Текст книги "Fall Into Forever"

Автор книги: Beth Hyland

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

chapter thirteen

Life sucks, but in a beautiful kind of way.

~ Axl Rose

Ivy

I’m in my dorm room, sitting on my bed with my headphones on and the door open. Since Cassidy is gone again this weekend and no one else is doing anything exciting, I decided to stay in tonight. I can’t remember who told me (it sure wasn’t Jon), but he’s taking over the Friday night radio spot again. I pull up the KREX website and hit the live-stream button. After a commercial for a local pizza place, the show starts with a really cool acoustic guitar jam.

“This is Jon Priestly on KREX filling in for Alice Chapparo.” The voice in my ear is smooth and hypnotic, like melted gourmet chocolate that you drizzle over ice cream. Sighing softly, I close my eyes and let his words become a part of me.

We could’ve been really good together.

Jon continues his intro. “Some interesting new music came in this week for You Be The Judge. That’s where you text your votes or tell me in the chat room, and at the end of the hour, the winner is crowned the Parishioners’ Fave. We’ve also got a new track from Money Penny Riot and an oldie from Pearl Jam. Thanks for spending your Friday night with me. And if you’re missing your fix of cool jazz, Alice will be back next week. This is Jon Priestly and church is now in session.”

My burst of laughter echoes loudly inside my room. I glance at the open door and hope no one out there heard me. Now I get the church references. The shirts. The jokes. His last name. God, I can be so dense sometimes.

He starts in right away playing some new music from a band out of LA. Wonder if Deena has heard of them. I can’t decide if I like them or not. They’ve got a weird sound, like Gotye’s “Somebody That I Used To Know,” the kind where you can’t tell if it’s cool because it’s unique or if it’s just really annoying.

Careful not to pull off my headphones, I lean over the end of my bed and grab a pencil and a fresh pad of paper from my desk. I don’t know about you, but I can’t start a new project with a half-used notebook. I’ve got a paper due next week in Comparative Lit, comparing and contrasting two young adult dystopian novels: Battle Royale and The Hunger Games. I’ve read The Hunger Games, but not Battle Royale. The paperback from the library is worn and dog-eared. I open the book and start reading.

I haven’t even gotten past the first page when Bryce pokes his head into my room. He’s the Resident Aid for our floor and lives in the studio apartment at the end of the hall. He lets Cassidy and me use his microwave to make popcorn when we watch Vampire Diaries, otherwise, we’d have to go all the way downstairs to the kitchen. Seeing that I’ve got headphones on, he waves and turns to leave.

“Hold up.” I pull them from the jack so the music is now coming out of the computer speakers. “What’s up, Bryce?”

“You studying?” He’s got a girl with him.

“I am. And listening to KREX. What’s up?”

Jon is introducing another song.

“Priestly’s on tonight,” he says. “That’s cool.”

Is there a person on campus who doesn’t know who Jon is?

Bryce introduces me to his friend Holly, a girl with a velvety dark complexion, a thick ponytail of braided cornrows, and beautiful gray eyes. Turns out she’s shadowing him because she’s thinking about being an RA next year. The applications are due next month.

“I don’t know, Holly,” I say. “We’re pretty wild here in Kefner Hall. Bryce is always busting our parties and shutting down our fun.” She looks confused, as if she can’t decide whether to believe me or not. “I’m just kidding. Things are usually pretty quiet.” As if to prove me wrong, a loud thump thump of music starts up down the hall. “Except for Viva la Vaughn. He’s got a disco ball underneath his lofted bed and probably has people in there now.”

“Is Cassidy gone this weekend?” Bryce asks, looking around. “Again?”

She told me her mom and stepdad might be getting a divorce, so she’s been going home a lot. I still wonder if it has something to do with Will. So far, she and Touch haven’t gone out yet, despite my best intentions to hook them up. “Yeah, she’ll be back late Sunday night.”

“We’re going to watch a movie, if you want to come down and hang out.”

