The Edge of Always (16 page)

She takes a step back and hides her hands in her sleeves. Wrapping her sweater tight around her body, she begins to pace.

She stops and looks at me. “Promise me that if I ever get Alzheimer’s or dementia, and I don’t remember anyone that you’ll visit me every day and read to me like Noah read to Allie.”

“Who?” I ask, but then it hits me. “Oooh, I see.” I laugh and shake my head at her.

Her eyes and her smile get bigger and she yells, “
Andrew!
It’s not funny! I’m being serious!” She laughs and I grab her, pulling her into my arms.

“All right, all right!” I say, squeezing her wriggling body against me.

“It was your idea,” she says, “so don’t make a joke out of it.”

“I know. You’re right, but…
really
? You have to go all Sparks on me?”

I feel her elbow dig into my gut, and I double over a little and overdramatize the pain it caused, my face strained with agony and laughter. To add insult to injury, Camryn gives me a push and knocks me over into the sand. Then she stands directly over me with one foot on each side of my waist, hands propped on her hips all authoritativelike. I keep one hand on my gut, laughing and straining to keep my face straight, though I know damn well I’m not really fooling her.

“Leave it to you to make fun of a very serious moment.” She says this so seriously that it just makes me laugh harder, mainly because it’s so hard for her to keep a straight face.

She starts to sit on me, and she’ll probably try to beat me with her flimsy little hands, but I reach out just before she does and I grab her between the legs and squeeze really hard.

“
Owww!
” she moans and starts to fall over but I hold her still in the position. “What is it with you grabbing my
paarrr—shit
, Andrew!—grabbing my parts?!”

I apply more pressure and slowly raise my back from the sand, guiding her backwards. She falls to her knees at eye level with me.

“Because I like it,” I whisper onto her lips. “Now be still.”

The mood between us shifts in a matter of seconds. Her cold skin becomes warmer, her eyes become rapt, her body compliant.

“There’s people out here…,” she tries to say softly, but my hand tightening between her legs steals her voice away.

“I don’t care,” I say, scanning her eyes first and then the plump, wetness of her lips. “They’re far enough away.”

“But… what are you doing…”

“Just be still. Be quiet.” I trace my tongue over her bottom lip and gently suck on it. I feel her try to kiss me, but I don’t let her. I move my hand from the outside of her pants and slide it behind the loose-fitting fabric to find her warmth. God damn, she’s already wet. Leaning into the crook of her neck, I shut my eyes and inhale the scent of her skin. She stays very still, but I can feel her body quivering and her pulse beating fast under my touch. I want to fuck her so bad. But I won’t yet, because I like to torture myself. I fucking love it.

My free hand drops from around her waist, and I move it to her thighs, forcing her to spread her legs farther apart. “Open them,” I say with my lips barely touching hers, and she does exactly what I tell her, moving her knees outward against the sand. She tenses up a little when I sense a man walking by not too far away, but I squeeze her again, slipping two fingers inside of her and forcing her to look only at me. She gasps and I shudder quietly, feeling the inside of her tightening around my fingers. I look into her eyes, sometimes mine straying to study the curvature of her mouth. “Don’t look away from me,” I say. “I don’t care if you feel like you need to shut your eyes. Don’t. Keep your eyes on mine.”

She nods subtly as if she’s afraid I’ll stop if she does it wrong.

I move my fingers in and out of her slowly at first, pulling them out and using her wetness to keep her clit wet, rubbing my middle finger over it in a circular motion. Every time I touch it her eyes start to close, but I stop the second I notice and she regains control of her gaze. I move my fingers inside her again, a little faster and with my thumb apply more pressure to her clit each time. Tiny moans escape from her parted lips, sucking in the chilled air around us and my warm breath as I breathe harder onto her mouth. But she never takes her eyes off of mine and she doesn’t speak, even though I know she wants to do both.

“Admit it,” I whisper leaning in to her ear, “at this point, you wouldn’t care if anyone was watching. Would you? You’d let me fuck you right here in front of everybody and worry about the shame only after it was over.”

I feel her head nod next to mine.

“What else would you let me do?” I ask and keep my lips near her ear. I keep my fingers moving.

“Anything you wanted,” she says with a gasp in her voice.

“
Anything
I wanted?” I rub my thumb firmer against her clit.

