“What do you want to do this weekend?” I sign.
Tuck shrugs.
“Road trip?” I ask. We’ve never done one of those before. Could be fun. I’m thinking maybe someplace with mountains, somewhere far away from all the things that remind me of her. “Think about it and let me know.”
I check the time, grab my keys, and head out to my truck. By the time I’m backing out of the driveway, I spot a white Toyota pulling up by the curb.
I watch from my rearview as the rear passenger door opens and out steps Melrose in last night’s wrinkled clothes. At least I presume. Her hair is a mess and even from here, I can tell her makeup is smudged. Despite the fact that she’s still the sexiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, all of that serves as a reminder that she spent the night with Nick.
Shifting into drive, I head down the street, glancing back in my mirror, to catch her standing on the sidewalk, watching me drive away.
43
Melrose
“Hi!” I give Tucker a wave when I spot him in the living room Friday morning.
His hazel eyes snaps onto mine and then back to the TV. He doesn’t wave. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t care to look at me longer than he has to.
Shoot.
I bet he thinks I left with Nick in an adult sort of way …
Taking the spot beside him, I nudge his shoulder with mine and manage to work a smidgeon of a half-smile out of him.
“How’s Sutter?” I ask.
I thought about him all night, in those still, small moments when Nick and I weren’t laughing and reminiscing. It’s like he was always there, in the background of my mind. I wonder if he stayed up all night tossing and turning, trying to figure out why I left with Nick and didn't come home. Knowing Sutter, he assumed the worst.
I mean, I stood there on the sidewalk today, watching as he drove off after I know he saw me.
I could’ve texted him last night in an attempt to quell his worries, but I didn't want to be presumptuous. And something like that deserves more than a casual text. That’s why I was hoping I’d catch him before he left today …
“Why do you care?” Tucker signs.
“Because I do,” I say with my hands.
“You like Nick.”
“Nick is my best friend,” I sign. “I don't want to date him.”
But I don't want to get into this with a kid. I hook my hand on his shoulder and rise to a stand. I need to shower. I need to finish packing the rest of my things into my second suitcase. I need to start going over my script. I need to make sure I have everything I need for Murphy since he’s coming with me.
Heading upstairs, I take a five-minute shower and brush my teeth. Wrapping my pink towel around me, I pop the lock and head across the hall back to my room.
It’s then that I spot a note on white, lined paper, folded in half on my nightstand.
Melrose,
That thing you asked me Tuesday night? You wanted to know if I ever thought about what it’d be like to date you.
Just thought you should know.
Sutter
Oh my god.
He likes me back.
I press the letter against my damp skin, hands trembling and heart thrumming in my chest. But the erratic rhythm in my chest nearly comes to a complete stop when I turn and find him standing in my doorway.
“Melrose,” he says.
I take in a sharp breath, wanting to run to him, but my body is paralyzed.
“You came back."
44
Sutter
Somewhere between Jackson Street and Mondavi Boulevard, it hit me: my entire life I’ve cut my losses. I’ve walked away from people who weren’t worth a goddamn. And I haven't a single regret.
But those people aren’t Melrose.
And if I walk away from her, if I write her off and throw in the towel … I’m going to regret it.
Maybe she’s in love with her childhood best friend and maybe I don't stand a chance, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t fight for her.
For us.
We belong together.
“You came back.” Melrose clutches my letter in her hand. Our stares hold. “Is this true?”
I bite my lip for a second, trying not to let her smooth, bare shoulders or the thin towel wrapping her curved body invite any distractions.
“Do you love him?” I answer her question with one of my own. “Are you in love with Nick?”
Her glassy eyes crinkle at the sides and her head tilts. “No. No, Sutter. I’m not in love with him.”
I release a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
“I thought I was … but it took meeting you to realize I wasn’t. The way I felt about you meant something different. Something more. It wasn’t the same.”
She sits the letter down, tightens her towel, and paces toward me. Her dusty blue eyes peer up at me through a spray of thick lashes.
“I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” she says.
“I know.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks. “Now?”
I reach for her face, cupping her soft cheek in my hand and angling her lips toward mine. A moment later, I trace my mouth against hers before stealing a kiss. The taste of mint lingers on her tongue as it darts against mine, and with each breathless second, her body surrenders against me.
I kick the door shut behind us and feel the smile in her kiss.
“Does that answer your question?” I ask, scooping her into my arms and carrying her to the bed.
Melrose lets her towel fall, exposing the curves and angles and smooth lines that make up her delicate body, and I position myself above her, sliding my hand along her left outer thigh as she straddles me from below.
I claim her lips again. And again. And again. Each kiss greedier, less patient. When her hands reach for my fly and yank on the zipper, my cock pulses, aching for her as it grows.
A moment later, she’s shoved my pants and boxers down, and I’ve pulled her tighter against me, my body pinning hers as I devour the bend of her neck, the delicate shelf of her collarbone, and the sensitive trail between her swollen breasts.