“Which one got voted in?” Every month, students vote on what movies will be available for streaming on PSU Net. There are usually about ten to choose from. The one that gets the most votes is the one that stays up all month. “I haven’t been paying attention.”

Bryce frowns and looks to Holly. “I can’t remember. Do you know?”

“Going old-school this month,” she says. “Terminator 2. Not really my cup of tea, but whatever.”

My throat tightens. I remember the conversation Jon and I had about that movie, where he claimed I was quoting its theme. He mentioned we should watch it together sometime.

“Thanks for the invite, but I’ve got a lot of reading I need to do by Monday. I think I’ll just stay here.”

After they leave, I put on my headphones again, lean back against my headboard, and close my eyes. I listen to a few songs and then Jon is on the air again, talking about the zombie race that Dani mentioned. The race benefits a local cancer charity. He doesn’t say if entries are closed yet or not.

I wake up my computer and go to the KREX website, but I can’t find the link to the race. The chat window is located on the bottom right corner of the page. I watch the scrolling conversations. From what I can tell, there are seven or eight other people in the chat room besides Jon_KREX.

My fingers hover over the keys. Before I change my mind, I click the sign-in button and choose a screen name.

IOTR: Is the race still open to entries?

I watch the box. It takes him precisely two seconds to reply.

Jon_KREX: Welcome IOTR! Yes, it’s still open. Hold on. Let me get you the link.

He posts it a moment later.

IOTR: Cool. Thanks.

A few other people in the chat room thank him also.

Jon_KREX: RU a runner?

IOTR: Yep.

Jon_KREX: Good! Cuz you know what rule number one is, don’t you?

I laugh. He’s quoting Zombieland.

IOTR: Cardio.

Jon_KREX: Exactly.

Others chime in and pretty soon everyone in the chat room is talking about the double tap and Woody Harrelson’s quest for Twinkies. Meanwhile, Jon introduces another song, so he’s not participating in the conversation. Someone named Church_Lady mentions Terminator 2, and suddenly they’re all quoting Arnold lines.

Church_Lady: Have you seen it, IOTR?

IOTR: Nope.

Church_Lady: U totally need 2 watch. It’s on PSU Net all month.

IOTR: That’s what I hear.

I double-check that Jon’s still not in the chat room. His last comment has already scrolled off the page. The song ends and now he’s back on the air talking about some band in Seattle.

IOTR: A friend told me I should watch it.

Church_Lady: U definitely should! It’s my fave of all of them.

Viva la Vaughn’s music is loud. I can hear it even though I’ve got headphones on. I get up to close my door and step into my overflowing hamper, scattering dirty clothes on the floor. Oh yeah, I was going to do laundry tonight.

Friday and Saturday nights are the best times to wash clothes because you can usually get a washer and you don’t have to wait for a dryer. In case you’re wondering when the worst time is, that would be Sunday afternoon. Never do laundry in the dorms on a Sunday afternoon. You’ll spend waaaay too much time down there waiting for a spot. And if your clothes are hanging out in the washer for more than, like, five minutes after they’re done, someone will plop them on the center table between the washers and dryers. Meaning everyone who comes in will get a peek at your wet underwear.

I pick up the clothes, grab my detergent pods, and as I turn to go to the laundry room, my computer beeps. I haven’t heard that notification sound before. I set down the hamper and look at the screen. Someone from the KREX chat room has side-messaged me.

When I click open the private window, my breath catches in my throat.

Jon_KREX: Ivy is that you?

How did he figure that out? Was I that obvious? Oh God, he’s not thinking I’m stalking him, is he? I wipe my hands on my pajama bottoms before I type out a reply.

IOTR: Um, yeah.

Jon_KREX: Ivy On The Roof. Clever.

Obviously, not clever enough.

IOTR: Thx for the link about the zombie run.

Being an emoji addict, I have to stop myself from including a smiley-face.

