Chapter 24
twenty-four
. . .
SUMMER
Déjà vu hits the second I step out the back door of The Salty Pirate Café and spot Rory. My arms immediately cross over my chest. Not because it’s cold, because I’m annoyed. Mostly at Rory, but partially at myself for the rush of excitement at seeing him there.
“You don’t have to walk me home,” I say, giving him my best side-eye as I head for the dumpster with the bag of trash in my hand.
Rory follows, lifting the lid of the dumpster so I can throw the bag in.
“I know, but I didn’t want you to get lost.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, lips curving into the butterfly-inducing smile I know all too well.
When Rory smiles at me I get flustered. To hide my reaction, I overcompensate and become mean.
“What are you talking about? I’ve been in Coral Cove for months.”
“Yeah, but you just moved into my house today, so technically you’ve never walked home from the café to our place before.”
“Our place?” My brows lift.
“Used to be mine. But you live there now. Mine plus yours equals ours.”
He’s logical. He’s sweet. And he’s exasperating.
All I can do is shake my head.
“Did you have a good shift?” he asks, motioning for us to start walking.
“Yeah, we were busy as usual.”
Habit has me moving in the direction toward the RV park, but Rory takes my hand to pull me in the opposite direction.
“It’s a good thing I’m here.” He chuckles. “You’re already lost.”
“Or maybe you’re a distraction and I’d be fine without you,” I mutter, pulling my hand from his, knowing full well my brain has a tendency to get sidetracked when he’s nearby.
He lets my hand go, but his fingertips on my back steer me in the right direction.
Once we’re making our way down Wavecrest Way, our bodies naturally fall into a rhythm that feels effortless, yet I’m hyperaware of the space between us, or more accurately, how little space there is. As we stroll down the narrow sidewalk, our arms brush every now and then, and each time, my skin tingles like it’s remembering something that my brain refuses to acknowledge.
Like the kiss I’ve been replaying in my head since this morning.
You’re attracted to Rory . You like him. It taunts me.
That’s when I notice he’s humming a familiar tune. It’s “Go Your Own Way.”
“What?” His grin is all innocence. “It’s catchy.”
I narrow my gaze.
“Logan did a repeat performance after you left.”
My jaw drops. “In his underwear?”
“No, he kept his clothes on.”
“God, that was embarrassing.”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed. It was adorable.”
All I can do is shake my head as I relive the humiliation that was Rory’s teammates walking in on me singing in my underwear.
“Just so you know, I collected the guys’ keys and told them they had to knock from now on.”
“Thank you.”
We walk in silence for a beat, the air outside heavier than it was earlier. A breeze picks up, stirring the hem of my skort and carrying the scent of salt into the air.
The wind blows the loose hairs from my ponytail into my face, so I lift a hand to smooth them back.
“Who’s this Connor guy?” I ask.
“Connor Fisk.” The name comes out on a sigh. There’s a beat of silence before Rory continues. “I mentored Connor when he was in high school and I was in college. I recognized his talent and I wanted to help him navigate the industry. There was a sponsorship opportunity that came up. A flashy and lucrative brand deal but the company’s practices were questionable. I turned it down and advised Connor to do the same. He didn’t listen. Took the payout, then became this guy I didn’t recognize.”
“So, he went to the dark side?” I ask, using the only analogy I can think of for this situation… Star Wars.
Rory laughs, and the sound resonates in my chest.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“Connor is Darth Vader, and you’re Luke Skywalker.”
“Except he’s not my father.”
“And you don’t have a crush on your sister.”
He laughs. “Speaking of Whitney, she’ll be here next week.”
“That’s exciting. Does she have a place to stay?”
“She’s moving in with Winnie.”
We walk up the steps to the side porch. While I’m waiting for Rory to unlock the door, I study him. His t-shirt is stretched against his strong, broad back, his shorts hugging his tapered waist at the same time straining against his sculpted ass. Wind-blown and tousled, his thick, wavy hair has me yearning to run my hands through it. And then there’s the way his long, steady fingers grip the key before shoving it into the keyhole with such force and precision that I nearly gasp with longing.
The image of Rory’s hard, muscular body hovering over me, pressing me into the mattress and whispering in my ear. That’s it, Wildflower. Let me fill you up.
“What did you tell Whitney about us?” I stutter, trying to redirect my thoughts.
