Love Needs Another Chance (Truth About Love #3)

by Caleigh Hernandez

  She walks towards her bedroom door. “Now, you need to leave. It might only be ten in the morning, but I have a need for ice cream and alcohol.”

  I choke on the air escaping me. “Izzy.”

  “I love you, Diego,” she states matter-of-factly. “And I’m pretty sure you feel the same, but I refuse to be the reason you’re unhappy. Now, go, because you will be the reason I’m unhappy and you’re not going to like it.”

  Chapter Thirteen: Mr. Brightside (Part 7)

  January 2007

  Hindsight is a motherfucker.

  I shake the thought around in my head. It sloshes around with everything else under the effects of the tequila. Glass ten— or fifteen, who the fuck knows?—goes down without the burn and I continue down miserable memory lane, hoping the happy ending it leads to will be duplicated in the one I travel this time around.

  Why couldn’t I have just committed? Even in my head, I sound drunk as fuck. Why the fuck did I have to go and get claustro-fucking-phobic?

  Then the aftermath of my naked debacle had me losing my mind.

  It made everyday life nearly impossible.

  Chapter Fourteen: Wonderwall

  April 1999

  I’m losing my mind. It’s been a whole week and Izzy still hasn’t made the call I’m not supposed to hold my breath for. Fuck. The normal blur and single-minded focus I have on the path I’m running are both absent under the pressure of Izzy missing from my every day. Baz is keeping quiet as he pounds the pavement next to me. It was his idea to go for a run.

  Baz had kept spewing his “she hasn’t told you to stop” bullshit. And then I got a call from Lito. He didn’t say much, wanted to know how studying for finals was going and if Baz and I were coming to dinner Sunday. I know he knows Izzy and I were taking a break, but I haven’t told him the other shit. He asked if I’d seen or talked to her. When I growled a “no,” he left it at that. That was until he mentioned having plans for lunch with her next week. I managed to not explode while on the phone, but there was nothing holding me back when we hung up.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I sent the contents of my desk flying in every which direction. Baz looked over at me from his place on the small couch in my dorm room. I think the fucker was amused by my misery. “She can call Lito, but she can’t call me?” I can still hear my rage bouncing off the walls back at me.

  “You should do that again,” he chastised. “I’m sure that will get you the answers to all your finals and how to win Izzy back.”

  “You’re a real asshole, Baz.”

  “Takes one to no one,” he taunts in a prepubescent voice.

  “Whatever the fuck ever.” But he was right. I leaned down to pick up the scattered notebooks and course books. Not bothering with the inconsequential items strewn on either side of my desk.

  We round the corner at La Jolla Shores Drive and El Paseo Grande and I know I have about a half mile more before we hit the sand. Where running the pavement is failing me, the run on the sand will burn my muscles and numb my mind.

  Baz bowed out after the first twenty minutes in the sand. He went to sit with some friends he ran into on the beach. It was nearly sunset when exhaustion forced me to slow down. I was thankful for the peace and quiet at this end of the ocean shoreline. The tide was high; the crashing sound of the waves was only drowned out by the rhythmic pounding of my heart pumping. Just as my heart rate began to settle, Baz reached me, slapping me on the shoulder.

  “Better, bro?” he asks, I can hear he’s hoping for a different answer than he’s going to get.

  “Better?” I ask, winded.

  He just stands there. Waiting for me to say more.

  “What the fuck, Baz? It’s been a week, seven whole days since Izzy’s birthday and she still hasn’t called. I need to fix this. It’s as if without her I can’t exist. During classes, my mind wanders to waking nightmares of her with the suit from the other night. You practically guaranteed she’d give me a second chance. Her not calling or answering when I call doesn’t feel so much like a second chance.”

  “Maybe, but answer me something, Diego.” He pauses, I give him a nod. He tosses the soccer ball at my feet. “Has she told you to stop?”

