Chapter 15
chapter fifteen
The gentle swipes of the washcloth over my body had almost lulled me to sleep.
I was really close, swimming in a pool of desire, need, and…
care. Forrest was taking care of me, and I didn’t seem to hate it as much as I thought I would.
I’d fallen asleep so quickly the last couple of times that I hadn’t been able to enjoy this part.
“There you go,” he whispered. “You’re all clean. Can you open your eyes for me?”
I turned my head, opening my eyes and staring straight into his.
A gorgeous ocean of everything I’d been scared of was right in them.
Forrest made it less scary. He carried dominance, freedom, and life in his gaze that I’d never dared to cross the line of.
I think I wanted to cross the line. Only a little.
Or maybe that was the after-sex glow talking. Probably the latter.
Forrest set the washcloth down on the bedside table next to him and rolled back over to me. His hand smoothed over my stomach, rubbing along the hair there. Most of it was still dark, with the slightest mix of gray thrown in there, unlike the hair on my head.
I sighed in contentment as Forrest caressed the hair along my temples, glancing over my face. I gave him a small smile. “It’s time to dye my hair again, isn’t it? Bet you’re looking at all the gray.”
“Hmm. I love it, honestly. Why would you dye it?”
“‘Cause I don’t. Reminds me that I’m old.”
He pressed a gentle kiss against my forehead. “You’re not old, sweetheart.”
Rolling my eyes, I slid my palm up his arm and around his bicep. I traced the tattoos along there with my gaze, licking across my lower lip as the urge to lick them crossed my mind. “I turn forty soon, you know. I can’t keep up like I used to be able to. I’ll slow you down, eventually.”
“Shut up. Your age isn’t a factor to me.”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s just weird if I think about it too hard. I’ve lived an entire life more than you.” I closed my eyes as he rubbed the space between them. “I mean, I’ve had hobbies and dreams and careers and relationships in a past life that was the beginning of yours.”
The scratch of his beard tickled me as he leaned his head on my chest. I looked down at him. He’d wrapped his arm across my stomach, nuzzling into my skin as he got comfortable. “Tell me about it, then.”
“About what, exactly?”
“Everything. Tell me who you are. I want to know.”
I paused for a second, almost hesitant to answer. “In a friend way?”
“Sure. In a friend way.”
It didn’t feel like a friend way. It felt like an intimate way. He’d taken me to a place in my head I hadn’t truly known existed while his head was on my chest after cleaning our cum off my skin, and here we were. Cuddling in his bed. Talking about who I am.
But that begged a question. Was it intimate, or did I just want it to be? A question I wasn’t going to answer for now.
I sighed and happily tangled my fingers in his thick, wavy hair. Where did I even start? How was I supposed to tell someone I’d wanted to be a stranger about my life in a way I hadn’t planned to?
Who was I?
A question I’d never actually asked myself, nor had I been asked by someone else. I’d been asked where I was from. I’d been asked what my hobbies were. I’d been asked questions, and I’d given the answers to them. Something that open-ended, though?
“Well, you know I’m from California. I actually went to an all-boys private school growing up. My parents thought that would keep me from acting up too much or getting into trouble with girls.” I huffed a laugh. “They had no idea what they were getting into.”
“Did you get into trouble with girls, then?”
“Oh, yeah. We had our ways. There was an all-girls school not too far from us, and we’d meet at this park near campus after school. I had a secret girlfriend for a little while. When they found out, they were fucking pissed. I was grounded for a month.”
“I can only imagine.”
“Well, imagine their surprise when they found out I was bisexual and had a secret boyfriend a year or so later. I was grounded again. Couldn’t go anywhere but home and swim practice.”
Forrest tilted his head and rubbed his palm up and down my arm. “Swim practice?”
I froze. Had I really said that? Not even Callum knew I used to swim. I’d kept it such a secret after moving. Nobody knew.
Clearing my throat, I nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I was on the swim team.”
“Wow. Did you like it?”
Tilting my head back, I looked at his ceiling.
There were small swirls of design in the paint all across the room.
Did I like swimming? Did I miss it? Did I wish I could go back in time and change everything?
“Yes.” It was an answer for him and for myself.
“I loved it. I did competitions outside of the school, too. I was training to go pro. My dream was to be in the Olympics one day.”
