by Amy Sparling
And then, well, I accidently bought him more gifts. Flannel pajama pants, some button up shirts for meeting with future clients, the season DVDs of his favorite show, and a framed picture of the two of us, my favorite picture we’ve ever taken. We were at the beach with Jace and Bayleigh, it was cold outside so we were just walking along the sand. I was wearing a tan scarf I had just finished knitting and was very proud of it. Park wore a grey and white striped shirt that I picked out for him at a surf shop near the beach. He had to change clothes because a gust of wind had knocked me into him earlier, spilling half of my ice cream all over his other shirt.
It was the first time I had completely embarrassed myself in front of a guy and that guy had made me feel like it wasn’t a big deal. He had ripped off his ice cream-soaked shirt and held my hand all the way to the nearest store to buy a new one. I still get chills when I picture how good his bare chest looked, lightly dotted with goosebumps because it was so cold outside. I had wanted to run my hand over his chest so bad, but didn’t because we were in public and we hadn’t been dating that long.
The picture was taken by Bayleigh after Park had a new shirt and I had jumped on his back, just playing around. I barely had time to register Bayleigh’s words when she held up her phone and yelled, “Smile!”
Maybe it was the memories that day held, or maybe it was the way Park was looking up at me, smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world. Whatever the case, it was my favorite picture of us, and I decided to make him a copy to keep in his new office.
The excess of gifts for Park wasn’t because I suddenly have money this year. It was my way of making up for feeling so inadequate with the gift I really wanted to give him.
Myself.
After dinner and presents, my parents swear they don’t mind if I go to Park’s for a while, so I slip out of the house feeling only a little bit guilty about abandoning them on Christmas Eve. I think the weirdest thing about leaving on Christmas Eve is the fact that they don’t really seem to care at all. I’m no longer a child and although I’m very happy about that, it’s also a little weird.
Park’s presents hang out in the back seat of my car on the short drive to his new house. My whole car smells like the body wash I used profusely in my shower before I left the house tonight. My hair is also freshly washed and dried, my nails painted, my legs shaved. I need this night to be amazing and I’m not about to let some leg stubble ruin it.
My crazy hot boyfriend is sitting on the porch when I pull into the driveway. He sips from a mug of what is probably hot chocolate and gives me a little wave when I step out of the car.
“Do you have some of that for me?” I ask as I open the door to my backseat. “It’s freezing out here.”
“Of course I do. What are you doing?” he asks as he gets up and walks off the porch.
“Getting your presents,” I call out from the backseat of my car. I try to fit them all in my hands at once, but that’s so not happening.
Just as a couple of the gifts tumble out of my grasp, Park jumps to my rescue and catches them. “Oh my God, babe. You didn’t have to get so many.”
I roll my eyes. “How many did you get me?”
Guilt moves up his face until he bursts into a smile. “A lot.”
Chapter 15
“Why won’t you open them yet?” I whine, jutting out my bottom lip as we stare at the pile of presents I’ve dropped under his tiny Christmas tree. It’s a fake tree, only about two feet tall and we found it in the attic of the house when he was moving it. So far we’ve decorated it with the antique ornaments that were also found in the attic and a strand of blue LED lights we got at the store.
“Because I want you to see your present first.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Is it invisible?” I ask, because there’s nothing under his tree except what I just put there.
Park’s subtle smile widens. “Your present is definitely visible. It’s just not right here.”
“So…where is it?” I ask, walking toward him.
“Cold!” he says, and steps backward. I stop and turn to the right. “A little warmer,” he says. I follow his cold and warm clues until I’m right in front of the staircase. “You’re getting super super hot,” he says. I take a few steps up the stairs. “Scalding.”
I turn toward the second floor and he shakes his head. “Cold, again Sosa.”
I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out, but I finally get it. I back up from the second floor landing and give him a coy smile. I point toward the ceiling. “Is it up here?” I ask.
Park bites his lip and nods. He’s standing two steps below me on the stairs so I’m as tall as he is now. I lean forward and place a kiss on his cheek. “Is it in the room you’ve been keeping from me?” I whisper. He nods again.
I let out a little squeal and rush up the rest of the stairs to the room at the very top of the house. My hand touches the doorknob on the very door to the room I haven’t been allowed to see yet. With great satisfaction, I twist and let it open.
My jaw drops. Not because the room is much bigger than I had pictured, with a bay window that stretches from one end to the other, but because of what’s inside the room. Park had said it’d make a good paint studio. But now he’s transformed it.
I step into the room feeling as if I’m in a dream, floating around instead of walking. The bay window has been refinished with a long bench pillow to sit on, and several new throw pillows in purple and teal and pink. I can’t even fathom the idea of Park going to a store and picking these out, but he’s done an amazing job. The window itself is adorned with a strand of little clear lights that give the room a charming glow. The hardwood flooring has a fluffy purple rug in the center of the room. One of my paintings, a canvas that simply says follow your dreams is hung on the wall.
