Page 65 of Sand in My Boots

She melds our lips again, slower this time, as if to set the pace for what she wants. And I want it, too. I’ve wanted nothing more in my life than to be here in this moment, a gorgeous girl in my bed, wanting what I have to offer. Because right now, I can give her what she wants. The same can’t be true once we’re done.

We take our time, kissing, connecting on a deeper level than any other time this week. As we fall over the precipice together, our eyes locked on each other, I stare into Juli’s soul and wonder how it could ever feel this good with someone else. It’s a fleeting thought as I bring my attention back to her beauty, but damn if she doesn’t imprint herself on my heart. My name on her lips as she comes is the melody the soundtrack of my life has been missing. And yet, it’s out of key.

Mine and Juli’s song will barely make the playlist.

Pulling out slowly, I roll off her, leaving the condom around my limp dick. I’m too tired—no, sated—to get up and deal with it now.

“That was . . . too good for words. And worth every ache, pain, and all the soreness I’m bound to feel tomorrow. A great ending to an incredible week.”

My brain cringes at the whole “ending” part. It’s unavoidable, yet it hurts to hear.

“Best week I never planned for. Thanks for letting me crash your vacation.”

“As if I had a choice.” Her voice confirms it’s not a dig. It’s more of “I tried not to give in, but it wasn’t happening” kind of comment. I’ll take some of the responsibility. Not the blame, but the responsibility for her wanting to spend the time with me when she was here for a different reason. She lays her head on my chest, and as much as I want to cuddle, the condom’s bugging me.

“Hold that position. Be right back.”

In the adjoining bathroom, I dispose of the condom and grab a washcloth, wetting it under the water so it’s damp. Waiting for me, she’s got her thighs spread open, and it takes but a minute to clean them up before she’s back in my arms.

“What time is it?”

“Haven’t a clue.” Based on the way my stomach rumbles, it’s probably close to being mealtime.

She grabs my wrist. “Where’s your watch?”

“On the nightstand.” My arms tug her closer, and I lean back against the pillows, allowing my eyes to shut.

Giving up on her quest for the time, she burrows deeper, her head fitting into the crook of my shoulder. “I need food soon. Especially because of my last night Bushwacker. So maybe, a bit of cuddling, a shower—together to save time—and then we’ll grab dinner and drinks at The Drift?”

“Fine. But no talking while we cuddle.”

“Sure thing, bossman.” A giggle accompanies her words, but she follows my orders.

I don’t know how long we cuddle, but I savor every minute. My body’s in no rush to get out of bed, get cleaned up, or leave the confines of our suite. But for Juli, I’ll make the sacrifice.

“Don’t get used to this.”

Juli’s charged comment incites action. I wonder for a moment why she’s spoken at all. Did I give her any indication I wanted more than she’s given me? That after tomorrow, I won’t let her go? I scroll through all our conversations, none of which centered on a label or definition of what this week was, nor did I imply I would “get used to this.” I’m about to speak, but she lumbers from the bed. Though it’s not like I don’t follow her.

She’s already half in the shower. “New towels are out there. Grab me one?”

“In a minute.” I don’t want to fight with her, but we can’t keep skirting around the issue. Call me naïve, but I don’t want to go a decade without speaking to her, not knowing what she’s up to, not being at least a friend. If only through texts and phone calls rather than updates from her brother. “Why shouldn’t I get used to this?” My tone’s harsher than I intend, but that’s not what has her halting.

Despite my punitive tone, her expression remains soft and neutral. “It was a reminder to me. As wonderful as this has all been, come tomorrow at this time, you won’t be there. Not to do any of what we did this week. As much as I would like you to be.”

My mind a bit blown, I have to collect my thoughts on how to reply. What I say back to her. It’s not exactly an invitation for more, but it’s an opening.

Thoughts churn, my brain working a mile a minute to keep up with them. To distance myself, I leave the bathroom, retrieving the pile of clean towels from the table. I don’t rush back, trying to make sense of her comment, thinking of a comeback.

Whether it’s rooted in reality, “more” doesn’t really exist for Juli and me. And not only because of the physical distance separating us.

Back in the bathroom, the water rushes out, raining down on Juli. Smoke billows from the heat of the water.

The glass door’s still open, and after resting the towels on a shelf, I step inside.

I spin her around, cupping her cheeks. “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to say. This always had an expiration date.” A sense of hope wafts off as she nibbles the bottom lip into her mouth.