by Lindsey Hart
But I can’t change the past. I can’t change it, so I sit here feeling guilty, and we lapse into silence because it doesn’t seem right to bring all that shit back up now that the moment has passed.
Mom finally starts talking about clothing, thrifting, and cats, which engages Zoe. I lean back against the booth, just happy to watch and listen to them talk. They fall back into it as naturally as if all those years and some seriously deep conversation hadn’t just preceded it. It makes me kind of jealous and also oddly happy to see them like this, talking like old friends.
I doubt Zoe’s mom is back in her life in any capacity as I know her mom walked out on Zoe and her dad and never had anything to do with either of them after she left, so it makes me inordinately happy when Mom says she wished she lived in Florida because she’d like to keep in touch. Zoe gives Mom her phone number and email, which makes me even happier.
I guess it gives me hope.
Hope for what, I’m not exactly sure. Zoe might have welcomed Mom back into her life, but she sure hasn’t welcomed me. She doesn’t like me, and now I think I know why—the reason she was so adamant about cutting any contact with me and having me gone from her life, which in a way, I kind of destroyed. At least where her relationships were concerned.
When our food comes, I purposely push the thoughts out of my head. Seeing those heaping waffles with all the lush berries and mouth-watering whipped cream makes me wish I ordered the waffles instead of a sandwich. I count on Mom or Zoe having some leftovers for me to finish off, but they both clean their plates.
At the end of lunch, I pick up the tab and leave a generous tip for our server. Mom hugs Zoe outside the restaurant and makes her promise not to be a stranger or hold it against her that I’m her son. Thanks, Mom.
I walk my mom back to her car, and after she drives away, Zoe seems surprised that the same car and driver who brought us from the resort is waiting in the parking lot. I paid him to wait for us, and I made it worth his while. The return trip is really out of the way, and the guy charges just about a literal arm and a leg, so I’m sure he’s happy to have the business. This trip probably made him more than he makes in a week of cabbing people around the city.
When we get back to the lodge, we get dropped in front of my cabin. It’s one of the smallest ones, but I’m the only one staying there. The privacy is nice.
Zoe glances around like she’s considering making a run for it, so I act fast. “Want a cup of coffee?”
“A whisky would be nice right about now.”
Her words make me smile. That’s Zoe. She’s tough. She’s always been tough in her own unique way. “Sadly, I didn’t bring any.”
“Well, then coffee will have to do.”
“I could scourge around and see if I could find some.”
“No, coffee is fine.”
Zoe follows me inside. The cabin is just a one-bedroom with a tiny bathroom and a small kitchen and living room. It’s made of log, not just log siding, so it has a quaint, homey feel as soon as you get into it, and the furniture is all retro. There’s a braided rag rug on the floor in front of a hard as rock floral couch and a mid-century modern coffee table that I’m pretty sure is a knock off. The cabin has a few lamps in the corner, a tiny table with two chairs at either end, and a kitchen just beyond that. There’s also an apartment-sized fridge and stove, which I think both run on propane, as well as a toaster and a coffee maker on a small strip of the counter, but that’s it. The bedroom is even tinier, with a double bed that barely fits and an upright dresser on the far wall. There are a ton of pegs along the wall to hang up clothes, jackets, and anything else, so somehow, the cabin feels more functional than it probably has a right to be.
I don’t immediately go to make coffee, and Zoe doesn’t seem surprised. We both just stand there inside the door, staring at each other.
“Was it true? All of it?”
Zoe’s brows shoot up. “Of course it was true!”
Her hair is up in a messy bun, as I’ve come to expect from her when she’s not at work. She’s also wearing a yellow maxi dress today that makes her look like a goddess. The dress is pretty lightweight, and it drapes over her curves and highlights them nicely. In it, she’s practically good enough to eat, and I would, again, if I thought there was a chance in hell she’d let me.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbles ominously, like an exclamation point at the end of Zoe’s outraged statement.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. It was more a statement of horrified disbelief, not actual doubt.”
“What’s the difference?”
“The difference is, I believe you. And I’m sorry.”
Zoe glances at the window. I follow suit and realize it’s starting to rain. Huge drops splatter against the small windowpane that overlooks the table and chairs.
“Looks like you might get stuck here in a few minutes. I didn’t think it was supposed to storm today.”
“I guess it’s hot and humid enough to bring on a real nasty one.” Zoe looks like she’s bracing for it. “I heard thunder.”
“You always liked storms.”
“Yeah, when I was somewhere safe—somewhere with a basement to hide, in case something fell out of the sky.”
“I think if anything were going to fall out of the sky, the people who own this place would give us some warning or get us to safety. They probably have a crawl space under the lodge or something.”
“It would be dark there,” Zoe says. She studies me intently, her eyes burning straight through me. “Why were you always so scared of the dark anyway?”
Even thinking about a dark, dank, and cramped space makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end while the chicken sandwich I ate for lunch churned unpleasantly in my stomach. That one—dark and cramped—would be a double doozy. I don’t like either of those things.
