Sweet Cheeks (18 page)

I laugh. My body hums with awareness.
He hasn’t stepped away.
Hasn’t broken the connection between our bodies. And yet it’s probably because it’s crowded and he wants me to hear him. Regardless, every jostle of someone bumping into one of us, makes the awareness that much more.

“I remember. I spent all night freaked about it and just as I was walking up to the stage—”

“Principal Hellman walked up right before you.”

We both laugh at the memory. At how I scurried back to the table in the far, darkened corner of the club before leaving shortly thereafter.

“My God, I was so freaked out we were going to get detention or worse if Hell’s Bells saw us there.”

Our laughter fades. Somewhere in the moment we’ve stepped apart when the crowd has given us room to. “So what do you say, Ships?”

“To what?” I feign nonchalance but worry my bottom lip between my teeth.

“You never finished the dare.” He shrugs. Taunts me with a smile and a glance of his gaze to the stage and then back to me.

“Seriously?”

“You were never one to chicken out before.” Words to match his smile.

“We’re not teenagers anymore, Hayes,” I huff but know he’s starting to win me over. That sheepish grin and impish gleam in his eye reminding me of the fearless, carefree girl I used to be. The one who never backed down from one of his or Ryder’s dares.

He leans in, mouth to my ear. “I double-dog dare you, Saylor.”

My smile is instant. My reaction is half-hearted. “You know I can’t sing for shit,” I shout above the music that just started playing again. His hands are on my shoulders, directing me toward the stage, the melodic tone of his laugh in my ear.

“Perfect. There’s nothing better than an off-key karaoke singer to catch everyone’s attention.”

I want to strangle him, and yet I find myself laughing instead. I grab his hand, and his falter in motion tells me I’ve caught him off guard. “If I’m going to make an ass out of myself, you are too.”

I’m surprised when he stumbles along behind me. “Did you forget I like when everyone’s looking at me?”

“I don’t care. No one is going to convince me otherwise,” I say, in an attempt to sound serious despite the smile that hasn’t left my lips since we started our dominating karaoke run on the mic.

His laugh echoes off the concrete as we weave through the outdoor corridors of the hotel. “You need help.”

“Says the man who demanded he be called
The Captain
every time the announcer summoned us to the stage despite everyone knowing you were Hayes Whitley.” I giggle as he hangs an arm over my shoulders and pulls me against him for support. Or maybe it’s the other way around. I don’t know and I don’t care because I’m having more fun in what feels like forever and it’s all because of him.

“Says the woman who sang, ‘Might as well face it you’re a dick with a glove.’” His laugh rings out again.

“And what is wrong with that? Look it up. I bet you . . . I don’t know what I bet you.” I slur my words a little bit. “But I assure you those are the correct lyrics that Robert Palmer sings.”

“No. It’s
addicted to love
, Ships. Addicted to love,” he enunciates while fighting back the laugh. “Not
a
dick with a glove
.”

“Hmpf.” I try to pout but it’s just no use. His words are sluggish too and his body so warm against mine. I feel lighthearted after so much weight lately that all I can do is smile and laugh and not want the sidewalk to end at our door where I can see it does a few yards ahead.

“Are you going to pout?”

“No.”

“Yes, you are, and I’ve got the perfect cure for that.” In a completely unexpected move, he takes my arm and twirls me out and then pulls me back in. Paradise spins around me. It keeps moving even when I land solidly against him.

Our laughter fades and our smiles slide into parted lips. His hand still holds mine against my lower back and his chest moves against mine. My face lifts up as his tilts down and our eyes fasten on each other’s. There’s an earnestness I haven’t seen in his before. There’s also amusement. Such an odd combination, almost as if he can see things I don’t want him to see just yet.

Kiss me.

Oh my God. What am I thinking? He can’t kiss me. It’s a horrible idea. Too many reasons to list why he shouldn’t.

And yet I want him to kiss me.
Just once
.

So we can get it out of our systems, put the past to rest, and move on. But then again, would I be able to move on?

Even at the age of seventeen, Hayes could kiss in a way that made me feel like I’d just laid every part of my soul on the line when his lips left mine. And I’m not sure I can handle feeling that right now. Every part of this situation already makes me feel so vulnerable and exposed as it is. Add in being confused over how the kiss would make me feel and that’s not something I need to add to the mix.

Yet as the silence stretches, neither of us move. And when his eyes flicker down to my lips and then back up to my eyes again, I don’t think I ever want to.

My desire wars against my better judgment.

His body is warm and firm against mine. A tangible temptation that’s hard to resist.

Just kiss me.

I wait for him to. I want him to.

And then I realize what an idiot I’m being. How he’s probably thinking how pathetic I look standing here waiting to be kissed in the moonlight like some pathetic sap. Embarrassed and flustered, I step back needing to create some distance from him.

