CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE SABRINA
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SAbrINA
I slip from beneath Coen’s arm. It’s early, but there’s a faint rim of gold and pale blue through the window.
I can’t find my sweatshirt, but Coen’s bag is open, and there’s one hanging halfway out.
In a moment of daring, I pull it out, slipping it over my head.
Damn, that’s nice, nicer than any sweatshirts I packed for the trip.
It might have more to do with it smelling like him than anything else.
Quietly, I make a cup of coffee in the rickety little machine in the corner and tiptoe across the floor. He doesn’t move as I slip out.
God, it’s so beautiful out here.
Walking to the edge of the pool, I inhale and hold for a moment before releasing. The surface of the water ripples softly with the movement of the free floating filter. A mockingbird chatters quietly, as if it’s trying to be mindful of everyone sleeping.
A deep sense of peace settles in my chest.
I wonder if Coen felt like this at the beginning of his career, when touring was still fresh.
I’d love to ask him, but getting info out of him is like pulling teeth.
I know it would help him feel better, if only he’d be willing to talk, but he seems almost embarrassed.
As if, because he was lucky enough to be successful, he no longer feels loneliness or pain.
I sink down, kicking off my sandals and letting my feet sink into the water. It’s still warm from the previous day, warmer than the air and concrete.
The same feeling of happiness I felt in the back of the truck eating take out with him creeps back. I’m lighter than air, no responsibilities in sight.
I could stay here forever. At least, I could if he’s around.
The door creaks. I don’t have to turn around to detect Coen’s footsteps. He pauses, and I wait, feeling him stare into my back.
“You want some better coffee?” he asks.
I get up, shaking my legs off. “I’d love that.”
He’s in his gray sweats, the ones that give me the best view of everything, and a rumpled t-shirt.
After everything tumbling through my brain, I’m tempted to go up to him like we’re dating or something, but I hesitate.
He must see it in my face, because he wraps one arm around my neck and kisses me.
When he pulls back, the affectionate warmth in his eyes is firmly in place.
“You look good in my sweatshirt,” he says.
“Oh, sorry,” I say. “I forgot I was wearing it.”
“Keep it.”
He says it gruffly, like he realized what he’s saying in the middle of his sentence. But he doesn’t take it back. His arm flexes, sliding back so he can run his fingers through my hair. It’s tangled from being loose all night. I need to stop and pick up a cotton scrunchie to hold it while I sleep.
“There’s a little cafe down the road,” he says. “You want to head over?”
I nod, unable to speak, though I’m not sure why.
We’ve only been on the road for two nights, but it feels like a week at least. The time before that seems like months.
He kisses my temple, ushering us both back inside.
I wait while he puts his clothes on. Then, we walk through the silent pool area and the parking lot to where his truck sits.
The office is open, flamingo pink sign gleaming.
“I like this place,” I say, settling into the passenger side.
He starts the engine. “Yeah, me too. We should come back sometime.”
My stomach clenches, then flutters. Why is he talking like that? It’s driving me up the wall, giving me all kinds of thoughts that are going to come back and bite me in the ass. I don’t say anything, just keep my eyes on the pale, flat landscape as we get back on the road.
It’s a short drive before he takes a right and pulls into a lot in front of what looks like a tiny surf shack out here in the middle of the desert.
“Oh, this is adorable,” I say.
He smiles at me, not saying anything as he grabs his wallet and key fob.
I climb out, and he does this thing that makes me want to climb him like a tree.
He waits for me to walk up the path first, and when I go by him, his hand lingers an inch above my lower back.
Before I met him, I didn’t realize how important those tiny details were.
Now, I think it’s one of the defining things that separates him from other men I’ve gone out with or been interested in.
We step inside. One wall is all tropical flowers and parrots. The effect is stunning with the rest of the white paint and plain tables. There’s a girl with tattoos and pink hair that matches the fuchsia florals behind the counter.
“Hey, welcome in,” she calls.
“Hey,” I call back cheerily.
There’s a row of chalkboards decorated with pink and blue drawings of fruit and smoothies.
I’m getting so much serotonin from everything.
Maybe when I get back home, I can convince Dad to let me update the ranch house.
It’s been the same old beige in the kitchens and bedrooms since I’ve been alive.
Then, I remember that with the way the finances are going, we’re unlikely to have money for home improvement any time soon.
