by Roan Parrish
I also realized that he’d tied something around her neck with a red ribbon.
“Jesus, you’re lucky you didn’t get mauled,” I muttered. Shelby loved Rafe, but she didn’t like anything tied around her, ever. I carefully tugged at the ribbon, and Shelby started batting at it, like it was … well, a ribbon. When I went to untie it, she attacked my hand, wrapping her front paws around my wrist and scrabbling at my forearm with her back paws.
“Ouch! Damn, Shelby!”
I pulled my arm back livid with scratches.
Rafe dropped next to me on the couch and took my wrist in his hand.
“Sorry,” he murmured, dropping a kiss on the broken skin. “That was romantic in my head.”
“Yeah, if your idea of romance is a blood oath.”
I could have sworn Rafe’s eyes darkened at that, but then he reached over me and tugged the knot free, dropping the ribbon and the envelope it was tied to in my lap.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, and kissed my cheek.
“Thanks,” I said, getting lost in the feel of his soft lips on my skin, the smell of him. I reached up to touch his hair, then remembered I still held the envelope. “Oh, right.”
The note inside said, Next weekend: just us, the beach house, and a bed. Join me? Then there was a picture of the beach house in Ocean City that Rafe had inherited from his friend Javier. We’d spent our first Christmas together there, right after Pop had died, when I’d been an utter mess. It had been bittersweet: an escape from real life and into what it could be like to have a life with Rafe. This summer we’d gone down a few times, though, seeking to lance the bitter memories and make new, sweeter ones. Mission definitely accomplished.
In February, with no tourists around, the Ocean City house would be private and quiet, the beach an empty stretch we could walk along and stare at the gray ocean. I loved it there. I love what I could be when there was no one to expect anything of me, to need anything from me, except Rafe.
I smiled at him.
“This sounds great. Thank you.”
“I checked your schedule at the shop, and it didn’t say you had anything for the weekend, so I hope it’s good timing.”
“It’s perfect.”
I kissed him, pulling the elastic out of his hair so I could feel it between my fingers. Under the elastic, at the center, it was still a little damp, and I could imagine him getting home and showering before he started cooking dinner. I shivered as his arm came around me and stood up, breaking the kiss.
“Um, do you want to watch a movie?” I asked.
Rafe narrowed his eyes.
“Ah, sure, if you want.”
I busied myself with the remote, flicking through our queue without seeing any of the titles, the images swimming in front of my eyes.
“Baby, stop.” Rafe pulled me back down onto the couch and pried the remote out of my hand. “What’s the problem?”
I shook my head.
“Are you freaking because you didn’t get me a valentine or something? Because I told you, I don’t care.”
I shook my head again, my words lost somewhere in the sea of love and relief and unworthiness that I felt so often when I was around Rafe. I just needed a little more time before I showed him the tattoo. Just another few hours. Then I would take him by the hand, and lead him to bed, and strip off my shirt, baring myself to him, and the tattoo along with me.
“You pick,” I said, pointing at the TV.
Rafe sighed, but he took the remote. He paused at a horror movie that I’d added. He hated horror movies. But he glanced at me and raised an eyebrow.
“What? No way. Of course not. You’ll have nightmares. What are you doing?”
He shrugged. Now he looked anxious. Great. Instead of him calming me down, I’d freaked him out.
Finally, he pushed play on a mindless action movie we’d watched before, and sat back against the couch, pulling me into his shoulder and wrapping an arm around me. I stared at the television as cars exploded and buildings crumbled to dust, and I ran through all the possible reactions Rafe might have to my tattoo.
“Colin!”
“What? Sorry, what, did you say something?”
Rafe was looking at me with a hint of panic in his expression.
“Okay, I’m done.” Uh oh. It was his boss voice. “Something is clearly wrong and you’re going to tell me what it is. Now.”
