Chapter 22 #2
She climbs into bed beside me and her warmth wraps around my legs, through the fabric of my pajamas.
She moves in close so she can look over my shoulder.
I feel her soft breaths fan over my bare shoulder and the sensation travels throughout my whole body.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping I can control myself enough to not turn my head and get a better whiff of whatever the fuck is drifting my way.
Her shampoo I think—something floral yet spicy and so goddamn good.
She hums quietly as she takes in my drawings, like she’s taking in every line, every gradient, every bit of shading. Meanwhile, I’m here, hoping and praying that these drawings cover the growing erection beneath the sheets.
“What’s this one?” a piece of paper sticks out at the bottom of my small pile. On it, you can see the beginning of a sketch of a person. Panic moves my arms, forcing me to grab the paper before she can.
“It’s nothing!” The words rush out, laced with dread and trepidation.
Her shocks turns to mischief, the transition from one to the other seamless. “Oh, really?”
“Oakleigh,” I warn. “Don’t you dare.”
“Oh, but it’d be so much fun.”
“I swear to God, Michaels.”
Her laugh is demonic, wicked and full of demented glee. “Fine, keep your artwork hidden. For now.”
That doesn’t fill me with any confidence whatsoever. I neaten the pile of drawings so that the bottom one is well and truly hidden.
“Seriously, though,” Oakleigh says, sobering up from her temporary demonic possession. “These are amazing. I didn’t know you could draw.”
I send her a look. “What do you think it is that I did at college exactly?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think I ever actually asked.”
“That’s … okay.”
Oakleigh winces, pulling away from me. “Sorry. It’s not that I didn’t care, it’s more that it kind of hurt to bring you up in conversation with Wren.”
“Why?” I ask.
“I think I had wanted to like you. I’d wanted to be your friend, and at one point possibly more, I think? But I thought that you’d made fun of me for things that were dear to me and that made me mad and then it made me self-conscious.”
I shove my drawings into the top drawer of the bedside table and turn fully to face Oakleigh. I lay down, leaning my head on my hand, and I wait. Eventually, Oakleigh understands what I’m waiting for and chuckles quietly, laying down on her back so I can see her face.
“Continue,” I tell her.
The cutest lopsided smile stretches her lips.
“I knew at the time that I wanted to write. I knew that I wanted to write about people falling in love in the most unconventional ways, and that it left me open to ridicule. I thought I was strong enough that I knew how to keep up a wall between us, and yet every time I remembered what you said—or, what I thought you’d said—all of my anger would come back and I would want to protect what else I had. ”
I allow my hand to cradle the side of Oakleigh’s face, to take in all of the hurt and vulnerability that she has left out for me to see. For the first time since I’ve known her, my Cherry has voluntarily let down her walls and let me see what it is that makes her heart as beautiful as it is.
“I hate that you’ve carried this much hurt with you for so long because of me.”
She smiles up at me and her hand comes up to cover mine. “It’s not because of you. It sounds like it was all a big misunderstanding fueled by insecurity on both sides.”
“One that I easily could have cleared up if I’d just spoken to you. Asked if everything was okay between us. Maybe then we wouldn’t have had to live through fifteen years of pretending that we’re nothing to each other. Maybe I would have been able to tell you how—”
Oakleigh’s eyes widen. “How what?”
I curse myself internally for almost dropping too much too soon. “How beautiful I’ve always thought you are.”
The softness in Oakleigh’s expression almost makes me combust. My love for her doubles, triples, and manifests tenfold. Strong, snippy Oakleigh is someone I’ve always loved, but mix her with soft, vulnerable Oakleigh and I’m a man falling far and forever.
For the second time tonight, Oakleigh surprises me with a kiss.
This one is soft, tender, meaningful. It’s nothing like any of the others we’ve shared, not even our first. That night, I was trying to show Oakleigh how easily I could make her dizzy.
This time, she’s doing exactly the same, but by kissing me in a way that reminds me that she has my heart in the palm of her hands, and in order to break it, all she ever has to do is just close her hand and squeeze. It’s hers to do with as she wishes.
My hand slides further until brown strands are sliding through my fingers. Her tongue is inquisitive, exploratory, and I let her take control. She takes her time and I revel in every minute. Her hand cups the back of my neck and her touch sends sparks everywhere.
When she pulls away, I don’t protest, no matter how much I want to. I let my nose nudge hers tenderly before pulling away.
Oakleigh watches me with careful eyes. She’s been doing this a lot lately, looking at me as if I’m a puzzle she can’t quite put together.
“You keep looking at me like that.”
“Because no one’s ever looked at me the way you do. No one has ever treated me the way you do, either.”
“Maybe they just don’t see what I see. Not sure how, but maybe they don’t.”
Her eyes narrow inquisitively. “And what do you see?”
“Someone worth it,” I answer without hesitation—because summed up, that is exactly what I see: someone worth everything. “We should get some sleep, Cherry. You have work tomorrow night.”
She’s surprised that I remember that, and I let her sit in that shock, because I need her to understand that I will always pay attention to her. Always.
I turn around so I can turn off my bedside lamp. Eventually, after she’s composed herself, Oakleigh does the same.
In the darkness, the sweetest words hit me before I fall asleep.
“I think I’m starting to like that nickname.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Goodnight, Cherry.”