Be My Reason Page 19

  Tonight, however, we are going out on our first official date. As I get ready for our night out, I wonder what it will be like to go on an actual date with him. We have become so comfortable with each other here at home. Sharing a bedroom even seems natural for us. We have been living in a bubble, our perfect little sex bubble. Will the bubble burst when we let the real world in?

  I don’t know where he is taking me, he wouldn’t say. He simply told me to bring a jacket. When I emerge from the bathroom, he has a blanket and a large cooler ready to go.

  In his truck, driving away from the apartment, he turns in the direction of my parents’ house. I know he isn’t taking me there. I can only think of one other place out this way. The Bend.

  I stare over at him as we make the turn onto the gravel road. He says, “Have you been here? Since…”

  I smile. He’s not ready to burst the bubble either. I think about the last time I came here. It was the most incredible moment of my life. If I could have scripted the night I lost my virginity, the real thing was ten times better. Maybe it was because I had been in love with him since the seventh grade. Maybe it was because of his kind words and gentle hands. Maybe it was the shots of liquid courage Emma forced down my throat. Whatever the reason, it was the best night of my life. Until recently that is.

  “No.” I grab his hand. “There is only one person I would ever come back here with.”

  ~ ~ ~

  I never knew Nate could be so romantic. I lie on the blanket looking up at the stars and think back on tonight. He was so incredibly slow and gentle, almost like he was that seventeen-year-old boy deflowering a virgin again . . . only with food and wine this time.

  I snuggle into him and lay my head on his chest. His heartbeat and rhythmic breathing are comforting. Our fingers are entwined and I absentmindedly trace the little scars on his right hand.

  “I was twenty-two when it happened,” he says. Then he lets out a long breath as I brace myself to hear his story. “I was a senior at Clemson. Claudia and I had been married about six months and we were out celebrating. I had gotten drafted by the Red Sox and even though I would start out on their AA team in Portland, it was about as good at is gets for a rookie ball player.”

  Boston? Portland? I never would have found him so far away.

  I can feel his heart racing through his chest and I know what he is about to tell me is a painful memory for him.

  “We were at a bar and had done some shots. She got up to use the bathroom and a few minutes after she returned, some guys came up to us and started talking trash. They said I had better put a leash on my bitch of a wife and who the hell did I think I was. I got up to defend her—defend us—when one of the guys took a swing at me.”

  Oh God, no. He lost his career in a bar brawl?

  “Naturally, I swung back and took the guy down, all the while cursing at myself for hitting him with my pitching arm. Then, out of nowhere, his buddy comes up to me and swings a bat at my head. Instinctively, I put up my arm to protect myself. My right arm. My pitching arm.”

  I wince. “Oh God, Nate.”

  “I broke my wrist in six places, had ten pins put in. I couldn’t play baseball again after that.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I hug his chest tightly. Tears are welling up in my eyes.

  “That’s not the worst part.” He hesitates. “Later on, I found out that Claudia was in the bathroom that night bragging about me to some of the other ladies, telling them that their boyfriends weren’t good enough to get drafted and how much better I was than them.”

  He takes a deep breath. “It was her. She caused the fight.” He sighs. “Then a few months later I found her in bed—our bed—with a ball player. Turns out it wasn’t me she wanted. She just wanted the life of a ball player’s wife.”

  Tears are flowing freely from my eyes, dripping onto his bare chest. He pulls my head up to see how wrecked I am. “Don’t cry, baby,” he says.

  “But that was the one thing you wanted more than anything in life,” I stutter.

  “Not more than anything, Brooklyn.” He takes me into his arms, kissing away my tears. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it this week. If I hadn’t gotten in that fight, I wouldn’t be here with you. I think that is why I can finally talk about it. I lost baseball. But I have you. I feel like I’ve won the goddamn lottery.”

  He crashes his lips into mine.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Electric charges are shooting through my groin as I awake in the morning light. I rub the sleep from my eyes and I realize that I am not having a dream, but that the man of my dreams is busy assaulting my thighs with his unshaven jaw causing me to writhe beneath him.

