Colt cracks a mischievous little smile before his hands take over, dragging a honeyed path down my body until his eyes meet mine, crinkled in the corners with full knowledge of the state I’m about to be in.
I might be tripping, but at this point, I’m pretty positive a string of ‘pleasepleaseplease’ is about all I can muster.
‘Spread those beautiful legs for me, May,’ Colt says, every vibration of his voice in his chest travelling right to mine, and let me tell you, I am happy to oblige. He lets out a satisfied hum. ‘You good?’ he murmurs, thumb stroking my cheek.
‘Yeah. Yeah, yeah.’ This time, my response is clear as day. I’m so good, actually. And I’ll be even better in about five minutes, which Colt knows, because with a kiss to my abdomen and a squeeze of my hand, he says, ‘Brace yourself.’
Whatever bracing I do isn’t enough for the feeling when he slides a finger inside me. I dig my heels into Colt’s back, a grateful moan emerging from my body, one that’s amplified when he adds a second finger –oh my. ‘Shh,’ he whispers with a teasing grin. ‘The fireflies are gonna hear you.’
I’d laugh if he doesn’t adjust his touch in some magical way that feelsjust right, so right that I have to tug him down to me. He finds a rhythm that my body responds to without even trying. If this is the apology, I’m more than willing to accept. I’ll take further reparations, too. Actually, I’ll probably take whatever he has.
Various combinations of ‘Colt, please,’ tumble straight from my lips. Our eyes meet dead-on. I plead he’s read my mind, and I’m proven just right when he lays a kiss on my collarbone, and then at my sternum, and then lower, until I’m practically biting down to keep from howling hard enough to scare away every firefly in Eagle Rock. My fingers are lost in Colt’s hair, and my soul feels like it finally – finally – leaves my body when relief crashes over me, the sort of fireworks I’ve never, ever felt before. My chest rises and falls with heavy breaths that only a good match can usually get out of me.Oh, May, just imagine what else this man has up his sleeve.
‘You’re so perfect,’ he mouths, lips moving against the side of my neck. ‘So perfect.’
Well. CJ Bradleydefinitelyjust apologized to me. And I’m eating up every crumb of it.
My hands creep down to the button of Colt’s jeans, and I press a kiss to his cheek. I whisper, ‘I accept your apology. I’m gonna thank you for it.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Reckoning
Colt
About an hour in the back of the truck, and one gas-station stop later, we casually wind up back at my house as if nothing at all had just happened. ‘HOME!’ May calls out upon our arrival, and then the screen door slams behind us, protesting noisily as always. So many familiar things, but so much change.
Wordless, save for a parting smile, we head in our separate directions. Once I’m all ready for bed, I head to climb under my covers, but my bedroom door creaks slightly ajar.
For the first time since the Velascos have temporarily moved in, May stands there, hair piled on top of her head, yawning hard, her pillow in her arms, and I don’t have to say anything. We run through the motions like we’ve been doing it for ever. She curls up beside me, her head to my chest, wearing shorts and a huge T-shirt with a map of the historic OKC DiamondQuad on it, and I drape my arm over her, her leg laid across mine. No pillow wall. No distance between us. She smells like roses and Busch Light Peach.
I’ve known it for a good part of my life. That’s the first time, though, that I really, really think about it. I think about the fact that I am in love with Manmayi Velasco, and I choose to forget about the logistics. In that moment, it doesn’t matter that I might leave and she might put her guard back up. All that matters is that I am unconditionally and unabashedly in love with her.
I wake to the sound of the shower running, and I run a hand over the space next to me – empty, save for a lingering warmth from the heat of May’s body and the indentation she left in the sheets. I check my phone.Fuck.It’s seven-thirty a.m. on a Tuesday. She has class, and I have a ton of my MBA stuff to work on.
I find a shirt somewhere on my desk chair and pull it on, stumbling bleary-eyed towards the stairs and down to the kitchen. Sav has a seven-thirty class that she’s probably already at. Pop’s shift at the hospital started at six-thirty. The Velascos head out early every morning to tend their remaining cattle and oversee construction of their new ranch. And Ma’s likely just left to teach her eight a.m. lecture, leaving no one but the two of us in the house. Sure enough, my mom’s signature sticky note is slapped on the side of the fridge:Pancakes and berries inside. EAT THE BERRIES, COLT. Feed May.
Great. It’d be nice to have a distraction or two running around the house right about now.
‘Colt!’ her voice comes from upstairs.
Nonchalant, I recite my mantra for the day. I can’t risk scaringher away. Unfortunately, that lasts about two seconds. I run right up the steps like my life depends on it. ‘Yeeeaahhh!’
‘Colt!’ May’s still yelling from the bathroom. ‘I can’t find my hair towel!’
I mentally curse my sister. Always moving shit around in there so she can get dressed up for all of three lectures. May’s towel turban, purple with white and yellow daisies, is definitely not outside on the towel rack. ‘Savannah!’ I hiss, rifling through the linen closet in desperate pursuit of the offender.
‘Is it out there?’ May calls, as exasperated as I am right now. I’m basically throwing half the closet over my shoulder looking for this thing. If it doesn’t show up …
The bathroom door creaks open behind me. I whip around, and I am decidedly unprepared for the sight that greets me.
So maybe I’m going to go ballistic. Or feral. Or both. I remember picturing May in my house, in my room, fitting right in like our lives were made for one another. I think the sight of her, cheeks flushed, water dripping down her temple and jaw, her curly hair soaked, and nothing at all on her person except for her matching lavender bath towel, might do me in.
I blink a couple times. Remind myself this situation is not about May’s long, tanned legs, still glistening with water. Or the gentle curves that the towel does a poor job of concealing. It’s not an easy reminder to give myself. My rational mind is checked out. I’m definitely not thinking with my brain when I rewind back to last night, to the way May’s skin felt flush against mine, her nails digging into my back …
‘My hair towel,’ May says, a slightly concerned look on her stunning face.
‘Huh?’
