LoveLines (38 page)

“Bailey,” he breathed, his hands folded over my head. In reverence.

I stroked him with my hand to the rhythm of my mouth—long, slippery strokes that twisted my hair and elicited moans. I concentrated on giving him the pleasure he needed. It took me six months, but I learned how to love. Sounds simple enough
, but love isn’t about you. It’s about the person you love. And once my heart understood, it freed me from . . .
me
.

“Bailey, I’m coming,” Reece whispered. “Oh God, I’m coming!”

He exploded in my mouth. Built-up love. Too much love. I-can’t-swallow-all-of-this love. Hit-the-back-of-my-throat-and-make-me-gag love. I spit up everywhere, coughing and spluttering and squealing. It wasn’t the sexy finale I wanted. I wanted to take his come elegantly—can you take someone’s come in your mouth elegantly?—and swallow it like a saucy vixen.

“Oh, Bailey,” Reece said, chuckling. “Do you want some help?”

“Help with what?” I asked, cupping my chin. Drool and semen leaked from the corners of my mouth.

He held up his hands and shrugged.

“I need practice,” I said, walking to the bathroom. He followed, standing in the doorway and watching me clean up the mess on my face. “It’s been a while. Obviously.”

“I’m glad,” he replied.

I threw away the toilet paper and turned to him.

“You are, huh?”

“Yes. And I suppose you figured out that it’s been a while for me, too?”

I giggled. “Well, you did come pretty fast, and I
ain’t
that
good.”

“You’re better than you realize,” he said.

We stared at each other.

“I was never with anyone else,” he said. “Not one.”

“Me neither,” I replied.

“My only regret?”

I held my breath.

“Not coming to you sooner,” he said. “I hope you’re prepared for a week-long shut-in. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

I laughed. “Already took the time off of work?”

He shrugged. “I took a chance.”

“Paid off.”

“Yes, it did,” he replied.

“I guess I should put my request in then.”

“You better.” He paused and smiled. “Your face is glowing.”

“I swallowed some of your come,” I explained.

“Is that what it does?”

“Yep.”

“I like it,” he said. “Now get over here.”

I walked into his open arms. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Bailey’s turn.”

“Oh my God, Bailey! Move it!” Nicki smacked my hand away from my head, then resumed curling my hair.

“I’m not sure about this one,” I said, pointing to a less-than-springy curl.

“I swear to God, if you go all OCD on me . . .”

“Girls? Stop,” Mom chided. “Nicki? Do your best. Bailey? This is what you get for not hiring a hairstylist.”

I huffed. “Nicki said she was a ‘miracle worker’ with the curling iron.”

“I am!” Nicki replied. “I will fix the curl. Just stop touching your hair. In fact, put your hands in your lap.”

I shook my head. “I need champagne.”

“Erica, will you get Bailey a glass of champagne, please?” Mom asked. It wasn’t her usual obligatory “please” attached to the end of that command. In fact, it didn’t even sound like a command. It was an actual question that offered options: you can do it, don’t do it, whatever. I was impressed.

Erica kissed my cheek, then handed me the champagne flute.

“You only get one because we don’t want you stumbling in the sand,” she said.

“Understood.”

“And we don’t want you having to go pee in the middle of the ceremony,” she added.

“Understood.”

“And we already put blush on your face, so we don’t need you looking like a cherry.”

“Understood.”

Erica grinned. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m nervous,” I confessed.

“All brides feel that way on their wedding day,” Mom said.

“I didn’t,”
Nicki noted, and Erica and I giggled.

“All brides but Nicki feel that way on their wedding day,” Mom revised.

“Your mom’s right,” Erica said. “It’s natural to have the jitters. But you and Reece live together. There’s nothing that changes except your names on a license. Think of it that way and take deep breaths.”

I breathed deeply and watched as Nicki fixed the curl I didn’t like. She sprayed my hair all over, waited a minute, and then ran her fingers through it, breaking up the ringlets.

“I can’t promise you that this’ll last through the entire ceremony,” she said. “The wind and all.”

“I don’t care,” I replied. “As long as he can see me before I get all disheveled.”

