Chasing Clouds

by Kathryn Andrews

  “Come on, let’s go get some groceries and buy Ali and Drew a blender. How they survived without protein shakes, I’ll never know.”

  SHE’S RIGHT—THIS feels like what I expect a honeymoon to feel like, and I don’t hate it. I don’t hate it at all. In fact, I can’t remember ever having a better time than I am with her right now.

  Something has happened to her while we’ve been here over the last week. Granted, I think this all goes back to the fact that I didn’t really know her before, but if I had to guess, something’s changed. Her real smiles are out in full force, no more of the fake ones. Her posture, although still perfect, looks relaxed, and her laughter is even more infectious than it was before. She’s still poised and classy in a way that has me constantly staring at her, in a way that couldn’t disappear even if she tried, but now she’s goofy, outgoing, and more carefree. It’s like she was sleeping and now she’s awake.

  Every day, we spend almost all our time together. We’ve spent hours down on the beach, whether just lying by the water, collecting shells, or exploring. We’ve gone on bike rides that stretch from one end of the island to the other. We’ve fished off of the pier, cooked dinner, played board games—you name it, we’ve done it. The only time we are apart is when I head over to a local gym I found to get in a decent workout. Even then, she’s all I think of.

  What do I think about? I think about the slope of her neck and how dainty her collarbone is. I think about the shape of her lips when she’s smiling at me, just for me. I think about the tiny clothes she wears on her tight body, the way she’s considerate of my health goals when she cooks for us, and how she thinks me trying to hide in a disguise is the funniest thing ever. I think about so much, and I know for certain, even long after we’ve said goodbye, I’ll think most about what she looks like when she has her headphones in, her eyes are closed, and she’s dancing around the house or on the beach.

  Yes, she danced on the beach in front of other people.

  The first time, I was watching clips Jack had sent over. She was stretching next to me, and then all of a sudden she wasn’t. She twisted in some graceful move and was standing. Her arms, her feet, her body—they glided across the sand, and I know I wasn’t the only one watching her. She was mesmerizing, and her skill and techniques painted us all a story of how deeply she’s classically trained. She cast a spell on all of us, me most of all. For weeks she’s had this constant worry about propriety, about how people will react if she’s seen doing something less than perfect, but dancing on the beach, it was like she didn’t have a care in the world.

  And then there are the nights.

  Every night I lie next to her, and it gets harder and harder to not lose myself completely in her. I’ve tried to respect any boundaries that may be in place between us, but we are on vacation, technically we are married, and even though she’s not, right now she sure feels like mine—and I really want what’s mine.

  This morning, when we woke up, she was draped across me and lying on my chest. Her face was buried in my neck, her chest was pressed to mine, and her leg was bent and across my groin. There was no hiding the evidence of what the combination of her on top of me and the early hour was doing to my body, but she didn’t shy away. Instead, she rubbed the length of her leg across me as she stretched out slowly. I could have died. On. The. Spot.

  I want her, she knows I want her, and I’m certain she wants me too. This slow burn that’s been building between us over the last three weeks is on the cusp of igniting into scorching flames.

  I lie here for a good thirty minutes to tame the blood roaring through my body.

  “Morning,” she finally mumbles, the sound of her voice vibrating from her chest into mine.

  I don’t respond. Instead, I grab her hips, pushing her down to create some friction, and she lets out a small noise as she wraps her hands under my shoulders and hides her face against my chest.

  Eventually she looks up at me seductively. “Maybe later,” she whispers, taking in every feature of my face, and then her eyes widen with excitement and she sits up, straddling me. “But first, you promised me a boat ride.” She squeezes my shoulders, the warmth of her hands imprinting my already overly sensitive skin, shimmies off me, throws the covers back, and hops out of bed.

  I continue to lie there unmoving as her eyes slide to my tented boxer briefs.

