by K. Bromberg
His continual use of the word we throws me. Triggers tears to burn in the back of my throat, and causes hope to slip on some wings and take flight.
“What?” he continues when I don’t speak. I can’t as I’m too overwhelmed from the emotion his words evoke. “You don’t think a full-page colored print ad of me naked, holding a tray of your cupcakes in front of my dick won’t help get the store some attention and sales?”
I can’t help but snort as the image fills my mind. “Only if I get to strategically place the flour handprints on your body for added effect.”
“You always were willing to take one for the team.”
“It’s a hard job, but somebody has to do it.”
“Hmm. I wouldn’t object. Your hands on me are always welcome.” I wiggle my ass back into him, the feel of his hardened dick waking up all the parts of me still asleep.
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur, mind veering to how it’s even possible that I could still want him after the bouts of sex we had last night.
“So, see? We’ll figure it out as we go. We’ll talk and text every day. We’ll be honest with each other when something’s not working because we know damn well the alternative—not being together—isn’t a fucking option. And we’ll sleep at opposite places every weekend until we find out something permanent that works for us.”
“How do you make it all sound so easy?”
“Easy? Not by a long shot, Saylor. You’re not the only one on cloud nine right now, feeling like for the first time in ten years that someone gets you again. So don’t think just because I’m the guy here that it’s going to be easy for me to let you board that plane. You know me. I’m not good with words. Saying them or making sense with them. I never have been. So please believe me when I say this. I’m the one who walked away before, Saylor. I’m the one who fucked up and robbed both of us of this feeling every day over the last ten years. So, easy? Not hardly. But considering the alternative—not having you in my life—it’s definitely worth it.”
My heart struggles to beat as it’s so overwhelmed with love for him. I shift to turn around, needing to face him.
“No. Don’t turn around.” Hayes arms hold me captive from doing so.
“Why?”
“Morning breath.”
“Are you serious?” He’s such a guy. Shifting from heartfelt, swoon-worthy confessions to thinking about morning breath.
“Dead serious. I desperately need to brush my teeth but you feel so damn good like this, ass up against me, that I’m not willing to move just yet.”
“Like you have to worry about morning breath,” I scoff.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Okay, Mr. I’m-A-Hollywood-God. The man who could have twenty-four seven halitosis and would still rake in the women. All you’d have to do is stand there shirtless in front of a female and she’d faint. And not from being bowled over by your morning breath.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I start to squirm away from his fingers tickling my ribs.
“No, I’m not. You’ve never had a lack of confidence in your whole life.”
His fingers fall lax on my ribcage and he rests his forehead against the back of my head. “Yes, I have.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
Once again his words not only surprise me, but prove to me how much he’s matured and is trying to let me in. “Why?”
He laughs more to himself than to me and then falls silent. I give him time to answer. “I thought you left the reception because it was all too much for you. I thought you regretted calling it off. That you still loved Mitch.” The fear he felt is transparent in his voice.
“Oh, Hayes. You’re crazy.”
“Maybe, but between that and you saying Mitch’s name in your sleep the other night, that’s what I thought.”
“Mitch’s name? What are you talking about?”
“You mumbled Mitch’s name after the first time we had sex.”
I wrack my brain to try and think of having had a dream about Mitch but can’t remember for the life of me having any in recent memory. “I promise you, the only dreams I’ve had of Mitch are ones where I’m chewing him out.” I shake my head and then really hear what he confessed to me. This time when I speak, my voice is full of wonderment. “How could you think I still loved him after everything that happened between us this weekend?”
“Because I know what it’s like to see an old love and feel like you’ve just been sucker-punched. How it makes you regret all of the things you did to them and at the same time reaffirms everything you feel for them instantly. That was how I felt when I walked into Sweet Cheeks that first day.” He pauses and a soft smile spreads on my lips because I felt the exact same. “Last night, I was freaked out and I couldn’t find you. And then I saw you and you said what you said and it was like . . . like lightning striking.”
“Oh, so apropos.” I giggle, loving this side of Hayes Whitley who can express his thoughts so much better than the teenager could.
“Shush.” The bed shifts and I’m lambasted with a soft down pillow to the head.
I struggle away. Giggling and laughing and finding purchase on a pillow of my own that I begin to swing with reckless abandon. We’re both on our knees, face to face, duking it out with the pillows. For every thud of down to flesh, there’s an equally loud sound of laughter and cursing and playful threats.
“Don’t get too close,” I squeal as he grabs my pillow and makes a sound of victory before gently tackling me to the mattress. His hands are on my wrists holding them to my sides and a smile is wide on his lips. “I thought I was supposed to steer clear of you, Mr. Morning Breath.”
His eyes light up to match the smile on his lips. “You were.” He shrugs. “But then you made fun of me.”
“What are you going to do about it?” A lift of my eyebrows. A taunt of a smirk.
His gaze travels down my body, scrapes over every inch of my flesh. We were having so much fun I didn’t think about the fact that we are both still naked from last night. Exactly how we collapsed into bed. When he looks back up, I can see the desire starting to darken in his eyes.
