“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he snarls through his teeth.
But I’m done walking away from fights. Frances is back, not the one who continually said yes, who put her head down and did what other’s expected her to do, but the one who bit and clawed and scratched her way both in and out of battles.
“Just drop the fucking holier-than-thou already, okay, Jesse? Because I’m not buying it! I know the real you, and you’re no less of a coward than I am!”
“I am not a coward,” he grits out.
“Then prove it,” I hiss, releasing twin fists of his now crumpled shirt. I throw my arms out to either side, as if daring him to make his move, to show me just how much of a coward he isn’t, to do what we’ve both wanted since that day in the Kansas City bus station even though we’ve both had our reasons to deny ourselves, to make me feel like I’m not a terrible person, to make me feel like there might be something worth sticking around for, to make me feel like…
To make me feel…
His mouth covers mine, stealing my breath and giving it back to me in the span of a single heartbeat. Before I’m even aware of my actions, I’m kissing him back, hungrily and with a desperation and need I didn’t know I possessed. His hands are on my face, warm and pleading, pulling me into him. We fall into the wall, overturning the lamp as we stumble across the room, toward the bed.
His arms slip around me. My lips part between his and his tongue slips across to caress mine. I can’t quite catch my breath, our noses pressed together as I feel him smile against my mouth, their fiery sweetness lingering everywhere his mouth touches. His strong heartbeat pulsates in his fingertips as they follow his kisses down my neck.
We’re both a little bit broken, a little bit tender, a little bit wary of truths we’ve still yet to face. But I don’t want to think about the cracks in my armor anymore. I want him to tear the armor off my body and leave it to rust, forgotten. I want to feel his hands on me, to look him in the eye, to feel his breath against my skin and feel that the elusive promise of happiness, even if it’s as spurious as they come.
There’s no apprehension between us, no hesitation. His movements are sure and deliberate. He’s wonderfully in control, and I find myself happily conceding to his will. There’s nothing but the fanatical desire that comes with truly and desperately wanting another human being.
His fingers tangle in the hem of my shirt, waiting for permission. I lift my arms, feeling the soft fabric pull against my hair as it’s lifted over my head. He pulls my bra straps off my shoulders in the same moment he hits his knees, his mouth level with my now bare breasts. His lips close over one nipple, his tongue brushing over the pebbled skin before his teeth nip in its place. A low whimper hangs in the air a moment before I realize the sound is my own, and I let my head fall back against the wall, closing my eyes and twisting my fingertips through his dark hair. His lips move from one breast to the other, lavishing each with tongue and teeth, his lips brushing over my flushed skin in reverence. I swear, I could lose myself right here, let the pleasure take me. I almost do, allowing a breathless “Fuck me,” to tumble off my lips, the only words I can find the will to say.
With a growl, he climbs to his feet, pulling his shirt over his head. His arms wrap around my thighs and I feel myself lifted off the floor. Large, warm hands cup my ass, my long legs locking around his waist as he swiftly carries me to the bed. He lays me down, his lips never leaving mine even as I nibble playfully at his bottom lip. My hands travel over the indentions of his stomach muscles, over his shoulders and around to the angel bones on his back as he makes quick work of my jeans and panties.
The room has become a blur, a red and gold haze I can’t trouble myself to focus on. My mind, my thoughts, my world are all filled with his touch.
He draws back for only a moment to gaze at my now naked form beneath him. His bare chest rises and falls in deep, needful breaths, his hair falling every which way across his face.
“Are you sure?” he murmurs, running fingertips across my ribcage, down the curve of my hips, brushing my inner thigh with the tenderest of touches.
I smile. Silly, Jesse.
I twist my fingers through his silk hair and find his mouth again. We sink into the bed, and I listen to the clank of a metal belt buckle as it’s stripped away. He parts my legs, lifting my thigh around his waist and I welcome his heat, his light, his want. I tremble at his touch and let his kisses linger, somehow finding heaven on my road to hell.
