I cradle her face with both hands and turn it toward me, leaning in, forcing her to see me. Really see me, the way only she can. “I wanted to kiss you. On the island.Twelve years ago. Now. I didn’t kiss you…not because I didn’t want to—because I knew I couldn’t.”
Her wet eyelashes flutter.
She sees me and hears me now.
“You’re my best friend’s little sister, Claire. It’s my job to protect you. Even if it’s from me and how badly I want you. But believe me, Claire, I never stopped thinking about you.”
Chapter 13
S’more than Words
Claire
I like lists,and I don’t usually like surprises, but I always make it a point to remember the good surprises. Here are the top three favorite surprising moments in my life so far:
That time in middle school when I came home crying because Shithead Shawn had peed on every single cupcake I’d made for the bake sale, and then Jake and Grady found him at the park and beat the crap out of him.
The time Jake, who had just graduated from the fire academy, pulled over on the side of the freeway to help delivera total stranger’s baby.
I don’t remember what the third thing is now, and it doesn’t matter because it just got bumped off the list.
With one sentence, Grady has rewritten the last twelve years of my existence.
And I believe that sentence. He doesn’t need a fake girlfriend that badly, and he couldn’t possibly feel so sorry for me that he would say something that startling. Also, it’s Grady. He wouldn’t lie to me.
But I need to make sure I heard him correctly.
“Say that last part again…”
It doesn’t make him laugh like I thought it would. In fact, he’s staring at my parted lips so intently, I’m not sure if he’s even listening. He shifts around in his seat when I bite my lower lip.
Still cupping my face, he says, “I never stopped thinking about you, Claire. Not that night after I dropped you off. Not during the graduation ceremony the next day. Not in college…”
“Not in New York?” I prod because his eyelids have grown heavy and I don’t think he’s got much talk left in him, but I really need to know.
He barely shakes his head. “I think on some level I was always comparing the women I met to you,” he says, just loud enough that I can hear it over the percussive beat of the rain on the roof right above us. “And none of them measured up. I think you’re special and beautiful. By firelight. In any light. I wanted to kiss you. It was never about not wanting you.” He almost sounds defeated when he declares this. “Because I do.”
The rain is a heavy beaded curtain all around us. It’s coming down so hard and loud outside, but that’s nothing compared to the thudding of our hearts and our heavy breaths, as if finally telling each other the truth took physical effort. What is it about this damn Mercedes that makes me so emotional? I can’t tell if I’m sad or if I’ve reached some new level of joy and relief, but I can’t stop crying. Heaving chest, tears pouring down my face, sobbing from deep in my lungs.
“Shhhh, shhh, shhhh, baby girl,” he whispers into my ear. He presses a kiss to my temple. He kisses my cheek. He brushes the wet strands of hair from my eyes, kisses my forehead, caresses my cheeks and my jaw, and I go limp from all the comfort he’s giving me. I still can’t stop crying, but I am definitely not sad.
Maybe I passed out back there on the sidewalk and this is all a dream. If it is, then I’d better make the most of it before I wake up. I force myself to catch my breath and pull it together and look Grady straight in the eyes. “If you’re planning on waiting another twelve years before really kissing me, you’re going to need a new strategy.”
Again, he doesn’t laugh. He has the same expression I used to see on his face at the start of a race at track meets. If I have to be the one to fire that starter pistol, then I will. I pull my damp sweater over my head. When I toss it aside, he cups the back of my head with one hand, leans in, and kisses me with all the force of a man who’s been trying not to want me for over a decade.
His lips are soft and warm like his soothing words and caresses a minute ago. His stubble is rough and grating like every conversation I’ve had with him sincehe’s been back. His tongue, though. Grady’s tongue is advising my tongue of things that I’ve never truly experienced before, but I completely understand them between my legs. Beautiful, life-altering, filthy things, and every inch of me is dying to learn more. He kisses me with his determined hands and his sharp exhales and the protective strength of his entire upper body. One moment I feel claimed by his mouth, the next I’m silently being asked by his hooded eyes if this is okay.