Something Beautiful (Beautiful #3) (7 page)

Shepley

“Thanks, Janice. I appreciate it.” I tapped the red button and set the phone on the bed.

Janice had loved me since the moment I stepped into her office for the interview. What had started out as a gopher job had turned into administrative work, and then I’d somehow ended up in the wealth management department. Janice was hoping I’d stay on after I graduated college, promising me promotions and opportunities galore, but my heart wasn’t in it.

I stared at the almost empty drawer of my nightstand.
That’s where my heart is.

Once the display light on my cell phone disappeared, the darkness of the room surrounded me. The summer evening sun snuck in through the sides of the curtains, creating faint shadows on the walls.

We’d lived here for less than a year, and already, the walls were crowded with frames holding our memories. It hadn’t been hard to mesh our belongings because the last two years had been
us
and
our
and
we
. Now, I wasn’t sure if it was a symbol of our lives together or if it was a memorial of the couple we used to be.

I’d regretted proposing since the moment America said no. We had become different after that.

I rubbed the muscle between my shoulder and neck. It was thick with tension. I’d already peeled off my wet clothes and wrapped a towel around my waist. It was fluffy, something I hadn’t required before living with my girlfriend, but I had come to appreciate it along with the smell of her lotion on the sheets and the boxes of tissue in every room of the apartment. Even the clutter on her nightstand had become comforting.

I became glaringly aware of the drawer in the nightstand. It held only one item—a small dark red box. Inside was the ring I fantasized putting on her finger, the ring she’d wear on our wedding day, fitting perfectly over a matching band. I’d purchased it two years before and taken it out as many times.

We had a long road trip ahead, and I was going to take it along for the ride. Our drive to Kansas would mark the third time the box would be seeing the outside of that drawer, and I wondered if it would return to its home. I wasn’t sure what it might mean if it did, but I couldn’t keep wondering and waiting.

My hands felt scratchy and dry when I interlaced my fingers and looked at the floor, wondering if I should produce a flowery proposal like last time or if I should just go for it. Asking her to marry me this time would amount to so much more. If she said no, she would have to talk about what was next. I knew America wanted to get married someday because she’d talked about it to me and to Abby with me in the room.

Maybe she just doesn’t want to marry me.

Worrying that it would never be the right time for America to say yes had become a daily torment.
No
was such a tiny word, yet it had affected me. It had affected us. But I loved her too much to push the subject. I was too afraid she would say something I didn’t want to hear.

Then there were the tiny scraps of hope—like her talking about the future and the larger confirmations, like moving in together. But even as we’d unpacked the boxes, I’d wondered if she had just agreed to get an apartment because she was too stubborn to admit to her parents that they were right about us not being ready.

Still, the fear of the truth kept me from asking. I loved her too much to let her go that easily. She would have to fight to leave as much as I would fight to keep her. I questioned my sanity for even considering proposing a third time, and I feared it would be the first agonizing day of many where I would have to learn to live without her.

If she said yes though, it would make pushing through all that fear to ask worth it.

“Baby?” America called. The front door closed behind her words.

“In the bedroom,” I replied.

She opened the door and flipped on the light. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“Just got off the phone with Janice. She wasn’t super happy about the late notice, but she gave me Friday off.”

“Sweet!” she said, dropping her towel. “I’m going to take a shower. Want to join me? Or are you going to the gym?”

“I can go in the morning,” I said, scrambling to my feet.

America tugged on a string as she walked, and her bikini top fell to the ground. She paused a few steps later to shimmy the bottoms down her thighs, and then she let them fall the rest of the way.

I followed behind her, picking up pieces of clothing as I went. She reached beyond the curtain to turn the knob and frowned at me while I tossed her clothes into the hamper.

“Really? You’re cleaning up after me?”

I shrugged. “It’s just a habit, Mare. It’s compulsive. I can’t help myself.”

“How did you live with Travis?” she asked.

Thinking about Travis immediately made the beginnings of a hard-on disappear. “It was a lot of work.”

“Is living with me a lot of work?”

“You’re not that bad. It’s preferable. Trust me.”

She pulled back the curtain and then pinched my towel, pulling until the tucked portion was free. The fluffy cotton was on the ground, and then so was America.

With one hand, I gripped the edge of the Formica surrounding the sink, and with the other, I gently buried my fingers in her still wet hair. Her mouth was remarkable. She used one hand to grip my girth, and with just enough suction and a hint of teeth, she teased and sucked me until I began to worry that I was going to lift the Formica right off the cabinet.

Soon, I was coming, but she didn’t relent, her mouth working me until I was finished. I lifted her to stand and then ripped at the curtain, pushing her backward and then turning her around. With one hand between her legs and the other clutching the slick skin of her hip, I kissed her shoulder while I sank myself deep inside her. The sound she made was enough to make me come a second time, but I waited for her.

I worked my fingers in a circle on her soft skin, smiling when she began writhing against my hand, whispering for more. While I rocked against her, agonizingly slow, she continued whimpering and moaning.

The water cascaded over her back, pushing her hair to one side or another, and I ran my palm over her bronze skin, savoring every inch, hoping she would remember how good we were together when the time came to make a decision.

The pitch of her cries became higher, that adorable yelping she made when she climaxed. Unable to stop, I rammed myself into her, over and over, until I came again, slowing as she did, panting even though we’d been at it for no more than twenty minutes.

America turned around to look at me, wearing nothing but a flirtatious grin. She stood, pulling away from me—which was the worst feeling in the world—and then she wrapped her arms around my neck as the water poured over our heads.

“I love you,” she whispered.

I raked my hands through each side of her hair, sliding my tongue into her mouth. I hoped it was enough.