I really wasn’t a fussy bride. I let Nicki choose my dress. I put Erica in charge of the bridesmaids dresses. Erica was my matron of honor; Nicki, my only bridesmaid. That proved a tiny hiccup in the wedding party. Reece wanted Christopher, Camden, and Noah included, but I didn’t have enough girls. And I wasn’t asking any of my “surface” friends because that’s bunk. You don’t ask “surface” friends to be in your wedding.

“This is bullshit,” Camden said over lunch several months back. I explained my problem and asked if he’d like to be an usher.

“Camden, you’re a guy. What do you care?”

“I’m Reece’s family, Bailey. Family! I’m the
freakin’ best man!”

“Hold up,” Christopher chimed in. “I thought I was the best man.”

“Are you crazy?” Camden said.

Reece sighed and took a huge chunk out of his burger.

“He grew up with me!”

“He works with me!”

“Shut up!” I screamed, and patrons turned in our direction. “I don’t have enough friends, apparently, so here’s the deal: Camden, you’ll be best man—”

“WHAT?!” Christopher cried.

“And Chris, you can walk me down the aisle.”

His mouth dropped open. “Really?”

I nodded.

“You don’t want your uncle or somebody to do that?”

I shook my head. “I want my surf buddy to.”

“You
wanna do it up in style? Ride a wave in together?”

I laughed. “Hell no! Though that is
kinda cute.”

Reece sighed relief. “Are we all happy now? Because I’m this close to eloping.” He he
ld up his thumb and forefinger millimeters apart.

“We cool,” Christopher said, and then muttered, “I got the better job anyway.”

In another half-hour I was all dressed up and ready to go. I wore a strapless ivory gown with a high-low hemline. I thought it was perfect for a beach wedding. Nothing dragging in the sand. The gown was simple—its only adornment was a band of beads and pearls that wrapped my chest, giving me the illusion of slightly larger breasts. I liked it. I thought Reece would, too. I decided to go barefoot for the ceremony, my toenails painted a cheery fuchsia. Nicki cried when I showed her. I did it to include a little part of her ceremony in mine. I wore one of those short veils with the netting that hugs your face close. It was decorated with the same beads and pearls featured on my dress.

Nicki grabbed my reception shoes
, and Erica grabbed my second glass of champagne. I begged her and promised I wouldn’t stop the ceremony for a pee break.

“I’m serious, B,” she warned.

We clambered into the car—Mom, Nicki, Erica, and me—and headed to our spot on the beach. I didn’t even think about the event set-up. I figured someone would put chairs out, and if not, well, so what? I didn’t care about perfection. (Yes, I just said that.) I cared about seeing Reece. In fact, as soon as we parked, the urge overwhelmed me. A good urge.

Nicki could see it o
n my face.

“At least put these on!” she said, holding up my white sparkly flip flops.

But I couldn’t wait. I wouldn’t. And against my mother’s orders that the bride not be seen until she walks down the aisle, I ran across the parking lot barefoot and midway down the slippery bank.

“Reece!” I shouted. “Reece!”

The wedding guests were seated, waiting. Dozens of faces turned in my direction,
ooh
-ing and
ahh
-ing over my dress. Some chuckled and whispered to one another.

“Bailey?” Reece called. “What are you . . .” And then he really looked at me, studying my dress and my hair and the veil that obscured my face. Observing me bouncing from foot to foot because of the sizzling sand. “Bailey,” he whispered. I couldn’t hear. I could only see his mouth move, forming my name.

“Do you like it?” I squealed. I held my hands out to the sides. And then I held up one foot and pointed. “Look! No shoes! Can you believe it?”

He laughed.

“I did it all wrong, Reece! I did it like that on purpose! My sister did my hair! It’s not perfect, but I love it!”

I heard Nicki huff behind me, then mumble, “This is so not elegant.”

“I love your hair, Bailey!” Reece shouted. “It’s gorgeous!”

“I didn’t check to see if anything was set up!” I went on.

“For heaven’s sake, Bailey,” I heard Mom say. “Get over here!”

“You sound like you don’t give a crap about this wedding,” Reece replied, and I burst out laughing.

“I know!”

“You won’t even count your steps down the aisle?” he called.

I shook my head. “Too busy looking at you!”

The pastor cut in. “How about we get you two married already?”

The wedding guests laughed.

“Bailey Mitchell! Get your ass down here right now! I need to change your last name!” Reece said.

