by Bromberg, K
Emotionally, I’m spent. Exhilarated. Revived.
So many revelations on this day. So many mixed emotions. So many truths shared.
But this? Hayes asking, no, begging me to say yes?
Slayed.
Owned.
His.
Perhaps he's right though. Words can be cheap, but he’s sure as hell proved it with actions.
So I give him the only answer I’ve ever had when it comes to him.
“Yes.”
Saylor
The storm has passed.
It’s my first thought as my eyes flutter open and feel the sun warming my skin through the open blinds. We forgot to shut them last night when we finally collapsed into bed after a midnight snack. And another round of incredible sex.
The Captain definitely knows how to steer this ship of his to ecstasy.
I bite back the giggle over my ridiculously cheesy thought and snuggle deeper into the heat of Hayes’s body behind me. I revel in the weight of his arm over my hip, the possessiveness of his hand resting on my abdomen, and the unmistakable morning hard-on pressing against my backside. Everything about him feels like my perfect heaven.
And then I remember what the morning brings: our last day. I sigh and close my eyes, trying to memorize this feeling, and enjoy it despite the sudden dread that shadows the few hours we have left together.
I run last night through my head. Mitch and Sarah get a fleeting thought. Their weird relationship and bizarre need to confront me at their wedding of all places. Then I move on to Hayes. To how he made me laugh and put me at ease despite the constant scrutiny and nastiness from the guests around us. Then the dance. Sigh. The dance where he lit the match just enough so I’d be left wanting but unable to have him. To my confessions in the thunderstorm and his long, slow, wet kisses that I swear could have lasted all night without any complaints from me.
Well, I lie. Because what happened next was pretty damn incredible.
So why am I the only one who did all the talking? All the soul-baring? I know he said words are cheap and action is everything, but I can’t help wonder if stepping in to kiss me was his way of not having to figure his own feelings out. The thought triggers a flicker of panic. I shove it down along with the sudden unwelcome idea that maybe he doesn’t feel the same as I do. I told him I love him, had always loved him.
Don’t do this, Saylor. He showed you how he felt all night long. With tenderness and reverence and passion. I hold onto that thought along with the reminder that he was never very expressive about his feelings.
Cocooned in his security and warmth, I realize I need to accept what he was able to give me in the way he was able to show me.
Time passes. Seconds I soak up. I lose myself in the emotion. The acceptance. The hope for something more, something better than we could ever have imagined, and purposely try to ignore the particulars of how that might be able to happen.
The minute he wakes up I know it. I can feel the fleeting tension of his muscles and the break in his even breathing. And yet he doesn’t speak.
So we lie in the silence of the morning, the storm having moved on, and the rain having washed away the grime from the past. The breeze blows in off the ocean and our hearts try to settle in their new places. A little fuller. And hopefully, a lot less permanently broken.
“I could buy us a house halfway between cities, you know.”
It takes everything I have not to turn over and stare at him, mouth agape, because I’m shocked at his words. Surprised that his thinking is that far ahead when mine was merely afraid to even hope for something more than our last day.
I draw in a slow, steady breath in an attempt to calm the hope that just bubbled up before I respond.
“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” I say the words all the while thinking YES. Please. Anything to hedge our bets against the grim statistics of how many long distance relationships actually last. “You’ve told me yourself that there are some days you are on set for a ridiculous number of hours. I couldn’t ask you to work that long of a day and then drive well over an hour—because let’s face it, LA traffic is horrific, so we both know the commute home would be way longer than that.”
“I would though, Saylor.”
And I know he hasn’t said the love word back to me, but that comment alone says it just the same.
“I know you would.”
“It would be a compromise for both of us. It would allow us both to keep doing what we love to do as well as make us work. I know you love Sweet Cheeks but this would allow you to have some distance and a life separate from work . . . or as separate as you allow yourself to get.” He chuckles against the back of my head. The heat of his breath causes goosebumps to chase over my scalp. “And for me, it would let me have a place where I could escape from the glitter of Hollywood and its endless bullshit. Give me the chance at living an everyday, normal life.”
“You love the shiny lights and glitter though,” I tease.
“Only if you’re wearing the glitter.”
“Such a charmer, Mr. Whitley.”
We fall into silence and our breaths even out as we lose ourselves to our thoughts. To possibility. I think about the airport and wonder how we’re going to bring ourselves to walk away when we’ve just found each other again. It’s like someone loaning you a warm jacket when you’ve been freezing and just when you sink into it, believe its warmth is real, the person comes back and snatches it away.
“We’ll figure it out, Ships,” he murmurs, somehow knowing the direction of my thoughts. “It’s not like this is a new relationship or anything. I mean you forget that I used to know you back when you used to pick your nose.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes and laugh but welcome his arms pulling me tighter against him and how his fingers automatically link with mine. And despite the humor in his comment, the worry returns. Because in his arms is one thing, but being apart is an entirely different situation.
“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in that beautifully, complicated, stubborn, creative mind of yours.”