Jon_KREX: NP

I’m not sure whether to head down to the laundry room now or continue the conversation. Maybe that’s all he intended to say.

IOTR: Good show tonight. Good music.

Jon_KREX: Thx

I wait for a moment, but he doesn’t type anything more. Okay then. I can take a hint.

IOTR: Talk to you later.

Jon_KREX: Going out?

Wow, that was a fast reply.

IOTR: Nope. C is gone so I’m studying for a test on Monday. And doing laundry.

I want to ask what he’s been up to. Tell him that I miss him and wish he could come over. When he doesn’t answer right away, I decide not to wait.

The extraordinarily beautiful laundry room (I’m saying that facetiously, because the cement walls are painted this really gross green color and it’s got a low, claustrophobic ceiling) is located in the basement, along with some storage rooms where the housing department keeps extra furniture. Bike storage is down here, too.

A couple of the washers and dryers are in use, but there are plenty of empty ones. Two is my lucky number, so I lift the lid of the second one from the door and dump in my whites. In the next one go my darks. A detergent pod in each and I’m good to go. I like that we don’t have to pay. Guess they include the cost of doing laundry in the housing bill each quarter.

As I exit the laundry room and head for the stairs, an out-of-place sound draws my attention. I hesitate. It’s a scuffling, scratching sound, like an animal. Rats? Or could it be something banging around in one of the dryers?

I jump onto the first stair and look into all the corners. The room at the bottom of the stairs is glaringly bright, but I don’t see anything that could’ve made that noise.

Then I hear it again. Definitely not the dryers, but it could be an animal.

I glance down the long hallway toward the basement door where people bring their bikes in and out. There are several doorways leading into various storage spaces. None of them have actual doors. One of the lights is burned out, so much of the hallway is in shadow. In fact, the brightness here makes the darkness down there seem really dark.

If it’s not an animal, is it a couple hooking up?

“If anyone’s there and you’re just messing around, tell me you’re okay and I’ll leave you alone.” The silence is deafening. Running up to the first landing, I call down. “Okay, I’m going upstairs to get the RA.”

I wasn’t really expecting to hear anything. But there’s another scuffle and then a small cry. Oh my God, is someone in trouble? I’m so pissed off at myself that I left my phone in the room. There is no way in hell I’m going down that hallway unless I know someone’s with me. I take three giant steps up to the next landing and open the door to the first floor residence hall.

“Help! I need help downstairs.” A few people stick their heads out of their rooms. “Hurry! I think someone’s hurt.” I motion for them to follow me but I don’t wait for them.

With my hand on the railing, I practically jump to the first landing again. That’s when I hear the slamming of the basement door. Three more giant steps and I’m back in the basement. Just as I round the corner, a girl stumbles out of one of the storage rooms, her shirt torn, her hair messy. I recognize her—I think she lives on the second floor—but I don’t know her name.

“Please...help me.” She looks like she’s ready to topple over.

I run to her, wrap my arm around her shoulder and usher her toward the stairs. “What happened?”

Multiple sets of footsteps echo in the stairwell, and three students, breathing hard, join us.

“I…I…someone attacked me. Back there. When I was bringing my bike in.” Then she breaks down into gasping sobs.

“What did he look like?” one of the guys says. The girl with them is dialing 9-1-1.

“Um…I…About this tall—” She holds her hand an inch or two over her head.

“Old? Young?”

“I don’t know. A…a student, I think.”

The two guys charge down the hallway and out the door.

Someone must’ve told Bryce, because when we get to the first floor, he and Holly are running toward us.

“Oh my God, Maddy!” Holly runs up to us and flings her arms around her friend, helping her onto a nearby bench.

I step away just as several police cars with flashing lights pull up outside the dorm. Hardly any time passes before a policewoman is interviewing Maddy, and I’m giving my statement. Various security officials spread out to search the campus, including at least one officer with a German Shepherd on a long leash.

