reached that point beyond broken. That place where a person is completely shattered, and no amount of the king’s men will ever be able to put me back together again.
“What just happened?” Dean asks, moving in close to my side. He must have seen the reaction on my face when he said my last name.
Shaking my head, I insist, “Nothing, I … we … I just don’t want the food to get cold. Besides, I’m starving.”
“Bullshit,” he curses. This unsettles me. I cross the room and hover near a couch, then begin to pace. “What the hell just happened?” He raises his voice slightly.
“Maybe I should just go,” I suggest, biting my nails and purposely avoiding eye contact. One passing thought of Travis has managed to derail the entire meal.
He crosses the room, stopping me in my tracks. “No, I felt you shift back there. What’s going on? We’ve been getting so close lately, I don’t want us to move backward.”
He’s right. I don’t want to move backward either. I like the way I feel when I’m with him.
He reaches out and takes hold of my shoulder, forcing my eyes to connect with his. “I’ve been waiting my entire life for someone like you. You’re my person. I’m not going anywhere, so you might as well tell me what’s going on with you.”
“I … You’ll think I’m crazy.”
“I already do, so no worries there,” he laughs, and suddenly I am too.
“Shut up,” I huff with a grin.
He sits on the couch and pulls me down next to him by my waist. “Take a deep breath, close your eyes if you have to, and just tell me what’s going on inside that beautiful head.”
I follow his directions. After a few deep breaths the truth isn’t ready to come out. So I close my eyes, the blackness sinking in and enveloping me. My breathing shallows and with one final swallow, I speak to the darkness, “It was my name. You said ‘Phillips.’ All I could think about was Travis when you said it.”
“You’re allowed to think about him,” he reassures me.
“I don’t want to think about him anymore. I want you.”
“You have no idea how happy that makes me. But I want you to know, I don’t expect you to give up your memories of Travis. He was part of your life. He helped make you into who you are,” Dean explains.
His hand is on my cheek, and his thumb wipes away a tear that has escaped. His fingertips lift my chin. I’m shaking, and I jump when I feel Dean’s lips press against mine. Just as quickly, they’re gone.
I open my stinging eyes, but I see Dean staring at me, a smile on his face. “Why are you happy? I’m so messed up.”
“You love me.” His words stun me.
“What?”
“Yup, I know you well enough by now,” he boasts smugly. “You’re freaked out because you love me.”
“Oh, is that right?” He looks so proud and confident in his conclusion that I can’t help but smile. “Then what’s to be done?”
“Well,” he begins, scooting closer, narrowing the gap between us. “Luckily, I love you too. So there really is only one thing to be done.”
I furrow my brow. “I see. Care to enlighten me?”
“We’re going to have to have mad, passionate sex until all you can think about is me,” Dean informs me in a low growl.
My heart’s pounding, and I’m smiling so much my face is starting to hurt. I don’t pull away when he moves in closer; instead, I lift my head so my lips meet his, and with our mouths pressed together, he moans as his tongue slips past my teeth. I can taste the mint I had smelled earlier. Placing my hand on his thigh, I shift my body weight toward him. I can’t get much closer than I already am, but I still try. His stiffness grazes my wrist. I don’t pull my hand away, and through the denim, I feel it grow harder.
Though I don’t want to break the seal between us, he needs to know how I feel. Pulling my mouth away from his for just a moment, I sigh and whisper, for fear the words might make me cry, “I want you.”
Wasting no time, Dean lifts a hand to my hair and, with a fistful, he moans, “I love you, Mac.” This time I do not think of Travis. I think of Dean’s lips, on all the various parts of my body.
I allow the terrifying words to slip past my lips, “I love you, too.” I say the words and the world does not come to a crashing halt. Before another breath can escape me, his mouth is on mine again. My eyes widen, and I willingly release all control, allowing the moment to lead us wherever it may.
I hear Dean’s shoes hit the floor behind me and,
without hesitation, I kick mine off as well—not an easy task in my current position. When my second shoe hits the ground Dean presses against me and continues to do so until he has me standing in an upright position. He leans back on the couch and stares at me, starting at my head and following the length of my body all the way to my toes.
His gaze settles back onto my face, and he is lost somewhere between a smile and a predator’s glare. I know what he wants, and I can’t wait to give it to him. I bring down the zipper of my jeans, slowly, so as to tease him. Pulling one flap down, I expose flesh and just the hint of black sheer underwear. I’m suddenly very thankful I took the time to make a recent run to Victoria’s Secret and trade up what Monica would call my oversized granny panties.
Dean lets out a whistle, and instantly my face flushes red. Leaning forward, he rips away his T-shirt. It happens so quickly. His lean and hardened chest distracts me, and I forget I’m in the middle of a strip tease.
“More,” he pleads.
Shaking off the entrancing hardness of his body, I turn my backside toward him and slip my pants to the floor, bending over as I do so. I hope my actions are driving him crazy. I’m quite sure my pale skin must be startling for anyone, but he seems to be enjoying everything I have to share with him. Kicking off the last leg, I turn to face him so he can watch as I unbutton my shirt, one button at a time. I’m smiling, and he’s staring eagerly.
He reaches to unzip his own pants, but I stop him with a well-placed foot. He looks at me, puzzled. “I’ll get to that,” I assure him.
His eyes widen, and a thrill rushes over me at the idea that I’ve shocked him. With the last button, I pull open the shirt and allow it to drop to the floor. Standing there in my bra and panties, I feel sexy in his gaze—sexy in an entirely new way.
I lower myself to my knees, leaning in and kissing his side, his hip. Releasing the top snap of his jeans, I pull them open slowly, pressing my lips against the flesh that had been hidden by the denim. He moans as he exhales, and I feel a shiver run through my body. He lifts his pelvis toward my face to pull his jeans from under his bottom. Once they are free, I take it the rest of the way, pulling them from his legs. He leans forward, slipping off his socks, and I can’t help but giggle at his eagerness.