She slides down my body until she’s standing and starts fishing through her purse that’s slung over her shoulder.
She produces a key and hands it to me, and I unlock her door.
Once we’re inside, I lead her through the living area and into her bedroom.
“Michael, did I really dance on top of the bar?” she mumbles as I take off her shoes and cut-off shorts and help her into bed.
I chuckle. “You did. And you looked damn hot doing it.”
She puts her hand to her forehead. “Oh God. I can’t believe I did that.”
I pull the sheets up to her chin.
I’m about to tell her good night when she pats the empty side of the bed. “Aren’t you going to stay over?”
I don’t want to leave her.
“If you want me to.”
“Of course I want you to. Come here.”
I pull my t-shirt over my head, step out of my shoes and jeans, and climb into bed next to her.
She immediately turns and buries her head in my chest. “You always smell so good,” she says.
And now my dick is on alert. “So do you.”
She reaches for me, but I gently catch her wrist.
“Not when you’re drunk,” I whisper.
“Tomorrow?” she asks sweetly.
“Tomorrow,” I promise. “Go to sleep.”
“Good night, Michael.”
“Good night, Mimi.”
I shift her so she’s not pressing up against my growing erection, and then I go perfectly still until her breathing evens out.
Holding her like this makes me smile. I feel more at peace than I can remember feeling since before my dad died. I’ve been on a hamster wheel, running as fast as I can, and hoping the grief I’ve put at bay will never catch up to me. I never made the time to grieve my father’s passing. I never wanted to.
Getting up before it’s light out, working a job that takes everything out of me physically so all I can do is crash into bed at the end of the night…helped me to cope. It also helped me to avoid the pain.
So I’ve held on to it. All these years, I never really broke down and cried over him.
But I do now. With Emery sleeping peacefully in my arms, I allow myself a few tears. Not a sob fest. But real tears. I brush them away just as quickly as they appear, and when they’re gone, thoughts start coming hard and fast in my mind.
I always thought I loved being on the boat more than I could ever love any person, but I’m starting to question myself.If I love it so much, why have I been so unhappy?
Ayden and I had a conversation a while back, right before he and Bella went from best friends to lovers. The memory hits me hard now.
“You don’t get it, do you?” I growled at Ayden. “You and Mom and everyone else want me to quit fishing because it’s dangerous.”
“I never asked you to quit,” Ayden said. “I said my extra moneywill help to lessen the pressure on you so that, if there’s a fucking storm outside, you can stay home and not worry about the loss of income. All I suggested was you be more careful—on stormy days or when the waves are brutally rough…”
“That’s like asking a football player to always throw the ball away when he’s being rushed,” I said. “A quarterback tries to make the best pass. And sometimes, that means he’s going to put himself in danger of being hit. And sometimes, he’ll be hit. Right?”
