When she regains her breath, she points over to the top two rows of my bookshelf. "What about those? Trophies?" she asks.
"Yeah, you don't need to look at those."
“Why?” she says, rolling off the bed and walking over to the shelf. “Don’t tell me you were on the chess team.”
Gritting my teeth, I shake my head. "Not quite."
But then she’s close enough to read them and falls into the most intoxicating laughter I’ve ever heard. “Wow, marching band!” she says through her laughs. “I didn’t know they handed out participation trophies for marching band.”
I take her by the wrist and pull her into me, wrapping my left arm around her waist. At this gesture, her laughing subsides. Her hair falls over her eyes, and I brush it out-of-the-way with the pad of my thumb. Her skin is soft, Her cheeks now red with heat as she looks up at me under the heavy lift of her dark eyelashes.
Suddenly wanting her, I press a soft kiss to her forehead. "Not everyone is born with Jack Daniels and cigarette smoke running through their veins," I whisper on her skin. "Your rockstar of a boyfriend started as first saxophone."
I hadn't meant it as a joke. But Ellie laughs so hard at this that she snorts, causing me to fall into a harsh fit of laughter. "Did you just snort?" The words come out choppy and hardly audible due to all my laughter I'm trying to contain, but she shakes her head adamantly, not being able to speak.
In the midst of this, she sets herself down on the bed and clutches at her stomach. Wiping at her sleepy eyes, she looks up at me. "Kenny G," she squeals, pointing at me. "I didn't realize he was actually your idol. It all makes sense now." Stifling another giggle, she shakes her head. "Mason, have you ever had a girl up here before? I mean, besides Bjork?"
At her question, I can't help but grin. Even if I hadn't, could there be a worse time for her to bust my balls? Groaning, I take my glasses off and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Fine. What's the giveaway?"
"Band trophies."
Cocking an eyebrow, I stare down at her. "I'll have you know that Bjork and I had a very special relationship when I was in high school," he says.
Scrunching up her nose, she shakes her head. "Gross."
As our laughter finally subsides, I can tell Ellie is tired. Maybe even a little delirious. So I figure I better let her get some sleep. "Alright," I say, reluctant to end the night. "I literally can't laugh anymore. I think I'm incapable. I'm heading down to the couch. Bathroom is through there," I say, but then I realize. "But apparently I already told you that because you're showered, and—" Suddenly, I notice the corners of her mouth turned down. "What's wrong?"
As if remembering something, she pulls her phone from the nightstand beside my bed and looks at it. "I just don't want to go back to work tomorrow. Back to the real world. And there's still no headliner for the festival."
"Haven't heard anything yet?" I ask.
She shakes her head.
"Well, they'll be sorry they missed my girlfriend's festival. And who knows, it hasn't even been 24 hours yet. You'll hear something." My girlfriend joke must passes over her because she doesn't acknowledge it.
"I just want it to be a success, you know? I don't want people to talk about this like it's one more failure I've accrued in my lifetime."
Her fear grabs at my soul. How on earth could this girl see herself as a failure? She's a fierce barista, lives on her own, experiences all the good things in life, loves music, surrounds herself with good friends. How can any of that be seen as a failure? She writes other people's fortunes for God's sake.
"That's never going to happen," I say. "Even if the Boxley Brothers don't make it, it's still a great lineup."
Nodding, she has a far-off look on her face as she stares at the floor by the foot of the bed. I take this as her wanting privacy. Leaning over, I grab my bag to head for the door. "Sweet dreams, Ellie. I'll see you in the morning"
And like a siren's whisper into the dark, she says something. "Stay."
I blink, not sure if I've heard her correctly. "Sorry?" I say, my throat feeling hot with tension.
Looking at me, she tilts her head. "Will you stay with me?"
Setting my bag back on the floor, I nod. "Of course I will. Are you sure?"
She answers by walking over to me, standing on the tips of her toes, and wrapping her warm arms around the back of my neck. Not sure of what she's asking for, I reach out until my hands find her waist and pull her closer to me knowing that, this time, we won’t to be interrupted by a late-night downpour or her best friend or even a creaky gate.
