Stay With Me

by Cross, Cassie

  I thread our fingers together as I tighten my legs around his waist, holding on for dear life. I kiss him desperately, needing every available connection to this man that I can get. I never want to let go; I don’t know how I ever managed it.

  How did I exist in a world without this?

  Jackson has me wound up tight, ready to explode with every move he makes, every soft sound that falls from his lips as he takes pleasure from my body. I’m quickly losing the thread, my breath coming faster, muscles clenching. He reaches down between us and adds teasing little circles to the mix.

  His thumb is callused, and I like it. I want to sing praises for manual labor. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy he isn’t an architect. He knows just when to speed up, when to keep things steady, and I clutch against his shoulders, fingers wrapping into his hair so I have something to hold onto as I fall into breathless, body-wracking bliss.

  I pull Jackson down into it with me, his hips stuttering against mine as he rides it out. I watch his face as he winds up tight, brows creased, and admire the absolute ecstasy as he releases all the tension he’s worked himself into. He’s always been so beautiful when he comes, eyes squeezed tight, muscles clenched like he’s trying to hold onto the moment with all his might. Then he lets go and his face relaxes, cheeks pink and lips slack.

  Gorgeous.

  Jackson gives me a soft, tender kiss as we catch our breath, slowly fluttering back down to earth. He rolls over, taking me along with him. I’m a sweaty, sated, wavy-haired blanket thrown across him. He winds his arm around my waist, anchoring me in place.

  “Let’s stay like this,” he says, pressing a kiss against my forehead as we twine our fingers together.

  “Yes, let’s.”

  I cuddle against his chest, finding that spot where my head fits perfectly under his chin, and I make myself right at home.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I wake up wrapped in Jackson’s arms, using his chest as a very firm—but very comfortable—pillow. His fingertips tickle my arm as he draws nonsense patterns just below my shoulder. I’ve forgotten how nice it is to wake up with someone, to be pulled from sleep to waking with a warm, loving touch.

  After blinking the sandiness out of my eyes, I tighten my arm around Jackson’s middle to let him know I’m awake.

  “Good morning,” he says, his voice raspy. He places a kiss on the top of my head.

  I cuddle in closer and press my lips against his chest. “Morning.”

  “Did you sleep well?”

  I nod, humming. “Yes. I was very tired.” My hand dips beneath the sheet that rests low on Jackson’s waist, and I gently scrape my nails against his hipbone suggestively.

  He lets out a chuckle that’s rumbly beneath my ear. If I close my eyes, his steady heartbeat could lull me back to sleep.

  “I’ve missed waking up with you like this,” he says, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger.

  “Like a mess?” I know my hair is wild and I didn’t take the time to remove my makeup last night, so there’s definitely a raccoon situation happening this morning.

  “A beautiful, bed-hogging mess.”

  I muster up the best early morning scowl I can manage. “I do not hog the bed,” I say indignantly.

  Jackson raises his brow—damn, it’s sexy—and motions to the steep drop off the side of the mattress on his left side.

  I’m about to argue that the bed’s just too small when I realize that I’m sprawled out diagonally and my feet aren’t even hanging off the edge. I’m…yeah. I’m taking up a lot of mattress real estate here. I make a move to return to my side of the bed, but Jackson locks his arms, caging me against his body. It’s the warmest, sexiest prison.

  “Don’t.” His hands make their way up my back and knit through my hair. “I’ve missed the bed hogging. I’ve missed your wild hair, waking up with it in my face, waking up with you in my arms. Stay with me…just like this.”

  When he says it like that, with aching sincerity, it’s difficult not to comply. I snuggle into him and trace absentminded doodles above his heart.

  “I’ve missed this too.”

  “We could stay in bed all day.”

  “All morning. The girls and I are going to get mani-pedis later.”

  Jackson holds out his hand and wiggles his fingers, like he’s examining his nails. “Maybe I’ll go with you.”

