Chapter 26
I’ve lost a lot over the last several months—my husband and partner, my son’s father, memories we never made.
And a shit ton of sleep.
I wake early. Dawn’s light is approaching, but I don’t mind, even though I went to bed late. Because for the first time in months I’m not dreaming of or haunted by all the things I miss. It’s imagining all that can be done with what—and whom—I still have that kept me up late and woke me early.
It's the touch of his hand on my face.
The way it felt to sink deliciously in his lap, how he could kiss me so deeply while his hands ghosted over every inch of me that isn’t off limits anymore.
It’s both of us knowing we needed to stop, intending for every kiss to be the last, which is next to impossible when each one feels like the first over and over again.
But it did come to an end, too soon for either of our liking, when I could hear Lucas calling for me from inside, wanting a glass of water.
After I got Lucas back into bed and padded downstairs, I caught sight of myself in the mirror in the entry way, a mess of flushed cheeks and swollen lips, the left-over light abrasions of Riley’s harsher kisses against my neck that had me seeing stars.
And there’s the feel of him rushing up against me and enveloping me in his arms.
He digs his face into my neck and the breath of me he steals from my skin is full and greedy, like the one you take after coming up from underwater.
“We’re going to have to figure this out,” he whispers.
I know he means Lucas.
I know, if Lucas wasn’t a factor, we wouldn’t be standing, fully clothed. There would be no barriers between us at all.
“We will.” I tilt my head to the side, giving him more access to my neck when he begins to kiss me there again. “God, we have to.”
I stand in wonder in front of the mirror, watching him slide his hand beneath my shirt, taking in the flex of his hand as he cups my breast. I arch into him and I know it will never be close enough. Not like this.
Riley sighs, dropping his hand and pulling his lips from my neck. He rests his chin on my shoulder. “If I don’t stop now, I won’t ever.”
I pout even though I understand. I pout even though I ache. But I swear, on the inside I’m smiling.
Riley straightens and turns me around, taking my hand and heading upstairs.
I tug on him, keeping him in place. “I thought you wanted to stop.”
“I don’t want to stop,” Riley corrects me. “I need to and trust me when I say this will be one of the few times I do it.” He tips his head toward the stairs. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t say goodnight the right way.”
I let him lead me upstairs to the door of my bedroom and laugh. “You didn’t have to walk me home,” I whisper. “It’s not like we went on a date.”
Tonight when walls fell, they became rubble in a sea of tears,whispered screams, and hurried, crushing kisses. If just one of those things happened between two people on a first date, chances are they’d both run .
“That doesn’t mean it shouldn’t end like one,” Riley says. He leans one arm up, gripping the upper frame of the doorway and his other finds the small of my back. “When I kiss you goodnight, I want you to wish it's morning so I can do it again.”
Riley made good on his word because I’m wishing for that—and more—right now.
Warmth blooms across my body, top to bottom. Even though I’m alone in bed, I’m not alone in my thoughts. Riley is there and he’s so real. As I trail my hand from my neck where the scruff of his beard rubbed deliciously against, down the valley of my breasts where his chest pressed into, I feel him, the warmth and life in his body regulating the very same thing in my own.
I roll a nipple between my fingers as my legs clench together beneath the sheet and what pulses between them takes off on a dream of its own, leaving behind a pool of desire my fingers slip and slide against after voyaging beneath my underwear. I throb against my own hand, imaging it’s his long fingers circling my clit, or wondering how it feels for my nipples to scrape at his chest while he pushes me harder into the mattress.
The aching and needing isn’t satisfied by my fingers alone, clearly a poor substitute for Riley. I burrow them deeper, so the heel of my palm presses firmly against my clit, and a gasp flees from my mouth. The noise is so similar to one I let out last night, one that made Riley kiss me harder, rub against me with more force. I whimper through my clenched teeth, my head flinging to the window that overlooks the backyard.
We’re so close, yet so far away, exactly how we’ve always been.
