Living Backwards (39 page)

When the elevator opened, I guided her inside and against the back wall—my hands on her hips and my lips on her neck. Just a tiny groan and sigh from Jillian set my hands in motion—moving along her body—exploring her curves and contours.

“I don’t want you to go home tonight,” I whispered into the crease of her neck. “I can’t let you go again.”

I felt her body sag against mine and I wrapped my arms tighter around her waist. I wanted her in my house—in my bed—now because unlike last night, once I started, I didn’t think I’d be able to stop.

Once the elevator opened, I grudgingly pulled back, staring down the long hallway. My front door seemed to be miles away. Jillian moved behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing her chest against my back, while she nipped at the area below my ear with soft, wet lips. I let out a groan that probably woke the neighbors when she sucked my earlobe into her mouth.

“Move. Faster,” I ordered, practically dragging her by the hand out of the elevator and to my front door. As I fumbled with the keys, Jillian’s tongue was back on my neck, distracting me and making it almost impossible to find the right key for the lock.

We managed to get into the house without putting on a show for the neighbors, but once the door was closed, I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Jillian,” I said, pulling her against me and pressing my forehead to hers. She was panting and beautiful. “Tell me we’re moving too fast. Tell me to stop.”

But instead of answering, she grabbed me by the sleeve, pulling me down the hall and stopping in front of my bedroom door. I didn’t care that this was a reckless decision, and I didn’t care how crazy the past two days had turned out. I didn’t care about anything but her.

“I’m going to ask you again, Luke, because I need to hear it. Are you sure this is what you want?” she asked, gravely.

“You’re the only thing I’ll ever want,” I replied because it was true. It was always her.

I pushed the door open behind her, and with my hands on her hips and my lips against her neck, I walked her backwards into my room.

Planting both of her hands on my chest, she twisted a fistful of fabric in each and pulled me forward, backing up again until she hit the foot of my bed.

“Can I take this off?” I asked, covering her hands with mine.

“That’s usually how these things go,” she replied, smirking.

“Really?” I asked, reaching behind me and pulling the jersey over my head. “I figured I’d ask since last time I had my shirt off, it was a little distracting for you.”

“Maybe now I’m ready to be distracted,” she said, with a wicked grin.

“Can I take this off, then?” I added, running my finger underneath the edge of her shirt.

“Luke, if you’re going to ask permission to remove every article of my clothing, we need to have a talk. I’m not a patient girl.”

Well, if that was how she wanted to play.

I didn’t waste any time, ducking down and wrapping my arms around her waist. I quickly hoisted her up and over my shoulder, walking to the side of the bed and throwing her down onto it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, flushed and breathless.

“I’m moving things along, per you request,” I replied, crawling onto the bed next to her. “I aim to please, and furthermore, I’m not asking for your permission anymore. I’m taking off your shirt now.”

I lifted up the fabric, exposing her stomach and dragged my mouth across the soft skin. I could hear the pace of her breathing increase and I smiled, enjoying how affected she was. Working my way up, I stopped when my lips reached the material of her bra.

When we were kids, I remember how I was nearly knocked on my ass when I saw her tiny white underwear. Now, I was almost incapacitated, staring at the black mesh material of her bra. It probably didn’t help that the thin fabric hid nothing.

I tugged at the snap on her jeans and pulled on the zipper. Grabbing the material at her hips, I lowered them slowly as she squirmed, irritated by my pace. But I wanted to savor every moment. When the jeans finally gave way, her matching black underwear was displayed, and I was treated to a perfect view of the Celtic cross, peering out through the sheer fabric.

“I’ve thought about this for a long time,” I said, pulling the edge of the sheer fabric down, fully exposing the tattoo. Looking up at her from below, I poked my tongue out and lightly traced the shape of the design, applying more pressure after each pass. Both of her hands had been resting alongside her ears, but as soon as I flattened my tongue, making wider strokes, she brought them down and into my hair, tugging and twisting strands between her fingers.