We lie in bed, spent and sated, our bodies cooling, returning from their trips to euphoria. I’m curled at his side, our legs twisted like unruly vines, my head resting on the flat surface of his stomach as his fingers trace my palm’s lifeline.
Every moment with Jesse is either one polar or the other, day or night, joy or sadness, fire or ice. Being with him is like being burned and not realizing it until a scar appears. We’ve crossed a definite line now; there’s no hope of turning around. I don’t think it will be possible to ever put our feelings for one another back in their carefully labeled containers. But would I want to even if I could?
I can’t remember feeling this happy before. I feel true bliss run through my veins, cliché, and ridiculous, and mine. I cover my face with my hands and squirm down into the covers.
Flashes of Jesse snap in my mind like frames of a well-shot movie, his lips pressed to every inch of my skin, his dark chocolate hair falling over a damp forehead, large hands splayed across my ribcage, so full of want and urge but nevertheless tender, the muscles along his back tensing with his release until we both collapse.
His fingertips travel across the bones in my wrist and up my arm. It’s as if his body is speaking to me. I press my ear to his skin and listen to the steady and strong pulse of his heartbeat. Yeah, definitely speaking to me.
I peel my head off his warm skin and look up into his face. His eyes are staring off into the unseen distance, seeing something I’m not privy too. He’s buried in his thoughts.
“I need to tell you something,” he says, bending his neck to kiss the backs of my fingers. “And you might not like hearing it, but I don’t want you to get mad.”
“When have I ever gotten mad at you?” I tease.
His lips land a kiss at the top of my head. “Good point.” He releases my hand and tucks a chunk of his sweat-soaked hair behind his ear. “I just don’t want to freak you out.”
“Jesse.”
“Okay. Well, last night, when you were telling Martin about our time together…” he drifts off.
“Yeah?” I breathe hesitantly. “What about it?”
“You must have realized how quiet I was.”
“I did,” I answer, resting my chin on his bare chest.
“When you were talking last night I… I realized something. Well, two things but I don’t think that matters. I mean you could probably categorize them together.” He stops again. “Fuck, I sound like an idiot.”
“Hey,” I say, lifting my head off his chest to look at him in earnestness. “You can tell me.”
He inhales for what seems like an eternity, the unending breath filling his chest and ribcage. I feel his body tense beneath my hands.
“Okay,” he says finally. “I realized while you were talking that we’ve been through… a lot together in a short time. But as long as I’m with you, none of the bad stuff seems to like it’s too much to handle. And I guess what I mean is… what I’m trying to say is… even in the rough times I… I don’t think I’ve been ever been happier than when I’m with you.”
My heart practically stills inside my chest.
“Naturally, I began to wonder why that is,” he goes on. “Because it’s not really a normal reaction, to be happy when things are going to shit. And I could only come up with one logical reason. Maybe illogical, I don’t know. But I think that’s the only thing I’ve been remotely sure of my entire life, what I feel for you, I mean. And it’s crazy and strange and terrifying as fuck, but it’s the
re. And it’s real. And even if you’re not ready to hear it — which I’m not sure you are — I just wanted you to know because I don’t plan on letting you slip through my fingers this time around.”
I say nothing, just rest my head back on his torso and curl closer to his side until I’m not sure where my body ends and his begins.
“I know how things work,” he murmurs into the lank waves of my hair. “I know you should be with someone who can take care of you, someone who can give you everything you want and deserve. I have nothing to offer you. But know there’s nothing I want more than to make you happy, and I will do everything I my power to make sure you are.”
I laugh against his skin, amazed at how he can think so little of himself. “Well, that changes things,” I tease, nipping playfully at one of his nipples as a low purr of contentment builds inside his chest. “If your willingness to fight with me is all about my happiness, then bring it on.”
His fingers fist into my hair as I trace his pecs with my tongue. “I think you need someone to fight with you,” he all but moans.
