Chapter 30
SOSIE
Stansburys take what they want. We plunge forward no matter the cost.
That was how I was raised, so maybe that’s why I hesitate to make a decision I know will hurt Keats. If I don’t want to be like them, then he deserves to have a say in the next steps, even if he believes he doesn’t. “What do you think?” I step just inside the doorway of the bedroom.
The room is too small for his large frame, but it’s his presence that takes up most of the space. His expression contorts his handsome features as if a problem needs to be solved. Glancing at me, he says, “I don’t fit on a queen-sized bed.”
I want to laugh, but his concern is valid. I retrieve a measuring tape from my purse. “That’s why I brought this.” I hand him one end, and we walk to opposite sides of the room. Seeing the seventy-six-inch marker pressed against the wall, I ask, “Are we talking Eastern or California king?”
He chuckles. “I don’t think we have a choice.
A standard will fit, but there’s no room on the sides.
” He brings his end back to the tape holder and studies the space again with his lips twisting to the side.
I want to kiss that perplexed expression right off his face.
“It takes up most of the room, and there won’t be space to walk around it since the mattress will be squeezed inside.
We can just use the end to get in and out of it, I suppose, but making it up will be a bitch. ”
Waving my hand over the space, I can already imagine us here. “It can be like a bed cave. We can hibernate in here.”
Scratching the back of his neck, he must still be fixated on the size of the room by how he’s staring at the three walls in front of him. When he finally looks at me again, he says, “I’m confused. Do you want to live here, like full-time?”
“No.” I laugh. “It’s just sort of a retreat where I can do whatever I end up doing with my life.”
“Why can’t you do that at my place?”
Point proven with that one question. “Because it’s yours, not mine.”
“It’s yours as much as mine, Sosie.”
Who could have predicted my entire life would be changing in a single blink when it’s taken years to get to this point? Not me. Obviously. But now that it feels like the sun is finally shining in my life, despite some of it being blocked by the brick building next door, I’m ready to embrace it.
I just hope it’s with Keats since we’ve been living together unofficially, without discussing where it leads.
He hasn’t asked about my plans or made me feel like I had to be doing something to contribute.
It’s like we’ve been on an extended vacation.
But soon we’ll land back in reality. We already have in most ways.
And aimlessly roaming around his apartment while he works doesn’t sound appealing.
I imagine he’d get sick of seeing me doing nothing with my days anyway.
“I need to figure out what’s next, and having a witness to me failing—”
“Accomplishing your goals,” he corrects without hesitation.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but you need to write or edit or do your finance stuff,” I say, wafting my hand around. “You don’t need me bugging you because I’m bored.”
Car horns scream through the windows from the street below as I wait for him to respond.
He licks his lips and is lost in thought for a moment too long, making me shift in discomfort.
A man of fewer words than I’d like, but as always, they hold meaning, making them even more valuable to me.
He runs his fingers through his hair, then follows me out of the room to look out the living room windows.
“I hate talking about money on a personal level,” he says, looking back at me, “but can you afford this place for the term of the contract?”
Going into the little kitchen area, I hop onto the counter and run my hands over the laminate like it’s expensive marble countertops. “I have enough cash for one year.”
“Then what happens?”
“By then, I’ll have established a direction. I’ll have a new job, and maybe I’ll start taking photos again.”
Though his eyes have wandered the apartment several times over, his gaze always returns to me. He grins as if he has no say in the matter. “It sounds like you have a plan. That’s all you can do is get started.”
I don’t need his approval, but I desperately crave it, so hearing him so amenable to the idea of me having this apartment means everything to me.
I go to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and lifting on my toes to kiss him.
He’s swift with his hands, landing them flat on my backside.
With a solid squeeze of my ass cheeks, he kisses me back.
I drop my heels to the floor again and do a spin. “I’m surprised no one else has snatched it up. I mean, I get that it’s no bigger than a matchbox, but it’s all I need.”
“Is it all you need?” His tone shifts from joking to something unlike him, causing me to turn around.
Our gazes fasten as we stand next to each other. “You’re not losing me, Keats.”
“No?” he asks, angling to hold his arms out wide.
“We’re not gaining another apartment. You are.
An apartment where you’ll be sleeping away from me, starting your day without me, a place to be alone.
” He walks to the window that has more light streaming in than in the bedroom, and peers out like he’ll discover something new each time.
He suddenly turns back to face me. “It’s all you ever wanted when all I ever wanted was you. ”
The punch to my gut is swift, defying any reasoning I thought I had anchored myself in to justify this apartment.
But how could I miss what was happening right in front of me with him?
I’m not on the same axis I once was, and I’m adapting to change as fast as I can.
I’ve been reckless, even careless of how this might affect him.
“Standing on my own feet doesn’t mean standing without you, Poet. ”
I go to him, holding his face in my hands, and admire the man he’s become since we met. Back then, he was a student working his ass off to make a future for himself. Now he’s living the life he wanted.
