“You’re sofuckingbeautiful,” he groans with his final shuddering pumps punctuating each word. When contentment washes over his face, I pull him to me for another kiss.
Every daydream I allowed myself to envision in my darkest moments comes flooding back, flashing like an old-school film behind my eyelids—dancing in the living room of our first home, walking down the aisle, racing on horseback across the ranch to make love under a tree in the mountains, holding our baby for the first time. A movie I played in my mind whenever I wanted to cause myself irreparable pain. Only now, I see it through a different lens, because maybe there’s still time for our love story to happen.
Denver
She cried through most of our first time back together and, while that typically would be a sign to run for the hills, I knew it wasn’t because she was regretting having sex with me. Hell, I was holding back watery eyes myself. Blinking back the sting of tears and the burn in my nostrils, I held on to her and fought to keep myself composed enough to be there for her. If I had fallen apart at that moment, Blair would’ve picked herself back up so she could be my support—and all I’ve been wanting is the chance to prove I can be that for her.
Being back in her childhood bedroom, holding her and kissing her, is something I’ve had thousands of dreams about over the years. Finally having her again was ineffable. So I kiss her to make sure she’s not a figment of my imagination, wipe the tears from her reddened cheeks, and reluctantly pull out of her warmth.
“I’m sorry for crying.” She sniffles, propping herself up on her elbows and watching as I peel the condom from my dick.
“Bear, you don’t need to apologize.” Tossing the rubber into a trash can next to her old desk, I turn and crawl up the bed to lie beside her.
“I’m sure the women you normally sleep with don’t cry during it.”
The way she’s so hung up on the women I’ve slept with since her makes my stomach twist.
“Because there’s no emotion in that sex. This is different…it’s us.” My fingers run up and down her bare thighs, and I watch her melt under my touch. “You have nothing to be jealous of, okay? None of them are you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, baby.” I give her hip a gentle squeeze on my fingers’ slow exploration of her body. “I would rather have been right here with you for the last fourteen years.”
“Me too. Maybe not right here, though. I’d hope we wouldn’t still be sneaking around in my parents’ house.”
“Nah, we’d have a big house of our own, with a gorgeous view of the mountains from our king-size bed—not that I’d be looking at anything but you. And we’d be sneaking around so we didn’t wake up the kids.”
Okay, so I’ve put some thought into it.
Sniffling, she wipes at her eyes again. “You think?”
“If that’s what you wanted. I’d give you anything you want.”
Then. Now. Forever.
She sits upright with a groan. “I’m going to go to the bathroom—need anything? A drink? Snack?”
“All I need is for you to hurry back.”
Her lips curl into a smile as she leans in for a quick peck, then she’s wrapping herself in a fluffy gray robe and slipping out the door. And I’m alone in her room. For the most part, it looks the same as it did when we were kids—beige walls, white furniture, floral bedding. The glow-in-the-dark stars are gone, but after decades of light exposure, the shapes are still visible on the paint. I peel myself from the bed and peruse her room. Barrel racing buckles are arranged in neat rows on top of her dresser, surrounded by photos of Blair and Chief. Then pictures of Blair with her friends, including some that are more recent, with people I don’t recognize. I’m thumbing a university graduation photo frame when her door clicks shut behind me.
“Are you going through my stuff?” She hops onto her bed, watching me. I have no shame in my snooping game, so I continue examining her decor.
“Next is your underwear drawer.” I throw her a smirk over my shoulder.
“As if you didn’t start there, perv.” Blair ditches the robe and slides under the covers naked. “I have better drawers, though.”
“Betterthan your underwear drawer?” No clue what that could mean, but now Ihaveto know. I hover my hand over each knob, waiting to see if there’s a reaction from her. She’s failing miserably at hiding her discomfort as I move laterally to the far right of her dresser. “Baby, your poker face needs some help.”
Bottom right.
Giving it a firm tug, I slide the drawer open to reveal dozens of notes, photos, every single memory Blair’s ever had of me. With a breathy laugh, I carefully unfold a wrinkled piece of paper to find a drawing I’d made for Blair in eleventh-grade history class. It’s fucking awful—Odessa could draw a better stick figure family—but Blair kept it despite everything.
“I think this was supposed to be a dog.” I hold up the paper, pointing to a mess of brown circles.
“A Labrador, specifically. You were pretty proud of it back then.”
“We make a very cute stick family. Look at the legs on you—total babe.” I wink.