I can’t argue with that. I press my lips softly to his stomach and crush myself to him. It’s as if whatever fortress I’ve built up over the years is gone, crumbled to rock and dust, leaving only a gaping hole and an overwhelming desire to fill it.
I know what I should say to him, what I want to say, what I’m feeling. But I don’t think I’m strong enough to utter the words just yet. They seem so hard to articulate, near impossible to say. To speak them now would be irreversible. They would be permanent and fixed, never to be erased no matter what happens between us in the future.
Jesse laces his fingers between mine and we hold hands as simply as if we’re at a high school dance. It’s not for show, it’s not to teach me some lesson. It’s what he wants, something raw and vulnerable he’s giving without expecting anything in return. It’s holding on, refusing to let go. It’s my hand in his. Simple as that.
I sit up so our faces are even, the impossibly soft sheets slipping down to my waist. I note the curve of his lips as he takes in the sight of my bare breasts. I brush his hair from his forehead and rest my forehead against his.
“Thank you,” I say before leaning in to kiss his mouth.
There’s no way I will ever tire of the way his lips feel on mine.
I stare into his boundless eyes, seeing my reflection in them, wondering when or if I will ever be the woman he sees, the woman I want so badly to be. My hair falls forward over my neck as I hold his forehead to mine wishing I could read his thoughts, wishing he could read mine and know exactly what it is I’m unable to say out loud.
His returning smile is euphoric, pure joy, and I can’t help but wonder if he did read my mind.
I press my face into the crook of his neck. There’s no rhyme or reason behind how fate chooses to put two people together. But I know, now more than ever, that Jesse and I are meant for one another. He is my match, my true path. We just had to take a few detours to find one another first.
His skin is hot under my hands, burning from the inside, just under the surface. He smells sweet, like cinnamon and sweat and earth. I wonder why no other man I’ve been with feels this way, makes me feel this way.
Andrew didn’t. His kisses never started a fire. He didn’t challenge me or push me. He was never open with me, never truly shared his thoughts or fears. And while I loved him — and I did love him once — that love was based on a need for simplicity, for compliance. I’d wanted ease and comfort. And now? Now I want more, need more, more than Andrew could have ever given me or I could have given him in return.
Poor Andrew.
“What are you thinking about?” Jesse whispers.
I decide to be honest. “Andrew.”
“Well, that’s a definite ego-killer.”
I shake my head and laugh. “No. That’s not what I meant.”
“Do you still love him?” he interrupts. I know how difficult a question it must be. A single word from me could shatter his heart.
I choose my words carefully. “I think I’ll always care about him,” I say. “He was huge part of my life and sometimes I was as happy with him as I’ve ever been. But just because he was sweet, and kind, and a lot of wonderful things doesn’t mean he was right for me. Or that I was right for him.”
I pause before continuing. What I’m about to say will hurt like a motherfucker.
“But he didn’t deserve what I did to him,” I breathe, feeling my flesh crawl with my admission. “No one deserves that. I should have talked to him. I should have tried to explain. I thought I was doing the right thing, but now… now I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for the way I handled things. I just wish he knew that. I wish I could tell him I’m sorry.”
“Why don’t you?” Jesse’s reply catches me off guard.
“What do you mean?”
“Why don’t you tell him? Call him. Tell him you’re sorry.”
I glance over Jesse’s body at the phone on the nightstand. After all the denying and shame and wrestling with the guilt, it can’t be as uncomplicated as picking up a phone.
Can it?
I don’t answer. I lay my head back on his chest and let the warmth and care of the man holding me in his arms, and the abating drowsiness finally lull me to sleep.
18.
“So, this is what a bride is supposed to look like.”
My reflection, a woman in white, stared back at me from the long, full-length mirror hanging inside the tiny room just off the church’s main vestibule. She was a stranger to me. a ghost floating in a world of glass and clouds, a world just out of reach.
