Promise Me This

by Christina Lee

  “I’ll be back to take over the booth in half an hour,” I told my classmate before I left my post. I walked down the row with my mom to check out her tent.

  Mom grabbed a stack of fliers and began handing them out. “We’ve been busy,” she said before looking beyond my shoulder and smiling. I turned to see Nate and his mom approaching. I had trouble breathing—as if someone had suddenly vacuumed out all of the air in the entire universe.

  He wore loose jeans and an expensive black T-shirt that stretched across his muscles. His mom looked good—much more relaxed than I’d seen her at that football game, but there was also a hint of sadness behind her eyes. She’d been through so much in the last month, let alone the last several years of her life. No bruises were visible on her neck, but I wondered if she still felt their presence.

  As we stood talking for a bit, Nate and I seemed to have trouble tearing our gazes from each other. When Mrs. Connors started telling my mom about a potential job at the cooking school on Front Street, Nate noticed that I was wearing my favorite Chucks with the Blondie insignia. He leaned over and sang softly in my ear, “The tide is high, but I’m holding on . . .”

  It was one of my favorite Blondie songs, so I finished the lyric, “I’m gonna be your number one . . .”

  We grinned stupidly at each other before I said, “Thank God you’ll have your engineering degree to fall back on when your singing career goes south.”

  He laughed, shoving his hands in his front pockets, and nudging my foot with his own.

  “I don’t know what your plans are today,” I heard my mom say to Mrs. Connors. “But I only have to work this booth for another hour. Would you like to grab some lunch?”

  Mrs. Connors looked momentarily speechless but then she smiled gratefully. She looked at Nate, whose mouth was tipped up in appreciation. He’d been so worried about his mom.

  “I’d like that,” Mrs. Connors said. “I’ll walk back this way around noon.”

  Mom made eye contact with me and winked. I’d officially like to be her when I grow up. She was hands down the coolest.

  “I have to get back to the photography tent,” I said, almost awkwardly. I would’ve rather stayed glued to Nate’s side and I wasn’t sure when I’d see him next.

  “Where is it?” Nate asked.

  “Down aisle two,” I said, motioning with my thumb. “Come see me if you want.”

  “Absolutely, Blue,” he said. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Nate

  I asked my mom to the festival in an attempt to get her out of the house. Since her separation from my father, she no longer saw any of those society ladies and as a result, might’ve isolated herself even further. I hoped that we could walk past the cooking instruction school and she’d be tempted to go inside. Which was exactly what’d happened. She also requested an employment application.

  Mom and I visited more tents down aisle one, skirting past Raw Ink, which was mobbed.

  “I really like Jessie’s mom,” she said. The fact that Mrs. Walters asked her to lunch was so damn cool.

  “It’ll be good for you to make a new friend,” I said. “So I’m glad.”

  “It seems you really like Jessie, too,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah, I do,” I said, meeting her gaze. “I just hope she feels the same. Because sometimes she’s all I think about.”

  She grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I can tell that she does. And I also think you need to get to her tent already.”

  “Okay, let’s go,” I said, looking up for the aisle two marker.

  “No.” She shook her head. “Go by yourself and then tell her what’s in your heart. It’s time for you to go after what you want. You deserve it.”

  My heart lurched. “So do you, Mom.”

  “I know,” she said. “And I’ll get there. I will.”

  As I edged past each tent, the same phenomenon occurred that always did when I spotted Jessie from a distance. It would begin as a slow burn in my gut, travel up the center of my chest, and then erupt into a raging firestorm. There was nothing I could do except attempt to pull air inside my lungs, that’s how damn badly I wanted to be with her.

  Earlier she’d been wearing a light jacket, but now that the sun was blazing, she had shed her layers and her colorful sleeve of tattoos was exposed. When she turned to speak to a bystander, I noticed something new inked on the back of her shoulder.

  The skin around the tattoo looked red and tender, which gave me a clue that it’d been fairly recent. As my unsteady legs carried me closer, I recognized the outline of a very familiar railroad bridge, and I nearly swallowed my tongue.

  My lips parted to call her name, but I held myself back, needing to get my thoughts in working order.

  Right then Jessie’s head twisted in my direction and our eyes met. I felt an instant jolt, as if a shock of lightning had been aimed directly at my center.

  A wash of color spread across her cheeks and down her neck and I wanted to grab her and spin her in my arms, that’s how fucking alive she made me feel.

  A spectator stepped into my line of sight and when she reluctantly turned to greet them, I entered at the side of the tent to check out the photography exhibits.

  My gaze was drawn to her spotlight immediately. Not only because I recognized myself in it—but also because it was amazing. In the center of the display were the words: The sun’s PROMISE to the moon.

  A breath lodged in my lungs as I took all of it in. There was a light and a dark theme to her project, which she created with black-and-white film and varying degrees of exposure. On the “dark” side were the covered bridge photos, near my childhood home. I materialized in the lower left frame in one of the shots, and it wasn’t lost on me how practically lifeless my eyes appeared.

  I sucked in air as I read the script positioned in the middle of those photos, right above a dark and ominous zoom view of the bridge’s tunnel. It read, Let me be your moon—so that every night, I can illuminate the lonely cavern of your soul.

