Chapter 18
chapter eighteen
Reid
“I like her.”
I glance at my mother then back out at the water where Busy and Junie are playing with an inflatable alligator.
“I like her, too.”
“You know what I mean,” she says, patting her hand on my knee. “I like her for you .”
“Yes, mom. I do know what you mean. I just wish you’d stop meaning it.” I take a sip of my beer. “And you’re sure you didn’t say anything about…”
“I said I didn’t, Reid. Do you not trust me?”
Shrugging, I set my beer back in the indention on top of my cooler.
“I trust you.”
“Good.” There’s a long pause before she speaks again. “Though I think you’re making a mistake by not talking to her about it.”
Sighing, I scratch at the stubble on my face.
“I already explained to you why I’m not sharing this with anyone. Alright? And I don’t want to argue about this every time I see you.”
She licks her lips and crosses her arms, her way of saying Fine without actually saying it.
After I got back from swimming with Junie, Busy became more quiet and reserved, which of course just made me suspicious about her conversation with my mother. She said they talked about mom stuff, but I’m not so sure. Even so, Busy hasn’t mentioned anything about…anything, so I guess I just have to accept what she’s said.
As the sun begins to dip in the sky, we all start packing up. The tent comes down and the chairs and coolers get tucked into the backs of cars. Hugs are exchanged. Then Syd and I hop into Busy’s SUV with her and Junie and she drives us all back to the other end of the lake, the windows down and the breeze blowing the wild tendrils of her blonde hair.
I get what my mom means when she says I like her for you. Because I do, too.
For a long time, I thought my life was going to end up pretty much like anyone else’s. Grow up, find someone I like, get married, have a few kids. Up until a few years ago, that was the direction I was moving in.
Sarah and I met in high school when she and her family moved to Cedar Point in the middle of our sophomore year. We were friends for years before one day, I was standing across from her at the coffee shop—where she was a manager at the time—and it occurred to me just how beautiful she was.
I asked her out that day. We moved in together inside of a year, and before I knew it, I was proposing and we were having a small ceremony in my parents’ back yard. We weren’t that young at 26 and 25, but there was definitely still a youthful kind of energy about us. We dated for three years before we got married, and we were married for three years before we got divorced, something I’ve always thought was interesting. Like it took us just as much time to fall in love as it did to fall out of it.
Though I guess that’s not fair. We didn’t fall out of love. Not really.
Now, I can look back and see that…maybe we weren’t ever really that in love to begin with. Maybe it was more that we were convenient for each other, or we loved the idea of what love could look like, even if neither of us understood what kind of commitment it truly takes.
There’s no way you can know when you promise for better or for worse if you really understand what it means, and when Sarah was faced with the realities of ‘for worse’ far sooner than she imagined, she took the out I gave her. Ultimately, I know it was for the best, but the truth of what it feels like to be abandoned is difficult. Challenging on the good days, devastating on the bad.
“You want to come over and watch a movie or something tonight?” I ask as I hoist the cooler onto my front porch then return to Busy’s SUV to grab her beach chairs. “I have that nice new air conditioning,” I add, sing-songing the last few words to sweeten the deal.
Busy laughs.
“And before you say no, remember that Junie is going to sleep like a rock, and you’re going to be literally fifteen feet away with the baby monitor on at full volume.”
She licks her lips as she unbuckles Junie from her car seat and helps her out, and I can tell she’s at least considering it.
“Let me think about it,” she says. “I’ll see how I feel after I’ve showered and changed and gotten this one to bed, okay?”
“Sounds good. Just text me.”
We say our goodbyes and head to our respective cabins, and I spend a good fifteen minutes getting the sand and dirt off of Sydney before I head inside to do the same for myself. There’s something exceptional about rinsing off your body and washing up after a long day in the sun. The air feels more crisp and clean.
I make a quick chicken salad for dinner then do a brief walkaround to pick up some loose things here and there. When Busy’s text comes in, I’m almost embarrassed by how quickly I yank my phone out of my pocket.
