29. Jamie

Jamie

A minutelater we’re swiping into room 909. When the door clicks behind us, I have a moment of true uncertainty. It’s not cold feet. I know what I want to do. It’s just that I don’t know how.

I’ve never told anyone that I wanted to spend the rest of our lives together before. I know he loves me, but it’s still a risky conversation.

So I do a lap of the generous hotel room, with its sleek hipster furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows. “Nice place,” I say, checking out the view.

When I turn back to Wes, he’s watching me. “It’s nicer now than it was before.” Shrugging off his suit jacket, he tosses it at a chair. He hasn’t turned on any lights, but his handsome face is illuminated by the glow of downtown Dallas. Ryan Wesley in a suit, ladies and gentlemen. There are very few sights as impressive as this one.

I’m staring. And I’ve still got the box clutched in my hand. “Okay,” I blurt out. “So I made you something with my sister’s help, and I got on a plane. But now I’m worried you’ll think it’s crazy.”

“Well…” He clears his throat. “I promise I won’t. I’m just so happy to see you.” He steps into my personal space and puts his arms around me. “I thought you weren’t coming back. Maybe that’s dumb, but…” He shoves his face into my collar and takes a big breath of me.

All right. So I’m starting with an apology. My free hand lands on his back. “I’m sorry I was a dick. That…sucked.” Eloquent. Not.

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just panicked.”

“No, I did.” I take a deep breath and lean against him. “I have a situation at work. I screwed everything up and I didn’t want to tell you. It’s embarrassing. I was worried about money, too. So I just shut you out. How shitty is that?”

His warm hands wander my back. “Baby, you were too sad to think straight. If you’re feeling a little better now, that’s all I really care about.”

My first impulse is to argue with his diagnosis of the problem. I don’t want to be the guy who fell apart. But I was that guy. And maybe my mom is right about the steroids messing with my body chemistry. But whatever the reason, I lost it there for a little while. It’s not fair to Wes if I deny it. “I think I’m getting better now,” I say instead.

“Good.” His grip tightens. “That’s all I want, okay? That’s everything.”

There isn’t a shred of doubt in my mind that he means it. I don’t know how I got so lucky to find someone who loves me as thoroughly as Wes does. How many people ever find that?

Time to man up, then.

I take a half step back, forcing Wes to relinquish me, and look down at the box in my hand. He’s going to think it’s ridiculous.

Taking a deep breath, I decide that’s okay. It doesn’t matter. It’s an important gesture, and it got me all the way to Dallas to apologize, right?

I’m staring at the box now like it contains a venomous snake.

“Do I ever get to open that or what?” Wes asks with a laugh.

Wordlessly, I offer it to him. He weighs it in his hand and then looks at me. “Not heavy,” he says. “Doesn’t rattle.” He lifts the lid to reveal the tissue paper we cushioned it with. Hell, it’s probably broken, which makes the whole idea even stupider than it already was.

I’ll just go hide under one of those thousand-dollar leather chairs now.

Wes’s big hand pulls back the tissue. He squints at the thing inside. Then he carries the box over to the window to see it better. “It’s…made of purple Skittles?”

“Yeah.” My voice is like gravel.

He picks it up in two fingers, the one-inch circular shape outlined against the city lights. “It’s a…?” He bites off the question, as if afraid to guess wrong.

“Ring,” I croak. “You…I…” My mouth is like sandpaper. “In that interview, you said you wanted…” Deep breaths. “To get married some day. And I think that’s something we should do.”

For a second after I get the words out he stands so still that he might be a figure in a wax museum. The ring—in all its clumsy glory—is held aloft. It took Jess and I a whole lot of Skittles and patience before we figured out which of her craft glues would stick, and how long we had to wait before adding each successive bead. It all seemed quite sweet and hilarious last night.

Now I wasn’t sure.

Wes’s chin dips, and something goes wrong in my stomach. He’s backlit against the cityscape so I can’t see his face. I take a few steps closer, even though I’m afraid I really fucked things up. But I have to know.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. And then his eyes well up, all shiny in the window light. “Really?” he rasps.

I take the silly thing out of his hand and drop it in the box. I set it down on the desk. “Yeah. I mean, not right away if you need some time to get your head around it…”

Two strong hands grab me by the shirt and haul me into his arms. “I don’t…” He takes a deep breath that sounds a lot like a choked-back sob. “Don’t need time to think about it. Wanna marry you this summer before you change your mind.” His arms clamp around me, extinguishing all the space between us, and he puts his head on my shoulder. I feel his chest hitch a couple of times as he tries to hold himself together.

