On the Slopes of Tahoe (Love Along the Way #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Rory

I sit up and pull the sheets tight around my bare torso. The place beside me is empty and cold, and I flop back into my pillows with a groan. Last night was a mistake. Breck and Willow have less than two weeks left in Tahoe, then they’ll be back on the other side of the world. Yet here I am, falling into bed with him—maybe falling in other ways too.

Jamie’s words come back to me. Last night wasn’t careful. It was reckless—it was also so good. My bed smells like Breck, fresh and clean with a hint of something spicier, something manly. I bury my face in the pillow he fell asleep on and breathe him in. At least I think he fell asleep with me. I remember falling into a sated heap of tangled limbs, our breathing evening out into soft inhales and exhales. After that, I don’t remember a thing.

Maybe he didn’t stay at all, just rolled out from beneath my tired body and scampered off to his own room. That would’ve been the smart choice. Willow finding us tangled up in each other would have been disastrous. That girl has too many questions on a good day. I don’t even want to imagine the rapid-fire explosion of words that would escape her in that scenario.

We said we couldn’t do this, and it wasn’t only for Willow’s sake. Now I have to walk out there and act like I can’t vividly remember how his skin felt against mine when we fell into this bed—swimsuits discarded, towels and drying off not even a consideration. Pretend I can’t remember every sweet word he whispered in the dark as our bodies moved together.

I squeeze my eyes shut and roll my lips over my teeth. I’m an adult. I can go out there and act like one, keep up the pretense that there’s nothing between us.

But… what if I didn’t? What if—

A light knock at the door derails my train of thought and I pull the covers tighter against me. “Come in,” I say, my voice high and squeaky.

Breck peeks his head around the door. The sexy smirk on his face when he sees me sunken down into the bed makes my toes curl.

“Coffee?” he rasps.

Between that sound and the smell wafting in, I could melt into these sheets right here and now.

“Always.” I pull one arm away from my chest and reach for it. He slips the door closed and walks with purpose to the bed. He doesn’t put the coffee into my hand, instead sliding it onto the nightstand. My outstretched hand fists into his T-shirt. He rakes a hand into my messy waves and our lips move in tandem like they were made to fuse together.

“I hoped I’d get back in here with your coffee before you woke up,” he murmurs against my mouth.

Back in here? So he was here with me last night—at least physically. I shouldn’t want him to be here with me in the mess my emotions are quickly becoming, but part of me wonders if he is.

He moves his lips across my jaw to my ear. “I wanted to be the one to wake you up.”

The sound I make as my head falls back has his lips trembling with a laugh against my skin. My body is definitely awake. I tighten my hand in his shirt and pull him back to my mouth.

“Best wake-up call ever,” I say against him, and his dazzling blue eyes sparkle. “I’m talking about the coffee, of course,” I deadpan, and his head tips back in a hearty laugh before he covers it with a hand over his mouth and glances toward the door.

“I left Willow at the breakfast bar. I should probably get back out there before she comes looking. I just didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

My heart.

“I wake up alone all the time.”

“Yeah, I know. But you didn’t have to today.” He traces his thumb over my lip and then walks backward, watching me until the very last second when he slips out of my room. I bury my face in the pillow covered in his scent and quietly squeal into it.

I am never washing this pillow.

Ever.

I let myself imagine not having to walk out there and pretend we’re only friends. If I could have him how I’m realizing I want to. I could walk into the kitchen and wrap my arms around his middle, resting my cheek against his warm back. He would turn in my arms and kiss me, spatula in hand, eggs popping in the oil on the stove.

I slap both hands to the sheets on either side of me and hop out of bed, pulling on the closest pair of joggers and a hoodie, then spot my swimsuit hung neatly on the hamper. I’ll never be able to wear that bikini again without the memory of Breck’s hands on me, pulling the strings and taking it off me, playing in my mind. Then I wonder with a smile if Breck had to run upstairs naked this morning to get clothes.

There’s soft music emanating from the space when I start down the hall, Willow’s unmistakable giggle chiming as the kitchen comes into view.

Breck has a whisk in his hand and is lip-syncing to the music, dancing around the kitchen—hips swaying, head bobbing, shoulders shimmying. It’s a sight to behold and it makes my heart stop. He looks so… happy. I want what he’s having, so I take the last few strides at a run and slide on sock-covered feet into the kitchen. I collide with Breck who doesn’t see me coming because his head is tipped back, whisk-microphone held high.

He drops the whisk, eyes popping open and landing on me. Then he smiles, dimples cutting deep into his cheeks, and his eyes soften. I can’t catch my breath. I’m mesmerized, entranced, stuck in his orbit and unable to move away. Willow’s laugh breaks through and my heart stutters back to life when he grabs my hand and spins me around.

We’re dancing.