Sometimes, the things you want to savor the most seem to pass by the fastest. Sometimes there are moments you wish you could freeze and revisit whenever you wanted. As I looked at Jillian, lying on my bed—with her pale skin against the dark fabric—I knew this was one of those moments because everything would inevitably move by so fast.

Articles of clothing rained down on my bedroom floor as we pulled and yanked off the remainder of each other’s clothes. Then it was just us. No bullshit. No pretenses.

The feeling was so intense and consuming and kept building and building—becoming everything I was and replacing everything I had. When I was finally able to let go and let the fire within me burn, I was never so happy to be reduced to ashes because I always felt at home in her flames.

And when we were both still and the room was quiet, I didn’t mourn the fact that the moment had passed and it was over. I knew from the fire, there’d be rebirth—something stronger, something better and something to remind me why it was all right to burn.

On a cold day in November, I bumped my head and woke up feeling rough textures against my skin, wondering why my bed sheets were purple and not cream. I had no idea where I was until I saw that the calendar on my desk read April 29, 1999.

Four weeks later, I woke up on the floor of my bedroom—carpet against my cheek—next to a bed with a cream comforter. I didn’t know if I had traveled back in time, or simply lost my mind. Turns out, it was both.

This time, as I slowly drifted back into consciousness, I didn’t question what pillow I was sleeping on or whose arm was slung across my waist. I didn’t wonder what made me so tired or why my body ached. I knew why. I knew exactly where I was, and it was exactly where I wanted to be.

I opened my eyes slowly, my lids fluttering against the light from the small window in the corner. In the daylight, his room looked so different. Or maybe it was just that I was seeing it differently. The last time I was here, I made a hasty exit, not bothering to look around very much.

I let the feeling of pure contentment wash over me. I was in Luke’s bed—with Luke—our clothing on the floor and long forgotten. I’d like to believe that my second time in high school matured me a bit. So instead of grabbing my phone and taking a picture for posterity, I buried my face in his pillow, breathing in the scent of him to commit it to memory. Just the small movement of my head tilting caused him to stir.

“Why are you awake?” he asked, sounding groggy. I could feel the heat of his breath against the back of my neck, and I arched back into him shamelessly, craving his mouth on my skin again.

“I just woke up,” I stammered, trying to control the impulse to grind against him. He hummed, moving his hand to my hip and brushing his lips softly against my shoulder blade. I tried to control my reaction, but a low groan escaped from my lips.

Way to play hard-to-get, Jillian.
Although, I guess it was a little late for that.

“We didn’t get to sleep until late,” he complained, as if he had to remind me. “Or early, I should say.”

I wanted to turn around and see his face and look in his eyes, but it felt so good to have his hand on my body and his mouth on my back. It was a decision no one should be forced to make. As I rolled over slowly, his hand moved with me, gliding across my stomach, until it rested on the opposite hip—gripping me tightly and pulling me closer. I felt like I was gasping for breath.

When I looked up into his eyes, squinting from the sun, but shining in the light, I wanted so badly to say something witty or endearing or sexy or cool. All I could do was breathe heavy.

“Good morning,” he said, smirking at me.

“Yeah,” I replied, proving that my parents didn’t waste any money paying for my education. How was I supposed to talk to him? On an average day, Luke Chambers was stunning. After the evening (and subsequent morning) we had, he looked unreasonably beautiful. The hair that had been tamed a bit since high school now shot out into every conceivable direction. His neck and jaw were darkened by bristly whiskers. His bare chest was covered with a smattering of light brown hairs. And he was smiling at me with those bright eyes, clearly enjoying the fact that I was staring at his chest like it was my breakfast.

“It’s a very good morning,” I managed to add, ducking my head into his chest. His arms wrapped around my back in response, and I let out yet another painfully obvious groan. This time, I didn’t care. I couldn’t get close enough to him. I nestled into him, breathing him in. I could almost hear Suzanne asking me if I was smelling his smell.

Yes, Suzanne. I am. And it’s ah-may-zing.

He rolled onto his back, pulling me with him so that I was able to curl up into his chest. I never wanted to leave his bed. There was nothing the outside world could offer that would convince me otherwise. I was sure we could have food delivered when we needed it.

