Sweet Cheeks

by K. Bromberg

  “Why wouldn’t it?” That stops her rant. Knocks the sarcasm from her last sentence.

  Her head whips up and her eyes meet mine. Hand stops halfway to her hair as a disbelieving laugh falls from her mouth. “You’d actually go?”

  I shrug. “Yeah. Why not? I could use a little R&R with someone I know and who doesn’t expect anything from me.” Something flashes in her eyes that I can’t read. “Besides, now that I remember him, Mitch always was an asshole in high school, I’d get some sick satisfaction from showing that fucker what he was missing out on by not being with you.”

  “The irony,” she whispers and the two words hit me in the gut. The pang of regret not far behind it.

  “Saylor—”

  “No. Never mind. That was a cheap shot.” She says the words but the truth of them linger in her eyes. She reaches out and puts her hand on top of mine. “Thank you. The offer is sweet. The intent behind it even more so. But even if I wanted to, I’d never be able to pull it off.”

  “Did you forget what I do for a living?” My laugh rings louder than it should. The Oscar on my shelf at home flashes in my mind as my need to convince her suddenly grows stronger than when Ryder first called. Greater than when I saw her earlier tonight. “I assure you we could pull it off.”

  “We should leave.” She shifts to her knees suddenly and moves toward the door. I hate the hurt in her tone. Hate knowing that the fucker Mitch isn’t the only one who put it there.

  I did, too.

  “Saylor.”

  “No. I’m tired. I need to get home.”

  “Okay. Let me go down first in case you need help.”

  She levels me with a glare for implying she can’t do it herself but I move past her, bodies brushing against one another, and take the lead anyway.

  My feet are through the doorway when I look back at her. “For what it’s worth, Say, I think you should go. And I’d drop whatever to be there for you. It’s the least I could do.”

  She doesn’t say a word to me, just nods as I lower myself out of her sight and down the rungs.

  I’m on the ground in a few seconds, a very quiet Saylor not far behind me as I wait at the bottom. When she’s on the second step from the ground, her heel slips. Just as I step forward and reach out to her hips to help her, she spins around.

  Our bodies are pressed against each other with her hands flat against my chest. Her expression is startled, but her eyes remain on mine. Her breath an audible hitch.

  And fuck if standing like this with her doesn’t make me want to lean in and kiss her. It all comes back: her taste, that little sound she used to make in the back of her throat, the scar on the back of her head from falling off the brick wall that I’d feel when grabbing the back of it to direct the angle of our kiss. All of it.

  And it’s a temptation like I haven’t felt in forever.

  “Hayes.”

  “Yeah?” My gaze flickers from hers down to her lips and then back up. I want to know what her eyes are telling me.

  “Nothing. Never mind.” She shakes her head and steps back.

  I clench my jaw. Fist my hands. Tell myself to let her walk away. To not notice the freckles on her nose are still there. The ones I used to tease her about as a kid, then later, loved staring at when she fell asleep in the bed of my truck at the drive-in when we were teenagers.

  The thought triggers so many more things I used to love about her. Reminds me how close we were. How many parts of our lives were woven so tightly it was like we were one.

  My God. I know we were young. Know that I did the right thing in chasing my dreams since she was only seventeen and I was nineteen. But how selfish was I to leave without an explanation or a goodbye?

  Ass. Hole. Yep. You sure as hell were one, Whitley.

  And for that I deserve her understandable caution, every bit of her wrath, and every ounce of her hatred.

  I start behind her down the worn path toward the car. Use the sight of her hips swaying to distract me from the memories rushing back.

  My mind still runs but turns instead to how this was supposed to be easy. How I was going to come back, convince her to go to the wedding, and do my part to help her show up Mitch. Debt repaid just in time to walk away. Again.

  And yet one look at Saylor the other day and I knew it was going to be far from easy. That combination of the fresh-faced girl-next-door I left mixed with the hurt and feistiness I see now, and I can’t help but wonder what if. What if I hadn’t left? And how did my leaving change her life’s path somehow?

