Page 92 of Only in Your Dreams

She’s wearing an oversized, ancient jersey. White with the teal accent color from our high school. The number ten, and my last name plastered on the back.

I can’t tell whether I’m about to come or laugh or cry. It’s a fascinating combination of emotions.

She borrowed that jersey mostly to annoy Parker back then, who bitched for days that it was weird that she wouldn’t wear his jersey to our games, considering they shared a last name. But I always let my love-sick brain fantasize a scenario where she wore it because she miraculously reciprocated the way I felt about her. That maybe she was Parker’s sister, but when she was in the stands watching our games, she was there for me, too.

And maybe she was, if her confession at camp was true.

Mel finally spots me behind her, then scans me head to toe like she’s trying to find answers to unasked questions.

“I didn’t know how you’d prefer to recuperate,” she says slowly. “So, I have three options prepared for you.”

Is it too much to hope that one of them involves her face down on my mattress while I fuck the lights out of her in that jersey? Talk about recuperation.

“What are the options?”

Mel lays her palms on the counter between us, and you know what? That fantasy now involves her bent over this counter instead.

“Well, I put beers in the fridge so they’re nice and cold by now. We could get so drunk we forget all about the past few hours. There are also cookies in the oven, if you prefer a sugar coma. And behind door number three is a hug from yours truly.” She outstretches her arms as if driving the point home.

I hum. “How long is this hug?”

“How about… thirty seconds. Full-bodied and I’ll throw in a bit of a back rub out of the goodness of my heart.” She offers me a tiny smile to top off the offer. “So, what’ll it be?”

“I’m taking the hug, Clover. Every time.”

Mel rounds the counter without taking her eyes off me. The whole thing feels so strangely monumental, considering I’ve already dry-humped the fuck out of her. But she’s making small moves tonight. The clover, the jersey. The way she winds her arms around my waist, slowly bringing our bodies closer.

With a palm spread over the small of her back and the other tangled in her hair, I leave no space between our bodies but the threads from our clothes.

“I’m sorry you lost your game.”

At some point, I realize that I’ve transferred some of my weight on her. But she carries it without faltering, and so all I do for a while is inhale that sweet vanilla scent of hers. Let it turn my mood around. One hug is all it took to make this night better, and I force myself to stop thinking about the day she’ll move out of town again. Leaving me as empty as I felt the last time she left.

“Think it’s been longer than thirty seconds,” I say after a while. My voice comes out scratchy.

“I’m not done yet,” she mumbles.

I smile into the top of her head, moving her hair out of the way so I can get a good look at my name on her back. “Nice jersey, by the way. Mind telling a guy how he’s supposed to interpret something like this?”

Her face is still buried in my chest, but her shoulders shudder in a silent laugh. “I’m showing my support. Make of it what you will.”

“And the reason you kept my jersey all these years would be…”

Mel pulls back to get those wide blue eyes on me, chin propped on my chest. “Honestly? I tried to get rid of it more than once. I never could.”

This woman is as slow a burn as they come. I don’t blame her for it one bit—she has a hell of an ex, moved back to town just over a month ago with barely a sliver of confidence left to her, and all the distrust in the world. But then she shows up, clover in hand or with my name on her back and a tray of cookies in the oven. Tiny gestures to anyone else. To me, though, knowing what she’s been through? She may as well be moving mountains.

And I need to kiss her. It’s not a want. It’s aneed, this sudden, desperate, life-or-death thing I have to do before my body starts to split at the seams. Turn to dust, fizzle into nothing. The urge is so strong it cuts off my breath. Cuts off the air supply to my brain, and any semblance of logical thinking goes out the window. All that’s left of me is a desperate man holding the woman he loves, who may not return his feelings exactly, but there’s definitely something there. Something happening here.

And then Melody parts her lips, chin still propped on my chest. I’m not the smartest man on earth. But I’m not stupid enough to pass up a chance like this.

I rake back the hair framing her face, cup her cheek and she lifts her head. She looks nervous, but then, so am I. I might’ve kissed her before, back at camp, but it didn’t feel like this. She didn’t look at me like that. She didn’t.

“Oh, damn. Should I not be here?”

Melody’s head snaps in the direction of the hallway, while mine snaps toward the beeping oven.

Youmustbe joking.

---