When I pull back, his eyes are still closed, his lips pursed in the lingering semblance of a kiss, as if his very world will shatter when he opens his eyes. The illusion will be gone, and the painful truth of reality will set in and drag both of us down with it.
I rise up on my tiptoes, rest my hand on the back of his head, and leave one last brush of my lips against his forehead.
When I close the bathroom door, there are tears on my cheeks.
By the time I’m in the shower, the tears have grown to full-on sobs, my shoulders shaking as I try to remain silent. The last thing Ryan needs is to hear me crying; it’s hard enough for us both already.
My eyes are closed when the door to the bathroom opens, and I’m focused on the warm rush of water on my shoulders. I don’t realize Ryan is in the bathroom with me until the door to the shower opens.
He’s there, shirtless, looking incredible. His cocoa eyes are soft with hurt, his hair curling in disgruntled waves from fingers wrestling through it. “Andi.”
It’s one word, but it’s enough. I push the door the rest of the way open, and he joins me under the steaming warmth. Already, the bathroom is foggy with heat. My hair is damp with conditioner, my body lightly scented with the lilac body soap I imagine his mother left just for me.
“Let me,” he murmurs, spinning me around so the water courses between my back and his chest. His hands come up to massage my scalp, working the conditioner through the ends of my hair.
Then his hands slide down my neck, slick with soap. He rubs small circles on my shoulders, loosening the tense knots that have developed there. Then it’s my back, my ribs, my hips. His fingers run in sensitive lines across my skin until his hands are circling my waist.
I feel him, smooth and firm against my back, the water slick, the steam making it difficult to breathe, yet somehow, it’s more sensual than anything I’ve ever known.
Then he wraps a hand around me and presses his palm to my stomach. He eases it down, below my belly, to a place where warmth and desire curl under his touch.
One of his fingers begins to stroke, slow, gentle movements that have me biting down on my tongue to keep from crying out. His lips press against my neck as he sucks gently and then eases my head around so he’s kissing me.
Stroking, kissing in the heat, I moan into his mouth. His other hand holds my hips so my back is pressed to him. I’m on the verge, and I tell him so.
He murmurs my name, holds me steady, urges me over the wall until I don’t have anything left. When his name finally spills from my lips, I sink against him.
He hooks an arm around my waist, the other resting against the wall. “Andi…”
“Mmm?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whisper. “Don’t stop.”
I reach out, my fingers pressing against the shower wall as he slides in, achingly slow at first, so I can feel every whisper of movement.
Arching my back, I silently ask him for more, for everything. He seems to understand my need, and he begins to move faster and faster. He’s grasping hard enough for me to feel the indents on my hips, until he releases one hand and brings it around, stroking me at my core.
It’s more than I can handle. I feel the wave coming harder, faster, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. We’re connected now, our motions intertwined as one, and when he grits out my name, it just about pushes me over the edge.
But he has other plans. Ryan pulls out, leaving me wanting, needing, gasping at him with threats.
“What are you doing?” I turn to face him. “You can’t stop like that.”
He’s standing before me, smoking hot, soaking wet, his eyes ablaze. “I need to see your face.”
Before I can react, he picks me up and rests a hand behind me to hold our combined weight. My legs wrap around his back, the shower walls shuddering as he rocks into me. Neither of us notice or care; we’re too wrapped in the moment, the heat of it all.
This time, he doesn’t stop. He pushes us to the cliff, and together we sail over the ledge. I’m gripping his shoulders for dear life as he eases every last bit of energy from me, and when the last of the tremors stop, the water continues to rush over us.
We stare at each other for a long moment. In our nakedness, we’re raw. There’s love and lust and desire. There’s also hurt, frustration, and something else, something more…despair, maybe.
“Let me finish what I started,” he says, and at first I think he’s ready for another round.
I’m about to tell him I need a minute to recover when his fingers reach into my hair and continue massaging out the conditioner. I close my eyes, let his fingers work their magic, and then I help him. Beneath my fingers his abs ripple, and for a moment, he twitches alert when my fingers graze his thighs. There’s a moment of devilish want in his eye, but then it fades in an instant.
The moment is too sweet to do anything but towel off and climb into bed together.
He wraps me in his arms, and I lean into him, both of us too exhausted to put on clothes. If the night weren’t so bittersweet, I’m sure we’d go again and again until the sun arrived and lulled us to sleep.
But as we are, it’s too dangerous. To have sex is to invest more in each other, to deepen the relationship ties that will surely break. So instead, we hold each other like the very world will vanish if we let go.
I don’t remember drifting off to sleep, but I know that when I did, I was in Ryan’s arms.
And when I wake, I’m still there.
My flight is early. His alarm goes off five minutes after mine, and I silence it before he so much as rolls over.
I dress, grab my clothes, and head out of the room. I stop in the doorway, my heart tugging me back to bed. I return to the side of the bed, but only for a brief moment. Inhaling the soft scent of Ryan’s shampoo, I press my lips to his forehead.
His eyelids flutter, and my heart nearly stops.
But then he merely rolls over.
I’m free to go.
I sneak out of the house without seeing anyone else, and by the time I’ve arrived at the airport courtesy of a taxi, I’ve gathered enough composure to text Ryan. I write out the message eleven different times, and I don’t settle on the final one until the wheels of my plane have lifted.
We’re just about to lose service when I hit send.
Never in a million years did I think a single order for a smiley face pizza could send my world spiraling off its hinges. As I close my phone and shut my eyes, I pray that my world— which is currently off kilter, lopsided, upside down—can find a way to right itself.
It doesn’t work.
At least, not immediately.
When I land at LAX, I’m a mess.
I text my dad to pick me up, and I’m waiting on the curb by the time he arrives, pulling to a stop under the Sun Country sign.
He takes one look at my face and opens his arms. “It’ll be okay,” he tells me, gripping me tight around the shoulders. “I promise.”
CHAPTER 46
Ryan
Sunlight pokes at my eyes like a knife. I roll over, reaching for Andi’s body, but my arm falls flat onto the bed. I feel around for a bit, resisting pulling my eyelids open, wondering if she’s in the bathroom.
I can’t hear anything, so finally, I peek one eye open.
My heart races the second I see the empty bed.
I know I set my alarm last night, so it can’t be later than eight o’clock. I don’t sleep through my alarm as a general rule. We have early practices often, and being late to them means more than a slap on the wrist. Old habits die hard.
I reach for my phone, fumble around with it, and blink. This can’t be right. Ten a.m.? That would mean I overslept by two hours. Two hours?
I pull myself out of bed, throw on a pair of sweats, and leave the room. I make my way downstairs where my mom is sitting by the fire reading a newspaper, a pot of coffee ready. I ignore both of them and look at the clock above the stove. It’s never wrong—my mom is militant about keeping that thing clicking along at the right time. She even waits up ’til two or three in the morning, or whenever the hell daylight savings clicks into effect, to adjust it.