  “That’s your fault,” I say in a deadpan tone. I’m teasing her and she knows it, but her cheeks down to her chest flush red. Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, I reach for her and pull her between my legs. As I lay my forehead against her stomach, her hands come up to thread through my hair, and I glide mine down over her lower back, butt, and the backs of her legs. She feels so good. “Just so you know, we’ll be revisiting that ‘maybe later’ statement at some point.”

  “I think we should,” she whispers, her fingers tightening in my hair.

  Letting out a sigh, I push her away and stand up. I tower over her, and I love it. “I did promise you a boat ride, so let’s go out now before it gets too hot. I’ll hit the gym afterward.”

  She squeals a little, smiling, and hugs my arm. “I’m so excited! I haven’t been out on a boat in a really long time.”

  I don’t tell her that I’ve never been on a boat.

  Hours later, after a little fumbling and what I feel is a lot of dumb luck on my part, we’ve taken a rented boat from Anna Maria down past Sarasota and back. I now understand why people love boating so much—there’s a sense of freedom in being on the water under an open sky and having the wind blow through your hair.

  For lunch, we stopped on a small island Ali told us about. It was deserted and covered with large, undamaged shells. Camille filled an entire bag with unique finds as we walked around the perimeter, claiming she wanted to put them in a jar as a souvenir. I took pictures of her and us instead. Those will be my souvenirs.

  “Tell me something I don’t know about you,” she says, looking over at me from where she’s lying stomach down on her towel.

  “Like what? I feel like you know most all of it by now.”

  “Do you have a bucket list?” She kicks her legs up behind her and my eyes trace the curve in her back to her ass.

  “Not really.” I lie down next to her on my side, propping my head up on my hand.

  “That can’t be true. Everyone has a list of things they consider to be their dreams and goals in life.” Between the hat and her sunglasses, I can’t really see her face, but she’s shaking her head like she doesn’t believe me.

  “Okay, dreams and goals,” I repeat, thinking about her words and how they apply to me, my life. “Goals I’m on board with. I guess you could put winning the Super Bowl on there for me, but as for dreams, why are the things we most desire to do in life dreams? Dreams are fake, not reality. If something is important enough to me, I’ll make it happen. It’s as simple as that.”

  She rolls on her side to mirror me as she contemplates my response. The top of her bikini gaps a little, and I desperately want to push her onto her back and lick from her navel to her throat.

  “All right, wise guy. What about someone who wants to visit Italy but doesn’t have the money? Wandering through small villages, eating amazing pasta, drinking wine from the vineyards, seeing famous structures from the past like the Colosseum—this is on their list to do in their lifetime, a dream for them.”

  She has a point. I understand wanting to do things but there being a lack of money. Look at where I’m from and how my mom worked to provide for us, even if we didn’t have a lot.

  “Okay, I’ll give you that, but not everything on everyone’s list should be focused around the fact that they don’t have enough money. Think about those who want to run a marathon, hike the Appalachian Trail, or write a book. It’s free to run, free to hike, and free to write. These would be goals. These things are obtainable, and if they mean enough, a person will make them happen.”

  “So terrible.” She shakes her head. “A bucket list
is supposed to be romanticized and admired by the individual creating it. You make it sound like a to-do list—so uninspiring.”

  “I don’t mean to. Like I said, I’ve never really thought about it. I like setting goals for myself and achieving them.”

  “Agree to disagree. Now tell me what’s on your life to-do list.” She smirks, and behind my sunglasses, I roll my eyes.

  “Obviously win the Super Bowl at least once during my career. I plan to buy my mom a home and have her accept it. Soon, I’d like to buy myself one, and after having Zeus around, maybe even get a dog.”

  “That’s it?” She frowns. “Isn’t there anywhere you’d like to go, something you’d like to see?”

  Picking up some sand from the ground between us, I rub it between my fingers and watch as it falls. My answer to her question feels personal; it makes me feel vulnerable, and I’m not sure I like it. If anyone else were to ask me this, I wouldn’t answer, but I know sharing thoughts like this, sharing parts of me with her—it’s okay.

