Nothing Without You

by Monica Murphy

  Maybe she’d like it…

  “Your brother’s boat is amazing,” she says, rising to her feet and sauntering toward me. She braces herself when the boat rocks extra hard and I almost reach for her before she rights herself. “Thank you for taking me out.”

  “Thank you for splashing me,” I tell her solemnly, making her smile.

  “You needed it. You were so serious only a few minutes ago, trying to maneuver this thing.” She shakes her head, rests her hands on her hips. “Please tell me we’ll hang out here for a little bit before we head back to the dock.”

  “Sure.” I dropped the anchor when we first got here, and I planned on busting a few drinks out of the ice chest I brought with us. Maisey was in charge of snacks, and even though I ate lunch only an hour ago, my stomach is growling in anticipation of what she might have in her bag. “Thirsty?”

  “Yes.” She nods.

  I flip open the top of the blue ice chest and contemplate the selection. “I have Coke, Water, one 7-Up, a couple of beers, and two Orange Crushes.”

  She wrinkles her nose when my gaze meets hers. “Quite the variety.”

  “I picked everything from Hunter’s refrigerator.” My brother has a fridge in the garage where they keep extra stuff and all the drinks.

  “I’ll take an Orange Crush, please,” Maisey says primly and I dig into the ice, pull the cold can out, and hand it to her, our fingers brushing.

  Our touch hot despite the ice.

  “Thank you,” she murmurs, cracking open the can.

  “You still like them,” I tell her as she takes a sip.

  “I still like what?”

  “Orange Crushes. You used to always drink them when…” We were together, I say silently.

  “I don’t drink them like I used to.” She takes another sip, a hum of satisfaction sounding low in her throat. My skin goes tight at the sound. “I’ve pretty much given up soda these last couple of years.”

  “I brought the Orange Crush for you,” I admit as I grab a beer—the only one I’ll drink while we’re out on the boat—and twist the cap off. “I saw it in Hunter’s fridge and had to throw it in there. Just in case.”

  “Just in case what?”

  “Just in case you still drank them.” The beer feels good on my dry throat and I drain almost half of it, like I need the liquid courage to continue with my plan.

  My plan to get my hands on Maisey in that fucking bikini.

  From the moment I stopped by her house to pick her up, driving Hunter’s truck with the boat towed behind it, she threw me. Looking cute and so painfully young in her cutoff jean shorts and a white tank top, the bright red straps of her swimsuit top curved around her neck. Seeing her with no makeup on her pretty face and her hair in that ponytail took me right back. To when we were young and in love and blind to the future.

  We were living in the here and now.

  I envy my younger self. When I didn’t care, when all I could focus on was football and school and my girlfriend. My friends and my family and my beat-up truck I bought with the money I’d saved up. How proud I was to drive around town in that truck with my girl sitting at my side, my hand on her thigh, her head on my shoulder.

  I am nothing like the kid I was. And I’m filled with the sudden urge to reclaim my old self.

  Even if it’s just for a little bit.

  “You want something to eat?” she asks and my earlier hungry thoughts are gone, replaced by a need to do something fun.

  Something spontaneous.

  “Let’s jump in the water,” I say as I set the beer in the cupholder by the driver’s seat.

  “It’ll be cold,” Maisey warns, setting her soda can in the other cupholder.

  “Once we jump in, it’ll be fine,” I say with a confidence I don’t necessarily feel.

  She’s right. That water will be damn cold. It’ll be a shock to my system. Just her splashing me in the face shook me completely.

  I grab hold of her hand and help her join me on the tiny deck at the back of the boat. We stand there, our weight tipping the boat, our gazes meeting for a brief moment before her lips part and she says, “We’ll jump on three.”

  “One,” I say, squeezing her hand.

  “Two,” she adds, blowing out a harsh breath.

  “Three!” we both scream at the same time as we jump into the lake.

