“I’d like that.”
“There’s no one else you wanna be with?” He looks a little worried. “I mean, I’m goin’ to play for the Yankees in a couple months. I wouldn’t hate you if you wanted to break up.”
“No, of course not. Do you wanna break up?” My heart races.
“Hell, no. Lexie, you’re the one I want.”
“You’re the one I want, too.”
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
“Marry me?” His voice is choked up, the sun melting on the beach in deep reds and pinks.
“There’s nothin’ I want more.” I kiss him hard, knocking us into the sand. Holding him. Gripping him. Longing for everything he just promised me.
Grief knocks me off balance, and I brace myself against the countertop while I ride the waves of memory. My heart burns, my throat swells, my head spins, my fingers run along the spot where an engagement ring used to be.
“Can I help?” Bobby leans against the counter, hands stuffed in his pockets.
“Got it.” The hint of a whine comes out of my throat, and I swallow it back, getting a drink of water.
“I’m sorry I’m actin’ so weird. I just–” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.” Bobby feeling so much and sharing so little makes me ache for all that’s inside of him. He needs me, I realize. All the years we’ve known each other, I’ve never seen him this broken. But he’s lost and shattered–just like I am.
“Oh, it’s okay, I get it. Really.” My mouth raises in a smile until he nods. We need each other–and it isn’t one sided because that hug last night has me craving his comfort. I need him as much as he needs me, and there’s something beautiful about that. Cody was Bobby’s best friend, and I know it’s because he felt accepted with him. Of everybody in our friend group, Cody had this ability to make everyone feel valued and important–even when they were different. That’s why I loved dating him so much. Maybe it’s because his life was so shitty, or maybe it’s just because he cared about all of us so much. Cody’s death hit Bobby and me so hard, and fuck, we need each other. The thought of Bobby going out that front door tore into me, and my heart is still somersaulting in my chest.
Neither of us eat with the air so heavy that we don’t say a word. So much for getting his side of the story.
“Wine?” I sigh.
“Please.”
I go to the fridge and pull out a bottle of chardonnay.
“So, now that I’m gonna try to stop actin’ all crazy and shit.” Bobby shakes his head. “How about let’s talk about somethin’. You got any fun art projects you’re workin’ on? Like remember that blue butterfly paintin’ you did for the senior year exhibit? Doin’ anythin’ like that?”
I smile that he remembered that piece. It’s one of my favorites I’ve ever done. His eyes are waiting while I focus on the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“I’ve stopped painting.” My glass clinks against the granite countertop. “It’s stupid.”
“Why?”
“I just don’t know how to paint now. Holding the brushes makes me think about all the times I painted while Cody read. Reminds me of how much he loved my art. How when we first started dating my parents were shitty about it but he convinced me not to give it up.” I lick my lips, the chardonnay lingering on my tongue. “I just can’t seem to paint without him. My heart is what attaches to the canvas. And right now, it’s like I don’t have a heart at all.” I grimace. I’ve shared too much. “That sounds pathetic.”
“Pathetic? No. That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.” His words sink deeper into me the longer we sit.
“I don’t think I’ll ever want to again. It’s one of my biggest fears, that I won’t get over the grief, and for the rest of my life I’ll be a broken version of myself.”
“No. You will.” His eyes are kind. “One day you will.” His eyebrows wrinkle. “You can’t stop, Lex.” He takes my hand in his and there’s so much depth in those eyes. “He wouldn’t want that. Not one bit.”
“I know.” I sigh, watching the pale yellow swish in the flute.
“It was hard to play ball again.” His voice is thick.
“It was?” I hadn’t thought about it, but it makes perfect sense.
“Course it was. Shit, not even was. Is. Is hard every fuckin’ day.” He looks away and I see that struggle painted all over his face as if I was working on a canvas right now. My heart stirs. Until this moment, I haven’t wanted to paint. But I want to capture this pain on his face. I want to share that intensity with the world. Fuck, Bobby, how’d you go and inspire me so quick?
“You’ve gotta paint. Where’s your paint? Let’s get it.”