  I reach down and tangle my fingers in his hair, drawing him closer to my center as he draws me closer to my orgasm. I’m so close. How long has he been at this? My tension mounts, begging for release as I whimper, “Please . . . don’t stop.”

  I feel his smile against my hot, swollen flesh. He reaches a hand up and rolls my nipple between his thumb and finger bringing that ache of pleasure that causes me to lose all sense of reality when my orgasm comes crashing down. My walls tighten and pulsate around his fingers.

  He slowly climbs up my body, kissing my stomach, my breasts, my neck. Sensation overwhelms me. “God Nate, I love y—” I stiffen. “Uh . . . I l-love it when you do that,” I stutter.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God. Did I almost just say that? Does he know that I almost just said that?

  “Mmmmm,” he murmurs in my ear, unaware of my almost-declaration. “I love it when I do that, too. You taste like vanilla . . . always vanilla.” He licks at my shoulder as he pushes his impressive length into me.

  His hand comes around under my back and he raises my behind up to meet him. His lips possess mine as we moan panted whimpers into each other. Fire ignites in my belly once again as he twists himself to rub against that sweet spot at the front of my tight walls.

  “You’re mine, Brooklyn,” he says, panting. “Say you’ll always be mine.”

  “Yes, yours . . . forever,” I mutter into the crook of his neck.

  He reaches a hand down between us, sending ripples running through every nerve of my body as I rise up and then come crashing down, squeezing his hard shaft with the waves of my second orgasm. Seconds later he is crying out my name in the sweet agony of his own release.

  He lays on me and we breathe each other in while we recover from another round of incredible, life-affirming sex. He kisses me tenderly as he pulls out of my body and moves to my side. We lie on our backs, holding hands in the most comfortable silence I’ve ever experienced. He squeezes my hand and I smile.

  He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses every finger individually. Then he feathers kisses along my scar. “Quid pro quo?” He looks at my scar and then over at me with a raised brow.

  It’s only fair that I tell him about my scar; it wasn’t nearly as traumatic as his own. But it was the day I met Michael which makes my heart hurt a little. I put my head on his chest. I’m not sure I want him to see my face as I tell him the story. I haven’t told it to anyone since Michael died and I’m scared that it might take me back to darker places.

  I surprise myself when I’m able to get through the entire story with not so much as a tear. I even find myself smiling and drawing laughs from Nate when I tell him about Dr. Cockblocker.

  “So, that’s why I never see you wearing bracelets. You are afraid they will catch on the oven again causing you another burn,” he says, absentmindedly studying my wrist.

  “Yes. It’s a shame because I have a jewelry box full of them.”

  “Thank you for telling me.” He kisses my wrist again and pulls me out of bed with him. “Shower,” he demands.

  “Really? Haven’t you had enough yet?” I ask.

  “Brooklyn, I waited over two years. I have a lot to make up for.” He runs his eyes up and down my naked body. “And I will never get enough of you.”

  ~ ~ ~

  I can hardly contain my excitement, knowing my best friend will walk through the door to our apartment in just a few minutes. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen her and the last time she was here, we didn’t exactly get quality girl time.

  Nate is psyched to see Graham as well. We moved all of Nate’s things into my bedroom last week, leaving Emma’s old room ready for them. The only thing Nate left in her room was his drafting table. He uses the room as an office so he doesn’t bother me when he is working.

  As if watching him work would ever be a bother. It’s more like an aphrodisiac. He’s always biting his lip and running his hand through his hair while sketching. It’s sexy. Sometimes I stand in the doorway and watch him. Not surprisingly, we always manage to make love whenever he gets done working.

  “Ahhhh!” I hear Emma scream as she pushes through the door, drops her bag on the floor and hurdles herself at me.

  We share an embrace that can only be understood by tried and true BFFs. No matter how far away we are, we will always have this connection. A tear rolls down my cheek. I am both happy to see her and sad that we don’t get to share our everyday lives anymore.

