“Together?” he asks.
“God, yes,” I whisper back to him.
“Come for me, darlin’.”
That’s it. That’s all I need to push me over the edge and fall for what feels like forever. There is no screaming, no kicking, just continual, soft, deep strokes that allow me to keep convulsing around him. I’m so wrapped in my orgasm that I almost forget that he has been over the edge with me and is in the same state of mind I’m in.
Just like that, he’s up and pulling on his shorts. As he walks out of the bedroom, I sit up on my elbows in shock of the sudden abruptness of him leaving. I’m not a cuddler or anything like that, but still.
As soon as he’s gone, he’s back again holding four bottles of water. He puts them on the nightstand, takes off his shorts, and climbs back into bed.
“I hope you don’t have any plans today,” he says, turning to face me. “Because we are going to be doing that again, darlin’.”
Yes, sir. My thoughts are accompanied with the third-ever biggest smile on my face.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sunday is a blur, a heavenly, sex-filled, ecstasy blur. We stayed in bed all day, except for one venture out of the house. No T.V., no phones, no one else in the world even exists. Waking up from my little nap, I look at the clock. It is 4 p.m.
I feel like I’m going to be sick with the sadness that has just hit me in the stomach.
Kevin’s leaving today and soon.
I roll over to see that he isn’t there. My heart rate picks up. Please tell me he didn’t leave without saying good-bye. I put on my shorts and tank top. Putting up my hair, I walk out of the open bedroom door. Walking slowly down the hallway, I see no one in the kitchen. I swallow the lump in my throat, begging myself not to cry.
As I turn the corner into the living room, the biggest wave of relief washes over me when I see Kevin sitting on the couch, hunched over the coffee table. It looks like he’s writing something.
“Good evening,” I say with a smile on my face, half genuine, half fake.
He stops what he’s doing and stands. Five long strides, and he is to me. I am engulfed in his arms and off the floor. The tight hug takes my breath right out of me, and I know what this is.
No.
I wrap my arms around his neck, with the purpose of letting him know how much all this has meant to me. Finding my feet on the floor, I realize I don’t want to let go of him.
“Darlin’,” he says into my neck.
‘Yeah, I know . . . I just–”
“You have no idea how hard this is for me to say, but I’ve got to go now, darlin’.” I just grip him harder. I’ve, we’ve, been waiting so long for this, and now he’s leaving.
Nope; this hurts too damn much.
“Will you walk me out?” he pleads.
I cannot find the simple function to say yes, so I don’t. I just nod my head and take my arms down.
He grabs his bag and walks to the door. I’m still cemented to my spot, no matter how strong the urge is to go and hug him again. Closing my eyes, I feel the tears sliding down my cheeks. Dammit.
“Darlin’?” He doesn’t turn around because he knows what I’m doing; he knows what’s happening.
I walk behind him, out of the door and to his truck. He throws his bag in from the driver’s side, and he turns to me. His eyes are dark brown. Does this color mean sadness, maybe? He leans down, and we kiss the single-handedly most gut-wrenching kiss because I know I can’t have this kiss again in ten minutes. This is killing me. I don’t want the kiss to end, but I pull away to try to save myself.
“This isn’t over; this is just see you later.” He’s giving his best half smile, but it’s not working; he’s just as affected by this as I am. No one drives six hours for a booty call, no one.
With that, he gets in his truck and starts it up. When he rolls down the window, I can’t help it. I step up on the runner and kiss him again. I want him to feel this, what we have, again before he leaves. He pulls away this time, both of us breathing heavily.
“Think of me, babe,” I say, looking at the cement.
“Always, darlin’,” he says as he puts the truck into drive and pulls away. The distance between us is instant, and I can’t put the pain into words. I watch him until I can’t see his truck anymore and head back into the house. Shutting the door, I just lose it. I cry like I haven’t cried in years. Maybe he didn’t feel the same as I did? The idea makes me cry even harder. My phone starts to go off, but I can’t get off the floor to search it out. The pain has gripped my heart so hard that I feel it in my throat.
After what seems like a few hours, I make my way over to the kitchen for some water. I see my phone on the counter, and the images from last night come flying back to me. This is going to be hard. I unlock the phone, and see Kevin’s name. That makes the grip on my insides tighter.
Taking a deep, breath I open the text.
Kevin: You have no idea how hard it is for me to not turn around right now.
And another.
Kevin: Darlin’?
And the kibosh . . .
Kevin: Go to the coffee table and smile for me, darlin’.
My eyes snap to the coffee table. I put down my phone and walk–make that run–to the coffee table, longing for something from him.
A note, a note to me.
I fall back onto the couch not knowing what to prepare for; I open it.
May, My darlin’,
I can’t tell you how hard it was for me to pull myself away from you today while you were sleeping. Put this down, and go get what I left for you under the pillow I was sleeping on.
I run into the bedroom, throw the light on, and rip all the pillows off the bed. I stop when I see it. Picking it up, I sit back on my heels and pull it up to my face. I take the biggest inhale of my life. My nose is buried in the shirt that he was wearing last night.