I shook my head, about to say that I’d show him after the movie, but before the words were out of my mouth, he bore me backward on the couch and kissed the hell out of me. I groaned because every time, no matter what else I was thinking about, Rafe kissing me slammed me right back into my body. My body, which was suddenly very aware of Rafe’s weight. Of the hard muscle and soft skin. The whisper of his hair and the scrape of his stubble. The heady swipe of his tongue against mine that sent bolts of heat rocketing through me.
I clutched at his back, all instinct, trying to drag him closer. Then his mouth was gone, and I blinked stupidly at the ceiling.
He tugged me up by my elbow and turned so we were facing each other.
“Baby, what is it. What’s wrong. Please, you’re scaring me.”
“I—nothing. Really, I … I just. I—nothing, I swear.”
“What the fuck, Colin?”
Now he sounded pissed and scared. Fuck, I was majorly messing this up. I just didn’t know where to start. But … Rafe was probably used to that.
“I um. I did get you something for Valentine’s Day, but I’m … I don’t know if it … You might not … um.”
Rafe’s broad shoulders unclenched, and I could feel him relax, sinking deeper into the couch next to me. His eyes were intent on mine.
“Okay,” he said. “Well, I promise, however terrible your gift is, I’m still going to love it.” He ran a gentle finger over my cheekbone. “And frankly, I wish you’d just give it to me and get it over with because I keep feeling like you’re about to break up with me or something.”
My face must have done something reassuringly shocked-looking at that comment, because Rafe smiled faintly. The idea that he might worry about me leaving him was absurd. Since he was the best person I’d ever met and I couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting him. But it was also unacceptable, because I’d hurt Rafe enough by doing boneheaded, selfish, stupid things. The last thing I wanted to do was accidentally hurt him trying to do something nice.
Trust me to turn a Valentine’s Day gift into convincing my partner I was dumping him. Nice, Colin. Real nice.
I took a deep breath and attempted to wrangle my thoughts into some semblance of order. It didn’t really work. I wasn’t good at talking at the best of times. Not about myself, and certainly not about feelings or whatever. It was all a tangle just beneath my breastbone and any attempt undo the knots to find a place to start, pulled the rest of it tighter.
“You’re here now,” is what popped out of my mouth instead of a real sentence. But Rafe, being Rafe, knew I was trying to find the words.
“I sure am,” he said, and took my hand between both of his, kissing the palm and then holding it. I nodded.
“I didn’t … it took me a while to … for that to sink in. But it matters. So much. It—” I shook my head, overwhelmed by the sentiment behind what I was trying to say and frustrated that my words could never, ever communicate it. “Everything feels different, knowing that you’re just here.”
Rafe nodded, like maybe he kind of got it. Maybe. Fuck, even I didn’t know what I was trying to say, so how could he?
“Colin.”
Rafe’s voice was low, and I realized I’d closed my eyes.
“Come here.”
He stood up and held out a hand to me, leading me into the bedroom when I took it. As he had so many times before, he peeled back the covers, slid into the bed, and settled me against him, pulling the blanket over us like we could exist in a world of our own making.
It was dark, and he held me, my face in his neck. There was nothing bu
t him, all around me.
“Try again,” he said softly, one hand against my back, the other stroking through my hair. “Don’t worry about how it sounds. You know I love you. You know I’m here. Just talk to me.”
I let out a shuddering breath. How was this still so hard? Would it ever not be so damned hard to tell him how I felt?
“I love you,” I managed, and he kissed my head.
I knew he wouldn’t force me. Now that he knew I was just freaked as opposed to something being really wrong, he’d let me fall asleep like this, my face in his hair, our bodies flush. He’d wait until I was ready. And somehow, knowing that he wouldn’t demand my words made me more determined to get them out. Even if they were ragged and messy. Imperfect.
“I get to be done now,” I said softly. “Now that you’re always here and I’m always here. I get to just have that. Live with you. I want that—I—the, like, permanence of it. I want us—I need us—to stay. I’m not explaining well. Just …”
He stroked my hair back from my face, but didn’t speak.