  In the midpoint of the presentation there was a progression of color, which led to the other side—the “light” end of the display. It was the railroad bridge in full dazzling color, with the sun blazing and a vivid blue sky framing the shots.

  And there I stood on the tracks looking so damn . . . I don’t know—full of life, happy. All because of her. The script on that end of the presentation read, Let me be your sun—so when I burn out each night, you can be the breath and the beacon that leads me home.

  I felt Jessie’s body heat, but I didn’t turn. Instead I stretched my hand to find hers and interlaced our fingers. I tugged at her arm in order to position her in front of me. Then I slid my palms around her waist to draw her nearer.

  We stood motionless, staring at her amazing creation and in that instant I was too choked up to speak. The tent had cleared so it was only her and me in that singular moment. And it was perfect. She was perfect.

  She trembled when I leaned forward and brushed my lips across the raw skin on her shoulder. “When did you have this done?”

  “Cory did it a few days ago, while I was putting the final touches on this project,” she mumbled. “I officially love bridges now. And I realized how much that weekend meant to me. All of it.”

  My heart was pounding in my chest. For her to permanently ink something on her skin that linked us together blew my fucking mind. She had just given me another gift and it was the confirmation I needed to move forward.

  As I cupped her jaw, I slid my mouth along her neck and felt her ragged pulse against my lips.

  “I’ve never really let myself wish for anything before,” I whispered against her hair and she shivered. “But here you are.”

  “Nate,” she sighed, resting her head on my chest.

  “Your exhibit is incredible, Jessie,” I breathed. “It’s daring and brave, but at the same time, it feels like a secret present just for me.”

  I heard her sharp inhale a
s I continued.

  “I don’t want to go another day without you,” I whispered.

  Her shoulders clenched and I held my breath as she turned her misty gaze to mine.

  “As soon as I got in that beat-up Daisy Duke truck, it was a foregone conclusion.” I lifted my shoulder in a shrug. “That I would belong to you.”

  My fingers skimmed her nape as I stared deeply into her eyes. “I’m hoping you feel the same way.”

  Her mouth quirked. “You need further verification beyond a tattoo and an entire art exhibit?”

  My lips found her ear. “I need to hear you say it, baby.”

  “You are a caveman,” she said, leaning over and kissing my throat. “Of course I belong to you, Square. Like the sun belongs to the moon. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

  My heart climbed its way into my throat and I squeezed my eyelids shut at the intensity of her words.

  “Fucking kiss me already, Square,” she whispered against my lips.

  My eyes snapped open. This girl was so the shit. And she was all mine.

  I gathered her face in my hands and claimed her mouth in a slow and deep and sensual kiss. Our lips remained melded that way for a long while until a group of rowdy students entered the tent.

  As I dragged my mouth away from hers, I mumbled, “Naked. In my bed. As soon as possible.”

  “Only if you promise me something,” she said, tightening her arms around my waist.

  “Anything,” I said, still breathless from that kiss.

  “Give it all to me,” she murmured in my ear. “The wild and the sweet, the light and the dark. Because I need them both. They make up who you are. And that’s the Nate I want to belong to.”

  Fuck, I was so gone for this girl. “That’s a promise I can keep.”

  ***

  We’d just devoured our pizza delivery and were lying naked on my sheets. I’d had her in practically every room and position in the house—spread eagle, spanked, tied and positioned against the bedroom wall—but my favorite by far was in the bathroom, her legs splayed wide and looking sexy as sin atop my vanity.

  Yet, it didn’t feel like enough because I still craved the feeling of being inside her, nestled in her darkness—because even in her darkness there was light. Her soft glow filled up all the hollow and dim places inside me. I felt completely electric whenever I got to spend any amount of time with her.

  Now she knelt before me, her fingers slipping to my hips and her tongue gliding up the underside of my shaft. Before she could take me further inside her mouth, I seized her arms and hauled her body up to mine. I flipped her to the mattress, my lips slamming over hers in a bruising kiss.

  “You drive me insane, baby.” I drew away to catch my breath. Then I reached for a condom, rolling it quickly down my stiff erection.

  I clutched for her hand and then interlaced our fingers—our thing, which always made me feel connected to her. My other hand burrowed into the nape of her neck, drawing her forehead to rest against mine.

  I held her gaze steady as concrete as I inched slowly inside. Her eyes drifted partially closed on a moan. She adjusted her legs to rest higher on my back, so that I could burrow more fully in her warm and addicting heat. I plunged at a measured but gentle pace, setting a mind-blowing, drugging rhythm.

  The rawness of the moment was etched in her furrowed brow, her shallow breaths. Her intense need and longing pouring out of her flushed skin. The depths of her feelings seemed to churn beneath her hazel eyes.

  The way she looked at me, like I was her everything, made my chest ache and throb and surge. Hell, was there any better place in the universe right now?

  “Fuck, Jessie,” I said in a husky voice, overcome with my own emotion. “You make me want to stay here like this forever. Watching you, feeling you, tasting you. I am so goddamn in love with you.”

