by Clare James
I yanked her T-shirt from her jeans and that time there was nothing suave about it. It was clumsy and impatient, but the way her fingers dug into my shoulder blades told me I was doing something right.
My hand slid under her shirt, gliding over her waist, up her rib cage, leaving goose bumps in its wake. When it reached the side of her breast, time stood still. I moved slowly, ghosting my fingers over her, lightly grazing her nipple as it pebbled at my touch.
I’m sure this was about the time my eyes rolled back in my head. I’m also sure it was when I stopped breathing all together.
The next minute, however, was still a complete blur. What was once soft and slow turned fast and frantic. Hands were grabbing. Clothes flying. Bodies grinding.
But just as fast as it started, it ended in a painful halt. I’d never felt so empty.
“Stop, stop, stop,” Aria said, out of breath.
Though certain parts of my body paid her no mind, my brain was on top of it, shutting everything down.
“What?” I said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she whispered.
“You don’t want to do this?” I asked, cringing as I waited for her answer.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s the problem. I want this. But with you, I want –”
She cut herself off and I pulled both of us upright so I could look her in the eyes.
“Well.” She put a hand to my cheek. “I just want it to be special with you.”
Emphasis on the you. Which meant it hadn’t been special with someone else. Which meant… fuck!
Alex Anders.
“But I promise. I’ll be back,” she said before she left.
It was a broken promise. And now as I sit here all this time later, and after meeting Cade, it finally makes sense. Shit, I do the math.
The reason we weren’t together was because of that night at the dance. The night that hadn’t been special for Aria. At that point I know just how badly I fucked everything up when I gave Alex his opportunity.
Aria must have found out she was pregnant later that spring. It was why she’d never see me again and why she married him.
It had to be.
Aria
I have only been with two men in my life – only had sex with one of them – and yet I’m already damaged goods. Not that anyone ever came outright and said it, but I can always tell what people are thinking. It’s one of my many gifts.
In Iowa, Alex’s friends thought I was a slutty gold digger catching a free ride on his train to the NFL. Here? I’m a washed-up girl with a shit-ton of baggage. Though if Alex was here with me, I’m sure the town would have a parade in our honor. People are so messed up.
Even Tristan.
There was judgment in his eyes when he looked at me and Cade. But I could also feel tension – possibly of the sexual variety – rolling off him. Yes, I still had an effect on him. And as much as I hated to admit it, he still had an effect on me, not that it mattered.
I mean, while most of my friends are now hitting double digits in their number of bed buddies, that part of my life is over. I am officially closed for business. Though after my run-in with Tristan, someone needed to explain that to the rest of my body.
I know I shouldn’t be thinking about this now. It’s so not the time to cloud my vision with sex. But let’s just say Tristan makes me feel all the things.
The way he filled out that T-shirt he was wearing; I so wanted to see just how much he bulked up from high school. He’d always been hot. Even though he never fit into the typical dream guy box, the girls were definitely interested. Funny, I’m not sure he ever got that. Maybe because he intimidated them. His self-awareness, intelligence, and confidence made him seem off-limits to most girls. Maybe that’s why I always felt special that he chose to spend his time with me.
I was so glad when Cade interrupted our moment at the grocery store because I was getting flustered. Until I caught the way he looked at us – Cade and me. That’s what I need to remember. He’s an asshole. Just like Alex. Just like my dad – who I never met, but the fact that he left before I was born gave me a good idea.
Assholes.
I would never depend on one of their kind ever again. Instead, I would make sure my son never became one of them. Looking at him now, Popsicle in his hand as he sits with his Nana on the sidewalk, he is perfect. The one thing I did right.
“Hey buddy.” I grab a seat on Cade’s left side. “You gonna share that?” He turns toward Mom, hiding his treat from me. “Okay. So that’s how it’s going to be?”
“He deserves it.” Mom beams, clearly in her element. “My big boy. Growing like a weed.”
Cade snuggles against her, getting grape Popsicle all over her shirt – not that she cares one bit.
“So how are you settling in?” she asks.
We’ve already unpacked and Mom was right, there’s plenty of room. She even decorated Cade’s room in cars, his favorite. He loves it and the place feels warm and welcome. At least inside. Too bad we have to leave our house and face people every day.
“Good,” I tell her, though I still can’t be sure.
“You look tired, honey.”
“Well, a twenty-hour car ride will do that to a girl.”
“I suppose,” she says. “But I think there’s more to it than that. You seem tapped out. When was the last time you did something for yourself?”
“What do you mean? I’m sitting outside on a beautiful spring day with my two favorite people. Doesn’t get much better than this.”
“I agree.” She reaches over and rubs my back. “But what about a movie with a girlfriend or a long walk?”
“You know better than I do how hard it is when you’re on your own.”
“Well, that’s the beauty of being back home, my dear,” she says, eyes dancing. Her long dark hair hangs over her shoulder with a perfect stripe of white framing her face. I forgot how gorgeous she is – a true Italian beauty.
“You aren’t on your own anymore,” she continues. “You have me. And one condition of living under my roof is that you take some time to yourself. We start today. Let’s call it Wild Wednesday.”