  Fuck that, Whitley. You did what you had to do. Took advantage of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that definitely panned out.

  But watching her ahead of me with the hurt in her eyes fresh in my mind, I know this is going to be harder than I expected.

  Good thing she rejected the offer.

  I have a plan. I have my world. My perfect, chaotic, surreal, fucking awesome world and there’s no room for error. She fits nowhere in it. That’s what I told myself when I left. That’s what I’m standing by now.

  I’m just here to repay a debt to Ryder.

  Just here to ease the guilt over what I did to her.

  So why am I already thinking about the next time I can see her again?

  I wanted him to kiss me.

  That’s my first thought when I wake up. How standing beneath the tree house with his hands on my hips and the moonlight in his hair in the field we used to play in as kids, I wanted him to kiss me. Lean in and take over. Wash away any of the doubt about why I walked away from Mitch. Rationalize why seeing him again makes me want in ways I shouldn’t want.

  And then I move. My head pounds. My mouth’s dry. My hair is matted. And I’m still in last night’s clothes.

  I want to die. Like throw my head in the toilet, and puke my brains out to make this roiling in my stomach, spinning of my head, and hot flash over my skin type of sick go away.

  But I can’t. I think my body wants to punish me for being such an idiot last night. For thinking if I swung my hips enough or flirted with Ryder’s friends more, that it would make Hayes realize what he lost.

  A foolish, amateur bullshit move. Like he hasn’t seen that one before from one of the million women who would do just about anything to be a notch on his belt.

  And the joke’s on me as I lie in bed while the rest of the night—or what I remember of it—replays through my mind. How right now I probably couldn’t even dry heave if I tried so I can feel better, and yet last night I was able to word vomit every little detail about Mitch to Hayes. How I walked away from a perfectly good relationship and every little girl’s dream wedding. How Mitch invited me to watch him marry his successful, no doubt more-suited match. How I blamed Ryder for taking my RSVP response, twisting it every which way, and then planting the notion that I should attend because my presence might help the shop. All of it, right down to when he asked why I left.

  I looked at Mitch and realized he didn’t make me feel how you had, Hayes.

  The thought ghosts through my mind and I bolt up in bed. And then I hate myself when the room spins. But even worse is I can’t remember if I finished the thought aloud last night or if I had enough wherewithal to stop myself.

  Shit. Shit. Double shit.

  The refrain is constant until I remember that I didn’t finish the sentence. That I caught myself before making the monster of all mistakes.

  Because that’s not why I didn’t marry Mitch. There was no comparison to Hayes then. Or Hayes now.

  And yet as I lie back down to try and combat the drum beating against my temples, I can’t help but recall my first thought this morning: I wanted him to kiss me.

  Was that why I walked away from Mitch? Did I subconsciously compare the way both of them made me feel and after seeing Hayes last night—after being reminded of that pulse-pounding, lower-belly ache that he made me feel with just a look my way—is that how I knew?

  It’s nonsense. Utter bullshit. There’s no part of Hayes that b
elongs in my life.

  Not his brown eyes or thick lashes.

  It had to be the alcohol that made me think that.

  Not his Hollywood life and glamorous parties.

  It was the tree house. A step back in time to when the only things we knew about life was that it was simple and our lives revolved around each other.

  Not his offer to help me now when he walked away before.

  It was nostalgia. Déjà vu. Just a moment in time. A stupid thought that I’m better off forgetting.

  Not the way he looked at me as he walked me to the door, made sure I got inside safely, before just staring at me. Eyes so damn intense with that muscle pulsing in his jaw that made me want to reach up and run my hand over it.

  Stop it, Saylor. He was just being nice. Just offering to help you out because you ran your mouth about being invited to the wedding. He probably felt bad so he said he’d go with you.

  Like travel to an exotic island just to help you out because he’s a nice guy type of feel bad.