“I’m sorry.” I turn and walk to the front door.

“Saylor.” Hayes calls out to me and I tell myself to keep walking. That there is a famous starlet named Tessa who he isn’t dating but most likely sleeps with. That there is a world of difference between our two lives—glitz, red carpets, and glamour versus frosting-spattered hair, Nutella, and NetFlix—and even if we share a kiss, nothing will lessen that chasm.

I’m such a wreck. I’m over here turning a playful twirl in the moonlight into a kiss I don’t want to want, to fantasizing how it would lead to my happily ever after.

He calls my name again as his footsteps sound on the pavement behind me. I don’t want to face him right now and yet as I reach the door, I realize he’s holding the key to unlock it.
Fucking perfect
. A self-deprecating laugh falls from my mouth. There’s a tinge of hysteria to it. A bit of disbelief fringing its edges from my out-of-control imagination.

My sudden irrationality has to be a combination of everything jading my thoughts: the alcohol, the fun evening, the comfort of being with someone who used to know everything about me, the indescribable paradise surrounding us. It all contributes to the
Saylor was almost going to make an ass out of herself
moment I just had. I guarantee
that
won’t be happening again anytime soon.

He’s right behind me now. I can feel him before I hear him.

“Say?
What is it
?”

I hang my head. Hate that so many of my thoughts are on the tip of my tongue, and yet I say none of them because they are absolutely ridiculous.

His hand is on my shoulder, prompting me to turn to face him. But I resist. I don’t want him to see the embarrassment stinging my eyes or read the errant thoughts that have no business being there.

“I’m fine, Hayes. Just tired is all.”

“Hmm.” He gives a non-committal sound that makes me scrunch my nose because I know he’s trying to figure out what’s going through my mind.

“Can you open the door, please?”

“What is your biggest fear about this weekend?”

What?
The question comes out of nowhere and I hate that my immediate thought is that he means in regards to us. But that’s the crazy talking and once I rein it in, I know he’s referring to Mitch and Sweet Cheeks.

“I told you earlier at the beach. It’s not so much a fear but more my need to prove to them all that I made the right decision. Because if the women in Starbucks were speaking truthfully and if Ryder’s and your hunches are correct, this is what I have to do in order to give my business the chance it deserves to succeed.”

“Do you still love him?”

His question is unexpected and shocks me enough that I whip my head up to meet his eyes. I immediately wish I hadn’t. The porch light is bright and there’s no way I can hide the truth in my eyes from him.

“No.”

“Hmm.”

I don’t know if he believes me. The furrow of his brow and his unrelenting stare tell me otherwise.

“Six years is a long time to be with someone, love them, and then turn the love off like a switch.”

How do I explain to him that while I no longer love Mitch, I can love some of the memories we had together? That there will always be those shared experiences that I’ll look at fondly, but do I still love Mitch? No. I don’t think so.

“I just want my life back to normal,” I whisper, hoping he might be able to understand that.
Needing him to be satisfied and leave me be
.

His brown eyes hold an empathy I’m not sure I deserve, considering I’m the one who caused all of these changes. “What do you mean by normal?”

“I don’t know anymore.” I shake my head, thankful for the change in topic, and try to explain. “Since Mitch and I split, my life’s been in chaos. The moving out and starting over. The endless hours I spend in the bakery to try and make it work. It’s exhausting and yet I love every single minute of it so I’m not sure how to answer that.”
It’s lonely
. Not the everyday part because I’m so very happy with my choices, but rather the loneliness associated with not having someone to cuddle with at the end of the night and share stories about my day. I leave that part out.

“Would you change any part of it?”

He asks the question that I know I can answer without hesitation. “No.”

His smile is slight, but there. A nod of his head. A rub of his hand up and down my spine in encouragement.

“Then maybe you’re finding that new normal.”

T
here’s nothing like waking up to the sun shining and the crash of waves on the beach outside my window. I let myself be lazy. I doodle in my notebook over new potential varieties of cupcakes.

At some point I hear Hayes on the phone somewhere in the house. I’m immediately irritated that he turned
his
cell on when we’d agreed to unplug. But when I set down my notebook to go say something, I notice the red light blinking on the Villa’s phone. The line is being used. So technically he’s not breaking the rules since he’s on the landline.

I glare at it for a minute. So typical of Hayes to skirt the rules but not break them. He hasn’t changed a bit and why does knowing that bring a stupid smile to my lips?

I figure I’ll let it slide. He’s probably negotiating a bazillion-dollar contract or something so who am I to interfere? Business being done in paradise. I pick up my pad again and start to write just as his voice gets louder. He sounds irritated. Frustrated. Adamant. Snippets of his conversation float down the hall. I overhear him talk about how his public image is taking a hit and then carry on about not giving a shit about the ironclad non-disclosure agreement. How he refuses to play the game anymore.