Love to Love Her YAC (16 page)

“A word to the wise,” she says to him, “you
might wanna sit this one out. These two have some unresolved
issues.” Her head snaps back to me, and even though I have no idea
what she’s talking about I’m grateful to her, because the other
dude has twisted free and is walking off in the opposite
direction.

I don’t stick around to find out what choice
words Corinne might have for me. I break out into a run, desperate
to track down Rhiannon before she gets in a cab and leaves. I run
up the steps to the upper deck and round the corner behind the bar.
Relief crashes through me when I see her standing against the side
railing facing the water. Her shoulders rise and fall as she
breathes hard, whether from exertion or anger I can’t tell.

She seems to sense me standing nearby, and
she whirls around to face me. “What the hell do you want from me,
Blake?” she nearly yells.

I open my mouth, but no words come out. She
comes at me and stops a couple of feet away. Her fists are balled
at her sides like she wants to hit me, and part of me wishes she
would. I just need to be put out of my misery.

“What is your problem?” she cries. “What is
it that has you wound so tight you can’t even let me be happy for
one second?”

I stand up a little straighter as she says it
– keeping her from her happiness was never my intention. “Do you
like him?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice even. I tell myself
over and over in my mind that, if she tells me yes, I will walk
away and let her have what she wants. I repeat it like a mantra,
wishing like hell I could believe that I’m actually strong enough
to do it. I wonder when I turned into this angry, possessive
asshole and make a mental note to redouble my commitment to being a
person Rhiannon actually deserves to be friends with.

“What if I do?!” she says. “It really isn’t
any of your goddamn business, is it? We are just
friends
,
after all.”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek,
wishing my mind wasn’t racing. I need to be able to collect my
thoughts. I owe her this much at least.

“First you flip out because some drunken
idiot hit on me,” she continues, “and now this. Do you have an
issue with men giving me attention, Blake, because if you do, you
need to man up and
say it
. ‘Cause guess what, it’s going to
happen. Guys may look at me sometimes, they may try to talk to me,
they may even try to
touch
me.” Her voice softens as she
finishes, “And they
may
even be the kind of guy who
wants
me back
.” The fire in her eyes is snuffed out, supplanted by a
shadow of sadness or self-doubt.

That last statement touches a chord in me. I
can feel myself deflating as she spells it out for me – she thinks
I don’t want her, and therefore she doesn’t owe me anything. Well,
she has half of it right. I pinch the bridge of my nose between my
thumb and forefinger, trying to think of the right thing to
say.

“Please tell me what you want from me,” she
repeats, her sweet voice barely more than a worn out whisper. She
looks up at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and more
than anything I hate that I’m the one who did this to her.

That’s when I quit trying to use my brain,
because at this point it’s far too easily overridden by the other
feelings ripping through my heart and the rest of my body. Instead,
I take one giant step forward, gather Rhiannon in my arms, and
crash my lips against hers.

Rhiannon – Saturday, 11:30 PM

I
feel like I’m
falling. I think back to the one time I went skydiving and what it
felt like to free fall, the blue sky billowing out around me, the
ground rushing up to meet me, all in the seconds before the
parachute burst open to slow my descent. I wish the earth would
open up and swallow me – I don’t ever want to stop falling.

Blake’s tongue swipes against my lower lip,
but he doesn’t make any effort to enter my mouth. He grips the
railing on either side of my waist, leaning into me as he kisses
me, then lifts one hand to thread his fingers through my hair at
the base of my head. His mouth moves against mine, and then, far
too soon, he backs away.

I keep my eyes squeezed tightly shut, afraid
to open them and see the humiliation or the shame in his face. I
don’t think I could take it – that feeling of being the embodiment
of his regret. When I finally do open them, I focus on his chest
first. It moves in and out, matching me breath for ragged breath.
Slowly I lift my head until I’m looking him in the eyes, and I’m
surprised when I take in the noticeable lack of apology or remorse
in them. What I see instead is unadulterated yearning, his kept
appearance now delightfully disheveled.