  She gasped and her eyes snapped to mine, full and glassy.

  “Square,” she whispered, in a mix of wonderment and admonishment. “Did you just use the L word on me during sex?”

  My thumb left her neck to circle lazily over her taut nipple. My other hand was still firmly laced in hers. I gave our powerful union of fingers a squeeze. “Yeah, Blue, I’m saying I love you during sex and I’m showing you, too. Been showing you all damn day. You got a problem with that?”

  My mouth replaced my thumb and my tongue circled over her firm nub, matching the slower pace of my thrusts.

  “Oh,” she whimpered, her head falling back. “So good.”

  When I moved to her other breast, her fingers tightly gripped my hand.

  “No, I don’t have a problem with that as long as. . . .” Her breaths were coming stronger and faster. “Oh God . . . fuck . . . as long as you don’t have a problem with me telling you I feel the same way during my . . .”

  And then she sailed firmly over the edge, her chest a bloom of color, her legs shaking, and her lips trembling. It was so damn erotic that I followed suit after two final and firm drives.

  Still inside her, we lay wrapped on my tangled sheets, as she placed a gentle kiss on my shoulder.

  “You love me?” she mumbled into my chest.

  I cupped her chin with my fingers in order to meet her gaze. “Yeah, I love you, Blue.”

  Her eyes filled with unshed tears. “I love you too, Square.”

  Goddamn, my heart felt filled to fucking capacity. I planted a soft kiss on her lips, on each of her shoulders, and then each of her breasts—because fucking hell, I wanted to worship at this girl’s altar.

  “Does this mean you’d consider getting a matching bridge tattoo?” she said, her fingers tugging at the back of my hair.

  “Hell no,” I said and she burst into a fit of giggles. “But I’ll build you one someday.”

  “Promise?” she said with a smirk, but also with a bit of awe in her eyes.

  And right then I didn’t care if I built it out of fucking Legos, she was getting her damn bridge.

  “For you,” I said, my mouth tugging on her lower lip. “Anything.”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I am so grateful for my ten plus years as a clinical social worker, where my experience in child and family therapy taught me a great deal about humanity. About empathy, vulnerability, and the resilience of the human spirit. The thing we all share regardless of our race, gender, or socio-economic status is the need to be loved and to belong. Kindness goes a long way in helping someone keep their dignity. It might actually be a lifeline.

  Despite this book being a work of fiction, domestic violence is a very real epidemic in our country. So if you need someone to speak to confidentially and/or a safe place to go, please consider calling the National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To my rock star agent, Sara Megibow: you are the voice of reason inside my head. Thank you for everything.

  To my Penguin team: the art department for my amazing covers and the publicity team (Erin Galloway and Jessica Brock) for your keen ideas and professionalism. To my copyeditors, who are like unsung heroes, and my editor, Laura Fazio, who listens and pushes just enough to make me better—so glad to have you in my corner.

  To my family and friends for your constant, unwavering support. I love you.

  To Greg and Evan, for not complaining when I have to disappear to work through a scene or talk to the voices in my head. I don’t want to be in any other place in the world except right next to you, every single night.

  To my first readers: Kate, Stina, Lindsay, and Deb. Thank you for dropping everything to read for me and then giving me crucial feedback.

  To Stina and Kate: I know our writer lives have become much more hectic, but you continue to be my sounding board. Thank you.

  To the Cool Kids Mafia: you know who you are. You rock!

  To the book bloggers and reviewers out there—there are too many of you to list here. Please just know I appreciate all that you do for the simple love of books. Because when it comes down
to it, all of us are readers first and foremost.

  Last, to the readers: thank you for taking a chance on my books and reaching out to talk to me about them. For an author, there may be no better feeling.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at Christina Lee’s new contemporary romance

  TWO OF HEARTS

  Available May 2015

  Dakota

  I inhaled a shaky breath as his coffin lowered into the solid ground. The drum beat echoed in my bones and the tortoise shell rattle reverberated in my veins. The holy man murmured his final offering in each direction of the wind—north, east, south, west—and then thanked the Great Spirit for safely seeing my father home.

  My mother’s quiet whimpering added mass to the hard ball developing in my throat and my vision blurred through the haze of my own tears. But still I held onto that breath. Because when I finally expelled the air from my lungs, it would all be over. Different. Altered forevermore.

  My father would truly be gone. And I’d be left in charge of operations at the Golden Arrow Casino.

  For the past two weeks, I’d been going through the motions while the police conducted their investigation and the autopsy was performed. But this—the actual cemetery, the sacred ritual—made it absolute. And the finality of that was staggering.

  I averted my gaze from the six-foot hole because the throbbing in my chest became so severe; it felt as if my heart had vacated my torso, leaving an enormous crevice. Thank goodness I remained steady in my sensible black heels and had kept my swollen eyes hidden behind my shades. I needed to stay strong for my mother and this community.

  My brother Kai’s fingers slid beyond my mother’s arm to reach my shoulder and finally, I released a puff of air. I gave him and his wife, Rachel a slight nod, then offered a brief glance to my Uncle Elan and his family, standing on just the other side.