by Ace Gray
“Sometimes I feel like it might. Like saying sorry might prevent it.”
“You.” James leans in and presses his lips like a whisper against mine. “You are all I need to keep the world from ending.” His words dance and tickle my most sensitive skin. “And I make no apologies about saying that.”
Then he kisses me as if to prove each and every word he said is true, and I decide for the first time, I will be tearing one of my letters to shreds.
“So everything is great now?” Courtney asks before casually sipping a beer across my bar.
“I mean, I wouldn’t go straight to great but they’re good,” I answer as I double check an invoice against the liquor boxes in front of me.
“Why do you stay if things are just good?”
“Because I’m half the reason things aren’t great.” I shrug. “I can’t walk out on him just because it’s not perfect.”
“That seems a tad level headed for you.”
Rather than reply, I sear her with a look over the top of the paperwork in my hand.
“What? You know I’m just being honest.”
“Sometimes your honesty is just repackaged negativity.” I shoot her a wide, phony smile before I round the bar and head for my office.
“You’re just going to walk away?” Courtney asks as she follows me down the hall.
“Yeah, Courtney. I am. I’m working.” I sit and start filing. “It’s not personal. Unlike half the shit you say to me.”
“This is what you’re going to grow a backbone over?” she scoffs.
“Being treated like crap? You bet.”
“He treats you like crap.” Her beer sloshes when she gestures down the hall and runs into James’ chest instead.
“He is trying very hard not to,” he says slowly, deliberately, and in a voice that equal parts scares and thrills me.
“You have no idea what it’s like to pick up the pieces that you leave behind,” she snaps.
“No. I don’t. Not like you do.” He sighs. “But I fight my own battles because of the things that happened between us before.”
“Oh really? This two weeks of sleeping together has made you an expert?”
James looks like he’s been sucker punched and it’s the hurt on his face that makes my fury flare. I shoot to standing and whirl on her. She steps back, sloshing her beer again.
“What’s your problem, Court? We’re going day by day. They’re not all perfect but…”
“They’re worth it,” James finishes my sentence as his long finger bends so he can brush his knuckle down my hand.
And he’s right. Since we slept together that first time, each day has been worth it. The smiles, the jokes, the endless kisses. Every day is worth fighting for.
She stares long and hard at us. At the small distance between us, and the tiny intimate gesture of James’. She studies my face—which I refuse to let shift or waver—before narrowing her gaze as she does the same to James.
“I’m not asking for your blessing, Court. I’m not asking anyone for anything except for James to love me.” My eyes drift to his and the corner of his smile turns up when our eyes connect. “I’m not expecting anything to happen except for us to try.”
He laces his hand fully into mine.
“They say when you meet your soulmate that it isn’t wild chases and crazy drama, but instead comfortable. Like you were always meant to be there.” Courtney shakes her head.
“I was always meant to be here,” I say sharp and sure. “But it’s naive as hell to think it’s easy. That any relationship is.” I press up against James and he tightens his grip on my hand. “That doesn’t make it any less worthwhile.”
“You’re going to get hurt,” she warns but it lacks the bite of her words before.
“Maybe.” I look over at James again, steady and strong, unwavering in his hold on me or in the way he stands against Courtney’s barrage. I smile at the gorgeous man, holding tight to me when it would be very easy to run. “Then again, maybe not.”
“Did you mean it?” James asks on the steps up to my front door.
“Mean what?” I turn back toward him to find him looking up, eyes shining in the moonlight. Clear ice even though he sat quietly at my bar and drank for over three hours waiting for me to get off.
“What you said to Courtney?”
“Every single word.”
“Good,” he says darkly as he steps up even with me.
I have to tilt my head to look up at him and he uses the moment to press me backward. I stumble back into the door, but before I can right myself, he’s pressing his body up against mine. He lays his palms flat on the wood beside my head and angles his lips so they are just a breath away. I reach to kiss him, but he pulls back, not enough to sting but enough. I stick my bottom lip out in a pout, and he takes the opportunity to snatch it between his teeth.
One of his hands slides into the back of my pants, one of them to the door knob. As soon as he turns it, we crash backward. The thump against my back and his hand doesn’t feel great but the press of James to my front is exquisite. He lets go of my lip and bends to nip at my neck, my collarbone, and the swell of my breast before he kicks the door shut behind him.
I can’t help but groan.
These are the moments that are easy. The ones where I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wants me, and I forget to question his motives. I forget my name. Only that my pulse radiates from where he touches me.
He grabs my hand and presses it to his fly, encouraging me to stroke. “I’ve had that since you stood up to her.”
“Liar,” I accuse in between kisses, complete with a smile on my face.
“Swear. You’ll see when I don’t last long.”
“James…” I drag out his name and transform it into another moan.
“That’s going to make it worse. You saying my name always makes it worse.” He barely stops his trail of soft nips and deep kisses to get his words out.
“I know the feeling.” I lean back against the wall, sagging almost completely.