  I slide my leg over and nudge his calf. “Your hands aren’t what need some TLC. Your feet, however…”

  “Yeah, you seemed pretty satisfied with my hands last night. They got a rave review.”

  “The rest of you did pretty well too.” I look up to see his sly, satisfied smile. “Don’t go getting a big head about it.”

  “Me? Never.” He presses his face into my hair and breathes deep. “Do you have to write today before you go, or do I have you to myself until then?”

  “I should probably try to write at some point,” I say, admitting more than I meant to.

  “Try?” he asks, zeroing in on my slip. His hand stills in my hair. “Do you usually not succeed?”

  We’ve been so honest with each other the past couple of days, I wonder if it’s safe to tell him about the block that’s been plaguing me. I picture myself saying the words and think of how nice it will feel to let someone else know how much I’ve been struggling.

  I decide…ah, to hell with it.

  “I haven’t been succeeding for a while now. I’m all…blocked.”

  “But you were writing just yesterday,” he says, confused.

  “I did have a little breakthrough yesterday on a plot thing that’s been giving me issues, but I haven’t actually gotten a chapter done in…” I trail off. I don’t even know how long it’s been.

  “What’s the problem?” He cuddles me, as if affection can break up this word blockade in my brain.

  “For a while, nothing I wrote was good enough. I wrote a draft, then I’d put it in the trash. It happened so many times that now I’m just paralyzed when I have a blank document in front of me. I don’t know what to fill it up with. The cursor just mocks me.”

  “What does it say?”

  “It says, you suck you suck you suck on a loop as it blinks.”

  Jackson laughs. “You know that’s not true.”

  “I know I put together a decent book once. But no one knew who I was then, that was just my first attempt. They know my name now, they have expectations. They’re invested in what happens next and I have to deliver. I have to make sure the plot is tight, that the characterization is good. I have to make sure the twitterpation is there, and—”

  “The twitter…what?” he asks, his eyebrows scrunched together adorably.

  “Twitterpation.” I push myself up and rest my weight on my elbow. The sheet falls so it barely covers my breasts, and Jackson is momentarily distracted. “Twitterpation is that nervous anticipation you feel when a couple is thisclose to figuring things out and getting together. It makes you turn the page because you can’t wait to see what happens next. It’s a necessary component of a good book like the one I’m writing. Or…will write, I guess. If I can ever manage it.”

  “Ah,” he says. “I get it now.” He reaches up and cups my cheek, offering a little support. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “With the writer’s block or the twitterpation?”

  He laughs. “The writer’s block.”

  “No, I don’t think so, but thank you for asking. Being here with you guys and having a change of pace has helped. A lot of what motivated me the first time around was…well, it was the fallout of what happened between us. I put a lot of emotion into that book and I just…I don’t have the same thing driving me this time around. I wonder if I still have it in me to tell a good story.”

  “Back when you first started writing, when I could barely pull you away from your laptop, I asked you what you liked about it so much. Do you remember what you said?”

  I don’t really. It’s been so long s
ince I’ve had any fun doing this that it seems impossible that I ever did. “No.”

  He traces a pattern along the inside of my knee, tickling my skin. “You told me that you liked knowing what was going to happen. That you got to decide who was happy and who wasn’t. Who fell in love and who didn’t. You liked being the person who had all the answers, who decided how the story would end.”

  Now that he’s mentioned it, I do recall feeling that way once upon a time. “I do enjoy having control,” I tease.

  “I know,” he says, the words dripping with suggestion. “Bird, you care a lot, and that’s the first step in not letting people down. I think it’s obvious when your heart isn’t in something, and if anything you’re too invested in this. Maybe you need to remember why you fell in love with writing. Maybe you need to sit down and have some fun with these people’s lives and see what happens.”

  I’ve tried a lot of things to help me overcome this block, but I haven’t tried going back to my roots and remembering what made me enjoy writing in the first place.