I falter as I begin to take a step forward,
listing to the side. It could be that all the alcohol is finally
catching up to me, or it could be I’m still reeling from the heady
feeling of Blake kissing me again for the first time in weeks, in
the way I’ve dreamt of over and over again ever since he left my
apartment that fateful evening.

A strong hand snaps out to steady me. “Let’s
get you home,” Blake says, his voice a throaty rasp that sends heat
shooting through me and provokes a familiar tingling between my
legs.

I nod robotically, holding his gaze with my
own. “Go tell your friends you’re leaving, and I’ll get your
jacket,” he says authoritatively. Again I nod. I watch as he turns
to go inside, then make a concerted effort to pick up my feet and
start them moving in the direction I need them to go.

I nearly crash into Ruthie as I round the
corner by the bar. “Are you all right?” she asks.

“Did you two kiss and make up?” asks Corinne
from behind. The two of them look as if they’re three sheets to the
wind, but beneath that they also seem pretty concerned for my
wellbeing. I manage to regain my composure enough so that I can
assure them I’m okay – and I decide not to mention how close
Corinne actually came to the truth with her silly question.

Patrick pops around the corner all of a
sudden. He stops short when he comes upon the three of us and makes
a show of backing away, his hands raised. “Woah, tense,” he says.
He shifts his gaze to me, and a knowing smile spreads over his
face. “You were over here getting lucking, weren’t you?” he
asks.

Something about his statement strikes me as
funny, and I begin laughing. I laugh so hard I have to bend over to
keep from feeling faint, and tears run down my face. Soon the
others have joined in, and we’re one giant mess of giggles. When
Blake returns a moment later, my jacket folded over his arm, he
clearly doesn’t know what to make of us. He smiles and looks at
Patrick, who all the while has simply stood back with an amused
grin on his face.

“What did you do, man?” he asks.

“I wish I knew what I said,” chuckles
Patrick. “Your girlfriend there is the one who started it.”

I’m so far gone I almost don’t catch his
slip-up.
Almost
.

Blake ignores his comment altogether as he
comes up beside me and helps me slip my jacket on. “All right,
ladies and gents, it’s time I got this one to bed. Have a good
night.” He tucks a supporting arm around my waist and walks me
around front to put me in a cab.

Once we’re situated in the back seat Blake
gives the driver the name of my apartment complex. I expect him to
let go of me, but he stays close beside me for the duration of the
ride back into Carson City, his arm encircling my shoulders. I
luxuriate in his warmth, thinking I could almost fall asleep were
it not for my mind racing, reliving our kiss on an endless
loop.

Blake – Sunday, 12:15 AM

W
hen Rhiannon slides
out of the taxi she kicks off her shoes and waits on the sidewalk
with them clasped in one hand while I pay the driver. I saunter
over to her and elicit a gasp followed by a drunken giggle when I
scoop her up in my arms and carry her up the steps to her
apartment. I nearly eat it on the landing when I miss the top step
and lurch forward, causing her to laugh even harder. I laugh, too,
basking in the sound of her happiness and the afterglow of the
alcohol.

I wait impatiently while she fishes for her
keys in her purse, still not sure what I’m going to do when we get
in there. The appropriate thing would be to make sure she makes it
to bed safely and then drive home…but come to think of it, I’m not
sure I’m fit to drive.

“Shit,” she mutters as she attempts to fit
the key in the lock.

I take hold of her hand and try to help her
guide it, but we aren’t getting anywhere. I chuckle, shaking my
head. “This should not be this hard,” I say. “Are you sure you have
the right key?”

She pauses, then dissolves into another fit
of laughter, crumpling against the door. “I think that was my
mailbox key,” she hiccups. She holds her key ring out to me. “You
try.”

Grinning, I take the keys from her and sort
through them, willing my fingers to work so we can get inside out
of this godforsaken cold. I say a silent prayer as I try jamming a
small silver key in the lock and sigh in relief when it turns. “You
did it!” Rhiannon squeals. You’d think I just singlehandedly
rescued a village full of women and children from the reverence in
her voice.

