Текст книги "Every Second With You"

Автор книги: Lauren Blakely

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter Twenty

Trey

“I thought she would change,” Harley says, wiping a hand across her cheek.

“Some people never change,” I say, softly kissing her tears away.

“But we changed, right?” Her brown eyes are so earnest. “We both worked so hard to change. To live differently. To leave the past behind.”

“Yeah, we did, and we do. Every day. But it wasn’t and it isn’t easy, and we both wanted to change. Your mom doesn’t. But she doesn’t know how, either. She doesn’t have the skills or the tools.”

“I just hoped she’d apologize. Or have a good reason. But when she said that about my father, it was so cruel. I felt like she slammed me. Like I was seeing stars.”

“I can only imagine,” I say, and I wrap my arms around her and pull her even closer to me on the futon at my place that will soon become our place.

“Do you think it’s true? What she said?”

I shrug. “I have no clue.”

“It just seemed so mean. Like she wanted to hurt me. I don’t think she ever loved me.”

“Harley, she’s not a good person. She doesn’t know what she wants. She doesn’t know how to love.”

“It just hurts so much. I don’t think I’ve ever known love before you.”

I smooth out her hair, and kiss the top of her head. “But now you know it, and you’ll always have it. And I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

I can feel her smile, even in the darkness. There’s no music on now, just the soundtrack of New York City playing through the closed window, the faraway noises of tires on asphalt, of alarms from cars, of buses trundling down the avenue. Here, inside, we are safe in our world.

“You won’t now, will ya?”

I shake my head, and hold her tight. “You are everything to me. You are the most important person in the world, and I will do whatever it takes for you,” I say, then I lower my voice to a whisper, as my hands make their way to her belly. She’s carrying my child. It’s such a humbling thought, and such a heady one, and it still scares the hell out of me, but it also makes me love her even more. “And for our baby.”

I hear the tiniest little sob escape her throat as she leans her head back against me, her neck stretching out, long and inviting. “I’m getting fat.”

I shake my head again. “No. You’re even more beautiful. And who the fuck knew that could happen, because you were already perfect.” I inch my hands under her sweater, my palms now against her belly, skin to skin. “I think you’re even sexier, Harley.”

“Oh, stop. I’m not sexy.”

“No. You’re wrong. Because you’re insanely sexy, and you’re having my baby, and there is nothing sexier than that.”

She turns, and now her arms are looped around me. “You’re crazy. I can’t believe you’ve gone from freaking out to being all you’re so sexy. Soon, you’re gonna want me to do a Mother Earth rain dance or something.”

I laugh. “Doubtful on the rain dance, but if you wanted to do one I wouldn’t turn you away. Don’t you get it? I might have freaked out, but I’m not freaking out now. I’m here, right here, loving you.”

She presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Show me love, Trey.”

“Always,” I tell her, and then I trace her face with my fingertips, the pads of my fingers mapping her beautiful features, memorizing them, even though I know all of her by heart and still can’t get enough of her. I brush the backs of my fingers against her cheek, and she sighs as she leans into my hand. She closes her eyes, savoring my touch. I am gentle with her, because she likes it when I am, and because she deserves it, and because I want her to feel loved. Especially now, after that dinner, when she’s hurt and vulnerable, when the person who was supposed to love her most in the world has kicked her once more. But now I’m that person—the one who loves her most. “I’m your family now, Harley. You know that, right?”

She nods into my palm, her eyes still closed, but her lips curved into a sad, sweet smile. “I know that.”

“It’s not something I will ever take lightly,” I tell her, and then I end all conversation with a kiss; a slow, tender kiss that says everything. With the press of my lips against hers, I am telling her I cherish her. As I taste the soft underside of her bottom lip, I am saying always. As I cup her cheek and bring her near, I am letting her know that my love for her is boundless.

Her breath mingles with mine, and she tastes so good, so sweet, and I want so much more of her. I want to connect with her so deeply, to take away all her pain, to erase the sadness. I want her to know what love is, and that she has it, deeply and always with me.

And, judging from the way she’s wriggling and starting to moan, she wants more than kissing. A hell of a lot more. In seconds, she’s kissing me harder, and crawling up on me, straddling me as she wraps her legs around my waist. She grabs my hair and starts to rock her hips against me. Then she breaks the kiss to look at me.