  But there’s no way in hell I’m going to Mitch’s wedding. I’m not desperate. I have nothing to prove and if I did, the last people I’d need to prove it to would be the Laytons and all their insipid, shallow guests.

  Nope. I’m perfectly fine with my decision to walk away. And to tell Hayes thank you, but no thank you. Decision made.

  Besides, it’s not like I’m ever going to see him again anyway.

  “Thank you. Have a great day.” I watch sweet Mrs. McMann make her way out the door of the shop.

  “The edges of this batch are a bit burned but definitely better since the repair,” DeeDee says as she walks out from the back, wiping her hands on her apron.

  I sigh and silently thank the universe for letting the oven make it one more day, and not ruin another batch of cupcakes. “Thank God. Fingers crossed this repair holds us over because having to buy a new oven isn’t an option.” I cringe with the knowledge of how much a new one costs.

  “For now, it’s holding its own—” The bells on the bakery door interrupt DeeDee, and her face transforms into a wide, goofy grin. I know immediately who is going to be there when I look over my shoulder.

  And I won’t lie that my stomach flips at the simple thought.

  So I turn around. A straight punch of lust mixed with surprise registers in a flash of a second when I take in the dark brown eyes, lazy smile, board shorts, and tank top showing off biceps that I have to drag my eyes away from.

  And just like the other two times I’ve seen him in the last week, my body’s visceral reaction to him wars against my innate ability to make a complete fool of myself in front of him. How did this man, who used to know every single thing about me, who was part of almost every childhood memory I have, now cause me to feel tongue-tied and out of sorts?

  Because I’m a dork. That’s my only thought when his eyes light up the minute they meet mine. Thud. My heart shouldn’t feel like it was jump-started and yet it does.

  “Hey. I didn’t expect to see you here.” I try to appear indifferent, and I’m proud I don’t sound like the high-pitched hyena I’m sure most women sound like around him.

  “Yeah, well, I would have stopped by sooner but I was busy helping my mom sort through some of my great-uncle’s things.”

  He hooks his sunglasses into the front of his shirt while I tuck both my hands in the back pockets of my jeans and rock on my heels. I fumble with words and how to string them together because the way he’s staring at me makes it hard to do anything other than stand there.

  Did he always stare at me like this or is it just now?

  “I, uh, wanted to thank you for making sure I got home okay the other night. I was in rare form.” I shrug. Heat warms my cheeks. “And I apologize for anything stupid I might possibly have said.”

  He chuckles as he steps up to the counter between us. “Stupid, no. Cute, yes.”

  I take a deep breath and glance down before looking back up to him. “I wasn’t so cute when I woke up the next morning with my head pounding.”

  “I bet not, but sometimes you’ve just got to tie a few on to relax. No shame in that.”

  “So what can I do for you?” Curiosity owns me.

  “I’m hitting the road. Gotta get back since the production schedule rolls on. It’s the last two weeks of shooting.” I hate that a little part of me deflates at his words. Dislike the fact that, as much as he unnerves me in every way imaginable when I don’t want him to, I want him to stay one more day. I want to see him one more time.

  Because I know when he walks out the door, I most likely won’t see him for another ten years.

  “Oh.”

  “But I wanted to pick up some cupcakes to take back to my assistant. She has quite the sweet tooth and deserves something for putting up with my crap.” He shrugs, his smile sheepish, and I’m immediately irritated at her. “And I wanted to talk to you again.”

  My irritation wanes as my smile widens. “About what?” His eyes flicker over to where DeeDee is making herself busy in the refrigerated case behind me. I know he’s going to bring up Mitch, the wedding, and his offer to take me. Besides the fact that it’s a complete non-issue, it’s just more information I don’t want DeeDee to know.

  There’s enough gossip about me in this town as it is.

  “It’s okay,” I say, trying to deflect. “It’s not even worth talking about.”

