Bounce (37 page)

Earlier on the phone, Shane told me we're an organism, with a heart and a mind and lungs and limbs. We need each other. We fail and succeed as one. I'd asked him, jokingly, if I was the organism's asshole. Shane laughed and said, “Heart, dude. Heart, all the way.”

“Postponing,” Adam says. “Did Vogelson get back to Reznick?”

I smile. It still feels good to have my brother be “in” on my life again. “No. We haven't heard anything.” I shrug. “I just meant we'll figure out something else.”

Adam's gaze moves across the water. I notice the tension in his jaw, the way he's pursing his lips.

“Don't tell me you feel responsible,” I say.

“Of course I do. I should've seen that we were asking too much of Skyler. You've been working toward the showcase your entire life.”

I laugh. “Wow. Drama. I think you've been hanging out with too many actors.”

Adam gives me a sidelong glance. I'm not telling him what he wants to hear. And I know he's going to drive at me until I do.

“Okay. I'll say it. It sucks, all right? I wanted that showcase. I thought it was going to be our break. But . . . ​I'm okay. I mean, I will be. We'll find something else. Vogelson's not the only producer out there. We'll figure it out. And I had to be here for Sky. That was nonnegotiable.”

It's hard to look him in the eye when I say that. It's so new, this Skyler thing. It just feels like it's all over my face, this blaring, over-the-top awesome feeling. “Besides,” I say, “if Vogelson backs out, then he's an idiot because we are fucking
great
.”

Adam laughs. “And that, little bro, is exactly why I know it's going to work out. There's some serious confidence buzzing around you. It's cool.”

“Thanks. Can we stop now? I can't handle any more feelings.”

He laughs again. “Okay.” The skyline is black with clouds, except for the occasional flash of lightning. I've gotten used to Southern California. Weather—real weather—seems so flashy and dramatic. “Actually, there's one more thing before we shut the feelings down. I'm going to ask Ali to marry me tonight.”

He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small velvet box, showing it to me.

“I had this whole thing planned. A private boat. Scuba. Dinner. I wanted to be out on the water with her when I asked, but . . .” He lifts his shoulders. “Storm. Anyway, I can't wait any longer. I'm just going to drop to a knee and beg. Tell her anything she wants to hear, and hope she agrees to make me an honest man.”

This is the second-best thing I've heard in a long time. Second only to what Skyler said earlier. There were a lot of years I wondered if he'd ever marry again, after losing Chloe. But I knew it would lead to this with Ali. I think I knew right from the beginning. He was different with her from the start.

“So, assuming she says yes, will you be my best man?” he says.

“You're not going to drop down on a knee and beg
m
e?” I pull him into a hug. But there's so much going on inside me, I have to rough him up a little and push him around, mess up his hair and try to trip him. He's quick and manages to slip away.

As we make our way along the lighted path to the hotel, it's like we're in a horse race, the two of us almost breaking into a jog. I can't stop smiling.

“What?” Adam says.

“I was just thinking . . . ​between Skyler and being your best man, I'm winning over Brooks. Hugely winning. I think I knocked him out of the game.”

“Jackass.”

“As advertised, bro. Always.”

I slip into Skyler's hotel room quietly, stepping into the suite's small sitting room. Mia is curled up like a cat on a chair, reading.

“How's it going in here?” I was only outside with Adam for an hour, but I feel like I missed out. Like I was gone too long.

“Still asleep,” Mia says. She closes her book and stands. “It's almost eight. I was going to order some food. Garrett said he wants to join, too.”

“Mia, why don't you and Garrett go grab a bite at the restaurant? You haven't left her side in days. And, no offense, but it's probably about time for you to rest up, shower, call Ethan . . . ​whatever it is Mia Galliano does with her spare time.”

She smiles. “Mia Galliano could definitely use a little break. And I know you'll take good care of our girl.” She grabs her purse off the couch and casts a quick look toward the bedroom. “Sky's got water and Gatorade in there, but when she wakes up, she'll probably want some tea. Then probably something light to eat.”

“I'm on it. Look, text me if you're worried. But don't be worried. I've got it.”

“Okay. Thanks, Grey. You know, you're really good for her.”

“So are you.”

We do a fist-bump and laugh. Team Skyler.

After she leaves, I let myself into the bedroom. I'm surprised to find the bed empty. The bathroom door is slightly ajar, and a shaft of light pours into the darkened bedroom. The shower turns on.

I step toward the door. “Skyler?” I knock, lightly. “You all right?”

“Grey?”

“Yeah. Just . . . ​just checking on you. Everything okay?”

“No.”

My heart stops.

“I mean, it would be, if you were in here with me.”

That blows my mind for a few seconds. Maybe it's minutes. Or maybe time stops. Who knows?

I get it together and push the door open and there she is, a little hunched, because she's still weak, standing under the spray of water, smiling. I've seen her naked before, but never in water, never standing, never waiting for me. Never like this. She's beautiful. Crushingly, painfully beautiful.

Knowing what's been going on, what she's been through, I notice she's thinned out. She's less curvy. But she's no less gorgeous than she was. I don't think I could ever look at her and not find her beautiful. What I don't like is the fragile slant of her shoulders. The wavering strength I see in her eyes.