“I … so, I did something …”
Rafe tensed against me and I realized how foreboding that sounded.
“No, I—something for you. I hope.”
“What?” Rafe asked softly.
“I couldn’t think of what … of a thing or … I don’t know, Daniel knew this song, but I didn’t want anything like that. I just wanted … I … even if we don’t make it, I—”
Rafe pulled away from me, and sat upright at that.
“Hey! What do you mean if we don’t make it? What did you do?”
“Um. Turn on the light.”
He flicked on the bedside lamp and we both squinted against it, then blinked owlishly at each other.
I reached for them hem of my shirt slowly, my heart pounding so fast I was lightheaded.
I’d had Ginger leave it unbandaged so I could show Rafe. As I’d sat in her shop, the needle biting into my skin, I’d imagined this moment. The moment when Rafe’s eyes would trace the same lines as Ginger’s tattoo machine. She’d asked me if I was sure. I’d nodded, just hoping she wouldn’t comment. Wouldn’t tell me it was a bad idea. Or sappy. Or stupid. But she hadn’t. She’d just nodded, and bent over me, curly black hair hiding her face as she worked.
The shirt skimmed my stomach and I had to actually tell my arms to keep moving. To drag the fabric over my head. Not to freeze here in this moment of before. I ripped the shirt off and dropped it on the bed, baring myself to Rafe.
For a moment, he didn’t react, eyes taking in my stomach and chest appreciatively like they always did. Then he gasped.
His eyes flew to mine. I’d never seen him shocked before, and I swallowed, my mouth gone dry. Then he looked down, at the spot over my heart, where Ginger had tattooed, in elegant cursive, Rafe Forever, the simplest and most explicit expression I could think of. I knew it was almost a joke. People getting their lover’s names tattooed with “forever” meaning they’d break up within the year, and all the other stereotypes. And I didn’t care. It was what I meant. What I felt.
Forever.
It was the only word I could think of vast enough to touch what I wanted with Rafe.
Rafe’s fingertips hovered over my slightly reddened skin. He looked like he was going to cry.
“I—did I do the wrong—”
Rafe dragged me to him and slammed his mouth over mine, swallowing any doubt I’d had along with my unspoken words. He growled into my mouth, and I kissed him back with everything I had. When he finally broke the kiss, we were both panting, and I was extremely ready to be done with the feelings portion of tonight’s show and move on to the fucking part.
Rafe’s eyes were glued to his name on my skin, his look predatory, possessive. I could almost see him forcing himself not to touch the ink. He took a deep breath.
“Careful, doll,” he said, voice dark and strangled. “It almost seems like you’re open to the idea of me marrying your sweet ass.”
My heart hammered in my chest and my ears rang. Based on things Rafe had said over the last year, I knew that marriage was something he was interested in, but we’d never really discussed it. I hadn’t even really considered that it might be something I could do. Not since I was a kid and the fantasy of romance my mom had always painted disappeared.
I grabbed his hand and placed his open palm against my skin, over my heart. Over the tattoo. His breath caught in his chest and his eyelids fluttered. His hand felt cool against my skin.
“We’ll see,” I managed to choke out, before he was on me again, mouth and hands everywhere.
“I love you,” he murmured over and over, like he could tattoo his own words on my skin through sheer force of will.
“I love you,” I said back, and I flipped the light off, plunging us into a shared darkness. Into a world where there was nothing but our mingled breath and tangled limbs, soft murmurs fading to gasps as we spoke in a language that needed no words.
* * *
Now the series continues with Leo Ware and Will Highland’s romance in Where We Left Off!
Where We Left Off
Middle of Somewhere #3
For everyone growing up, no matter what your age.
1
Chapter 1
September
It only took one day in New York City for me to break every single resolution I’d made.