  “This weekend is gonna rock!” she yells at the sky.

  We have plans to go out clubbing with Ryan and his girlfriend, Laura. Ryan is back in town for a few weeks in between his thrill-seeking adventures. Our first official group date. I’m giddy like a schoolgirl knowing that Nate and I can be together in front of the world. There is no more guilt, no more bitterness, no more hurt. There is only love. Well, for me anyway.

  Graham and Nate are catching up over a few beers when Ryan and Laura show up. Laura has never met Nate so I introduce them. “Nate, this is Laura. Laura, this is my . . . my . . . uh—”

  “Boyfriend.” Nate says extending his hand to her. “I’m her boyfriend.” He rolls his eyes at me.

  Boyfriend. Yes, I like the sound of that. I’ve just never said it before when referencing Nate. I dreamed of calling him that when I was young. I would even dance around the house with a large pillow, pretending it was my boyfriend, Nate. But I’ve never actually said the words out loud.

  He pulls me close so that only I can hear him whisper his hot words in my ear, “And you’re my girlfriend. Mine. Always.” And once again, another piece of my heart gets chipped away, finding its way over to Nathan Riley.

  The club Emma has chosen is a hip club with mostly top forty music—very easy for dancing. The six of us order drinks and chat for a while. Ryan has been regaling us with stories of his latest excursion. He was cave diving in Costa Rica. I am amazed at all of the incredible things that he has experienced.

  Laura, on the other hand, looks bored and rolls her eyes at his stories. She must have heard them a thousand times before.

  Ryan elbows me and starts to tell the story of when he taught me how to surf. He has everyone cracking up at his tale of trying to get me to keep my balance. I tell them that although it looks easy from land, it is quite different when you are trying to stand up on a surfboard on a moving, pitching, surge of water. That you must simultaneously leap from a prone position while shifting your weight left, right, front, and back to keep from diving face forward. The ‘pop-up’ as surfers call it.

  “When you lost your top, I about died laughing,” Ryan says. “I remember you trying to use the seven-foot surfboard to cover yourself up, in fifteen-foot-deep water with waves crashing all around you. It was hilarious.” His eyes start to water.

  Nate stiffens and squeezes my thigh. I look over at him and he is no longer laughing with the rest of us. He is looking at Ryan like he wants to punch him. I pull his hand up to my lips and softly kiss it. “Dance with me, babe?” I whisper, trying out the endearment on him.

  He snaps his head towards me, seemingly forgetting all about Ryan and my lost bikini top and says, “Babe?” He smiles. “That sounded hot. Say it again.”

  I clear my throat and then I whisper in his ear in a low, sultry voice, “Babe, I want you. On the dance floor. Now.”

  He squirms in his seat, readjusting himself. Can I really affect him that much merely with my words? It is a heady thought. He pulls me up from the table and says, “Baby, you can have whatever the hell you want when you talk to me like that.”

  We lose ourselves in each other on the dance floor. Thank goodness it is dark and there are a lot of other people dancing. It doesn’t matter if the song is fast or slow, our bodies are pressed against each other practically from head to toe.

  He slips his hand in-between my skirt and blouse and runs his fingers around the sliver of skin all the way to my back, sending jolts of electricity through my body. My hands can’t decide if they want to fist his hair, grab his biceps or trace the muscles of his back, so I do each in turn. I can’t get enough of his skin under my trembling fingers.

  He spins me around so that my back is to his front. He grabs my hips, moving me with him so that we dance as one to the blaring music. I can feel his growing erection pressing into my back. I close my eyes and drop my head back against his shoulder. He licks at my neck. “Mmmm, salty and sweet. My favorite combination,” he says against my skin.

  We dance like this all night. Who needs drugs? Who needs alcohol? Although now I understand the draw; Nate is an addiction I must satisfy. It’s like I’m building up a tolerance and need more and more of him to get my fix. I will never get tired of this, of him. I can only hope he feels the same way.

