“Is that true?”
“Okay, not the last part. A win would have been nice. Shocking and miraculous, but nice. Everything else is true, though.” He angled his head as I put both palms on the bed and then a knee. “Is that… my shirt?”
I crawled onto the bed, wearing the green-sleeved baseball tee he’d used to wrap that lightning whelk shell in years ago. It hung to mid-thigh and the sleeves—three-quarter length on him—were almost at my wrists unless I rolled them up. “Maaaaybe.”
He reached for me and I took his hand.
“I have something I want to discuss,” I said. “It’s about…” The night after. My heart balked and the words jammed in my throat. It had been four years. Maybe I didn’t want to talk about it.
“About…?” he prompted, pulling me to sit on my knees, facing him.
“That night, on the beach—”
“Stop.” He brushed the ridge of my knuckles with one finger, traced zigzags up each digit to the short, unpolished nail and back. “I know what you think you saw that night. No. What you saw.” He tucked a bent finger beneath my chin to coax my gaze up to his and held it there with the urgency in his eyes. “Sweetheart, there was no one but you that day. That night. That summer. And every single day since then.
“Nothing had happened with that girl and nothing would have. Nothing did, even when you ran off. I was high—we were all high—but I’d been waiting for you, hoping you’d show. I couldn’t see anyone else. I wanted to call, tell you how I couldn’t stop thinking about you. But I was following the stupidest advice guys have ever passed around—don’t call too soon. Don’t look too eager.
“I thought a little weed would take the edge off. When I saw the look on your face—” His jaw tightened and his hand curled around my chin. “You didn’t see me come after you, did you?”
I shook my head, forgiveness filling me up, ready to overflow and saturate us both.
“I don’t know how long I looked for you that night. There were so many people, and I was so ignorantly fucking stoned.” He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “And then it took a few days before I wised up and thought fuck the guy rules—because they could never apply to who you were for me. But by then you’d left town for that internship. When you came back, it was like that morning had never happened. I convinced myself that I wasn’t good enough for you and never would be.”
My eyes filled. “Boyce—”
“I hurt you that night, and I’m sorry. I can’t promise you I’ll never be an idiot because I’ll probably be one before the end of this conversation, but goddammit, I swear I’ll never hurt you like that again.”
He stroked a thumb over my lips and leaned to kiss me. I opened to him, my last fear dispelled.
“I talked to Maxfield about you when he was here last month.” He slid my glasses off and put them on the nightstand.
“You did?”
“I did. He told me if I love you not to fucking give up.”
Oh. “Do you?” I whispered.
“Love you? Oh hell yeah. When I pulled you out of that ocean, you woke up and stared up at me like I was worth something. I fell for you right then and there. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, Pearl. It’s you for me or no one.”
“But I’m leaving in three weeks. I’ll be gone for nine months.”
He skimmed his warm hands up my forearms, pushing the sleeves to my elbows. “It’s a four-hour drive, baby, not the moon. I’ll go there. You’ll come here. And I’ll wait. Nine months is nothing when I plan to hold on to you for the rest of my life.”
chapter
Twenty-seven
Boyce
Thanks to our predinner warm-up on that goddamned amazing bed, I figured round two could be unhurried. I wanted to mosey over every soft curve. I wanted savor the taste of her because Christ, every square inch of her tasted so good. I would lay her down and plunder that sweet, willing mouth until she said my name like a prayer.
“C’mere, you little thief.” I pulled her onto my lap. Her naked backside slid onto my bare thigh and answered my question about what was under that seven-years-missing shirt of mine. “I’m done talking.” I leaned to outline the curve of her ear with my tongue. “Except for a little dirty play-by-play detailing all the ways I intend to fuck you, that is,” I whispered, and her mouth fell open on a soft moan.
“Wait,” she breathed. “I have one more thing to say.”
I was gut-kicked when I leaned back and saw tears in her eyes, and I held myself stock-still. If I could have stopped breathing, I would have.
She took a deep breath. “I love you too.”
I processed her tears in relation to those words—words I’d been waiting two weeks to hear her say sober. “So this is one of those happy crying things, right?”
She choked a laugh. “Yes.”
The relief broke over me and I grinned. “See? Learning.”
“Is that a Wynn-win?” she asked.
She giggled when I arched a brow. I’d all but forgotten the dumbass self-pun I’d invented in high school. “You did not just say that. First, though, this stolen shirt you’re wearing. This was my favorite shirt, you know. For shame, young lady. I should turn you over my knee.”
Her eyes widened. I wasn’t sure which I’d done more—shocked her or turned her on. Hopefully a bit of both.
“As I recall, Boyce Wynn, you gave this shirt to me.”
I looked her over—lying back in my arms, her head braced against my bicep. Smirking.
“I reckon I did leave it on your front porch.” I chewed my lip as if I was considering her line of reasoning. “And it does look better on you than it ever did on me, though I looked pretty damned hot in it, judging by the looks you’d sneak at me from across the lab table.”
I reached to sketch a finger down the side of her face, skirting under her jaw and down her throat. I traced the line of her collarbone to her arm and down to the ring finger on her left hand. Forever stretched out in front of us in a way it never had. My desire for her, my need of her, had rocketed right past this moment and into the distance as far as I could see.