True L̶o̶v̶e̶ Story (19 page)

He lays me back on the bed and kisses me slowly, taking his time as his fingers roam down my shoulder, along the sides of my arm, onto my stomach, up the middle of my chest, where they rest for a moment. My shirt is just low enough that his fingers touch exactly where the swell of my breasts begin and I’m afraid to breathe for fear he will move away. His fingers lightly tickle down my cleavage, but go no further. His lips trail down my neck and follow his fingers. He looks up at me then, looking like a mischievous angel. Keeping his eyes on mine, his tongue follows where his lips have been. Every touch is slow and deliberate and it’s making me crazy. He moves the material down my shoulder then, bringing my bra strap down with it and stops just at the top of my bra. He kisses all along the top of my chest, but it just feels like teases.

A sudden image of Asher pops in my head and I can see him throwing my bra across the room. I try to shake it off, but something must flit across my face because Ian sees it and stops.

“Little Bird?” His head comes up to mine and he leans over me, his nose touching mine as he looks at me. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have done more than kiss you. Is this too much?”

I make a decision then. “Please don’t stop.” I want to do way more than kiss.

He kisses my cheeks and all over my face, stopping on my lips. His touch is sweet and light.

“You know what? How about we order some food? Watch that movie. You look distracted. Are you hungry?” He tweaks my nose and leans back.

I want to tell him I’m hungry for him because that’s the truth, even if it is cheesy. But he’s right. I really am distracted. I’m so mad at Asher for wrecking this moment for me. What happened that night? What did I do? What made him think I wanted him? I can tell Ian thinks I’m weighing over the option of making out with him for more virtuous reasons, but I really just want to call Asher and yell at him.

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” I tell him. “You know what? Food does sound good. Will you just pick out something? We’ve eaten together enough times, you know what I like.” I try to grin reassuringly as I pick up my purse and feel for my phone, but pull out my lip gloss instead. “I’ll be outside, catching my breath.” I rush out of the room, to the balcony and up to the roof. Ian’s going to think I’m a loon. I dial Asher’s number and fume as it rings.

“Sparrow! I’m so gla—”

“Just answer me something, Ash. What happened that night?”

“You don’t
remember
?”

“Tell me the truth. What made you think I wanted to have sex with you? Why did you do that?”

He lets all his breath out. “Sparrow. I had no idea you—.”

“That doesn’t matter right now. Why? Why did you do that?”

“I thought you wanted to … at first. You kept saying you were so hot. And you took off your dress … I thought…”

“I
was
so hot!” I snap. “I was drunk, and I should have never taken my dress off, but you
knew
I was drunk. And I passed
out
. I can’t believe you thought that was an open invitation—” my voice catches on the last word and I blink quickly.
I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.

“Sparrow, I am
so
sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean to. You just looked so beautiful and I was drunk too … really drunk…” he trails off. “Sparrow, please…” He sounds like he’s crying now. “There isn’t a second that I haven’t regretted what I did. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Now I’m crying. “And so that gave you the right to just take me when I was at my most vulnerable? I thought you were my friend, Asher.”

“I am your friend, Sparrow. I made a mistake. I knew it when I woke up and saw…”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare talk about that. You’re not … you don’t…” A sob comes out just as I hear footsteps. Ian wraps his arms around me, brushes my hair back and looks at me, concerned.

I hang up the phone with Asher still talking, and bury my head in Ian’s neck. The tears pour out of me and he just holds me as tight as he can. When I finally start to calm down, he pulls my head back and wipes my face. I try to wipe it too, knowing I look terrifying. I have never been able to cry in front of people. Ever. I’m horrified.

“Baby? Can you tell me what’s going on? I came out to tell you what I ordered, in case you wanted to change something, but … you were in the middle of it.”

“What did you hear?” I ask with dread.

“I heard you say Asher’s name,” he says quietly. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, I really wasn’t. Are you—uh, are you seeing Asher still? Do you wanna talk about it?”