Busy: So what movie are we watching?
I grin then send off a quick reply.
Me: Your pick
Busy: Well I’m in for a rom-com, so buckle up
I chuckle and send a thumbs-up then head into the kitchen to throw a bag of popcorn into the microwave. I’m just dumping it into a bowl when I hear Busy’s gentle knock at the screen door.
“Come on in,” I call out, and I hear the door squeak as she walks inside.
“God it feels amazing in here,” she says. “You weren’t kidding.”
“Right? Total game changer.”
I glance over my shoulder to tell her I made a snack, but the words die on my tongue when I see her.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
She’s wearing a loose tank top and a pair of cotton sleep shorts—nothing too scandalous. In fact, I’ve seen her in less, but something about seeing her in the outfit she probably wears to bed makes my blood begin to heat in my veins.
“Ooooh, popcorn,” she says, dropping a small bag on the couch and stepping up to the island, a smile on her face. She picks up the box off the counter and examines it. “No salt, no oil, no butter.” Her eyes rise to mine, an amused expression flickering behind them. “Going wild tonight, Misery .”
I smirk and pick up a few pieces, chucking them in my mouth and letting out a dramatic Mmmmmmm . Busy laughs.
Picking up the bowl, I exit the kitchen and head to the couch. “I’ll ignore your veiled insult against my popcorn.”
She snorts as we both take a seat. “Veiled? I was being as unveiled as possible.”
“I’ll just keep this delicious treat to myself, then,” I joke, tucking the bowl in the arm furthest from her and shoving another handful in my mouth.
“How will I ever recover?” she asks, just before tugging a bag of M&Ms from her own bag.
“Alright, sassy pants, let’s just pick a movie, huh?”
We spend a few minutes browsing around, ultimately settling on one that came out earlier this year about a singer falling for an older woman. Not necessarily the vibes I would go for if I were enjoying a movie night on my own, but for Busy? I’ve got nothing but time to watch any romantic comedy she wants.
As the movie progresses, I find myself increasingly distracted by the woman next to me. First by that scent she’s always wearing—I’ve determined it definitely is jasmine—then by the way she puts her hair up in a messy bun on the top of her head, exposing more of her skin that’s been gently kissed by the sun.
She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. But it’s not just that she’s beautiful—because that will fade. So much about our bodies fades over time. I know that better than anyone. It’s also how kind and warm she is, how she’s an amazing mother to Junie.
And the way I laugh with her is…well, it’s second to none. Because I’m not a guy who laughs often, but with her I feel like I can’t stop smiling.
“Are you even watching the movie?”
I blink, realizing in my haze of internal thought, I’ve been staring at Busy, and she’s now staring right back.
Licking my lips, I nod. “I am.”
Her lips tilt up. “Really? What just happened?”
Looking to the screen, I try to assess what’s happening. “They are…taking their relationship public.”
Busy laughs. “Lucky guess.”
“Okay, so…I might not have been watching.”
“Knew it.”
“I was just thinking,” I say, wanting to tell her how important she has become to me in such a short time but struggling to find the right words, “how lucky I am to have you as a friend.”
I’m rarely that honest. I can’t remember a time when I’ve ever said something like that to anyone, let alone a woman. It feels like a big deal for me.
Which is why I’m surprised when Busy’s smile slips and she quickly looks away, back at the screen.
“Did I…say something wrong?” I ask, feeling confused.
She shakes her head then looks back at me. “Not at all. I’m glad we’re friends, too.”
But that fake smile is back, the one I thought we’d gotten rid of, the one that says she’s not really being herself, not being honest. And the worst part about it is that I see sadness there, too.
I hate it.
We sit in a stilted silence for the rest of the movie, and I couldn’t tell anyone what happened if they offered me a million dollars. Instead, I’m hyperaware of Busy next to me, her breaths and the way she sits with her bare feet on the edge of the sofa and her arms wrapped around her knees.