  With a smile, I lean in and run my fingers along Jackson’s stubble, then press a gentle kiss against his lips. He deepens it and quickly has me on my back, his body cradled between my thighs. He looms over me with a satisfied smile as he pulls the sheet down so slowly it’s like he’s teasing himself. When the sheet’s pooled around my waist, He slides his hand up and cups my breast, rubbing his thumb across my nipple.

  “In the meantime,” he says, kissing down my stomach toward my belly button. “Maybe I could work on getting you twitter patient.”

  I let out what starts as a laugh and dies into a moan as Jackson’s hand finds its way between my thighs. “Twitterpated,” I breathe out shakily.

  “Yeah.” He grins. “That.”

  I card my fingers through Jackson’s messy bedhead, scratching his scalp the way he likes before I let my head fall back on the pillow, close my eyes, and get lost in the feeling of his tongue on me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Which one do you think I should pick?” Miranda asks as she holds up two similar pink polishes. “I don’t want to be too matchy-matchy, just…complementary.”

  I hold out my hand and take the bottles for closer inspection. I shake them both just to make sure they’re fully mixed, then look at the names.

  Miranda goes back to searching for the perfect color.

  “Miranda, did you do this on purpose?”

  She looks at me, confused. “Do what on purpose?”

  “This one is Getting Nadi on My Honeymoon, and this one is It’s a Girl. Do you like the colors or are you doing some kind of future life event reveal?”

  With a nervous smile, she takes It’s a Girl and places it back on the rack. “Don’t wanna tempt fate. Yet.”

  Audrey and Ayanna aren’t as indecisive as we are, so they’re already in the next room soaking their feet. I turn to the rack of purples that have been calling to me since we walked in.

  “Are you nervous?”

  “Yeah. Only because, you know, my mom is really picky. If she had her way we wouldn’t be having the party at the B&B. She had this country club in DC picked out, but Mateo and I wanted something smaller and less pretentious. We liked that we could help Ayanna with a dry run before opening.”

  I nod, even though the party wasn’t what I was asking about. “I was wondering more about the wedding. About getting married.”

  Understanding dawns on her face. “Oh. No, not really. I actually said yes before Mateo even finished asking.”

  I laugh. That sounds like Miranda.

  “I’ve loved him for a long time and that’s never changed.” She takes the remaining bottle from my hand. “Why?” You planning on getting married soon?” she teases.

  “Oh no. No, no, no.”

  “It’d be okay if you were, you know. You and Jackson were always heading in that direction.”

  I breathe through the ache that works its way into the pit of my stomach.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve gotten ahead of myself. I know you guys just got back together, so…no pressure.”

  “We didn’t get back together,” I reply kind of defensively. I take a quick look over at Audrey and Ayanna to make sure they didn’t hear me. The last thing I need is for Audrey to catch wind of what I just said.

  “You didn’t?” Miranda looks confused. “Mateo and I were on Sam duty last night. I figured it was because you and Jackson were busy working things out.”

  I let out a surprised, involuntary laugh. I guess that’s one way to put it. “I actually don’t know what we’re doing. We haven’t talked about it. Maybe we’re together. Or maybe this is just a long, drawn-out goodbye.”

  “I know you and Jackson have been through a lot and that the prospect of putting yourself out there again is a little scary, but—”

  “A lot scary,” I sigh.

  “It’s scary, but you’ll know if it’s right. Go with your gut. Listen to what your heart is telling you. And get a killer manicure while you’re at it.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” I really want to stop thinking about Jackson for a while and have fun with my friends like I used to. I motion to the wall of polishes and say, “Help me pick, please.”

  Miranda stands back and looks at the options before reaching for a soft lavender. “This one. It’s pretty, it’s springy, and…” She tips the bottle over and looks at the name, then passes it over to me. You’re such a BudaPest. “Maybe a trip to Europe is in your future.”

