Stay With Me

by Cross, Cassie

  “It’s my way of showing how proud of you I am. I will, of course, also be incredibly supportive of your small business by booking a cabin, like, all the time.”

  She smiles through tears. “Thanks, Birdie.”

  “You’re welcome. You’re gonna be a hit. You’ll probably have to install a spa on the property just so you’ll have some time to pamper yourself.”

  “There are plans,” she says, her eyes lighting up with the promise of the future. “If things go well, there are definitely plans.”

  I raise my glass. “To things going well,” I say. We all tap our glasses together and drink.

  Audrey takes a piece of yellowfin and practically groans when she puts it in her mouth. “This sushi is amazing.”

  Everyone agrees.

  “Remember that place we went to in Georgetown?” Miranda asks. “I can’t remember the name of it.”

  I search my memory for all the times we’ve gone out for sushi and can’t recall ever doing it in DC.

  “Bluefin!” Audrey says, tapping her chopsticks together. “God, that place was good.”

  Ah, of course I don’t remember. I wasn’t there. The realization makes this heartsick loneliness creep into my chest. You chose to leave, I remind myself. Four years ago I decided distance was the right choice for me.

  “That was the place where the waiter was shamelessly flirting with you.”

  Audrey swipes some wasabi onto her chopstick and dollops it onto a California roll. “Oh yes. He was a great kisser, too.”

  Ayanna looks scandalized. “You went home with him?”

  “We went out on a date,” she corrects. “And it was awful. He wiped his mouth with his tie. And not even on the back of it. On the front!”

  Miranda gasps. “Yuck.”

  “Right?” Audrey’s nose crinkles in disgust. “He was cute, but gross. I excused myself to the bathroom and went home with a pint of coffee Häagen-Dazs. We can never go back there again.”

  “I’m so glad I don’t have to date anymore,” Miranda says.

  Audrey nods and points her chopsticks at her. “Don’t mess things up with Mateo. You don’t want any part of the desolate hellscape that is modern dating.”

  “Guess we’re gonna have to find a new sushi spot in the city,” Ayanna says. “Challenge accepted.”

  I feel like a forgotten, pathetic child in the corner, waiting for someone to notice me. They can all get together whenever they like. I’m the idiot who moved 250 miles away and needs a day’s notice to get down here.

  “Birdie,” Ayanna says. Her gaze is soft and sympathetic, like she knows exactly what I’m thinking. “We’ll make plans. You can come down and we’ll make a whole weekend out of it.”

  “Yeah,” I say, mustering up as much enthusiasm as I can. “I’d really like that.”

  She smiles as she reaches for her wine, and Miranda awkwardly changes the subject to a project she’s heading at work.

  I hate feeling like I’m on the outside looking in.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I spot Jackson stretching as I walk back to my cabin after the girls and I return from our afternoon out. His left foot rests on the middle step leading up to his porch, and he’s pulling on the toe of his shoe. The move tugs the hem of his shirt up enough to reveal a slice of his lower back. I want to pepper kisses across every inch of it.

  Watching him like this makes my mind swerve directly into the gutter. His shorts ride up high on his thighs, which are muscular and taut. A fantasy starts playing in my mind, with those thighs in a featured role. He’s using them to balance my weight as he presses me up against the wall and—

  “Hey,” he says, pulling me out of my daydream. I’m gonna hit pause on that one for later. “You’re back. And you brought presents.” He tries to get a look inside my bag, but I quickly snatch it away.

  “No peeking.”

  “Is it for me?”

  “Mmmm…kinda, but more for me.”

  Jackson leans in and brushes his lips against mine. “I’m intrigued. Is it lingerie?”

  “Oh.” It hadn’t even occurred to me to get lingerie. If lacy undies are what he’s expecting, he’s bound to be disappointed. I deflate a little. “No, not lingerie.”

  He tilts my chin up and gives me a soft kiss with the promise of more. “Good. You know I prefer you naked anyway.”

