Page 32 of Where She Belongs
And they’re right. Somehow every woman I met before this moment seemed to pale in comparison to her. And now, I can’t stop imagining how it would be like to kiss her lips, to trail my tongue down her neck, and over her breasts and hear her moanfor more, feel her fingers curling into my hair, her nails digging into my skin.
Don’t get me wrong; all the women I’ve been with were all wonderful and amazing, but I’ve never felt the things I’m feeling now whenever Andrea’s near. The palpitations (and no, it’s not a medical condition, I double-checked), that funny feeling in my belly when she looks at me, the way everything else just falls away when it’s only the two of us.
Am I falling in love? Or am I just lonely, stuck in a honeymoon suite with a fake girlfriend I’m desperately wishing were real?
Or maybe it’s the beers I just had with the guys. A loosening of my inhibitions, perhaps?
Is that why I’m doing my best to distract myself from the sound of the shower in the other room, the vision of her under the spray?
Think of something else, man. Anything.
I take out my phone and start flipping through apps, trying to find something, anything, that’ll take my mind off the fact that she’s naked in the other room. But it’s no use.
But even with the latest role-playing app I downloaded, I see only her.
A few minutes later, the shower stops and I set my phone back on the side table. I close my eyes, willing myself to sleep. I’m exhausted anyway.
The time with the guys had been fun, just the distraction I needed after seeing Andrea in her bikini today, watching her learn to surf and later, having her see me wipe out gloriously. For once, as the guys and I played poker and shot the breeze, the attention wasn’t on Andrea and me, not from her aunts who couldn’t stop mentioning kids, or her parents who, though they’ve always liked me, had their doubts about me being their daughter’s boyfriend. A part of me wanted to assure them it wasn’t real, that it was only until the wedding was over and everything would return back to normal. But there was that other part of me, too, the one that was tired of pretending, that wished with all its heart that Andrea and I could be more than friends.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the suite doorbell and I sit upright, suddenly aware that whoever it could be, what they’d see would lead to the end of the charade. The sofa bed, my opened luggage, my things on the coffee table. Suddenly, I’m scrambling for my shorts and yanking them on before hurrying to Andrea’s bedroom door.
I knock just as the doorbell rings again, the sound followed by Tristy’s voice. “Mom, I need your help.”
The bedroom door opens and Andrea stands there, her hair still damp and wearing only a bathrobe.
“Tristy’s outside and we have a problem.” I cock my head toward the living room, not needing to say anymore. “If Tristy sees the sofa bed, she’ll know the truth. And if she knows, then Simon will know. And if Simon knows…”
“Ah, shit,” Andrea mutters under her breath, yanking the door wide open and stepping out into the living room. “Let’s get everything into the bedroom.”
The doorbell rings again and as I toss the sheets and pillows on the bedroom floor, Andrea hurries to the door.
“Just a minute, honey,” she calls out as I close the sofa bed. “We’ll be right there.”
Together, we quickly straighten up the rest of the suite, almost tripping over ourselves as we move my things into the bedroom, the sheets and extra pillows tossed into the closet before we collect ourselves.
“Ready?” she asks as my gaze slides down to her half-opened robe, the smooth olive skin of her left breast making my belly flip. Damn, she’s beautiful. “Sorry,” she mutters as she adjusts her robe and opens the door.
The sight of Tristy, mascara streaking down her cheeks, looking unusually small in what’s clearly Tyler’s oversized hoodie, instantly shifts something in me. Gone is the confident social media influencer with millions of followers. In her place is the teenager I met years ago, the one who’d light up talking about soccer and secretly worry she wasn’t smart enough.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” Andrea’s voice shifts into full mother mode, and I feel a familiar warmth watching her pull Tristy into her arms.
“Tyler’s gone!” Tristy bursts out, pushing past us into the room. The desperation in her voice strikes a chord—I’ve known this kid since she was seventeen, watched her grow into the confident young woman she is today. Seeing her reverting to the insecure teenager beneath the polished exterior tugs at something fiercely protective in me.
Andrea turns to me. “Weren’t you with them?”
“I left early,” I say. “They were still playing poker when I left.”
Tristy exhales. “Well, they decided to go into town and now I can’t reach him and what if they got him a stripper? What if he’s cheating on me? What if?—”
“Whoa, hey,” Andrea says, pulling her into a tighter embrace while I quietly close the door behind them, giving them space while staying close enough to offer support.
“Breathe, baby. Tell us what happened.”
Tristy looks between us, her eyes widening as she takes in the rumpled bed visible through the open bedroom door, our disheveled appearance. “Oh God, I totally interrupted you guys?—”
“No!” Andrea and I blurt simultaneously, exchanging a panicked glance. We might be pretending to be a couple, but we aren’t ready to have her daughter believe we’re actually?—
“I mean,” I add smoothly, “we were just sleeping.” It’s not technically a lie, though the warmth climbing up my neck suggests my brain is filling in alternative scenarios.