Well that’s just the nail on the coffin. I can hear his voice, see his pictures, and smell him, but I can’t touch him.
Going back to the couch with his shirt in my hand, I resume reading his note.
I really hope you’re smiling right now. I wore my favorite shirt last night, and now it’s yours. Hold on to it until I see you again, and I WILL see you again. After last night, I have a song for you if it’s alright. It’s a favorite of mine and every time I hear it, I will smile and think about you. “I’ll Still be Loving You” by Restless Heart. Listen to it, and think of me.
I love you, May.
Kevin Winston
Holy shit, this is ridiculous. I can’t drive ten minutes, twenty minutes, or even an hour to see him again. I would have to drive six hours. Why did I agree to meet him, for him to come here? I had to have known this was going to hurt, but I agreed to it anyway. You can’t want someone you can’t have unless you make a big gesture. I made that big gesture once, and I found that guy in our bed with a fucking groupie.
What the hell do I do now?
I read and hear about how other girls need space to think and all that. Well, it has been five days since I saw Kevin, and all I’ve done is think. I don’t want to think any more. I know who I want, and he’s out of reach. I did, however, need to talk to someone, so after I collected my nerve that Sunday after he left, I called Paul over to do just that.
There was an immediate calm when I opened the door and saw Paul, until we sat on the couch, and I poured my soul out to him. I told him about all the conversations, the emails, and Kevin coming to visit, so we could finally meet. He didn’t interrupt at all, just sat there and listened to me go on and on. Occasionally, he would put his hand over mine or around my shoulder when I was trying to get through a hard part of the conversation.
After listening quietly to the sob fest that is my life, Paul finally says something: “So where’d y’all leave things? I mean, are y'all together or . . .?”
“I don’t know. I mean, how can you tell someone you love them and not be with them?” I say, staring at nothing.
>
“He said he loves you?”
“Yes . . . well . . . in a letter.”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Well . . . is he going to move here?”
“No.”
“Wait …are you going to move out there?” he says, a little panicked.
“No.”
“But you both love each other?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm . . . well damn, May.”
“Exactly.”
“Sounds like you just need to talk to him about that and just go from there.”
“Yeah, you are probably right, but not now.”
“Alright, well if you need me . . . call me,” he says, giving me a fist bump before he gets up to head out the door.
“Thanks for listening, Paul,” I say, leaning up against the door’s edge.
“Anytime, May . . . you know that,” he says to me over his shoulder as he walks out the door.
When I make my way to get in bed, my phone rings. I don’t look to see who it is. I just press accept.
“Hello?” I answer with a sniffle.
“I love you, May; I should’ve told you when I was there, and now I’m kicking myself that I didn’t. I’m sorry; I want you to be mine and me yours. We will make this work. Somehow we will. I promise,” he chokes out.
And I’m crying again. Shit.
Sitting on the bed, I say nothing. I just absorb his words.
“Darlin’?”
“I love you too, Kevin. I want to be with you too. I’m yours and you’re mine,” I say as evenly as I can.
“Thank you, Lord. I wasn’t sure what you were going to say. Then it’s settled . . . we are together . . . the rest is just geography.”
I laugh, “Yeah, geography.”
“Well, I am home now, so I’m going to unload my stuff and get some sleep. Someone kept me up all night . . . and this morning.”
“We are both to blame on that one, sir,” I say in a don’t- give-me-that tone of voice.
“Alright, agreed. I love you, May, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow sometime, okay?”
“Sounds good to me; I love you too, Kevin.”
Well, we got that figured out. Geography . . . I laugh again, shaking my head.
Over the next few weeks, like clockwork, he calls at 8:30 p.m. when we are both in bed getting ready to go to sleep, except on Fridays and the weekends. Then we usually just text because I am at work. We talk about everything we hadn’t already talked about, and then some nights the talking will get a little dirty, but it is fun, and I have him with me for that short amount of time every night.
We talk about seeing each other again when we have vacation time, and I mention getting some money transferred from my savings to get a ticket to fly out to him. It was, after all, my turn. And every night we say how lucky we were that we had found each other. Hanging up is almost as hard as saying goodbye when he was here. If you’re hurting, it means you care, right? I hurt all day, every day.
Speaking of hurt, I’ve cutback my fights to once a month now. I showed Kevin a clip of one of my best fight. He was not happy to say the least, so to ease his mind, I only fight once a month. It’s actually kind of nice because I’m so cranked when fight night comes around that I’m actually a better fighter.
More and more, Kevin is proving to be really good for me. God, I’ve got it bad.
CHAPTER EIGHT
As I sign the transfer slip, the bank teller eyes me curiously.
“I’m flying out to see my boyfriend,” I say out loud while signing the papers.
“Ah . . . that’s nice,” she says with a smile.
“Your nine hundred dollars will be transferred from your savings to your checking first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you!” I’m almost singing.
Back at home I pull up Kevin’s number and hit call; I’m so excited.