  “You’re frustrating.” He steps forward, smile tight, and eyes glancing over my shoulder to DeeDee again. “What’s the big deal? If you don’t go, you’ll always wonder what if, and if you do go, you’ll know the answer.”

  “I don’t need to know the answer. Things are fine just how they are.”

  He raises his eyebrows and gives me a look that tells me he’s been talking with Ryder and knows how much I’m struggling to make the business work. “C’mon, Say, I’ve already looked at my schedule and I can swing the free time.”

  My eyes narrow. “How did you know the date?”

  “I asked Ryder.” He shrugs but his eyes hold no apology.

  “You’re arrogant to assume I’d say yes. I don’t care what people think about me. Never have. Never will.”

  “If there’s one thing I do remember, it’s definitely that.” His smile turns soft. Eyes unrelenting. “I always loved that about you.”

  His comment strikes a very unwelcome chord. Loved. Loved about me. Past tense, Saylor. Past tense. Regardless, memories flash through my mind. The times I’d run wild and carefree and he’d just sit back and shake his head with that little smirk and let me do whatever it was I was doing without saying a word. No roll of his eyes. No flush of embarrassment. Just complete acceptance.

  Be everything Mitch wouldn’t let you be.

  Funny thing is, Hayes let me be me.

  “Yeah, well . . . some things never change.” I shrug, a bit uncomfortable with the praise and needing to change the course of the conversation. “What kind of cupcakes can I get you?”

  He doesn’t speak for a minute, lips pursed, eyes questioning me without uttering a word, but I get the sense he wants to say more but is holding back. His gaze flickers to the case and then back to mine. “Just a dozen of whatever is your favorite.”

  “I’ll get them,” DeeDee says as she steps up to the display case with a pink and white striped box in her hand.

  “Okay. Thanks.” I’m a bit startled because I wanted something to do to busy my hands and now I’m stuck looking at Hayes.

  He smiles. “One of these days, Saylor, you and I are going to sit down and have a proper conversation where I can explain what happened. Why I left. And then you can decide whether you want to accept my apology or not. It will make life so much easier on you to have a reason, because this one minute you’re pissed at me, the next minute you’re smiling dance you keep doing has to be exhausting.”

  And just like that he’s flipped the switch to my anger. “Like I said, you’re an arrogant ass.”

  “Perhaps. But e
ven so, I’d rather you know the why behind—”

  “It’s been ten years, Hayes. Explanations don’t really matter anymore.” My fingers twist together. My feet shift again. The topic in general unnerves me.

  “Reasons always matter. Always,” he says as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. We stand in heated silence because as much as I don’t want to admit he’s right, he is: about my constantly warring attitude toward him in the three times I’ve seen him since he’s been home, and about the fact that knowing why might help add closure to something I thought I’d gotten over but obviously haven’t.

  “Here you go,” DeeDee says breaking the moment between us, placing the box on the counter beside me.

  “Thank you, DeeDee. I appreciate it.” Hayes looks at her nametag and then back up to her, offering up his megawatt smile. DeeDee stands speechless, grin so wide her cheeks probably hurt. “How much do I owe?”

  “It’s on the house,” I say.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want your charit—”

  “I’ll walk you out, Hayes.” I move from behind the counter, effectively ending the argument I feel like purposely picking with him over calling me out on my schizophrenic behavior.

  “Whatever the lady wants, she gets,” he grumbles to DeeDee but I can hear his amusement, know he’s probably flashing her a smile as he gathers his box of cupcakes.

  I wait outside, surprised at the chill despite the sunny sky, and cross my arms over my chest to ward it off. The bell on the door sounds, telling me Hayes is behind me.

  “You know, you’re still cute when you’re pissed off at me.”

  “You are so frustrating,” I mutter and at the same time dislike that parts of me melt inside at the fact that he still notices. Still remembers.

  “Saylor, I’ve been gone a long time. I don’t blame you for holding a grudge . . . but at some point, I’d like to think we can be friends again.”