  Still volleying the ball from the top of one foot to the next, I look up at him, my face asking if he’s an idiot. “Of course not, she hasn’t answered or called back.” I focus my attention back on the bouncing ball, flicking it up a little higher and turning to redirect it with my heel.

  “Think about it,” Baz says tracking me as I circle him dribbling the ball. “If she was completely done, she’d tell you not to bother. Right now, she’s fucking pissed at you. Hell, I’m fucking pissed at you. Lito—” Oh no. Does Lito know? The ball rolls to a stop in front of him when I stop to ask the question I can’t get out. “No,” he says, passing the ball back to me, “Lito doesn’t know.” He answers the question I asked with my eyes. I return to volleying the ball between my feet. “As I was saying, Lito would probably whoop your ass.” Ya think? “That would practically be a given,” he answers my next unvoiced question.

  I flick the ball up from my feet to bounce it from one knee to the other. I keep this up because the concentration this takes keeps my mind from running away with thoughts of Izzy, but thoughts of Lito are no better. I let the ball drop to my foot and give it a nice solid kick straight up. “He’s gonna kill me,” I say flatly, meeting the ball on its way down I drill it past Baz with a scissor kick.

  “You’re fucking getting that,” he tells me.

  I push myself up from the sand and brush off the grains that cling to me. I rush to the ball before it rolls out with the surf. I remember what Lito said about Izzy after meeting her at the previous game.

  “He told me Izzy was the kind of girl you date last.”

  “Huh?”

  “Lito. After meeting Izzy at the game, when he came to take us to dinner for my birthday?” I’m hoping that’s enough to jog Baz’ memory. He confirms his memory of the night with a nod, and I continue. “When you left, he said that. At first, I didn’t understand either, but he explained it,” I trail off at the end.

  The chill in the air is a welcoming balm to the heat; I’m still sweating from my run-to-forget session. I’m kicking the ball around flicking it up from behind and over my shoulder to land on my knees where it volleys back and forth before I let it fall to my foot.

  Izzy’s house is just a two mile or so run from here. Now that I’ve caught my breath, I could be there in ten, fifteen min—

  “Ahem,” Baz breaks through my game planning and I kind of wish I could drill this ball in his face. “Try it,” he taunts, letting me know he saw the thought play out across my face.

  I make the wise decision to keep the ball to myself. I really hate being Baz’ punching bag and even though we’re practically brothers and I have a couple of inches and several pounds on him, I don’t doubt he’s mad enough with me to paint the beach with my blood, sweat, and tears. “The way Lito put it,” I start to explain. “Well, the way I understood it,” making it clear that this was not about to be a verbatim recollection, “girls like Izzy are meant to be your last. That’s it. She’s the one.”

  “Uhh…”

  “Yeah, I know. I thought Lito was insane, but it makes sense now…” I trail off, taking a seat in the sand. I couldn’t imagine Izzy being ‘the one’, let alone anyone being ‘the one’ at the time.

  “Hello? You’re just going to leave it at ‘it makes sense now’, really?”

  “Oh. Sorry. When Lito said it, all I knew was that I liked Izzy and I didn’t even think twice about trading quantity for quality. I just figured he was passing down some Yoda-like wisdom that didn’t apply to me. Or Izzy.” I turn to look at Baz. “But, I get it now. Sitting on the edge of losing my last, I get it. You
don’t plan on meeting your last. There isn’t some proverbial fucking number you reach when you decide, ‘Okay, now I’m ready.’”

  The look on Baz’ face is priceless. “No, I’m not insane. Did I ever tell you about when I realized I wanted to be Izzy’s last?”

  “’Cause we talk about shit like that, right?”

  I nod my head and give him a knowing shrug. “We were at her place. Mazzy was gone for the weekend, so it was a bit like playing house.” I hear Baz fucking laughing, but I keep going. “We had just had dinner. She made mom’s tinga.”

  He doesn’t say it out loud, but I saw his face, “Oh.”