When the credits finally begin to roll, Busy stands like she’s been waiting for it to end for hours, shoving the M&Ms she’s barely touched back into her purse.
“Thanks for inviting me over,” she says, giving me a tight smile as I stand. “I need to get back to Junie, so…”
“Busy, what happened?” I need to know. “Why did you…shut me out like that?”
“I didn’t.”
I raise an eyebrow. A flat-out lie if I’ve ever heard one.
I’ve never been the type to push when someone isn’t honest. I tend to be a ‘live and let live’ kind of guy. If you don’t want to be honest or want to keep your thoughts to yourself, that’s your choice. I rarely share exactly what’s on my mind with anyone.
But I have a feeling if I let Busy leave right now, she’ll shut me out again, become that version that’s friendly but distant. And that’s the absolute last thing I want.
“Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours,” I say, my words softer than I feel inside. “I don’t want you to leave upset.”
She looks at me, clearly surprised. “I’m not upset.”
“Really? So that fake smile was because…what?” I ask. “You didn’t want me to know you hated the movie?”
“I didn’t hate the movie. It was actually really good.”
“Was it? I have no idea because I barely watched it.”
“And that’s my fault?”
I grit my teeth. “I feel like you’re trying to pick a fight, and I’m not trying to fight.”
“Then what are you trying to do?” she asks.
“I’m trying to understand.”
She growls and takes a step forward. “Fine. You want to understand ? Sometimes, I smile even though I don’t want to, and I’m your friend even though I don’t want to be. Every day, I have to act like I don’t want more from you when I do. That is what’s going on.”
I swallow thickly, not feeling any of the relief I thought I would feel at getting her to open up and be honest with me. Because now I know for sure exactly what is causing her to be disingenuous with me, and it’s all my fault.
“ You want to understand,” she continues, stepping close to me. “Well I do too. How can we have this kind of relationship that we do, where we spend all our time together…how can you look at me the way you do and we can have the chemistry we do…and you just want to be my friend?”
She swallows and shakes her head, looking up into my eyes with an emotion I think I might be able to name if I were brave enough to do so.
“I don’t want to just be friends,” she whispers, her hand coming out to rest on my chest. “And I don’t think you do, either.”
I watch her for a long moment, my heart and my mind at war inside of me. One says to take what we both clearly want. The other tries to remind me just why I’ve attempted to avoid things like this in the first place.
But tonight, I don’t have the strength to listen to that rational voice. Tonight, all I want is her.
I dip down, pressing my lips to hers, the relief I feel at that simple movement staggering to the point where I feel like I might fall over. And I do. I tug her with me to the couch, stretching my long body out and bringing her on top of me, never breaking our kiss.
And god, what a kiss it is. Her tongue tangling with mine, her lips plump and delicious, the little movements she makes. It feels like we’re dueling, and I really don’t care who wins.
My hands slowly trace down her back until I reach her shorts, where I pause only briefly before they dip down and grip the meaty flesh of her ass cheeks, groaning as she shifts her body against me.
God, I’m so crazy about her, so turned on by her in so many ways. From the tiny freckles on her shoulders that I pepper with kisses as I tug at the strap of her top to the way I can feel her moan as I suck on her neck.
Fuck.
And the way it feels as she grinds down against my cock, which is hard and aching for attention…
My mouth returns to Busy’s, my hands on either side of her face, then one travels into her hair, tugging it down from the bun it’s wrapped up in. It spills down around me, and I catch another breath of that jasmine scent I crave. I just want to breathe everything about her into my soul, lick up every part of her until she cries out my name.
My hand slips beneath her shorts, gripping her ass again and grinding her center against my dick, reveling in how she tosses her head back, moaning. And when I bring my other hand slowly along the outside of her leg, her eyes glitter as she watches me then droop when I lightly graze that soft skin of her inner thigh.
She licks her lip and pants gently as I bring a hand between us and slip a thumb through the leg of her shorts, stroking softly as I make my way to her core. When I get there, her head falls back as I move small circles around her clit through her panties.