In the kitchen.

It’s even better than my daydream, and I let myself melt into the moment. My head tips back on a laugh, eyes closed when he pulls, spinning me into him. My free hand connects with his chest and my eyes find his. I can’t read what I see there, but it’s something new, something I’ve never seen in the eyes of any man before; at least not directed at me.

A tug on my sweatshirt draws my attention down to where Willow stands, smiling, hair a mess. “My turn to dance with Rory. Dad, you’re supposed to be making pancakes.”

Breck lets me go, hands sliding reluctantly away while he keeps me pinned with that look. He leans down and presses a kiss to her hair. There’s a moment, just a split second, where he moves closer, like he might do the same to me, but then he thinks better of it.

We groove to the music, Willow dancing with me and then by herself while Breck cooks, the smells of pancakes and bacon surrounding us. We dance our way through setting the table. I dance my way across to the coffee pot for a refill and brush my fingers along the small of Breck’s back when I pass. He gives me a wink that makes my cheeks heat.

I duck my head and sit down. This is the best morning I’ve had in a long time. Breck sits next to me, bringing with him a plate piled high with pancakes. Willow sits on the opposite side of the table and digs in, not even bothering to use a fork.

“How’d it go asking for time off with your boss yesterday?” Breck asks around a mouthful of pancakes.

“Manners, Dad,” Willow chides him, and I cover my laugh with a hand when his eyes bug out at her.

“Really? Really, Willow?” he says after he’s swallowed. “You’re one to talk.”

“Now now, children,” I say in my sweetest, motherly voice and they both gawk at me before we all fall into fits of giggles. I pull myself together, hiccupping over one last chortle. “As to your question. It was fine. I think Logan was surprised, but with how much vacation time I’ve accrued, he can’t really complain.”

“I would think not. So we’re good for next Thursday then?”

“We are. I wasn’t sure if I should tell him why I was asking for the days off or not. It feels a little like I’m cheating on my job there.” I shrug, feeling silly. “He’s been very supportive of my photography, but it’s never interfered with my work at the resort before. I don’t want him to think I’m not happy there.”

“Are you?” Breck asks, and when I just stare at him dumbfounded, he continues. “Happy there?”

“I-I don’t know. Yes. No. Sometimes,” I ramble on. I used to think I was, but when I compare it to the way I feel about photography, I’m not so sure. When I compare it to the way I’ve felt this morning…

“Well, that might be something to think about going forward. You won’t be able to do both forever. You deserve to choose the things that make you happy, yeah?”

My mind is screaming at me that he deserves to be happy too. That we both deserve mornings like this all the time. But I can’t go down that road, so I change the subject.

“Yeah. So, Willow, you good to be my assistant again?”

She beams and nods, opening her full mouth to speak, but with an arched eyebrow from her dad, she swallows first, then gives him the biggest, cockiest little grin. “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither.” I love having her by my side. She’s a natural, and I hope she won’t forget how much she loves photography when she goes home. By the time they leave, we’ll have done four elopements together. It feels like this whole idea blossomed overnight, but now I can’t imagine ever going back.

We finish breakfast and move in our own directions to get ready for the day.

Dressed and ready for work, I walk into the kitchen again to find Willow set up for school at the table, her dark hair flowing down her back while Breck braids it. I finally made him sit and watch me do it after dinner last night, and he studied every movement with rapt attention. I don’t know how it was any different than the multitude of YouTube videos I know he’s watched, but he’s nailing it—fingers moving deftly so when he wraps the elastic around the bottom it looks exactly like it should.

He reaches for the coffee on the table and turns to see me staring. He glances at Willow’s hair, then back to me, and his proud smile is all I need to carry me through my day. Though, a goodbye kiss would be even better, but I can’t have one of those. I offer him a smile in return, grab the travel mug of coffee he left sitting on the counter for me, and head for the door.

“Bye, see you guys this evening,” I call out, but before I fully close the door behind me, a hand shoots out to stop it. Breck steps outside, hissing when his bare feet hit the freezing concrete, and lifts a palm to my face. Then he pushes back the stubborn strand of hair that’s peeking out from under my beanie.

He brushes his lips against mine, smiles, and says, “Have a good day.”

My gloved fingers fumble over the keypad, the wind whipping my hair up like Medusa. The walk home was cold and miserable, and I just want to kick off my boots and sit by the fire with something warm. Mulled wine maybe? I hum at the idea.

“You’re home!” shouts Willow when the door swings open. She flings herself at me, wrapping me in a hug… in her sopping-wet swimsuit.

“I am.”

From the kitchen, Breck shouts, “Willow. Shower. Now.” It’s lighthearted but also firm, like he’s probably told her multiple times already.

“Better go, Bug.” I lean down and kiss her wet hair. She must be freezing.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” she says loudly enough for Breck to hear her and then sprints up the stairs.