Her stomach caves as I take a single, budded nipple between my lips.
I want this.
I want her.
And I want it forever.
Melrose lifts her arms over my shoulder, toying at my hair with her fingertips and exhaling with a moan when I slip my fingers between her folds. She’s so fucking wet for me.
Caught between wanting to enjoy this and needing to take her, needing to bury myself inside of her, I lower myself between her spread thighs, pressing kisses from her lower belly to her apex, where I can taste her addictive desire.
Her legs tremble as my tongue strokes her seam, and her clit swells as I take my time devouring her.
“Sutter ...” My name is a breathy gasp on her lips. “I want you inside me.”
I kiss her inner thighs before rising on my knees and grabbing my wallet from my crumpled jeans. Retrieving a gold foil packet, I tear it open with my teeth before sheathing myself.
Lying on my back, I shove a pillow behind my neck and pull her onto my lap. With a sultry smirk, she lowers herself onto my throbbing cock, torturing me inch by inch, and when I’m buried deep inside her, she releases a held breath and grips my shoulders.
Melrose’s blonde waves curtain her face, but I sweep them over her bare shoulders. I want to see the way she bites her lips as she fucks me, the way her gorgeous blue eyes roll to the back of her head just before she's about to cum.
“You’re the most perfect thing I've ever known in my life,” I tell her, reaching for her face. “I couldn’t let you get away.”
The grind of her hips slows to a stop as she leans forward and kisses me. Once. Twice. Three times.
“I’m going to miss you so damn much,” I whisper, cupping my hand behind her neck as our foreheads meet.
“You’ll visit,” she says. “And we’ll FaceTime. An
d it's only two months.”
“It won’t be the same.”
“Stay home today,” she says. Melrose presses her palm against my chest. “This time tomorrow, I’ll be gone.”
“Already planned on it.”
Her full lips arch and her hips begin to circle. I could do this all day, every day, but only with her.
She’s the only woman I’ll ever need.
The only one I’ll ever want.
45
Melrose
Cars whiz past us at LAX Saturday morning when Sutter parks beneath the sign for Terminal Five Departures. A man in a neon yellow and checkered vest motions for cars to keep moving. We aren’t supposed to park or linger, but the thought of leaving him today sends a physical ache to my middle.
Sutter reaches across the center console, taking my hand, and I lean in to give him a PG-rated kiss since Tucker’s in the backseat of the truck.
Tucker sticks his tongue out anyway, and Sutter smirks, signing for him to “look away.”
The car behind us honks and another car honks at that car.
“I’ll get your bags.” Sutter’s lips press flat and he climbs out.
I meet him at the truck’s gate, and he retrieves my suitcases and places them on the curb.
“You’re visiting soon, right?” I ask as he slips his hands around my waist and pulls me against him.
“As soon as I can.”
“Promise?”
He kisses me. “Yes, Melrose. I promise.”
“I’ll call you when I land.”
Sutter kisses my forehead, and when he pulls away, I bask in his honey gaze one last time—for now.
The car behind us honks again and the man directing traffic blows a whistle.
I leave, heart a-flutter, stomach twisted, and chest filled so full of hope and wonderment and anticipation it could burst.
An hour later, I’m through ticketing, baggage, and security, and perched at a corner table just outside the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. Sipping an almond latte and paging through my script, I try and focus on my lines. I’ve always had this photographic memory thing when it comes to lines. I can look at them once and have them memorized. Gram says it's genetic. I think it’s dumb luck.
“Hey, stranger.”
I glance up from page twenty-four to find none other than Ms. Aerin Keane herself standing before me, a work bag hanging off her lithe shoulder and a hard-cased rollaway parked at her heeled feet.
“What are you doing here?” I stand, throwing my arms around her. I’ll never understand how she can travel like this—in a pant suit with a full face of makeup and heels, but she’s always been the Queen of Preparedness and a true work horse. Always ready.
“I have a job in New York,” she says. “Just a contractual, thirty-day thing.”
“You didn’t tell me this.” I swipe my hand at her. “Sit down. Talk to me. Do you have time?”
Aerin checks her Apple Watch and bites her lip. She’s always been the type who needs to be the first passenger to arrive at the gate. She likes to get the best seat—preferably by a charger so she can work on her laptop while she waits for the boarding call—and she likes to have a seat closest to where the line begins, so she doesn’t get stuck at the back of the crowd.
“I have a couple of minutes.” She takes the chair across from me, lowering herself into the seat and crossing her legs. “So what’s new? I haven’t talked to you since Tuesday night at The Bungalow.”
I reach for my coffee, smiling and rolling my eyes but in the most content of ways.
Where do I begin?
“Oh. I heard Nick was back in town,” Aerin adds. “Have you seen him?”
“Yeah, actually,” I say. “He, um … did this whole thing Thursday where he basically said he’s loved me our whole lives.”
“What? No way. What did you say? You’ve always kind of had a thing for him, too, right?”