  “Yup. It was a complete surprise and she nailed it. Apparently, she called Lito for a recipe and he chose that one.” Lito knew it was my favorite. The one dish that always makes me think of my mom. “When we were done with dinner…”

  Izzy moved around the kitchen as if she was floating. Those white pants that hugged her ass and filled out so much that it looked like a flowy skirt made her look like a Greek goddess. I grabbed her as she made her next pass to clear the table. “Do you know how fucking hot you look?” I nestled her into me and across my lap. “Can you be my dessert?” I nuzzled her neck.

  “Who says that wasn’t always the plan?” she taunted, getting up from my lap and grabbing the last couple of dishes.

  I leaned back in the chair looking at the sunset over the Pacific Ocean. A few moments later, Izzy broke through my trance. “With or without whipped cream?” she asked from behind me.

  I turned to see what she was serving and— “Holy shit.”

  Fuck me.

  She was hot as fuck wearing nothing but dripping chocolate. She allowed me my slack-jaw appraisal, striking a pose with a can of whipped cream in one hand and a bowl with more chocolate in the other. When our eyes met again, she moved toward me. That’s when I noticed the chocolate wasn’t actually dripping; it was frosting with something in it. Izzy was just out of my reach when she came to a stop. “I made brownies.”

  “Brownies? Really?” I stalked closer. Close enough to lick the chocolate frosting from her. I breathed on her neck, “I don’t see any brownies, bella.” I felt the air tremble around her when she shivered at my words. She took a step back.

  With the sexiest shit-eating grin, she clued me in, “I crumbled them up into the frosting.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief in the dim lighting. She set the can of whipped cream on the table and picked up—

  A paintbrush?

  “Want some?” Izzy playfully pouted as she painted every cream inch around her breast with the Chocolate Brownies a la Izzy.

  I had lost my tongue somewhere between finding out she was covered in chocolate and brownies and watching her paint more of the sweet, wicked dessert on herself. So, I simply nodded.

  She dipped the paintbrush and set the bowl down. Taking the one step that separated us, Izzy smeared the paintbrush across her lips and waited. I saw the come-and-get-it-look in her eyes and I was licking the sweet treat from her lips before licking into her mouth, searching for her tongue. Our tongues tangled together and we let out matching moans. Her sweet sound mixed with the delectable dessert swirling around with our tongues caused my cock to stir and demand release from the confines of the jeans.

  I snaked the back of Izzy’s neck with one hand, adjusted myself with the other, and quickly found my voice. “I really want to pull this out,” I had gritted out, rubbing her hand against the strained bulge in my jeans, “but I want to play with my dessert while I eat it.” She looked up from my cock and met my eyes.

  “Well then,” she stepped out of my hold and moved a chair, “no time like the present,” she finished, hopping up on the table and making her body the sweetest dessert buffet I had ever seen.

  I tried to take my time removing my shirt, appreciating the view before me. I tried. But Izzy was squirming, and I love that tell about her. She was so ready. If I let this go on much longer, she’ll beg. Tossing the shirt aside, I climbed up on the table with her. I hovered over her, planted one arm on either side of her with my knees straddling legs. I lowered my head toward her chest, her pert nipple the object of my desire.

  I teased the bud with my bottom lip and she arched up. “Wait,” I halted, up-righting myself quickly, “I want it with whipped cream.” This time, when she squirmed, I felt her rubbing against the inside of my thighs and I had to stifle a groan at the friction. Izzy, on the other hand, was humming with anticipation.

  I grabbed the can of whipped cream and popped the top. Meanwhile, Izzy was squirming even more. “You ready?” I asked while shaking the can. She didn’t answer but her eyes were begging me. I threw my head back and squeezed some of the creamy, whipped dessert topping onto my tongue.

