Unwritten

by Alex Rosa

  His hand inside me pulls out, sliding up and down my sensitive folds, rubbing at my clit, and I’m nearly on the brink.

  “Huh?”

  “We made some risky decisions when we were kids. Impatient meetings on the shore, kind of like this one, where we didn’t use one.”

  I giggle, pressing my lips to his, remembering all those blissful terrible decisions. I was on the pill then, but I wasn’t the most diligent at taking them every day like I am now. I like the idea of Caiden being the only person I’ve ever been with without a condom.

  “C’mon, Caiden. I want you inside me.”

  “Some things never change,” he chides, lifting my hips above his before slowly lowering me, my body taking him in one swift move.

  I let his name roll out of my mouth in sinful happiness: “Caiden...”

  “Fuck, I love it when you say my name.”

  He fills me to the brink, and my body pulses around him.

  Caiden grabs for the edge of my sweater, pulling it off my body, leaving me in just my bathing suit top. He digs his fingers into either side of my hips. We stay still, just savoring the fill as our bodies acclimate to the tight space, but it makes my head dizzy.

  “You have to move, or I’m going to go insane,” he growls, his lips dragging up my jaw, his eyes closed, and his breathing heavy.

  I smile, pressing my lips into his, tangling my fingers tightly into his hair, anchoring him to my mouth as my hips begin to rise and fall, quickly speeding up with his strong hands guiding me.

  Our shallow breaths and the sound of our bodies coming together are the only noises twisting around the tones of the soft waves and gentle breeze.

  I’m hot everywhere, my body buzzing and tingling, my legs trembling, my thoughts blurring as our hips find a rhythm that ignites that earth-shattering spark in my core. The fiery feeling starts pulsing and pulsing, and I forget how to breathe as we groan against each other’s mouths in fevered need.

  “I love you so much,” he says, his lips nearly bruising mine to convince me, and the pleasure and pain of it is euphoric.

  “I love you, too,” slips from me easily, and although I know I should have kept those words a little more protected, and that I should be a little more cautious with them, it doesn’t matter when we both release a vision-blurring orgasm. I forget myself, seeing stars, and letting out another groan of his name, and dammit, another I love you.

  Whether I like to believe it or not, nothing has ever been truer, and also so terrifying.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ring. Ring. Ring.

  It’s been an interesting few days, to say the least. So much so that if you told me I would be managing Caiden, chaos, my childhood home, and avoiding responsibilities, I might have keeled over in the downright maniacal laughter of insanity. Yet here I am, living the unforeseeable.

  Ring. Ring. Ring.

  I blink a few times, staring blankly into space as I stand in my old bedroom, trying to pretend my phone isn’t ringing, glowing with a name I’m not ready to face.

  This would be the “avoiding responsibilities” part.

  I scan my room, nodding my approval at the tousled bedcovers and the suitcase on the floor. I’ve almost grown comfortable with this space. I slept in my own bed one out of the three nights Caiden hasn’t been here.

  Hey, that’s progress in my world.

  My ringing phone finally stops and beeps ten seconds later, signaling a voicemail. It echoes ominously through the summer night.

  I release a long grunt of self-disapproval into the silence.

  I’ve been avoiding Janet. I never called her back that day on the lake, and that’s her second call today. She’s relentless when she wants to be, and I keep telling myself I’ll call her in the morning. We’re on day three now, and it’s not getting any easier. Eventually, I know I’ll have to face the music.

  Maybe I’m overreacting.

  Maybe she just wants my notes.

  Or maybe it’s something else entirely.

  Possibly something inevitable and awful that I’m not ready for.

  Whatever it is, it’s just going to have to wait. Currently, I’m a little more nearsighted than usual.

  Trying to keep my distance from Caiden since making us official on the shore of the lake has been incredibly difficult. I’m still trying this whole pacing ourselves thing. That night, we walked back to our friends, hand in hand and continually kissed under the glow of the bonfire that night.

  For the first time since I came back, our friends stopped teasing us then. They let us be. Which, funnily enough, is what makes Caiden and me feel official, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t have me a little on edge.

  The only thing that’s keeping this relationship—if that’s what this is—normal, rather than us acting like frantic, horny teenagers who need to be with each other every second, is the fact that he has a job, which reminds me I have one, too.

