Page 57 of Be My Reason

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 andhis 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 clubwith 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 muchmerely 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 forNate 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 Ilie 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 ofme. 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 stretchingon 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.

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