by JD Hawkins
And she’s not the only one taking photos.
I kick my feet up on the ottoman and open my photos app to kill time while I wait.
Pictures of Melina moving in, my parents with us, after my dad borrowed a truck to help her. We spent the evening having an impromptu, private housewarming over a dinner I made.
A year ago I would have called everything in these pictures crazy. An impossibility. Me back in Cali, my parents back together, sitting across a table from me holding hands. Melina moving into my place, sharing kisses as easily as we share laughter. These are things I didn’t even dare to dream about. I spent so long digging my heels in, going so hard in New York, running that same cycle of fast women and cars, trying to turn the superficial into a kind of life—and all it took was a few months back home to find everything I ever wanted.
I scroll down a little further. Game night, all the families there, everyone together.
We made it official that night, at the Buchanans’ place. Arriving as a couple and telling both her parents and the Buchanans—the last to know, but maybe the most enthusiastic about it. Marsha and Bob immediately wanted to do something to show their happiness, hooking us up with a weekend trip to Vegas, including reservations at Verité.
The game we’d played was Monopoly, and in keeping with the theme of my parents and now us, we split off into couples to play. Melina and I got trounced—nearly bankrupt and nearly out of the game almost as soon as it began—but hey, we’re still finding it hard to focus on other things when we’re around each other.
Another picture I stop at, of Melina elegantly sprawled on my bed, nothing but a pair of boyshorts on and a phone to her ear, deep in conversation with yet another client. A picture of her pulling a silly face over a poker table in Vegas. A picture of us together on one of our long walks through Santa Monica, where we talk like the old days: except this time there’s no invisible wall between us, no self-consciousness holding us back. A picture of her taking a picture of me.
They ain’t masterpieces; they don’t have any of the artistry or composition that she puts into hers, but they’re real, and they’re just for me. Moments I want to preserve the same way I preserved all those memories of her when I was in New York, even though I know the rest of my life will be full of them. I’m making sure of that.
“Almost ready?” I call out.
“Yeah, I’m done…just gimme five. Gotta find shoes!”
I pocket the phone and stand up, going over to the mirror to check myself. I straighten out my suit a little, pat my blazer, checking the bulge in the inside pocket for the thousandth time today.
I never knew what nerves were until this moment, never knew what it was like to feel anxious before I had something to lose.
I move to the bedroom—the door’s closed—and stand outside.
“Hey, we should really get going. It’ll be an hour to the beach, at least. My parents will be halfway through their vows by the time we…wow.”
I can say nothing else when Melina opens the door, frozen in place by how incredible she looks, breathless at that little red dress. A beauty bordering on superpower, so different from how she usually dresses, and so recognizably, overtly, her. As if she’s finally embracing just how sexy and striking she is, instead of hiding it.
She shimmies a little, pulling down the dress on her thighs, shifting a little on those tall black heels.
“I feel kinda showy,” she says, flicking her side-braided hair. “I never wear stuff like this…what do you think?”
I can barely speak—my mouth too dry, and all the breath stuck in my body. Even if I could say something, no words could express what I’m seeing, the powerful lust she’s driving around my body now. I step toward her and pull her by those curvy hips toward me, hands running down the slinky fabric as I kiss her soft lips, sending a message with my hungry tongue and grabbing hands.
“Wyatt…” she giggles softly, sighing as I move my lips down to her neck, “we should get going…”
“They can wait,” I murmur against her throat. “I can’t…”
We get to Malibu late, so that we’re ushered immediately through the ritzy coastal hotel to the private section of beach where everybody’s already seated. My parents are already there, milling about the arch in front of the pastor, waiting for the last arrivals. Melina and I shimmy through and take our seats at the front, the chatter of the crowd lowering itself.
I hear Aiden somewhere behind me say, “No question what kept them late,” and glance over my shoulder to shoot him a look. He returns it with a wink and I turn back to the front.
It’s strange seeing your parents get re-married. Most people don’t see it the first time, and seeing it happen right there, after everything, I can’t deny their love any more than I can deny my own. I never really got to see them look at each other like that, say those kinds of things to each other, or make those kinds of promises. I spent more of my adult life watching them fight and be cold to each other than I ever did this, but as they read their vows I see it all for what it was. Undeniable love. All the hate and the hurt and the heated arguments that scarred me so much were just a part of it. It only hurt me because I loved them, and they only hurt each other for the same reason. You don’t get to care about something so much without dealing with a little pain—the choice you get to make is which to cling to.
I think about all these things today, as my stomach turns and my skin prickles in a way I’m not used to.
“You ok?” Melina asks, when we’re sitting around the tables in the hotel hall we booked, a band playing jazzy Elvis covers as we eat and drink and dance. “You’re pretty quiet…”
“I’m great,” I say, putting a hand on her thigh and looking at her with a sense of awe. “In fact, I’m better than I’ve ever been.”
I lean over to kiss her and she smiles, though she still looks a little uncertain. After we’ve celebrated for hours, shared congratulatory hugs and kisses, made all the old jokes again, and torn up the dance floor, I take Melina’s hand and lead her outside for some air.