  “There’s never been one particular place I wanted to go. I just want to go everywhere. That was the goal growing up—to get out of the Bronx and see the world, the world being anywhere other than New York City. You would call it a childhood dream to play in the NFL, but I saw it as my ticket out, a goal. If I worked hard enough, I could make it happen, and I did. From the moment I stepped onto that first plane ride in college till now, I’ve been everywhere. Every game in every city was a new adventure. Do I have dreams of going somewhere far away and exotic? Not really. If the opportunity arose, great, I would go in a heartbeat, but it isn’t anything I sit around and think about. What about you? Clearly you’ve thought long and hard about this.”

  Watching me, she reaches over and swirls her finger in the sand pile I just made. She smashes it down and I shake my head at her silliness. She giggles.

  “I want to own my own store. It doesn’t even matter where, I just want it to be mine and I’d like to call it Vintage Soul. I want to see the Northern Lights in their full brilliance. I want to take a hot air balloon ride.”

  Is it wrong that as she talks about the things on her list, the wheels in my brain start turning as to how I can make all of them happen? That would imply that we are going to be together longer than the two months, though, something neither one of us has talked about.

  “A hot air balloon ride—aren’t you worried about falling out?”

  She laughs. “No! It’s a big basket. There’s no falling out.”

  “Hello.” I wave my hand over my body. “Big guy here. Basket won’t be that big if I get in one.”

  “Wait.” She sits up. “Are you scared of heights?” She’s grinning from ear to ear.

  I sit up with her and start packing up our things. “No, I’m not afraid of heights. I just don’t see the need to put myself in a situation where I could possibly die. Admit it, plunging toward the earth after falling out of a hot air balloon would be a really dumb way to die.”

  She throws her head back and laughs even louder this time. I love her laugh. “Reid, if you fell out of a hot air balloon, people wouldn’t say, ‘Wow, what a dumb way to die.’ They’d say, ‘Wow, that guy is a dumbass for falling out.’”

  I can’t help but laugh along with her. She’s right, and I would be the first person to say that too.

  “Speaking of rides, our half-day rental is probably getting close to being up.”

  She frowns, but her skin is already starting to look pink. I run my finger down her shoulder and she sees it too.

  “Come on, princess. Time to go.”

  Together we wade out to where the boat is anchored. I toss the food and beach bags onto the back then position us so we’re right next to the motor. The water comes up to my chest, and she has to hang on to me to prevent herself from going under. We’re still close to the island, not out in the open water, but we’re mostly concealed from anyone who might see us.

  Wrapping my hand around her back, I pull on the string. “You do realize these bikinis are so small, you might as well be naked.”

  “What?” She laughs, dropping down so her lips lie just above the surface of the water.

  “I mean, come on—you have to know.” I pull off her sunglasses and hat and toss them onto the boat with mine. “It’s only a couple tiny scraps of fabric, and they don’t leave much to the imagination.”

  “That’s such a guy thing to say.” She splashes me with water, grinning.

  “Yeah, but I can’t help it—look at you.” I drop my gaze slowly down toward her chest and then drag it back up.

  She smiles and blinks, drops of water sticking to her lashes. She’s so beautiful, sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe.

  “Come here.” I find her arm and pull her closer, warmth from her body layering over me. Her legs automatically wrap around my waist, and her hands slide up my arms and over my shoulders, pushing her flush against me and leaving her mouth only inches away.

  She licks her lips and I drop my head forward to lick them too. They taste a little like salt mixed with sunblock; they taste good.

  “Reid.”

  “Yeah?” I mumble.

  “Kiss me.” Her hand slides up my neck to the back of my head and she pulls to eliminate the distance. Her lips crush against mine, open, and I instantly dip my tongue into her mouth. Now she tastes like cherry gummy bears from our lunch.