“I can think of a lot of things I can do.”
I’m more than ready to play this game with him. “No way. I’m gross and need to take a shower first.” I attempt to squirm away from him.
His laugh is loud and amused. “It’s only like day four and you’re already telling me no to sex? That gives me zero hope for what our sex life will be like in ten years.”
I hear his comment, his reference to our future, and while it makes my heart skip a beat, I don’t argue with him. Desire is clouding my thoughts and spurring on my words. I flash a coy smile, bat my lashes and let my legs fall open so he can see the pink of my skin there. “Mmm . . . there are a few positions I can think of where your nasty breath isn’t in my face.”
“Really? Will the position help your crazy-ass hair because it just might distract my flow.”
“Your flow, Mister You’re. A. God?” I laugh out, repeating his words from last night. Loving his playful side.
“You’d know, considering you’re the one who begged.”
I swat at him with a pillow that’s within reach. “I did not.”
“Okay, Crazy Hair.”
And I know the perfect way to win this battle. To shut him up and to get exactly what I want. Him in me. My lips spread into a slow smile. “Best cure for my crazy hair is to wrap it around your fist when you’re—”
I yelp out, can’t even finish the words as he flips me over onto my stomach in what feels like a nanosecond. His dick lays thick and heavy on the top of my ass. He fists a hand in my hair—just like I said—and takes control while running his tongue down the length of my spine.
“I like the way you think, Ships.”
I’m dragging my feet, unable to come to terms with the reality settling in that our time is ending here. Soon we’ll have to get used to real life—a new normal—if
we want to make this work.
I think of our morning. The cuddling. The sex in the shower. The cup of coffee shared on the patio. One last swim in the ocean off the villa. A walk on the beach hand in hand. How we soaked up every last moment with each other before resorting to having to pack.
“See? We were able to do it. To shut the world out and unplug for the whole weekend. As a reward, here’s your phone, madam.” I look up to see Hayes with my phone outstretched to me and realize he’s perfectly right. I have been so consumed with him that my thoughts about DeeDee handling the bakery and any other trivial thing fell to the wayside without my phone.
I smile, just as I seem to do whenever I look at him. “You make it easy to shut the world out, Hayes.” My fingertips brush over his hand when I take my phone.
“Don’t be sad.” He pulls me into his arms and squeezes me tight. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll make it work. I promise.”
Talk is cheap. I hate the words that ghost through my mind. The ones that cause doubt to wedge into my psyche and seize up my throat because I know we’re never going to get this time back.
“I know. Do we have to turn them on?”
He runs his hands up and down my back. “Unfortunately. It takes a minute to connect to service or so I was told. At least we have that.”
“I guess we should soak those minutes up then, huh?”
“Most definitely.”
His lips meet mine in the most tender of kisses. The kind that makes your toes curl and body ache in the sweetest of ways. We sink into it, into each other, and the bittersweet emotions we’re feeling.
Somewhere in the villa Hayes’s cell phone rings. We both tense at the sound followed by his audible exhalation. “And so it begins.” He chuckles against my lips before pressing one more kiss to them, tapping a finger on my nose, and heading off to find his phone.
I watch him leave and then lower myself to the edge of my bed, utterly enamored with him and completely depressed over having to leave this paradise without him.
But I’m so very thankful for this time where we were able to make amends, and unexpectedly strengthen the bond we’ve shared for years. And in doing so, I feel like he’s helping me find the old, carefree Saylor from the past.
Begrudgingly I power up my cell and lie back on the bed. It doesn’t surprise me that Hayes is already on the phone. Muffled bits and pieces of his conversation float down the hall. I can’t quite catch enough to know what he’s saying, but he sounds agitated, and I hate that within a few minutes of plugging back in reality is back in full effect.
I’m not ready for the real world to ruin our idyllic time in paradise.
And no sooner does the thought cross my mind, my cell begins to chirp like crazy, ding after ding after ding notifying me of texts. I squeeze my eyes shut, try to ignore them, but then start to worry when the alerts keep sounding.
Something has happened. There is text after text from DeeDee lighting up my screen and the few words displayed from each one confirms it. I’m freaked out.
DeeDee: I’m so sorry they did this to you. The oven’s . . .
Unknown: An interview perhaps?
DeeDee: I don’t want to bug you with everything that’s going on, but . . .
Private Caller: I’d like to do a feature on you for the magazine . . .
Ryder: I’m going to kill him . . .
DeeDee: I’m baking from my house until Ryder can figure out pricing . . .
Ryder: I’m trying to get it handled . . .
DeeDee: The damn oven is on the fritz again, should I . . .
I’m on my feet instantly, number dialed, pacing the room as I wait for her to pick up. Unable to look at my texts while calling out, I try to make sense of the words I caught a glimpse of. Why is Ryder going to kill Mitch? Did the oven finally die? A feature? And interview? Maybe Ryder’s and Hayes’s theories were correct.
But that can’t be. The wedding was just yesterday. The tide wouldn’t be able to turn that quickly.
