“Kenn?”
She turns, her cheeks streaked with tears. Last night after her visit with her dad, whatever I did seemed to help, but now the veil’s drawn on her face again, shadows in those gorgeous blue eyes.
“Oh, no, baby. What’s wrong?”
She gives a helpless little shrug, and something in me screams a warning.
“Did your dad say something to you last night?” Does he have any inkling of what’s happening between us?
“It’s not that.” She shakes her head and dashes away her tears with the heel of her hand. When she speaks again, her voice is watery. “Do you ever feel like you want too much in this world? Or like even the small things you do want, you don’t deserve?”
“Nothing you want is wrong, McKenna.”
“Except for you,” she whispers, looking gutted. “Isn’t that what you keep telling me?”
This is the first time I’ve seen her waver, and I hate the fragile feeling of uncertainty. I need her to believe in us—to believe in me. And I remember the conversation I had with my dad where he asked me to watch out for McKenna. I realize, now, that I am taking care of her, just not in the way I originally thought she needed. I’m listening to her in a way other people haven’t and giving her the chance to make up her own mind. To choose who she wants to be—and who she wants to be with.
“All those things I said before don’t feel true anymore,” I say, my voice raw. “I don’t want to be the one who tells you what’s right for you. The rest of the world has been doing that to you for your whole life. I don’t want to show you the world and tell you you can’t have it. I want to be the one to give it to you.”
Hell if I know which way is up when it comes to this girl, but I know that I can’t help wanting to give her everything. I reach for her wrist and tug her to me without caring who’s around to see. I wrap my arms around her, kiss the side of her head. Her hair smells like shampoo and the faintest traces of sex.
“Want to know two things I learned in rehab?”
McKenna’s shoulders stiffen under my touch. “What’s that?” she asks quietly against the front of my T-shirt.
“Well, how to sweet talk the chef into giving me extra peanut butter cookies, for one.”
She snorts. “I’m sure you had her wrapped around your fingers.”
“Her? Nah.” I grin. “Butch was all man. A six-foot-three ex-con who put his love of knives into a more socially-acceptable hobby than carving up gas station clerks.”
Her laugh makes my chest loosen a little.
“But the other thing I learned? That you’re the only one who can make choices for you. You always have a choice. And no matter what you choose, no matter what you want, the people who are meant to be in your life will love you.”
She tilts her head back and looks me in the eye with her lips parted. “Even you?”
Saying it feels like jumping into the ocean without testing the water first—exhilarating and terrifying all at once. But I don’t hesitate, just let the words fly. I can’t promise McKenna the future because that’s out of everyone’s control, but I can give her this gift. Hell, I can give myself this gift.
“Yeah, Kenn. Even me.”
It’s a heartbeat away from I love you, and it feels exactly right.
As I wait for McKenna’s reaction, my chest rises with unsteady breaths and the world spins a little. But then she smiles in a way that’s so radiant and hopeful my heart skips a beat.
“Back atcha.”
I want to deserve her smile, but I’m being a hypocrite giving out advice I’m not taking for myself. This summer I’ve avoided making choices, but if I’m going to be the man I want to be, I need to handle my shit first. The future’s here in my hands, but before I can walk toward it, I need to let go of my past.
I stand outside for a long, long time, holding McKenna tight to my chest. And when we finally go inside, I send the text message I’ve been putting off for too long. Cleaning up my mess starts now. Let the chips fall where they may.
Okay, Hailey. I’m ready to talk. Let’s figure out a time.
25
McKenna
July
“Ugh.” I press my hands against my chest and turn toward Blake while the closing credits roll for Silver Linings Playbook. “Bradley Cooper just kills it in this movie.”
Blake shrugs. “He’s not bad. But in the cast, De Niro is the far superior actor.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Your judgment is seriously flawed, old man. In fact, this might change how I feel about you.”
“I don’t know. I think you were feeling pretty damn good about me yesterday morning.”
My face heats with the mention of my kitchen orgasm, with Blake’s almost I love you, so I’m unprepared when he digs his hands into my sides and tickles me.
A giggle bursts out of me, and I shake my head breathlessly, bringing us nose to nose. “Not fair!”
Blake’s hazel eyes fill with amusement, and he looks so lighthearted and young that I can’t help leaning forward to kiss him.
“Hello?” Brooke’s inquiry precedes a sharp knock at the door.
Shit.
My heart slams in my throat and Blake drops his hands from my sides. We spring apart, hot and guilty.
I tug down the hem of my shirt and straighten my shorts.
“Coming!” I call.
Blake makes a motion around my head, so I pat my hair into place.
Shit.
Look how close we just came to getting caught.
My heart’s still galloping in my chest when I swing open the door.
Brooke and Sam and Max stand outside, the porch light highlighting their faces against the dark night. Sam clutches a paper bag that smells like donuts, and Max holds a six-pack of sodas like a peace offering. Behind them, I hear the drowsy flicker of an insect’s wings as it buzzes down the street, but it’s too dark to see beyond the glow of my house.
“Can we come in?” Brooke asks.
“Of course.” I step back and wave my arm inside.