Even after a year of dreaming what it would be like—a year of slogging back and forth between Grayling Community College and my parents’ house—I hadn’t even come close to anticipating how it would feel to actually leave Holiday, Michigan, much less to arrive in New York.
Nothing in any of the movies I’d seen prepared me for the feeling of watching the city rise like the distant sun of an alien planet miles and miles before the bus would reach it. It was just there, out the windows on both sides, its size an announcement: you still have time to turn back. Or: once you enter you’ll never get out again. Or: anything you could ever need is waiting for you.
Later, after I’d found my way to the dorms, I helped people move in, since I only had two suitcases, a backpack, and my skateboard. They were bringing whole lives with them into their rooms when all I wanted was to leave mine behind.
I exchanged some variation on the themes of What are you studying, Where are you from, and Have you met your roommate yet about a dozen times in the process.
The first girl I told I was from Holiday wore black jeans, boots, and a short black jacket even though it was in the eighties outside, and she was so amused by the name of the town that afterward I just said Michigan.
In fact, all my responses seemed to vaguely amuse people, and I could feel my smile become forced, the muscles in my jaw starting to ache and the skin around my eyes tight.
That was Resolution 1—Make a good first impression—scuttled.
I hadn’t slept much on the bus, and what with all the changing buses and layovers on the way to New York, it already felt like the world’s longest day even though it was still early. The mix of sleep deprivation and overstimulation had made me feel all fluttery and tweaked-out. I finally escaped back to my room, desperate to throw my clothes in drawers and veg with an episode of something on Netflix.
I wanted to rest up before Joseph, my roommate, arrived. Joseph and I had e-mailed all summer, planning to go to the new student orientation together, to scope out campus and the surrounding neighborhood and to locate all our classes before school started so we weren’t wandering around like idiots. He’d been nice and funny; safe. And it’d been a relief not to be facing a new school all on my own, to say nothing of a whole new city.
When I opened my computer to find something comforting to watch, though, I found an e-mail from Residential Life instead. Joseph had declined to come to NYU at the last minute and they would be assigning me a different roommate in a few days.
My heart started to pound and I closed my eyes. It was a small thing, I told myself. Not a big deal at all. But I
guess I didn’t believe myself because suddenly I was close to tears, and before I knew it, I’d done what I always did when I felt freaked out or overwhelmed, which had happened a lot this past year: I called Daniel. As friends went, he was pretty much it for me, though I constantly doubted whether he thought of me the same way.
I’d met Daniel two years ago when he’d moved to Holiday from Philadelphia to teach English at Sleeping Bear College in town. Everyone had been talking about him—at least, everyone who was part of the circuit of small business owners around Mr. Zoo’s, the jumble-shop-cum-music-store where I worked.
At first, I was just curious. The mythology that had bloomed around him was intriguing, and the fact that one of the rumors was that he was gay made him irresistible. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I had begun developing a plan for how I’d choreograph our meeting. It would be casual, of course, subtle. I’d come off as cool and mature, and he wouldn’t be able to help wanting to hang out with me. In the end, though, it hadn’t gone anything like I’d planned.
Before I could even start phase one of Operation: Nab Daniel, he’d found me, swooping in to rescue me from getting my ass kicked by some jackasses I’d gone to high school with, like the hero of my own personal movie, vanquishing the bad guys with a few well-chosen words and gestures.
He was all messy hair and flashing green eyes and tattoos, his shirtsleeves rolled up after a day of teaching. So, okay, I kind of threw myself at him, but it wasn’t just because he was hot. He was like a tornado I wanted to get caught up in—lifted and spun around and deposited in a world more colorful and magical than the black-and-white of Holiday.
Daniel was confirmation that there were other options out there. That there was a world outside of Holiday that didn’t just exist in the books I read and the TV and movies I mainlined. I kind of made a fool out of myself making sure that he couldn’t ignore me, but somehow I just knew. I knew that being friends with him would change my life.