The two of us nearly fall through the door as
it opens. I shut it and lock the bolt behind us as Rhiannon goes
for the light switch. After a moment of fruitless fumbling she
settles for flipping on the dim light over the stove. I stand
still, allowing my eyes to adjust to the partial darkness, focusing
on the parallelograms of light stretching across the living room
carpet from the moonlight shining through the blinds.

When I turn around Rhiannon is removing her
jacket while gazing into the middle distance, an expression of
diffidence on her face. I’m again overcome by the sight of her in
that dress, and suddenly I can’t think of anything but the fact I
want it off of her. I turn my body to face her and absently finger
the slit in her skirt that cuts up her thigh, exhaling as I feel
her bare skin. When I glance up at her face she’s biting her lower
lip and her eyelids are half lowered. She looks so damn gorgeous
like that I can’t contain my enthusiasm. I move in front of her
and, circling her waist with my hands, lift her onto the kitchen
island. She parts her legs and I press in between them. Her hands
are on my shoulders, her fingers digging into my skin through the
thin fabric of my shirt. Her eyes are pleading and yet also
remotely guarded.

I let out a guttural moan and surge forward,
catching her lips between my own. I almost lose it when I feel her
wrapping her long legs around my waist. Her skirt is hiked up
almost to her hips. Without stopping to give it much thought, my
hands move from her waist down her thighs to clutch her ass. I pick
her up and she twines around me even tighter, rubbing up against my
hard-on. Her panting in my ear drives me insane.

I pull my lips away from hers for the few
seconds it takes me to walk to the couch. I sidestep the coffee
table and fall forward onto the sofa cushions. Rhiannon springs
back beneath me as I cover her body with mine. My heart hammers
against my chest as I listen to our breathing and the muffled moan
that escapes Rhiannon’s throat.

Her fingers work to loosen my tie and pull it
over my head, then busy themselves unfastening the buttons on my
shirt. I pause long enough to help her with the final few buttons,
then tug the shirt off and cringe in ecstasy when she touches my
bare skin. She draws her hands across the light covering of hair on
my chest, down my stomach muscles to my belly button.

“
Oh God
,” I murmur through a sharp
intake of breath. I bury my head in her neck and begin lightly
sucking on the soft skin below her ear. She bucks beneath me,
causing me to have to still my hands and concentrate on anything
else at all to keep from speeding ahead too far. I tense above her,
bracing myself on my elbows.

Rhiannon seems to sense what’s happening and
slows down her movements accordingly. She gently parts her legs,
and I begin to relax, settling my hips between them. I nudge
forward just slightly, until I feel the head of my cock firm
against her. She kisses up the side of my neck, ending with my
lips. I stroke my thumb across her cheek as I kiss her back, trying
desperately to slow it down but unable to reign in the wanton need
welling up within me.

Rhiannon slides her fingers over my ribs and
down my sides before wrapping her hands around to grab my ass. It’s
all the encouragement my intoxicated brain needs to take over. I
begin moving against her, slowly at first and then with greater
urgency. Wanting to feel her better, I reach down to undo my belt
buckle and unbutton my pants, and I cry out when Rhiannon’s hands
join mine to do the unzipping. I wiggle a little while she pushes
down on the tops of my pants until they’re riding just under my
butt, then I lower back down over her. I shudder as I feel my dick
pressing against her through my cotton boxer briefs.

I feel for that slit in her dress and thrust
my hand up underneath it until I feel the G-string of her
underwear. “Fuck, Rhiannon,” I whisper. She twists slightly as I
hook my finger under the thin strap of elastic, feeling the smooth
skin underneath. “Off,” I mutter incoherently. “I want this dress
off.”

Quickly I shift, pulling Rhiannon up to
sitting position so I can reach the zipper on the back of her
dress. I draw it down slowly, careful not to get the fabric stuck.
Once unzipped, Rhiannon stands up and steps out of it. I slouch
back against the couch, trying like hell to keep from
hyperventilating as I watch her standing there in her panties and a
black strapless bra, and thinking how utterly perfect she is.