I walk over to the lounger and plop down, head in hands. “No, I’m not. I thought he was my friend. He wanted more, but I … I’ve been too hung up on you.”

Ian sighs and sits down beside me. “I’ve been an idiot. But what has you so upset?”

And I don’t know how he does it, but I tell him everything. At least what I remember.

Ian has paced for twenty minutes and is still pacing when the food comes. He’s ordered a feast and can’t stop pacing long enough to enjoy it. Anger is boiling out of him, pouring over the pan and running down the stove. His gray, green, blue eyes are practically glowing yellow at this point, and I’ve had to keep him from crashing his fist into a wall. I would die of shame if I caused him to damage his hand. I’m in somewhat of a stupor from sharing. I’ve always been able to keep things in, even from Tessa sometimes, when I don’t want to upset her or it’s just too much, but Ian kept probing and asking the key questions that pulled it all out. We’ve moved all over and I’ve ended up on the couch inside with my arms hugging my knees. Just watching him pace, wishing I could help him now. I, surprisingly enough, feel better. I don’t feel the need to shower once. I think not remembering made me downplay it, but I guess I still needed to talk about it. Knowing how angry Ian is with Asher makes me feel justified in my feelings. Maybe I can stop second-guessing myself now.

- 14 -

Ian and I stay up all night talking. For hours it’s all heaviness, about Asher, about the anger I feel toward him, even the sadness that my virginity is gone and I didn’t even get to enjoy it. I talk Ian down from wanting to go beat Asher to a pulp. To be honest, I still don’t trust that he won’t. The thought makes me nervous, although, I wouldn’t mind Asher getting a little pop on the jaw. I just would rather be the one to do it.

Later, we talk about some of Ian’s anger issues because it’s obvious now that he has some. I find out more about his dad and what happened to his mom as a result. Ian had to be shuttled between an aunt who didn’t want him and elderly grandparents that couldn’t really take care of him, while his mom recovered in a mental facility for a year.

Ian says it all as if he’s talking about a stranger. “Right before she was sent away, he beat her so badly, I had to call an ambulance. I walked in from school and he was using her as a punching bag. I went after him … hitting, kicking, biting. Every shred of hatred I’d carried toward him, I put right here.” He holds up his fists and his eyes look so sad.

“He hit me back—”

The words hang in the air...

“When we finally stopped fighting, I realized the shape my mom was in. She was in the hospital for a couple of weeks with a broken nose and ribs and internal bleeding that wouldn’t stop. From there they sent her away, and that was the last time I talked to my father. I was eleven.”

“Is that when you went to your aunt’s house?” I ask, unable to stop touching him. We haven’t let go of each other the entire time we’ve talked. He built a fire and turned up the air conditioning, so we wouldn’t be too hot. We’re sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, facing each other. It’s about two in the morning.

“Yeah, I was there for four months, but my aunt had two kids and didn’t need an eleven-year-old with a temper. My grandparents took me and gave me free rein. When my mom came back, I pretty much had free rein too. She stayed isolated for a long time. I got into a lot of trouble during that time. Not all of it was bad, though.” His eyes sparkle in the firelight and I groan.

“Girls?”

“Yep.”

“You started out young, didn’t you.”

“Thirteen.”

“No!” I can’t help it, I’m appalled.

He laughs. “My girlfriend was four years older … I was tall for my age,” he says by way of explanation.

“That’s just … gross.” I crinkle my nose. “That’s way too young. And if it were the other way around and you were the one deflowering
her
,” I say with obnoxious air quotes, “there would have been hell to pay.”