But that’s not even the best part.
In the middle of the room, facing the window, is an easel with a blank canvas already set up on the stand. A big red bow sits on the corner of the canvas and a table with fresh new paintbrushes, tons of paints in every color, and a collection of mixed media supplies rest in a neat line against the wall.
Park has taken little bits of the things I love, every aspect of what makes me happy, and turned it into a glorious paint studio just for me.
I don’t even realize tears are in my eyes until I blink and they roll down my cheeks. I turn around and find Park standing in the doorway, a look of anxious anticipation on his face. “What do you think?” he says, gesturing to the room.
I crush into him, throwing my arms around his shoulders. He catches me, hoisting me up until I’m eye level with him and he’s holding me in the air. I kiss him hard. “It’s the best present ever,” I say, burying my head into his shoulder. “My presents for you suck now.”
“No they don’t,” he says, squeezing me to him, his calloused hands pressing into my back. “It’s not a competition, anyhow.”
I shake my head and wipe away the tears. “Hey…Park?”
“Mmm?” he says into my collarbone as his lips gently kiss me.
“Take me to your room.” My request is a whisper, but he hears me and does exactly as he’s told.
Chapter 16
I wrap my legs around my boyfriend’s waist and cling to his neck as he descends the stairs much too quickly, in my opinion. I let out a frightened squeal as we round the corner banister to the second floor. “I got you,” he says, sounding way too amused with himself. He may be strong enough to carry me, but one misstep could send us tumbling down two flights of stairs.
But he makes it to his bedroom door as promised, and shifts his hands to where one is wrapped around me and the other opens his bedroom door. He closes it behind us and although we’re the only two people in the house, it feels much safer within the privacy of his bedroom.
Just like in the movie make out scenes, Park walks me to his bed and lowers me onto it. He doesn’t even stumble. There’s something so sexy about a man who can carry m
e around and set me on the bed without so much as gasping for breath.
“Come here,” I whisper, and Park climbs onto the bed, on top of me, with his arms on either side of my head. I slip my hands under his shirt, planning on doing some kind of sexy slow motion movement to take it off, but the moment my fingers touch his warm muscular stomach, I can’t help myself. I grab his shirt and pull it over his head and he helps me take his arms out.
Without waiting for him to make a move, I lift my back and pull my shirt off as well. Park’s expression goes from surprised to awe. He leans back on his heels and runs his hands up my belly, to my ribs and on to my bra. I am not waiting for him to ask permission this time. I will not back out. I want this. I need this.
I wrap one hand around his neck and pull myself up, kissing his neck and tracing my tongue down to his collar bone. With my other hand, I reach around and unhook my bra, then pull it off and let it fall to the floor. Park moans when I kiss his neck again and then he slides both hands down my back and around my butt. He presses into me, our flesh colliding in ways that make me shudder.
“Off,” I whisper as I tug on his jeans. He takes them off quickly, leaving on nothing but his boxers. I do the same with my jeans, but I let him help me pull them off.
“I love you so much,” he says as he tosses my jeans to the floor.
I’m lying on my back in the middle of Park’s bed while he needs at my feet, smiling. I’m exposed, vulnerable, and yet I don’t feel any worry anymore. No anxiety about my body or fears that he won’t like me for me. Even when he leans forward and the muscles in his arms flex, reminding me that he is so out of my league, I don’t question his love for me, not even once.
Chills prickle over my skin when he slides his calloused palms up my thighs, up and up until his thumbs hook under the waistband of my panties. He kisses the flesh just below my belly button and a title wave of pleasure rolls through my body.
He looks upward with his lips still kissing me. Our eyes meet and I have to gasp for air because I hadn’t been breathing. He trails kisses up my body, across my ribs and over my breast. I squirm with desire until his lips meet mine and his warm chest matches up with mine as he hovers over me. His hips press into mine and his need makes mine grows stronger.
Park’s eyes search mine. “Are you ready?” he asks.
I slide my hands up his back, reveling in the power of love, the feel of his body next to mine. “Yes.”
###
Learn more about Mixon Motocross Park and read a summer love story in Motocross Me, a novel by Amy Sparling’s pen name Cheyanne Young. Available here: http://amzn.to/1EapZ8E
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About the Author
Amy Sparling is the author of The Summer Unplugged Series, The Devin and Tobey Series, Deadbeat & other awesome books for younger teens. She also writes books for older teens under the pen name Cheyanne Young. She lives in Houston, Texas with her family and a super spoiled rotten puppy.
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Summer Forever
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
About the Author