“Yes…,” she says and her breath sputters softly. “
Anyfuckingthing
you wanted…”

Her words, her voice laced with need, makes me insanely hot for her, and I’m so fucking hard I can hardly stand it. My fingers move harder and faster. Her body begins to tremble, her thighs shake trying to hold herself up. I pull away from her ear and look into her eyes again. She keeps hers trained on mine the best she can, her lids are getting heavier, her breath uneven and wispy. But her eyes widen and freeze when I hit that special spot, and I make sure not to break the rhythm.

“Don’t look away,” I say and continue to stare fiercely into her eyes.

As she starts to come, my gaze only strengthens, piercing hers in a moment of hungry lust. It’s like I can see the pleasure emanating from around her irises, feel the heat of her orgasm coming off the sensitive skin on her lips, which want to kiss mine so savagely, but I still won’t let her. And as her quivering body begins to calm, I push my two fingers deeper inside, feeling her constrict around them all the while keeping pressure on her clit with the pad of my thumb.

She collapses onto my chest.

I wrap her trembling body up in my arms and kiss the top of her head.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” she says.

I laugh lightly and hold her tighter. “Whatever the hell I want,” I answer cunningly.

Tilting her head back away from my chest, she gazes up at me. “Well, I don’t care what you say, you’re not going to get me off this time without me returning the favor.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Yes, that’s exactly right, so don’t even try it.”

“What are you going to do to me then?” I feel my grin deepening.

“Whatever the hell I want,” she says with a grin even more wicked than mine.

Then she rises to her feet and taking a hold of my hand brings me up with her.

“But not out here,” she says. “It’s getting too cold.”

“You’re the boss,” I say and let her start to pull me along.

I would never bring it up, but I do notice as we walk away from the beach, Camryn looks back once at the photo of her and Ian lying on the sand. Her hand squeezes firmly around mine, and she looks over at me smiling softly as we cross the boardwalk.

I know I really had little to do with her finally finding her closure. Yeah, I forced it on her, but it was Camryn who in that moment faced one of her biggest fears. She stared into the face of someone she loved and lost, and finally accepted it. I admit, it was strange how it all happened, and I never went out there with any sexual intentions, especially in a moment like that. But Camryn, in the time she spent alone on that beach thinking about Ian, long before I joined her, she had already figured it all out.

I can’t say for sure how she did it, or how much I had to do with it, but by the time she left the beach with me that night, she was starting to become herself again.

Camryn was coming back, and I was living in the clouds with her.

December 8—my twenty-first birthday

As it started getting colder, Andrew and I started heading farther south. We spent only one night in Virginia Beach, and from there we traveled North Carolina’s coastline, staying a few days in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, where I got my first road-trip job. Housekeeping. Definitely not my first pick, especially after Andrew reminded me that day about the gross things guests tend to leave behind in the rooms. But it was a job, and I didn’t mind it so much, except when they expected me to wash out wastebaskets with disgusting hockers stuck to the bottom. Sorry, but just thinking about that makes me gag. I called Andrew and begged him to come do it for me. Of course, I totally bribed him with promises of mind-altering blow jobs in random places in exchange for his services. Fucking yay. Nah, who am I kidding? I enjoy the hell out of doing it for him. I only pretend to hate it sometimes, but I think he likes it when I pretend because he likes to hear me whine.

Anyway, apparently, housekeeping jobs are like revolving doors, employees come and go so fast you might as well not even officially add them to the payroll. I thought to myself how this could really work in my favor while on the road. So, in exchange for half of the rent of the room we were staying in and because the hotel staff was shorthanded, I asked if I could help out and they hired me on the spot.

But the job was only temporary, as Andrew and I needed to get out of Myrtle Beach and head to our next destination, wherever that might be. We never plan destinations in advance. The only rule we’re going by is staying on the coast. At least until the spring. But it’ll be a few months before spring gets here, and right now, we’re happily set up in a cottage-style hotel right on the beach in beautiful Savannah, Georgia.

And today, I turn twenty-one.

Andrew wakes me from a deep sleep by opening the curtains on our giant room window and letting the sun fill the room.

“Get up, birthday girl,” he announces from somewhere near the foot of the bed. I hear him slap the tabletop by the window with the palm of his hand repeatedly.