  Time gets lost as we sway with the water and the incoming wake from passing boats. Back and forth we roll into each other and into the boat, and more than once I ask myself how I got so lucky as to be here.

  I kiss her, biting the skin of her neck and listening to her moan as she tilts her head back, giving me permission to slide the fabric of her top to the side and suck on her perfect breasts.

  Gripping her ass, my fingertips slide under the edge of her bikini bottoms so I’m palming her skin to skin, and I rub her against me up and down.

  “You feel so good,” I tell her, staring into the blue of her eyes that matches the cloudless sky.

  “You feel even better,” she responds, tightening her legs around my hips.

  “I need you.” My heart is hammering in my chest at my admission.

  Without hesitation, she says, “So take me.”

  No three words could be more perfect for this moment, but not here. There’s no way I’m doing this here where it’s fumbled, quick, and possibly interrupted. I’m going to take my time, explore every inch of her skin, and I desperately need to hear her call out my name.

  “How about I take you home?”

  She nods and leans forward to kiss me again. Wet lips and wet skin are such an aphrodisiac as my body melts even farther into hers.

  I don’t know why we’ve waited as long as we have, but I wouldn’t change a thing. Every shared look, every kiss, and every tender touch has been leading up to this, and I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. There’s something about the buildup and the anticipation that’s already made this the best experience I’ve ever had.

  EVERYTHING BETWEEN US, since day one, has always been so comfortable and so effortless. Nothing needs to be questioned or said; we already know.

  The whole ride back to the house, he keeps his hand on the bare skin of my thigh, his thumb rubbing circles, and I breathe in sync with each swipe.

  Neither one of us says a word as he pulls into the driveway and parks the car. We climb out, he meets me on my side, and he reaches for my hand as we walk to the front door. Excitement burns through me, and I feel a blush run up my neck as I think about the things we’re about to do.

  The door closes behind us and he walks straight to our bedroom, pulling me behind him. My eyes trace the muscles across his shoulders and back, and I admire how perfect his body is. He works hard for it, and it shows.

  “You sure about this?” he asks, looking back at me, not surprising me at all. Besides the fact that he’s been considerate and a complete gentleman our entire time together, he’s asked me what I wante
d in everything we’ve done and let me make my own decisions. This makes me feel an array of emotions from powerful to understood. Patrick always made my decisions for me. Granted, I know it was my fault because I wanted to make him happy, I just don’t know when I let him take over so much that my happiness suffered and I lost myself.

  Smiling, I take a step closer to Reid as he stops in the entryway to our room, and I look up into his heavily lidded eyes. “I’ve never been more sure in my entire life.”

  Reaching for the hem of my dress, I pull the little beach cover-up over my head. Reid blinks then drinks me in as I stand there in my bikini.

  “All week I’ve dreamed of untying these four little ties. These here on each hip.” His hands brush against them and my skin, causing every nerve ending to light up and sing out loud. “This one on your back.” He turns me and trails those long fingers up my lower back, causing me to shiver and be covered in goose bumps. “And this one here around your neck.”

  He pushes my hair out of the way and warm lips find their way from my shoulder to my neck, over to the tie. My eyes briefly slip shut as his teeth grab a loose end and pull. Slowly, the strings unravel, my top gaping and then falling as he tugs free the knot on my back. The entire piece flutters to the floor, and he hums his approval against my temple.

  Large hands wrap around my rib cage and slide up until he’s cupping my breasts. My head falls back against his shoulder and I moan as his mouth latches onto my neck, tasting, exploring, learning. I’d like to say I plan on spending just as much time on him, because I do want to know every inch of his body, but at the moment, I can’t. I’m spellbound by his touch.

  While one hand continues to caress me on the top, the other slides down the front of me, moving from my neck, between my breasts, across my stomach, and under my bikini bottoms, putting him directly over my center. He can feel what he’s doing to me, and I want him to do more—so much more.