Page 22 of See You Next Winter
More.
He whispers it again, right into the skin of my throat.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t come back. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.”
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was going to let myself enjoy his company for one last year and move on. There’s no way I can tell him to leave now.
His fingertips trace patterns up my spine, remind me of a night we spent hours pretending to write words on each others backs and guessing what they were. I thought about writing'I love you'but hoped he'd do it first.
“You’re so fucking beautiful. I thought about you every day, you know that?”
As scary as it is, I believe him, because I thought of him every day, too. They weren’t always good thoughts. Sometimes I wished for his dick to fall off, or worse, for his dream career to fail, so he wouldn’t have anything to keep him from me. Cold, selfish thoughts mixed in with a million dirty ones. I’m not sure I’ve ever had an orgasm without picturing him behind my eyelids.
Ryan flips me onto my back and pulls the covers up and over our heads.
“Let me make it up to you,” he says, kissing a soft trail down past my belly. “Ask me for what you want.”
I want you to stay.
The thought is more fucked up than anything physical I could ever ask for. With sex, I know he’d give me anything I desired, and I hate my brain for thinking of things he’ll never be able to offer.
“Ask me,” he growls, taking a chunk of thigh between his teeth.
Sinking my fingers through the strands of his hair, I hitch one knee up to the side and make room for him to taste me.
“Just this. Just you. Just like that.”
Chapter 17
Ryan
Eight Winters Ago / Age Twenty
Kayla’s parents are hostingmy family for our first night back in the mountains and they’ve fixed an incredible spread of local delicacies.
My parents told me she’s been lodging with a local family this winter while she does her instructor training. Turning her love of skiing into a job has always been a dream of Kayla’s, and I can’t wait to hear about it when I finally get her to myself.
After dinner, she and I clear the table and when we find ourselves alone in the kitchen, I loop my arms around her waist, pull her close and bury my face in her neck.
“Woah, woah, woah,” she says, twisting out of my hold and pressing her palms against my chest. “I have a boyfriend.”
The laugh that rumbles out of me is involuntary, because this is so far from funny. I don’t know how else to react. Kayla squares off with me, hands on her hips, head cocked to one side.
“It’s not funny.”
“Damn right it’s not funny. Is it serious?”
It’s the first in a series of questions that spring to mind, along with what the fuck? Since when? Who the fuck is he? Are you winding me up? And, once again, what the actual fuck?
There are a few women I’ve dated at college this year, and that’s been a fun time, but I was careful not to let anything get serious orcarry on too close to the holidays. I’m shocked Kayla wasn’t considerate enough to do the same.
She lowers her voice and pokes her head around the kitchen door to make sure nobody is listening. “Serious enough, I'm not going to cheat on him, if sex is what you’re after.”
Er, yeah, that’s what I’m after.
That’s our whole fucking deal. I only spend three hundred and fifty-one days of the year looking forward to the fourteen when I’ll get to touch her again. My wishlist has about fifty things on it, none of which included her and some other guy.
“Does he live here?”