“Fuck, Reid,” she whispers, her hips beginning to move.
But I grip her hip, stilling her movements.
“Don’t move,” I tell her. “Let me take care of you.”
She blinks a few times, but then her eyes close entirely as I begin those soft, circular movements again, as I get so close to where I know she wants me to touch, but just barely not the right spot.
“Reid, please,” she begs, the words making me groan.
“Patience,” I reply.
Her hands come to my shoulders, bracing herself as I dip my thumb down to where— fuck —I can feel that she’s drenched. Then I slip my fingers past the damp material and swipe that wetness back up, finally rubbing at that bundle of nerves. Her fingernails dig into me, her mouth falling open and her hips beginning to rotate again.
“I’m so close.” She whimpers, the sound the most delicious thing I’ve ever heard. She bends forward, pressing her lips to mine briefly before whispering, “So fucking close.”
“I want to know what you sound like when you come,” I tell her. “Give it to me.”
Her eyes open at my words, her face inches from mine. “I’ll give you anything.”
My movements stutter, something in my chest feeling cut wide open. But I catch myself, adjusting my hand and slipping two fingers inside of her.
Busy cries out, something wild and desperate about it, and I only stoke inside of her for a few seconds before I feel her clamp down on me, her inner walls pulsing angrily as she finally falls over that peak. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced, and I can’t help but want to recreate this scene, over and over again, for the rest of my life.
She collapses against me, panting as though she’s just run a mile.
“Fuck, that was…” She trails off, pressing her face into my chest before she laughs.
I grin and wrap both arms around her, holding her tight against me. Then I shift us so we’re lying on our sides, facing each other.
She watches me for a long beat, her eyes searching mine. “Kiss me,” she says, her words aching with something.
Leaning down, I press my lips to hers. As hard as I am right now, I try not to pay it any attention. Because as incredible as this was, I can’t let it go any further. I already fucked everything up by letting it go this far in the first place.
We kiss like that for a long while, slow and lazy and unhurried. She feels sated and warm tucked against me, and I try to soak it all up while I can. I run my hands along the soft skin of her arms, twisting my tongue leisurely against hers.
Despite all my best attempts not to, I have fallen wildly in love with Busy Mitchell. And now I have to break her heart.
She rests her head against my chest, one finger tracing a pattern over my ribs.
“I have to go back to my house, but…I mean…do you want to come over there? Stay the night?” she asks, then she rests her chin against the back of her hand, her eyes searching mine. “I don’t have the good a/c, but I figure it’s not so bad to be a little sweaty.”
I watch her for a long minute, trying to come up with the kindest way to turn her down.
But before I can even say anything, Busy must see something on my face, because that soft, content look begins to drain away.
“You still just want to be friends, don’t you?” Her voice is a whisper, but it’s not really a question, because somehow she has learned enough about me to know what I’m thinking even though I haven’t said a word.
“Busy, I…care about you so much,” I start, emotion welling inside me.
I want to tell her the truth—that I don’t just care about her, I love her…her and Junie—but I know if I do that, it will make all of this that much more difficult.
“God, I don’t…” Busy pulls back, shaking her head. “What the fuck was I thinking?” she says out loud, her question clearly rhetorical. “I can’t believe I…”
She shoves off of me, standing quickly and adjusting her top and shorts that were tugged in opposite directions.
“Nothing has changed for you, has it?”
A beat passes before I respond. “Nothing has changed, no.”
She stares at me for a long minute, and I swear to god I’ve never seen someone look so wounded and then blink it away in an instant.
“I need to go.”
“Busy, can we talk about—”
“No. No we absolutely cannot.” Her words are firm as she grabs her bag and stomps away.
“Please don’t leave angry.”
“Well, how am I supposed to feel?” she replies, spinning around and glaring at me.
When I don’t have a response for her, she presses her lips together.
“Exactly.”
And then she storms out the door.