My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3) (14 page)

We haven’t looked each other in the eyes since, but at one point, it might get addressed. I’m hoping never.

I
T’S THURSDAY AND I’M
hands-deep in blue paint, teaching a roomful of kids how to paint the ocean waves alongside the sunset. Blue is the color of trust. I remember learning the psychological breakdown of colors in art class my senior year in Ashford. Blue represents reliability and peace. Allowing the kids to find the inner peace in the waves is my goal for the day. Greg, who has been my best student, is currently deep in thought, stroking swipes of thick blue acrylic onto his canvas.

Speaking of blue, it also symbolizes the color of the thong I left dangling on the bathroom towel rod by mistake this morning. When I went back to grab it, Ian was already standing there like a deer in headlights staring at it. I almost felt like I was interrupting a private moment, so I just let him do his thing and a no panties day it was for me. I should probably be more considerate of Ian’s feelings. As in sexual feelings, but I also know that Amber has been stepping up her game. If yesterday’s outfit didn’t scream desperate, then I don’t know what does. I mean, who wears heels just to counsel kids?
Don’t answer that.

I know I’m only feeding the beast, but Amber is bringing me back to high school, where I felt like I had to constantly fight fire with fire. All week as Amber has irritated me with her crude attempts at throwing her snatch ass at Ian, I’ve found myself immorally trying to find ways to one-up her with him; Leaving my lingerie out where he can see it . . . a moan when I’m eating or sucking on a straw . . . possibly walking out of my shower naked, on purpose.

Girls will be girls. What can I say?

I haven’t seen Ian yet. We drove separately. It’s sports’ day and he had to open up the center early for a game. I only have one art session scheduled, so when class ends, I decide to take an inventory of what supplies might be needed for future projects. I might not be teaching here long, but the supplies will get used regardless. I’m not sure about the budget for this place, but if it is okay with Ian, I plan on donating a shitload to the center.

Just as I place my pad of paper on the shelf to count the acrylic paint tubes, the door to the art closet flies open.

“Jesus Christ, Ian, you scared the shit outta me.” I press my hand to my chest. The look in his eyes says he doesn’t care too much about my well-being. Uh oh. It
also
looks like I may have over poked the bear.

He steps into my personal space and presses his body into mine. The door automatically swings shut behind him.

“Ian?” I question.

“Chrissy?” he retorts, his breathing already heavy with what seems like pure lust.

“Can I help you with something?” I take a deep breath, trying to calm the unsteady beat of my heart.

“Yeah, you can start by not leaving your goddamn lingerie around for me to see. Unless you want me to finally break and do something about it.” He pushes himself harder into me.

And, oh, my God, he is definitely that.
Hard.

“What are you doing?” I ask nervously.

“What I’ve been wanting to do since the moment you came back into my life.”

“And what exactly is that?” I choke out.

“Continue where we left off.”

And with that, he pulls me fully against his solid chest. The instant his lips touch mine, my knees buckle. This kiss—this powerful, overdue kiss—is going to literally bring me to my knees.

I clutch at his arms to stay upright. He presses his mouth harder to mine, working my lips open and inviting himself into my mouth. I moan, breaking his last bit of control. His feet are moving me backwards as he presses me into the shelves, knocking art supplies to the floor as he makes love to my mouth.

This kiss is shattering my sense of right and wrong. What makes it so wrong is how long I’ve been denied his mouth. What makes it so right is how we fit perfectly together. Just like we did eons ago.

My grip on his arm loosens as he shifts one hand to my waist. I feel his other firm hand mold itself to my ass cheek. Working me like clay, he melds my body closer to his.

Yep, no mistaking that hardness.

God, I’ve longed for this. The want. The need. That explosive feeling inside your chest when you are experiencing something so strongly it tilts your world. My hands instinctively reach for something to anchor me. I dig my fingers into the thick hair at his nape. My fingers plunge deep in his dark locks as I hold on for dear life, never wanting this kiss to end.

“I’ve been dreaming about this moment.” He dips his mouth past my chin, trailing kiss after gentle kiss down my neck to my collarbone. “Your mouth. I’ve never stopped thinking about your mouth. Since that first kiss. It ruined me.” More kissing, more licking. “I’ve done nothing but think and wonder just how that mouth would taste now.” He takes a sharper nip of my neck, blows a breath to cool the overheated tingle, and then his lips are on mine again.

His confession has me panting between kisses. His words hit places that I want more than anything for him to explore. Thankfully he has the same mindset, because his hand is working its way down my stomach. He opens a button and delves lower into my pants.

Oh, God, I should stop him. But it’s like a war with my hormones right now and both my brain and bits are screaming the same thing:
you’re on a break.

Before I have a chance to decide, I feel his finger dip inside. He presses upward, sending a jolting response from me as he strokes my insides. My sanity finally slips and all I want now is for him to rip my clothes off and take me fast and hard on this closet floor.

The urge to come undone in his arms is strong. My moaning has him just as worked up. He’s breathing heavily and rubbing his hard self against me, ready to lose his own battle with reality. His fingers turn greedy and more aggressive, taking me away to a place that I’ve longed to go with him since the moment I stepped foot back in Oregon.

“Oh, God, Ian, I’m going to come.” I’m about to go flying and he needs to be ready to catch me. My silent scream shakes me as it hits me full force, throwing my head back in pure ecstasy.

Holding my quaking body, Ian kisses me. “God, Chris, you’re even better than I remember. Just perfect,” he says into the crook of my neck. I go to grab at his pants, completely uncaring that we are in the most inappropriate place ever. He grabs my hand to stop me.