  I stopped just above her breast, first staring at her chest; my eyes followed the trail of chocolate treat brush strokes across her collarbone and up her neck. My eyes worked their way from under her chin to her swollen lips to her eyes. Her eyes went from watching what I was doing to land on mine. Without breaking the connection, I dropped to close my mouth on the hardened bud, spreading the cool whipped cream and mixing with the chocolate. I felt her skin pebble with goosebumps. Still not moving my eyes from hers, I closed down on as much of her tit as I could fit in my mouth. She broke eye contact, throwing her head back as she arched up. Before she came down, I hooked my left arm around her back and sucked harder. I used my free hand to massage the breast on the receiving end of my tongue massage.

  “Ohhhhh,” Izzy cried out at the nip I gave her right breast before I switched to the left. I repeated the slow torturous process I took with the right. “I have no doubt that right now Izzy, you’re soaking wet and ready, but I want more dessert.” I could feel what she wanted—needed, but she went through all this trouble for dessert, I would not waste a single smudge of the chocolate and brownies painted onto her skin.

  After licking most of her chest clean, I worked my way to the painted on happy trail straight down to the main dish of tonight’s after dinner sweetfest. I spread her open and piled on the whipped cream, lapping it all up, before I shifted my attention to give Izzy a taste with a kiss that had her pressing up against me and testing my willpower to stay the course.

  “Fuck, Diego,” she gasped breathlessly. “FUCK!” She demanded as I made my way back down her body.

  I chuckled against her clit, aware that the sensation was somewhere between painful and pleasurable. She groaned and I closed down on the trigger to most of her orgasms, swirling and swirling at the button before plunging my tongue into her sweet as fuck pussy. I was no longer able to withstand the pulsing pressure in my pants. With a whip at the waist, I undid the buttoned up closure and reached in to free my cock.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Izzy shouted when she heard the popping of the buttons on my jeans.

  “Not yet, baby” I answered, taking a breath from devouring her like the greedy, selfish man I am.

  Once I worked her to a fever pitch, I picked up my pace alternating between the swirl and swipe to the plunging of my tongue. A tremble raced through her body and that was my cue. After the next swirl of my tongue, I pulled pack and dipped two fingers into her pulsing pussy. Goddamn her cunt is fucking amazing. My cock twitched, begging for his turn. I let her ride out the orgasm on my hand lathing her clit with the attentions of my tongue from soft and slow to hard and fast.

  I popped up from my own personal heaven to shed the jeans and the boxer briefs. Izzy had the whipped cream in her hand before I was back up on the table. “Can I have a little taste?” she asked with the bat of her lashes.

  I’m not one to turn down having his dick covered in a creamy white sweetness, this sweetness was just a little…stickier. Izzy squirt out enough to cover the head and halfway down, but in just a few seconds she had the shaft licked clean and she was sucking on the tip. “Ahhhh,” I l
et out as she added a swirl of her tongue around the rim, never letting up on the vacuum she created. The next moment she was spreading the moisture down the length of my cock, pumping a little at the base.

  “Fucking shit, Izzy.” There was no warning, no easing into it, she had my cock bottoming out in the back of her throat in record time and I squeezed the base to keep from finishing before I had been buried deep in her pussy. I pulled out barely registering the scrap of her teeth.

  “Top or bottom?” I asked, reminding her of our first phone conversation.

  “Top, of course,” she said moving off to the side to switch places with me.

  It was her turn to hover above me. This time, all five feet nothing of her was standing over me, her legs straddling me at the thighs. She took her time lowering herself to my eager cock.

  When she was within reach, I got my cock in hand and ready, so as not to waste time having to line things up. She shook her head at me and I freed myself from my grip. She glided her wet pussy back and forth across the underside of my shaft, moving just out of the way when I thrusted up when her wet opening was lined up with the tip.

  I knew what was coming when she stopped. I looked past her hovering pussy, up past the once chocolate painted breasts to her eyes. As my eyes met hers, in one fell swoop, my cock was sheathed deep in her. “Oh, fuck.” She had the length of me swathed by the walls of her core, her muscles milking at my cock. “Fucking hell, Izzy.”