And in this moment, staring into the depth of her honest eyes, feeling the pull of her universe on me, I feel like I need to tell her this.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ellie
"I have serious feelings for you," Mason says, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear. "I hope that's okay."
For me to say I don't have feelings for this man would be a lie. And shit. Actually hearing him say that he does feel something for me? It makes me feel so good I could cry. Studying the light in his dusky eyes, I smile up at him and nod. But before I can open my mouth to say anything, Mason descends and kisses me hard, with a force I never realized he had. The ferocity of his fire causes my mind to explode in an excruciating desire.
Wrapping me in his sturdy hold, he walks me backward while his lips continue to crash into mine, the fervor that's built between us all night finally coming to fruition here in his childhood bedroom. As we reach the bed, Mason lays me back, my knees buckling at the bed frame. Following me down, he hovers over top of me, and I notice a dim reflection of myself in the lens of his glasses.
"Are you sure you want all of this with me?"
The sentiment makes my heart hurt at how sensitive and protective of me he is. But I can't deny how much I want him tonight. My feelings having multiplied by thousandths since we first met. And the answer is yes. "Yeah," I whisper, taking hold of his shirt and pulling him back down to me.
And without letting me draw in a full breath of air, he swiftly silences me with another heady kiss that pulls hums of pleasure from deep within me. We stay this way for a minute, making out surrounded by nineties music posters and band trophies, his tongue slipping in and out of my mouth, making my mind melt into a puddle on the edge of his bed. But I want more. My core aching for him, I break away and inch further up toward the headboard of the bed and peel my tank top and bra off.
Following me, his gaze lands on my bare breasts. "Fuck," he says on a breathy exhale. Sweeping his tongue across his lips to taste the remnants of our kiss, he shakes his head. "You are unbelievable."
Smiling, I toss my tank and bra to the floor. "Because of my tits? It's not like you haven't seen them before."
Chuckling, he plucks his glasses from his face and sets them on the bedside table and sits on the bed next to me. "Not like this, I haven't."
He wants me. I know he does. And I knew he wanted me the moment we made out in the meadow at the Boxley Brother concert. But tonight, I can see it in the way his eyes bore into me, wild and unforgiving.
Crawling toward him, I straddle his lap. Immediately, I feel the length of him through his jeans, and I decide I have to have him.
Pulling me up to his lips, he drowns me in the pure taste of him. Urging my hips down on top of him, I slowly grind myself against his jeans. Reaching for the hem of his shirt, I pull it over his head, stopping our kiss only to rid him of his top.
His hands drift over my bare curves, and when he reaches for my chest, I gasp against his lips as his thumbs find my sensitive nipples.
"Mason?" I moan his name in question.
"Yeah."
Nose-to-nose, I stare at him, watching the desire in his eyes multiply as he slips his fingers down my sides, inching the waistband of the boxer briefs he'd given me to sleep in. "I need you to take your jeans off because I can't wait much longer."
His eyes grow big as quarters as I stand up on the bed and step out of the boxer briefs.
Launching off the mattress, he practically jumps out of his jeans and boxers. When he returns to the bed, I'm still standing there, entirely naked from head-to-toe. His lips curl upward as he walks to the edge of the bed and holds out a hand to me. When I take it, he pulls me over to him and presses his cheek to my abdomen in a sensual, soft hug, clasping the side of his face to me as if he might hear the ocean inside me.
"You're perfect," he whispers.
When I drop down to the bed, he climbs on top of me and drinks in the sight of me pinned beneath him. I can feel the heat from his skin all over my body. And anticipation runs wild in me as he trails a series of brutally slow kisses down the entire length of my torso. Drifting back up, he settles himself between the part in my legs and traces the outline of my jaw with his lips.
When he meets my gaze, I feel him press himself inside me, joining our bodies as one.