  Jackson’s half-lidded eyes glide over my body, like he’s imagining it now. The desire to drag him inside is strong, but I persevere.

  I step back out of his personal space to clear my lust-addled brain. “You going on a run now?” I ask like I didn’t just see him stretching.

  His brows furrow in confusion. “Yeah.”

  “Can you wait a second?”

  The corner of his mouth tilts up in a curious smile. “Absolutely.”

  I hurry inside and quickly change into the t-shirt and shorts I bought earlier, and lace my brand new sneakers in a Runner’s Loop like the lady at the shoe store told me to. On my way out, I give myself a once over in the mirror. Not to brag, but I look pretty cute. Just to make sure my hair doesn’t get in my eyes, I wrap it up in a bun and secure it with a ponytail holder.

  When I walk back outside, Jackson looks at me with this dumbstruck, cute smile that morphs into something else. He almost looks turned on.

  Noted.

  Halfway down the steps to meet him, I strike what is intended to be a very cute pose to show off my new running gear.

  “Whoa.”

  “You like it?”

  He takes a few steps forward and grips my hips. “Oh yeah.”

  “I tried calling you to see what I should get, but you never answered.”

  He slides his hands around to the small of my back, then presses a kiss against my neck.

  “My phone’s inside somewhere.” He pulls back and asks, “Have you ever run before?”

  “Not since my sophomore year in high school.” I walk a lot in the city, and I’m in pretty good shape. I figure it won’t be too much of a challenge to at least keep up with him for a little while.

  Jackson looks like he wants to laugh, but he’s playing along. That makes a surge of competitiveness well up in my stomach.

  “So what do we do first?” I ask.

  “Let’s stretch.”

  It’s basically like doing yoga. When I’m in a modified downward dog with my legs spread out and my butt in the air, I look between my legs and see Jackson staring. Even upside-down it’s easy to make out the look of appreciation on his face.

  What a boost to the ego.

  “Is this how you usually do it? Gaping at people like a pervert?”

  He reaches out and playfully slaps my butt. “I only gape at you like a pervert.”

  I stand and flash him a beaming smile.

  “You ready?”

  “Absolutely.” I think.

  Jackson responds with an amused laugh. “All right, c’mon.”

  We jog down to the lake trail at a relatively easy clip. This is fine, I’m doing fine. My blood is pumping, I’m feeling good. Jackson ramps up the speed little by little until I’m struggling to keep up. I push harder, not wanting to lag behind. I’m at the point where I should probably start gulping in large quantities of air, but I’m stubborn and don’t want to appear winded.

  It’s not until my poor, overworked lungs start aching and my calves burn that I finally start giving in to the limitations of my stupid body. I’m wheezing, I feel like I’m being stabbed in the ribs, and my whole being is screaming danger, danger, more oxygen please.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, not even a little bit out of breath. I can tell he’s smiling, even though I’m about a mile behind him at this point. Jerk.

  “I think I’m…dying. My lungs….stopped…working.” I sound like I’m on my death bed about two seconds away from flatlining.

  My calf muscles tense up into angry little fists. I manage a few more yards until I can’t propel myself forward anymore.

  I p
lop down on the ground, gasping for air. Jackson walks over and looks down at me, his stupid gorgeous hair flopping onto his stupid gorgeous forehead. He’s towering above me like a tree. I’m a bug flailing hopelessly in the grass.

  “Squash me,” I say through labored breaths. “Put me out of my misery.”

  Jackson smiles at me like he thinks I’m cute. Ugh.

  “C’mon.” He bends down and reaches for my hand, like he knows my arm is Jell-O. I think my bones have sweated out of my body. He uses his considerable strength to hoist me onto his back like a sack of potatoes. I somehow manage to hike my knees up onto his hips so he can give me a proper piggyback ride.

  Jackson carries me back to his cabin and sets me in the wicker chair on his front porch. He disappears inside and brings out a bottle of crisp, cold water. I drink it in a few gulps, like it’s the last bit of liquid I’ll ever get.