  The icy temperature takes my breath away as I plunge into the water, my fingers still curled around Maisey’s. We sink and sink, me taking her along for the ride since my weight is pulling her down. And then I’m dragging her back up, our feet kicking, our heads popping above the water simultaneously, both of us gasping for air.

  “Oh my God!” she’s yelling, pushing the tangle of wet hair away from her face. “It is. So. Cold!”

  I pull her to me so our bodies collide, our feet churning around each other, our chests bumping. She sucks in a breath, her gaze meeting mine, her expression open. Tempting.

  Leaning in, I give her a quick kiss, her lips warm despite the temperature.

  When I pull away, she’s blinking up at me, her lips parted, our legs still moving, keeping us in place. “Why did you do that?”

  “I wanted to.” I touch her cheek, her skin frigid, though I can still feel the warmth lingering just below the surface. “I want to do so much more than kiss you, Maise.”

  “Oh.” She’s still blinking at me, appearing confused, and at first, I wonder if I made a mistake.

  But then she’s letting go of my hand, her arms circling around my neck, her body snug against mine. A perfect fit. I slip my arm about her waist, pinning her to me, knowing we only have a few seconds before we’ll start sinking and suddenly her mouth is there.

  On mine.

  Kissing me.

  I return the kiss with all the pent-up hunger I’ve felt for her since the moment I saw her at the grocery store. Though it goes further than that. All of this hunger and need coursing through my body goes back years. To that last moment I had with her, in the cab of my trunk the night before I broke up with her.

  When I kissed her freely because she was mine.

  That word is running through my brain right now as our lips part and our tongues tangle.

  Mine.

  It repeats, keeps the rhythm of my heartbeat as I devour her.

  Mine.

  Mine.

  Mine.

  I take the kiss deeper and she wraps her legs around my waist, anchoring herself to me. I start to go under, struggling to keep above water without letting go of her, and when we break the kiss, she’s laughing.

  “I don’t want to drown you,” she murmurs, her face so close I can see the water droplets clinging to her eyelashes. The tiny scar on the left side of her chin. The rosy lushness of her mouth.

  I want to taste that mouth again. I want to feel her mouth on my skin.

  I want to feel her everywhere.

  “Let’s get back on the boat,” I suggest, reluctantly loosening my hold on her.

  “What are we going to do once we get back on the boat?” Her eyebrows shoot up, her expression questioning.

  “Whatever you want me to do,” I answer, my voice full of promise.

  Chapter Eleven

  Maisey

  We scramble back onto the boat, both of us breathless and laughing, my entire body tingling, but not from the water.

  No, my body is tingling from Tucker’s kiss. From his touch. A few stolen moments in the lake and my body is aching for more. More of Tucker’s hands, more of Tucker’s lips, more of Tucker’s skin…

  My laughter dies. He’s standing in front of me now, dripping wet, rivulets of water streaming down his wide chest, making my mouth run dry as I stare at him. He’s so—large. Tall and broad and packed tightly with muscle. The lightest bit of dark hair curls between his pecs and his stomach is a literal washboard. Ab-tacular. Ab-tastic.

  All the silly words describing his perfect abs don’t measure up to actually seeing them up close. In the flesh
. My fingers literally itch to touch him there.

  I curl my fingers into fists instead, telling myself I need to remain in control.

  “You’re looking at me like you want to jump me,” he says, his amused voice breaking the sudden tension that formed between us.

  I burst out laughing because he’s not telling lies. I do want to jump him. “You’re looking at me in the same way.”

  He smiles. Pushes his wet hair away from his forehead, his biceps bulging. His body is so much more…delicious than it was when we were younger. He was always built as a teen, but he wasn’t quite so big and masculine and dominating.

  “I’m trying to control myself,” he says, his voice low and gruff.

  “Me too,” I murmur.

  Tucker takes a step toward me. “Not like I’m going to do anything to you here on a boat in the middle of the afternoon.”

  I mock pout. “That’s too bad.”

  He chuckles, and the sound is devastatingly sexy. “You want me to strip you naked and have my way with you right now? So if anyone drives by, they could see us?”