I had been primped, polished, pinned, make-upped, and dressed without a fight before being driven to the church in a daze, more zombie than a living, breathing person. And I did look pretty. My long dark hair was styled into a river of cascading curls and waves, my cheeks and eyes shimmering with a glow I could have never achieved without professional help. Even my dress was lovely, the gown having been altered and missing a few extra pounds of the lace and fluff it possessed when I’d tried it on months ago.
I reached up to touch my mouth, smudging some of the lipstick and leaving a stain on my fingertips. The girls did a good job in preparing me.
Preparing. It sounded like I was lamb being led to slaughter.
Maybe I was.
“What am I doing?”
But there was no one around in the dimly lit room to answer. I was alone, now more than ever, left to my thoughts with an ugly, retro painting of Jesus hugging a small child as my only company.
Colored lights streamed in through a stained-glass window, falling across the floor in reds and blues, pinks fraternizing with yellows, green intermingling with purple. I stepped slowly under the cascading rays and spun under the daylight, wanting so much to be a part of the glow.
My dress turned from white to green to orange to yellow and back to green as I swayed beneath the colors, the light falling across my arms and face like a bath. I could almost feel the different hues on my skin, the warm touch of sunlight on my upturned face.
“Well aren’t you a bride of a different color.”
I stopped my spinning. Andrew’s face peeked around the doorframe, followed by the rest of his well-dressed figure as he stepped into the room. He looked quite dashing in his black tuxedo and silver vest, his crisp white shirt fitting just under his chin, held in place by a solid black tie. His blonde hair was parted to one side, showing off bright baby blues that stared at me in adoration as he shut the door behind him.
My eyes went wide at the sight of him. There he stood, strong and steadfast, the very essence of a perfect man. My husband to be. My world. My future.
Right?
“Don’t give me that look.” His rich bass voice sounded out of place in the seclusion and quiet of my room. “You don’t really believe that old superstition, do you?”
He obviously took my startled expression to mean something else. I cleared my throat
. “What superstition?”
“I know the groom isn’t supposed to see the bride before the wedding, but I just couldn’t wait to see you.”
“Oh. Right.” I put a hand to my forehead and felt the startling heat. “That one.”
He placed his hands on my waist. “My God, you look absolutely beautiful,” he said, bending to kiss my cheek. “Breathtaking. Really.”
“Thank you,” I answered, unsure of what to say, what to do, where to look. Something had changed, something I couldn’t name or place. “You look handsome yourself.”
“I do clean up well, don’t I?” He laughed.
I should tell him. I should say something, anything! Maybe his bravado is just a show. Maybe he’s just as unsure as I am.
“I love you so much, Frances,” he said as he pulled me into a tight embrace. “And I’m so excited to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Okay. So, maybe not quite as unsure.
I didn’t know what to say, what to ask. The thoughts and questions swirling around inside my head seemed harsh and demanding, and more than anything I didn’t want to hurt him.
I pulled back and looked up into his face, so full of love, so trusting, all placed in me.
“Where do you see us, Andrew?”
He chuckled out of politeness. “I thought we were in a church, but I have been wrong before.”
“No. Don’t do that.” I held his face between my trembling hands. “Don’t make jokes. Just answer the question. Where do you see us? Where will we be in five years from now? Or ten?”
“I don’t know, Frances,” he answered, his smile vanishing as he stepped away from my touch. “I can’t tell the future any more than you can. But I kind of like it that way, don’t you?”
I decided to rephrase the question. “Okay. Where would you like to see us?”
His eyebrows knit together, his forehead creasing with a mixture of confusion and irritation.
“Well,” he answered after a moment. “I would like to see us married. Happy, of course, living in a big house in a city where our kids can go to the best schools and have all of life’s opportunities at their fingertips. You can work. Or not, if you want. I’ll be teaching politics at a top university. Cornell, maybe? Stanford? And eventually I’ll work my way up to chair of the department. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll run for mayor or state senate or something, just for kicks.” He smiled as if the idea wasn’t quite as ludicrous as he’d like me to believe. He spun to slip his arms around, holding his hands over my stomach.
One More For The Road Page 19