  When I’m finished, I look at Jackson. He’s kneeling at my feet, slowly unlacing my brand new, worthless shoes.

  “These are good, you picked good ones,” he says as he pulls one off. “They have great support.” He moves on to the other.

  “Too bad they can’t run for me.”

  Jackson huffs out a laugh.

  “I’m sorry I ruined your exercise time.”

  He lifts my leg and presses a tender kiss inside my calf as he massages my aching foot. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

  “You seem to love it so much, I thought it would be fun if we could do it together.”

  His responding smile is bright as the sun. “Thank you for thinking of me. Maybe we should practice endurance before you try that again.”

  “Again?” I say, my voice shaky. I don’t know if me and running are going to be friends anytime soon.

  Jackson grins as he continues massaging my legs and feet. Maybe running isn’t so bad, if it ends like this.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  I notice the way his shirt clings to his broad, beautiful chest. I love the welcoming warmth of his skin where my foot rests on his thigh. My mind swerves right back into the gutter. It probably wants me to do something life affirming after my near-death experience.

  “I don’t know,” I answer, inching my toes along Jackson’s skin until they dip under the hem of his shorts. “I think I might need some mouth-to-mouth.”

  He looks up at me, his eyes full of want. The air between us crackles and everything shifts from caring to predatory. Slowly, his hands slide up my calves until he’s gripping my waist. Faster than he has any right to, he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder.

  I giggle like a half-dead maniac. The move puts me in just the right spot, so I lift up Jackson’s shirt and press my lips against his back, just like I wanted to earlier.

  He growls, which only eggs me on.

  “I take it back,” I say. “I’m not sorry I ruined your run.”

  “Me neither. There are other ways to get my cardio in,” he says as he playfully tosses me onto his bed.

  He kisses me slow and deep as his hands go exploring under my shirt. When he pulls away to pay extra special attention to my breasts, I can’t help but mention, “I’ll take this kind of exercise any day.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  While Jackson’s out on an evening run with Sam, I’m snuggled beneath the blankets on his bed, draped in one of his t-shirts. It’s threadbare and soft, and smells just like him: soapy and clean with a hint of pine. Outdoorsy and fresh. I turn my head into the collar and breathe deep, like some kind of lovesick weirdo.

  My laptop is balanced on top of a giant pillow. In a stunning turn of events, the blank screen in front of me presents a fun challenge instead of an insurmountable one.

  My mission tonight? Look through all the failed first drafts in my recycle bin and find one I can shape into a solid starting point for my next novel. Once my block fully took over, it made me forget the most valuable writing lesson I’ve ever learned.

  Write now, edit later.

  I can’t fix something that doesn’t exist. So, here goes.

  With a quick click on my mousepad, all 157 of my previous attempts are in front of me. I open the most recent one and read through it.

  It’s not great, but it’s not nearly as bad as I remember. I pull that one out of the bin and onto my desktop. Drafts 2-27 are complete crap. Twenty-eight shows some promise. Thirty-two is the best one I’ve read. It roughly follows the outline I’ve plotted, and it doesn’t make me cringe.

  This is the chapter I’m raising from the dead.

  I rewrite the intro, delete a few sentences here and there, and add on to places that could use some beefing up. I’m just about to start on the second page when Jackson walks in with Sam trotting happily behind him. He makes a beeline for his water dish as Jackson hangs his leash on the doorknob.

  “Well if it isn’t my two favorite guys.”

  Sam must’ve forgotten I was here, because the second he hears my voice, he dashes over to the bed. He hops up with all the grace a 70-pound animal possesses, and rubs his face on the blanket that rests against the sides of my legs. His butt is high in the air, his tail wagging. Jackson gives him a pat as I scratch behind his years.

  “I guess you had a good run?”

  “A less eventful one than you and I had earlier, but yeah.”

  I shoot him a playful glare.

  “Did you get some writing done?”

  I smile, feeling accomplished. “I did, actually. I think I have something I can work with here.”

