Chapter 30
30
Ryan
My fantasy girl is on her knees in front of me, tugging down my pants. I stumble backward and hit the dresser behind me.
“Josie, wait, I didn’t mean you had to—”
But she’s already reaching into my boxers and wrapping her hand around me.
“Please,” she says, gazing up at me, her eyes so big and bright they almost hurt to look at.
I can’t deny this woman a single thing, so I nod, and she slides her tongue up my shaft. She circles the tip before taking me in her mouth, warm and wet. Gasping, I grip the edge of the dresser as she works me with her hand, sliding up and down in rhythm with her lips, taking me deeper each time.
Flashes of the last three months play like a movie sequence in my mind: that first day, when she called me Brian; when she stormed over to Happy Endings, all fiery and gorgeous, accusing me of sending the Book Club Sluts to sabotage her event; the moment I realized she was BookshopGirl; dancing in Maine; Josie reading steamy scenes out loud at the bar; kissing her on the beach; kissing her at the store, in her apartment.
But as incredible as this feels, something is missing. It’s like she’s tucked all her tenderness back inside, the hidden softness I’ve spent weeks trying to uncover, the warmth between us, all the sweetness of our past week together.
Somehow, I’ve fucked this up. But all of this, everything, was for her. I just want Josie to get everything she’s dreamed of. Everything she deserves.
Even if I could find the words to say any of that right now, I’m not capable of speaking. So I lean back and close my eyes, surrendering myself to the mercy of this woman and her magic mouth.
“Josie…” Her name on my lips feels like a prayer. I don’t know if I believe in God, but I believe in Josie, and I believe in us. “Josie, Josie, fuck, Josie—wait.”
I need to be closer to her, to feel her body next to mine and see her gorgeous green eyes. So I reach under her arms and haul her up. She’s startled and flushed, and I catch a glimpse of something—sadness?—in her expression.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. “You don’t…want this?”
The hurt in her voice is another dagger in my chest. “Josie, I will always want this. I’ll always want you, but can we—”
She comes up on tiptoe and puts her mouth on mine, silencing me. Message received: she doesn’t want to talk. I’m not sure exactly what she wants, but I’m desperate to make this better, so I return her kisses, hard and deep.
Soon we’re tearing at each other’s clothes; she’s yanking my T-shirt up and off and I’m fumbling with the buttons on her blouse, popping one off as I rip it open to reveal her glorious cleavage against a black bra. So beautiful. I want to fall to my knees and worship her for hours, but she’s still kissing me with a fervor that takes my breath away.
Josie unclasps her bra, and my brain goes hazy. All I can think about is touching her, feeling her soft skin and hard nipples under my fingertips.
She moans, then stifles it by pressing her lips to my shoulder. I hate that she’s quieting herself with me after I’ve heard the sounds she makes when she feels safe and uninhibited. I reach down and pick her up, spinning so her back is against my bookcase. A few paperbacks fall from the shelves, but I hardly notice. Josie’s skirt rides up her thighs as she parts her legs so I can step between them.
I’m living out the fantasy I’ve had for weeks, but it feels like there’s an emotional mountain between us, and this physical connection just isn’t enough.
I know she’s not happy about this other job, but she’s got to see this was the only option. She has to understand that I’m committed to us. Is this her way of thanking me for giving it all up for her? Or is she trying to show me what I’ll be missing when I go?
I cup her face in one hand and force her to meet my eyes. “Josie, please tell me what’s wrong.”
Tears are caught on her eyelashes, and I hate myself for making her cry. But I still don’t understand why, because she won’t fucking talk to me. “Words, remember? I need words.” I lean my forehead against hers, breathing hard. “Baby. Talk to me. Please.”
My voice is ragged, desperate. And when I pull away slightly to meet her eyes, I see the same desperation reflected in hers.
“Just give me this moment, Ryan. Give me tonight before…” Her voice cracks and it breaks my heart in two.