“I don’t know.” I feel like I owe Zoe some kind of honesty after her big confession at lunch. “I always was, ever since I was little. I’m not sure why. Are fears rational?”
“No. Most of the time, they’re not, but don’t you grow out of that? Being afraid of the dark?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not so much the dark but the things that happen in it.”
“All the bad things happen at night, hmm?”
“Not by a long shot. I don’t know. Maybe I watched something that scared the shit out of me when I was really little. I have no idea. I always just was. Kind of like how people are scared of spiders or snakes or things like that without having had anything bad happen to them.”
“But those are different. They’re creepy, slithery, and crawly. And even if they’re not poisonous, if they get on you, there’s a good chance they could kill you.”
“From a heart attack or hyperventilation?”
“Something like that. Or from just being so grossed out.”
“Maybe the dark is the same way.”
“Better hope the power doesn’t go out then,” Zoe says after another loud clap of thunder that is most definitely getting closer.
“It’s the middle of the day. It won’t be dark for hours yet.”
“Hmm.” Zoe turns her head back to the window. “I guess I should make a break for my cabin before it really starts pouring out there.”
“Yeah, I guess you should.”
“I’ll go then.”
“Alright.”
“Right now.”
“Okay.”
“Right this minute.”
“It’s your decision.”
“Hmm.”
Neither of us moves. Both of us just stand there, staring out the window, trying to pretend we don’t feel the storm gathering inside the same way we can see the one developing outside, and trying to pretend that from the first, we haven’t wanted each other. Okay, I mean the first time we saw each other again as adults. Or that there hasn’t been this strange pull towards one another. Maybe there are even forces out there stronger than just desire. Who knows, per
haps it’s more than that. And maybe this was the universe’s way of throwing us together. I never believed in destiny, and I didn’t even believe in soulmates. When you get used a couple of times, dumped a few more, and basically seen as just a dollar sign or as someone who can do something for someone else, that’s it. You get used to thinking you’re probably never going to have a meaningful experience with another person. Ever.
But what I feel with Zoe is different. It’s new. It’s not those butterflies you get with your first crush, and it’s not straight-up desire. It’s not just physical.
I felt it right away, and I most certainly feel it now.
I want to ask her if she feels it too, or point out that I think it’s obvious she at least feels something because we’ve done a few things on two separate occasions that would indicate she does, but I keep my mouth shut.
I don’t break the silence.
I just watch the rain.
Although it’s still not coming down hard enough that Zoe can’t leave. There’s still time for her to go.
But she doesn’t. Instead, she turns to me. Her eyes are round and luminous, and her face is a little flushed, but she could just be slightly overheated. It is hot in the cabin, and it’s also hot outside—sticky and humid.
“Maybe I’ll stay,” she whispers.
I give her a minute to change her mind in case what she said was mistakenly said, but when her eyes don’t stop shining, and it’s clear she isn’t going to follow it up with just kidding or got you, asshole, I brush my hand with hers. Gently. Just my index finger, gracing the silky back of her hand. She makes a wounded animal noise that I think is a good thing because right after, she folds into me. One hand splays out against my chest while the other goes to the back of my neck and tugs my face down to hers.
CHAPTER 16
Zoe
I’m really starting to think there is something wrong with me. Because we’re here. Again. Doing this. Again. And it’s amazing. Again.
Now that my history of bad decisions—choosing the wrong person over and over, and not just the guys or even my friends who used me to get something, but the ones who didn’t even know Raiden as well—is out there, I keep waiting for it to sink in that this is an incredibly bad idea.
However, the realization never comes. Not when I first start kissing Raiden, not when I get so into it that I practically start ripping at his clothing, and not when my lips are ready to fall off, my chin is scraped raw, and everything feels swollen. The sensation of wrongness never settles in, and I can almost convince myself this is right. That it could be right in the future. That maybe it could be right for Raiden too. That we might not hurt, ruin, and wreck each other.
Perhaps I’m too optimistic. Maybe I’m making yet another terrible decision, or I’m just really horny at the moment, but I don’t care. I’m going with that one, because bad decision or not, I’m doing this.
“I’m sorry,” Raiden says thickly against my lips. It reminds me of just what he’s apologizing for. My eyes flick upwards, and the vulnerability in his eyes just about slays me.
“Don’t,” I pant. “Don’t apologize. I don’t want to talk about that.”
“But I still am. I’m sorry. Sorry for all those douchebags, sorry for every single person who didn’t treat you right, and sorry for leaving you all alone for so long to fend for yourself.”
“It’s not your fault.” And there it is. It’s the truth.
Whatever anger and bitterness I might have held towards Raiden evaporates. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault that he had some serious talent and was so smart that he got insanely rich and made a name for himself. It’s not his fault he takes over companies and tries to make them better than they were, including giving people opportunities they never had before. It’s not his fault the women he dated used him like I was used. Some people are just rotten, stinking poopy pants. It’s not entirely his fault that he never contacted me again after our parents got a divorce because I never reached out to him either. It’s not his fault that my nipples are puckered so hard, they’ve probably slashed through my dress.
Erm, maybe that one is his fault. In a good way.
