CHAPTER NINETEEN FALLON #3
He chuckles. “Hell, that’s adorable. Do you still have some of the rocks?”
“If I said yes, would you think I’m a dork?”
“No, I’d want you to introduce me to your friends.” I needle his side, and he laughs some more. “Seriously, that’s cute. So, what changed? When did the rock business get tossed from your future?”
“Oh, you know, some mean girl at school named Debra Lizowski said I was lame. In sixth grade, we had to present on what we wanted to do when we grow up, and I presented my rock store—which I spent a lot of time developing. I was over the moon with my design, so proud of myself, and I brought tons of polished rocks to show off. Blue, green, pink, purple gemstones, every color of the rainbow. Afterward, she told me I was lame and was going to be poor.”
“Jesus, kids are fucking cruel.”
“Yeah, that day, I put my rocks in storage and started thinking of other ideas. I decided to be a nurse when I was in high school.”
“You’re really hurting my heart.” He pulls me in even closer. “What can we do to bring that rock store to life?”
I lightly laugh. “Nothing. No one wants to buy rocks.”
“Not true. There are rock stores in touristy towns all the time. You live in a tourist town. I say you sell rocks.”
I sit up and place a kiss on his jaw before saying, “You’re sweet, but I’m pretty sure I have enough on my plate. Don’t really have the bandwidth to open a rock store.”
He heavily sighs. “Can I ask you one thing?”
“Sure.”
“What was the name of your rock store?”
“Fallon’s Rocks,” I answer, remembering the sign I spent hours making.
“Huh.” He pauses, thinking about it. “I can see why Debra Lizowski thought you were lame now. Show some creativity.” When I glance up at him in shock, he’s full-on smiling that playful smile of his.
“Yeah, you’re right, nothing is happening between us tonight.”
He chuckles even more and hugs me close. Smirking, I grip him tighter.
“How does someone break their arm in a pool?” I ask. “It’s full of water. Unless you have bird bones.” I lift up to look him in the eyes. “Do you have bird bones, Sawyer?”
“I do. Please be gentle with me. I’m feeble and weak and can only handle feather-like touches.”
“Does that account for your whole body?” I ask, glancing down at his crotch and then back up to his eyes.
“No, that’s made of steel,” he declares, his voice taking on a manlier tone. “But everything else is very feeble. I might need to be cuddled. I prefer bosoms to be cuddled into; they make me feel better.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I chuckle. “But... how many bosoms have cuddled you?”
“Thirty-seven. You could be number thirty-eight.”
“Thirty-seven?” My voice rises. “You’ve been with thirty-seven women?”
“Ohhh, been with? I thought you were just talking about a solid cuddle. If we’re talking about women I’ve been with, an easy two hundred and seventy-nine. One month it was like a revolving door of females. But I have them to thank for my stamina.”
It’s clear he’s joking. He’s been joking this entire night, but I’ve really enjoyed all the teasing, the lightheartedness.
I appreciate his sense of humor—there is so much in my life that’s serious, sometimes heartbreaking.
The idea of having someone beside me, holding my hand and making me laugh.
.. it adds a light to my life that I was missing, even with Peter.
“Wow, two hundred and...”
“Seventy-nine.”
“Yes, two hundred and seventy-nine, that’s quite the harem. How are you even walking?”
“Having a third leg helps.” He winks, and I push at his face, making him laugh out loud.
“And here I thought you were different from other men.”
“I might be romantic and helpful and an obvious catch, but I’m still an idiot, so just mentally prepare yourself for that, moving forward.”
“I guess so.” I turn back to the stars. “So,” I ask, after a few seconds, “how many women, really?”
“Eh, less than ten, probably. But none of them,” he says in a dramatic voice, “and I mean none of them, compares to you, baby.”
“Damn right.”
“Have you ever walked the red carpet?” I ask Sawyer as we hold hands and make our way down the dimly lit pathway toward the residence.
“I have,” he answers.
“Really? For the Oscars?”
He chuckles. “No. I walked the red carpet at a Lovemark screening. I’ll admit, it’s probably my least favorite thing about my job.”
“Why?”
“Just not my thing. All the pictures and questions.”
“Did anyone ask you who you were wearing?”
“Yes, but first, they asked me who I was and if I was trolling the red carpet.”
“No!” I chuckle.
“Yup, and when I told them I was the screenwriter, they softened up a bit and asked who I was wearing. I replied with the solid answer of Men’s Wearhouse, borrowed shoes from my father, and of course, Fruit of the Loom briefs.”
“Oh my God, seriously?” I clutch his arm tight while the solar lights illuminate our path.
“Yeah. The interviewer was horrified, to say the least, and quickly moved me along.”
“Did you do any other red-carpet events after that?”
“Yes, but I just power walked by the cameras from there on out. And of course, when Annalisa and I started dating, I was her arm candy and stood there while she posed.”
“I’m guessing your suits weren’t from Men’s Wearhouse at that point.”
“Not by my doing. Annalisa was very adamant about me spending money on a proper suit. So, I went out and bought a Tom Ford suit, and I’ve worn it to every event since... well, besides her wedding.”
“No, you delighted everyone with that powder-blue ensemble.”
“You liked it, didn’t you?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Got your gears grinding?”
I wave my hand in front of my face. “It’s all I can think about—gets me all hot and bothered.”