By the time I get back to my room, it’s after midnight. Maddy was taken to the hospital to make sure she was okay. Holly and a few other friends went with her. Bryce and the other RAs went room to room to make sure we keep our doors locked, and Campus Security has an officer stationed in our foyer.

Even though I’m dead tired and should really go to bed, I know I’ll never be able to sleep. The events of the night keep replaying in my head in a continuous fast-forward loop. My head throbs. I can tell I’m on the verge of a massive headache. I should’ve gone to the doctor for a refill on my medication. At least I don’t have to work tomorrow.

I slump down on the bed and that’s when my hands start to shake. I held myself together earlier but can feel myself unraveling now. My teeth are chattering. I’m freezing cold. As I lie there wrapped in my quilt with my knees pulled to my chest, I hear a dinging sound. It takes me a moment to realize it’s my computer. The chat window with Jon is still open.

Jon_KREX: Ivy? Are you back?

The time stamp indicates he typed that over an hour ago. He’s probably not still at the station, but I try anyway.

IOTR: Jon? U there?

A few minutes pass and he doesn’t reply. He must’ve gone home. I grab my phone and debate whether to text him or not. I want to talk to someone, so I take my chances.

Hey, Jon, are you there?

Yes. And then, Thanks for coming to the KREX chat room tonight. That was fun.

A knot forms in my stomach. It sounds like he’s talking to one of his Parishioners.

Jon?

Yeah?

My hands are really shaking now. I’m not sure I can type.

Ivy?

I don’t know what it is, but I’ve been able to hold myself together until now. Tears are stinging the backs of my eyes.

Ivy? Everything all right?

Not really.

What’s wrong?

Someone was attacked. The police came.

When? Where?

Before I can text back, my phone rings.

“What the fuck, Ivy. Who? When? In the dorm?” Something crashes in the background.

I feel an odd weightlessness. Like I’m outside my body looking down at myself. “What was that noise?”

“Just my guitar. Goddamn it, Ivy, what happened?”

I need to stay focused. Jon is asking me a question. “A girl. In my dorm. I found her. Down in the laundry room. She’ll be okay. I…I got to her before he…”

My hands are shaking even more. I almost drop my phone.

“Where are you?” His voice is strong and commanding. A door slams on his end of the line.

“In my room.”

“Is Cassidy home yet?”

How does he…? Then I remember telling him earlier that she wasn’t here. “No, she went home for the weekend.”

He curses under his breath. By the way he’s breathing, I can tell he’s running. “Get your shit together. I’m coming for you.”

“What? No, Jon. I’m…I’m fine. I just…wanted to talk to someone. I came back to my room and—”

“You can talk to me in person in five minutes.”

“No, you totally don’t need to come. I’m fine. They have Campus Security stationed downstairs. They’ve got everything under control.”

“I’m serious, Ivy. You’d better be ready or I’ll pack your shit for you.”

* * *

Jon

I pull up to her building less than five minutes later and spot her through the glass doors. She’s with a guy and a girl in the lobby.

I kill the bike’s engine and sprint to the entrance. She comes out to meet me and waves goodbye to her friends. She’s wearing pajama bottoms and a PSU sweatshirt, and she’s holding a pillow and her backpack. I leap up the steps, crashing into her at the top and pulling her into my arms.

“Jon,” she gasps, dropping the backpack and pillow.

For a split second, as the momentum propels us against the glass, I recall her panicked reaction back at the bar when we were in a similar position. I don’t want to scare her or hurt her, like someone else has obviously done to her in the past. I’d die a thousand deaths if I ever hurt her.

She clings desperately, like I’m a life raft. The only one who can help her.

Her reaction shatters something inside me that I’ve been trying for weeks to ignore. Something I’ve been denying even exists. I want to be here for her. To be her rock, her support. I want to be everything she needs.

When I heard what happened, I couldn’t get here fast enough. And now, with her in my arms, I think about what might have been. What if it was her and not some other girl who was attacked? And then my head goes into a really dark place. What if I lost her?

