The Reason I Stay (28 page)

“You heard that?”

I hate the sadness in her voice.

“I did, and I’m so fucking proud of you for going at him like that. You’re tough for such a small person.” She chuckles against my chest. The sound relaxes my muscles and fills my heart.

Holding me tight, she tells me that the little routine is nothing new, and that those guys—the ridiculously named Snake Pack—have been a pain in her ass since forever. She tells me about making mistakes with Kyle and two other douches, but doesn’t elaborate. I’m thankful for that. I already know too much—any more and I’d be hunting them down and castrating them.

She finally tells me how he ambushed her outside of the bathroom, and brought her here to “talk.” I make her promise to call me if he ever pulls shit like that again—so I can kill him—and she does—probably because the kill part was left unsaid. We hold each other in silence for a little while. She relaxes against me, and my breathing goes back to a normal pace, and finally, I find that peace I only have with her.

“I got a job.” The words feel alien and wonderful coming from my lips.

Lexie pulls her face from my chest, eyes round and eager for details. “You did? Already?”

I nod and tell her about it, and about the ranch, and how excited I am. She seems to feel the same. The last thing I add is, “It pays like shit. Really does, but I think it’ll be fun.”

“Money is overrated.” She laughs, and kisses my lips. “Now, wanna go home and celebrate?”

My reply is a long, deep, lustful glance, and a teasing bite to her delicious lip.

It takes us less than five minutes to gather up our stuff and be on our way to Lexie’s. The celebration starts as we walk, which makes the three-minute trip a whole lot longer. By the time we reach the front door, my shirt is completely unbuttoned, and the straps of her dress are falling down her shoulders. The moment we close the front door behind us, both shirt and dress are on the floor and Lexie is where she belongs, in my arms with her legs around my hips.

Our celebration stays in the realm of bare chests and covered bottoms—though hers has only the tiniest bit of pink lace over it. I have no doubt that if my pants were to come off she’d be ready and willing to go all the way, but weirdly enough, I’m not.

Sex has never meant shit to me, but with her it does. With Lexie it means too much, and I want to make things right. I want it to be as special and perfect as she is. I want it to happen on a happy day, one with no bad memories. I want that day to be one that when things get hard—which I know they eventually will, because she’s stubborn and I’m explosive—we can look back, and find strength in that memory. And I know in my heart that today isn’t that day.

So I just enjoy the smell of her skin, the feel of her tits molding perfectly in my hands, and the taste of her nipple in my mouth. I enjoy the pressure of her body moving over mine, the little moans that escape her throat, and the way her eyes glisten like they’re made of diamonds as I make her come. I enjoy the sight of her putting on my shirt, and smelling the collar like it’s her favorite scent in the world. I enjoy the last kiss we share at her front door, and the fight she puts up when I try to get my shirt back. And finally, I enjoy the warm salty breeze blowing across my naked chest as I walk to the inn, dreaming of the day I won’t leave.

V
acation season started exactly two weeks after my and Matt’s first date. Due to the influx of people in town, the diner has been busy, and therefore, my work hours have become longer and more tiresome. Combined with that, Matt’s been getting more and more gardening clients and his days are also getting fuller, which is great for him and his really new business, but also makes matching our schedules a lot harder.

We try hard to squeeze a few hours each day to just be together. Sometimes we go for a swim. Sometimes we stay on my porch, playing songs on my old Gibson acoustic, and other times we hang out with Kodee and the Valentines, and Tanie and Eric. Every once in a while we have a stupid fight because we’re fire and dynamite. He can’t stop crap from coming out of his mouth, and I can’t help blowing up when it happens. But every night we end up making out in my bed.

Although we haven’t had sex yet, that’s pretty much the only thing we haven’t done. Each night we discover a bit more of each other’s bodies and the secrets they hold to the eyes, the touch, and the taste. Each night we fall in love with those little details only we know, like the way Matt stretches his neck when I kiss down his stomach, and the drumming sound that comes all the way from his chest when my lips slide down his length. And each night I fall in love with every detail, and every sound, and every breath he takes.

There are, however, those few, God-awful days when we’re so busy we can barely manage a phone call. Today is one of those.

My contact with Matt today has consisted of four text messages this morning, and a five-minute phone call during my lunch break. That, combined with the fact I just worked breakfast, lunch and dinner shifts—meaning my feet are killing me, and I’m exhausted—means that by ten thirty p.m. when I finally arrive home, I’m grumpy and dying for my bed. But just when I’m about to call this day a disaster and go die in my mattress, I see Greta parked my driveway and I can’t hold back the grin on my face.