  “I could handle that.”

  “Me too. I might need a vacation after the wedding stuff and before the honeymoon.” Miranda looks over at Audrey and Ayanna in the chairs. “I think they’re over there planning my bachelorette party.”

  “Oh, we’ve already done that,” I tell her.

  Her eyes widen with surprise. “You have?”

  “Sure have. We got together the other morning and worked it all out.”

  She gives me a suspicious side-eye. “Do I even want to know?”

  “Well, we made lists of everything you love. The arts, good food, great wine. So we figured a nice trip up to New York would fit the bill. A day at the Met, I pulled a few strings to get us into Brooklyn Fare.” She breathes out an excited oh my god at that, which makes me smile. “And, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Audrey insisted on strippers.”

  Miranda groans.

  “We got her to compromise to a short appearance at a strip club, and we negotiated her down to two tacky bachelorette items that she’s going to make you wear. It’s the best Ayanna and I could do. She drives a hard bargain.”

  “I’ll be willing to put up with a lot for all the good food. And the company, of course.”

  “I vetoed the penis-shaped water bottles she wanted to buy, if it’s any consolation.”

  “Penis-shaped water bottles?” she shrieks loudly, turning in Audrey’s direction. “You were going to buy penis-shaped water bottles?”

  Audrey smiles. “Was being the operative word there. Birdie talked me out of it, but I still have them in my cart if you want me to order them,” she says, picking up her phone.

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “I’ll do it if you two don’t get over here and relax. That’s what we’re supposed to be doing here, not freaking out over phallic party favors.”

  Miranda and I hand our polishes to our pedicurists and sit down in our chairs, placing our feet in the warm, lovely water.

  “There will be no phallic party favors,” I say soothingly, patting Miranda’s arm.

  She sighs and leans back into the chair, closing her eyes and taking a long, deep breath.

  “So,” Audrey says. “Now that that’s settled, can we focus on more important issues at hand?”

  “Like what?” Miranda asks.

  “I’m starving. Where are we going for lunch?”

  My three friends argue over going to the buffet two towns over versus making the forty-five minute trek to get sushi. I don’t have an opinion.
After spending so much time away from these people who make my life brighter and happier, I’m happy to go wherever they do.

  * * *

  Sushi wins.

  We’re at Kuma gathered around a table full of small plates of sashimi, Takoyaki, and every kind of roll imaginable.

  Ayanna takes a sip of her plum wine, looking more relaxed than I’ve seen her since I arrived in town.

  “That mani-pedi worked wonders, huh?” I ask as I pop an avocado roll into my mouth.

  “I’ve been so stressed out. Between the last-minute rush to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything, to planning the opening, to getting everything ready for M&M’s party, and stressing out about some or all of those things at any given time of day, I feel like all of my muscles are permanently contracted. Like I’m walking along the edge of a cliff I’m barely not falling off of. It’s exhausting.”

  Miranda reaches over and takes her hand. “The opening is going to be fine. Our party is going to be beautiful.”

  “I hope so. You’re crazy, you know that, right? Risking your engagement party on a complete unknown.”

  “You’re not an unknown. And trusting you is definitely not a risk.”

  “Your mother will kill me if there’s so much as a napkin out of place.”

  Audrey pipes up. “If Eileen has anything negative to say about you busting your ass to give her daughter a wonderful engagement party, I’ll personally kick her ass.”

  “Hear, hear,” Miranda says, clinking her glass against Audrey’s. She and her mother have a complicated relationship, to put it lightly.

  I reach into my bag, pull out a small pink envelope, and hand it to Ayanna. She smiles as she takes it, looking down at the cute white bow.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s a little gift to celebrate making your dreams come true.”

  Her eyes light up when she pulls out the certificate, which is good for a full day of pampering at her favorite spa. She mentioned that all of her free time and money have gone to the B&B, so I wanted to treat her to some rest and relaxation.