It goes straight to voicemail. In the middle of the afternoon, that’s not unusual.
“Hey, babe. Just wanted to let you know that I’m coming to you. I need your address and city, so I can see if I can fly straight in, or if I have to fly in nearby. I’m so excited; give me a call back when you get a chance. Love you, bye.”
Short, sweet, and definitely to the point. After a rather long nap to get me set for the night, I go and get ready for work. After yet another remodel of yet another bar, opening day is here once again. I am in all black with my hair up and no jewelry, like clockwork.
With a twenty-five minute drive ahead of me, depending on traffic of course, I settle into my car, and off I go.
About halfway there, my phone rings. Smiling, I answer it and start the conversation: “Hey, babe. Did you get my message? Text me your address–”
“May.” I don’t like the sound of my name all of a sudden.
“Babe . . . you okay?
“No. I have something to tell you, and it might hurt a little.”
“You cheated on me.” They always do.
“No! I could never do that to you . . . Where are you right now?”
“I am in my car on my way to work . . . What’s going on, man?”
“I will just tell you after you get off work . . . I don’t want to distract you.”
“No. You need to go ahead and tell me what it is. I know it’s bad, and unless you want me pissed off when I get to work and all worried, you need to go on and tell me, so I have time to settle down.”
He says nothing.
“Kevin . . . just tell me . . . What the hell is wrong? Did you knock some chick up or something?”
I hear him breathing harder and faster.
“Holy shit . . . did you?”
“God, yes, May. I did.”
“Since we have been together?” My words are a little shaky now. Keep it together, May.
“No! I told you I couldn’t do that to you; she’s almost five months along now.”
I’m going to sick.
“She just told me this afternoon. I was so scared to answer when you called earlier because I thought you’d just scream and hate me, and I can’t . . . handle . . . that. May, Jesus, I am so sorry.”
“So wait. Are you and the mom getting back together and raising the baby?”
I can’t handle this conversation.
“No! I told her that I was with you, but that I do want to be in his life.”
“You’re going to be a daddy . . . the first born son . . . congratulations . . . big step for you.”
Just shrug it off. No big deal, May. He isn’t breaking your heart.
“Do you hate me?” he chances to ask.
“What? . . . Why would I hate you? It was before you and I ever started talking. I mean, it’s a shock, don’t get me wrong, and it might be a little difficult, but we will handle it.”
“Goddamn. I don’t deserve you,” he says on an exhale.
“Yes you do . . . and I deserve you. Listen, I am at work. I’ll call you later, okay? Don’t worry, babe. I love you.”
“Wow, May . . . I love you too . . . so much . . . Be safe tonight. Bye.”
Exhaling loudly, I just sit in my car, and I lean my forehead against my steering wheel. Did I really just have that conversation? Talk about out of left field. He’s not getting back together with her.
Am I breaking up a family before it even has a chance? There has to be a reason why it didn’t work four or five months ago. Shit, was it because of me? That was when Kevin and I started talking, but it was innocent, just getting to know you talking. This is definitely going to be taken one day at a time.
A knocking on my window yanks me out of my thought coma.
“Hey, sweetie, you want to dance?” Some random guy asks to my closed window.
Rolling my eyes and grabbing my bag, I step out of my car. As I straighten up, I turn and look at this random guy. He is around five-two, maybe five-five. I tower over him at around six-one, so his ego instantly deflates, and he turns and walks away. Yeah, tha
t’s about right.
Heading into the side door as fast as I can, I make my way to the office. Once I’m there, I drop my bag and sink into the chair next to the lockers. Putting my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands, I just start to cry. Tears? Again? What is happening to me? I hear something move, and when I look up, I see sweet Brian, the new I.T. guy. His keen eye for things is now focused on me and the very rare scene that is unfolding.
“You didn’t radio him did you, Brian?” I say, dropping my arms and rolling my eyes.
“I-I-I didn’t know what to do, May,” he sputters out.
“Fucking hell,” I say under my breath.
No sooner do those words leave my mouth, the office door opens, and in walks wide-eyed Paul. He closes the door, walks over to me, and squats down to look me in the eyes.
“May, what the hell? Since when do you cry . . . and at work of all places?” he asks me, putting his hand on my knee.
I tell him everything about the call into work.
“So if you aren’t breaking up, why are you crying?” he’s confused. He would be . . . because I am too.
“I think it’s just the stress of the situation I’m now in . . . that and because this is a long distance relationship, so it’s not like I can sit next to him and talk this out or anything. Does that make sense?”
“Sure?” He doesn’t want to have this conversation. “Do you want to leave?”
“No! It’s re-opening night. You know I have to be here. Besides, I need a distraction right now. Work is exactly what I need right now. How’s it been so far?”
“Quiet–good,” he corrects himself. We never say the word quiet. That’s just bad juju.
Standing up to not seem so weak, I put my earpiece in and find the staff chatting away. Paul leaves out the door, and I walk over to the monitors and see how everything is going. Brian scoots a little farther from me.
Need You, Need Me (The Need Series Book 1) Page 5
