Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sayla
I reach behind me, fumbling to open the screen, as Dex and I stutter-step back into the cabin.
Once we’re inside, he pulls the door shut and slowly tilts his head.
His hooded eyes meet mine, and our pupils magnetize.
Another unspoken request for permission.
I nod again, so he knows for sure I want him to kiss me.
Not that I’m actually sure.
Kissing Dex is probably a terrible decision, but I can’t think about that now.
Not while our heated gazes meld. A shiver of anticipation overtakes me as he reaches out to the nape of my neck, laying his hand on the stretch of skin there.
Then he glides his palm up, threading his fingers through my hair.
He knots us together by the long strands, then he gently guides my head to just the right angle.
A low rumble of need sounds in his throat, and I feel it in the core of me.
“This kiss is for real.” His voice is deep and guttural.
“It better be,” I say.
I barely get the words out before his mouth slants over mine, stealing my breath, not to mention all thoughts of reason in my brain.
I gulp against his lips, and a small moan escapes me.
His other arm snakes around the base of my spine, and he gathers my body to him until I’m fully flush against the strong wall of his chest.
Then I go boneless.
All my old familiar thoughts about lists and clipboards and reasons why I’d never ever let myself fall for a coworker disappear, and in their wake is a new realization: I want this man. I more than want him. Maybe I always have. But I covered up my desire with anger that wasn’t real.
That he didn’t deserve.
And he let me push him away the whole time, absorbing all my outrageous slings and arrows. The jabs and darts he hadn’t earned. Instead, he’d answer with his own barbs, but they were just harmless attempts to shift the tone from combative to playful. Dex wanted to play with me all along.
I want to play, too, now.
My hands grip his shoulders, clinging to him like he’s the life preserver and I’ve been treading water for years. His kiss is an urgent blend of give and take. Both generous and greedy. And I’ve never felt cherished like this. So perfectly beautiful. So ready to surrender control.
My knees buckle, and Dex takes charge. I haven’t trusted anyone else this deeply before. No one but myself. But in this moment, I believe in him fully. He’s completely owning me. And I’m living for it.
For several long minutes—or hours or days—our mouths are a tangle. A true team effort. Then Dex goes rogue, tugging my kiss-drunk lip between his teeth. And in between little teasing nips, he breathes out my name.
“Sayla.” His mouth leaves mine to trace a hot, lazy trail along my jaw. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”
My pulse gallops through the racetrack of my veins. “I don’t want to fight with you, either.”
His lips begin a gentle caress down my neck. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
“I have, too,” I whisper.
The words come out, tripping over themselves, caught in my throat, along with all the oxygen. I just told Dexter Michaels I’ve wanted to kiss him for so long. And that I don’t want to fight with him anymore.
What is even happening?
Here in these woods, with so much on the line when we get back home, everything is heightened. Our emotions and desires. So is this moment just the fallout of a temporary situation? Collateral damage?
Sayla From Before would never be so foolish. But Sayla From Tonight apparently doesn’t care.
With a soft sigh, I eliminate every thought or sensation beyond Dexter’s strong, safe arms. I need to stop overthinking. I deserve to feel cared for. Cherished, even. To finally let go of—
My phone starts buzzing between us.
In the front pocket of my sweatshirt.
Dexter freezes, his mouth at my collarbone.
“Don’t answer that,” he grits out.
I swallow hard, wishing I hadn’t wasted a single second questioning our kisses now that they've stopped. “What if it’s an emergency?” My voice is shaky. “Loren might need me.”
Dex groans, but he steps away, hands up in his hair, eyes heavy-lidded. Slipping the phone out, I check the screen and let out a shuddering breath. It’s not Loren. And I doubt it’s an emergency either.
Dex drops his arms. “What is it?”
“Not what,” I say. “Who.” I answer the call. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hey, baby. Are you awake?”
I press a hand to my chest, where my heart’s still throbbing beneath my breastbone. “If I’d been asleep,” I say on a sigh, “I wouldn’t be talking to you.” My tone’s a little sharp. But as usual, my mother’s timing couldn't have been worse. “It’s kind of late for a chat. Is everything all right?”
“Oh, no, baby,” she chokes. “Everything is not all right.” Sniffling noises come from her end, and my shoulders go slack.
Sayla From Before knows this pattern all too well.
“What’s going on, Mom?”
“It’s Eugene,” she wails.
“What about Eugene?”
Here it comes.
“The wedding is off.”
Of course it is.
Dexter waves to get my attention, motioning toward the porch, starting for the door. The man wants to give me privacy—rule five of our cabin—but I can only slump in defeat.
My mother’s sobs are a bucket of ice water toppling over me, dousing every flame Dexter Michaels just ignited.
I’ve been here so many times before. Honestly, I don’t care if he hears this conversation.
Even as I think this, though, a spear of guilt pierces my chest. My mom can’t help who she is.