“God, Ivy.” The words stick to the back of my throat. I can hardly speak as the gravity of the situation hits me hard.

She sniffs and grabs my hair tighter. I think she might be crying though there isn’t any sobbing. It’s like she’s keeping it tucked deep inside and won’t let it out.

“I gotcha, babe. Nothing’s going to happen to you now.”

“I know,” she whispers in my ear. And then, very quietly, “I’m glad you came for me.”

Her hair is sticking to her wet cheeks, but my mouth finds hers anyway. I roughly push the strands away, until it’s just my lips against hers. I kiss her too hard. Too desperate. She smells sweet and tastes even better. It’s as if I’ve been thirsty all my life but didn’t know it, and now I finally have water.

Someone whistles from across the street. Ivy stiffens in my arms, her lips still pressed to mine.

“Yo, dudes,” a male voice calls out. “Get a room.”

There’s a burst of laughter and someone else says, “That’s some serious goddamn PDA.”

“Yeah. Another minute and they’d be going at it against the wall.”

“Why’d you stop them, idiot? I’d have watched that.”

Reluctantly, I release her and pick up her things.

A Campus Security officer rounds the corner on foot and beams a flashlight in our faces. “What’s going on?”

“I’m picking her up and taking her to my place.”

“Is that correct?” the officer confirms with Ivy.

“Yes.” Her voice rings out in the cool night air, her breath fogging in front of our faces.

I grab her hand and head toward the bike. “Have you found the guy?” I ask the officer.

“Not yet, but we’re still looking.” He heads across the street to talk to the group of guys, then continues his patrol.

“Jon, I—”

I touch a finger to her lips. I can tell she’s tired. “We can talk about this later. I need to get you home.”

chapter fourteen

The very first moment I beheld him, my heart was irrevocably gone.

~ Jane Austen

Jon

I survey the mountain of dirty dishes in the sink as we enter the kitchen. “Sorry for the mess. I’d have cleaned if I had known…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I clear away someone’s soup bowl and the crust of a sandwich. “Care for a nightcap before we retire?” I use my best British accent, hoping to make her laugh and take her mind off what just happened, but it doesn’t work.

She looks dazed, like she’s in shock. “Tea? Hot chocolate?”

“Either one. I have both.”

She purses her lips. “Got any marshmallows?”

“Nope. But I do have whipped cream.”

“Okay, then I’ll have tea, but only if it doesn’t have any caffeine.”

Now that’s one I’ve never heard before. “You drink tea with whipped cream?”

“No, I hate whipped cream, but I only drink hot chocolate with marshmallows. Since you don’t have any, I’ll just have tea.”

I grab the tea container from a cupboard and slide it across the island. “How can anyone hate whipped cream? I’m pretty sure it’s against the law.”

The smile she flashes lights me up inside. “Guess you’ll have to throw me in jail then.” She thumbs through the teabags like files in a hanging folder, chooses one, and hands it to me. “I can’t stand the texture of whipped cream.”

I fill two mugs with water and put them in the microwave. “So I take it you’ve never done whip hits.”

She frowns. “I don’t even know what that is.”

I grab the whipped cream from the refrigerator. “Watch and learn.” I shake the canister a few times, tilt my head back and spray it directly into my mouth.

“Can’t say that I’ve ever done a whip hit,” she says, laughing. “My mom always bought the kind in the tub.”

I lick my lips. “The fake stuff? Well, you haven’t lived until you’ve had a whip hit with real whipped cream. Here.” I lean over the counter and hold the nozzle near her mouth. She tries to take it from me, but I pull it away. “No. I’ll do it.”

She narrows her eyes, looking very skeptical.

“I promise I’m not going to spray you or anything.”

“But can you be trusted? That’s the real question.” She points to the tattoo on the back of her neck. “Remember?”

How can I forget? I hold up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. How’s that?”

“Ha,” she laughs. “Somehow I don’t picture you as a Boy Scout.”