“Hey,” I whisper. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

“But you…” He clears his throat yet again. “It’s a bigger decision for you than me. You could have, you know, a wife and kids. A family.”

“Babe, I have a family. A big one. I never sit around and think about moving to the suburbs and procreating.”

“You might, though,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I wanted to give you a while to get used to the idea of being with me and not having…that.”

“Who says we can’t?” I point out.

He blinks.

“If we decide we want to have kids someday, there are ways for us to do that, babe. Adoption. Surrogates.” I lightly pinch his ass. “Stop acting like you’re dooming me to a life of childless misery.”

That makes him chuckle.

“I love you,” I say firmly. “I never stopped, even when things felt bleak. And then I watched your interview and I just needed to be right here. The, uh, plane ticket wasn’t very budget friendly, but…”

He finally leans back to look at me. His face is kind of wrecked, but he’s never looked better to me. “I’m going to send that reporter a nice bottle of scotch. And a box of cubans.”

Then he kisses me. He tastes like tears and Wes. I dive right in. Damn, I missed this. The way he kisses me like he’s trying to make a point. And now I know what the point is.

We’re supposed to be together. Why not make it official?

Suddenly my body decides on a whole host of ways we’re supposed to be together. I press against his hard chest and deepen the kiss. He grabs my hips and groans.

It’s only a nanosecond later when I’m yanking on his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He’s unzipping my jeans and steering me toward the bed. Before I can blink, I’m on my back, my shirt off and my jeans at my ankles, and Wes’s hot mouth is taking deep pulls on my dick.

Pleasure darts from my shaft to my balls. I tangle my hands in his messy hair and thrust deeper into his mouth, floored by the eagerness, the passion, he’s giving to this blowjob. He licks and sucks and nibbles every inch of me, and I groan when he pops his finger into his mouth before dragging it down the crease of my ass.

At the teasing penetration, my hips jerk upward. Wes chuckles and eases his finger deeper, until the pad of it is stroking my prostate. My entire body trembles. Tingles. Burns. He spends a maddeningly long time torturing me with his mouth and finger—no, fingers. He’s got two inside me now, rubbing that sensitive place and bringing white dots to my eyes.

“Wes,” I murmur.

He raises his head. His gray eyes are smoky with desire. “Hmmm?” he says lazily.

“Stop fucking teasing me and start fucking fucking me,” I rasp.

“Fucking fucking you? Did you really need two fuckings?”

“One’s an adverb and one’s a verb.” My voice is as tight as every muscle in my body. I’m about to go up in flames if he doesn’t make me come.

His laughter warms my thigh. “I love the English language, dude. It’s so creative.”

“Are we really having this conversation right now?” I growl when his teeth sink into my inner thigh. His fingers are still lodged inside me, but no longer moving.

“What would you rather talk about?” He blinks not so innocently, knowing exactly how close to the edge I am.

“Nothing,” I sputter. “I’d rather talk about nothing!”

Wes makes a tsking sound. “That doesn’t bode well for our impending marriage, sweetheart. Communication is key.”

I glare at him. “Then tell your mouth to start communicating with my dick, dude. Because if you don’t make me come in the next five seconds, I’m going to—”

“Going to what?” he mocks, and I moan in dismay when his fingers slip out. Chuckling, Wes climbs up my body, grabs both my wrists and shoves them up over my head. “Tell me what you’ll do, Canning.”

“I…” My eyes glaze over. It’s hard to think when he’s rubbing his trouser-clad lower body over my aching erection. I try to push out of his grip, but my man is a strong motherfucker. He keeps my wrists locked between one hand and the headboard. His other palm strokes my bare chest, fingers lightly grazing one nipple.

He grinds against me until I’m growling with impatience. But I can’t move my hands. I can’t yank his pants off and take his cock in my hand. I can’t do anything but lie here as this big, beautiful man rubs off on me like I’m his own personal sex doll.

His eyes are so heavy-lidded I can only see a slit of silver gleaming down at me. Then he licks his lips, and a thrill shoots up my spine. I know that look. I love that look.

Wes shoves his trousers down. His thick erection slaps my abs. “I want to touch you,” I beg.

“No.” His tone is commanding. It only intensifies the thrill. “Gotta hold you down so you don’t go running off again.” He gives me another lingering kiss just to drive the point home. And when he finally releases my wrists, he’s off the bed before I can reach for him. “Don’t move,” he whispers, and I go still, watching in near fascination as he charges across the room to where he dropped his wallet. He opens it, extracts one of his handy packets of travel lube, and returns to the bed.

“Arms over your head.”

I obey. He tosses my jeans aside and settles between my legs and grabs hold of my wrists again. With his other hand, he lubes up his dick, then guides it to the place that aches for him.