Except now, it’s different.
It’s okay that when my entire body tingles and tightens, it’s because of Riley . It’s okay my breaths escapes my chest in breathy moans I’m frantic to feed into his mouth and fuel his own desire.
It’s okay I hold his face, hear his voice encouraging me to let go as I buck into my own hand and come harder than I ever have on my own before .
Lying in bed, I watch the sun begin to tickle the sky with a streak of light and warmth that can’t possibly be hotter than the flush beneath my skin. I could—and should—roll over and go back to sleep, but I don’t want to. I’m drawn to the sight of a new day breaking. The view of the backyard is the same, as is the lush tree line behind the garage where Riley’s apartment sits on. Life looks exactly as it did yesterday.
But how things look and how they feel don’t always have to be the same. In the earliest hours of today, life feels so much better.
An hour later, I finally pull myself out of bed and head downstairs. I pause in the living room.
Is that…humming?
I hold my breath, as if that might make my ears work better.
It’s humming.
Making my way into the kitchen, Riley stands facing away from me at the stove, cradling a mixing bowl he drops what appears to be a serving spoon. I don’t snark that I do, in fact, have a ladle. I’m too busy admiring his broad, bare back.
“Are you making pancakes?” And humming while doing it?
Riley doesn’t even look up.
“I saw a container of blueberries in the fridge.”
Riley could tell me there’s a bag of money in the fridge and I’d think nothing of it. And it’s not the shock of Riley cooking that leaves me standing there with my mouth hanging open—it’s the incredible color combination that is his tanned skin against the light grey of the sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
He turns. “Do you like blueberry pancakes?”
“Sure.” Right now, my favorite flavor of pancake is anything Riley makes with his shirt off .
“Harper?”
“I said I like blueberry pancakes.”
Riley laughs. “Did you hear the other thing I asked?”
He turns away from the stove and even though I want my eyes to linger on his body, I force my gaze to remain steadfast on his face. His very handsome, rugged face that I just rubbed one out to.
“I asked,” Riley begins, “If you’ll come somewhere with me on Monday.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Where?”
Riley’s lips disappear when he presses them together. “I want to file everything as soon as the courthouse opens.” His chest expands with a deep breath. “I shouldn’t tell you this because technically you’re my client but…I’m nervous.”
My mouth molds into a small smile. The ruggedness of Riley is only made more attractive by the hint of vulnerability he lets shine through. And I won’t lie, him needing my support—and communicating it—fills me with giddiness.
It somehow makes me feel less nervous and emotional about trying to get Tides back because I can tell how much Riley cares.
“Of course I’ll go with you.”
As soon as the grin spreads back across Riley’s face, I return to swooning.
“You okay?”
“Huh?”
Riley tilts his head. “You, you look kind of flushed.”
I bring a hand to my cheek. “Oh. Shower ran hot.”
Extra hot.
Beneath my fingers, I find my already warm skin growing warmer under Riley’s soft gaze. I’m surprised by how hypnotized I am by the majestic, emerald of his eyes, how they glow flanked by dark, full lashes and bold brows. It’s not like they’ve been hidden treasures tucked away from my sight. I’ve seen Riley—and his eyes, his strong jaw and broad shoulders feeding into a wide chest—for nearly a decade. He’s always s been here and been that way.
It's just now I’m allowed to see him for what he is—simply beautiful.
“Oh, shit.” Riley turns his attention back to the stove where smoke rises from the lone pancake on the griddle.
I immediately grab the spatula, lifting it off and toss it into the sink. “Butter and oil,” I say, running the water.
“What?”
“Butter and oil together. That’s the key to stopping the burning.” I’m reaching for a paper towel when Riley comes up from beside me.
He pushes my hair to the side. “Does it work for a different kind of burning?”
A tiny, quiet gasp escapes my mouth when he runs his nose up and down my neck. I shiver and grow warm at the same time.
