Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MILD SUNLIGHT STREAKS IN THROUGH my bedroom curtains, and I snuggle further into Alex’s warm grasp. There is no greater pleasure than waking up in his arms, and it’s becoming a decadent part of my morning routine.
Over the past week, we’ve spent every spare minute together, both finalizing logistics for Sextival and playing some sexually charged games of our own.
I lay my head on his chest, resting my cheek on the impossibly soft cotton of his faded T-shirt. “Thank you for finding that nutritionist for Gram.”
She’s happily settled back at home, and thanks to Alex, has a qualified registered dietitian helping her sort out her meals.
“No problem.” He runs his fingers over my upper arm, making me coil tighter around him.
I could spend the rest of my life in this bed and die a happy woman.
“It’s Wednesday,” he says, his voice still thick with sleep. “Officially one week left until Sextival.”
The words activate me like a sleeper agent. I sit up and reach for my phone, pulling up my to-do list.
“We still need to order the balloons,” I say, tapping on my screen.
“Done.”
I jerk my head toward him. “Done? You ordered the balloons?”
He nods. “Yesterday afternoon.”
I smile, adding a checkmark to the item. “Okay. Today we have to pick up the tablecloths for the booths.”
“Done and done,” he says, sliding the strap of my camisole down and kissing my shoulder.
I gasp. “Are you serious?”
“Very serious.” He grins, pulling me into his lap so I’m straddling him.
As irresistible as he is, I need to focus on the remaining tasks. “Glue the dildos onto the plywood for the ring toss game?”
He chuckles. “That I didn’t do. But …” He grabs his phone from the nightstand and swipes the screen. “I have a surprise for you.”
A thrill rushes through me, and I squirm on his lap.
“Shit.” He laughs, anchoring my hips. “Don’t do that, or we’re not going to get to it.”
I pout my lip, and his smile widens. Then he hands me his phone. It’s a news article with the headline “Sextival Comes to Barrett.”
I zoom in on the screen and click the link, and when the page loads, there’s a picture of me posing in the condom dress with the caption Condom Queen to Preside Over Event.
“How did you—” Then I remember the night at the lodge, when he snapped the photos directing me in his Evelyn voice.
In the picture, my massive grin is taking up my whole face while I hold the sides of the dress out in a curtsy. That was right before he told me I was breathtaking.
I scan the article, which details the specifics of the event as well as the rationale behind it.
“Alex,” I squeal, bouncing on his lap. “This is amazing.” My heart flutters as I read his quote aloud.
“ ‘I have never met a more passionate professor than Dr. June Wells. Her classes are both educational and engaging, while her unrelenting tenacity makes her a fierce advocate for students.’ ” Tears gather behind my eyes, and I brush them away as I read the final line: “ ‘Barrett is immensely lucky to have her.’ ”
His gaze sweeps over me. “You really are incredible, June.”
My breath breaks out in a laugh-sob. “Thank you, Alex.” I lean forward, giving him a grateful kiss, then tilt back so I can read the rest of the article.
Aside from logistics, it goes on to say I was the mastermind behind the event.
He didn’t take an ounce of credit for himself.
When I finish, I run my hands along his chest. “You did just as much for Sextival as I did. This collaboration was a total partnership. Fifty-fifty.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been working your ass off in that department for six years. You deserve it.” He lifts my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm, his eyes shimmering in the soft glow of the early morning light.
I love this man.
My pulse skitters wildly at the thought. The one that’s been getting harder to keep to myself.
But I don’t dare say it aloud. Not yet.
I bring my gaze between us, toying with the hem of his T-shirt. “Seriously, Alex. That was brilliant. I can’t believe I didn’t think to reach out to the Barrett Beacon.”
He grasps my hips, his thumbs tracing lazy circles over my skin, and my head lolls back as I get lost in the delicious sensations.
“It’s not the Beacon.”
I bite my lip, fisting the velvety cotton obscuring his chest. “What do you mean?”
“A buddy of mine works for the Times.”
The air rushes out of my lungs, and I snap my head back up. “The Times? As in, the Los Angeles Times?”
He smiles proudly. “Yep.”
Fuck. Fuck.
My hand flies over my mouth. “This is so bad.”
“What?” He cocks his brow. “How is this bad? It’s going to get the word out to a ton of people.”
“Exactly.” I slide off his lap and grab my jeans from the floor. “And two of those people are my parents.” I shove my legs in and yank them on.
His face scrunches in confusion as he sits up. “Where are you going? It’s six thirty in the morning.”