  His shifts at the station run in chunks of twelve hours, and I found out he has some catching up to do since he’s (apparently) already taken so much time off since I hit town. This is something he reluctantly admitted.

  He explained he had been leaving work early most days just to avoid me at the diner or passing shifts to Tyler so he could pop up at a bonfire party I was at, or once to make love to me on the shore.

  Even alone I blush at the memory, feeling tingly all over just thinking about it.

  All those times Caiden had to shift his schedule to accommodate our ridiculousness, it did not make his bosses very happy. I get sheepish over the chaos I caused just by appearing, even though the outcome’s been worth it.

  Now, Caiden has to rectify all that time off before the fire chief gets even more pissed off at him. Apparently the words, “Anderson, she better have a fucking magical pussy for you to be taking all this time off of work,” were uttered, to the hilarious amusement of Brandon and the gang at the station.

  I cringe thinking about the fire chief blurting something like that. Men can be pigs.

  But I miss my pig.

  It’s been three days since I last saw Caiden, but he’s sent a slew of text messages while he’s been working.

  Unfortunately, as punishment, the fire chief sent Caiden and Brandon a couple of towns over to help out with a brush fire, which made him not only busy, but entirely out of reach.

  It gave me an odd sense of worry I’ve never encountered before when it came to his safety. I’ve never needed to think or feel that way unless it was about my mom. To know Caiden was out fighting a fire I could see updates about on the news had me anxious and stressed. Luckily his text message earlier reported he was safe, unharmed, and on his way home to me.

  However, now that his safety is confirmed, I realize that I needed the breather. A time to think freely without Caiden infiltrating my psyche. I probably should refocus my sights and goals.

  What do I want? And what do I need?

  Neither of which I’m sure of anymore, but I tell myself I don’t need to figure those things out just yet.

  I do know I’ve been productive at least one way in the lulls of wandering thoughts. I’ve been scribbling notes and sometimes even entire chapters. This, I should be proud of.

  Let me begrudgingly admit that Caiden inspires a lot. His lips, his touch, and his words all seem to be an excellent foundation for creativity. Who am I kidding, this guy is my first novel.

  My lips twitch at the thought, knowing I’d never admit that out loud to him.

  However, here I am, stumbling into a delightful way to stretch the first novel into a second.

  A sequel. How am I supposed to write it when I haven’t finished living it yet?

  I like the idea of writing a continuation of the fictional happy ending that I used to wish for. Writing it was the easiest way to cope with the heartbreak all those years ago. I got to write my what-if ending. Now, here I am living it.

  Enter head spin here.

  Though, the real-life version is
a second chance romance, and the heroine has no idea what the hell she’s doing.

  By the way, I’m the heroine of this real-life novel.

  I’m about to face-palm at the thought, but my ringing phone distracts me.

  I glare at the blinking electronic, knowing that two calls in a span of ten minutes can no longer be ignored. I grab for it, hands shaking.

  “Janet, hi,” I breathe out.

  “You’re avoiding me,” she deadpans.

  I bite back a smile. Always the straight shooter. “Okay, maybe a little.”

  “Please tell me it’s for a good reason.”

  “I’ve written the first five chapters!” I squeal. It does feel good to tell someone, but I also hope this excuse will act as currency in exchange for some forgiveness (and time).

  “Eep!” she replies with equal glee, and it feels good to be understood in this way. “That’s great! Do you feel comfortable with me reading them so I can see where your head is at?”

  “Actually, if it’s okay, Id like to gather my thoughts a bit on it. I feel scatterbrained, but I’m excited. There’s a lot of inspiration swirling around here in town. But I swear it’s nearly done to send over.”

  “Oh-oh, is that happiness I hear in your voice, Hailey?”

  “Maybe...”

  “Well, holy shit, seems like you got Lover Boy back?”

  I roll my eyes. “Maybe,” I repeat crisply, not so eager to feed into her.

  “Bullshit. You’re back to bumping-and-grinding with Mountain Man, aren’t you?”

  “Janet, I’m not fucking a yeti. You make it sound so primal.”

  She laughs, cackling into the phone. “I crack myself up, really. I’m reading another client’s manuscript right now, and she’s got some serious lumbersexual going on. Made me think of you and your sexual conquest.”