She kicks off her heels as we step onto the cooling sand, back where the tiki lamps are still lit—the same orange, fuzzy glow as the sun sinking into the Pacific. We hold hands as we walk out a little, listening to the wash of the ocean waves mix with the faint laughter and cheers from the hotel behind us.
I turn to look at her. In the dark, she seems to shine. Those incredible eyes catching the dying rays of the sun, her lips glistening. She looks back at me and laughs gently.
“What’s funny?” I ask.
She shakes her head as if overwhelmed.
“I just…” Her eyes meet mine. “I can’t imagine how this could be any more perfect.”
There’s a moment, one where we almost seem to connect without words. Two people so aligned that we become one just by looking at each other.
“Well, I can.” I take a step back from her and get down on one knee. “Melina…”
She gasps as I reach into the inside pocket of my jacket for that small box, her eyes getting as big as the sun, her lips parting though her breath is held.
“My life began the first night we spent together,” I say, flipping the box open to reveal the ring. A promise that this’ll last forever. “I don’t ever want to go back to the person I was before, the life I had before. I don’t ever want to be the man who didn’t have you by his side.”
She smiles, bringing her hands to her mouth.
“This isn’t as good as it can get,” I continue, “but this is the start of something, of us. I love you, Melina. I’m never going to love anything anyone else like you. Will you be my wife?”
Melina’s eyes go from me to the ring and back again. The rest of the world seems to fade, time itself stopping me in this moment forever. Maybe it lasts seconds, maybe decades, but I feel like I’m hanging on a tightrope, like everything I’ve ever lived through balances on this moment, like this will make or break me.
She heaves a breath fi
nally, and as if her body comes to life with it, she shrieks and nods.
“Of course!” she says, almost shrieking it. “Yes, Wyatt. Yes.”
She shivers as she says it, bouncing on the balls of her feet and blinking with excitement. I pluck the ring from the box and hold it out as she puts forward a trembling hand, steadying her as I push the ring onto her finger.
I stand up and we crash into each other, our lips meeting in a tender kiss. A sealing of the deal, grounding ourselves back in reality, in each other.
When I pull back to look into her eyes I see them filled with shock and excitement, and draw a thumb across her cheek to wipe away the happy tear there.
We hear the faint sounds of the hotel rise a little in a communal laugh, and Melina glances toward it.
“We should get back and tell everyone,” she says.
“Hold on,” I say, pulling my phone from my pocket and holding it up to get us both in the frame. Melina smiles shyly, and I take the picture.
“I’m gonna have to give you some tips on your photography,” she murmurs happily, as her head falls against my chest, gazing out to the ocean.
I laugh. “You might have the talent—but I’ve got the better subject.”
She laughs with me, and I hold her a little tighter.
I look out as the sun disappears, the horizon seeming infinite and inviting—just like our future. The gentle chatter and thrum of our families somewhere behind us, Melina nuzzling herself against my chest like she’s planning to stay there for the night.
I know I’ll remember this forever, when we’re old and retired, when we’ve got our own kids to worry about, a whole shelf of photo albums and a whole lifetime of memories. I know I’ll keep this moment as fresh in my mind as it is right now.
A memory more vivid than any photograph.
Epilogue
Melina
I stay at my parents’ house during the days leading up to the wedding. Winnie stays there too, and Becca comes so early and leaves so late she may as well be sleeping over with us.
I thought I’d be nervous. All the attention on me. All of the organization and planning that goes into a wedding where the families are so close and yet so different. But a lot’s happened in the year since Wyatt proposed. My photography work has brought me to three different continents, across half of America, and paid me more money than I’d made in my entire life up until last year. Wyatt has been busy, too—starting up his own consultancy firm in L.A.
It’s hard to feel so anxious about your life when you’re killing it doing what you love, and besides—everyone around me seems even more anxious about today than I am.
I wake up to the sound of Winnie’s frantic voice from downstairs, as she panics about her bridesmaid dress.
“The skirt is too short!”
“It’s fine, Winnie,” my mom says. “You look great.”
“But look at Becca and then look at me—I’m showing way too much leg!”
“You’re just taller than me, Winnie,” I hear Becca say faintly.
“Well then we have to accommodate for that! This is a wedding, my baby sister’s only wedding—I can’t be looking all trampy! Listen, I know a tailor in Westwood. If we go now we can get this all taken care of before lunchtime. Come on, Becca.”
“I’ll take you girls then,” my dad says. “I may as well stop by Wyatt’s anyway.”
“Oh, I’ll come with you, Greg,” my mom says. “I’m supposed to pick up some things before I meet Marsha and Elise.”
I hear a flurry of banging and clanging, then the door shutting behind them all as they chatter their way outside.
I’ve barely woken up, and I’m already alone. I lay in bed, laughing a little at how I seem to be the last of anyone’s concerns. I guess everyone knows they don’t have to worry about me or Wyatt.
I push the covers off me, wearing nothing but a slip and panties, and stretch out on the bed. It’s strange waking up without Wyatt there. Despite everything that’s happened with my career, he’s been there through all of it, even coming on some of the trips with me. A part of me like I’m a part of him—and I only really notice how inseparable we’ve gotten now that he’s not here.