“Did you do it for a long time?”
“I started when I was really young. It was my entire life. I trained, I ate the perfect diet, I worked out all the time. The only reason I ever did good in school was so I could keep swimming.” The feel of the water on my skin made everything else go away.
No matter what was going on in my drama-filled life, I could count on swimming.
The moment I’d hold my breath and go under, all my problems would sink with my body. I preferred looking at the world through water-distorted lenses. The way light would reflect made it all look easier. Simpler. More beautiful. I could appreciate life differently when I was underwater.
Not anymore, though.
Not since… “I quit when I was seventeen. So, yeah, I did it for a long time.”
“Why’d you quit?”
Hearing that question always made my heart stutter in my chest. I’d heard it a million times after I’d left the team and fired my coach.
They couldn’t accept my answer for what it was.
My parents didn’t understand. My teammates were outraged because they kept losing without me.
Nobody seemed to stop and think about me. About how I felt about everything.
Shaking my head, I zoomed past the question entirely. “What about you?”
Forrest paused, hesitating almost as much as I had.
“Uh, I was on the chess team. I wasn’t really interested in sports.
I started working out my senior year of high school, and I obviously really enjoy that, but I was more of a nerd than a sports person.
I’d always been a reader. I won a lot of rewards for reading a lot when I was in elementary. ”
“Did you date a lot?”
“Not really.” He pressed a kiss to my chest. “I had a lot of sex. Meaningless sex. I wasn’t really interested in relationships until I was older, and by then, I’d started immersing myself in the kink world and was working toward opening my bookstore.
I’ve dated a couple of people, but they either didn’t last long or didn’t end up as serious as I thought they would. ”
“I would’ve thought you'd have had people lining up for a date with you.” I wrapped my arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer to me. I liked having him close to me. Not that I’d admit that to him, of course. “Have you only been with men?”
“Nah. I’m not big on labels, but I’d say I’m closer to pansexual than anything. I just like everyone. Everyone is hot. Why put a label on that?”
I laughed. “You have a point there.”
He tapped my chest. “Oh, when’s your birthday?”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”
“You said you turn forty soon.”
“I forgot I said that. See? I’m getting old, Forrest.”
He pinched my arm and scoffed. “Shut up. Tell me.”
“End of this month. The thirty-first.”
“That’s not far from now. You had lingerie marked as interested, didn’t you?”
“Uh, yeah. Why?”
He shrugged. “No reason. Just curious. Will you be free on your birthday to come see me?”
“I should be.”
“Good.” He slowly sat up, staring down at me. “I’ll make sure to have a good surprise for you, then. But I’m going to need your clothes sizes. Underwear included.”
A fiery, red blush spread across my cheeks. “I, uh, I’ll get those to you. Sure.” I glanced at the large curtain on the other side of the room that hid a sliding glass door. “Can I go smoke on your balcony? I’ll bring a bottle or something for an ashtray.”
“Sure, sweetie.” He bent down and pressed a soft kiss on my lips. “When did you start smoking?”
“ I think I was nineteen when I started. Does it bother you?”
“Would I prefer you didn’t because it’s really bad for you? Yes. But it doesn’t bother me. I was just curious. I have a robe you can borrow if you want, so you’re not totally naked out there.”
I watched him get up and go into the bathroom. All the tattoos on his back were on display, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away from how perfectly his ass moved with each step. I wanted to bite into him. Give him a mark of my own.
I think I wanted to own Forrest as much as he owned me, and that… That was weird. Right? I’d never wanted to mark a one-night stand. Or a fuck buddy.
Rubbing a hand over my face, I groaned just before forcing myself upright. Maybe I was in over my head with him. This was exactly why I didn’t see anyone more than once. But I’d already broken my rule. There was no going back.
Honesty was hard. Control was easier. Control even if it meant lying? Even easier.
If I were honest, I’d admit that picking up smoking was the dumbest decision I’d ever made in my life.
After losing my one true love in life, I’d lost my grip on everything I knew as true.
I’d trained for shit like that. I could go without breathing for three minutes and thirty-two seconds.
It’d taken me years of training to do that, despite only needing to go maybe five seconds without air on average.
