15 Seb
Seb
Back at the house, the salt on my skin and the ocean’s hum were still with me, making sleep nearly impossible.
Barefoot on the deck, I held a cold beer and gazed at the pool as the gentle lapping of the water filled the air.
The lights inside were off. Hallie and James had excused themselves and headed upstairs the instant we were home.
Roxie had gone to her room too, as much as I’d hoped she might stay up for another night cap with me.
I couldn’t go to my own room now even if I wanted. For one thing, there was no way I was going to sleep anytime soon. And for another, James would probably kill me if I interrupted whatever he and Hallie might be up to right now.
I figured Roxie had gone to sleep, but when I saw a light flicker on in the boathouse, down a winding path behind the house, there was only one person it could be.
I didn’t think. I just moved.
I headed down the stairs of the deck, across the cool stone outlining the pool where the moonlight shimmered. The night was thick with the scent of salt and sunscreen, smoke from the earlier bonfire still lingering faintly in the air and on my skin.
My bare feet hit the sandy path that led toward the boathouse and then to the beach, and every step closer wound me tighter. Not with nerves. With something else. Anticipation or inevitability.
The boathouse, its frame weathered and gray, was tucked into the dunes, as if it were a secret being whispered by the sea.
During the summers when James invited me over, we would sneak down here, away from his parents, to smoke our first cigarette and talk about the girls we liked that summer.
I never mentioned Roxie, who was always mine.
Back then, this place had felt like a mini oasis. Tonight, it presented itself as a dare. To enter or not.
The old wooden door cracked open just an inch, which was enough to spill a sliver of warm yellow light into the sand outside. I knocked once as I stepped inside, more out of instinct than anything.
She didn’t turn. Just sat cross-legged on the couch in the corner, wearing an old crew team hoodie I recognized from high school.
It was almost jarring how much she looked like the Roxie I knew from back then.
As if I’d walked into the boathouse and had been transported back to the kid who had followed her around like a lovesick puppy.
Her sleeves were pushed up past her elbows, revealing skin still sun-kissed from the day. Her hair was free and unkempt, and she was looking at old records that James’s family kept out here.
“Looking for something specific?” I asked, my voice barely above a murmur as I leaned against the doorframe.
With a half-smile, she glanced back, and I was instantly drawn into a private, shared moment that only Roxie and I knew.
“Of course,” she said, holding up a dusty Fleetwood Mac album like a prize.
I stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind me with a soft click. “Rumours?” I asked, eyeing the cover.
“Obviously.” She stood up and turned back to the record player, lowering the needle. A soft crackle filled the space, then Stevie Nicks’ voice curled through the room like smoke.
I watched her for a second longer than I meant to. The slope of her shoulders. How she moved slowly from side to side as if the music were filling her with new life. The way her eyes closed, and she swayed softly back and forth. There was something cinematic about it.
She flopped back onto the couch, legs curling under her. “You here to critique my music taste or are you avoiding the house like I am?”
“Little of both.” I dropped into the worn armchair across from her and took a sip of my beer. “I figured I’d save myself the trauma of hearing anything I’d rather not.”
Roxie laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Fair. I was thinking the same thing myself.”
The music filled the quiet for a moment, but I didn’t rush it. I just watched her and the soft rise and fall of her breathing. The way her fingers traced the edge of the album sleeve in a careful caress.
“I meant what I said earlier,” I said finally.
She looked up, brow raised. “Which part?”
“That I’ve never felt this way about anyone since you.”
Her smile faded, but not in a bad way. It just got quieter. More real.
“I figured you’d been with someone,” she said, her voice soft. “All those tabloid headlines. All those girls.”
I shook my head, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees.
“Yeah, some of those articles weren’t true, but some of them were.
I’ve had a few relationships. Haven’t you?
” I asked. “But none of them were serious. It’s easy to look like you’re living a full life when you’re trying not to feel anything. ”
She watched me with those eyes that always seemed to see too much.
“And now?” she asked.
“Right now,” I said, “I feel everything.”
Stevie’s singing was the only sound that broke the silence. But Roxie didn’t look away, didn’t shut me out, and that felt like something.