If she could, she’d never put herself through the pain.
At least I hope she wouldn’t.
“What happened?” I finally ask, combating the urge to add this time.
Meanwhile, my brain runs through a list of Mom’s Breakups Past. I’m tempted to place a bet on which category will fit this one with Eugene: His adult kids convinced him she’s a gold digger.
Or the restaurant owner found out and threatened their jobs.
Or one of them got fired. Or he fell in love with someone else. Or she discovered he’s already married.
“He’s just being so unreasonable,” she blubbers.
“About what?”
“He refuses to have our wedding on Christmas,” she sniffles. “He claims he doesn’t want his friends and family to be put out. As if marrying me is an inconvenience.”
“Wait.” I collapse onto my bed. “So Eugene does want to marry you. Just not on December 25th?”
“Or any holiday,” she huffs. “He kept going on and on about how his cousin planned his ceremony for New Year’s Eve two decades ago, and the guests are still resentful.”
I blow out a long breath. “So that’s it, then? You’re the one who called off the wedding? Not Eugene?”
“I’m clearly not a priority to him,” she says. “And I can’t marry someone who isn’t ready to make my wildest dreams come true. If Genie loved me enough, he’d gladly make me his wife any day of the year.”
“Oh, Mom.” I sigh. “Is it possible you’re the one getting cold feet?”
“Absolutely not. Why would you even ask that?”
“Sometimes … I feel like … maybe … you sabotage your relationships.”
Like a good fifty percent of the time, I think.
There’s a stretch of silence. “I love Eugene,” she says. “I’m just not sure he’s the one.”
“Because of Christmas?”
“Because of what Christmas represents,” she bawls.
“Okay, Mom.” I shake my head. “Can we talk more about this in the morning? It’s late.
And I’m … exhausted.” This is what I say, but the truth is, I can’t listen to her anymore.
I’ve heard all the stories so many times.
And if she hadn’t uprooted me over and over again to suit every casual whim—let alone the serious heartbreaks—I might almost find her predictability amusing.
But my capacity for compassion got drained over the years.
My tank is empty right now. My mother is still the same self-centered, reckless person she’s always been.
She’s also my mom, though. And I love her anyway.
For better or worse.
Anyway, this is probably the universe’s way of reminding me that love is complicated. Emotions run high in the moment, but feelings always change over time. And a person you thought you knew turns out to be something completely different.
We end the call, and I rise from the bed, glancing out the window, where Dex sits hunched over his legs. He’s got his hands on his knees, his chin to his chest. He looks like disappointment in a chair.
I did that to him. Or my mom did. Both of us.
Team Kroft.
And no, I’m not my mother, and Dexter’s surely not Eugene.
He’s not like any of the other men who have blown through our lives over the years.
But he’s still my coworker. And even though we’ve known each other for years, I finally started scratching below the surface of who he really is.
He’s letting me in. We’re both opening up.
And that’s dangerous.
As if he senses my thoughts, Dex turns and meets my gaze through the window.
He tips his head, like he’s checking to see if I’m done.
When I nod, he hauls himself up and comes back inside.
His eyes are full of concern, and my heart squeezes.
He’s worried something’s seriously wrong.
And I can’t be sure he isn’t right about that.
“Your mom all right?”
“It’s a long story.” I take a beat, puff out a small laugh. “On second thought, the story’s pretty short, and the ending is no surprise. But she’ll be okay. She always is.”
I was the collateral damage. I just don’t want to be that anymore.
“How about you?” The lines around his eyes soften. “You okay?”
“Sure. And as a bonus, I’m free on Christmas now.”
A crease forms between his brow. “Yeah, I don’t know what that means.”
“It means I learned a lesson tonight.”
“What’s that?”
“Not to make plans you never intend to see through.”
Dex runs a hand over his hair. “Why do I get the feeling this has something to do with our kiss?”
“For the record, I have no regrets,” I say. “I’m just glad we got that out of our system. Now, when we go back to Stony Peak, we can put all our focus where it belongs—on the SACSS visitation.”
“So that’s it, then?” He lets out a jagged laugh. “We just wake up tomorrow and forget about everything that happened tonight?”
“I think that’s for the best.”
He draws in a long breath, holds it. Exhales. “You sure that’s what you want?”
“Yes,” I lie.
“All right, then.” He pushes his hands into his pockets and ducks his head. “I suppose I’ll have to live with that, too.”
Wow. Okay.
A part of me is relieved he’s letting the subject go so easily. Still, a sliver of hurt sticks in my side. He’s letting the subject go … so easily.
Maybe this didn’t mean as much to him as I thought it did.
“Now, forgive me,” he says. “But before we go to bed, I just have to ask. What’s the verdict?”
“On what?”
“On the kiss.” His mouth slopes sideways. “You said you thought kissing me for real might be epic.”
“Oh, that.” I shrug over the ache in my heart. “Definitely epic.”