“Soon, okay?” I chuckle. “I just haven’t felt like it.”
“Well, I do hope you reconsider. Because the world is missing out on a lot without your art in it.” Bobby’s lips look so kissable. Wow, I’m getting drunk.
Swirling my almost empty glass, my gut clenches. “I haven’t kissed anyone in a year and a half. My last kiss was on Cody’s dead lips and do you know what kissin’ a dead person is like? It’s like kissin’ a frozen bowlin’ ball, I’m not kiddin’.” I stare blankly at the wall in front of me.
“A frozen bowlin’ ball, huh?” His response makes me aware I just said all that out loud.
Fuck, I bring my fingers to my lips, so embarrassing.
“It’s from all the formaldehyde.” He shrugs. “That’s why they’re cold. You could just pretend you were kissin’ Edward Cullen.”
I choke on my wine. “It’s not the formaldehyde. It’s ‘cause they put the bodies in a freezer.”
“No, I think it’s the formaldehyde.” He shakes his head, and I see a bit of a smile. “Google it.”
“I cannot believe I just told you that.”
“What? That I’m wrong about dead bodies?”
“No, that I kissed his corpse.”
“No, you told me you kissed Edward Cullen. We are rewritin’ this memory right now.” He points in the air like a playful scolding. “He’d be honored. He was always a huge fan of Robert Pattinson.” Bobby’s making light of this, and I love him for it. Death is always so depressing and heavy, but he’s saying things that take away a bit of that pain, leaving something much better in its place.
“Team Edward, huh?”
“Oh yeah.” Bobby smiles. “Jacob never had a chance at winnin’ his heart.”
I smile into my wine, wanting to drink all I have in the house. “Do you talk to Cody’s family much?”
“Never. Do you?” Bobby downs his glass and I pour him another.
“Not since the funeral.” I look at the kitchen cabinets, remember the flowers lining the countertop. Flowers for my loss, as if they could make it any better. There is no better about death. There’s only the torment you live with as you become the survivor, the victim of tragedy.
“I should. Check in on Mama Jones at least. Make sure she’s doin’ alright.” He’s looking at his shoes, Chuck Taylors on those long feet. I’m surprised he makes a style choice in favor of arch support–he’s full of surprises, isn’t he?
What else will I learn about you, Bobby?
“It’s not exactly easy to talk about it with anyone, much less his mom. Like what? Do I call her for Mother’s Day? Christmas? Oh, hey, I’m sad he died, still sad he died, op, yep, I can’t go a fuckin’ day without missin’ him like crazy. What do you even say?” My entire body hurts the more I speak. I cannot handle that I was basically her adopted daughter and now I don’t ever want to talk to her again. It’s too much.
But I’m sitting here with his best friend, and I find myself feeling guilty because I feel more comfortable here than I think I should.
Bobby’s presence soothes me.
Why do I keep thinking that? I swallow everything back, because I don't know how much pain I can take. Cody is gone. Gone. And no amount of feeling like shit over it will bring him back. I need a distraction from everything that is Co
dy’s death in a big, bad, ugly way–just like Bobby does–so here we are.
I pull another bottle of chardonnay, popping the cork and filling our glasses. The pizza sits on our tray as undisturbed as a graveyard. Bobby has taken maybe three bites while I’ve yet to eat my first. All we do is drink and stare at the kitchen walls like they are reading our minds, recording this story of loss and longing.
He pours another glass of wine, so much that I won’t let him drive home with this level of intoxication. I can’t handle the thought of him leaving me alone in this house anyway.
We keep drinking, the wine winding down my pain, dulling my senses as I recall a yesteryear I barely believe I lived. “Cody loved this house. It could’ve fit his childhood home four times over in the square footage.”
“I hate that stupid little house. If Cody’s dad didn’t spend so much on himself he could actually take care of their family. Give ‘em a proper place to live instead of that dump.” Bobby isn’t hiding the anger in his tone, though what he is angry about, I don’t know. Seems to go beyond the sad excuse for a home Cody grew up in. Something else must be on his mind. “I miss Cody all the time. But I don’t miss their house.”
