Page 62 of Bordeaux Bombshell
Soft pink blankets are piled haphazardly on the bed, a wooden bedframe supporting the weight of all her pillows. There’s a chair in the corner, piled high with clothes, a couple pairs of shoes on the floor around it. Floral prints decorate the walls—they’re not at odds with the decor in the rest of her place, but they’re softer here. Sweeter. Like the hardness she presents to the outside world hasn’t tainted it. Or like she’s kept it carefully guarded all this time.
From me and any other idiot who doesn’t appreciate how amazing she is. And that her tough exterior hides a soft center.
“Ignore the mess,” she says, flipping on the light to reveal her pink cheeks. “I couldn’t decide what to wear.”
“Wasn’t looking at anything but you.”
She leads me deeper into her bedroom, turning on the lamp beside her bed before indicating that I should flip off the overhead light again.
While I’m doing that, she disappears into the attached bathroom, reappearing moments later in a baggy T-shirt and tiny shorts. For a moment, I’m disappointed I didn’t get to watch that dress come off, but I knew it was a long shot.
“Syd, I wasn’t…I mean. I don’t expect anything. I hope you know that.”
She smiles, then reaches out for my tie, tugging it loose. “I know. I don’t either. I just want to…exist with you. That’s it. Everything else is too…” She trails off, looking uncertain as she pulls the fabric free of my neck.
“Too much for now?” I offer. The buttons of my dress shirt are next, but I don’t take it all the way off, instead leaving it on over my undershirt as a signal of my intentions. I do, however, remove my belt and socks, piling them with my tie by the door.
“Yeah. For tonight. I don’t want to make any promises or do anything that one of us might think means more than it does. I just want to be with you. The real you.”
She’s already in bed, under the covers, pulling a laptop across her legs and patting the space beside her.
Sliding under the covers into the empty space, I pull her against my chest. “With the real you.”
“Yeah.”
“I would like nothing more.”
Sydney
Ihaven’tbeenableto take my eyes off him all day. The air crackles each time Nate meets my gaze—which is often. All the angry years are fading, and I’m back to the last fateful Fourth of July, the first and last perfect day between us.
As if my heart has time traveled back to before it shattered, and it’s giving us a second chance.
A do-over.
One neither of us wants to fuck up.
As we cuddled in my bed and watched a movie last night, the strangest part was how not strange it felt. Awareness had sprinkled over my skin at his closeness, but it settled into me like the warmth of a blanket rather than the fire of desire. The platonic comfort of his steady breathing outweighed the heat that sat low in my belly.
Heat I was content to let burn as the credits rolled and he slid off the bed. With a kiss to my forehead, he let himself out, and I fell asleep almost instantly.
Today, however, is a different story.
While I was getting ready with everyone at Maggie’s hotel suite, every mention of how “the boys” were doing kept the memory of his hard chest pressed against my spine at the top of my mind. Reminded me of his legs tucked securely behind mine, spooning me. His fingers occasionally brushing my hair behind my shoulder and ghosting over my skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps behind.
I don’t exactly regret not taking things further last night, but the way he looks in that suit, standing beside Kel and beaming at everyone, is tempting in a way I don’t think I can resist.
The only thing making this bearable is knowing I’m not alone in this feeling.
All throughout the ceremony, any time I’d glance away from Kel and Maggie, I’d find Nate’s eyes on me. I missed all of Maggie’s vows because I was caught in his gaze, desperately pushing away the fantasies of my youth while drowning in a dull, achingwantthat was echoed in his expression.
The crush of people and hugging and smiling has kept us apart or surrounded by family and friends all day. I should be annoyed—old me would be annoyed—but today, it feels like we have a precious secret. A delicious little mystery that no one else gets to solve.
No one else saw the moment Nate brushed his pinky against mine as we stood next to each other for photos. Or that I gave him the olive from my martini at the cocktail hour, then couldn’t look away when his lips wrapped around it.
The tinkling of cutlery against glass cuts through the chatter, and I turn, dropping my conversation with Daisy’s daughter,Ava. The kids’ table was strategically placed directly behind all the aunts, uncles, and grandparents.
How could I expect anything less than a perfectly planned wedding from Maggie? Kel’s not kidding when he brags about what a good event planner she is.