I hear the door click and open downstairs, then listen for signs of who it might be—probably someone forgetting something and coming back for it. I get a little curious though when I hear the footsteps go up the stairs, approach the bedroom door, and then the turn of the door knob…
“Wyatt!” I hiss, when he reveals himself behind it.
I sit up quickly and he approaches, a big, mischievous smile like he’s skipping school.
“Hey you,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling my face toward his.
We kiss, his lips making my body a little lighter, and then I pull back and shoot him a shocked look again.
“You’re not supposed to be here! You can’t see me before the wedding.”
“Isn’t that when you’re wearing the dress?”
“That’s beside the point,” I say dismissively. “I’m sure you’ve got lots to do.”
“But only one thing on my mind,” Wyatt says, hitting me with the cowboy eyes and the bad boy smile as he runs his fingers up my bare thigh.
“I’ve got tons to do.”
“Oh yeah,” he says, as his fingers move up my slip to my midriff. “Tell me about it.”
“Well, I’ve still got to figure out the bouquet. I mean, I’ve got a dozen choices but—ooh,” I gasp a little, his fingers curling into my panties, “Marsha and Winnie have been arguing about…mmm…it for days… And then there’s the…” He’s coaxing me now, teasing all kinds of sizzling waves through me, those eyes fixing me in place like a vice. “There’s the…um…ring…cushion thing… Mmm…and the…the…fuck…”
I fall back onto the bed, arching and twisting at every touch. He lays beside me, his hands down my panties, pinching and stroking and pulsing inside me. Sensations swirling between a hard desire and soft submission. I feel his breath on my neck, his stubble on my jaw, as he comes close and bites me softly, kissing a line down my neck, dipping his head to suck my nipple between his teeth.
“Today’s the day I make you mine,” he whispers as he pushes his finger deeper inside, curling back to hit my G-spot and opening up a whole new level of sensation that I can only handle by squealing tightly. “Every…part…of you.”
A year’s a long time, and Wyatt’s a quick learner. He knows all my spots, all the things that make me lose control. His fingers thrust and stroke and bend inside of me and I melt into him, lose myself in his touch, his words becoming reality as he marks me with every press of lips and tongue and teeth. He brings things out of me I didn’t know were there. As if his fingers are working my very soul, charming it out and teasing it into this ecstasy, making my entire being vibrate to his rhythm.
“Mine…Melina…” he whispers. I feel something start to break, my body unable to resist any longer, no barriers between my orgasm and his intent anymore. “My girl…my love…my wife…”
I feel a rush explode deep inside and radiate through my body, dissolving into my helpless moans, my hands grabbing fistfuls of sheets, my hips thrusting back and forth as I ride out the wave. A hot flush of happiness following the release. I feel like I’m sinking into the bed and floating in the sky at the same time. Nobody can make me come like this man.
It takes a whole minute for me to catch my breath, to remember where I am and what just happened. I open my eyes and see Wyatt there, watching me still, his eyes a little softer now. He leans over and presses a kiss on my lips, though I can barely move, body still comfortably numb.
The sound of a car pulling up outside makes him jolt back, the familiar voices of Winnie and Becca still fussing as a door slams.
“Shit,” he says, moving toward the window—just like he used to when we were kids and he’d shimmy down the drainpipe. “I’d better go.”
I reach out to hook a hand on his neck and pull him
back toward me, one last kiss.
“Next time we see each other,” I say, “we’ll be taking our vows as husband and wife.”
Wyatt smiles, and there’s no mischief in it this time. No wry, knowing cockiness or playful reticence. It’s just genuine happiness.
“Yeah…we will,” he says, a faraway look in his eyes. “You nervous?”
He puts his hand on mine, and I interlace my fingers with his.
“Not at all,” I smile back. “We got this.”
“Yes we do.”
Thanks for reading!
Want more JD? Check out the first chapter of his last book, LOVE & INK! Available on Amazon now!
Chapter One
Ash
Today’s the day. I know exactly what I want, where I’m going to do it, and who I want to do it to me.
The tattoo shop casts an edgy, looming presence over the sunny morning street in south Echo Park. Its dark colors dramatic against the corporate signage and clean windows of the coffee shops and vintage clothing stores beside it. Detailed images of skulls and roses cover the windows, hiding what’s behind them, like the dark brooding scowl of a bad kid daring you to engage with him. I can feel my pulse kick up a few notches the closer I get.
Even as I pull up outside to park, I see one tatted-up person enter, another black-clad person leave. Mandala Ink isn’t the biggest tattoo spot in Los Angeles—it might not even be the busiest—but it’s by a long margin the best. Maybe even in the whole of California. To get a tattoo anywhere else is to settle for less, everyone knows that. Even me, and I’ve never even gotten one before—but I did months of online research and scoured thousands of pictures of tattoo art before deciding on this artist and this studio. With a waiting list six months long and a strict no walk-ins policy that applies to even the biggest rock stars and film celebrities, it feels almost like a blessing that I’m gonna get my tattoo here. Six months wasn’t enough to change my mind, but it’s done little to ease my nerves now that I’m finally right outside the place.