He nods and uncrosses his legs and stretches out, elbows up and his head resting on his hand. “Not something I’m necessarily proud of … now. Back then, it was sort of a—wait a minute, did you just say ‘hell’?” He grabs me by the arm and waist and pulls me down to him, tickling me everywhere he can reach with no signs of letting up. I’m snorting and wheezing and sputtering, and yelling when I can catch a breath. I am SO ticklish. This just encourages him. “You said, ‘hell’, you said, ‘hell!’” He’s relentless. Pretty soon, though, he’s laughing so hard at me that he loses his grip for a second and I slip out of his arms. I jump off the bed and he chases me, but I’m just one beat faster. I run around the suite and end up in the other bedroom. I grab a pillow and hold it up for protection when I realize it wasn’t the smartest idea to come into this smaller room.

He leans against the doorframe and watches me smugly. He can’t wipe the mischief off his face and every now and then he’ll act like he’s coming toward me, only to make me jump higher. It sends me into a fit of laughter every time he makes a start for me. I’m like a little kid who screams just at the threat of being tickled, without even being touched.

I lean over and put my hands on my knees while I try to put a serious face on and catch my breath.

“Uncle,” I finally say when I lean back up.

“What’s that?”

“Uncle, you know … like, I give?”

“Oh, I just didn’t hear you. You were saying you give up?” He laughs as he stretches his arms on either side of the door, reminding me there’s no way out but past him.

I cross my arms and attempt a glare. “Yes, I’ve had enough tickling.”

He crosses his arms then, copying me. “Oh, you have? Are you sure?”

Something about the way he says that makes my blood go hot. “Yes?” I whisper.

His smile fills his face and you’d never know we’d been talking about traumatic things all night. My heart feels lighter than it’s ever felt.

“Come here, baby,” he says softly.

I inch closer to him, still not trusting him to be done tickling. I get close enough and he swoops me up in his arms and carries me back to his bedroom.

He lays me on the bed and holds up his finger for me to wait a second. He opens his suitcase and pulls out a large t-shirt. “Want to wear this?” he asks.

I nod.

“Can I put it on you?”

I nod again.

He grabs my hand and pulls me up until we’re both on our knees. He slowly lifts my shirt up over my head, looking in my eyes the whole time. When it’s off, he leans back and runs the tips of his fingers right above where the fabric of my bra starts. I’m so glad I’m wearing a pretty lacy one. He places light kisses down my neck—down, down, down—but comes right back up to look at me again. I’m breathless and don’t want him to stop.

“God, you are something else, Sparrow. You are … I could kiss every inch, all night long…”

Okay.

He undoes the buttons on my jeans and slowly pulls them off. I do a quick check to make sure my panties are matching, happy when I see they are. His hands cup my bum and for a moment, his eyes close and he catches his breath.

When he opens his eyes, he bites his lower lip and I wish I could do that myself. “Purple,” he says, patting my bra strap and grinning. “I’ve never loved purple so much.” He’s taking his time, his eyes roving up and down my body, making my nipples perk up and take notice. I don’t move. I let him look, surprised that I’m not trying to cover up. I want him to see me and enjoy it.

“I hate to do this. I hate it so much, but we should … get some sleep.” His eyes are betraying what he’s saying, even as he puts his t-shirt over my head and slowly tugs it down. It stops just below my underwear. He yanks off his shirt and jeans, leaving on black boxer briefs. I try not to stare but just can’t help myself.

Wow.

Ian groans as he hugs me close and pulls me down on the bed, turning me away from him and cradling my body from behind. We each hold the other’s hands, all four hands in a warm clump by my face, and eventually, I drift off, thinking this is the best night I’ve ever had.

The next morning, we’re still in the same position, only I’m sweating like a cow. I’ve always gotten so hot when I sleep. Ian has his arms wrapped tight around me, his body outlining mine. He feels divine.

I take a deep breath and he grips me even tighter. I struggle to not giggle like a schoolgirl about the way his body is pressing against mine. He unconsciously grinds into my bun cheeks and a little laugh sneaks out. He makes a groggy moan and says, “Let’s just forget I did that, okay? I was having such a great dream.” I laugh outright then and his body responds, but he doesn’t let go. “If we just ignore it, it will go away,” he whispers. I laugh harder. “Aw, hell, who am I kidding,” he mutters and starts to untangle from me.