“I’m so horny,” she tells me, then laughs.

I laugh too. “And presumably you like me, too?”

“I’m so fucking horny, and so fucking in love with you. Is that better?”

I nod. “Much better.”

“Make love to me now, please,” she tells me.

“Happily,” I say, and shift her from my waist so I can take off my clothes. I tug off my shirt quickly because I want to watch her undress.

I love the way she strips. There’s nothing unusual or overtly sexy about how she disrobes; she doesn’t toss me a saucy wink, or sashay her hips. She doesn’t need any tricks to get me hard. What I love most is that it’s her, taking off her clothes for me. So she can be naked with me, and me alone.

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous it should be a crime,” I say as her jeans hit the floor, then her underwear. Here she is standing in the dark, the moonlight casting its silvery glow across her white skin. Her legs are strong, muscular from walking everywhere in the city. Her breasts are perfect, and I cup them in my hands, so full. And her belly that used to be flat is now growing round, and I place my palms on it, smoothing them against her skin, so warm.

I pull her down on the futon, so I’m flat on my bed, and she’s straddling me. “Ride me,” I whisper.

She takes my cock in her hands, rubs me against her entrance, and I curse loudly, my body humming with the need to be so deep inside her. “You’re so fucking wet, Harley. I can practically feel you dripping on me.”

“I am so wet,” she says and her voice is thick with lust, as she rubs all that delicious heat against me. “I’m so turned on, it’s crazy. I want you so much.”

“Then stop teasing me,” I say, and she does, sinking down on me in one quick move, and burying me deep inside her. My eyes roll back in my head. The pleasure is so fucking intense. It obliterates all my brain cells, reducing me to nothing but this moment, to the extraordinary feeling of her on me. She is too wet for words, and I love how slippery she is as she starts to ride me, up and down, hitting her rhythm as she moans greedily. Then she reaches for my hands, linking her fingers through mine, and gripping me tight. She leans forward, her blond hair tickling my chest, my cheeks, my shoulders. She is a curtain of luscious hair all over me, of hot sexuality, of gorgeous femininity.

She is desire, she is heat, she is mine, and she is as in love with me as I am with her. Watching her, I can’t believe how lucky I am that I not only get to have her, but that I can make her feel this way. Soon, she starts to ride me, frantically, feverishly, like she’s driven solely by the mission to get off, and hell if I don’t want anything right now but complete and utter success in her task.

“Harley,” I rasp out, not even sure what I’m saying. “Harley, I fucking love you so much. I love everything about you, and I’ve never been more in love with you than I am right now.”

She inhales sharply, her eyes are closed, her face is strained, her breath erratic. She squeezes my hands even tighter, grabbing them hard as she thrusts herself up and down on me, her heat rising with each stroke. She’s so close, and I love seeing her lose control on me. Witnessing her come apart.

“Trey,” she moans, and she opens her eyes, but she can’t focus, and I like it that way, I love it that way. She’s giving in to the sensations, and so am I, because soon I am coming undone with her.

After, she collapses on me. Her breasts are damp with sweat. I hug her tight, hold her close, and brush her hair away from her ear. “Did that work?” I ask into the quiet night.

“Um, yeah. Couldn’t you tell?”

I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant. I meant, did I show you love?”

“Yes. You and me, this is what love is.”

We learned it together.

Chapter Twenty-One

Harley

“Did you pack everything?”

“For the five thousandth time, I’m a dude. I don’t need that much stuff.”

“Shorts? Did you pack shorts?” I ask, as the maroon-uniformed doorman grabs the handle and holds open the door for us. “Thank you,” I say to him, and Trey does the same.

“I don’t own shorts.”

“But we’ll be at the beach.”

“Then I’ll buy shorts when I’m there.”

“You really don’t have a bathing suit?” My boots click against the marbled floor. I unloop my scarf as we walk to the elevator. A piece of yarn snags on my earring, and I tug once gently, then it loosens.

Inside the elevator, he taps my cold nose, all red from the blisteringly brutal fall we’re having. Okay, late fall. But still, it’s bitter, and I can’t wait till tomorrow when we leave the city for San Diego. Even if we were heading to the Arctic I’d be excited.

“The rumors are indeed true. I do not own a bathing suit. But I can’t fucking wait to see you in a bikini,” he says.