“Saylor?”
“Dee! I’m so sorry. I’ve had my phone off. What’s going on?”
“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean . . . I shouldn’t have called with everything that’s happening—”
“Tell me about the oven?” She sounds so flustered, and because I know she rambles I cut her off, needing to get to the heart of the matter. My mind shifts from paradise to reality and work in an instant. My norm.
“It’s kaput. We had an order come in for a large birthday event and halfway through it started smoking and then there was a small fire and—”
“Fire?” My voice is shrill. Panic invoked.
“It’s fine. Ryder helped me sort it out. I’m just cooking from my house at night and bringing them in the morning so the pastry cases remain stocked.”
My head spins over how this can all happen in the short time I’ve been gone. “Dee . . .” I don’t know what to say. My heart and my reason war against each other over the next step to take. I choose the tried and true, the one thing I know will be there regardless of what happens. “I feel like such an asshole. I’m here traipsing around paradise and you’re dealing with all of this. I’m heading to the airport now to try and get an earlier flight out so I can . . . I don’t know . . . not feel so helpless and like such a jerk leaving you like this.”
“A couple of hours isn’t going to change anything. Ryder’s been great. He’s helping with the oven and dealing with everyone out front waiting for you to get back.”
“Everyone out front?” My feet falter. What the hell is she talking about?
“Don’t worry about it. He’s got it under control. You’ve got enough on your plate that we’re glad to handle it and help out.”
“Wait! Who’s out front?”
“The reporters.”
Reporters? “What reporters?”
“The ones that found out about you and Hayes.”
Huh? Why do reporters care about Hayes and me? Then it dawns on me. While I may look at Hayes and see the boy who stole cookies from me after school, the rest of the world looks at him and sees him as a celebrity. One who flaunted his name around the resort this weekend on my behalf. And apart from the hotel guests approaching him for autographs or photographs, I was so consumed with him I hadn’t given much consideration to the ramifications of being alongside him as a public figure.
How stupid was I to not think about this? About the outside world and the attention he brought us? Or how easily a photo can be uploaded to social media and shared thousands of times? All of it?
And by the sound of DeeDee’s comments, someone here might have done just that. Instead, I was so focused on spending every damn moment with Hayes, working through our past, soaking him up, and then falling more head over heels in love with him than I ever thought possible.
But this is a stark reminder how love can blind me temporarily to life’s reality.
“Okay . . . um . . . I’m trying to wrap my head around this. I just finished packing and I’m going to try and get an earlier flight and . . .” I stop, pinch the bridge of my nose and fight the sting of frustrated tears. “Hang tight. I’ll be home as soon as possible.”
We hang up and I force myself to take a deep breath. To not berate myself for having a weekend away from the bakery where I was able to not think about work, breaking ovens, or profit margins. And to remind myself that the R&R was deserved after how hard I’ve been working.
Plus, I closed the door on my life with Mitch and reopened another full of possibility with Hayes. How can I hate myself for that?
But reporters? Seriously? I guess I need to get used to this. The upside? Maybe I’ll get some free publicity from it for Sweet Cheeks.
“I don’t give a flying fuck, Benji. Are you fucking kidding me? You thought I’d be okay with this? Since when are you allowed to make these decisions without my input?”
Hayes’s voice breaks through the silence. I jump when something slams on the counter. Uh-oh.
; “Do you get what you did? What I’ve spent the last what feels like fucking forever trying to get back? No, I don’t want to listen to the whys. Screw the money. Screw the NDA. Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter. None of it does if you just fucked it all up . . . I just . . . I can’t . . .You know what? I’m hanging up before I say something I’ll regret . . . Yeah. I doubt it.”
I wait inside my room and wonder what’s happened to get him so upset. With my own thoughts frazzled over Sweet Cheeks, I hesitate whether to go out and ask if he’s okay.
And the moment to approach him is lost when I hear him mutter again. “Pick up the fucking phone.” I can hear his feet pacing on the wooden floors. Ten steps, then a pause, and then ten steps back.
His voice is muffled when he speaks next. I think he says a name but wherever he’s paced to, I can’t hear it clearly. And there’s something deep, down inside of me that suddenly is dreading whatever is going on.
“Haven’t you caused enough trouble?” His anger is palpable. The threat so apparent that I feel sorry for whoever is on the other end of the phone. His chuckle is a mixture of sarcasm and fury. “The charade’s over. I’m not doing this anymore . . . No. That’s bullshit and you know it . . . I was trying to be the nice guy. Trying to help you out. Help you save face at my expense . . . And you know what? I’m so done. So over your constant crap to feed your need for attention. I turn my phone off for a few days and when I don’t respond, you pull this bullshit? Fuck the money. Fuck the movie . . . My image? I don’t give a shit about my image. I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I had. But you know what? I care about hers. And everything else about her . . . No. You used her. Just like you’ve used me. But you used her without asking. Without thinking about how your little slip of the tongue to save yourself from the heat was going to fuck her over. You threw her into the goddamn fire to save your selfish self.”