“Please,” I whisper. “Take me into whatever bedroom is back there…”
Raiden’s eyes turn about as dark and stormy as the clouds gathering over the lodge. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m…armffff…” Raiden’s lips crash over mine. His hands capture my waist, and he lifts me effortlessly against him. I try to wrap my legs around his waist, but I’m wearing a freaking maxi dress, and there’s a lot of extra fabric, and as I’m not overly athletic, I kind of miss. If Raiden weren’t so athletic, I’d for sure be on my ass. Instead, he catches me with a laugh and sweeps me into his arms, princess style.
He carries me through the cabin while I latch onto his neck and tug his mouth back to mine. I don’t want to be without his mouth. His perfect lips are like oxygen. I think I’ll die without them. We manage to only knock into two things, thanks to Raiden’s ridiculously amazing coordination. He’s technically carrying me completely blind while kissing me so fiercely that I think his tongue might actually become fused to mine.
I don’t complain when my feet scrape against the couch, and when my elbow bangs the doorway, I do let out a little whimper, but when Raiden tries to pull away, I thread my fingers through his hair and body slam our lips back together. I know lips don’t have bodies, but they can still get body-slammed.
Just like the rest of me does when Raiden tries to set me down on the bed. I’m two seconds too late in realizing what he’s doing, and I don’t unlatch my arms from around his neck, so he loses his balance and falls on top of me so hard that the mattress and the bed’s metal foundation below it give out a massive groan. All I let out is a hiss of breath as I’m practically winded by Raiden’s bulky, muscly, and delicious weight on top of me.
I might be compressed a foot into the mattress, and the old thing might be folding in on either side of us, but I’m not complaining.
“Shit, sorry.” Raiden tries to untangle himself from me, but I don’t let go of his neck, and I don’t stop kissing him.
“Take your clothes off,” I command against his lips.
“Which ones?”
“All of them.”
“The t-shirt first?”
“I don’t care. Just as long as they all go.”
Raiden stills. I still, too, because I think this is the moment where he regains the common sense he’s lost over the past few weeks and tells me I’m not his type, which is harsh, in a lot of ways. I feel really, really bad for thinking it because it’s not fair to me, and it’s not fair to Raiden either.
“We’re really doing this then?”
“Yes.” The awe in his tone makes me feel dizzy. Or maybe that’s the lack of oxygen since Raiden is heavy, and I can’t expand my lungs properly with him squashing me. I’m not complaining, though. Sometimes, it’s nice to be squashed.
“I don’t have a condom.”
That brings me up short, and I squirm beneath Raiden so I can look up at him. “I’m on the pill. I’ve been on it for years, and I trust it. I never miss one. I also haven’t been with anyone in over six months, and I get tested—”
“Me too,” Raiden says. “Yes, I trust you. Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” It’s true. I do. I do because I once loved you in a completely different way—not as a brother, but as my best friend. Maybe that should make this weird, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes it better.
Suddenly, Raiden’s whole body goes rigid, and confusion sweeps over me. I’m worried I said or did the wrong thing. My lady cave is also worried I said and did the wrong thing because she’s afraid she’s not going to see any action. I get this sudden and clichéd mental image of a cave that’s unused for so long, bats fly out of it, and I nearly whimper in frustration for both me and my box.
“You’ve changed your mind?” Those words might be the most painful ones I’ve
ever spoken.
“No.” Raiden grinds out as he shakes his head. He looks like he’s in pain, and I quickly wriggle under him because I’m worried I might have trapped one of his balls at a funny angle or something. “Please don’t move…”
“Why…oh! Are you…is this…do you normally…”
“Do I have a problem with premature ejaculation? Not that I know of. Not until it came to you.”
This time I can’t help but giggle. It starts out as a small, normal laugh, but it grows and grows until I’m shaking below Raiden. He still has this pinched expression on his face like he’s been battling extreme constipation for a few days.
“I know it’s not funny,” I get out between giggles. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I’m sure it’s a compliment like you said. And if it happens, it happens. Whatever. We’ll just find something else to do until you’re ready to use it properly.”
“Ready to use it properly? They might as well write that shit down on my headstone now since I’m going to die from embarrassment right away.”
“Don’t.” I swivel my hips upward, and when I feel the bulge in Raiden’s shorts, I gasp. With my lady cave. It’s an internal gasp because heck yeah, the hardness feels really, really good, and I know if I could just grind and rock against it a few times, the throbbing going on in my belly and lower regions might let up a little bit.
“Do you have any idea how perfect you are?” Raiden groans. He kisses me so thoroughly that I can’t answer before he made his way down my chin. He doesn’t stop there, and I think he has a unique brand of torture in mind for me just to punish me for laughing at him. Not that I’m complaining.
He manages to support himself with one hand as he cups my breast with the other. He’s a master with those hands, and he knows what he’s doing because, in less than a second, he has my already hard nipple rolled between his thumb and index finger. I’m just wearing a thin lace bra since I can’t stand underwire, and I think Raiden knows that too. He then takes my nipple into his mouth, dress, bra, and all.