“Sorry about the sunlight. Usually, I need a little help getting up in the morning after working at the bar all night. I would have liked to sleep in with you a bit,” he said as his fingers trailed along my arm. “Next time, I promise I’ll remember to close the shades…even if you’re demanding that I take your clothes off.”

“Next time? And I was not demanding that you take my clothes off!” I sat up to glare at him. In the process, the sheet that had been covering me dropped to the bed.

His eyes grew wide and he shot up, grabbing me by the elbows and rolling me under him. My legs clearly had a mind of their own, and parted so that he was able to settle above me. My legs were clearly very easy.

“I seem to remember someone telling me that I didn’t need an invitation to take your clothes off. That’s pretty demanding.”

Holding his weight on one arm, he ran his other hand up and down my side. I was a squirming mess within seconds. “And yes, next time.”

“Well, then. Does this mean we’re going steady?” I asked, attempting once again to keep my cool and say something that didn’t betray how much of an effect he had on me.

“I don’t know about that,” he replied. “I have a reputation to uphold, but I might make an exception.”

“So, are you going to ask me to the movies and hold my hand when the lights go down?”

“Hold your hand? Clearly you aren’t familiar with my reputation,” he replied, burrowing his head into my neck and running his lips along the soft skin. My hands moved up into his hair, holding him against me as I tilted my head to give him better access. I’d have to let him know that he didn’t need an invitation for that either.

“I’m well-acquainted with the myth,” I replied, sounding breathy instead of snarky. “I just happened to know the facts behind the boy on the bike. I remember a lemony-fresh-Lexus-driving, osso bucco-eating softy.”

“Softy? Softy!” he exclaimed, abandoning his spot on my neck. “I’ll have you know, I’m hardcore.”

“Mmmmm, yes, you are,” I replied, craning my neck so that I could reach his lips.

He lowered himself onto me, and I relished the feeling of his weight pressing me into the bed. Every part his body touched mine, from our entangled legs to his soft, wet lips. Our first time together—since, well, our first time together—was rushed and frenzied, full of need and want. Then, later, in the early hours of the morning, there was a desperate desire to be as close as possible, as if we could make up for the time we spent apart if we just held onto each other tight enough. This time was different, though. While the desire and need and want remained, I stopped feeling like I had to hold onto him. I stopped worrying that if I let go, he’d disappear. Ironically, this time I didn’t mind that he was taking his time. I wanted to revel in each moment because I’d travelled a long way for him—farther than he’d ever know.

When he finally brushed his lips softly against my neck, I had to fight to keep my mouth closed before I declared my undying love and devotion and suggested he marry me as soon as possible. I was pretty sure that post-coital proposals were tacky, so I kept it to myself.

“Yes, it
is
a very good morning,” he said, his laugh muffled against my skin. He rolled slowly over, pulling me with him. “I should feed you, shouldn’t I?”

“Would it require moving? Because if it does, eating isn’t a priority.” With my head on his chest and my arm slung across his waist, I had everything I needed right there.

“If you’re considering staying in bed all day, I’m game. I don’t need to be at the bar until later today. Your friend, however, will start blowing up my phone shortly with restaurant business. I’m okay with ignoring her for a while, though,” he offered.

“Why do you have to work?” I whined. “You’re spoiling all my plans.”

I didn’t think that I’d be able to leave now that I was with him. I’d turned into
that girl
.

“Oh? You have plans?”

I knew he was joking, but I also knew I sounded kind of clingy. I didn’t want to send him running for the hills now that we had finally made some progress.

“I’m trying hard not to sound like a crazy person here, and it’s not working.”

“I know you like naming things. Are you naming my bed sheets? Because that’s where I draw the line.”

“I’m not naming your bed sheets,” I shot back. “I’m just…happy to be here. I didn’t think this would happen.”

He didn’t respond, but I could feel his fingers running through my hair. I wanted to keep the conversation light and not mention post-coital proposals, but he was making it so hard. Instead of thinking about inappropriate declarations, I focused on the things that needed to be said. We had talked so much about what had happened and why, but I still needed him to know how serious I was. I wasn’t going to pledge my undying love, but I’d let him read between the lines.

