Sweet Cheeks (33 page)

Time occurs in flashes of lightning. Snapshots of time when his figure is lit up amidst the dark around us.

His shoulders taut. Hands firm. Hips thrusting. Mouth pulled tight. Eyes focused on our union.

It’s erotic to watch him. Sexy. Empowering.

“Yes. God, yes, Say. Tell me yes,” he groans out as his hips buck wildly against me. I’m transfixed watching the orgasm consume him. The expression on his face and the broken way he says my name will forever be burned into my memory.

Tell me yes.

Yes to what though? To him? To there being an us? To having a future together?

And all I can think as he slowly pulls out of me and gathers me in his arms is I hope that’s what he was asking me to say yes to.

Because after everything that has happened between us, how could I say anything but yes? In this short span of time, he’s made me feel validated, adored, accepted, and
loved
.

Everything Mitch didn’t. Couldn’t.

Emotionally, I’m spent.
Exhilarated. Revived.

So many revelations on this day. So many mixed emotions. So many truths shared.

But this
? Hayes asking, no, begging
me
to say yes?

Slayed.

Owned.

His.

Perhaps he’s right though. Words can be cheap, but he’s sure as hell proved it with actions.

So I give him the only answer I’ve ever had when it comes to him.

“Yes.”

T
he storm has passed.

It’s my first thought as my eyes flutter open and feel the sun warming my skin through the open blinds. We forgot to shut them last night when we finally collapsed into bed after a midnight snack. And another round of incredible sex.

The Captain definitely knows how to steer this ship of his to ecstasy
.

I bite back the giggle over my ridiculously cheesy thought and snuggle deeper into the heat of Hayes’s body behind me. I revel in the weight of his arm over my hip, the possessiveness of his hand resting on my abdomen, and the unmistakable morning hard-on pressing against my backside. Everything about him feels like my perfect heaven.

And then I remember what the morning brings: our last day. I sigh and close my eyes, trying to memorize this feeling, and enjoy it despite the sudden dread that shadows the few hours we have left together.

I run last night through my head. Mitch and Sarah get a fleeting thought. Their weird relationship and bizarre need to confront me at their wedding of all places. Then I move on to Hayes. To how he made me laugh and put me at ease despite the constant scrutiny and nastiness from the guests around us. Then
the dance
. Sigh. The dance where he lit the match just enough so I’d be left wanting but unable to have him. To my confessions in the thunderstorm and his long, slow, wet kisses that I swear could have lasted all night without any complaints from me.

Well, I lie. Because what happened next was pretty damn incredible.

So why am I the only one who did all the talking? All the soul-baring? I know he said words are cheap and action is everything, but I can’t help wonder if stepping in to kiss me was his way of not having to figure his own feelings out. The thought triggers a flicker of panic. I shove it down along with the sudden unwelcome idea that maybe he doesn’t feel the same as I do.
I told him I love him, had always loved him.

Don’t do this, Saylor. He showed you how he felt all night long. With tenderness and reverence and passion. I hold onto that thought along with the reminder that he was never very expressive about his feelings.

Cocooned in his security and warmth, I realize I need to accept what he was able to give me in the way he was able to show me.

Time passes. Seconds I soak up. I lose myself in the emotion. The acceptance. The hope for something more, something better than we could ever have imagined, and purposely try to ignore the particulars of how that might be able to happen.

The minute he wakes up I know it. I can feel the fleeting tension of his muscles and the break in his even breathing. And yet he doesn’t speak.

So we lie in the silence of the morning, the storm having moved on, and the rain having washed away the grime from the past. The breeze blows in off the ocean and our hearts try to settle in their new places. A little fuller. And hopefully, a lot less permanently broken.

“I could buy us a house halfway between cities, you know.”

It takes everything I have not to turn over and stare at him, mouth agape, because I’m shocked at his words. Surprised that his thinking is that far ahead when mine was merely afraid to even hope for something more than our
last day
.

I draw in a slow, steady breath in an attempt to calm the hope that just bubbled up before I respond.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” I say the words all the while thinking
YES. Please.
Anything to hedge our bets against the grim statistics of how many long distance relationships actually last. “You’ve told me yourself that there are some days you are on set for a ridiculous number of hours. I couldn’t ask you to work that long of a day and then drive well over an hour—because let’s face it, LA traffic is horrific, so we both know the commute home would be way longer than that.”

“I would though, Saylor.”

And I know he hasn’t said the love word back to me, but that comment alone says it just the same.

“I know you would.”

“It would be a compromise for both of us. It would allow us both to keep doing what we love to do as well as make
us
work. I know you love Sweet Cheeks but this would allow you to have some distance and a life separate from work . . . or as separate as you allow yourself to get.” He chuckles against the back of my head. The heat of his breath causes goosebumps to chase over my scalp. “And for me, it would let me have a place where I could escape from the glitter of Hollywood and its endless bullshit. Give me the chance at living an everyday, normal life.”

“You love the shiny lights and glitter though,” I tease.

“Only if you’re wearing the glitter.”