“Mina,” he says with a wicked little lilt. “I’m going to fuck you right here because I can’t wait. Not after I’ve been waiting forever to be allowed to feel this way about you.”
“Shit,” I swear as my eyelids flutter shut.
“What?”
“This is hot. Hearing you say that is hot.”
“Good.”
He uses the hand resting inside the back of my pants to shove. Denim rucks up against my hips, digging in, and I wince but he just presses harder. When my tight jeans finally give way, he shoves them straight for the ground. Without any ceremony he turns me to face the wall and pulls my hips toward him. I’m a little tangled in my jeans but the urgency he handles me with erases my self-consciousness and the awkwardness. I brace my hands against the wall in front of me and surrender to James. It’s served me well so far.
The telltale sound of his zipper makes me shiver as I sit waiting—no begging—for him. A second later the rip of the condom wrapper traps my breath in my lungs, and I roll my head forward. All I want is him. To feel the want he has for me and the way he expresses it best.
He shoves into me unceremoniously and I cry out.
“Sorry.” His voice is strangled and his movements jerky as he shoves up my shirt and pulls down my bra. A few of the delicate seems pop and tear.
“Sweet Jesus,” I manage.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” he breathes as he bites my shoulder.
“I don’t fucking care.”
He tweaks on my nipples as he slowly moves inside me. I can’t help but swear again as I roll my forehead back and forth. His other hand slips between my thighs and circles. And he picks up pace. Because he knows he can. He already knows those bits about my body.
I bite my bottom lip as his hands stop moving and he starts digging in. Small, agonized sounds escape his lips, guttural, primal, and about to fall apart. He clings tighter to me, pulling me back from the wall and up aga
inst his chest. He kisses the curve of my neck as he keeps moving inside me, my hands thread to clasp his. His grip shifts infinitesimally so that his fingers can twine with mine and I soften to putty in his grip.
He keeps going, using my body, and I can’t do anything but go along for the ride. I don’t want to either. And as he shoves in and stills, he bites down on the curve of my neck. I cry out and dig my hands harder into his.
James is whimpering against my skin, his teeth still holding firm, puffs of breath vibrating down into my bones. My only sound is my heavy breathing. My only thought is the way he feels against me. Inside me. Holding strong.
I shudder in his arms and it’s enough to make him come back to life enough to lick the skin that bears his teeth marks. Then he kisses it gently. With his lips pressed to my skin, I can feel him shaking. I hold him all the tighter, even laying my arms against his and leaning my temple to his.
“Did you come?” he asks with his lips brushing my earlobe.
“Don’t ask that.” I nuzzle into him.
“I have to ask that.”
“It’s not always about that. Not for me.” I squeeze harder on him.
“Mina—”
“I mean it, James. God…” I sigh. “The little bites you give. The hickey that’s probably going to linger on my neck. The way you’re holding me. Still.”
“I owe you.” He’s not convinced.
“James, I love the orgasms, but I’ve had them before. I mean they weren’t as good, but…ya know.” A wild blush blooms across my cheeks and my throat dries up, but I force myself to continue. “But being wanted so badly—and by you no less—that my face print is on my entryway paint…” I try to whistle but I can’t, “that’s something I’ll never forget.”
He lets go and slips out of me. I can’t help but wince and he turns me at the sound.
“You mean that?”
“I felt like you really couldn’t wait. Not even the twenty seconds it would take to walk through my house and up the stairs.”
“It is a very long staircase.” He mercifully smirks.
“Every woman wants to be wanted like that. Needed like that.” I let a lazy smile spread. “Specially by someone who they’ve always felt the same way about.”
He smiles, this time so wide and shy and genuine. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”
“Now that, I can do.”
The first thing I notice are the long legs woven in with mine. My feet are warm—too warm honestly—but I refuse to pull away. Instead, I catalog the feel, the muscles taut against mine, soft hair tickling my skin. The soft sound of his breathing.
I can’t help but smile.
His husky chuckle answers. “You awake?”
I purr as I snuggle into him. “No,” I answer when his arms wrap around me.
“We just gonna lay in bed all day?”
I just nod against his chest and he laughs again.
“Seems like a waste.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.” I wiggle my eyebrows.
“Oh yeah?” He arches his as he climbs over me and uses the tangle of our legs to his advantage and spreads mine.
“Yeah.” I put my fingers to his chest and let them leisurely walk down his body. I graze the tip of his morning wood and—
The buzz of a text message pulls me up short for just a second. I’m about to resume my game when three more texts come in rapid fire. I look to my bedside table for my phone and it’s sitting silent on my nightstand.
“That’s yours, James.”
It buzzes two more times, sending it precariously close to the edge of the shelf next to his adopted side of the bed. He eyes it warily, and as if it knows, it buzzes again. He folds down to his elbow, letting his weight rest on me as he grabs it. I let my fingertips wander his chest a little more as he takes one look at his screen then shoves his phone back onto the shelf without so much as a second glance.
“Where were we?” He bends down to kiss me, but the words are hollow and the kiss seems flat too.
I push against his chest until he lifts himself back up. His eyes drift to his phone again.