“I agree with what you said last night,” I began. “I don’t think we need to keep going over what happened, but I don’t want you to think that I’m here just because I saw you at the reunion. It wasn’t like that.”

Even though I wasn’t facing him, I could hear him draw a deep breath. I knew he didn’t want to talk anymore, but I really felt that he needed to hear this. I couldn’t offer him a true explanation, but I could tell him what it was like for me. I twisted, turning my head so that he could see my face.

“There was never anyone else, Luke. Leaving like I did was stupid, but it was always you. I need you to know that.”

“Jillian,” he sighed. “I told you. We don’t need to keep going over this.”

“I know. I want to move past this, too, but I don’t think I can if you don’t understand what I’m saying. Despite how long it took me to be here with you, for me, I never really left.”

“C’mere,” he said, propping himself up against the headboard. The sad smile on his face made me anxious. He shifted slightly so that I could curl up against his chest again.

“I agree with you,” he said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and holding me close. “You were really stupid.”

“Luke, I’m trying to be serious here,” I exclaimed, pinching him in the side.

“Ouch! By wounding me?”

“God, you’re still such a pain in the ass.”

“And apparently, after all this time, that still turns you on.”

“Ugh. Forget staying in bed with you all day,” I replied, pulling away from him. This time, when I sat up, I remembered to take the sheet with me.

“Hey, hey. Settle down. You used to have a sense of humor,” he teased.

I narrowed my eyes at him as I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

No more snuggling for him
.

As my feet were about to touch the ground, I felt his arm wrap around my waist, pulling me back onto the bed beside him. I was irritated that he was still grinning at me, but at the same time, distracted by the adorable creases at the corners of his eyes. He smiled with his whole face.

“I told you last night,” he said, trailing his fingers softly along my cheek. “You’re the only thing I’ll ever want.”

Placing my hands on his face, I pulled him closer and attacked his lips. How was I supposed to keep my lips to myself when he said things like that? It was his own fault.

“So, we’re okay?” he asked, and I could feel him smiling against my mouth.

“We’re okay,” I replied. It was actually better than okay. “So…the only thing you’ll ever want, huh?”

“Yes,” he said with the smirk that I love. “And maybe some cereal.”

“Cereal? You sure know how to woo a girl, Luke.”

“I think we’re past the wooing stage, right? I hope so, because that’s all I have.”

“I figured that after living with Grace for so long, you’d only eat omelets and scones, maybe some crepes.”

“Her scones were fantastic,” he said wistfully. “But coming from a guy who couldn’t eat Cheerios until adulthood, cereal is very under-rated.”

“Then, fine,” I sighed, stretching my arms above my head dramatically. “I guess I’ll drag myself out of bed.”

“Mmmm,” he hummed, rolling and pinning me to the mattress again. “Not if you keep stretching like that. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you need to put on some clothes or breakfast isn’t going to happen.”

He leaned in, kissing me softly, but just as I was about to wrap my arms around him and make things less…soft, he pulled away, rolling over and pushing himself off the bed. While I really,
really
enjoyed watching Luke walk across the room to grab a pair of boxers from his dresser, the bed felt cold and empty without him. I was torn between wanting him back in bed with me and enjoying the view across the room.

After he made the unfortunate decision to put on the boxers and a t-shirt, he continued to dig through his drawers, pulling a few things out in the process.

“They’ll be big, but they’re better than nothing,” he said, placing the clothes on the bed. “Well, maybe not better than nothing.”

Looking so much like the boy I knew in high school with his crazy bed hair and devilish smile, he winked at me and walked out of the room, leaving me alone to change. While Brooding Luke gave me goosebumps in high school, and Sweet Luke made me swoon, Flirty Luke was definitely my new favorite.

I grabbed the navy blue t-shirt he left at the edge of the bed, and threw it on. Once I pulled on the shorts, I stopped in the bathroom quickly to freshen up. By the time I walked into the kitchen, he was pouring milk into two bowls of cereal on the counter.