“I’m just silently freaking out about what happens next,” I whisper.
“Well, let’s see. What happens next is I have a table read the day after tomorrow in New York. It’s for the movie of that scene we were rehearsing. The director and the casting director will know from that table read whether or not they think I can play the part. As of right now they’re not entirely convinced I can pull it off since it’s so different from my norm. But to me, that’s the whole point. So that’s what I do next. I go there, kick some audition ass, and leave with the part. And you? You’ll go back home and see if business will pick up now that the wedding is over. And if business doesn’t pick up, then we’ll brainstorm other ways to get customers in the door. The bakery is your dream so we’ll do whatever it takes to make it work.”
His continual use of the word we throws me. Triggers tears to burn in the back of my throat, and causes hope to slip on some wings and take flight.
“What?” he continues when I don’t speak. I can’t as I’m too overwhelmed from the emotion his words evoke. “You don’t think a full-page colored print ad of me naked, holding a tray of your cupcakes in front of my dick won’t help get the store some attention and sales?”
I can’t help but snort as the image fills my mind. “Only if I get to strategically place the flour handprints on your body for added effect.”
“You always were willing to take one for the team.”
“It’s a hard job, but somebody has to do it.”
“Hmm. I wouldn’t object. Your hands on me are always welcome.” I wiggle my ass back into him, the feel of his hardened dick waking up all the parts of me still asleep.
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur, mind veering to how it’s even possible that I could still want him after the bouts of sex we had last night.
“So, see? We’ll figure it out as we go. We’ll talk and text every day. We’ll be honest with each other when something�
��s not working because we know damn well the alternative—not being together—isn’t a fucking option. And we’ll sleep at opposite places every weekend until we find out something permanent that works for us.”
“How do you make it all sound so easy?”
“Easy? Not by a long shot, Saylor. You’re not the only one on cloud nine right now, feeling like for the first time in ten years that someone gets you again. So don’t think just because I’m the guy here that it’s going to be easy for me to let you board that plane. You know me. I’m not good with words. Saying them or making sense with them. I never have been. So please believe me when I say this. I’m the one who walked away before, Saylor. I’m the one who fucked up and robbed both of us of this feeling every day over the last ten years. So, easy? Not hardly. But considering the alternative—not having you in my life—it’s definitely worth it.”
My heart struggles to beat as it’s so overwhelmed with love for him. I shift to turn around, needing to face him.
“No. Don’t turn around.” Hayes arms hold me captive from doing so.
“Why?”
“Morning breath.”
“Are you serious?” He’s such a guy. Shifting from heartfelt, swoon-worthy confessions to thinking about morning breath.
“Dead serious. I desperately need to brush my teeth but you feel so damn good like this, ass up against me, that I’m not willing to move just yet.”
“Like you have to worry about morning breath,” I scoff.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Okay, Mr. I’m-A-Hollywood-God. The man who could have twenty-four seven halitosis and would still rake in the women. All you’d have to do is stand there shirtless in front of a female and she’d faint. And not from being bowled over by your morning breath.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I start to squirm away from his fingers tickling my ribs.
“No, I’m not. You’ve never had a lack of confidence in your whole life.”
His fingers fall lax on my ribcage and he rests his forehead against the back of my head. “Yes, I have.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
Once again his words not only surprise me, but prove to me how much he’s matured and is trying to let me in. “Why?”
He laughs more to himself than to me and then falls silent. I give him time to answer. “I thought you left the reception because it was all too much for you. I thought you regretted calling it off. That you still loved Mitch.” The fear he felt is transparent in his voice.
“Oh, Hayes. You’re crazy.”
“Maybe, but between that and you saying Mitch’s name in your sleep the other night, that’s what I thought.”
“Mitch’s name? What are you talking about?”
“You mumbled Mitch’s name after the first time we had sex.”
I wrack my brain to try and think of having had a dream about Mitch but can’t remember for the life of me having any in recent memory. “I promise you, the only dreams I’ve had of Mitch are ones where I’m chewing him out.” I shake my head and then really hear what he confessed to me. This time when I speak, my voice is full of wonderment. “How could you think I still loved him after everything that happened between us this weekend?”
“Because I know what it’s like to see an old love and feel like you’ve just been sucker-punched. How it makes you regret all of the things you did to them and at the same time reaffirms everything you feel for them instantly. That was how I felt when I walked into Sweet Cheeks that first day.” He pauses and a soft smile spreads on my lips because I felt the exact same. “Last night, I was freaked out and I couldn’t find you. And then I saw you and you said what you said and it was like . . . like lightning striking.”
“Oh, so apropos.” I giggle, loving this side of Hayes Whitley who can express his thoughts so much better than the teenager could.
“Shush.” The bed shifts and I’m lambasted with a soft down pillow to the head.
I struggle away. Giggling and laughing and finding purchase on a pillow of my own that I begin to swing with reckless abandon. We’re both on our knees, face to face, duking it out with the pillows. For every thud of down to flesh, there’s an equally loud sound of laughter and cursing and playful threats.