  I snort. “At some point we need to get you to have a life outside of novels, and out of other people’s business.”

  She giggles again, and I wonder if she’s already dipped into a bottle of wine tonight. I peer at the time, knowing with the two hour time difference it’d be nearing six o’clock for her.

  “I will at some point. There’s always a new book to pitch and a new deal to barter.”

  “I’m going to find you your own romantic hero. You need a real one.”

  “Write me one, how about that?”

  “Whatever, I’m working on it. Maybe the next project, I’ll take your perfect man into consideration for a plot.”

  “Speaking of next projects...” she hums, and the off-tune sound irks me.

  I’m silent, waiting for her to go on, my heart picking up pace, and I wish I could figure out why.

  “Was my segue too obvious?” she asks. I can picture her eyes scrunching together under her black-rimmed glasses in pleading embarrassment.

  “Just spit it out. What’s my next project, oh mighty one?”

  “How about that movie that’s going to be made about your book? That feels like it should be on your radar.”

  My face empties of color. It makes sense. It’s time now for that to start happening. I signed on for that three months ago already.

  “Okay...” I pull in a quick breath, knowing that this is inevitable, but maybe I can bide my time. Stretch this out. Ease into a solution. Figure out what this means for me and Caiden.

  “When does this start?” I ask, trying not to sound as desperate as the frantic, vibrating heartbeats that are wreaking havoc in my chest.

  “You need to come home for a while, and as soon as possible, really—”

  “Don’t do this, Janet. Give me a couple more weeks,” I blurt out, feeling a giant crack forming beneath me as my world shifts like two tectonic plates coming apart.

  She sighs, and I know she hates doing this. “I wish I could. What do you want me to say, Hailey? This is a business as much as this is your dream. Life requires you to play the part to the brand that you are now.”

  I snort, running a hand through my hair. “I hate when you call me a brand.”

  “You know how I hate coddling, and I know how much you hate being coddled. They need you here to help with the screenplay and for some press. Don’t make me hold your hand. I get it. You’re tied up with Lover Boy—”

  “It’s more than that!” I spit out.

  “Is it?” she questions.

  This is the Janet I love to hate. The one who makes the publishing industry into the corporate monster I wish it wasn’t. She’s all for hearts and flowers, but when it comes to getting shit done, she’s a hardass when she wants to be—or when she needs to be. Which, regrettably, makes her an awesome agent.

  “You became a brand the moment you hit the New York Times, and the moment you signed the movie deal contract. The studio needs you present for interviews. People are dying to hear what you have to say about casting choices and how much creative say you get with the screenplay. We’ll need to run through everyth—”

  “Janet, please...” I plead, needing her to stop talking. She lets the silence hang, and I soak in it for the time being, using it to pull myself together. “...I can’t leave right now. Things are barely falling into place. It’s not just Caiden; it’s the diner, too. I need more time. If I go, when can I come back?”

  More silence. This time it’s unwelcome.

  “Janet?”

  “I don’t know,” rushes through the phone.

  “You don’t know?” I repeat back.

  “I know this is hard, but this is also your career. I can’t give you an end date, but I know it will die down at some point. A couple months, maybe? The diner can survive without you for a bit.”

  I’ve barely been away from Caiden three days since getting him back, and now we’re talking months of long distance. But at least I know CeeCee can run the diner.

  How will I explain this?

  I notice the trembles have reached my fingertips.

  Tink.

  My brows twitch when I hear the sound, but Janet’s words drag me back to the phone call.

  “You can’t drop everything you have going on here in LA, Hailey. There are contracts you signed and people needing your direction now. You know I’m all for the recluse lifestyle you love, but that’s got to be put on hold for now. You have obligations here, and they’re not going to go away. They’re relying on you.”

  “I can’t leave Caiden. I need more time,” comes out gawky and awkward.

  “Sure, you can,” she tries sweetly, as if patronizing a child, which causes my blood to boil. “I can give you a few more days, maybe five at most, but I need you back home. He’ll understand. You two spent five years away from each other. Maybe with a few months apart, you’ll be inspired to complete the sequel.”

  This puts me over the edge, and those nerves collide with an irrational anger. I can’t stop myself as I shake my head and respond the way that I know is so wrong, but nothing feels fair. It never does.

  “—I’m going to have to call you later!”