He opens the door and flips on the hallway light before motioning for me to enter. Once I’m inside, he closes the door behind us and locks it.
Rory slips out of his sandals while I move to toe-off my tennis shoes.
A teasing smile plays at his lips. “That you fell madly in love with me and begged me to marry you.”
I gasp in horror, then threaten him with one of my shoes. “You take that back or I’ll call Daphne right now and tell her everything.”
Rory lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head. His hand brushes over the top of his thick, sandy-blond hair. I bite my lip watching his fingers tease through the strands, wishing they were mine.
“I told her that our marriage was quick, but necessary.”
“Necessary, how?” I need to know what information Rory has divulged so I’m not caught off guard.
“I didn’t give her details, only that it made sense for both of us.”
“Hmm.” I drop the shoe to its match on the floor and walk farther into the house.
Edgar is there in the living room curled up on the rug as if he’s been doing it for years. I scoop him up and carry him down the hallway with Rory following behind me.
Inside Rory’s bedroom, he pulls out his phone.
“Vivi sent me this for our approval.” Rory hands me the phone and I see a picture of us at the courthouse. “We’re spinning it as a one-month anniversary post.”
I scroll to the next photo. It’s one of us kissing after the judge had pronounced us husband and wife. I’ve thought about our kiss countless times today, but recalling how it felt and seeing how we looked are two very different things. This photo offers me a glimpse into just how much I liked kissing Rory. And how easy it will be to convince anyone who sees it that we are really together.
The visual of us alone is enough to spur tiny rivulets of pleasure to build in my belly.
Flooded with the memory of kissing Rory and the visual evidence of how hot it really had been, my blood surges, causing a flush to creep up my neck. My brain desperately struggles to keep the awareness of it off my face.
“You were really into our kiss today, huh?”
I tilt my head. “Excuse me?”
“For the photos,” he says, smirking now. “Hands gripping my jacket. I think you even sighed into my mouth a little.”
I can’t hold it back any longer. Heat rushes to my face. Embarrassment or annoyance, it doesn’t really matter at this point. “That was you sighing.”
“Oh, I definitely didn’t sigh. But you?” He gives me a knowing grin. “You were enjoying yourself.”
“I was selling it,” I bite out.
“Uh-huh. Whatever helps you sleep tonight.”
My face pinches into a scowl, but there’s no real venom in it. If anything, I hate how much I like this, how easy it is to fall into a playful back and forth with him.
“You need anything?” he asks, quieter now.
I hesitate, feeling the weight of the moment. He’s being genuine, not teasing, not cocky, just him . And for some reason that feels more dangerous than anything else.
We got married today so I can use his insurance. He moved me into his house. What more could I possibly need?
He pulls his t-shirt off and yanks back the covers. His athletic shorts hang low on his waist and when he leans over to adjust his pillow, I swear I can see the outline of his cock against the soft material.
A few ideas spring to mind but I push them away.
“No, I’m good.”
I set Edgar down in the bed that Rory bought for him, then head for the bathroom to get ready.
After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I flip off the light and return to the bedroom.
Rory’s king-size bed is huge compared to the small loft bed we slept on in my van, yet seeing him lying in bed with the sheets bunched at his waist, the smooth skin of his torso partially highlighted by the light from the bedside lamp, I’m suddenly overwhelmed.
“Do you have extra pillows?” I ask.
“How many do you need?”
Rory pushes back the covers to stand and reveals himself in a pair of black boxer briefs.
They’re just tighter versions of his usual shorts, but my brain was not prepared and now I’m struggling to look at or think about anything else.
“What?” I blink, finally pulling my gaze from the space between Rory’s thighs.
“Pillows.” He chuckles. “How many?”
I need to build a fortress. A pillow wall between me and Rory and these dirty thoughts I’m having.
“All of them.”
Another loud, echoing boom of thunder detonates overhead, rattling the windows.
I hate thunderstorms. A gentle rain is nice, but resounding thunder and the hard pelting of rain against the roof is a big nope for me.
Logically, I know there’s no imminent threat. I checked the radar on my phone and it’s just a thunderstorm, but I can’t calm down. With sleep nowhere in sight and Rory snoozing soundly on the other side of the pillow wall I created, I crawl out of bed and sneak past Edgar, who’s oddly not disturbed by storms.
