Page 27 of Something that Could Last

I hop up on the bed next to her and pull her into my arms. She rests her head on my chest and draws lazy circles over my tattoo with her fingers. She's quiet for a long time and were she not still caressing my skin, I would think she had fallen asleep. But then she speaks.

“Will you tell me about her?” She doesn't have to say her name. I know who she’s talking about.

I inhale a deep breath before I begin. “She could light up a room like nobody I know. Her big, wide smile was infectious. She was sweet and playful. She never complained. Not even when the chemo made her sick and took all her hair. She wore these ridiculously colored wigs that my mom found for her.” I smile to myself at the memory. “Purple, blue, pink, yellow. She loved them.”

It was the only outrageous request she made the whole time she was sick. My mother hated them, but they made Peyton happy so she just smiled and told her how pretty she looked. It hurts thinking about how much I miss her and how helpless I felt, watching the beautiful, vibrant girl I knew and loved waste away.

“Hey,” Abby whispers, running her soft fingers over my jaw. I don't realize until she does this that my whole body has tensed up and my eyes are squeezed shut with my brow furrowed. I open them and attempt to unravel some of the tension in my muscles. “I'm sorry.” The sadness in her eyes is like a dagger through the heart.

“It's okay,” I assure her. “I just have a hard time talking about her. But it's nice to be able to share all the happy memories I have of her with someone.” My family never talks about Peyton. Other than the few family photos she's in and a locked door to a pink and purple bedroom, it's as if she never existed.

My mother barely survived her death. Peyton was her little girl, her angel. She hasn’t been the same since. Poor Logan was barely four and our mother neglected him, nearly grieving herself to death. My father wasn't much help, either. He dealt with his grief in his own way, by burying himself in his work. He was a broken man, but he couldn't allow us, or the nation, to see that.

Finally, after months of seclusion in our house, Mom emerged a changed woman. She dried her eyes and, as far as I know, has never shed another tear. She threw herself into her role as a senator's wife. She knew what everybody expected of her and she gave it to them. With one exception: her remaining children. After a while, though, she realized she still had two boys who needed her. It was like a switch was flipped, and she became the fierce mama bear she is today.

Abby cups my face with her delicate hand and brings her lips to mine. The kiss is soft and gentle. It feels good to have her comforting me, and I realize I've never opened up to anyone this much. I feel safe with her. I know she won't tell my secrets or try to use them against me. I have to be careful with the girls back home and at school. Growing up in politics is like growing up in a shark tank. The charlatans won’t hesitate to use your pain against you or sell your secrets to the highest bidder.

I deepen our kiss, wanting to feel even closer to her. She responds by opening her mouth and sliding her tongue along my top lip. I groan in appreciation and grab her hips, pulling her on top of me. My fingers trail up her thighs, dipping under the hem of my boxers. She straddles me with one knee on each side of my hips and I dig my fingers into her flesh, pressing my growing erection into her. She moans and rocks her hips against me. My hands move to her hair, holding her mouth to mine. I don't want this to end, but if I don't pull away, this is going to go farther than it should.

I want to pleasure her. I want to be able to give and not take. But I am a man, and I don't know if I’m strong enough to resist the temptation. I want her. There’s no denying that, but this is about more than just sex. Ilikeher. I want toknowher. And I certainly don't want to rush this.

I break the connection between our lips and pull away, both of us panting. My arousal throbs against her, trying to find release.

“Abby.” My voice is gruff and thick with need.

“Jacob, I...” she starts, but there’s hesitation to her words. She wants more, but she's scared. Her heart is guarded and I don't know why. “I should probably be getting home soon.”

I sit up, her still straddling me, and pull her body against mine. “Okay,” I tell her. “I'll take you home.” I give her a lingering kiss before releasing her, and she slides off the bed. I throw on a shirt and lead her out of my room.

We go in search of Tiffany so I can take them both home, but she and Luke are nowhere to be found. They've probably gone up to his room and won't be coming back down any time soon. Abby lets out a defeated sigh when she realizes where Tiff is. She pulls out her phone and calls her. I go to retrieve my shoes and keys and give her some privacy to talk to her friend.

When I return, she’s ending her call, annoyance flashing in her eyes. “She says she's staying here,” she tells me. “She refuses to leave.”

Luke probably refuses to let her go.

I chuckle silently at her chagrin. She can be so easygoing at times, but so serious at others. Hmm, maybe if Tiff stays, Abby will stay too. “If you don't want to leave her here, you're more than welcome to stay.”

She looks up at me, biting her lip in contemplation. She's quiet for a moment, mentally weighing her options. “I can't,” she answers finally. “I told my grandmother I would be home tonight. She'll be expecting me,” she finishes mournfully, giving me a weak smile. I smile back, trying to mask my disappointment and nod my head in understanding. “Let me just grab my things.”

When she walks back out of the bathroom, my howl of laughter causes her to scowl at me. She looks adorably ridiculous wearing my boxers and t-shirt with four-inch heels.

“Don't laugh,” she tells me, but she can't keep from grinning. “I don't have any other shoes to wear.”

“Take those off,” I instruct, pointing to her feet, “and come here.” She obeys reluctantly and walks towards me, squealing when I scoop her up and cradle her in my arms. I walk to the front door and pull it open, careful not to drop her.

“What are you doing?” she asks as a pleased smile spreads across her face.

“I don't want you looking like a crazy person walking to my car.” She rolls her eyes at me, but her smile grows.

I set her down gently in the passenger seat and slide in beside her, turning the radio down low, just loud enough to make out the song that's playing. It's still on the nineties station from earlier and Boyz II Men's “I'll Make Love to You” plays softly over the speakers. On second thought, maybe I should crank the sound up. I reach over and grab her hand. Noticing her fingers are a bit cold, I bring them to my mouth and breathe warm air onto them. She sucks in a sharp breath and her eyes flare with desire. I turn my attention back to the road and kiss the back of her hand.

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow?” I ask her.

“No. I actually have a day off,” she replies.

“Would you like to spend the day with me?”

“What did you have in mind?” She tries to appear indifferent, but her lips curve into an intrigued smile.

---