I shoot a glance over my shoulder at Blake, who’s still sitting on the couch. His gaze darkens the minute Max steps through the door, and I feel a proud little tug in my stomach. He’s jealous. Because he wants me.
“We brought you treats,” Brooke says. “We didn’t get to properly celebrate your birthday.”
“Aww, you didn’t have to do that.”
Brooke wraps me in a hug and lands a kiss on my cheek. “Of course we did.” She slaps my butt. “Give us one second to get ready for you.”
She dances away and rummages through my kitchen cabinets. After a million summers spent here together, this house feels like it’s Brooke’s as much as it is mine, and it doesn’t take her long to find what she’s looking for. She pulls out a cake stand embellished with a border of seashells, then waves at Sam, who arranges a pyramid of donuts on top. He produces a few candles and sticks them in.
Max lights the candles and Blake walks over from the couch. Blake flicks off the lights and starts to sing Happy Birthday. His voice is warm and smooth and surprising, and I focus on the sound of it even as everyone else joins in the chorus.
We stand in the intimate glow of birthday candles, and my heart feels full, full, full.
Happy.
These are the kind of moments I want to live inside. The ones filled with love. Instead of making a wish like I normally would, I let myself forget about the future and wanting things and just feel grateful for what I have right here. Sometimes that’s enough—this moment and then the next.
The song comes to an end, and I lean forward and blow out all the candles in a single puff.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Someone turns on the lights and we all smile at each other, caught in the magic of possibilities. I pull everyone into a sloppy hug.
“Thank you. You always have fabulous ideas.”
Brooke winks at me. “Obviously.”
; Sam plucks the candles out of the donuts and tosses them into the kitchen sink. “Birthday girl gets first choice.”
I pick a glazed chocolate donut, sighing with pleasure as I take a bite.
“Blake?” Brooke offers. “You want one?”
“I do love dessert.”
My cheeks flush as he sinks his teeth into a donut without ever taking his eyes off of mine. Something hot and electric passes between us, and I try to hide a smile. When I catch Brooke studying us out of the corner of my eye, I break my gaze away from Blake’s gorgeous face.
Guilty.
Caught.
Brooke lifts an eyebrow at me, and I shake my head.
Please don’t say anything.
My best friend rarely misses a beat, and I’m almost certain she knows there’s something happening here. But it’s not her I’m worried about. It’s everyone else.
Max brushes a stray crumb from his lips. “Who’s up for a night swim?”
Brooke grabs my hand and shoves it into the air, and I laugh. “Me, I guess.”
Max grins. “A beach excursion, sold to the birthday girl.”
I pretend not to see the way Blake bristles. I set down the uneaten part of my donut and climb to my feet. “Let me go change.”
Blake stands, too. “I need a bathing suit, too.”
He follows me up the stairs, the heat of his eyes raking my body, but I don’t say anything. Just smile a can you believe these guys? smile at him before ducking into my room.
I pick my tiny pink bathing suit, the one I know drives Blake wild, and then toss a sundress on top. We meet downstairs, and as the five of us walk toward the ocean, it’s obvious this surprise visit was meant to be some sort of sugar-spiked double date. Brooke and Sam. Me and Max. But Blake’s here, too, and Max is the one struggling along awkwardly, wincing at the bumpy pavement under his bare feet.
The guys throw themselves into the water, and Brooke and I sit in the sand, listening to them splash.
“Do your parents know?” she says after a minute. It’s too dark to see her eyes, but I can feel the weight of her gaze on my skin. “About…?”
“No one knows, Brookie,” comes my quiet confession.
She nods. “I won’t say anything.”
I squeeze her arm in thanks.
“You know, it’s not a bad thing. You’re like ninety-five percent more laid back than you normally are.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She grins and bumps my shoulder gently. “You know what I mean.”
I nod. “I’m trying to hold on to what makes me happy. Let go of things that don’t.”
I hope she doesn’t think that means her just because school might be on my unhappy list, but she doesn’t flinch.
“Just be careful, chickie. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Me neither.”
We both fall silent as Max flops into the sand next to us, shaking out his hair like a wet dog. He drops a hand onto my knee, and I stiffen involuntarily. He doesn’t seem to notice, but Brooke’s eyes go big as more footsteps approach.
Blake.
I know because I can feel him, like his heart is layered under mine, carried around inside of me. Like his body and mine are magnets. Push and pull and pull and pull.
I turn my head and frown at his narrowed eyes and the tense set of his jaw. His tattoos dance as he runs a hand over the back of his head.
“Can you give us a minute?” he says to Brooke and Max. “We have something we need to discuss at the house.”
My cheeks burn, but Brooke laughs and says, “Be my guest.”
“Back soon,” I say. “Wait for us here and we’ll bring back the sodas.”
“You sure?” Max asks. “I could come get them now.”
“She said wait here,” Blake growls, definitive, and Max falls silent.
Blake doesn’t touch me the whole hurried walk home, but the second we get inside the darkened house, he spins me around and kisses me roughly against the back of the kitchen door.
I lose my breath, let my eyes close for a second before Blake breaks the kiss. His eyes are angry, his chest rising and falling hard.