I peel off my layers and walk into the kitchen to find Breck opening a bottle of wine.

“Red?” he asks, one side of his mouth quirking up. “Or do you want something warmer?”

“I was thinking of making mulled wine… but if you have another idea for how to warm me up, I’m open to that too.”

Breck steps into me, his tilted smile morphing into something sinful. “I’m sure I can think of something.” His hands slide down my arms, to my ass, and he hoists me up.

“This feels familiar,” I mutter against his lips, and he chuckles.

“I believe this is the third time I’ve had you on a counter.”

My brows draw down. Third?

“The first,” he says, kissing my nose, “was on your counter when you cut your foot.”

I groan and attempt to bury my face in his shirt, the embarrassment of that moment flooding me. He continues with a kiss under my ear. “The second was on my kitchen counter, and you had bubbles in your hair.”

“That was your fault, you could’ve let me finish the dishes.”

“Ah, but I didn’t want to wait.” He finds my collarbone, shifting my sweater to the side so he can suck on the sensitive spot there. The one he knows makes me whimper.

“I wish we didn’t have to wait now either, but Willow will come down soon for dinner and…” He trails off. No matter the closeness we feel, bringing Willow into it—whatever it is—won’t help anything. He slides my sweater back into place and presses a light kiss to my lips before stepping back. “Cook with me?”

“I’d love to.” I take his extended hand and jump down from the counter.

We move around the kitchen seamlessly. He boils the water for pasta while I brown the meat. The smell of the rich, spiced tomato sauce melts away the strain of the workday. The small touches Breck seems unable to hold back with each pass in the kitchen are helping too.

The first few leave me with goosebumps and a hitch in my breath, so I start giving back as good as I’m getting. I slide my body against his when I pass, even though there’s plenty of room in the kitchen. My fingers trail down his forearm to his hand where he’s cutting fresh tomatoes before plucking a piece to put in my mouth. It only escalates from there. Each small touch filling the space with more and more tension, and with Willow still up in her room, we’re getting bolder.

When I slide my hand across his ass, perfectly sculpted in jeans that look like they were made for him, his restraint snaps. He presses me against the door of the pantry with a low growl, leaving me panting and mewling, wanting more.

Footsteps approach, and I press my fingertips to my lips, smiling as I slide them up to finger-comb my hair.

“Hey, Bug,” I say when she comes around the corner. “Hungry?”

She nods and then engulfs me in a hug. I relish each and every one she gives me.

“Good. We made pasta, and you know what? I was thinking we could pick out a board game from the closet. What do you think?”

The smile I love so much grows on her face, dimples showing.

“Can I pick?”

“Sure,” Breck says, walking over.

Instead of pulling her from me for a hug of his own, he just joins ours, squishing Willow between us. She doesn’t protest but nestles closer. I can’t move my eyes from Breck’s. They’re filled with that same look from this morning. It’s tender. It feels like more .

More is dangerous, it’s risky, but I let myself want it.

Willow finally wiggles to get free and runs to choose a game. She settles on Attack UNO, a personal favorite.

The evening progresses with a fire burning in the hearth, warm food in our bellies, and laughs surrounding us each time the machine spits cards across the table. It feels natural. Right.

It feels like home.

“One more game,” Willow begs, but the sun set a while ago and the clock’s already reading an hour past her normal bedtime.

“Sorry, sweetheart, it’s time for bed,” Breck states, then adds, “for Rory too it would seem,” when he catches my yawn.

I’m exhausted, but there’s a buzz under my skin that makes me think I won’t be following Willow straight to sleep… To bed, maybe, but definitely not to sleep. I raise an eyebrow at Breck and his eyes smolder, lips tipped up in a smirk.

“Fine.” Willow pushes back from the table.

She starts to walk away but comes back to wrap her arms around me. “Good night, Rory.”

“Good night,” I say, kissing the top of her head.

She makes her way upstairs, leaving her dad and me at the table. His foot slides across the space and presses against my calf, then his hand snakes across the top of my thigh to grab mine.

“You’ll wait up for me while I get her to bed.” It’s not a question, and I bite my lip, nodding. Then he follows her upstairs.

I sigh and walk over to the couch. Settling in, I lean back against the arm, resting my head against the cushion. I let my eyes slide closed—just for a minute—and then jolt awake at the feel of being lifted from the couch.

“Shh. I’ve got you.” Breck’s smooth accent caresses my ear and I melt against him.

He doesn’t have to take me far, but I curl in closer to him with each step. When he leans over to set me down, I don’t release his neck, pulling him down with me. His oof in my ear makes me chuckle.

He folds his body around me, pressing his chest against my back.

“Sleep, Rory. I’m not going anywhere.”

I do just that, and I let myself believe him.