“Fucking fuck me,” I beg.

Humor dances in his eyes. “I’m not going to fuck you.”

Now I’m groaning again. Goddamn it. If he plans on torturing me again, I really will lose my mind—

“I’m going to make love to you,” he finishes.

My breath hitches.

Smiling, Wes drops his mouth to mine. Our lips lock at the same moment he slowly slides inside me. The burn of pleasure makes me gasp but he swallows the sound with a soft, sweet kiss that matches the soft, sweet strokes of his cock. He fills me. Completes me. My dick is an iron spike against my belly, and I struggle against the tight band of his fingers around my wrists.

“I need to touch myself,” I plead.

Wes lightly bites my bottom lip. “That’s my job, remember?” And then he wraps his fist around me and gives a fast stroke as he plunges deeper inside me.

The orgasm catches me by surprise. I thought I’d last longer, at least a dozen strokes, but nope, I’m coming and it’s glorious and my entire world is reduced to him. My best friend. My lover. My…fiancé…oh wow, never thought that word would be such a turn-on, but it totally is. My dick throbs harder, another jet spurting onto my belly at the thought of spending the rest of my life with this man.

Wes continues to make love to me, slow and languid, as if he’s savoring every second of this. When he finally comes, it’s not in a hard explosion of bliss, but the gentle rocking of his hips and a soft moan of contentment. Then he collapses on top of me, his lips teasing mine in tender kiss after tender kiss, his hands caressing my pecs and shoulders before stroking through my hair.

Eventually he stops petting me and we lie pressed against each other, Wes curled around me, each of us drifting on our own thoughts. I happen to glance at the clock, which reads 1:37. “You must be tired,” I whisper. He played a game a few hours ago. “When does the bus leave the hotel?” His itinerary had listed a flight tomorrow morning.

“Eh. Seven-thirty?”

“We should sleep,” I say although I’m wired.

“Or you could tell me about the thing at work.”

I groan. “I will, I swear. But does it have to be now? Can’t I stay in my happy place?”

He chuckles into the back of my neck. “Wasn’t I just in your happy place?”

“You’re quite the literalist this evening.” I get up and make a trip into the biggest hotel bathroom I’ve ever seen. I clean up a little and then bring Wes a damp washcloth, sliding back into bed with him.

“Seriously,” he says, wiping his remarkable abs. “What could you possibly have done that’s so awful?”

“I slammed Danton up against a wall.”

“Hallelujah!”

“No. I shouldn’t have. I’ve got better self-control than that. We’re trying to teach these kids how to have sportsmanship, right? So why do I ignore all my boss’s advice on how exactly to deal with Danton and then I get physical with him? Dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”

Wes is quiet for a moment. “That’s the thing, though. You are smarter than that. There’s no reason to think you’d ever do it again. Blame it on the drugs. Say it’s a fluke and hold your head up high and turn in that complaint that Bill keeps asking you for.”

“So I can save my job or my conscience, but not both.”

He kisses the back of my neck. “Save your job, babe, then give your conscience a break. You seriously think those kids are better off if that asshole wins?”

And here is where I realize for the hundredth time in twenty-four hours how much I love Wes. Lying here pancaked to his naked body, hashing out my career disaster—it’s the best therapy ever. There’s a reason I trust him. We may not always look at problems the same way, but he’s pretty damn smart.

“I’m going to go in there Monday and eat crow,” I decide. “I want that job. I deserve it, too.”

His big hand rubs my hip. “Of course you do.”

We go silent again, and after a while I decide that Wes is asleep. But then he surprises me by speaking again. “Can we talk about your other favorite topic?”

“Your shitty housekeeping?”

He laughs. “Okay, your other other one.”

“Which is…?”

“Money.”

“God, why?”

“Because when the season is over, we’re going to throw a wedding and then go on a spectacular vacation. I want to plan it without you worrying about the cost. There’s still some grueling weeks ahead of us, right? It will be easier every time I look at the screensaver I’ve downloaded for whatever beach we’re going to.”

I don’t know what to say. “It doesn’t have to be expensive.”

Wes chews on my neck for a moment before answering. “Privacy costs money. And I have money.” He tugs on my shoulder, so I have to turn around and face him. “You know how I got rich?”

I shake my head.

“By waking up one morning to find that my grandfather had died, leaving me a pile of cash. My asshole father can’t touch my trust, either. The old man knew Dad was a greedy bastard.” He grins. “It’s all just the luck of the draw, okay? And even if I’d earned every penny digging ditches, there isn’t anything I have that I don’t want to give you. Not one thing.”