My lungs were the healthiest thing about me. They weren’t made of steel—they were made of putty. I could shape them however I needed them in order to do what I needed them to do.
But in an instant, they’d failed me. They’d failed me, just like the rest of my body had after years of grueling work to make sure they wouldn’t.
I’d never lost.
I’d never failed.
I’d never drowned.
So, after they’d failed me, I’d picked up smoking. If my lungs were putty, I could ruin them if I wanted to. And I did. I chose to harm them. I controlled the decision to let them wither away.
I started smoking a pack a day. Then a pack and a half.
Then two. I tried to speed up the process, spending far too much time being way too fucking angry at myself, my body, and the world for failing me the way it had.
I’d get physically sick from smoking so much, throwing up every time I scarfed down more and more nicotine than my teenage body could handle.
Once I’d started to cough, I realized I’d done my job right. I’d successfully hurt the two things I’d counted on more than anything else in my life. It felt like payback.
I’d cut back down to one pack, but I couldn’t bring myself to quit entirely. I couldn’t give it up completely. Smoking was the first thing that’d given me an ounce of control back.
Now, I smoked half a pack or less. No more than half a pack. I was doing pretty good, all things considered.
This was my last cigarette of the day, and usually my favorite one.
The last one before going to bed always tasted better.
Or maybe that was the nicotine addiction talking, though I refused to call it an addiction.
To call it an addiction felt like admitting I had no control over it, which I did. I had full control over it.
No, I didn’t.
Shaking my head, I peered over the city lights and two AM traffic below the balcony.
I inhaled smoke into my lungs, ignoring the orange glow at the end of the filter because if I watched it, that somehow made it worse.
That made me a smoker instead of a person who smoked.
Callum liked watching it burn. Callum was a smoker.
Callum admitted easily that he didn’t have control over his habit.
I had control over everything. I didn’t watch the glow. Instead, I watched Crescent Planes do what it did best. It thrived, even in the dark.
It was getting warmer. We hadn’t seen snow in a little bit. I wondered if we were done with snow for the year or if we’d get another surprise halfway through. Not that it mattered. Life still went on, and so did New York lives. We hadn’t had a devastating snow in over a decade.
A blizzard. It was a blizzard, and that was the last time I’d seen the city at such a standstill.
Callum and I had talked about that blizzard a few times over the years.
He’d said it was a big thing at his old job.
Price had been the manager, and they’d had to close down, but that Crew had gone missing during it and that Tobi was a fucking mess over it. They all were.
Callum had told me about how it was the first time he’d really gotten to see behind Tobi’s walls. He always said the blizzard was a turning point in their relationship and that he was thankful for it.
Sometimes, I wished I could live in Cal’s head. Just for a little bit. Just enough to understand and see the happiness he seemed to always have inside of him.
I picked up the plastic water bottle I’d brought with me, throwing the rest of my cigarette into it. There was barely enough water at the bottom to put it out and store it. After all the smoke had dissipated, I twisted the cap back on and peered through the sliding glass door.
Forrest’s room was dark except for the lamp on his side of the bed. He was propped up a little, reading something on his phone, his glasses still on the nightstand table. No wonder he was squinting so much.
I kept my laugh to myself as I opened the door and stepped through. He put his phone down, smiling at me. “Hey, sweetie. Ready for bed?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.” I pulled the curtain behind me and found the trash can, throwing the bottle away in it.
The moment I had his robe off and slid into the bed, Forrest had the lamp turned off and was shuffling onto his side, his arms wide open and waiting for me to snuggle into them.
And snuggle I did. I pressed my face into his chest, tangled my legs with his, smoothed my arm around his midsection, and held him as close as he was holding me. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and I sighed. I sighed because I knew what was coming.
With his warmth, his hold, and his mere presence, I was going to have the best sleep of my life. I always had the best sleep of my life around him. Forrest didn’t only relinquish me of all the things wrong in my head—he gave me the freedom to exist. He gave me relief. He gave me strength.
I listened to his heartbeat slow, matching the same pace as mine, though a lot less broken. There was something more sitting between us. It was right there, waiting to be taken. Accepted.
But I’d need a lot more than strength to take it. I’d have to let go. I wasn’t ready to let go. Instead, I held him as tight and as close as he’d let me and pretended like that was all I needed and all I wanted.