“But . . . what about you?”

“Trust me, I got what I wanted.” He dips back into my neck, his breath causing goose bumps to form down my arms. My eyes close at his touch.

“I was just a teenager, you know,” I breathe softly.

“Know what?”

“You said you remember me being perfect. I didn’t even know what I was doing back then.” My eyes are still shut. My head rests against the shelf, allowing him better access to my flushed skin.

“And you were perfect back then.” He raises his hand to my mouth, tracing his thumb along my swollen lips.

Opening my eyes to meet his, I whisper, “You were my fist kiss you know. My first everything.” I remember us that night on the swings at the school playground. Even later that year in his bedroom.

“And even back then I wanted to be your last.”

That confession guts me.
His last.

My conscience decides to resurface. What the hell did I just let happen?

I snap out of my lust bubble and take a hefty push at Ian’s body. “Why would you say that to me?” Shame for what I just allowed to happen consuming me.

“What? What’s wrong?” he asks, confused at my complete mood swing.

“Wanting me to be your last? Why would you say that?”

“Chrissy, I was in love with you and I wanted us to have a future. I didn’t go off to college without you. I waited for you. Wasn’t that enough proof that I wanted us to be a forever?”

Cat’s got my tongue on this one. Denial’s a bitch, but I always believed Ian was too good for me. I convinced myself he wouldn’t stay with someone messed-up like me. I lived in fear that one day he would see the real me. Depressed, broken home, unstable teenager. Shit,
I
would have ditched me if I could.

“I thought we were planning a future, Chris.” His broken words tear at me. “Until, of course, you decided to ditch me after I waited for you.”

His words begin to anger me. He knew what I was going through then. The depression. The abuse. He knew I never planned to stay in Ashford. I didn’t ask him to drop anything for me. I left because I needed to go and chose not to ruin his life while I tried to fix mine.

He pulls away from me and stares me down. “There you go again, having that silent battle in your head. Just like you used to do. Speak your mind, Chrissy. Fight with me. Tell me what you’re thinking. Or are you just going to close yourself off and leave again? Not caring about those you leave behind?”

Who does he think he is? “How dare you say that to me.” I breathe heavily in the throes of panic and close to breaking down. “I didn’t leave you. I asked you to come with me.”

“You asked me to run away. I couldn’t do that. I asked you to stay and fight. You chose to run.”

“I did what I had to do.”

“Exactly, Chrissy. You did what
you
had to do. What about me? I loved you. You were supposed to be my future.”

“Stop saying that!” I demand.

“What—does the truth hurt? Does it hurt to know what it did to me after you left? To your sister?”

I slap him across his beautiful face. His hand goes to his reddened cheek as I gasp at my reaction to his truthful words.

His words. All sharp. Weapons that wound, causing my heart to bleed with regret.

“It was high school, Ian. We were young. We weren’t married or anything. We just made up plans to pretend our lives didn’t suck. They were never real plans. Or you would have . . .” I can’t finish my sentence. Because I know he would have done anything for me.

His facial expression is that of a crushed man.

“I couldn’t stay here,” I choke out. “You knew that.” I sound so small, trying to defend myself now.

“You couldn’t stay here or with me? I told you I would have protected you.”

At that I erupt. “You couldn’t protect me from
her!
” I yell. “No one could. I was done. Done living my life surrounded by hate and violence. I was done feeling like I was nothing to this world and being told I was a mistake. I was done.”

“You weren’t a mistake! Goddammit, when are you going to see that? You were never a mistake. Your mother was sick, and yeah, she was horrible, but you were surrounded by love. You were just so wrapped up in hating your mother that you didn’t see the people fighting to show you how much we cared. Me, Amy, your friends. You weren’t alone.”

“Don’t act like you know,” I say. “Don’t turn this around on me. I left because I had to.” I’m like a broken record, using the same excuse over and over to justify my actions.

“Fine, see it that way, if you have to. But just know, you left a whole lot of people behind who loved you . . .” He pauses, taking in breath after fighting breath. “Including me.”

After I left, just to force myself to sleep at night, I would remind my torn soul that he would have left me eventually. Probably sooner than later once we were off at college together. So with all the pain I was already carrying, I decided to leave first.

His painful words are starting to form some doubts for me. Was my whole reasoning for running built on lies? What if my whole life is built on false notions I told myself?

I’m crying now. I’m not sure when I let my wall fall or when my tears began to spill, but I can feel the wetness on my cheeks.

“And for what it’s worth,” he continues, “I was going to ask you to marry me. I wanted you to be my forever. So I was going to make you mine. You came to my house to tell me you were leaving the day I bought the ring.”

I stare at him in shock. I’m about to break into a million pieces. I don’t know what else to say. I push away my doubts. I left for reasons I felt people should understand. I left because I knew Amy was never going to give up on our mother, like I felt she needed to. I left because I needed to find a life free of all that hate.

But Ian is the one who leaves now. Without another word, he turns his back and walks out of the supply closet.

Leaving me alone.

I slide to the ground with my face in my hands. I let out a guttural cry, because the pain inside me can’t be contained any longer. I sob into my hands for what seems like forever, until I find the strength to pull myself off the floor.

I gather the scattered supplies, place them back on the shelves, and leave the closet.

Thankfully, I drove my own car today. I call Henry’s wife, Patti, and ask if she would be willing to take Pippa overnight, to which she happily agrees. I stop at the house to grab a few things and head out.

I need to go home to California. I need to see Brent and end this once and for all. I need to look at my life in California and remember why I left Ashford. And why this beautiful life I could have had is not where I belong.