“Don’t get too close,” I squeal as he grabs my pillow and makes a sound of victory before gently tackling me to the mattress. His hands are on my wrists holding them to my sides and a smile is wide on his lips. “I thought I was supposed to steer clear of you, Mr. Morning Breath.”
His eyes light up to match the smile on his lips. “You were.” He shrugs. “But then you made fun of me.”
“What are you going to do about it?” A lift of my eyebrows. A taunt of a smirk.
His gaze travels down my body, scrapes over every inch of my flesh. We were having so much fun I didn’t think about the fact that we are both still naked from last night. Exactly how we collapsed into bed. When he looks back up, I can see the desire starting to darken in his eyes.
“I can think of a lot of things I can do.”
I’m more than ready to play this game with him. “No way. I’m gross and need to take a shower first.” I attempt to squirm away from him.
His laugh is loud and amused. “It’s only like day four and you’re already telling me no to sex? That gives me zero hope for what our sex life will be like in ten years.”
I hear his comment, his reference to our future, and while it makes my heart skip a beat, I don’t argue with him. Desire is clouding my thoughts and spurring on my words. I flash a coy smile, bat my lashes and let my legs fall open so he can see the pink of my skin there. “Mmm . . . there are a few positions I can think of where your nasty breath isn’t in my face.”
“Really? Will the position help your crazy-ass hair because it just might distract my flow.”
“Your flow, Mister You’re. A. God?” I laugh out, repeating his words from last night. Loving his playful side.
“You’d know, considering you’re the one who begged.”
I swat at him with a pillow that’s within reach. “I did not.”
“Okay, Crazy Hair.”
And I know the perfect way to win this battle. To shut him up and to get exactly what I want. Him in me. My lips spread into a slow smile. “Best cure for my crazy hair is to wrap it around your fist when you’re—”
I yelp out, can’t even finish the words as he flips me over onto my stomach in what feels like a nanosecond. His dick lays thick and heavy on the top of my ass. He fists a hand in my hair—just like I said—and takes control while running his tongue down the length of my spine.
“I like the way you think, Ships.”
Saylor
I’m dragging my feet, unable to come to terms with the reality settling in that our time is ending here. Soon we’ll have to get used to real life—a new normal—if we want to make this work.
I think of our morning. The cuddling. The sex in the shower. The cup of coffee shared on the patio. One last swim in the ocean off the villa. A walk on the beach hand in hand. How we soaked up every last moment with each other before resorting to having to pack.
“See? We were able to do it. To shut the world out and unplug for the whole weekend. As a reward, here’s your phone, madam.” I look up to see Hayes with my phone outstretched to me and realize he’s perfectly right. I have been so consumed with him that my thoughts about DeeDee handling the bakery and any other trivial thing fell to the wayside without my phone.
I smile, just as I seem to do whenever I look at him. “You make it easy to shut the world out, Hayes.” My fingertips brush over his hand when I take my phone.
“Don’t be sad.” He pulls me into his arms and squeezes me tight. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll make it work. I promise.”
Talk is cheap. I hate the words that ghost through my mind. The ones that cause doubt to wedge into my psyche and seize up my throat because I know we’re never going to get this time back.
He runs his hands up and down my back. “Unfortunately. It takes a minute to connect to service or so I was told. At least we have that.”
“I guess we should soak those minutes up then, huh?”
“Most definitely.”
His lips meet mine in the most tender of kisses. The kind that makes your toes curl and body ache in the sweetest of ways. We sink into it, into each other, and the bittersweet emotions we’re feeling.
Somewhere in the villa Hayes’s cell phone rings. We both tense at the sound followed by his audible exhalation. “And so it begins.” He chuckles against my lips before pressing one more kiss to them, tapping a finger on my nose, and heading off to find his phone.
I watch him leave and then lower myself to the edge of my bed, utterly enamored with him and completely depressed over having to leave this paradise without him.
But I’m so very thankful for this time where we were able to make amends, and unexpectedly strengthen the bond we’ve shared for years. And in doing so, I feel like he’s helping me find the old, carefree Saylor from the past.
Begrudgingly I power up my cell and lie back on the bed. It doesn’t surprise me that Hayes is already on the phone. Muffled bits and pieces of his conversation float down the hall. I can’t quite catch enough to know what he’s saying, but he sounds agitated, and I hate that within a few minutes of plugging back in reality is back in full effect.
I’m not ready for the real world to ruin our idyllic time in paradise.
And no sooner does the thought cross my mind, my cell begins to chirp like crazy, ding after ding after ding notifying me of texts. I squeeze my eyes shut, try to ignore them, but then start to worry when the alerts keep sounding.
Something has happened. There is text after text from DeeDee lighting up my screen and the few words displayed from each one confirms it. I’m freaked out.
DeeDee: I’m so sorry they did this to you. The oven’s . . .
Unknown: An interview perhaps?