“Josie, I…”
She swallows my words whole, her kiss hungry and urgent. It feels like a goodbye—and a flash of terror hits me. I never want to say goodbye.
We discard the rest of our clothes and fall into bed together. If she doesn’t want to talk, I’ll just have to show her how I feel. As I press my lips to her jaw and down her neck, I hope she knows I’m saying, You’re everything I want. And as I skim my hand down the curve of her waist, I hope she hears, You’re beautiful.
My other hand sliding into her hair is me saying, I never want to lose you , and my lips pressing right above her heart mean, I’ll do anything for you.
Somehow, I think she understands, because she’s opening up to me like a flower, relaxing and unfurling as I touch and taste and stroke. And by the time she’s rolling on the condom, her expression is open and her eyes are fixed on mine, unguarded and trusting and so beautiful my own eyes fill with tears.
I roll her on her back and she parts her legs for me, eager and ready, and as I press inside her I hope she knows I’m saying, I love you , even though I haven’t dared to say it out loud yet. We move together and I can’t tell where I end and she begins—we’re one body, warm skin and mingled sighs.
And even though she doesn’t want my words, I need to say them anyway.
“Josie.” My voice is rough, and I interlace our fingers, holding her in place. “Josie, look at me.”
She does, and goes completely still.
Gazing into her bottomless eyes, I say the words I hope she’s ready to hear. “No matter where I go, if I’m two hours or two thousand miles away, I’m yours.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and she looks away.
“Josie,” I say again, and she slowly lifts her eyes to meet mine. “I’m yours. Always.”
The tears roll down her cheeks, but this time, she doesn’t look away.
“Always,” I whisper.
She doesn’t speak, but I see her lips form the word: Always.
—
After, when Josie’s asleep in my bed, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts a jumbled mess.
I thought I was doing the right thing, the brave thing, putting her needs and wants over mine. I thought I was sacrificing for her. But what if I’m sacrificing her ? Us. The future we could’ve had together.
I look down and watch her sleeping. She’s curled on her side, her hair a cascade of chestnut-brown waves across my pillow. How did I ever consider moving more than a hundred miles away from this woman? It’s madness. Sure, we could try to make long-distance work, but why would I even want to?
I thought it might be good to give Josie space and time, like my mom suggested. But maybe that’s not what Josie needs. Maybe she needs to know—really know, down to her core—that I’m not going anywhere, so she can trust her heart with me.
Josie stirs in her sleep and says something that sounds like my name.
“I’m here,” I whisper.
She exhales, her eyes still closed, and mumbles, “Oh, good.”
I hold my breath, hoping she’ll say more. That she’ll tell me what I can do to make this right. But she’s asleep again, and I know it’s unfair of me to expect her to fix this. I made this mess—because I’ve been terrified the girl I love wouldn’t be able to love me if I was the one who stole her dream.
For years, I’ve been happy to facilitate love stories for customers or read love stories about fictional characters. But all along, I’ve been trying to protect myself. Wanting the guaranteed happy ending without any of the risk.
This is a decision point, like Nora said. I can choose to let circumstances or fears come between us, pulling us in different directions, allowing us to slowly drift apart despite our best efforts to stay connected.
Or I can choose to fight for us. I don’t want our story to end like those tragic novels Josie loves, where the author tries to console the reader by insisting that sorrow and despair are more profound and meaningful than joy. I want a different kind of ending, the kind that’s like another beginning, a story that will hopefully continue for the rest of our lives.
I’m tempted to grab my phone and text Gretchen that I can’t take the job after all, but I won’t make another rash decision without talking to Josie. I’ll find another job in Boston, beg Xander to reconsider—anything. I owe it to Josie to try. I owe it to myself , too.
I yawn, suddenly feeling bone tired, and slip my arm around Josie, who sighs and curls closer.
As I close my eyes, I promise myself I won’t leave this bed without talking to her. I’ll be brave and honest and tell her how I feel—that all I want is to be with her—and then I’ll listen while she tells me what she wants. And we will figure it out together.