He’s so much stronger despite the path he was forced down.
His strength of character was always at the forefront.
It’s enviable. I had the dreams but not the power.
But what upsets me most is that I let it happen.
I can own my part and carry that shame, but I should use it to my advantage instead.
I say, “I can never do enough to earn the love you’ve given me so freely, but I’ll do my best to repay you in spades. ”
“I prefer kisses, and if we’re really talking, spades pale in comparison to a blo—”
“Yeah. Yeah. I get it.” I burst out laughing and kiss him.
“Seems you get the point as well.” Wrapping my arms around him, I rest my head on his chest because, other than how much I love being this close to him, I love hearing his heartbeat even more.
“I love you.” Looking up, I rest my chin on him, and add, “If you don’t want the apartment, I don’t want it either. ”
“That’s not my decision to make, Spark.” He strokes my hair back from my face.
“But if you’re asking me if I think you should get it.
” Sliding his hands down my body, he settles them on my hips.
His touches always ignite a fire between us and trigger a chemical reaction in my body.
I can’t get enough of him, but I control myself since the apartment isn’t mine just yet. “I’ll be over anytime you’ll have me.”
He meant what he said.
After carrying this beast of a king-size mattress up all those flights of stairs, we discovered he does indeed have some spots he’s still recovering from, although he insisted he didn’t. Now we’re both wiped, and I feel bad.
He crashes on top of the memory foam mattress in the bedroom, his weight forcing it to tuck in nicely at the sides.
Grumbling, he says, “The mattress stays with the apartment.” His eyes are closed and feet hanging off with his arms spread wide.
That’s an invitation if I’ve ever seen one, and a sexy one at that. “I’m never moving it again.”
I don’t bother to remind him that he was moving it because he refused to pay movers when it would be, and I quote, “A piece of cake.” I also won’t laugh or rub it in his face.
There won’t be any I-told-you-so’s because that’s not part of the new life we’re building.
I kneel and crawl onto the bed cougar style, though I’m two and a half years younger than him, and lie beside him on my back.
I’m giddy to have the first slice of a new life installed, and grin like a fool while staring up at the ceiling.
I hadn’t noticed the watermark before . .
. I’m sure it’s something that can be fixed or painted over.
I prefer the view next to me anyway, and with a little nudge of my elbow, I suggest, “We could break it in?”
Clearly, he didn’t miss the hope that rang through my tone because the most cunning smile I’ve ever seen him produce is elicited instantaneously.
He rolls onto his side, reaching over to pull me close.
I swear I’m the size of a doll compared to him.
Our hips meet, and his erection is evident in the connection.
Even denim can’t repress how hard he is for me.
Kissing my head, he whispers. “I like this idea.”
I turn in his arms, quickly, and slide myself under him before our mouths collide. But this isn’t what I want. I press my palms flat to his chest and pressure him to lie on his back again. As soon as he’s flat, I toss my leg over and mount him, then lean forward to seduce him with my lips on his.
Sharp pieces of his new dusting of scruff scrape across my chin, but I’ll wear the raw redness in the aftermath and soothe it later.
I rock my hips over the seam of his jeans’ zipper.
The roughness feels so good through the thin material of my yoga pants, encouraging me to press harder.
It wouldn’t take me long to reach an orgasm, but I remind myself of my purpose.
To thank him for all he’s done for me. And I know exactly how to do it.
I slip down lower on his legs, fumbling to get the button undone, but when I do, a song I haven’t heard in weeks violates our good time. I still my fingers and look up at him, my heart already dropping to the pit of my stomach. “That’s my phone,” I say as if I need to explain.
His fingers slip through my hair, tucking hair behind my ear. “Don’t worry about it. If it’s important, they’ll leave a message.”
I don’t get many calls these days. It’s either Marcy or Keats, and both tend to text me if they need me.
My phone pings, alerting me to a message that’s been left.
I look from one of his eyes to the other, hoping this doesn’t get ruined.
But then it goes off again, causing me to sit back on my heels.
He lifts to his elbows and says, “That’s a ringtone you’ve assigned to somebody?”
“Yes.” I sound as meek as I feel. It’s incredible how fast I can return to the person I always hated being. A generic ringtone, chosen from the phone’s available options, works like Pavlov’s dog to pull me right back into the life I thought I had escaped.
Sitting up, he slides down the mattress and takes hold of my hands. “Whose?”
My mind wanders to the repercussions of not answering.
I tick through boxes of punishment and threats, what I want and what I’ll have to give up.
I keep my eyes locked on his, even when another pinging voicemail intrudes this small space of peace I thought I’d found, and when I’m startled and shaken to the core when the ringtone goes off again.
Security is found in the comfort of his brown eyes. “Sosie? Who’s calling?”
“My mother.”