My mind flashes to the scrapbook Mom made for me, with its quilted cover and various buttons and charms glued to each page. At least four or five are devoted to my time as a Cub Scout. She spent months going through the pictures she’d saved on her computer and phone, getting them printed, then crafting each page, but she never got a chance to finish it. “Well, I was. So you can trust me.”

“Famous last words.” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, I trust you. Hit me. But not too much.” She leans forward and opens her mouth.

I can imagine something else slipping between those pretty lips. Willing my mind out of the gutter, I press the nozzle and fill her mouth with swirls of cream.

“Mmmm,” she says, her cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk. “That is good.”

“See? What did I tell you? And to think you’ve been missing out on this your whole life.”

“It’s a travesty,” she agrees. I give her another hit.

“You’ve never lived until you’ve done that in the store.”

“In the grocery store? No way.”

“Yes.” I tell her how my friend and I used to go to the Fresh and Easy Market when my mom and I lived near Camp Pendleton. I’d keep an eye out for the manager while he took a hit and he’d do the same for me.

She laughs.

Normally, I don’t like talking about when I was a kid. But with Ivy, for some reason, my past and everything in it doesn’t seem nearly as dark.

The microwave beeps and I pull out the two mugs of hot water.

“Is it too late to change my order to hot chocolate?” she asks, licking the last of the whipped cream from her lips.

“Not at all.” I grab two packets and dump them into the cups.

“You mentioned Camp Pendleton. Was your dad in the military when you were little?”

Ha. “My father is the last person who’d join the military.”

“What if there was a zombie apocalypse and all the remaining people needed to become soldiers to defend the human race? Would he join then?”

Where does she come up with this stuff? I shake my head, laughing. “Yes, even then he’d figure out a way to avoid it.”

“Hmmm. Then he’d probably be one of the first to be infected.”

“Let’s just say he’s the ultimate narcissist. He’d never do anything where he had to be a team player or a small cog in a greater machine. He needs to be the one on top. The one getting all the glory and attention. If you don’t fit into his world or serve a purpose, he has no need for you.”

“And by you, you mean you?” Her tone is soft.

I exhale a long, slow breath. “Pretty much. He left my mother when she was pregnant with me.”

“Before you were even born? Wow, Jon, I’m sorry.”

“Yep. Told her he wasn’t interested in being a father.” I stir the chocolate, add some whipped cream, and hand one to her.

She swirls it around, but doesn’t take a sip. She’s chewing the inside of her lip like she’s trying to figure something out. “Do you have a relationship with him now?”

“Never met the guy.” I don’t tell her that I have seen him—in occasional tabloid articles and online gossip sites.

“He sounds like a jerk.”

She doesn’t know the half of it. “When I was a kid, I wanted to meet him so bad. All my friends had dads and I wanted one, too. So when I was seven, I drew a picture at school of what I thought he looked like. Basically, it was a self-portrait, only he was taller and had bigger muscles. I can still remember the drawing. Stick figures, of course.”

Ivy smiles. “Of course.”

“I came home and told my mom I wanted to mail it to him. So she got an envelope and helped me address it. He was living in New York City at the time.”

“And did you hear from him?”

I shake my head. “The letter came back marked Return to Sender. Printed by hand, not a stamp. My father didn’t even bother to open it. Just saw that it was from me, his son, and sent it back. Had he just thrown it away, I could’ve imagined that he’d read it and displayed the picture on his fancy New York refrigerator to show to all his famous friends. But no. It came back unopened and unread.”

“Your dad is such a fool.”

“I’m thinking more along the lines of fucker, asshole or douche.”

She sets down her hot chocolate and looks me square in the eye. “He’s a fool, Jon, because he doesn’t know, doesn’t even have one clue, that he’s fathered a pretty amazing guy.”

My first reaction is to refute her words, but she’s staring at me so intently, as if she’s daring me to contradict her. And then she does something that blows me away. She lifts her hands and signs, You’re amazing.