Out in the living room, I turn on the lamp by the couch. With the room illuminated, I can see all my plants lined up on the shelves that Rory had cleared for them.
I randomly select a book from Rory’s collection, pull the blanket off the back of the couch and wrap it around me.
As the rain pours down outside, I open the book and reread the first page seventeen times. My brain is looking for a distraction, but the words aren’t pulling me in.
“Can’t sleep?”
The voice behind me has me jumping higher than the last boom of thunder.
It’s Rory, leaning against the doorframe. The view of him in his boxer briefs just as enticing as it was earlier.
“What gave it away?” I ask, closing the book.
He walks around the couch and drops down next to me. Even from a few inches away, I sense how warm and solid his body is.
“I didn’t peg you as a storm worrier.”
“I’m not. I just hate how unpredictable it is.”
Another crack of thunder shakes the house, and I can’t help but flinch. Rory takes the book out of my hand.
“Come here.”
My eyes narrow at his motioning gesture. “Come here, what?”
“You’re not going to sleep, so you might as well get comfortable.”
He shifts, opening his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. My body is walking the line between the adrenaline rush from the storm, and exhaustion from the day. After a moment of hesitation, I give in. His arms come around me, strong and solid, while his heartbeat is a steady drum against my cheek.
Why is he so warm and inviting and annoyingly irresistible?
“This is silly. I don’t need to be comforted.”
Rory’s chin presses against the top of my head. “That’s why you’re clinging to me like a baby koala?”
“This isn’t clinging. I’m simply existing on top of you.”
“Mmhmm. Whatever you say, wife.”
Another crack of thunder and his arms tighten around me. His hand starts to rub slow, soothing circles against my back. It reminds me of the night my van was broken into.
“Have storms always bothered you?” he asks.
Those slow, absentminded circles have me in a trance.
“No. I used to love them, actually.”
“What changed?”
I shrug, my shoulder nudging against his chest.
“I don’t know. Somewhere along the way, they started making me feel…trapped.”
Somewhere along the way was the summer after my sophomore year, when Tripp and I had been dating for a few months and everything started to shift.
Above me, his voice is gentle. “Trapped how?”
“Like you know something is coming, but you can’t stop it. You just have to sit there and take it.”
“You felt powerless?”
An uncomfortable lump in my throat makes it difficult to swallow.
That’s exactly how I felt in my old life.
“And unwanted,” I murmur, giving voice to the hurt that I experienced with my ex.
Beneath me, Rory stiffens slightly, and just for a second his fingertips falter on my back before resuming their lazy circles.
But I’m all too aware that he’s pulling at a thread that I don’t want to unravel.
Pushing off his chest, I sit up and move away.
“You should get some sleep.”
From the opposite end of the couch, Rory stares at me, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“I’m not going anywhere.” His voice is low and firm. I can hear the frustration in it.
He shifts over until his thigh presses against mine. With those blue eyes boring into mine, his hand cups my jaw.
“I don’t get it, Summer. You’ve got this idea in your head that you’re hard to want. And I’m trying to figure out what idiot made you think that, so I can prove them wrong.”
Tripp. He’s the idiot. My brain knows this. For years, it’s been trying to reassure me that the lack of intimacy in my relationship was more about him than about me. But there’s a sneaky part of my subconscious that doesn’t believe it.
Then, there’s the fact that I have no new experiences to wipe Tripp from my memory. No counter evidence to his rebuff.
Tripp once controlled so much of my life, it’s been years since we were together, and I’m tired of letting him still have an impact on me this way.
“My ex. We met in college and my family loved him. That should have been the first sign, but back then I was still the perfect, obedient daughter.”
Rory’s jaw tenses. “Did he?—”
I shake my head. “No, he wasn’t abusive. He was all about appearances, just like my parents. He told me what to wear, how to act.”
I swallow, holding the tears back.
“What else, Wildflower?” Rory strokes his thumb over my tattoo.
“It’s stupid.” It’s what Tripp used to say to me when I’d try to explain how I was feeling. I hate that I still use that word when I don’t know how to explain how I feel.
“Nothing about how you feel is stupid,” Rory assures me.
The way he’s looking at me right now makes me believe that.
“He didn’t want me. You know?”
A rush of breath flows from Rory’s mouth and he immediately shakes his head.
“I don’t understand how that’s possible.”
