23. Chapter 23
“I want you to kiss me,” I say, looking up at him.
When I close my eyes, he gets closer.
“Say it again,” his voice is a quiet whisper in my ear.
“Kiss me.” My voice sounds distant and almost foreign in my own ears.
I feel his arm wrap around my waist. When he pulls me into him, I instinctively put my hands up, resting them on his chest. I can feel the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt.
He leans down and brushes my lips with his. Expecting more, I wait, but nothing happens. I open my eyes and find him looking intently at me. I wonder if he’s searching my face for a sign of hesitation. Finding none, he kisses me again.
The warmth of his lips on mine awakens something in me. I feel an emotion I never experienced before, igniting something that lay dormant inside my soul. When he ends the kiss, I let out a little moan in protest, and when I open my eyes, I find him looking down at me. He’s smiling, his dimples deep, making him look even more handsome.
This time, his smile is definitely reaching his eyes. I close my own eyes in anticipation of another kiss. When his lips touch mine, I wrap my hands around his neck and kiss him back. The kiss is long and slow. He tastes so good. He brings a hand up to the crook of my neck and gently strokes my jaw with his thumb. My body responds and melds into his. I can’t think of anything else but him and this moment.
He ends the kiss abruptly, leaving me a little dazed and wanting more. He’s looking at me, and his gaze is on fire. I know he wants to kiss me again.
“Don’t stop,” I hear myself say—words I never once said to Justin.
“If I don’t stop now,” he says, “I won’t stop at all.” His voice is deep and husky.
When he reaches for my hands, still wrapped around his neck, and gently pulls them away, I feel rejected. He takes a step back and runs his fingers through his hair. His frustration is palpable.
”I better go,” he says.
He reaches for the doorknob, but I don’t move out of the way. Both because my legs feel weak and because I don’t want him to leave.
“Loren, this is not a game for me,” he says, his hazel eyes boring into mine.
“It’s not a game for me either. I never kissed anyone but Justin.”
“Now you have,” he says. His voice tinged with emotion.
I step out of his way and allow him to open the door, letting a gush of cold air into the room.
“What does this mean?” I ask, looking into his eyes for an answer.
“I think you know what it means to me. When you figure out what it means to you and are ready to tell me, you know where to find me.” He leans down and kisses me on the cheek before he walks past me and out the door.
I shut the door and stand against it, frozen in place. He kissed me, I think to myself as I touch my swollen lips. I close my eyes, trying to recall every single moment. His touch, his scent, his closeness, the strength of his body against mine. His gaze never leaving my face. The feel of his stubble on my skin. His hands on my body. He was careful and gentle, practicing all the self-control he could muster.
After mopping the floor in the garage, I decide to go to bed. I spend an hour tossing and turning, thinking about Justin, the sweet boy who loved me forever. We learned how to hold hands together. We learned how to kiss together. We learned how to whisper sweet words of love into each other’s ears together.
Everything I had with him was new and exciting. We were two kids, inexperienced and awkward, trying to learn the rules of a game we never got to play. His touch was gentle and always measured. Waiting for me to say yes. A yes I was never able to give him.
We got the keys to our new house two months before our wedding—the house we chose and bought together.
The day we put the finishing touches on our bedroom, we stood together admiring the color scheme we chose for the room. The creams and muted greens made the large room feel warm and cozy. The king-size bed was framed by a tall, cream-colored tufted headboard.
It should’ve been a romantic moment between two lovers, but when he tried to pull me towards the bed, I resisted. He looked at me, questioning my hesitation.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, confusion registering on his handsome face.
“Nothing,” I said. ”I want to wait until we’re married.”
“The wedding is only weeks away, what’s the big deal?” he said. Looking back, I think he had a point.
“Exactly,” I countered, “It’s only weeks away, so why not wait?”
It became a point of contention between us after that. Our last big fight was the night before he left and never returned.
We had dinner with his parents that night. Afterward, I went to the new house with Justin to help him clean and finish decorating the den. When we finished, we sat on the couch admiring our hard work.
“I love those pictures.” I said, looking over at the fireplace and mantle, “I’m glad we saved some space on the wall for our wedding photos.”
“The picture above the mantle is still my favorite,” he said, “Do you remember when Jon took the picture?”
Our families were vacationing together in Florida that summer. We had spent the whole day at the beach, and it was just before sunset. Justin and I were holding hands, walking barefoot on the white sand, looking for sea glass. I was wearing a white sun dress, and Justin wore blue swim trunks. We were seven.
“It’s one of Dad’s favorite photos of us,” I said, smiling. “He kept it sitting on his desk for years.”
When Justin and I bought the house, my parents had the image from the photo painted onto a large canvas, and they gave it to us as a housewarming gift.
“I have loved you forever,” I said, looking at Justin.
Before I could say anything more, Justin reached for me and took me into his arms. He kissed me. His lips were sweet and familiar. When we ended the kiss, he smiled at me.
“I’ve been sleeping in the guestroom by myself for a month,” he began, his lips smiling and his eyes dancing with mischief. “Stay with me tonight.”
I wanted to stay. I wanted to be with him more than anything, but something inside me told me to wait. I’ve been questioning that something ever since.
Rising to my feet, I said, “Our wedding is only five days away.”
“I know,” he said. “So, what difference does it make, now or five days from now?”
“Adam and Katherine are waiting,” I said, looking down at him.
Taking a deep breath, he took both my hands in his and gently kissed them.
“Adam and Katherine were perfect strangers three months ago. We’ve been together all our lives. We love each other.”
“Then, why can’t you wait?” I asked, trying to remain calm.
“Then, why can’t you stay?” His tone was sharp.
“We’ve waited this long,” I said, on the verge of tears. “What’s five more days?”
“You’ve been making excuses for five years, Loren,” his voice was accusatory. “When we were sixteen, you said we were too young. When we were eighteen, you said we weren’t ready for the responsibility or possible consequences. When we were twenty, you said no because we were in college and living in different cities. It’s always been something.”
“Please,” I cried, ”let’s not spend this time together arguing about something that won’t matter in five days.”
Little did I know that in five days, nothing would ever matter to me again.
Until now.