When we reach his parents’ floor, I fluff out my hair, wanting to look good for them. As I brush my fingertips against my earlobe, I find my earring is gone.

“Crap. I must have dropped my earring in the lobby. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll go with you,” he says, but then his phone rings. He grabs it from his back pocket, and his eyes light up. “It’s Ilyas.”

“Take your call. I’ll be right back.”

The elevator starts to shoot me down, but then it slows at the fifteenth floor. A gorgeous brunette steps inside, and she’s holding hands with a young boy who’s probably not yet three. I smile at the boy; he has such beautiful green eyes, so unusual for a young kid.

“All right, Teddy. We’re just going to run to the store and then run back, okay?” she says to him, and he pretends to run in place.

“Like that, Mama?”

She nods. “Exactly.”

Then she looks at me, shoots me a smile. “He likes to pretend to run.”

“I can see.”

“Sorry. I know it can be annoying.”

“Not at all,” I tell her. “I’m actually having one of my own soon, so I kinda enjoy watching kids.”

“Congratulations,” she says, beaming at me. “Your first?”

I nod. “Yep.”

She ruffles Teddy’s thick brown hair. “He’s my first, too.”

“He’s very sweet,” I say. “And he has beautiful green eyes.”

“He got them from his dad,” she says with a shrug. “We never see him. But it’s nice he shared those eyes.”

I laugh as we reach the ground floor. She steps out first, and I quickly spot my earring on the floor.

As I hook it back in my ear, I watch the mom and her son, wondering if I’ll have a boy, if we’ll hold hands like that, if he’ll have Trey’s eyes.

“Have a good night, Ms. McKay,” the doorman says as the pair leaves the building.

“You too,” she says.

I return to Trey’s floor as he’s finishing his call. “That would be great. Thank you, Ilyas. I appreciate this so much.” He ends the call and holds out his arms. “He wants to hook me up with a shop in San Diego this week. Says there’s some guy there who does world-class designs. He wants me to see them.”

“That’s so great,” I say, and I hug him. “So, you ready for this?”

A dark cloud crosses over his green eyes. “Do we really need to tell them tonight?”

“The longer we wait, the harder it gets.”

“Yeah, since you can’t hide it much longer,” he teases as he pats my belly.

“Ha ha ha. You’re so funny.”

* * *

The fork hits the ground with a resounding clang, and I swear it’s the only sound left in the universe as it rings.

“What did you just say?”

“Harley’s pregnant,” he repeats in a steady voice, and I’m so proud of him simply for saying those words to his parents. None of this is easy for him; talking honestly to them is extraordinarily hard. His family is friendly on the outside, a vault on the inside. “We’re going to have a baby.”

His mom’s face is unreadable. She says nothing. She doesn’t move a muscle; doesn’t twitch, doesn’t blink. Nerves fly through my body, gnawing away at my bones. This woman scares me. She is so poised and cool, but right now we’ve cut her to the quick.

“A baby,” she says, finally finding words again. Trey’s dad reaches for her shoulder, clasps it, trying to reassure her of something. But what? That the baby will be fine? Or that she’ll survive this bomb?

“Yes, Mom. She’s due in May.”

“Well, congratulations, son,” his father offers. Then he furrows his brow curiously. “Right? I mean, is this a good thing?”

“Yes, Dad. It’s a good thing.”

“Congratulations,” his mom says, her tone wooden. She reaches for her fork. But it’s not there, and she seems surprised that the fork is suddenly missing. “Where’s my fork?”

I gulp and wait for his mom to say something more about the baby, about Trey, about me. But she doesn’t. The prospect of the lost utensil is far more fascinating.

“It’s on the floor,” I say, chiming in as I bend down to grab it.

And my belly moves.

Or rather, something inside me moves, and kicks me for the first time.

“Oh my god,” I gasp, and my hands fly to my stomach.

“Are you okay?” Trey asks and I can hear the fear nosedive into his voice. Before I know it, I am swarmed, and all three of them have jumped up from their chairs and are hunched over me as I’m squatting on the floor with a fork in my hand. I glance at each of them, and they are deer in the woods, pinned by the predator of their worst fears. In an instant, I see all their pain, all their loss. I am their worst nightmare, and they’re assuming this is the beginning of the end.

“I’m great. The baby kicked for the first time,” I say, and I can’t help it—I burst into a grin.