“You know what I miss?” If we’re diving into the past, I’m going to go all the way. No, not all the way, just most of it.
“Tell me?” Bobby genuinely wants to know.
“I miss watchin’ him play. I miss him readin’ his favorite parts of books out loud with no context whatsoever.” Everything I say gets louder, like a release of what is dark inside of me. Record this, kitchen cabinets–tell the story Cody doesn’t get to anymore. “I miss sleepin’ with him.” The way he would touch me when I begged for it. That the first time, our first time, was together.
I’ve never been with anyone else, but I think I could be one day. With the right person. My eyes trace the outlines of Bobby’s pecs through his tight shirt.
I shake my head knowing it must be the alcohol making me think this way.
My heart throbs in my chest, the familiar flame in between my legs begging for my attention. Am I getting turned on because I’m thinking about Cody or because I feel something for Bobby?
This is confusing in all the wrong ways.
“I miss playin’ with him. It’s not the same. Team’s not the same.” Bobby shakes his head. “I mean, he was movin’ on anyway. I just thought I’d still get to watch.”
Wine flows down my throat, and I go and get another bottle. I don’t know why we’re drinking into oblivion, but it feels like the right thing to do. As my inhibitions lower, I go with it, thankful I don’t have to be responsible tonight.
“I’m amazed by your strength,” Bobby says.
“Strength?” I scoff and some wine sprays out of my mouth, onto his face. “Whoops, you just got Chardonn-rained on.”
He chuckles, and his laugh is the sound of heaven, I swear. It’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. Bobby is the funny one–the one that makes other people laugh. It’s rare to hear him chuckling, so rare that it feels like I’ve won the Oscars or something. Bobby doesn’t give out those laughs for just anything. They’re earned.
His t-shirt wipes the wine off his face and when his shirt comes up I see those muscles on his tan skin. Fuck, he’s so chiseled my mouth waters as I stare at that human perfection. The heat in between my legs intensifying.
Bobby is turning me on. Jesus, what am I supposed to do now?
“They say that wine exfoliates better than any acne cream, so you may wanna leave that on those pores of yours.” I pull my fingers to my lips, realizing it probably sounded like I was insulting his skin. My eyes linger on his face, free of any blemishes or scarring so many of us have leftover from high school.
“Bullshit. Wine is not exfoliating at all.” He full on laughs, and I swear to God I’ve never heard anything so everlasting. I laugh with him while he says something funny, but I don’t register what it is because I’m too giddy from the wine.
“Not that you need it. Your skin is astounding, really. I’m envious.”
“Then maybe you need to get Chardonn-rained on, hm?” He splashes his almost empty wine glass at my face.
“Ah!” I push his glass away, taking both of his wrists in mine and he almost falls off the barstool. With quick reflexes, he recovers.
“Bottoms up.” I giggle the whole way through refilling. Full glasses pour, dumping into our mouths–forget savoring–we’re getting hammered, and I’m here for it.
His knee brushes mine and just like when we were on the couch, I feel somethin’. Not knowing what that something is, I lean closer. My hand touches his arm, the connection catching my breath in my throat. Heat surging in my chest, I get closer.
“You feel it?” His eyes beg me and I think about how he rushed away a little bit ago.
You’re scared of this, aren’t you? We’re both terrified, I feel that terror spreading from his soul to mine. It’s an unusual thing to share, and I need to understand why.
“Somethin’.” My eyes find his and it’s a sea of longing. For me? For what may be happening? Like I’m on the Titanic about to sink, I plunge in, icy worry surrounding me because who knows where the fuck this will go?
His face comes close, so close his cheek brushes against mine. Warm, soft, welcoming. It’s like he’s the rescue boat pulling me out of the Titanic just before I drown, lost in the icy depths forever.
He is the heat when I’ve been living in the frigid cold. Like fire and ice, we collide.
“Lexie?” Our noses brush, his hand framing my jaw.
“Yeah?” I choke.