I realize I'm standing here. But I don't want to move. All I want to do is stare at her. Except that's definitely,
definitely
not all I want to do.

I tug my shirt off. “Sky, are you sure?”

We've messed around before. We've texted a thousand times every day. I've written a song for her. Two, technically. I'm pretty sure she's my best friend and that I'm gone for her. But it still feels like this . . . ​where we're going . . . ​what's about to happen . . . ​it still feels like something that's too good to be true.

She nods. “I think I've been sure for a long time. Maybe since our first audition, when you told me I'm good at fake kissing.”

I step out of the rest of my clothes. “Why the hell did you wait so long to tell me?”

“I don't know. Maybe I wanted you captive when I did it?”

I step into the shower and wrap my arms around her. Try not to pass out at how good she feels against me.
Insanely
good. Or to laugh at how obvious it is that I am ready to go. “You've got me, Skyler, beautiful Skyler. Now what? Should we talk music?”

“I think we can save the talking for later.” She rolls up on her toes, wrapping her arms around my neck. “You are
very
tall.”

I lean closer. “You're short.”

She blinks, slow and sultry, her gaze warm, like she can see into my soul. “Your eyes, Grey.”

“Your everything, Sky.”

Then I bend a little lower and kiss her.

  
Chapter 42
  

Skyler

T
his is an even better kiss than the one in the hospital, all sweetness and heat, the steam from the water enveloping us, his firm, towering body pressed against me. His hands brace my back and neck, and it feels like I could fall into them, trust him to buoy me. His lips and mine—it's like music, the perfect tempo, the perfect balance of give and take, high notes and low.

His tongue traces my lips, sweeping over me, light, almost tickling, building this yearning to take him into me, his tongue, his fingers—all of him. I move my hands up to his neck, the spray from the shower going everywhere, and I deepen the kiss, wanting to dive in and taste every bit of him, touch every inch of his slick, beautiful body.

“Sky, I may not survive this shower,” he murmurs against my lips. He kisses the side of my face, then, hands firm on my back, he runs his hot darting tongue along the hollow of my throat, his teeth grazing my collarbone, tasting me. His mouth on my skin is perfection, and he's so hard, pressed against me, it literally makes me breathless, creates a caving ripple inside, a need like nothing I've ever felt before. I want him so much, but I can barely hold on to his broad shoulders and massive triceps, so slick from water, and my legs start to tremble.

“Grey?”

“Hmm . . .” He bends me back, and his tongue is everywhere now—on my throat, my lips, the delicate skin beneath my ear. His breath is hot against me; the warm water swirls around us, and it's all so electric, so pure and good, I don't know what to do with myself.

My knee buckles a little, reminding me that I don't want to go down in a heap in a shower. And I want more from this. Want to touch Grey, to taste him, to have to every part of him close.

“Let's lie down,” I say. Looking into his beautiful lucent eyes, almost silver in this light, the color of raindrops shimmering on a window, I want to drink him in forever, spend hours exploring the lines of his body, taking his strength into me, giving him mine.

“Okay,” he says. “Whatever you want.”

We turn off the shower and step out, wrapping ourselves in the plush white towels warmed by the heating bar. It's pretty decadent, but we only enjoy it for a few seconds before we move toward one another again, as if propelled, the force between us so strong.

He sweeps me against him to kiss me again, crushing me to him, all of him wrapped around me. Then he lifts me, like I'm nothing, and I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs around his hips, the towel parting across my thighs. I tease his ear with my tongue, telling him things I've never told anyone, about how I want to make him feel, what I want to do to him.

He groans and staggers a little, and we laugh while he carries me to the bed, the two of us still half wet, as he sets me down atop the plush linens. I sit on the edge and reach for him, running my hands along his rock-hard thighs, my fingers trailing beneath the towel, finding his warmth, his hardness, touching him, now, the way I've wanted to touch him.

I look up at him, at his sweet, serious face. His eyes are slitted but sparkling, his mouth parted with the pleasure of it, with my touch making him feel good now. My turn to give him back some of what he's given me.

His breath comes hard, and his fingers move into the wet strands of my hair, stroking it. “Sky, you're . . . ​This is . . .”

I tug the towel away and pull him down onto the bed. Laughing, we move together to the center, throwing pillows out of the way, tossing the heavy comforter to some corner. He parts my towel, and his eyes on me, on my body, the pleasure I see there, tells me everything.

“You're amazing.”

“That's you,” I tell him. And it is. His corded muscles, the ripples of his abs, the broad, broad expanse of his chest, his smooth tan skin, the lines and shadows of him. All perfect and beautiful and all mine right now. All mine to taste and touch, which I do.

We kiss and kiss some more, me sinking into him, him sinking into me, tongues and lips and sounds, all so hot and perfect. We breathe into each other, tasting each other. We talk and laugh and kiss and kiss until I'm drunk on him, spinning, and his lips move away to trail down along my body, his fingers following.

He leans over me and sucks first one nipple and then the other into his mouth, slowly, teasingly, firming his hands over my breasts, his thumbs circling, and again so perfect, like he was designed only to make me feel good. Like that's his mission.