“You should probably see a doctor about that,” I quip quietly before I yelp when Riley pinches the side of my waist before soothing the spot with a gentle circle of his hand.
Sliding his hands to my hips, Riley turns me around. “I was up all night.”
“Were you?” I ask, as if I wasn’t doing the same. This tiny confession makes my heart happy.
“Mmm. Dreaming about you.”
The smile Riley presses into my cheek makes my knees week. “I thought you said you were awake?”
“Call it daydreaming, then. It’s impossible not to daydream about you.”
I’m about to ask what these daydreams entail when the pitter-patter of feet sprinting down the stairs makes Riley and me both freeze. I release him immediately and turn, grabbing the sponge to wash an imaginary dish.
“What happened to the pancakes?” Lucas asks from the doorway of the kitchen .
Riley walks back to the stove. “I burned the first round. Next one is coming right up.”
Lucas sighs heavily. “All heroes need to know their own weaknesses, Riley. You suck at cooking.”
I whip around. “Lucas!”
“What? He does.” Lucas looks at Riley and shrugs his small shoulders. “No offense.”
Reaching for a dish towel, I wipe my hands. “You can’t tell someone they suck at something and then add no offense after it. You’re smart enough to use other words.”
Lucas scratches his bedhead. “You’re kind of terrible at cooking, Riley. No offense.”
Riley snorts out a laugh.
“Can I watch TV? It’s the weekend.” Lucas informs me.
I nod, and Lucas scampers into the living room. I find Riley staring off into space.
At me.
“Riley?”
He shakes his head like he’s clearing his thoughts. “Sorry.”
I narrow my eyes at the calm, serene expression on his face. “Where did you go?”
Riley walks over, taking the pan from me to dry it, but not before he leans down and whispers into my ear.
“I was busy daydreaming.”
Riley places the pan back on the stove to heat up and takes the butter out of the fridge. It sizzles with the oil on the pan, but it’s me who melts.
“Do you mind reading that over for me?” He motions at the folder on the table with a pen sitting on it. “You can mark the typos or repetitions.”
I purse my lips together. “Why do you say that like you already know they’re there?”
“Because I’m dyslexic.”
I frown and step over to him. “You have dyslexia. You aren’t dyslexia. ”
“Harper—”
“ Who you are is”—I pause, starting with the obvious—“an athlete. An attorney. A businessman,” I add.
“You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to try to convince you to believe in yourself. I just want you to know I believe in you and no typo or diagnosis will change that.”
Riley looks down.
“You know something? We should celebrate.”
I notice the red line on the calendar cutting through the end of next week, marking Lucas's spring break. He’ll be spending part of it with Claire for a long weekend. The timing is ideal after last night, and the thought that we could have solid alone time should excite me. But I want more than that. I want to lift Riley up.
“We’re going out next week,” I tell him. “To celebrate.”
Riley plates the perfect, unburnt pancakes. “We haven’t won anything yet.”
I smirk. “Haven’t we?”
Taking the folder, I leave the pen, especially because I can feel Riley watching. I want him to see I’m not going into this thinking anything he came up needs to be changed, made into something better. I need him to believe he is more than enough. And if words are hard, I can certainly show him.
And yet, there’s still a tenseness seizing Riley, evident by how he shifts his jaw side to side. It makes me uneasy—not in the way that it rubs off on me. It simply bothers me that there’s something bothering him.
“Maybe we won each other, you know? And…”
I want to be careful with my words. Riley comes across as confident and borderline cocky at times. But I know now that it’s overcompensation for how he’s felt most of his life—less than.
“No matter what happens,” I whisper, reaching forward to take his hand. “I’ll never be more grateful you were willing to take a chance to make this right. ”
Riley’s Adam’s apple bobs as he looks down at our fingers linked together. “It feels like a leap of faith, you know?”
“I know. But remember”—I pause, smiling—“I can fly if I know there’s someone to catch me.”