Last week I told him where to find my spare key, so expecting him to be waiting for me inside, I gather the last bits of strength I have left and run to the front door, ready to jump in his arms and not let go. However, the moment I open the front door, my house is dark and empty. The only sign that Matt has been here is the flickering light of a candle inside a mason jar placed over the dining table.

I walk toward it, a smile already forming on my face. Beside the jar I find a red rose and one of my bikinis with a sticky note on it. I unglue the note from the fabric, and bring it close to the candle.

Three things pop in my head simultaneously. One, Matt went through my underwear drawer; two, I no longer feel tired; and three, what the hell does that ILY stand for? Logically, I know that L means
like
, since that’s what we say to each other all the time. But emotionally, I’m hoping it means
love,
since it’s what I feel for him
.

Anxious to see him, I run to my bedroom to change. The bikini is a string, teal and purple one that Tanie convinced me to buy. I’ve yet to wear it, and as I look in the mirror, I’m reminded why. My nipples are a mere centimeter inside each triangle’s inner edge, and my butt looks as though it tried really hard to fit into bikini bottoms four sizes too small. I wonder if Matt hoped it would be this ill fitting, and made his selection accordingly. I pull my hair in a messy side bun as I make my way back to the living room, pick the rose up from the dining table, place it in my hair, blow the candle out, and make my way to the back door.

As soon as my feet touch the sand, I feel like I’m walking through a dream.

A shirtless Matt leans on his elbows on a blanket. On his right, there’s a mason jar with a candle flickering inside and a picnic basket—my picnic basket?—is on his left. He’s looking up at the patch of sky over the ocean where the biggest moon I’ve ever seen is shining silver.

Not able to take my eyes off the moon, I take few blind steps in Matt’s direction. I guess I’m standing right over him when I hear his voice. “Breathtaking.”

I look down at him. His eyes are no longer on the moon, but on me. All over me. They are also heavy lidded.

“It’s the prettiest one I’ve ever seen,” I say shyly as I sit between him and the candle.

He gives me one of his signature smirks, and as always, I melt. “I wasn’t talking about the moon.”

Flustered, I giggle, and wonder what’s wrong with me. For the past two weeks, all parts of this man have been all over me, and now I’m shy? Now? I mentally roll my facial balls of goo at myself and try to salvage my pathetic situation. “Thanks, but I think you’re only saying that because I’m half-naked.”

Matt chuckles and raises a cocky brow. He leans in for a kiss, and my fingers roam over his shoulders, tracing the lines of his tattoos that I already have memorized. His hand comes slowly up my exposed neck in a way that makes hairs rise all over my body. And suddenly, I’m all too aware of how little fabric I have on, and how public of a place we’re at.

I pull my flushed face away from him, and look into his gorgeous eyes as he looks into mine. I comb my fingers through his hair. “So, what’s all of this about?”

He shrugs. “Missed you today.” I smile. “And then, I saw that today was a super moon night, and thought it’d be a good night for a picnic and a midnight swim.”

“A super moon?”

Matt nods, and bends his head toward my neck. He gives me three little kisses—one on my neck, one on collar bone and the last one on my shoulder. “Yep, though the correct term for it is perigee-syzygy.”

I bite my lips and take a deep breath. “And now I know you’re making shit up.”

He props his chin on my shoulder and laughs. “C’mon, Lex, we both know I’m not that creative.”

I steal a sideways glance at him. “Then explain. Why is it so big?”

His thumb comes up to graze my bottom lip. I kiss the pad as he speaks. “Because the sun, the moon and Earth are all in alignment, and the moon is at its closest proximity to Earth.”

Good heavens . . . Who knew I’d ever find astronomy sexy? I sure as hell didn’t, but it is. It so is.

“And how come you know so much about perigee . . .” I raise my brows, asking for some assistance.

Matt chuckles. “Syzygy. Perigee-syzygy.”

I widen my eyes at him, and open my mouth in an “ah”.

He nods.

I laugh.

He kisses my nose, and picks up the picnic basket and places it in front of me. From it he removes a bottle of red wine, and a couple of my fancy glasses, subs on paper plates, and a Sweet Myriam—the town’s bakery—Styrofoam container with my favorite fudge brownies. It’s the strangest and most perfect picnic basket.

He hands me one of the sandwiches. “I had a big thing about botany and astronomy between the ages six and sixteen. It was deep.”

“I’d never have imagined you were a dork,” I tease.

“Not a dork. The hot, brainy guy you want to tutor you after school.”

I chuckle, and trace the bumps of his abdomen. “In a tatted up bad-boy package.” He cocks a brow, and I raise mine in return. “It’s a damn good package.”

He winks. “Do you want some astronomy tutoring?”

God, yes!
“Sure.”