Trey’s eyes light up. “Are you serious?”

Standing, I reach for his palm and lay it on my belly. He waits and waits, and soon he’s rewarded with the tiniest of kicks, too. He smiles so wide it’s like sunshine lighting up the world, and if we were alone I know he’d fall to his knees and kiss my belly.

Then there’s a broken sob, a wail cut short, and Trey’s mom bolts. She heads down the hall into her office and slams the door. I don’t even wait for Trey or his dad to react. I listen to my gut, and my gut says to go to her.

I rap once on the door. “Mrs. Westin? May I come in?”

I hear nothing, so I take the lack of a no as a yes. I turn the handle and open the door, and I find her sunk down in her leather chair, her face in her hands. I grab another chair, and pull up next to her. Her shoulders are shaking, and she’s trying so hard to be quiet, but her tears aren’t silent as she likely wants them to be.

I pat her knee tentatively, rubbing it once, twice. She doesn’t shirk or pull away. “Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“I imagine this must be hard for you. I know it was hard for Trey, at first.”

More shaking, more tears. I inch closer, and rub her shoulder. Seconds pass, and soon they pool into minutes. But her crying slows, her tears settle, and she manages to speak, even though her head still hangs low. “Are you eating right?”

“Yes. I’m a very healthy eater.”

“Are you taking folic acid?”

“I am.”

“And did you get an ultrasound?”

“I did. The baby looks great. I have a very good doctor, and he said everything is going well.”

“Just because it’s going well doesn’t guarantee anything,” she whispers.

“I know. But that’s okay. The only way to do this is one day at a time.”

“Are you sleeping enough? Getting rest?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t do anything to put strain on your body,” she adds.

“I won’t.”

Then she looks up, and her eyes are red, and her cheeks are stained, but at least she’s meeting my eyes. “Do you know what you’re having?”

I shake my head. “We decided not to find out.”

“Have you picked out names?”

I shake my head again. “We can’t seem to agree,” I say, laughing. “I like Tom and Henry for a boy, but Trey says they are too traditional. He likes Walker and Travis.”

“What about for a girl?”

“We can’t seem to agree on that, either. What names do you like for girls?”

She presses her lips together tightly, and I can tell she’s trying to rein in another round of tears. She pushes through, speaking quickly. “Allison. That was the name we picked out for a girl.”

I smile. “I like that name.” Then my eyes widen because there he or she goes again. My baby is riding a rollercoaster in my tummy. “I think the baby is doing dives.”

Sadness and memories flood her green eyes. “That was my favorite part,” she says in a choppy whisper.

I reach for her hand, bring it to my belly and place her palm on her grandchild growing inside me.

Her voice breaks again, but she doesn’t move her hand. She keeps it firmly on my stomach, feeling the baby kick against her hand.

The tears are unleashed once more. But this time they aren’t only laced with pain; they are mixed with hope.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Harley

The plane touches down and the sky is bursting with blue, dripping the crystal color from above us.

I turn to Trey, and I can’t hide my excitement. I’m tapping my foot, and squeezing his hand, and smiling so wide.

“A little excited, are you?”

I nod. “Oh, god, I hope they like me.”

He rolls his eyes. “They already like you. They already love you.”

“They don’t know me. They can’t love me,” I say.

After the plane taxis to the jetway, I practically bolt out of my seat, but I’m not going anywhere since we’re all milling about in the aisle.

I motion for Trey to come closer. “Should I pull the pregnancy card?” I joke. “Pregnant lady. Let her through.”

He laughs. “We need to save that one. Milk it for when you’re basketball size.”

He gently runs his hand over my belly and plants a kiss on my cheek. This has become his new normal. Ever since we’ve been together, he’s had his hands all over me. He still touches me all the time, but now he also touches my stomach, runs his hand over the swell of my belly, and waits patiently for kicks. I love watching him change, seeing him start to embrace how our lives are transforming. And because I am an emotional beast, and the hormones swirling in my body make me more so, I lean into him as he scoots into the aisle, and I whisper in his ear, “You’re going to make a great dad.”

I am rewarded with a smile, and then he gestures in front of me as the line starts to move. He carries both our bags, and soon we’re off the plane and heading toward the terminal. My insides are a cocktail of nerves and hope, as they jostle with each other for space in me. I run through a million what if scenarios. What if we have nothing to say? What if it’s weird or awkward? What if they don’t like me?

