by Tracy Wolff
I ignore all of it as I squat down and come back up.
Down, up.
Down, up.
Down, up.
“Ignoring me isn’t going to make me shut up,” Tanner tells me after I do another set of fifteen.
“Don’t I know it,” I mutter.
He continues like I didn’t bother to answer him. “And it’s not going to make you feel better, either. In fact, I’m pretty sure the only thing that will make you feel better is getting your ass over to Sage’s and apologizing for being a dick.”
“For a guy without a girlfriend, you sure do have a lot of advice.” As soon as I say the words, I wish I could take them back. Talk about being a real dick. “Jesus, I’m sorry, man. I’m a fucking—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You’re good, Wilson. Let it go.”
I do, because it’s not like he’s giving me a choice. Plus I’ve done enough damage for the day. I think about doing one more set but my legs are shaking, and the last thing I want to do is injure something else because I’m being stupid. Sage just got my shoulder back in shape and with summer training just a few days away, straining my back isn’t an option.
Reluctantly, I lower the bar to the ground and look around my workout room, trying to figure out what to do next. The only problem is, we’ve been in here over two hours and I’ve already done everything. Twice. And it hasn’t helped at all. I still feel too damn empty.
Which is ridiculous considering I’ve only known Sage a couple weeks. But that doesn’t seem to matter when it comes to how much I miss her. And how much I want her back.
“It’s not like I never date,” Tanner says in a deliberate attempt to smooth things out between us. “And when I do have one, I’m smart enough not to act like an asshole all the time, which—my friend—is more than I can say for you.”
“I’m not an asshole all the time.”
“Nope, just on days that end with y.”
I flip him off, but he just laughs as he plops himself down on the end of one of the weight benches. “Seriously, though, have you thought about just going over and talking to Sage?”
“Have I thought about it?” I ask him incredulously. “I’ve thought of pretty much nothing but that since she walked away from me the other day.”
Have thought of nothing but going over to her house and groveling at her feet, begging her to give me another chance. I never thought I’d be that guy, but right now I’m dangerously close to doing whatever it takes to win her over.
“So, what’s holding you back?” he asks, eyeing a set of fifty pound dumbbells I’ve got resting on the ground next to the bench. “Besides sheer, dumbass stubbornness, of course.”
“She didn’t answer my texts.”
“Oh, boo-hoo,” he all but snarls. “Of course she didn’t answer your texts. She’s pissed at you. More, she’s scared, and it’s not like she’s going to let you see that, not after that stunt you pulled the other day.”
Guilt crawls through my stomach. “I didn’t mean to scare her.”
“Doesn’t matter if you meant to or not,” he tells me as he leans down and picks up one of the weights and starts to do biceps curls. “You did. Hell, you scared me and Hunter, and we know your bullshit better than most people. Which means you’re the one who’s going to need to man up and go apologize to the girl. I mean, if you want her back.”
He pauses. “Do you want her back?”
“Fuck, yeah, I want her back.” So much I can barely breathe with it. So much it’s all I can think about. She’s all I can think about. All the weight training in the world isn’t going to change that fact.
“So, go get her!” Tanner shoots me a stop-fucking-around look. “Seriously. Go get the girl some flowers, maybe some jewelry since you fucked up so bad. Turn on the charm and do the best groveling of your life.”
“That’s your big advice?” I demand. “Grovel?”
“Hey, it’s good advice in any number of situations. Including this one,” he says with a shrug. “And while you’re at it tell her why you do all that stupid shit you do. It won’t make it okay, but it’ll help her understand. Then promise her you won’t do it anymore.” He switches arms and continues with the biceps curls while I reach for my phone.
“I don’t know if I can promise her that.”
He just looks at me, face more serious than I’ve ever seen it.
“I’m serious,” I tell him. “I don’t know if I can just walk away from the diving and the climbing and all the rest.”
“Are you ready to walk away from her?”
“No! Fuck, no.”
“Then I think you’d better get your head out of your ass and figure out what you want more. The adrenaline rush or your woman. Because something tells me you can’t have both. And if you chose the adrenaline rush, you better count on the fact that she’s gone for good. And for what?” His voice starts to break and he stops, clears his throat. Turns it into a cough. “Trust me, man. You don’t want that.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. Just like I know he knows better than most what it means to lose the woman you love. And still the idea of never climbing another mountain, of never feeling that moment of closeness with my mom and sister, leaves me feeling shaky. Nowhere as shaky as how I feel when I try to imagine my life without Sage in it, though. So I guess that’s the only answer I need.
“What kind of flowers should I get her?” I ask as I pull up a floral delivery site.
“Big ones.”
“That’s not exactly helpful.”
“Dude. Don’t use one of those sites.” He looks at me like I’m a moron. “Go to a florist and buy the woman the biggest fucking bouquet she’s ever seen and hand deliver the damn things. With some earrings. Women love earrings.”
“Earrings?”
He nods decisively. “Earrings.”