  Jackson sits on the edge of the bed and affectionately rubs my leg. “I’m glad to hear it. I think I’m gonna go hop in the shower real quick.”

  “‘Kay.” I watch as he gets up, peels off his shirt, and heads into the bathroom.

  Sam rests his head on my thigh and closes his eyes. He’s fully out and snoring in two minutes flat.

  While Jackson’s in the shower, I get back to my chapter and quickly fall into an editing groove. It has always been my favorite part of the process; it’s so much easier to flesh out a story in the way that I want to when the bones are already there. Creating something from nothing? That’s the toughest part.

  Before long, Jackson opens the bathroom door and a cloud of steam follows him out. There’s a crisp white towel slung low on his hips, and droplets of water slide down the ridges of his abs. I consider tossing my laptop aside and showing him just how much I appreciate his…everything.

  He grabs something from his suitcase and heads back into the bathroom, completely oblivious to me ogling him like the hornball I am.

  I watch Jackson’s post-shower routine, and it hits me how badly I want to be a part of these small moments that make up his day. The newfound domesticity we’ve shared the past couple of days has been nice. More than nice. It’s something I find myself wanting to keep the longer I have it.

  I should probably bring it up. I also wonder if there’s a reason Jackson hasn’t. Is he scared of what I’ll have to say? Maybe he hasn’t thought about what happens after we leave. Maybe he intends for this to be a nice closing chapter, a high note at the end of our relationship. Maybe he wants to wash away the bad memories of the past four years with some good ones.

  My chest aches at the thought that this could be it.

  Jackson walks back into the room wearing a pair of black boxer briefs. He tosses his dirty clothes next to his suitcase and says, “You’ve got a dreamy look on your face. What’re you thinking about?”

  “You,” I reply with a smile.

  He returns it. “Just me?”

  “Yeah. I was thinking about how I want you to get back into this bed with me. C’mere,” I say, reaching out for him. “Be my chair.”

  That makes him laugh. I move up, creating a Jackson-sized space between my body and the headboard. He slides into it—fitting just right—and stretches his legs out on either side of mine. Sam somehow manages to sleep through it and readjusts himself into a more comfortable position with a satisfied sigh.


  Once Jackson has the pillows re-situated, I lean back against his chest, using his shoulder as a headrest. We used to do this all the time when we first moved in together during college. When I was stressed or worried, it was always my safest, warmest place.

  Jackson wraps his arms around my middle and pulls me close.

  “Mmmm,” I hum. “This is nice.”

  He kisses the side of my neck. “Yeah?”

  “Definitely. You’re more comfortable than my favorite chair at home.”

  His laugh vibrates across my skin.

  “It’s true! It’s this chaise that I bought at a furniture flea market one Saturday. The arm height is perfect, there’s enough room at the bottom for me to drape a blanket on so I always have one handy. It’s soft and amazing and you are one-hundred percent more comfortable. And you’re warmer.”

  He snuggles in close to me. “I’ll be your chair whenever you want.”

  “Whenever?” I ask, figuring this is the perfect opening to talk about what happens after we leave Dandelion Gap.

  Instead, Jackson changes the subject. “Is this what you were working on?” He rests his stubbly chin on my shoulder, peering over at my open laptop.

  “Yeah.” I recognize the moment for what it is: a chance to prove that I’m not hiding this huge part of myself away from him. I swallow down the surge of anxiety that’s crawling its way up my chest as I tilt the screen so he can see it better. “Do you want to read it?”

  Jackson’s breath catches as his chest stills against my back.

  “I would like that very much.”

  He reaches out and glides his fingers across the mousepad, scrolling back up to the top of the page.

  I sit quietly and close my eyes as he reads. It’s difficult opening myself up like this, even though I know he won’t be judgmental or nasty about anything I put down in words. I peek a time or two just to see how far he’s gotten. It feels like he’s reading a word a minute. My skin flushes and my heart pounds as I anxiously await his verdict.