Page 86 of Wilder Love
“So I could eat whatever I wanted.” I made it sound like I was joking even though there was some truth in it.
“You gave up modeling so you could eat?” His eyes raked over my body, but I couldn’t even tell if he liked what he saw. I was wearing a tank top and cotton harem pants with a batik print that I bought in Bali. I had pictured him there, surfing on the beaches and sitting in outdoor cafes, chatting with locals and surf bums. I’d visited temples and wondered if he still believed in reincarnation. Or if he still believed in anything at all.Thosewere the questions I wanted to ask him. I had spent seven years chasing the memory of us, and I hadn’t been able to move on with anyone else. Because he was always there. In my head. In my heart. In my dreams.
“Kind of.” I shrugged one shoulder. “It started to get to me…having all my flaws and imperfections pointed out. Having to keep my weight down.”
He started laughing. Then he laughed harder. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Which part?”
“All of it, Remy. The whole fucked-up story.” He leaned his head against the cushion. “You’re skinny and flawless and you look so damn good. Better than my dreams. Better than all my memories. And you know what?”
“What?”
He cocked his head and closed one eye. “I liked you just the way you were.”
And I liked you just the way you were. The past tense wasn’t lost on me.
“And now? Do you still like me?” Asking that question made me so vulnerable, all my old insecurities rose to the surface.
“I don’t know you anymore, Remy. You’re a supermodel. You live with a rock star…”
“I’m still me.”
“Maybe it’s me then. I’m not me anymore. Or… I’m not…” He waved his hand in the air. “I’m not the guy you fell in love with. Whoever that guy was he’s gone.”
But he was in there somewhere, I knew he was. Every now and then, I caught glimpses of him when we surfed together. It gave me hope. I felt like an excavator, trying to dig up relics from the past and expose them to the light. I hated this. I hated it that we couldn’t talk to each other the way we used to. There was so much built-up resentment and anger and hurt.
“Did you…” I took another gulp of wine, steeling myself for my next question. Really, I should have gone for something stronger. Tequila, maybe. “Did you do okay in prison?”
I winced. What did that even mean? How could anyone ‘do okay’ in prison, especially a guy like Shane who had known the good things in life. A good person who had killed someone by accident. In a horrible twist of fate, a fistfight had gone so terribly wrong. Shane hadn’t grown up on the streets and I always thought that would have made it so much harder for him. He’d never been a thug or a lowlife like some of the scum of the earth I’d met. Like Russell. Or the crackheads and dealers I’d run across in the shitty neighborhoods I’d once lived in.
“I did just fine. Kept my head down. Did my time. Got to catch up on all my reading.”
“So, nobody gave you a hard time?”
He narrowed his eyes. I didn’t know why I’d asked that or why I was asking these questions except that Shane was pretty and I’d heard what goes on in prison. Oh god, if anyone messed with him, that would kill me.
“Stop fucking talking about it, Remy. It’s over. Done. Put it behind me.”
I released a breath. “Sorry.”
“Just wanted to hear your voice…” His eyes closed. “That’s all I wanted and now you had to go and bring up… all that shit.”
I thought I could handle this, handle him, but I couldn’t. Finishing off the rest of the wine in my glass in one big gulp, I stood up and breezed past him. I needed more wine for this conversation.
His hand darted out and wrapped around my wrist. He reeled me back and yanked me into his lap, his reflexes still working just fine despite his drunkenness.
“What are you doing?” I tried to scramble out of his lap, but he held on tighter and wouldn’t let me go.
“Remy. Stay here. Don’t leave me.” It was the tone of his voice that made me stop struggling. Raw. Tortured. “Need you.”
His eyes were hooded and lust-drunk. He slanted his mouth to mine and his tongue parted my lips, sweeping inside my mouth. I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. He tasted like tequila and limes and all my favorite memories. His hand slid under my tank top, over my stomach and ribs, and cupped one of my breasts. He pinched the nipple and I let out a little moan, swallowed up by his kiss. He pinched my nipple again, harder this time and heat pooled between my legs, my body writhing. My heart was hammering against my chest and my breaths came out in little pants.
“I don’t know how to stop myself from wanting you,” he said, his voice hoarse.
I never want you to stop.
His hand tangled in my hair and we kissed like we were starving, our kisses greedy and hungry, never enough, our hands trying to touch everywhere at once. Somewhere in the back of my head, a warning voice was telling me that I should put a stop to this. Shane was drunk and didn’t know what he was doing. But I didn’t stop it.