I only met Aerin a few years ago, and while she’s quickly become one of my closest friends, I’ve always tended to underplay my childhood crush on Nick. Maritza is the only one who ever knew because she was always more of a sister than a cousin to me growing up. Plus she was there from the beginning too. She understood.
“It’s the strangest thing ...” I hold my coffee between both palms, staring down at the brown table top. “I thought Nick was what I wanted …”
Pulling in a deep breath, my eyes lift to hers.
“ … and then I met Sutter,” I say.
Aerin rests her chin on the top of her hands, listening but not gasping or giving me a wide-eyed look of any kind.
“You’re acting like you’re not surprised.” I chuckle.
“Because I’m not.” She sits up straight. “I could tell there was something going on between you two at the bar the other night. The way you looked at each other. The way you were so casual together, like you were comfortable. And he never took his eyes off you once, Mel. Not in a creepy way or anything, but he was always making sure you were safe. That no one was bothering you. That you made it home safe. Those kinds of things.”
“Really?” This is news to me.
“There aren’t a lot of guys like that. Not anymore. And definitely not in L.A.,” she says. “Hang onto that one. Hang on tight and never let him go.”
“That's the plan.” A slow smile paints my mouth and I can only envision the dreamy, far-off look in my eyes.
Aerin stands, checking her watch again. “I should get to my gate.”
“Yeah, they’re probably going to be boarding in a couple of hours ...”
“Hush.” She fights a smirk.
I rise, giving her another hug. “Have fun in New York.”
“Have fun shooting. Can't wait to hear all about it.”
Aerin wheels her bag away, heels clicking on the tile floor as she disappears into a crowd of travelers, and I return to my script.
I miss him already.
46
Sutter
When did she have time to do this?
I yank a yellow Post-It off a small MP3 player resting on the shelf next to the bathroom sink when I return from dropping her off at LAX.
PRESS PLAY WHENEVER YOU MISS ME.
Missing her now more than ever and fully consumed with curiosity, I push the little triangle button. A second later, a recording begins to play.
It’s Melrose.
Singing.
No.
Belting at the top of her lungs like a Broadway legend.
“ … and all that jazz ...”
That woman …
I let the song finish because hearing her voice puts a stupid, dopey smile on my face and makes me forget about life for a while.
Hell, I might even play this stupid thing when I'm in the shower, though I won't tell her that. Not yet. She has me, but I don't want to let her know quite to which extent because then she’ll start gloating and it’ll be this whole thing and I’ll have to punish that smart little mouth of hers the way I did this morning after we squeezed into the shower together for an encore presentation of that glorious 6 AM wakeup call surprise she pulled on me.
I slide the MP3 player into a drawer where it’ll be safer from the humidity and rogue bathroom sink splashes, and then I head downstairs to check on Tuck.
He starts at his new school on Monday, so I want to do something special this weekend, something to keep his mind off the impending change. God knows we could both use the distraction.
“What’s up?” I sign to him when I get to the living room.
He glances up from the new phone I got him—Dad apparently had his old one shut off. That or he failed to pay the bill. But it’s okay. This one is newer and better, with tracking and locating features, and all the kinds of things parental figures need in this day and age.
It’s so weird thinking of myself as a parent to my brother, despite the fact that I sort of have been his whole life. I still remember changing his diapers. Teaching him ASL. I remember him climbing into
bed with me in the middle of the night when he’d have nightmares. I remember the tears streaming down his face when I moved out at eighteen and he was too young to understand why it had to be that way.
I never got over that guilt. And it only fueled my anger toward my mother. He wasn’t even my kid and walking away from him almost fucking killed me.
But now I get a chance to make it up to him. He’s young still. The rest of his life doesn’t have to be as shit-tastic as his first fourteen years have been, and I’m going to make damn sure of that.
“Not much,” he signs before returning to his game.
I sink into one of the leather chairs, releasing a breath, running my hand through my hair and staring ahead at a black TV screen.
The house is too quiet.
What I wouldn’t give to hear the sound of one of those obnoxious reality shows she was always watching.
I lose myself in thought for a while, unsure of how much time has passed by the time my brother sits his phone aside.
“You’re going to marry her, aren't you?” he signs, a twinkle in his eyes.
“Random,” I sign. “And yes. Someday. If I’m lucky.”
47
Melrose
I check the time on the hotel clock on the nightstand, the red neon numbers glowing 9:45pm. It’s not quite eight o’clock back in LA, and Sutter knew I’d be Face Timing him around this time, so the fact that he isn’t answering is cause for concern.
I’ve been filming in the Bayou for three weeks now, which means it’s been three weeks since I kissed him goodbye, three weeks since I felt the heat of his mouth and the flutter in my chest when he looked at me.
Seeing him on a five-inch phone screen isn’t the same.
My thumb hovers over the green button. I don’t want to keep calling. Our relationship is still so new and I don’t want to come across as some psychotic girlfriend who blows up his phone because she thinks she should be his number one priority.
The Complete P.S. Series Page 39