I roll my eyes, remembering how serious Tripp was about everything. Everything except me.
“He had this thing about his hair.” I half-laugh, recalling Tripp’s incessant need for perfection. Not a hair out of place.
“What was that?” Rory prompts.
“He hated when I touched it. Even when I tried being affectionate, he’d scold me like a child. It sounds silly, but after all those years with my ex, I struggle with showing affection. I just shut down and keep my distance, too afraid I’ll make the wrong move.”
“Summer, that’s fucked up.”
I shrug, not sure how else to respond. I’m already feeling like I’ve revealed too much. I’ve let Rory peek at my insecurity and I wish I could take it all back.
Rory stands from where he’s been sitting on the couch and moves in front of me.
I glance up at him. He’s massive. Those broad shoulders and long, muscular arms of his appearing almost wing-like. At least that’s what Scarlett had planted in my head when she’d sent me a picture of Rory at a competition comparing him side by side to a character in the romantasy series she’s currently reading. I’m not a fantasy reader, but I’m starting to understand the appeal of someone who is otherworldly. That’s how Rory seems to be. Perfectly sculpted from stone.
He drops to his knees, settling in at my feet.
“What—” I start, but in the next moment, his intentions are clear when his hands gently wrap around my wrists before slowly guiding them to the sides of his head.
The moment my fingertips touch his hair; I’m startled by how intimate it feels.
My eyes find his and he nods in reassurance before giving me that devastatingly handsome smile of his.
“Get in there, Wildflower. Mess it up real good.”
When I don’t move, Rory guides my hands through his hair and gives them a shake, causing the sides of his hair to stick out.
A surprised laugh escapes from my throat. And a piece of the armor I’ve secured around my heart weakens at his gesture.
“You look wild.”
“Good. Now show me what you can do.”
It’s hair. On his head. Yet dipping my fingers into Rory’s thick strands sends a wave of pleasure coursing through my body that I haven’t felt in a long time. It’s more than just contact. It’s connection.
His hands remain on my wrists for a minute, then he drops them to the couch on either side of my hips.
I’m like a child being given a paint set for the first time. I want to explore and discover all the possibilities.
I push through the strands, lifting them upward until Rory looks like he’s been shocked by electricity. Then, I smooth it out again before teasing the center up into a mohawk. Before long, my exploration has his hair a mess, sticking out every which way.
As my fingers comb through his hair, I find myself relaxing. I start to play with different pressures. Applying more weight to the pads of my fingers near the sides and crown of his head, before easing off and using my fingernails lightly against the back of his head.
Pretty soon I’m lost in the feeling of freedom and my curiosity takes over.
My hand slides to the back of his head, loving the feeling of his hair running between each finger before I scissor them together and give a light tug.
A muffled whimper slips past Rory’s lips. It’s raw and unguarded, the same way I’d felt a moment ago when I’d pulled his hair. At the sound of him, my nipples harden and slickness gathers between my thighs.
Rory’s low whimper settles between us and my eyes go wide with uncertainty.
“I’m sorry.”
My fingers release his hair, my hand immediately withdrawing, but Rory catches my wrist.
He shakes his head. “Don’t be. I liked it.” His voice is still trembling with the weight of pleasure.
He’s telling me it’s okay. He liked it, but I’ve never heard a man make that sound before. And I’ve never been this turned on before, either.
“Okay.” I nod, pulling away to busy myself with folding up the blanket, before standing to return the unread book to the shelf. “Thanks for that. It was nice.” My words come out in a rush before I quickly retreat down the hallway.
When I get back to the bedroom, I jump into bed and pull up the covers. Shoving my hands under my cool pillow, I take a shallow breath.
Oh my god. What was that?
It was supposed to be amusing. Me messing up Rory’s hair as consolation for my ex’s inability to ever let me touch his. But the way my body responded. The sound Rory made when I tugged his hair. It all felt like more than that. It was electric and terrifying and I want to do it again.
A moment later, I hear Rory enter the room. On the other side of the pillow wall, the bed dips with his body weight and I hear the rustle of the sheets as he pulls them up.
He sighs. “You know, Wildflower, I think you just ruined me.”
“What?” The single word is muffled into my pillow.
“The feel of your hands in my hair. Nothing has ever felt that good.”
“I’m glad you liked it.” The darkness covers up my cringe. What am I saying? “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Summer.”