With a gasp, I reach for his arms. Furrowing his brow, his dark, glass-less eyes are full of concern. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I nod in a fixed pleasure. Grasping at his hips, I urge him on and feel him shudder against me with the first shallow movements that set my core ablaze. Though he moves slow, he pushes hard against me, leaving me panting in hushed moans. I've never felt so alive or connected to another human being in my life. I can't get enough of him, and I let him know as I bury my fingers in his hair and devour his lips in a kiss he can't escape.
Grasping at my thighs, he pulls me closer against him as he rocks his hips in a slow, measured fury. My body responds in a swell of passion that leaves me clutching at whatever piece of him I can grab as he pushes me beyond the edge and into a freefall of pleasure. I tremble beneath his weight as a thick, guttural groan rumbles in his chest.
"I fucking love you," I whisper hard, the words painfully escaping my lips as if they're pinpricks of joy. At my affection, he thrusts the last of his energy into me and exhales in a final, wavering moan that falls over my face. Sinking on top of me, he collapses, robbing me of my breath. And while I never want this to end, I don't complain when he rolls off of me and pulls me into the crook of his hot arm. Did I seriously just accidentally tell this man that I love him? During sex, no less? Judging by his calm, quiet demeanor, I'm sure he didn't hear me. But still. What is wrong with me?
A light sheen of sweat clings to our bodies where we were pressed together, and I match my breaths to his as I feel the rise and fall of his chest with our aftermath.
He kisses the crown of my head, rubbing his hand up and down my arm like he had in the pool over an hour ago. "Are you tired?" he asks, pausing only to reach over and turn off the bedside lamp throwing us into complete darkness.
Laying there tucked next to him, my cheeks burning with the embarrassing words I hope he missed, I nod, my hair mussing against his skin. Wishing this moment would last forever, alone, quiet, together in every since of the word, I press my hot cheek to his chest as he continues to draw lines up and down me with the graze of his fingertips. Sleeping means morning will come, but I'm so exhausted, I can't help but succumb to the lull of slumber beside Mason.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ellie
I sleep deeply for the first time in actual months but am awoken two hours later when my phone begins to vibrate on the bedside table. I roll off of Mason's shoulder and reach toward the bedside table where my phone is charging. My eyes are bleary with sleep, and I can't see the blurred number across the screen of my phone, but the only thought in my mind is that it would be typical for a band like the Boxley Brothers to conduct their business in the middle of the night.
“Hello?” I say in a gravely but eager voice.
"Ellie, is— is that you? Ellie, what are you doing?"
Alarmed at the slur of the voice, I sit up. "Cole?" I say, not sure if it's him or one of the other band members.
"Who's that," the voice slurs with a jealous laugh. It's nearly incomprehensible. "Are you with someone?"
But then it hits me exactly who this is. John has finally gotten ahold of me. "What do you want?" I whisper, a dull anger building in my chest. I look over my shoulder at Mason who is sleeping peacefully, his arm extended across the spot where I'd just been. He looks so at ease and comfortable there that I grow a shade of giddy thinking about what we'd done just a few hours earlier. But John's voice snaps me back to reality and floods me with an anxiety I've forgotten over the past twelve hours.
"I just— I need to talk to you. Just talk, please. Say something," he says, clearly plastered.
Without speaking, I slowly slide off the bed as not to wake Mason. Reaching around in the dark for the first clothes I find, I step into the jean shorts I'd worn yesterday and pull Mason's V-neck shirt down over my naked body. Feeling on the bedside table for my cigarette and lighter, I shove both in my pocket and slip out the bedroom door, closing it behind me. I know I should just hang up on this idiot and go back to bed, but I need to put an end to this once and for all. John and I are nothing, and I need to make sure he knows it.
Sneaking down the stairs, I hold the phone to my stomach to mute the ranting that's coming from John's end. Slipping out the sliding glass door that leads to the porch, I find a way to be annoyed that the door isn't even locked. Damn. Safe neighborhoods.
Spotting a few lawn chairs on the other side of the dark backyard, I walk over, the damp grass slick under my bare feet. When I put the phone back up to my ear and sit in one of the chairs facing the house, John is still yapping.