I moan and roll over onto my side, putting my back toward the bright sun and then burrow underneath the sheets. A gust of cold air hits me when Andrew snatches the sheets off me.

“Oh
come on
!” I moan, drawing my knees toward my chest and pulling the pillow over my head. “I should be able to sleep in on my birthday.”

Suddenly my body is being dragged off the bed and my arms come up wildly, trying to hold on to the edge of the mattress. Andrew’s hand is wrapped firmly around my ankle. I kick and flail, trying to get away, but he drags me across the bed so fast and without much effort that I just give up. My butt hits the floor and the sheets tumble down and around me.

“You are such an ass!” I laugh.

“But you love me. Now get up.”

With my hair all tangled around my head, I look up at him and pout. He smiles at me and reaches out his hand. I take it, and he pulls me into a stand.

“Happy birthday, babe,” he says and pecks me on the lips.

I flinch a little, because I know I have morning breath, and I’m already so used to him never passing up the opportunity to tease me about it.

Without looking at me, Andrew reaches inside his coat pocket and pulls out a little black velvet box. Obviously, he’s already been out and about today, but I’m more interested in the box he’s putting in my hand. I look at him warily, ready to chew him out if he went behind my back and spent a lot of money on a piece of jewelry.

“Andrew?” I say suspiciously.

“Just open it,” he says. “I was good. I promise.” He puts up both hands up in surrender.

Still totally wary of his apparent sincerity, I lift the lid on the box to see a diamond pendant necklace inside, and I gasp a little. Then I narrow my eyes at him. “Andrew, I swear.” I glance down at it again, feeling guilty for even holding it. “There’s no way this wasn’t—”

“I promise,” he says with a charming smile. “It wasn’t expensive.”

Chewing on the inside of my lip skeptically, I ask, “Then how much did it cost?”

“Ah, just around one twenty-five. No more than that. Cross my heart.” He makes a crossing motion over his heart with his finger.

Then he reaches out and takes the necklace from the box, letting it dangle on his hand. “Do you like it?” he asks as he moves around behind me.

Instinctively, I reach up and move my disheveled hair away as he slips the necklace around my neck. “It’s perfect, Andrew. I more than like it. I
love
it.” I look down once he clasps it in place and hold the shiny silver pendant in my fingers.

I turn around to face him and push up on my bare toes to kiss him deeply.

I just can’t see how something like this didn’t cost a boatload, but he’s telling the truth. I think…

“Thank you, baby,” I say, beaming.

Suddenly, he smacks me on the butt and says, “We’ve gotta get out of here today. I’m sick of hiding out in these rooms. Sick of this cold weather. I wish we could hibernate.”

“You and me both. What exactly are we going to do?” I grab a clean outfit from my bag by the TV.

“I don’t know. Anything,” he says. “Just dress warm.”

He didn’t need to tell me that, really. Not even being on the coast and farther south has done a lot to keep us warm the past several days. We both dream of spring and summer, so much so that it has gotten to where it’s all we talk about anymore. I complain a lot about not being able to hang my bare feet out the car window without freezing us out, and he complains that we still have yet to accomplish sleeping in that field under the stars. Of course, I won’t say it out loud because it’ll just make him want to do it even more, but I’m really not looking forward to sleeping under the stars. Ever. Not after what happened the first time we tried. No. I think I’m content with the hotel beds. No snakes in those.

Winter is depressing. I think it’s why the suicide rate is so high in Alaska. Beautiful state, but give me the sweltering heat of a southern desert state any day.

I dress extra warm for my birthday: thick coat, scarf, gloves, you name it I’m wearin’ it. And I’m
still
frickin’ cold.

*     *     *

Andrew, he kinda makes winter hot. I’ve always thought guys with beanies are sexy, but the way he looks in his black designer jacket and knit beanie, dark gray sweater, dark jeans, and Doc Marten boots is really all the birthday present that I need. I smile to myself as we walk hand in hand through a small crowd of people, all shuffling into the lighthouse and out of the cold when three girls, probably tourists like us, gape at Andrew as we walk by. That happens a lot, and I should be used to it by now. I gloat privately, but who wouldn’t in my situation? He’s the sexist thing I’ve ever seen. No wonder he was a model at one time. He hates talking about it, so naturally I often bring it up just to see him squirm. He’s been shaving less, too; he’s got that whole sexy stubble thing goin’ on.