He leans in and kisses me while I try to take that in. I get a second kiss, and then a third. I thought I was done figuring shit out already, but there’s more you can learn at 1:45 in the morning as your boyfriend slowly eases his way into your mouth, stroking your tongue with his.

I’ve spent too many weeks worrying about accepting help from Wes, because I didn’t want to appear weak. And the whole time he’s only been desperate to show how much he loves me.

The realization brings a groan from the depths of my chest.

“What?” he asks, nuzzling my cheek.

“I love you.”

“But…?” He chuckles.

“But I’m an idiot. Having your dick in my ass has never insulted my manhood. But letting you pay for my hospital bill made me feel crazy.”

Wes laughs and then chews on my ear. “If I set it up so that our whole rent check comes automatically out of my trust fund, will you lose your shit? That’s what I want to do. Because then when you buy the groceries I won’t have to ask you to save the receipts. What if we just stopped keeping track? Isn’t that what married people do?”

“I guess?” All the implications of marrying Wes are threatening to make my head explode.

He must sense it, too, because he goes back to kissing me. Eventually we fall asleep like that—face to face, tangled up together.

When Wes’salarm goes off at six-thirty, we both groan. He hits snooze and I bury my face in the pillow. We lie there half-asleep for a while, clumsily stroking each other’s warm skin. Sex sounds like a nice idea, but we’re both a little too tired to make it happen. And when his alarm goes off for the third time, he grumbles and gets up.

I don’t, though. My flight doesn’t leave for another four hours. So I doze while listening to Wes shower and pack up. Eventually there comes a beefy knock on the door. “Dudes! I have vitamin C!”

Wes actually opens the door to Blake, damn him. And the room is now filled with Blake-chatter. Vitamin C is coffee, though, and the scent of it begins to stir me into consciousness.

“Aw, who’s a sleepyhead?” Blake crows, flopping onto Wes’s empty side of the bed. “Caffeine, J-Bomb! I brought you a cappuccino.”

“You make it difficult to hate you,” I mumble into the pillow.

“That’s what everyone says.” He grabs my bare shoulder with one of his big mitts and shakes me.

“Stop.” I yank the covers higher. “Or I won’t invite you to the wedding.”

“To the…? OH MY GOD!”

I’ve obviously made an enormous tactical error, because now Blake Riley—all two-hundred-odd, suit-wearing pounds of him—gets to his feet and begins jumping on the bed. I open my mouth to yell at him, but it’s difficult to pronounce words when he’s yelling, “Fuck yeah!” and I’m being shaken like a pair of shoes in a dryer.

“Kn…Knock…it…OFF!” I manage to yodel.

And Wes is no help because he’s on the hotel phone for some reason. He hangs up just as I hear an awful crack, like wood breaking in two. The bed lists awkwardly and Blake goes bouncing to the floor.

“Don’t worry! I’m unhurt!” he yells from somewhere down there on the expensive carpeting.

Wes and I lock eyes, our expressions a matching mix of humor and horror. “Blake, you broke the bed,” Wes says with a sigh. “That’s going on your bill, not mine.”

“Won’t be the first time,” he says, picking himself up from the floor and straightening his tie.

“At least you broke furniture and not my fiancé. We’ve had enough of hospitals.”

“I’m just so happy for you guys.” He grabs Wes and lifts him off the ground to hug him.

Wes looks over Blake’s shoulder at me and rolls his eyes. When his feet touch the floor again, he shoos Blake toward the hallway. “Grab the elevator, would you? We should go.”

Blake gives us both a big grin. “Kiss ’im goodbye for now, but not for long!” He grabs his own coffee cup and then dances out of the room.

“Whew,” Wes says, glancing around. It’s like the aftermath of a tornado. Sudden silence and some wreckage. I’m still in the bed but it slopes uncomfortably. My boyfriend walks around to perch very carefully on the edge beside me. “I have to go.”

I smile up at his handsome face. “I know. I’ll see you tonight. The cheapest ticket had a layover in Chicago. So I’ll be a while.”

He puts a hand on my hair and runs his fingers through it. “Don’t miss your connection. I’ll be waiting.” He gives me a sexy smile.

My dick perks up at the sound of that. “Don’t worry.” I tug him down for a kiss. He tastes like toothpaste.

“Mmh,” he says when we finally break apart. “Listen, room service is coming in an hour. My dead grandfather wants you to have a good breakfast before your flight.”

I smile while he kisses me a second time. “Tell him thank you for me.”

Wes sighs and traces my cheek with his thumb. “Later.”

“Indeed.”

When the door clicks shut behind him, I’m still smiling.