“Okay. Earrings it is.”
Something tells me winning Sage back—if I succeed—is going to be the biggest adrenaline rush of my life. Then again, maybe that’s the point.
Go big or go home, I always say.
* * *
—
Three hours later I’m standing outside of Sage’s place, with what might be the largest bouquet of flowers I’ve ever seen, in hands that are shaking a little too much for my own comfort. Diamond earrings are in my pocket along with another box that it’s probably too soon for. But the minute I saw it, I knew I wanted it for her. I just hope I’ll get the chance to give it to her, if not today then some time soon.
I lift a hand to knock, but it’s shaking so bad I lower it again. Sweat is rolling down my back and I’m pretty sure I’m about ten seconds away from hyperventilating. Jesus. I should have known she was trouble the first time I laid eyes on her in that bar, when she refused to make the move.
If I’d known when I sent over that tray of drinks that I’d end up standing at her door, a sweaty, shaking mess…hell, I probably would have done it anyway. Because being with Sage is so worth all the BS that comes with it.
The thought steadies me like nothing else could, and this time when I raise my hand to knock, it isn’t trembling at all. Except I never get the chance, because the door flies open before my knuckles meet the wood.
Sage is standing there, wearing jeans, a flowy blouse and a look of abject surprise. It looks good on her. Then again, in my opinion, everything does.
“Shawn.” Her voice comes out high and a little squeaky. “What are you doing here?”
I look from her to the flowers then back again, because isn’t it pretty obvious? “I wanted to see you. To apologize.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I do. I was an idiot and I scared you and I’m sorry about that. I really am.” I hold the flowers
out to her.
She takes them with a smile that melts my heart, then buries her face in the fragrant blooms. “Thank you so much. They’re beautiful.”
She steps back from the doorway, asks, “Would you like to come in?”
Something inside me relaxes, like I’ve been holding my breath for days and I only just realized it.
“I would,” I tell her, stepping forward. “But were you going somewhere? I don’t want to keep you.” Which is a big fucking lie considering I want to keep her forever, but now might not be the most opportune moment to bring that up.
It’s her turn to look from me to the flowers and back again. Then she takes a deep breath and whispers, “I was coming to find you.”
I’m so relieved to hear those six words that my legs nearly go out from under me. It’s like Christmas, New Year’s and every Super Bowl championship in history all rolled into one.
“Thank God,” I tell her as I step forward and take her in my arms. “Thank God.”
Chapter 24
Sage
His mouth comes down on mine and for long seconds Shawn is all I can think about. The way he tastes, the way he smells, the way he feels…God, the way he feels. It’s only been a few days, but I’ve missed this. Missed him.
Missed the way he holds me.
Missed the way he touches me.
Missed the way his body moves against mine.
He’s hard and hot and strong, so strong, that I can’t help melting against him. Can’t help giving myself over to him. Can’t help trusting him to catch me when I fall.
It might be stupid. Hell, I might be stupid. But right here, right now, when Shawn’s mouth is on mine and his hands are skimming over my shoulders and down my bare arms, nothing else matters but this.
Nothing else matters but him.
His hands come up to cup my face, to tilt my head back so he can delve deeper and I open to him like a flower to the sun. I am basking in the dark, protective warmth of him as he delves inside. As he takes me deeper.
He feels so good. This feels so good that I never want it to end. Never want to let him go. Never want to be as lonely—as cold and empty and alone—as I was these past few days without him.
I know this is wrong, know that we should talk first and make love later, but at this moment I don’t care about right and wrong. I don’t care about what happened in the past or what will happen in the future. All I care about is holding onto Shawn as tightly as I can. Giving myself over to him. Loving him in the only way I know how.
I wrap my arms around him, tugging at his simple white T-shirt until I manage to pull it free from his jeans. I want to feel him, want to put my hands on all that warm, golden skin. To slide my fingers over his strong, warrior’s body and feel him tremble in response.
He groans at the first glide of my fingers across his skin, starts walking me across the room until my back hits a wall. It’s my turn to moan as he presses into me, trapped between the unyielding wall and his just as unyielding body.
His cock is hard already and I whimper against his lips, my body straining against his. Straining to get closer. Straining to feel every part of him against every part of me.
He reaches down, wraps my leg around his waist and I swear I nearly come right there.
I fumble his shirt up farther, yank it over his head and throw it…I don’t know where. I’m too busy touching the hard muscled planes of his back, skimming my fingers over all those incredible muscles to pay attention to something as mundane as where his shirt lands.
He does the same to my shirt, then reaches between us, slides a hand down the inside of my yoga pants and starts stroking my clit. I see stars, my whole body going tight as a bow string as pleasure slams through me.
“Is this okay?” he asks, lifting his mouth from mine just enough that he can look into my eyes. And it’s just one more thing I love about him, one more thing I’ll never take for granted. The way he always checks on me, the way he always makes sure that I’m okay, that I’m with him every step of the way.