“I have to get to the paper before they do.” Frantically, I throw a shirt over my head and jam my feet into my flip-flops.
“You can’t be serious.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Who cares what your parents think?”
I stifle my aggravated growl. “I do.”
“Why?” He throws his arms up in exasperation. “You’re a grown woman. Why do you still let them control you?”
The words cut deep. He has no idea what it was like growing up in my household. Yearning for a crumb of acknowledgment in every gallon of criticism. And now, my mother is not only acknowledging me, but she’s proud of me. I can’t lose that. But if I don’t leave now, I’m not going to make it.
“Look, I don’t expect you to understand. Please just let it go.”
A pained expression muddies his features, and it guts me. I need to fix this.
I will fix this.
As soon as I get back. I just need to get to the paper, and then I’ll come back and make it up to him. Everything will be okay, I just have to hurry.
Alex shrugs. “Do what you need to do.”
The hurt in his eyes constricts my chest like a vice. That entire article was a coded love letter to me, and instead of thanking him for it, I’m chastising him. And I hate myself for it.
I loathe myself even more for leaving anyway.
My stomach lurches into my throat as I take a final left onto Briar Road, scanning the familiar homes in my parents’ neighborhood.
The early morning sun has risen over the rooftops, illuminating the drops of dew shimmering on the pristine lawns like thousands of diamonds.
I glance at the dash clock. It’s just about seven. Almost there.
Please let me make it in time. I offer up the silent plea to the universe. Things have never been better with Mom. We finally have the relationship I’ve been longing for my whole life. And I can’t lose it. I can’t.
Oh god, what if I don’t make it?
I press my hand to my chest, trying to steady my frantic heartbeat. Maybe it’ll be okay. This is my chance to clear the air. To show her who I really am. And based on how things have been this past week, maybe she’ll still love me. Still accept me. Still be proud of me.
I just have to be there to explain.
I pull up along the curb of their blue Craftsman house, and when I see the untouched newspaper in the plastic sleeve, I relax into the seat.
I made it.
Quietly, I shut my door and creep up the driveway.
Just as my fingers curl around the protective casing, Mom calls to me from the front door. “June?” She lets out a surprised laugh. “I thought that was you.”
My entire body turns to stone. How the hell did she see me?
She bundles herself tighter in her cream cardigan as she walks down the concrete path to the driveway, her auburn hair swaying in the crisp November breeze. “What on earth are you doing?”
Despite how much I rehearsed this question on the way up here, my mind is completely blank.
Well, not completely.
The words oh shit, oh shit, oh shit are there.
My heart pounds against my chest as I stare wide-eyed at her.
“Can I have my paper, please? Your father is asking for it.” She extends her hand, but I shove it behind my back.
“I need something from here,” I blurt out.
She tilts her head in confusion. “What could you possibly need?”
“A coupon.” Dammit, June. Who the hell needs coupons from the paper? This isn’t 1995.
Her face creases with suspicion. “And you came all the way down to take my paper? You couldn’t get one from the market a block from your apartment?”
Shit. That would have made more sense. Pinpricks of sweat emerge from every one of my pores. I flick the back of my hair, trying to get some air even though it’s barely fifty degrees.
She reaches out again, making my already racing heart quiver like it needs to be shocked with a defibrillator.
“June.” Her brow furrows. “Give me the newspaper.”
Panic seizes my insides, and before I can stop myself, the bundle flies out of my hand and over the neighbor’s back fence.
“What on earth?” Her jaw falls open. “Have you lost your mind?”
Possibly.
“I need to tell you something.” I blow out a forceful breath, trying to steady my trembling voice.
Genuine concern seeps into her gaze. “Honey, are you all right?”
The motherly way she says honey wraps around me like a warm hug. It’s the validation I need. The exact reason I’m doing this.
I squeeze my hands into fists, trying to calm my nerves. This is it. My mother is going to learn what I really do. Who I really am. And it’s going to be okay. She’s going to accept me. Because she loves me.
There’s no going back.
“Mom, I—”
A cell phone rings, but it’s not mine. My eyes widen as she reaches into her pocket and glances at the caller ID. “It’s Barbara.”
Barbara McEntire.
“Don’t answer it!” I yelp, but she’s already pressed Accept and brings it to her ear.
“Hi, Barb.”
“DID YOU SEE THE PAPER?” Barbara shrieks so loudly, it blasts through the receiver, and Mom has to hold the phone a few inches away.
She tilts her head. “No, I haven’t seen it.”
I look helplessly at her, tears welling in my eyes. “Mom, hang up,” I plead, my voice the same pathetic squeak it was when I was a teenager.