I stood and crossed to the couch, stopping just short of touching her. “Rox, I’m not saying I know how to do this or what we should do. I don’t have a blueprint for what the two of us together looks like now. But I want to try and see if it could work. If you’ll let me.”
Her eyes searched mine. “I don’t want to go backward.”
“I don’t either,” I said. “I want to see what forward looks like—with you.”
For a long moment, she didn’t move. Then, without a word, she reached for my hand and tugged me down beside her.
We sat there, side by side, listening to the scratch of the record, the waves crashing beyond the walls, our shoulders brushing.
Her fingertips traced the lines in my palms, then she flipped them over to trace the tattoos. When she spoke, it was barely above a whisper.
“I’m scared.”
“I know,” I said. “Me too.”
We turned toward each other, instinct or gravity pulling us closer, and then we kissed. No, Roxie kissed me. I’d waited so long for this moment, and it was finally here.
There was no hesitation this time, no testing the waters. Just years of tension snapping all at once, full of fire and hunger and the kind of need that burned straight through reason. Her kiss tasted like longing and every missed chance stitched into one perfect moment.
Her fingers slid into my hair and tugged hard enough to make me groan into her mouth.
I dragged her closer, hands slipping under the hem of her hoodie to the heat of her bare skin.
She climbed onto my lap, straddling me, pressing down until there was no space left, only the ache of how badly I needed her.
We’d stolen kisses as kids, sloppy and drunk and hurried, but this was different. This was years of desire finally coming to the surface.
Her mouth trailed from mine to my jaw, then lower, to the spot beneath my ear she knew would make me lose all my remaining composure.
My breath stuttered, hips jerking against hers as I gripped her tighter.
She smiled against my skin, wicked and sure of herself, so different from the girl I remembered.
Life had hardened her edges, made her bold.
It made me want to explore this new version of her even more.
Her lips skimmed down my throat, slow, deliberate. I cursed under my breath, fingers curling against her waist as if holding on would keep me from completely losing it. I wasn’t dreaming this. She was real. She was here. Every sound and every shift of her body against mine proving it.
She wasn’t rushing. Neither of us was. But there was no mistaking the urgency simmering beneath every touch, every inch of skin exposed in slow, deliberate pulls of fabric.
She pulled my shirt up and over my head.
She discarded hers on the floor with her tank top following.
I kissed every new inch of skin like I had something to prove. To show her I wanted every part of her and was deserving of anything she’d give to me.
“Sebastian …” Her voice was a low rasp that went straight through me, nails raking down my back as I kissed across her collarbone, down the curve of her breast.
“You’re quiet,” she whispered, fingers teasing at the waistband of my pants.
I looked up at her, at the amber light casting shadows across her skin, at the heat in her eyes. “I’m trying not to fuck this up.”
Her smile was soft, knowing, and somehow that undid me more than her touch. “You won’t. Don’t second guess this. Just be in it. All the way. If you want to …”
That nearly undid me. Not the kiss, not the decade-long tension, but those words. The permission to just give in, finally, scared me.
“I want to,” I said, and kissed her again, slower this time, pouring everything I couldn’t say into the way my mouth moved against hers.
Her hands slid lower, bolder, and then there was no stopping the urgency that overtook us.
Any remaining clothing was shed carelessly, left in a heap on the floor beside us until there was nothing between us but skin and heat.
For a moment, I just stared at her. I’d never seen her naked before, but her body was even more incredible than I’d expected.
My chest ached at how beautiful she was, straddling me with her hair tumbling wild around her shoulders, eyes full of fire.
I’d had money, power, every fleeting pleasure New York could offer me, but I’d never wanted anything as much as I wanted this. As much as I wanted her.
“Christ,” I whispered. My hands skimmed up her sides, memorizing her. “You’re everything.”
I moved my hands from her waist up to her breasts.
I could hardly believe she was letting me touch her like this.
I took my time, never wanting this moment to end, as I rolled one of her nipples between my fingers, gently, and took the other in my mouth.
She moaned, and it was the most intoxicating sound I’d ever heard.