“Get whatever you want,” he says, taking his wallet out.
“You don’t have to always pay for me.”
“I know,” he says firmly. “But I’m choosing to. Because that’s how I like it.”
“Oh,” I say, pulling back with a smile. “Somebody is a little sassy today.”
He laughs. “Just order, baby.”
I get a strawberry banana smoothie and a coffee, and we loiter by the door and wait. His phone goes off, and he looks at it briefly but doesn’t answer. He slips it in his pocket.
“Everything okay?” I press gently.
“Yep.”
I see my opening, and I go for it. “You know you can talk to me more. You’re really…bottled up still.”
He’s quiet, thinking, doing that thing where he flexes his jaw. “I know,” he says finally. “Sorry about that. It’s just been a while since I opened up to anyone but Jamie.”
“Why is that?” I ask softly.
“I found out real quick if you find a good friend in an industry like that, keep them, because you’re unlikely to find a second.”
It takes me a minute to make heads or tails of that statement. When I do, I feel a little bad.
“People use each other,” I say. “That’s what you’re saying.”
“It’s not a normal way to be,” he says firmly. “You shouldn’t live in paranoia if your friends are real friends or not. I’ve tried to keep the same team with me, but even a couple people who were there from the beginning started acting…weird.”
“How’s that?”
He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t know. Cutthroat.”
The barista appears with my smoothie and our coffees. Coen grabs them both, and we slip back out to the arid outside. I don’t want to push him too hard, but I do think it would be good for him to talk about it. I can try to understand, even if it’s pretty far removed from my world.
I wince. Another painful reminder this won’t be working out.
Pushing the thought away, I climb into the passenger seat and take a sip of my smoothie. It’s absolutely not real fruit, but it’s still delicious. He gets in and pulls out onto the street.
“What do you want to do today?” he says, settling back.
I glance over, narrowing my eyes. “Oh, you know.”
“I do?”
“Maybe hide in the room for a bit before we have to check out?”
The corner of his mouth jerks up. He reaches over and slides his hand up my thigh, gripping firmly.
My stomach flip flops like we went over a bump in the road.
I don’t think I’ve really initiated yet.
I hadn’t meant for that to slip out, but I’ve been looking sideways at that six-foot-plus tall glass of water for a few days now, and I’m parched.
I thought he was joking, but the minute the door closes, he takes both our coffees, sets them aside, and picks me up.
All the air leaves my lungs, and we both fall backward onto the bed.
He’s not messing around. His hand slides up under my shorts and pulls them down, revealing I didn’t grab my underwear this morning.
The sound that escapes him is a half groan, half growl.
He starts moving down, but I stop him.
“I want it,” I gasp.
“I know. I’m gonna give it to you, baby.” He brushes his mouth over my lower belly.
“No, I want dick.”
He laughs, coming back up. “I can do that too.”
I wriggle out of my shirt, tossing it over the bed.
He pushes down his pants and pulls his t-shirt off, grabbing a condom from his pocket before he tosses everything aside.
His mouth meets mine, and I spread my legs, wrapping my ankle around him to pull him close.
I must be soaked, because the head of his cock nudges my pussy and slips in so fast, we both gasp.
His hips undulate as he kisses my lips apart, tongue swiping mine.
I pull back.
“Hard, please,” I gasp, holding on as he pulls out and slams back in.
He does as he’s asked, like a gentleman. I hold on, hoping I’m not too sore to sit in the passenger seat all day when he’s done with me. This is the rough edge of him that only came out after we’d established trust. That realization hits me with the same velocity as his body slamming into mine.
We’re both wary. We’re both hurt.
But I trust him.
Our eyes connect, and I tumble into them.
He trusts me too, I see it in the vast blue, as big and wide as the sky overhead.
His hips pump and he braces a hand on the bed beside my head.
The ridges of his stomach ripple. Half delirious, I graze my fingers over them.
He gives a soft groan when I don’t stop, letting my touch run over the trimmed hair at his groin, down to where our bodies connect.
He sinks, keeping his hips back so I can wrap my grip around the base of his cock, but close enough he can kiss me.
My lips part. His kiss grazes it, followed by the soft swipe of his tongue as it licks the tip of mine. My stomach wrenches pleasantly.
“Do that again,” I breathe.