The nerves intensify as we walk, and he holds my hand tighter, especially when a businessman in a suit nearly bumps into us as he flies by in a race to catch his plane. Announcements of departures and arrivals, of delays and last-minute gate changes, crackle overhead. We near the security checkpoint, and there are throngs of people on the other side, all waiting, craning their necks.

But then, soon enough, I see them. Debbie and Robert look just like the picture on the cafe website, smiling and happy and holding hands. There’s a moment when I wonder if I’m supposed to run to them like in the movies. We’ll embrace, tears will streak down our faces and it’ll be a Kodak moment, a family reunion. But instead, I simply walk up to them and say, “Hi, I’m Harley.”

And Debbie throws her arms around me. “Oh, sweetie. It is so good to see you again.”

She smells like oranges, and her blond hair is springy and streaked with the sun. Though I hardly remember when I was six, something about this just feels . . . familiar. Comfortable. Safe.

Especially when I see her T-shirt. It’s black with a neon blue cartoonish sketch of a chipmunk.

“I like your shirt. I have the same one.”

“You have excellent taste,” Debbie declares and wraps an arm around me. “And I hope you’ll forgive me for not dressing my age.”

“Forgiveness given,” I say, and I can’t stop smiling because this is so much easier than I’d thought it would be. It’s like we slid right into a natural rhythm.

Trey clears his throat.

“Oops!” I turn around, grab his arm, and introduce him.

“And this, obviously, is Trey,” I say. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“And as I understand, he’s also responsible for that,” Robert says, pointing at my belly. He smirks and laughs, and Trey joins in, too.

“Yes, sir,” Trey says. “I am indeed responsible for that.”

Trey extends a hand and the men shake, and I notice Robert has a tattoo on his bicep. Trey shakes his head, as if he’s seen a mirage. But nope, my grandfather sports ink on his arm.

“You have a tattoo of a typewriter,” Trey says, his voice all staccato with surprise.

“Observant fellow, too,” Robert quips, and I think I might be in love with my grandfather’s dry humor already.

Debbie rolls her eyes. “Watch out for this one, he’s a jokester.”

“Duly noted.”

Then Robert returns his attention to Trey. “Yes, I got this hideous thing many moons ago in a galaxy far, far away.”

“I gotta tell ya, I’ve seen a lot of tats, and done plenty, but I’ve never seen a typewriter tattoo. What made you get that?”

“Let me tell you the story,” Robert says, and we all start walking out of the airport. “I was a journalism student in college. Thought I was going to be a sports reporter. Travel with the team. Write about every single pitch. Devise fantastic analogies and compelling stories about baseball and how it breaks your heart. So, one night, feeling all bold and brash, I got a little drunk, and got myself a typewriter tattoo. Like it was some kind of emblem, a symbol of my future.”

“And did you become a sports reporter?” Trey asks as we reach the doors. When we step outside, I am bathed in the most delicious warm air and sun. And even though we’re at the airport, with cars and shuttles buses streaking by, stopping to pick up and drop off passengers, the air feels cleaner and fresher.

Better.

Robert shakes his head. “Nope. I was assigned to cover a college basketball game. I hated every minute of it because it sapped all the joy out of watching the game, and I decided that I didn’t want to be a reporter; I wanted to be a fan. And so that’s what I am.”

“A sports fan with a typewriter tat,” Trey adds.

“Yep. An ugly, faded, hideous one at that, but I wear it like a badge of honor.”

“That’s the only way to wear one,” Trey says.

As we reach the parking garage, Robert shoots a lopsided grin at Debbie and me, and points to Trey. “I like this one. He’s a keeper.”

On the drive to their house, Debbie spends the entire ride twisted around in the front seat, so she can chat with us in the back, playing tour guide. She tells us about the old school feel of Ocean Beach where they live, the mom-and-pop owned shops, like bakeries, boutiques and indie book stores. Next, she chats about their dog, The Sheriff. After that, she mentions the dinner she has planned for us tonight.

“You probably figured we were going to take you to Once Upon a Sandwich,” Debbie says, with a glint in her blue eyes.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Nah. We were thinking we’d take you to our favorite burger joint for burgers, fries and milkshakes. Would that work for you?”