  Since our couple’s night out turned into a grind-fest for Nate and me, Emma and I decide on the way home that tomorrow we are having a Girls’ Day. But tonight . . . tonight Nate and I will finish what we started on that dance floor.

  Two hours and three orgasms later, Nate and I lie in bed together, tracing our fingers across the bare skin of each other’s bodies. He starts drawing something on my stomach. It tickles but I don’t want him to stop. “What are you drawing?” I ask.

  “My favorite thing. You,” he says, kissing me where his fingers are touching my skin.

  This reminds me of that sketch I saw fall to the floor the night he stormed out of his room because I was going on a date. “I saw the sketch you did of me that first night,” I confess.

  “Which one?” He raises his eyebrows.

  “There’s more than one?” I say excitedly.

  “Um . . . you could say that.” He sounds embarrassed. I wonder if it weren’t so dark in here if I would see a blush creep up his face. “I could show you if you want.”

  I sit up and declare, “I want. I want.”

  He laughs and rolls over to turn on the light. He reaches into the bottom drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a sketch book. He looks at me, lets out a long breath and hands it over.

  I open it slowly and can’t believe what I see. The book contains page after page of me. Some sketches are of me close up. There is one drawing of me in the bakery; another of me lying on my stomach on the bed with my head propped up on my steepled hands.

  The most shocking of all are the ones of me as a girl, back in high school. There is a sketch of me stretching on the track after a run. Another with the flute to my mouth. I check the date in the corner. It is dated the year we hooked up. The year he disappeared.

  Oh my God.

  “Nate, my God, these are incredible,” I gush appreciatively.

  “That’s only because you are my muse.” He leans over to kiss my cheek.

  “It’s amazing the way you see me. You make me look so beautiful.” I blush.

  “Brooklyn, you are beautiful. You just don’t see yourself that way. That’s one of the things I love about you.”

  “One of the things?” I blurt out without filtering my thoughts.

  Oh, crap.

  “Yes, baby, one of the things.” He takes the sketch book out of my hands and places it on the night stand. He pushes an errant hair behind my ear and cups my face. He looks into my eyes, his deep blue irises dancing with passion and purpose. “There are too many to list . . . because I love everything about you.”

  My heart jumps and I stop breathing.

  “I love you, Brooklyn.” He rubs him thumb across my bottom lip. “I think I’ve loved you in some way since high school. I know I’ve loved you since Raleigh.”

  I close my eyes and let the words sink in. He loves me. I think that this must be the most perfect moment of my life. I’ve had other note-worthy moments, but this one I want to remember when I’m a hundred years old.

  I take in a deep breath. I smell Nate, with his manly scent mixed with fresh laundry and sex. I can hear his baited breath while he waits for me to speak. I can hear my heart pounding as it removes itself from my body and collides with his. I can feel the tingles of his touch as he glides his thumb over my lip. I etch the conglomeration of all five senses into a memory that will last a lifetime.

  I open my eyes to see the man I have longed for since my youth. The man who waited for me even when he thought I was lost to another. The man that I hope to spend the rest of my life with.

  “I love you, too, Nathan Riley.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Morning light starts to peek through my blinds. I try not to wake up Nate. He’s not used to getting up as early as I am. Our bodies are still entwined. His leg draped over my leg, my head on his chest, his arm over my waist. I go over last night’s events in my head, replaying them over and over, making sure I wasn’t dreaming. He said he loves me—everything about me. I never thought I would hear those words from a man again.

  I was so sure that I was right about ending up alone and never taking a chance. He wore me down and I can’t even begin to tell him how grateful I am that he was so persistent. I’m still scared as hell about what the future will hold for us. I don’t know if I could stand it if he were to leave. And if he were taken from me, like Michael? I shake my head at the thought. Surely fate wouldn’t be that cruel.

  His right arm is resting out to his side leaving his tattoo in full view for me to look at. As I wonder about the true meaning of his tattoo, I start to realize that I would feel the same way if Nate ever left me. I would feel like my heart was shredded and surely I would want to die. Is that what he was thinking when he got it?

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