“Yes,” I manage to gasp out as I fumble with his belt. “Oh my God, yes.”
It’s all the encouragement he needs as he dives back in, his tongue stroking over the curve of my bottom lip before delving back inside. Then he’s thrusting two fingers inside of me as his thumb circles my clit. His other hand comes up to stroke my breast, my nipple, and just that easily I’m going over the edge, pleasure slamming through me like a freight train.
He groans again, his whole body going stiff as I come on his fingers. He strokes me through it, and then he’s lowering me to the ground.
“Wait, what?” I’m dazed and sated and still, somehow, horny as hell and I clutch at him, try to hold him to me.
He just laughs and says, “I’m not going anywhere, baby. Just give me a second.”
Then he’s yanking my pants off and tossing them over his shoulder. Fumbling a condom out of his pocket. Opening his jeans and shoving them down his hips.
And fuck. My knees go weak all over again at the sight of his long, beautiful cock. I reach forward, wrap a hand around him and stroke. Once, twice—he stops me with a groan.
“If you keep doing that, this is going to be over before it starts.”
I think about it—I love watching him come, love seeing the way he gives every part of himself over to me. But it feels like it’s been forever since he’s been inside of me and I want that right now. I need it.
I let go with another low whimper and he laughs, deep and dark and just a little bit dangerous. Then he’s sliding the condom on, sliding his hands underneath my hips, sliding me up the wall until we line up perfectly. And then he’s sliding inside of me.
“Oh God.” My head falls back against the wall, my eyes close and my whole body goes tight.
But Shawn’s having none of it, one of his hands coming up to grab my chin. “Look at me,” he demands and I do, because right here, right now, there’s nothing he could ask of me that I wouldn’t give.
“I love you,” he tells me. “I love you, Sage.”
“I love you, too, Shawn.”
Those black magic eyes of his turn molten and just that easily, he slips the leash, pounding into me again and again and again. It’s rough and fast and I love every second of it. Love the way he’s taking me, love even more that I can feel him claiming me with each thrust of his body inside of mine.
It doesn’t take long before I’m on the edge of orgasm again, and this time Shawn is right there with me. I can see it in his tight jaw and liquid eyes, can feel it in his tight muscles and the urgent way he’s pounding into me. And I love this too, love that he needs me as much as I need him.
“Come for me,” he demands, right before he lowers his mouth to mine and nips at my lip.
The demand, paired with the little shock of pain, is all it takes to send me careening into ecstasy, my whole body going up in flames.
“Fuck, yeah,” he says and then he’s coming too, his body jerking against mine as he empties himself inside of me.
When it’s over, we stay like that for long seconds—minutes—both of us trying to wrap our heads around what just happened. Even after I come back down, my heart continues to pound and my brain keeps spitting the same words at me over and over again. He’s here. He’s really here. Even after I was so cruel to him in that parking lot, he didn’t let me ruin it. He didn’t just walk away. I’m so relieved I can barely breathe, even as I hold him as tightly as I can.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him when he finally steps back and refastens his jeans.
“What are you sorry for?” he asks as he finds my shirt and hands it to me. “I’m the idiot who thought free diving without giving you any warning would be fun.”
“Yeah, that was a dumb move,” I agree as I pull him toward the couch. “But I should have talked to you, s
hould have tried to explain instead of just walking away. That’s on me.”
He takes a deep breath, blows it out slowly. Then pulls me back into his arms. I go—of course I go—because it’s Shawn. He smells so good, feels so good. More, even after everything—or maybe because of it—he feels safe, which is everything to me. The rest, we’ll find a way to work out.
I’ve spent the last twelve hours thinking about my mom’s words, wondering if she’s right. Wondering if all that time I thought I was making a safe place for myself, I was just running in a different way than she had. Wondering if all I did was build myself a prison instead of a fortress.
I want the answer to be no, want to think I’m smarter than that. But it’s hard to argue when I walked away from Shawn without even having a discussion, so determined to preserve my own sense of security that I was willing to blow up the only romantic relationship I’ve ever had that means a damn to me.
This time I’m the one to pull away first. I pick up the flowers on the way to the couch—I must have dropped them in that first rush of need—and put them on the coffee table. Then I curl up on his lap because the other end of the couch feels way too far away from him.
He pulls me close, cradles the back of my head in his hand. I rest my head on his shoulder and finally—finally—feel like I can breathe. That’s when the words start tumbling out. “I always told myself I hated being a yoga instructor because of all the hippie-dippie trappings that come along with it. But the truth is, I hated it because I never had a choice. Yoga has always been my mom’s thing, and my whole life I’ve been dragged along in the wake of it, moving every few months, running off to India at the drop of a hat—where I was exposed to tuberculosis when I was twelve, by the way, and had to take an antibiotic for six months to get rid of the latent virus in my lungs—moving from commune to farm to yoga studio to another commune. I never knew if the place I woke up was going to be the place I went to bed that night, and I never knew if I was going to be safe there if it was.”
