Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
I can live with soon.
Chapter Thirty-One
River
Deanna is at home in the water. For all her non-California girl qualities, she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be in an empty pool, at a fancy hotel in the desert.
She grew up with that massive pool in the backyard, but I rarely saw her there. Bits and pieces of memories form in my mind:
Deanna in a black one-piece, diving into the water.
Deanna dipping her feet in her running outfit, laughing about something with her sister.
Deanna, diving into the water, naked, with a guy. Some guy with glasses and a deep affection for her.
I’m not sure if it happened or if I formed the image in my mind. All those fantasies blurring together. One I had of Lexi, maybe.
But this isn’t a fantasy. It feels like a dream, sometimes, but never a fantasy. It feels impossibly real.
Because unlike in a picture-perfect image, I’m not graceful in the water. I don’t belong here. I love watching her, yes, but I don’t have a fraction of her talent.
She dives and surfaces over and over. Because she wants closeness. Or because she wants distance. I’m not sure.
But then, it doesn’t matter. I’ve offered my best. That’s all anyone can do. If it’s not enough for her—
I understand that. For once, I understand that.
See, Grandma is wrong. I am growing. I don’t need to stay away from California to spread my wings. I can learn plenty here.
Sure, Fern and North spent all day convincing me to move back to New York. They insisted they have it covered. Fern is ready to move in with Grandma—she’s between places anyway—and Grandma has plenty of money for a nurse, if it comes to that.
Independence is the Beau family tradition. Grandma doesn’t want to rely on me, or Fern, or North. And she’d much rather send me away, to spread my wings and fly, than have me here with her, even if she needs me.
But that’s the thing she doesn’t get. I’ve already spread my wings. I built a life in New York. I have a career. And, yes, I won’t do as well if I work remotely for a while, but I’ll survive.
Grandma won’t stop me from staying. No one will force me to move. But everyone will remind me to return to my own life. Everyone will underline the importance of living your own life.
Only, for once, family doesn’t take precedence in my mind. For once, my head doesn’t go straight to the clouds. It stays here. With her.
The next time I dive, I stay under for long enough to watch Deanna submerge. But without goggles my vision is blurry.
The chlorine stings.
I have to surface to see straight.
It means something, but right now, I don’t care. I don’t want to consider anything else. Only this moment. Right now.
Maybe that’s going backward, falling too hard, too fast, without concerns for practical things. Maybe I shouldn’t trust her to be the practical one, but I do.
This time, when Deanna surfaces, I meet her in the middle of the pool and guide her to the shallow end.
She checks the coast is clear—no guests, no guards, even if we are in the view of the security camera—and she brings her lips to mine.
She tastes like chlorine and mint and Deanna. There’s a visceral, physical satisfaction to it. My body knows hers. My body needs hers.
Under the water, I bring my hands to her hips. I find the strap of her bikini and trace the line of nylon.
She slips her tongue into my mouth as she rocks her hips against mine.
She feels good here, in the pool, soft and smooth and slick.
Vulnerable.
Open.
I want this side of her to be mine. Even if I leave and it’s not forever. Even if it’s not for long.
She groans as my hard-on brushes her stomach.
Her fingers dig into my shoulder. “Do you have a condom?”
“Upstairs.”
“Me, neither.” She kisses me again, with the same mix of hunger and need. “I mean me, too.”
It’s far. Too far. But I don’t have to wait to have her. Not completely.
I kiss her again.
She kisses back with the same mix of need and hunger. A physical hunger and an emotional one.
It fills me everywhere.
It turns the cold water warm. Sends blood rushing south. Sends my thoughts to faraway places.
I bring my hand to her chest, push her bikini top aside, exposing her breast.
For me. Only for me. My body blocks the camera.
And I love seeing her, halfway out of her swimsuit, for me. Only for me. Like the entire world exists for us. Only for us.
She sinks into my touch immediately, groaning as I toy with her nipple. Her head falls into the crook of my neck. Her lips brush my ear. “Don’t stop.”
Never. “I love seeing you here.” I draw another circle around her. “I love having you at my mercy.”