“I’m goin’ to...I’m goin’ to kiss you.” It’s so fucking cute that he said that. His mouth hovers ever so close and the suspense gets me as I search those shining eyes. Lost in time and space, I plead for more.
Heat rises through my middle while his hand moves behind my neck, cradling me like I’m the most valuable thing on this earth.
I breathe, bracing myself as I lean in.
His lips merge with mine, feasting like I’m better than his favorite peach ice cream. Like he’s dying and I’m the medicine that will cure him. Like there’s nothing that could stop him from sharing his passion with me.
And I want him to share every goddamn piece of himself with me from now until the end of forever.
“Like it?” He’s hardly pulled back, so much that the words chafe his mouth against mine.
“Mmm hmm.” I shake my head, a moan escaping as he presses his chest against my perky nipples.
“You want....” His eyes are the deepest blue, hypnotizing me as I struggle to hear his words from the buzzing in my head. “...more?” It’s just this heat between us, his teasing driving me into a frenzy when his lips take me again, tongue flowing with mine to explore.
Fucking hell, this is amazing.
I don’t know if I’m starved for loving or I’m too drunk, but he’s fantastic. His kiss is delectable, forcing me into pleasure I didn’t know was possible. Tantalizing tingles swarm my body while I press closer, my hand teasing his erection under his jeans. He fills my hand and I moan, the lush connection of all he wants and all I need. He’s so fucking hard, for me. I leap off my barstool and onto his lap, his hands going under my ass, bringing me against him.
“Still want?” Sexy silk in his voice makes my lady clench so tight that she’s ready to come.
“Please.” I whisper against his ear while he works away at my shorts with careful attention. His middle finger wraps that perfect part of me and wiggles, the bud of my clit as happy as she’s ever been.
Holy God, is this what it’s supposed to feel like?
A harsh intake of breath has me holding it, my head rearing back. He follows my face with his, touching me, kisses in rhythm with his writhing touch. Oh God above, I didn’t know it could feel so good.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet for me,” he whispers against my ear.
Oh, yes, accurate observation. I’m a river, fully and completely
drenched.
“I knew you had to feel this. I knew it. I kept talkin’ myself out of it, but man, it was here. It’s always been here.” He repositions to bounce me against his cock and my walls clench, imagining how his tip would feel inside of me.
With a stronger urge than I’ve ever felt, I want him to take me here and now.
I shove the pizza pan aside and he lifts my ass against the counter top. There’s a confident smile on his lips as he slides a finger into my core. My body sings under his touch, like he’s my favorite song and I’ll always be singing.
I kiss him back, deeper, harder, all mine.
What are we doing?
Bobby realizes the moment I do that this isn’t alright. We drank too much. He pulls back, looking away and leaving me starved for his connection the moment he withdraws. Like the Titanic broke in half, launching debris, shattering our rescue boat, and I’m sinking into a frozen ocean.
“Fuck.” He shoves his hands in his pockets while his body slams against the wall, hard enough to really hurt. “Fuck, Lexie, I’m drunk. I’m sorry.” He rakes his hands through his hair, pulling tight on those immaculate, deep brown locks.
I hop off the counter–so dizzy I couldn’t pass a concussion test. We didn’t even fuck and I can’t walk straight. What’s he like when he goes all the way?
I need to find out, aftershocks pulsing through me, feeling so good.
My soul deflates when I see his face. Like I’m a balloon and he’s holding a needle, I pop.
His palms press his eyeballs like he wants to push them out of the back of his head. He looks up, showing me everything I don’t want to see.
We’ve just shared something that the only word for is magical. But Bobby isn’t looking magical. Instead I see a mix of pain, torment and regret.
Oh, God.
As much as it felt good to kiss, it now feels just as bad to see what it did to him.
We have to keep this together, because I’m already attached. My teeth chatter, ice flowing from my anxious heart while air goes in, holds, releases.
He’s staring at the wall behind me, swimming in something deep and terrible. I know that look because it looks like how I feel inside, most of the time.
A Game Like Ours: Suncastle College Book One Page 7
