Page 5 of Lessons in Falling
Which was taking my clothes out of the top two drawers and moving them to the bottom ones.With no regard to how neatly they’d been folded, she threw them into their new home.
I thought she might be more careful with her own things when she began unpacking, but nope.She just threw those in as well.And I couldn’t care less.You were thinking about me?
For a brief second, she stopped unpacking.Froze mid-motion, with her back still toward me.I tried not to let my eyes wander to the underwear bunched up in her hand, on their way into the drawer, but I did wonder if she’d brought the lacy pair she’d been wearing at my place that night.
Another rush of blood where it shouldn’t be going forced me to shove all thoughts of her in those panties—of me, sliding them down her soft thighs—into the furthest corner of my mind.Jesus, I was worse than a teenage boy.
Valentina cleared her throat, threw her underwear into the drawer and closed it, too forcefully to be casual.When she turned, her cheeks still seemed a little warmer.
She shook her head.Briefly,she confessed.I don’t make a habit of thinking about you, if that’s what you’re getting at.
I do, I thought.Getting you out of my head has been a problem, and I don’t know why.
Good enough for me.
She huffed, and I think she was giving up.Her shoulders sagged, and she leaned back against the dresser, crossing her arms lazily as her features relaxed.
And God, she really was beautiful.Even now, frustrated, flustered, and defeated.It felt appropriate to thank some higher power for making me come here, for making our paths cross again, and for making me realize that if there was onething I wanted more than getting back my A-game, it was having her again.
Well.Valentina swallowed thickly before she pushed herself off the wooden dresser.And for a second, I truly thought my silent prayer was about to get answered and my wish granted—mere seconds after thinking it up.With the way she stopped only a foot short of where I was standing, I seriously considered finding my way back to God.
I looked down at her, our eyes connected and I could swear everything that swam between us the last time we’d met—lust, awe, anticipation—was there again.For a very brief, very beautiful second.Her lips quirked, before she burst that bubble of mine when she simply said,The top bunk is mine.
CHAPTER 3
VALENTINA
I woke up where I always did in July.On the top bunk, in the guest room, in Alfie’s Summerhouse.On Oakport Island.I felt the way I always did, too: violently hungover.
And although never here, I’d had the occasional dream about Caden as well.Just never a bad one before.
When I usually thought of him, it would be with his hands on me, his body between my legs, and ended in an amazing orgasm.Then, I’d remember that he’d given me three of those when I couldn’t have known him for longer than a few hours, and wistfully fell asleep.
So, maybe it wouldn’t have been all that bad, if he’d actually been here—if only because I could finally thank him for whatever he’d done to me that night.Changed my perception of what sex could be, maybe.That men were actually capable of getting you off, and you didn’t have to fake every orgasm when you wanted them to finish.It was a glorious discovery.
Disoriented, I glanced around the room.There was no sign of him, nothing that could hint at the possibility of last nightbeing anythingbuta dream.Which was… relieving.Otherwise I’d feel bad for being rude and snarky, and—dare I say— an asshole for so long, it would get exhausting even for me.
Because if Valentina was one thing, it was nice.Easy and accommodating.Thinking about being anything else made me feel physically sick, although that could just be the alcohol still swimming around in my system.
Getting off the top bunk still a little drunk, without falling off or throwing up, was significantly harder than I remembered, but I managed.My suitcase, half-unpacked in front of the dresser, made me wonder what ghost of productivity had possessed me to unpack last night, and why it hadn’t made me finish the job.
I fished the T-shirt I’d originally packed to sleep in out of my suitcase, which drunk-me had clearly seen no benefit in doing.She’d thought climbing into bed in our sweaty,drenched-in-margarita-spillclothes from last night was a good idea.It was not.
I shrugged out of them, then into the oversized shirt, and continued my first full day the way I always did: heading downstairs, rummaging through cupboards for leftovers, trying to prepare breakfast with whatever I could get my hands on.As the first one up, that burden always fell on me.
Although, honestly, I hardly saw it as one.Being able to maneuver around a kitchen like this—with its long counters, professional equipment, and the massive island in the middle— felt like a small blessing in itself.And after weeks spent at Mom’s, cooking meals for three with one working stovetop and unsure if we’d still have electricity by the time we’d get to eat it, I appreciated it just a little more.This one, though, wasspacious—and we definitely didn’t need to worry about the Dunbridges’ energy bill.
The kitchen was an extension of the living room, in a big alcove to the left.Gold handles, white marbled counters, blue cupboards matching the window shutters outside.The theme extended into the rest of the house, too.The couch was white, the pillows dark blue, the vases and lights with golden accents.The TV hung above a fireplace, opposite the couch, which the dining table stood behind.
I looked around, letting the feeling ofHomesettle, and got started.After three glasses of water that were needed before feeling physically able to scramble the eggs I’d found in the fridge.Then another glass before I trusted myself with a sharp knife to cut up some of the fruit basket’s contents.When I heard shuffling from upstairs, sounds that gradually turned into groans and curses, I toasted the bread and cracked the last two eggs into the pan—Iris preferred hers sunny-side-up.
My best friend staggered into view a second later.Still groaning and cursing, she came up behind me, slung her arms around my torso, and whispered,You’re an angelright as I plated her eggs.I love you.How do you think my future husband will react when I tell him our wedding day could never live up to the moment of waking up on Oakport Island, violently hungover, not sure if you’ll survive, only to see Valentina Rhodes behind the stove when you get downstairs?
How do you thinkmyhusband will react when I tell him the exact same thing?Alfie materialized in the doorway, throwing another compliment at me before I could even soak up the first one.
The smile on my lips was too wide—my cheeks hurt.And no matter how hard I tried to play it cool (rolling my eyes, shaking my head, waving them off), how much I loved all of this was apparent.Being showered in the loving kindness my family never really gave me.A thanks here and there, sure… but I couldn’t remember the last time they’d truly appreciated me, or any of the things I’d done or accomplished.
Graduating summa cum laude from Hall Beck University got me nothing but a disinterested nod, paired with:Cool.Congrats.