I felt Christopher’s cool hand slip around my upper arm. “She’s coming,” he said.

“I’m coming, Reece!
I am! And I love you!”

“I love you, Bailey!” Reece replied.

Christopher pulled me along to the public access walkway that had been decorated with tulle and flowers—specifically ivory, white, and soft yellow roses. Beachgoers hung around observing the scene. Some even took pictures of me. I thought that was weird, but then maybe they were just as caught up in the moment as I was, so I didn’t mind.

My feet struck the hot sand, and I begged for my flip flops.

“I told you,” Nicki hissed.

I slipped them on then clung to Christopher. Only then did my thoughts go to my father and how much I wished he could be here. The pang in my heart lasted only a moment. I knew what he would want. He would want me to celebrate today, not cry over h
is absence. Because he was up there celebrating even now, waiting to walk me down the aisle through Christopher. He was waiting to hear Tony at my reception, and dance with me through Reece.

“Go on,
Puddin’ Pop,” I heard him whisper in my ear. “Go on and be happy.”

The girls had already walked down the aisle. I looked at Reece, who stood under the arbor, hands folded in front of his white cotton shirt. It was untucked, the way he wanted—the ends flapping in the breeze against his line
n pants. He wore flip flops, a yellow boutonniere, and a smile.

I turned to Christopher, who stood calm and stoic. He took his job seriously; he understood the magnitude of taking my father’s place.

I squeezed his arm. “You ready?”

He looked down at me and s
miled. “Let’s get you married.”

***

We sat on our couch, side by side, dunking chips in a Mexican seven-layer dip and watching a bad made-for-TV movie. Poppy begged at Reece’s feet, and he snuck her chips while I pretended to be oblivious. I took another sip of champagne when Reece said I wasn’t drinking enough.

“You just want me drunk,” I said.

“I want you hanging from the ceiling fan,” he replied.

I laughed.

“No, I know what I want,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“I want you completely naked wearing only your wedding veil.”

“Now, that’s hot,” I replied, and took another sip.

“You all packed?”

“Yep.”

“Erica’s coming to get Poppy tomorrow at nine?”

“Yep.”

“Got your passport?”

“Yep.”

“I’ve no idea why I’m asking you these things,” he said, shaking his head.

I smirked. “Because
I’ve changed. That’s why.”

He studied my face. “You’re still the same Bailey, though. I don’t suspect you’ll start showing up late for work or tossing all your hand sanitizer.”

“No,” I said. “I won’t do that. But I won’t freak out if I’m late. And I won’t freak out if I see you tossing my hand sanitizer.”

“Why would I toss your hand sanitizer?”

“I’m just saying.” I steered a chip in the dip and scooped up a heaping pile, bringing it carefully to my mouth.

Reece looked past my face to the model boat sitting on the end table. It was complete. Reece and I built it together. We scheduled time to work on it, and we only talked about my father during our work sessions. When the time was up, we walked away from it.

“I wish your father could have been there,” he said softly.

“He was,” I replied
, my mouth still full.

“Huh?” Reece said, and then he nodded quickly. “Oh yeah. Okay, I gotcha. In spirit, you mean.”

I smiled.

“You have cilantro in your teeth,” he pointed out.

“Is it sexy?” I asked, still smiling.

“Terribly.”

I laughed and brought my pinky finger to my mouth, using my nail as a toothpick.

“Classy,” Reece said, and I smacked his arm.

“And yes, my dad was there in spirit. I felt him walking me down the aisle. I felt him dancing with me. I heard him call me Puddin’ Pop.”

“How’d you get that nickname?” Reece asked.

“The obvious way,” I replied. “I’d make Jell-O Pudding Pops with Dad in the summer. It was our favorite dessert.”

“That’s pretty obvious,” Reece agreed
.

“One time I tried to sell them, like you would lemonade,” I said.

Reece laughed. “Why’d your dad even let you try. Talk about a waste of money.”

“Because I was insistent. And I had to learn it on my own,” I said. “Boy, the look on my face when I opened that cooler the sixth time
. All that melted goo. I think it was over a hundred degrees that day.”

“Ha
ha!”

“Dad said it was so sad. He hung back watching the whole scene. When I gathered the cooler and my box of money—”