I glance at Trey, and he’s smiling and nodding. It’s such a simple plan, and it’s so us, and it’s so them, and it feels so right.

* * *

“Do you think he’s watching us?” Trey asks, nodding at the black and white border collie.

I check out The Sheriff. He’s curled up and sleeping on the hardwood floors of our bedroom in the duplex adjoining their cottage-style house. Debbie said they usually rent the duplex but the new renters aren’t moving in for a few weeks, so we have our own little home on the beach during our stay. It’s bedtime, alone time, on our first night here. Trey has already kissed me madly, nibbled on my collar bone, and stripped me down to nothing. Now, I’m lying naked before him in the dark of a moonlit night in California.

I shake my head. “Nope. His eyes are closed.”

“Good,” he says, running his strong hands across my skin, first my arms, next my hips, and then he trails his palms along my thighs. When he reaches my knees, he parts my legs, and my breath is uneven and needy.

“Why is it good? Are you going to do something naughty to me? Something you don’t want the dog to see?”

Trey raises an eyebrow suggestively. “Even if he saw, dogs keep secrets, right?”

I smile. “So I’ve heard. Their secret-keeping abilities are legendary.”

“Then he won’t tell a soul what I want to do after I do this,” he says, pressing his lips on the inside of my thigh, kissing me behind the knee as he taps soft notes of desire with his fingers up my legs, barely touching me where I’m already electric for him.

Teasing me.

So much teasing that I try to wiggle my way closer.

“What do you want to do after this?” I ask him, arching my hips, trying to bring his delicious mouth all the way to me.

“I want to see if you taste as good in California as you do in New York.” He switches positions, moves up the bed, and flops down on his back. Then he reaches for me, his hands on my hips. “Sit on me,” he whispers in a hungry voice that burns with desire.

“Really?”

He nods against the pillow. “I want you on my face,” he says, breathing out hard, and I don’t know who’s more turned on now, but I know this much—I’m aching for his touch. I’m dying for the exquisite agony he delivers with his mouth, lips and tongue. So I don’t ask any more questions. I simple obey, straddling his face, balancing my hands on the headboard. His hands are locked on my hips, and he holds me above him. “This is a fucking beautiful view,” he says, then tugs me down.

I bite my lip when he first licks me so I don’t scream out in pleasure.

“Mmm,” he murmurs as he kisses all my wetness, his soft lips greedily devouring me, like I’m the key to his survival. He slides his tongue across my sex as his lips consume me. I grip the headboard, digging my fingers around the wood as electricity shoots through me like a hot buzz running through my skin, spinning in my veins, turning my entire body into nothing but the deep, hungry ache for release. I won’t last long, not with his moans and groans as he laps me up, plundering me with his tongue so eagerly, like he’s coveting my pleasure.

Soon, I start to rock into him, to buck against his mouth. He grips my hips harder, grinding me deeper and faster into his mouth until I am awash in a hot charge that starts tight in my belly then pulses throughout my entire body, coating me in nothing but ecstasy and heat, all the way to my fingertips.

Everything is a blur as I shout his name, the orgasm rocketing through me, leaving no inch of my body untouched with its pure and beautiful bliss. I exhale hard, panting still, my legs shaking.

Then, as I slow my movements, I’m hit with the most fantastic aftershocks that radiate throughout me.

Soon, I shift off of him, collapsing on the bed.

“Holy hell,” I say, still dizzy and glowing from coming so hard on him. “You have a magic mouth.”

“I guess that was good for you, too,” he says, with a sly smile.

“Yeah. Slightly,” I say, and then I glance down at the sleeping dog. “Guess he doesn’t mind our noises, either.”

“I knew he was my kind of wingman,” he says.

I laugh. “So, what was your verdict?”

He switches to his side, brushing his lips ever so faintly against my ear. “You taste like the one thing I will never have enough of.”

A shiver runs through me with his words. They make me feel both loved and sexy. “Let’s do it in our position,” I say, and I move to my side, too. I reach down between his legs, grasp him in my hand, and bury him inside of me. I move with him, savoring his sounds, his breath, his ragged pants when he tells me he’s so close.

“Come in me,” I whisper, watching his face strain and twist with pleasure as I bring him over the edge.

Later, as we lie together, it occurs to me that San Diego is already winning. That the happiest days of my life were here when I was younger, and that so far, California is a bit like paradise.