All at once, I’m faced with the question of what I want more. To get to Bailey? Or hang on tight to my anxiety?
It’s not a question I need to think about for long. I’m not sure I think at all before I’m wading into the cold waterway to get to her, not caring about myself at all in the process.
Very on brand for me. It’s why I am where I am.
Unlike Bailey, even at the deepest point, I can touch. So I walk, trudging through the water until I come out dripping on the other side. Bailey’s gaze latches onto my feet as I stride toward her.
I try to ignore the chafing from the terry-like material inside the Adidas shoes. But as soon as I drop down onto the silty ground next to her and lean my back against the embankment, I rip them off.
In the dark, the burns appear less angry. They’re mottled, a little twisted at the seams where the newly grafted skin meets the old skin, but less red, shinier now.
It’s the first time I’ve been barefoot around someone new.
“I thought you said they weren’t healed yet,” Bailey whispers, eyes tracing my feet propped on the sandy ground.
“I lied. I’ve just been too shit-scared to take the fresh feet for a spin in dirty water.”
Her face turns, lifting up to mine. “Why tonight?”
I shrug and wiggle my toes on the loose ground. It feels good to get them out of those fucking compression socks and hot shoes. “I had a good reason to get across the river.”
She swallows loud enough for me to hear.
“What’s going on, Bailey?”
She turns away now, like she’s too embarrassed to face me. “My brothers.”
My spine goes rigid.
She holds her left hand up, diamond glinting, and wiggles her fingers in front of us. Her voice comes out in a resigned hush. “They heard about the ring through the grapevine, I’m assuming from someone at the bar. I heard them talking about pawning it as I was heading down here for a swim. They came to knock on my door, so I hid behind a tree until they went inside, then I bolted to the river.”
“I’m going to kill them.”
Bailey’s responding smile is sad. “They aren’t worth it. And that would fuck with your hero status in town.”
I wave her off. “It’d be fine. No one would care.” I say it without thinking, with no regard to how it might feel to her. I say it because it’s true—and that’s the worst part.
The words land and I hear her grunt when they do. A soft thud, like a limb hitting the dirt in front of me.
“I’m sorry.” My shoulder presses against hers, but she doesn’t nudge me back.
“Don’t be. It’s true.”
“I don’t know if I’d say—”
“Beau, stop. The whole cheery, rose-colored persona you fake does nothing but annoy me. I’ve always seen past it. The way you switch from all happy-go-lucky and goofy to stern and uneasy. The way your face drops when you stare off into space for a beat too long. I do it too, and maybe that’s why I see it. But honestly, don’t bother around me. It’s almost offensive. It’s okay to not be okay.”
My chest aches. I feel the cracks in it, the fault lines of all the hurts I’ve suffered, all the bad shit I’ve seen, all the things I mostly rationalize or tuck away. They come roaring back to the forefront in the presence of someone who doesn’t care if I get lost in them for a minute.
“You’re not going back to sleep at your trailer,” I say, not wanting to acknowledge what she’s just said to me. Instead, I fall back on what I do best: taking care of people.
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“What were you going to do?”
Bailey shrugs. “Probably just sleep here.”
“By the river?”
“Yeah.” Her response is nonchalant as she tugs the sweater down over her head and settles in.
My brow furrows as I take in our surroundings. The warm air carries the scent of wet rocks. I can hear the crickets chirping above us. See the moon reflecting on the water. Feel the supple press of Bailey’s body beside mine.
I could insist that she come back to my house. I could insist I go back to hers.
But this doesn’t seem like a bad place to spend the night.
“Okay.” I shift closer, deciding that—fuck it—I’m going to sling an arm over her and tuck her against me. I can’t remember the last time I held someone who wasn’t on the brink of death. Someone who I just wanted to hold.
This time, she doesn’t flinch when I touch her. Without Gary and everyone else in the bar watching us, she doesn’t act unnatural at all.
“What are you doing?” she asks, but her body doesn’t resist. Her small frame melts right into mine without a single complaint.
“Holding my fiancée, duh,” I say, thumbing the diamond on her finger.
She snorts a laugh to cover for the way she’s cuddling into the shelter of my arm. She can’t be cold, but there’s something desperate in the way she presses herself against me. “Okay. Fine. Is this practice?”
Practice.
One simple word shouldn’t make me hard. But somehow practice does it. It fills my head with many things that Bailey and I could practice. The things I could show her.
“Yeah, Baby Doll. It’s practice.”
Silence descends between us. Tension builds.
And then, “Hey, Beau?”
“Yeah?”
“Not that one, either.”
I laugh. And then we don’t talk. We don’t need to.
We sit on the riverbank, side by side. Both of us practicing being okay with not being okay—together.
9
Bailey
Lance: Where you at? Come have a drink.
Aaron: Yeah, we came looking for you, but you weren’t home.
I wake up held tight against something hot and hard. I rub my cheek against cotton, wanting to nuzzle back into one of the best sleeps of my life. A soft breeze fans over my cheek, and before long, I realize my pillow has … a heartbeat.
I freeze as my eyes snap open. The early morning sky has taken on a pale blue hue, and I realize that mine and Beau’s “practice” lasted all night long.
We’re clinging to each other. My cheek against his heart as he curls himself around me. Top arm caging me in like a shield.
I might as well be a teddy bear getting snuggled by the hottest super soldier of all time.
Correction: my fiancé.
My chin dips down, and I turn carefully in his arms, reveling in the heat of him against my back as I stare down at the diamond adorning my ring finger. It’s too much. It’s way too fucking much. Not only does it not belong on a girl like me, but it’s further proof that Beau doesn’t understand the way my world operates.
Nice shit gets stolen. End of story.
I don’t get nice shit. I wasn’t made for it. And it wasn’t made for me.
As soon as I’m done basking in the feeling of being held, I’ll tell him. I’ll force him to take the ring back. I’ll sit him down and make him understand that although we have an agreement, there is still a line in the sand between us.
One where—
He shifts, smacking his lips in an almost child-like way as his top leg hooks over me and pulls me closer while he …
Grinds his massive morning wood into me.
Now I really freeze on the spot.
A real man is pushing a real boner into me.
I’ve thought about this nonstop. What I’d do. How it would feel.
I’ve dreamed about this.
Being a twenty-two-year-old virgin makes me sound … wholesome somehow. Living in my head is a whole different story. Because, yeah, I’m a virgin, but I’m not desperate to hang onto my V-card. In fact, I’d say I’m eager to get rid of it.
I mean, have you seen my dildo collection? My YouPorn search history? A silicon vibrator I pretend is Jensen Ackles snagged my hymen years ago.
Nah, I’m not saving shit. I’m horny as hell with no one I like enough to work that energy out on. I am desperate to—
“Sugar tits, are you pressing your ass against me?”