I reach forward and trace a hand down his pecs, his skin still wet from the ocean. Blake’s heart races under my palm, and he squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them, they’re burning and intense, and he doesn’t need to say anything to tell me how much he wants me. How frustrated he is.
“You don’t get to do that.” Blake draws me away from the door and leads me toward the living room.
“Do what?” My skin prickles with goosebumps. I don’t know where we’re going, but I follow him like the invisible line between us is pulling me in his path.
“Let Max think that something’s ever going to happen between you.”
I roll my eyes, but then I remember Blake’s ex-girlfriend. The one who slept with her neighbor and broke the man I’m falling for. “I’d never cheat on you. Nothing’s going to happen with Max.”
“Of course not.”
In one swift, powerful movement, Blake bends me over the arm of the couch so my ass is in the air, my cheek against the leather cushions. He falls against my back, holding me in place while his cock nudges my sex from behind.
Oh, god.
His touch flips a light switch in my body, and everything buzzes to life at once. My clit, aching. My breasts, heavy and full.
“Blake, someone could see,” I whimper, but it’s a weak protest, and neither of us pays it any attention. Instead, I arch my back, grind my butt against his hard length.
“I don’t care who sees.” He levers himself off of me and peels my bikini bottoms down my legs.
I’m open and exposed, spread over the couch, and even though the lights in the house are off, every glass window permits a view of our darkened forms.
To hell with propriety. The danger of it makes it hotter, makes me shiver with desire.
I reach behind me and brush my fingertips over the front of Blake’s wet bathing suit. He groans and takes a step forward so I can reach him better, and I slide my hand down the front of his shorts, wrap my hand around him.
A few steady pulls and he’s breathing heavier, swaying a little to fuck my hand. I let go long enough to free his cock from his bathing suit, and it springs out, as firm and powerful as every other muscle in his sculpted body.
Fuck.
My clit throbs for him. I’m drenched in seconds, slick and ready and needy.
Blake nudges my hand away from his body, and I bring it back next to my face to prop myself over the arm of the couch. There’s a rip of velcro as he peels off his shorts. I hear the wet thwack of them falling on the floor, but I can’t see anything from my position. It’s hotter because I can’t see. Each touch is a mystery, and when each one lands, it sends me gasping and squirming and panting for more.
Blake grabs my butt and kneads it in his hands. “This ass is mine.” He sweeps his hands up my sides, reaches between me and the couch to grab my breasts. “These tits are mine.”
I nod against the couch, the smell of leather and sex in the air. I can smell myself, the tang of how much I want him.
“You are mine, McKenna. Mine to fight with, mine to protect. Mine to fuck.” His voice is a growl, and I love that I’m driving him as crazy as he drives me. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To be mine.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Only yours.”
He cups my sex and whispers in my ear. “Good girl.” Then he thrusts inside me, less gentle than he normally is with me, like his control is stripping away with every movement. He fucks me rough and hot and fast, and I love every giddy minute of it. His balls swing heavy against my ass, his cock buried so deep inside me I can barely breathe. But I don’t ask him to stop because I want this so much it hurts.
Blake grips my hips, his body strong and big around mine, and I give over to the breathless pace he sets. My body races with his, but he’s the one in charge here. Showing me how much he wants me. Claiming m
e as his.
I can feel him getting close, losing himself in me. His breath pants out, and his fingers tighten on my skin. He picks up the pace even more, and our bodies smack together, my skin slick with sweat and desire.
With a final effort, Blake swells inside me. “Fuck, McKenna!” He comes with a shudder, a groan, and even as I feel his hot, sticky fluid fill me, he keeps moving. He rubs his cum onto my clit, circling his fingers and spiking pleasure through my core. He’s still hard inside me, and I grind against him, fucking him, chasing my orgasm.
So close.
I’m so close.
“Blake, more, please.” My desperate little gasp.
And then—god—the heat and slickness and fullness of him trigger my release, ripping my orgasm from me so I come hard and moaning and rolling my hips.
We’re both panting and sweaty and wet, and anyone could come inside, but we stay exactly where we are. Recovering so we can get back to doing it again.
Blake props himself up, kisses me even with my face smashed against the couch. Our teeth crack together, and we both laugh, happier and lighter. If there was any question before, it’s gone now.
I’m his.
He’s mine.
This is ours.
“Well,” he says, and a smile spreads across his handsome face. “I hear there are some sodas around here. Who’s thirsty?”
26
Blake
July
When I step outside into the peachy pink morning, McKenna’s crouched in the garden, snapping photos of spiky flowers the size of dinner plates. From my view from the second-floor deck, my girl is just another spot of color among all the greenery. Dozens of flowers arch high over her head, some deep purple and others hot pink, stems thicker than my thumbs.
Dahlias. I know their names now because I spend each morning checking McKenna’s Instagram like a goddamn groupie, and the side effect is more flower knowledge than I thought I’d ever have.
It’s funny because I spent years having people chase me—reporters and fans and hot girls who didn’t care either way as long as they could say they’d met someone famous—and I could never quite understand why they hungered for the stupid details of my life. I was too numb to see it before, but now that I’m on the other side, I think I finally get it.
Step Summer Page 15