I shake my head. My mother, always making an event of everything.
“I want Wild Wednesday too,” Cade pipes up.
“Then you shall have it,” Mom tells him. “It’ll be our evening to do anything you want.”
“Park?” Cade asks.
“Yes, the park. We’ll have a picnic down there for dinner. As for you –” Her demeanor turns a bit more serious. “You are free to go do something for yourself.”
“Mom, I can’t do that to you. You’ve already done so much for us.”
“We’re not arguing about this. You’ll be better for everyone if you have a little breathing room. Plus, it gives me a chance to catch up on all the Grandma time I missed. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
I know she wouldn’t. Still, I have no idea what to do. An evening to myself? What a completely foreign concept.
Mom wasn’t kidding. At six o’clock, she kicks me out. I say my goodbyes, grab my purse and sweatshirt, and take the car down to the beach.
It’s a nice warm evening so I decide to go for a run, something I haven’t done in years. Once I get down to the beach, I soak it all in. The smell of the salt water and the sound of the crashing waves. Until this very moment, I had no idea how much I missed it.
I slip my shoes off and slide my keys inside them and then I take off. I know I’d last longer with my sneakers on, but I crave the sand in my toes. I always have.
Starting out at a turtle’s pace, I try to fall into a rhythm. It takes me a good half mile to get my breathing down and it isn’t easy. My throat burns and I’m taking in too much air. Chasing after Cade has kept me slim, but my cardio fitness is completely lacking. And the extra resistance from fighting the sand has my calves on fire.
Focusing on each breath, I slow my panting. Inhale. Exhale.
Soon
, I’m able to take in the sights. The patterns of the seagulls in flight. The ships in the distance, the…
“Agh,” I scream as a sharp pain shoots across the bottom of my foot.
Falling to the sand, I clamp a hand around my ankle and pull my foot up to assess the damage. My stomach turns when I see a huge piece of green glass lodged in the ball of my foot.
Gently, I work to get a grip on the glass. I can’t. My insides are rolling. I’m getting light- headed, and feel like I might pass out. I’ve never been good at this sort of thing.
And you’re going to school to be a nurse. Nice one, Aria.
Punching the sand, I try to get a grip. “Motherfucker,” I finally scream at the top of my lungs. And it feels so good, I let it fly. “Shit, fuck, shit.”
How the hell am I going to get back to my car?
“Not the greeting I was hoping for,” a deep voice says from above.
Tristan. That is just perfect.
Then I realize how close I am to the beach house. Strange.
“So what kind of mess did you get yourself into now?” he asks, condescending as shit.
Man, if I could get this glass out of my foot I know exactly where I’d put it.
“Not my fault,” I growl, trying to focus as the world begins to sway.
Don’t pass out, don’t pass out.
“Some asshole left a broken bottle on the beach,” I add.
“Oh, Aria.” He sighs. “This is why you don’t run on the beach barefoot.”
It’s something he used to tell me all the time in high school. Though he was nicer about it then. Can’t believe I’d forgotten that, how he always used to look after me.
Tristan pulls his eyebrows together and bends down to take a look. When his hand touches my leg, I jump.
“Geez,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Hurts that bad, huh?”
He has no idea. Though it isn’t my foot that has me on edge. I relax a little so he can take a look. Then before I know what he’s doing, I’m in the air. In his arms, actually, as he makes his way up to the house.
“Tristan, put me down.” I bat at his chest.
“You can’t walk on this until I get the glass out. We need to clean it too or you’re going to get a nasty infection.”
Shit, he’s getting to me again.
This is so not good.
Tristan swings the door open and sets me on the couch and in my head I’m eighteen again and about to have the most mind-blowing kiss of my life. The place looks exactly the same: one open area with a kitchen, dining and lounging space, and bathroom. And I’m sure there are still two bedrooms upstairs. A traditional cottage with white woodwork and distressed wooden floors. Large windows and protective shutters. Goose bumps pepper my skin as I remember the last time I was here.
“So where’s the kid?” Tristan asks as he fishes around for the first aid kit in the bathroom.
His tone yanks me back to the present and the goose bumps disappear. Right, he’s an asshole.
“Cade.” I draw out the word. “Is with his grandmother.”
Tristan comes back with his supplies and simply nods at my irritated response. Then he gets to work on my foot.
“It’s a nasty laceration,” he says. His voice sends an unwelcome tingle down my spine. This is not the same Tristan. The sweetness is gone. Oh sure, he’s concerned about my foot – but in a more aggravated now I have to deal with this shit kind of way.
And the effect is slightly pleasurable, which tells me it’s been way too long since a man’s bestowed attention on me. And mirroring the behavior of a neglected child, or animal, I accept it willingly because any attention, even negative, is better than nothing, right?
Tristan
Aria tenses at my mention of her son. I’m not sure if I said something wrong or what, but she flashes me that irritated scowl I am coming to know intimately.
So I push.
“Nice to have a break, then,” I say.
“It wasn’t my idea. Mom insists on throwing me out of the house on Wednesdays.”
Well, isn’t that a coincidence.