My heart races. My throat tightens up. I try swallowing, but I can’t. I turn away, not sure what I can say. Or do.

Quietly, she comes around the island as I stand frozen on the other side. She places her hands on either side of my face. At first, I think she’s going to kiss me. Her lips are parted and her eyes are so intense with emotion, they almost burn right through me. But no. She’s holding my face so that I’m forced to look at her without turning away.

“You’re a good person, Jon Priestly. And if your dad is so self-centered and self-absorbed that he can’t or won’t be bothered to see the kind of son he’s fathered, then I’m incredibly sad for him. One day, he’s going to die. And you know what? He’ll never have known how much better his life would’ve been had you been a part of it.”

She rises onto her tiptoes and pulls my head down to hers. Her lips are soft against mine.

I’ve ignored her for weeks. Stopped calling and texting. Even ignored her in the one class we had together. By all accounts she should be disappointed in me, but she’s not.

“Ivy,” I choke, grabbing fistfuls of her hair as I draw her to me as tight as I can. “I—”

“Shhh. Just kiss me and stop trying to argue.”

I lift her in my arms and her legs go around my waist, then I carry her up the stairs to my room.

* * *

Ivy

Jon slips into bed, the mattress briefly dipping under his weight. This close to him, alone, here in his bedroom, my heart races out of control. It’s pounding loud enough that I’m certain he can hear it.

I stare up at the darkened ceiling, surprised I don’t have a headache right now. I figured it was inevitable, given what happened tonight to Maddy. Although I’m tired, I’m headache-free. “Thanks for everything. Coming to get me. Bringing me over here.”

“Sure,” he says, rubbing my hip. “No problem. I hope you’re not still scared.”

“I’m not.” I nestle in closer until my body is pressed to his, our contours matching. He feels like a man should feel. Strong, but respectful of those who aren’t. Protective, but not smothering. And capable of so much good. His hand slips over my hip to rest on the bare skin of my belly. His lips are in my hair. I shift slightly and… There. I feel his erection against my butt. A thrill skitters along my spine, then outward to my fingers and toes. Our contours don’t quite match anymore.

“Ivy, you need to stop moving around.”

“I’m just trying to get comfortable.” What I really want is for him to slip his hand into my pajama bottoms. A delicious warmth gathers low in my abdomen at the thought.

“You’ve been through too much. It’s late. You need to get some sleep.”

It’s like he can read my mind and thinks he needs to put a stop to my desire. I turn in his arms and kiss him. “Jon, I…I want this. With you.”

He groans, the sound vibrating through his lips against mine. I can tell he wants this as badly as I do. The ache between my legs is almost unbearable. Just when I think I might have to take matters into my own hands, he pushes my pajama bottoms down, runs his hand down my belly, and slips a finger inside me. I gasp in surprise. It’s so sudden. His finger strokes me intimately. I bend my knee to open myself to him and, oh my God, his thumb starts rubbing against me, shooting electricity throughout my body.

With his free hand, he guides mine to his erection. It’s velvety smooth and hard like a pipe. I stroke it, trying to match the rhythm of his hips. Suddenly, he produces a condom from somewhere and quickly sheaths himself. I know this is a really lame time to be thinking of one’s ex, but Chase used to lie back with his hands behind his head as I put it on him, but toward the end of our relationship he’d get impatient and do it himself. Just another way Jon is different.

He nudges me onto my back and showers kisses along my neck and collarbone. Then his head dips lower and he takes one of my nipples into his mouth. I suck in a breath and arch into him.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he says, then moves to the other breast.

I want to ask him why he stopped calling, why he suddenly removed himself from my life, but I’m too caught up in the moment to think about any of that. I’ll ask him later, when we both have clothes on. Right now, this is what I need from him.

I bend a knee and let my leg fall open. He eases on top of me, careful to keep his weight on his forearms, and pushes my legs even farther apart. “Are you sure, Ivy? Because if you’re not, we can stop.”