  Everything inside of me goes liquid at the promise in his words, his voice, his eyes. Yes, yes, YES! I want to shout, but I don’t. “Maybe,” I say with a little shrug.

  His smile turns wicked and then he’s right in front of me, his hands on my waist, his fingers burning into my bare skin. I had no idea I missed his touch so badly until I had his hands on me once again.

  Now I’m not sure how I’ll ever survive without him.

  “You’ve been driving me crazy since the moment you stepped on this boat and took your clothes off,” he says, his head bent close to mine as he watches his hands slide along my waist. “Wearing a swimsuit like that.”

  He sounds annoyed. Frustrated. And I love it. “Oh, this little thing?” I ask innocently.

  “You wore it on purpose,” he accuses, but he doesn’t sound angry.

  He sounds like he’s barely in control of himself.

  “You always did like me in red,” I remind him. It was the color of my dress to winter formal. That night, he couldn’t stop staring at me. Told me again and again how beautiful I looked.

  I still have the corsage he gave me, dried out and stashed in a box of collectibles I keep in my spare bedroom closet.

  “I definitely like you in this,” he says, his fingers toying with the ties on my hips. “One tug on each side and your bottoms would fall off.”

  He slips his fingers beneath the fabric ties. They brush against my skin and I step closer, wishing he really would tug them off. I want to be bared to him. Open to him. I have nothing to hide with Tucker. He walks back into my life so easily, like he was never gone. And I want to accept him with open arms.

  There are no warnings, no caution. I just…

  I want.

  Him.

  “I have another regret, you know,” he says, his voice casual, like there’s nothing unusual about him trying to take off my bikini bottoms.

  My skin is on fire. My nipples are hard, and not from the various temperatures I’ve put my body through in the last ten minutes. No, it’s all Tucker’s fault. In fact, I can barely speak, and I have to clear my throat before I croak, “What’s your other regret?”

  “That we never had sex,” he says, his gaze meeting mine. “That we weren’t each other’s first.”

  My heart squeezes. I didn’t realize how much I regret that fact until he just said it. “I always thought you would be,” I admit.

  “Same. I did too.” The sadness is there, tingeing his voice, but his lips curve into a slow smile. “We did a lot of other fun things though.”

  Memories flood me. Fumbling hands removing clothes in the cab of his old truck. His fingers between my legs. A couple of pillows, a pile of blankets, and the two of us naked on a hot summer night, messing around, me too scared to go all the way, but perfectly willing to do everything else.

  “Yeah, we did,” I agree, my voice soft, a gasp escaping me when he grabs hold of my waist and picks me up with ease, bringing me with him as he settles on one of the bench seats at the front of the boat.

  I straddle his hips, my hands resting on his smooth, hard shoulders, our faces close. I can feel his warm breath, the swell of his erection between my legs, and my eyes go wide when I realize our scandalous position.

  At the front of the boat.

  “You weren’t lying when you said everyone could see us,” I tell him, squeezing his shoulders.

  “It’s the most comfortable spot.” His hands rest on my hips, fingers playing with my bikini bottom ties once more. “I’m a big guy.”

  “I can see that.” And feel it. I mean, I’ve seen him naked before, but that was a long time ago. Memories fade and all that.

  He slides his hands up my back. “I’m trying to use restraint.”

  “Why?” I sound incredulous, and that’s because I am incredulous.

  There’s no point in holding back. We’re adults. We should just go for it.

  “Something about anticipation. It’s a killer, yet it’s also so fucking good.” He brushes his lips with mine, the touch whisper soft, making me sigh. “Now that I’ve got you back in my arms, I want to make this moment last.”

  “You want to torture us,” I whisper, my lips moving against his when I speak.

  “Absolutely.” His fingers curl around my damp ponytail, tugging gently, and then his mouth settles on mine for three, four, ten heartbeats. Just our mouths touching, sharing the same air. Our bodies wrapped tight, as if we’re trying to crawl inside each other’s skin.