“You can get it if you want. I don’t mind.” I smile as reassuringly as I can and let my thumb drift up along his bottom lip. He traps it between his teeth, but his focus is still blurred.
My insides flip.
The distance is a Deja vu I’m not really equipped to handle. Not yet anyway. It’s been a few weeks since the night that he left, but a few weeks doesn’t erase everything, it just dulls the edges. This is only the second morning that he’s stayed, and fifty percent has never been a passing grade.
And on that note, is he even here if his eyes drift from me and into space? If his phone is monopolizing his attention? Even if he’s not admitting it? If he’s ly—
I stop myself. Because I have to. Because I can’t keep doing this to him. Or me. He’s here and because he wants to be. My smile spreads as I pull up the highlight reel of his hands on me. His lips. The bites. The kisses.
He responds, finally focusing back in on me, dropping my thumb and answering my broad smile. “Let’s go get breakfast.” He jerks his chin in the general direction of my front door.
“What happened to lying in bed all day?” I try everything in my power to keep my insecurity from flaring in my chest.
“I’m antsy. I need to move.”
“I was planning to be on top but if you insist…” I try for a joke but it falls flat.
“No. I mean get outside with the fresh air, sunshine, that whole thing.” He doesn’t even hesitate at the riding him reference. Instead he rolls off me and out of bed, pulling on his boxers in an oddly smooth move.
The last five minutes whiz through my head. Each word, gesture, evaluated as I search for the reason things shifted so fast. As I search for whatever I did wrong. I push up to sitting, vaguely remembering that I need to function for the sole reason that I am in front of him and he said that we can’t have this fight again. I have to wage the war inside myself, by myself.
“Hey,” James leans back in and tucks a finger under my chin, “don’t think I won’t take you up on that ride later.” His hand slides down my neck to the purpling bruise at the curve of my neck, and his thumb traces his handiwork. “Matter of fact, I think there will be a lot of taking, so fuel up.” He bends down and bites my earlobe before he presses a kiss below my ear.
I tell myself that’s all this is—a meal, some sustenance, a chance to see sunshine—and nothing more. I have to repeat it the entire time I get dressed and even as he holds my hand while we walk toward my favorite coffee shop.
James doesn’t pull me from my thoughts. He doesn’t say much of anything. But his phone—his little devil of a phone—keeps buzzing like crazy.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” I ask when we finally sit down with our coffee. He checks the screen once and his whole face narrows.
“I have no interest of being on my phone when I’m here with you,” he says, throwing the phone face down onto the table.
“I believe you,” I say as I cradle my mug to my lips. “I just think when someone is trying that hard, maybe it’s something important.”
“It’s not,” he says darkly as his eyes drift away from mine. “It’s nothing, from no-one,” he adds just as they call our name for our pastries and such. He stands abruptly from the table and skulks away, an almost one-eighty from the man I had in my bed this morning.
I blow out a deep breath to steady myself. My fingers itch to turn over the phone. My mind starts sloshing around, the telltale sign of a tsunami style wave of doubt about to crash on me. But then I stop myself. I force myself to remember his words—his plea—to stop having the same fight. For me to believe him when he says things. That he has fought for me. There’s still a tightness in my chest, but I manage. I manage to come back and land two feet in our relationship despite how weird he’s being.
He sets down my warm ham and cheese croissant in front of me then circ
les, placing both his cinnamon roll and peanut butter chocolate cookie next to his cappuccino. He doesn’t look at me as he starts picking at the crumbly bits of the cookie.
“James—”
“It’s Jenna, okay. She just found out that I moved.”
I’d meant to reassure him but now…That name is the pinprick to my morning, the one that sends my insides leaking until I lay defeated on the floor.
“Jenna, as in Jenna, Jenna?” The words are squeaky and hard to manage.
He says nothing.
“Jenna as in on-again, off-again, Jenna?”
“She was in Spain when I decided to move.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I’m caught on equal parts why does it matter and why didn’t you?
Then of course there’s the why in the fuck is she still in your life? Eight years. If I do the math, they have been dating and destroying each other for over eight years. Why can’t he shake her? She treats him like shit, he won’t commit to her. He won’t commit so she treats him like shit. They have a co-dependency that neither of them will admit to.
And it’s still going on.
My heart sinks. He’s always had one foot out the door with Jenna, I’ve just never figured out if that was because he was coming or going. Either way it’s a reminder of all the ways he’s bad at this. All the issues that he has with relationships. How many talks did we have about this when we were friends back then?
There always comes a point where he wants space and time and what’s worse is that he can’t communicate that well. It turns into fights and blame because it’s easier for him to point a finger than it is to be honest with himself.
This exact thing happened to us before.
It’s why he said what he said and broke my heart the way he did. It’s why the letters exist and trust between us doesn’t.
It’s why I’m asking myself, what have I done?
“Mina,” James says my name in a way that tells me he said something that I should have answered before.
“Hmm?” I don’t make an excuse. I don’t trust myself with that many words right now.