"And you know what that means? I figured it out without you. All I'm saying, Ellie, is that I love you. Like a lot. More than a lot, Ellie. And I know you think I'm lying because I'm drunk, but I'm not. I'm not drunk, swear to Jesus," he says, stumbling over his words. "I just had a few drinks which means I really mean it. And I'm sorry. Okay? Is that what you needed me to say all those months ago? Because I'll say it. I'll say it all the time. For the rest of our time, you and me. I'll yell it to the rooftops. To everyone. To the world."
I can tell he pulls the phone away to talk to someone else because his voice is muffled. "Hey— Hey man, listen. Listen to me, I love this girl—" John carries on rambling to someone on the other end.
Annoyed as I am, I focus on the stars that are out tonight. The same stars I'd studied with Mason. Pulling my knees to my chest, I tuck my legs underneath Mason's huge shirt and breath in, smelling traces of his cologne. The air has grown chilly since we swam, and I can feel my nipples hard underneath the shirt.
“I miss you, Ellie. I fucking love you, and you won’t answer me or listen to me to even hear what I have to say about you,” he says.
I sigh out into the night. “I know, I got your message.”
"Well— why the fuck didn't you call me b—back?" he asks, his voice growing indignant through the thick alcohol-induced slur.
“We’re done, John. You made that decision,” I say in a calm voice. Although, I do wonder how confident in this I would be if I hadn’t just crawled out of bed with another man. A better man.
"But you—you answered your phone tonight. Fucking finally. And I know what that means cause I'm a smart man, Ellie. You love me the same as you did. Just admit it."
I consider telling him that I thought he was the manager of a band I've been needing to hear from, but I'm not interested in carrying the conversation any further than it has to go.
"No, John. I‘m hanging up now," I say firmly.
“Wait. Wait, is there someone else?” he asks.
And though it's none of his business, I feel a chill run down my spine. I open my mouth to deny it, but suddenly realize I shouldn't have to deny it. John had moved on already. Why is there something wrong with me having moved on? Before I can answer, he starts screaming at me.
"Where are you, E— Ellie. I'll fucking kill him," he yells, his voice hitting an upper register.
"You don't deserve anyone but ME. Tell me where you are!"
Shaking my head as if he can see me, I sigh. "You're drunk."
Then, as if I ca
n't be more surprised by this entire conversation, John does something I've never heard before. He begins to cry.
"My life," he whimpers. "My entire life is n— nothing without you. You know that we're the only thing that ever made sense for each other. You know that, Ellie."
I hold the phone away from my ear as his wails come out of the ear piece in torturous waves, and I’m suddenly fed up with him. For all these years, I’ve let him have too much of a hand in my life. And right now, sitting in the backyard of a man who nearly worships me and makes me smile without asking anything from me in return, I’m done.
Be the storm, Ellie.
"Go to bed, John," I say and hang up the phone. I make sure to block his number before he can call me again. And for extra measure, I delete every single text and voicemail I'd received over the past few weeks from that number. I'm proud of myself for finally standing up to him, three months too late, but still. And though the idea feels a little foreign, I know that he and I never made sense together. Not like Mason and I do.
I pull my single cigarette and lighter from my pocket, and though the cigarette is a little bent, I light it promising myself this will be the last cigarette I ever smoke. I've just gotten it lit when I see the back door open.
“Shit,” I whisper as I try to hide the cigarette by holding it close to me. “What are you doing up?”
"I couldn't sleep," Beth says, rubbing her eyes with a yawn. "I heard you come downstairs."
“I’m sorry,” I say, taking a drag of my cigarette. “You caught me smoking.”
“Can I have one?” Beth asks.
I smile at her. “Absolutely not,” I say, shaking my head. “But here.” I hand her the cigarette for a quick pull.
She breathes in and immediately starts coughing. “That tastes disgusting,” she laughs.
“Yeah, it does,” I say, meaning it. “Don’t ever smoke, okay, kiddo?”
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