“I’m sure the girls will love that,” I say, remembering Aria’s pack of beach brats she liked to hang out with in high school. Most of them never left so I’m sure it’ll only be a matter of time before the old gang is back together.
“I’m not here on a summer vacation, Tristan. I’m a mother, making a life for my son. So hanging out with the girls isn’t too high on the priority list.” She pauses then, looking more sad than mad. Almost hurt. “Not that they would have me anyway.”
On the surface, I don’t care. I have long since learned how to compartmentalize my feelings. Aria is a pain in the ass and if I make her feel bad, well, so be it. I would take a lesson from her book, because she’s never troubled herself with thoughts about me or my feelings.
I check the time – it’s now half past get-the-fuck-out, and though I know I can’t leave her injured like this, I have to get her out of here so I can breathe again.
First, I’ll need to air out the place, because hell if her sweet scent doesn’t cloud my judgment – an intoxicating mixture of the salty ocean and honey, putting filthy thoughts in my head as I wonder what other scents her body carries.
I shake away the enticing thought.
The first Aria sighting threw me off, but I had to tell myself it was the shock and surprise. It was the anger resurfacing – that was it. Anger. Over the next few hours, I had the chance to get used to the idea, but it did nothing to settle the turmoil going on inside. My desire for her is still there after all this time, and that just pisses me off even more.
Now, she’s in my house wearing tiny shorts that show off her long, lean legs; her hair wild, falling out of the tail she put it in to keep it out of her face while she ran; her gorgeous olive skin flushed and begging to be touched. My dick twitches at the sight. Jesus. I have to get ahold of the situation.
Aria, on the other hand, glares at me. No, it’s not a glare really. It’s more an expression of disgust or an irritation she has to deal with, like a coffee stain on her favorite sweater. And damn, it makes me want her. Exactly why it’s critical that she leaves ASAP.
Still, the masochist in me wants to see how long I can endure it. See how long it’d take me to break. What would she do when I did?
I clearly have a problem, and it’s time to remedy it. Time to take control. I’ll just quickly take care of her foot and send her on her way. That’ll be the best thing I can do. No need to dirty my hands.
With the first aid kit in reach, I go to work on her foot.
I’m instantly taken back to high school. Aria was always running on the beach – and other places – barefoot. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to do minor surgery on her little feet. Not that I minded. I always enjoyed being her hero.
But that all changed once she found Alex. The thought of him makes me tighten my grip on her ankle.
“Ow,” she groans.
“Don’t be such a baby,” I snap.
She kicks me with her good foot and I can’t help but laugh. So much time has passed, but it seems like days rather than years. The release is welcome, and eases the tension. Aria smiles too.
As I finish up, I hold her down by the inside of her thigh to prevent a swift kick to the balls. I don’t realize the movement is intimate until I hear Aria’s sharp intake of breath. When I look up, there’s no mistaking it. Her nipples tighten into two hard peaks under her thin tank top. Taut buds that demand attention. I want to be the one to give it to them.
Fuck me.
She likes my hands on her.
And that thrills me to no end. I have the same effect on her – which means I could get back the upper hand. I raise my brow in her direction; she looks away, clearing her throat.
Oh yes, it is time to have some fun with this.
“Something bothering you, Aria?” I ask in mocked innocence.
“No,” she says indignant
ly, her eyes narrowing. “Just hurry up.”
“I don’t like to hurry. Surely you remember that.” I inch my hand up a little higher. Her skin is so soft. So warm. Shit.
“Why are you helping me, anyway?” She captures me with those dark eyes. Her face might be pinched, but her eyes are tender. “You don’t even like me anymore, Tris.”
“Understatement,” I say, ignoring the way my name on her lips sends an electric jolt straight to my dick.
In an effort to keep control, my hand continues to rise up her leg. Who am I kidding? I do it for the pure pleasure. Marking her on some fucked-up animalistic level.
Yeah, I’m in bad shape.
“Okay,” she says, blowing the hair out of her eyes. “You hate me and I can’t stand you. Is that better?”
“The two have nothing to do with this.” I glance down at my hand – so close to reaching her sweet spot, I can feel the heat rolling in waves from her center. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to plunge my fingers deep inside.
“You disgust me,” Aria says, still not moving away.
She calls my bluff. As much as my hand wants to continue its pursuit of the Promised Land, I stop. If I go any further, I’m not sure I’ll be able to recover. So I finish bandaging her foot, thoroughly enjoying every second of my newly-found control.
“Your body doesn’t agree,” I respond to her insult.
“Asshole,” she huffs, pulling back now.
So I lean in, brushing my chest against her traitorous nipples. Perfect. That’s right, Tristan Green is no longer that scrawny kid creaming his jeans every time Aria Prince is near. I keep the upper hand. In everything. Though I admit, her responses to my touch have the wheels turning inside my head. Yes, I could definitely do something with this.
“All done,” I whisper in her ear.
She inches closer, just so slightly, before pushing herself up.
You’re not fooling anyone, Aria.
“Yes, we are done,” she says, and I think we both can feel the history of those words. The playful banter is over.
In the next moment, the screen door slams shut and I release all the air in my lungs. Trouble is, once she’s gone, all I can think about is getting my hands on her again.