“Oh damn, if only I knew, I would have worn that tonight.”
“But then again,” I say as we approach the residence, “you don’t want anything sexual happening tonight, so it’s for the best.”
We reach the front door, and he turns toward me, then places his hands on my hips. “True. But now I know what to wear when the time comes to have intercourse.”
“What is wrong with you?”
He laughs the most hearty, sexy laugh I’ve ever heard. “Sooo... that’s a no on the blue suit.”
“That’s a no on the blue suit and using the term ‘intercourse.’”
“Got it.” He chuckles and then sighs. “Hell, I’ve had a fucking good night with you, Fallon.”
My body heats up, an inferno sweeping over every nerve and muscle. “I’ve had a really good night as well.”
“Soo... we can do it again?”
“I would be mad if we didn’t,” I answer honestly, because I want him to know how I feel. I want him to see how happy he makes me. How much I love being near him, enveloped in his energy.
“Good.” He sweeps his hand up to my jaw and cheek, pushing my hair behind my ear. “So then, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I answer, wetting my lips.
“Okay.” He tilts my head back, and I swear the air stills as I await a good night kiss.
It feels like a movie, the stars glittering above us, the faint sound of the wind rippling through the trees, and the distinct smell of his cologne, wrapping around us, pulling us closer.
His grip on my face is strong.
His eyes are set on mine.
And as he lowers his lips, I feel my heart beating, crawling up my throat as anticipation nearly eats me alive.
Before tonight even happened, I knew I wanted to kiss this man. I knew I wanted to feel his hands grip me tightly, feel the indent he leaves on my sides, because he’s one of the most thoughtful and caring men I’ve ever met.
He makes me feel... special. He makes me feel like I matter, but also like the things I believe in matter.
Without even knowing about the Cove and the problems we were facing, he took it upon himself to fix things.
He’s grown close to Sully, treating him like family.
He’s shown nothing but altruism toward my family, and he’s embraced us as if we’re his own.
And tonight, under the stars, he helped me relax, he showed me that in this crazy, stressful life I’m leading, I can let out a deep breath and have fun. That I’m not entirely alone on this journey of caring for my ailing grandparent.
Standing here, in his arms, looking into his soulful eyes, I know I want nothing more than to finally kiss this man.
I slide my hands up his strong, muscular chest and rest them on his pecs, near his collarbones.
He tilts my head just a little bit more.
He lowers his mouth.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach, shaking my nerves.
And then... he presses his lips to my forehead and pulls away.
“Good night, Fallon.”
Uh, what?
Good night?
I’m stunned.
I stand there dazed.
Confused.
Unsure of what just happened.
He kissed me on the forehead. The forehead. You kiss a grandma on the forehead. A friend.
You don’t kiss the girl you’re interested in on the forehead, at least not in place of a good night kiss on the lips !
He must sense my irritation—instead of letting me go, he asks, “Are you okay?”
“No,” I blurt out, making him rear back slightly. “I’m not okay, Sawyer.”
“What’s wrong?” He genuinely looks confused in the semidarkness.
“What’s wrong is that I wanted you to kiss me, and instead, you said good night to me with a platonic peck to the forehead. I thought you said you enjoyed our evening.”
“I did,” he answers, a crease between his brows.
“Then why didn’t you kiss me?”
“Because,” he says, looking me in the eyes, “you just broke up with your boyfriend, and I don’t want to be the rebound. I want to make sure that you’re okay before we get into anything physical. I would rather we spend time getting to know each other better.”
“Well, I wouldn’t,” I say before looping my hand behind his head and pulling him down to my mouth.
Before either of us realize what’s happening, I move forward, closing the distance between us and connecting our mouths.
I’m expecting him to be stiff at first, to be caught off guard, but instead, he cups the back of my head with one hand, driving his fingers through my hair as his other hand splays across my lower back, pulling me closer.
With authority, he takes control of our kiss, deepening it as he parts his mouth.
I get lost.
In his touch.
In the taste of his lips.
In the press of his chest against mine.
In the low groan that falls past his lips when our tongues collide.
Nothing matters in this moment, nothing other than the way he cradles me into him, holding me in place, not letting me go anywhere.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever been kissed like this.
I’ve never felt a kiss to the tips of my toes, and I’ve never had this kind of visceral reaction. My hands are trembling, my legs are shaking beneath me, and with every swipe of his tongue against mine, I fall deeper and deeper into him.
I’m not naive to love, nor would I say I’m in love with him, but I know, with growing certainty, that this very well could be my last first kiss. I feel it, in every inch of my body. This could be it.
He could be it.
Slowly, he eases up, his mouth working mine for a few more seconds before he fully pulls away. His thumb strokes over my cheek, and he lets out a deep sigh. “Jesus, Fallon. That was...”
“Yeah,” I say as I press my hand to his.
He leans down again and presses a final, quick kiss to my lips before he steps away and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I should go.”
“You don’t have to, you know?”
“I do.” He takes another step backward. “I really do.” Another step back.
“Okay.” My eyes drop because I’d give anything to extend this evening. And then I remember what he said, the reason he wouldn’t kiss me at first. “Hey, Sawyer?”
“Hmm?”
“For what it’s worth, you’re not a rebound. Not even close to it.”
“I hope not. After that kiss, not sure you’re going to be able to shake me.”
“Good.” I smile. “Because I’m not going anywhere either.”