“Such a charmer, Mr. Whitley.”

We fall into silence and our breaths even out as we lose ourselves to our thoughts. To possibility. I think about the airport and wonder how we’re going to bring ourselves to walk away when we’ve just found each other again. It’s like someone loaning you a warm jacket when you’ve been freezing and just when you sink into it, believe its warmth is real, the person comes back and snatches it away.

“We’ll figure it out, Ships,” he murmurs, somehow knowing the direction of my thoughts. “It’s not like this is a new relationship or anything. I mean you forget that I used to know you back when you used to pick your nose.”

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes and laugh but welcome his arms pulling me tighter against him and how his fingers automatically link with mine. And despite the humor in his comment, the worry returns. Because in his arms is one thing, but being apart is an entirely different situation.

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in that beautifully, complicated, stubborn, creative mind of yours.”

“I’m just silently freaking out about what happens next,” I whisper.

“Well, let’s see. What happens next is I have a table read the day after tomorrow in New York. It’s for the movie of that scene we were rehearsing. The director and the casting director will know from that table read whether or not they think I can play the part. As of right now they’re not entirely convinced I can pull it off since it’s so different from my norm. But to me, that’s the whole point. So that’s what I do next. I go there, kick some audition ass, and leave with the part. And you? You’ll go back home and see if business will pick up now that the wedding is over. And if business doesn’t pick up, then we’ll brainstorm other ways to get customers in the door. The bakery is your dream so we’ll do whatever it takes to make it work.”

His continual use of the word
we
throws me. Triggers tears to burn in the back of my throat, and causes hope to slip on some wings and take flight.

“What?” he continues when I don’t speak. I can’t as I’m too overwhelmed from the emotion his words evoke. “You don’t think a full-page colored print ad of me naked, holding a tray of your cupcakes in front of my dick won’t help get the store some attention and sales?”

I can’t help but snort as the image fills my mind. “Only if I get to strategically place the flour handprints on your body for added effect.”

“You always were willing to take one for the team.”

“It’s a
hard
job, but somebody has to do it.”

“Hmm. I wouldn’t object. Your hands on me are always welcome.” I wiggle my ass back into him, the feel of his hardened dick waking up all the parts of me still asleep.

“Mm-hmm,” I murmur, mind veering to how it’s even possible that I could still want him after the bouts of sex we had last night.

“So, see? We’ll figure it out as we go. We’ll talk and text every day. We’ll be honest with each other when something’s not working because we know damn well the alternative—not being together—isn’t a fucking option. And we’ll sleep at opposite places every weekend until we find out something permanent that works for us.”

“How do you make it all sound so easy?”

“Easy?
Not by a long shot
, Saylor. You’re not the only one on cloud nine right now, feeling like for the first time in ten years that someone gets you again. So don’t think just because I’m the guy here that it’s going to be easy for me to let you board that plane. You know me. I’m not good with words. Saying them or making sense with them. I never have been. So please believe me when I say this. I’m the one who walked away before, Saylor. I’m the one who fucked up and robbed both of us of this feeling every day over the last ten years. So, easy? Not hardly. But considering the alternative—not having you in my life—it’s definitely worth it.”

My heart struggles to beat as it’s so overwhelmed with love for him. I shift to turn around, needing to face him.

“No. Don’t turn around.” Hayes arms hold me captive from doing so.

“Why?”

“Morning breath.”

“Are you serious?” He’s such a guy. Shifting from heartfelt, swoon-worthy confessions to thinking about morning breath.

“Dead serious. I desperately need to brush my teeth but you feel so damn good like this, ass up against me, that I’m not willing to move just yet.”

“Like you have to worry about morning breath,” I scoff.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Okay, Mr. I’m-A-Hollywood-God. The man who could have twenty-four seven halitosis and would still rake in the women. All you’d have to do is stand there shirtless in front of a female and she’d faint. And not from being bowled over by your morning breath.”

“You’re ridiculous.” I start to squirm away from his fingers tickling my ribs.

“No, I’m not. You’ve never had a lack of confidence in your whole life.”

His fingers fall lax on my ribcage and he rests his forehead against the back of my head. “Yes, I have.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

Once again his words not only surprise me, but prove to me how much he’s matured and is trying to let me in. “Why?”

He laughs more to himself than to me and then falls silent. I give him time to answer. “I thought you left the reception because it was all too much for you. I thought you regretted calling it off. That you still loved Mitch.” The fear he felt is transparent in his voice.

“Oh, Hayes. You’re crazy.”

“Maybe, but between that and you saying Mitch’s name in your sleep the other night, that’s what I thought.”

“Mitch’s name? What are you talking about?”

“You mumbled Mitch’s name after the first time we had sex.”

I wrack my brain to try and think of having had a dream about Mitch but can’t remember for the life of me having any in recent memory. “I promise you, the only dreams I’ve had of Mitch are ones where I’m chewing him out.” I shake my head and then really hear what he confessed to me. This time when I speak, my voice is full of wonderment. “How could you think I still loved him after everything that happened between us this weekend?”