  He whispers my name just before he deepens the kiss and I am lost. Lost to the sensation of his lips molded to mine. Drowning in his taste when his tongue slides inside my mouth, searching, seeking my tongue. He groans, I can feel the sound rumble in his chest, and I slide my hand down until it rests over his rapidly beating heart.

  My heart is beating just as fast.

  We kiss and kiss, the rhythmic rocking of the boat causing our bodies to rock together, driving me crazy. We keep our clothes on, but that’s not saying much, considering we’re wearing so little. My hands roam all over his shoulders and chest, drift across his perfect stomach, making the muscles contract. I explore as much as I can and so does he, his touch making me shiver.

  Making me whimper.

  Making me burn.

  Our lips never part. I could kiss him forever, despite the sting of the sun on my skin. The roar of the boats as they pass us by. The loud music as a pontoon boat settles on the shore not too far from where we are.

  “Get a room!” someone yells over the music and Tucker tears his mouth from mine, pushes me off his lap as gently as a push can possibly be, and rises to his feet to give the offending pontoon boat and its passengers a one-finger salute.

  “Wait a minute!” another male voice yells, causing Tucker to go still. “Aren’t you that football player? Tucker McCloud?”

  It’s almost comical, how his erection deflates when the guy asks him that question and Tucker sends me a pleading look. “The fans are about to descend.”

  “That’s okay. Let them,” I say, glancing down at myself to ensure no pink parts are inadvertently on display.

  Within minutes the pontoon boat is right beside us and Tucker is joining them, surrounded by a bunch of guys who look young, but not too young. Most likely they’re in college. They have a few women with them, all of them staring at Tucker with rapt attention and I can’t help the stab of jealousy that pierces me when I see them ogling him.

  But then Tucker calls, “Hey, babe, get on this boat and join us,” and a surge of pride fills me at him calling me “babe.”

  Silly, I know.

  I step onto the boat and someone shoves a cold water bottle in my hand and asks me if I want a burger. I’m suddenly ravenous—kissing Tucker must burn a lot of calories—and I agree to a cheeseburger, as does Tucker.

  We spend the next hour with them, eating an early dinner, the men asking Tucker all s
orts of questions, the ladies wanting photos with Tucker so they can post on Instagram or Snapchat or whatever.

  I just sit there quietly, soaking up the sun, the breeze off the lake, the camaraderie, the way Tucker glances at me every once in a while, like he wants to ensure I’m still there. He smiles. He winks. He even mouths “Sorry,” but I don’t mind.

  We’re together. And I get to see him in his “I’m a celebrity” element, and it’s an eye-opening moment. He’s accomplished so much in a short amount of time, and these complete strangers are in total awe of his presence. They want a tiny piece of him, an experience they can share with their friends and family, so they can boast that they met the famous football player, Tucker McCloud.

  Yet I know the real Tucker McCloud. The man behind the myth, the stories, the celebrity. I knew the boy he once was, and I loved him with all of my heart.

  If given the chance, I could love him again. Even more fiercely this time.

  The realization makes me want to cry.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tucker

  Once we drop off Hunter’s truck and boat and we get back into my rental car, I convince Maisey to come back with me to my hotel.

  “The shower is amazing,” I tell her, and I can see she’s nibbling on her lower lip like she does when she’s unsure. Funny how some things don’t change. “The water pressure feels like a massage, swear to God. And the bathroom comes with extra soft terry cloth robes.”

  “Are you telling me you’ve wrapped that big body of yours into an extra soft terry cloth robe?” Maisey asks, clearly amused.

  “No,” I say slowly, reaching across the console to grab hold of her hand and squeeze it. “But I can definitely imagine you wearing the robe.”

  Her cheeks flush pink—or maybe they were already pink, since she got a lot of sun today. “You just want to get me into your bed.”

  Yeah. There’s no denying that. But I also don’t want the day to end. The sun has almost set, and I’m worn out, yet I want to keep going. I like the idea of taking a long shower and then crawling into bed. Naked.