America

Shepley heaved the last of my luggage into the backseat of the Charger, puffing as he fought to make it fit. Once he accomplished that feat, he grabbed his backpack from the concrete and tossed it behind his seat. I kissed his cheek, and he nodded, lifting the inside collar of his T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead. It wasn’t even dawn yet, and it was already hot.

Abby crossed her arms. “All set?”

“That’s all of it,” I said.

“Thank God,” Shepley said.

“Pussy,” Travis teased, punching his cousin in his side.

Shepley jerked in reaction and then playfully punched him back. “Just because I haven’t punched you in a couple of years doesn’t mean it won’t happen again.”

“A couple of years? When did you punch him?” I asked.

Travis touched his jaw. “It’s been a little longer than that. The night you broke up with him. The night”—he looked at Abby, already regretting what he was about to say—“I brought Megan back to the apartment.”

I looked at Shepley, dubious. “You punched Travis.”

“Right after you left,” Shepley admitted. “I thought you knew?”

I shook my head and then looked at Travis. “Did it hurt?”

“Sometimes, I think I can still feel it,” Travis said. “Shepley hits hard.”

“Good,” I said, feeling a little turned on at the thought of Shepley throwing a punch. My Maddox wasn’t known for fighting like the brothers, but it was nice to know he could hold his own when needed.

Shepley looked at his watch. “We’d better head out. I want to beat that storm coming in. Wichita is supposed to be under a tornado watch all afternoon.”

“You’re sure you can’t wait?” Abby asked.

I shrugged. “Shepley’s already taken the day off.”

“I’m glad you’re taking the Charger,” Travis said. “The only thing worse than driving in the rain is being stranded in the rain.”

Shepley kissed my temple and then opened the driver’s door. “Let’s get on the road, baby.”

I hugged Abby. “I’ll call you when we get there. Should be mid afternoon. Two thirty or three.”

“Have a safe trip,” she said, hugging me tight.

As I buckled my seat belt and Shepley backed out of the parking space, Travis pretended to kick Shepley’s door. “Bye, dickhead.”

“I love how guys show affection. It’s so cute in a sad sort of way.”

“You think I can’t show affection?”

I arched an eyebrow.

Shepley threw the car into park, jumped out, and ran to Travis, leaping on his cousin and wrapping both arms and legs around him. Travis was unfazed, holding him like an overgrown toddler.

Shepley hugged Travis, kissed him—on the mouth—and then released him before walking to the Charger with his arms outstretched to each side. “Now what? I’m man enough to show affection!”

“You win,” I said, half-amazed, half-amused.

Travis couldn’t sustain his stoic expression, looking both disgusted and confused. He wiped off his mouth and then reached for Abby, hugging her to his side. “You’re weird as fuck, dude.”

Shepley slid back into his seat, closed the door, and fastened his seat belt with a click. He rolled down the window, saying good-bye with a quick salute. “You kissed me first, asshole. I have a picture to prove it.”

“We were three.”

“See you on Sunday!” Shepley said.

“Bye, fucker!” Travis yelled.

Shepley pulled the gear into drive and navigated his way out of the parking lot.

Within ten minutes, we were already almost out of town, passing Skin Deep Tattoo on the way. Shepley honked his horn, seeing both Trenton’s and Camille’s vehicles parked in front.

“They used to always be smoking outside every time I drove by,” Shepley said.

“Cami said they quit for Olive.”

“So did Taylor,” Shepley said.

“Isn’t that
nuts
?” I screeched, shaking my head as I thought about Taylor and how he’d happened to fall in love with Olive’s mother a thousand miles away. “Now, we just need to work on Travis.”

“He said he’ll quit when Abby’s pregnant.”

“Now, that would be a miracle,” I said.

“Which one? Him quitting or her finally agreeing to kids?”

“Both.”

“Do you want kids?” Shepley didn’t look at me when he asked.

I swallowed. We weren’t even out of town yet, and he was already hitting the hard topics. I wasn’t sure if it was a trick question. Was he looking for a reason to leave? Would my answer be the last straw for him?

“Um … yeah. I mean, I guess. I’ve always thought I would … have kids. Later.”

He only nodded, which made me more nervous. I pulled out a magazine and absently flipped through it, pretending to read the words on the pages. Truthfully, I didn’t have a clue who or what was in it. I was just desperate to look casual. We had talked about kids before, and the fact that it was so uncomfortable now seemed to be an ominous sign that we were going in the wrong direction.

By the time we hit Springfield, the storms were already beginning to organize.

Shepley pointed out dark skies on the horizon. “The hotter it gets, the more those storms will build. Look at the weather forecast for Kansas City.”

I pulled my phone from my purse, tapping in the information. I shook my head. “It says storms, but they won’t start until later.” I selected my favorite radar app. “Oh. There are some angry-looking red blobs in southwestern Oklahoma right now. It’s going to hit Wichita around the time we pull into town.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. Hopefully, it won’t hit before.”

“We can always pull over and get a motel room,” I said.

My smile felt unnatural on my face, the air in the car thick and uncomfortable. I suddenly grew angry that I felt that way. Shepley was my boyfriend. I loved him, and he loved me. That, I was sure of. We were neck-high in a stupid misunderstanding, and I didn’t want to be that girl. I opened my mouth to say as much, but the expression on Shepley’s face stopped me.

“I love you,” was the only thing I could manage to say.

His foot slipped off the gas pedal for a moment, and then he reached for my hand, keeping his eyes on the road. “I love you, too.”

By the subtle twitch of his eye, I knew he was working to keep the wounded look off his face.

“Hey, look. The writing on the door of that semi says O’Fallon, Missouri,” he said. “Like Taylor’s Falyn.”