It’s going to be shitty when Sienna’s vacation is over and she has to go back to San Diego. I don’t want to think about it. I’d rather think about that kiss out on the lanai.
We stay up way past two a.m. watching movies in the living room until she passes out close to me on the sofa, her soft dark auburn hair like a wave tumbling over the arm of the sofa as her head lies pressed against it. Her perfect little feet with brightly painted toenails are pressed against my leg as she lies curled up with her legs on the cushion. I had hoped she’d fall asleep against me instead of the sofa arm, but close is better than nothing. And I had hoped that when I quietly got up and tried to fit my hands underneath her so I could lift her into my arms and carry her to my room she wouldn’t wake up, but she did, and she stretched and yawned and walked herself in there after telling me good night in the sweetest half-asleep voice I think I’ve ever heard.
And for the first time in eight months, I lie in bed—or rather the couch—staring up at the ceiling with feelings of serenity and stillness, instead of chaos and that merciless, unrelenting feeling of guilt that has haunted me for two hundred forty-three days.
“Ahem,” I hear somewhere above me as I lie in the realm of semi-wakefulness.
Something is pressing against my hip.
Lying on my back, I moan into the pillow suffocating my face and try to adjust it like I always do because unless it’s close to cutting off my breath, it’s uncomfortable and I can’t sleep. With my arms wrapped tightly over the pillow, I draw it closer and then exhale, feeling the heat of my breath warm my whole face. And needing a toothbrush.
Something nudges my hip again.
“Hellooo,” the voice says, and finally it dawns on me.
As I peel the pillow away from my face, my eyes barely open a slit at first as the bright sunlight has filled the living room. It’s more than what I’m used to waking up to in my room with just a single window.
“It’s almost noon,” Sienna says, standing over me.
My eyes crack open a little more, slowly, until they adjust to the light. She’s wearing the same white shirt and pink shorts she changed into yesterday, and the same beautiful smile and splash of freckles that I can’t get enough of. Girls with freckles drive me crazy, but this girl, with freckles like a work of rare art, makes me mental.
I rub my eyes hard with the palms of my hands, my fingers curled rigidly into claws. “Noon?” I’m still not registering, but it’s slowly coming to me.
“Yeah, I’ve been up since nine.”
Awareness floods into me like a bolt of lightning. “Nine? Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?” I start to sit upright, but a pain shoots through my lower back and I stay put for a second longer.
I can’t believe I slept this long, especially on this piece-of-shit sofa. And I don’t recall waking up once in the middle of the night even to take a piss, much less to toss and turn, because a good night’s sleep has been alien to me for a long time.
“You looked so comfortable,” she says. I don’t know how she came to that conclusion, but I go along with it. “But I figured if I didn’t go ahead and wake you up now, you’d sleep all day. Not to mention,” she goes on with a growing trace of sass, “you didn’t make my complimentary breakfast and I’m going to have to take one star off when I rate this … establishment.” She sits on the edge of the coffee table, facing me.
Shit! I can’t believe I didn’t get up to make her breakfast. Feeling like a loser, I shoot straight up into a sitting position and drop my legs over the side of the sofa. Grimacing, I reach behind with both hands and knead my lower back with my fingertips, but now the ache has spread upward all the way to my shoulders.
“Hey, I never said what time breakfast was around here,” I counter with a crooked smile, and she narrows her eyes playfully. “This is Hawaii, remember? We’re on an entirely different time scale than the Mainland, and I don’t just mean that we’re a few hours behind.”
She cocks a brow. “So what are you going to do about breakfast, then?”
I try to hide my smile when I catch her checking me out.
I run my hands over the top of my disheveled hair and then raise them out to my sides and stretch until I hear my joints and spine pop and crackle. More pain shoots through my back, and although it’s not unbearable and I know I could easily get off this couch and do front flips if I wanted to, I decide I’d rather play Sienna at her own game and use it to my advantage.
“Damn, my back is killing me,” I say, grimacing and reaching behind me for my muscles again. “Sleeping on this sofa is brutal.”
Sienna’s face falls under a little veil of guilt and pity.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says. “Is it bad?”
No.
“Yeah, it’s pretty bad.” I groan deeply for added affect. “I should’ve crashed in Seth’s room—would have if I’d known he wasn’t coming home last night.” Truthfully, I’m not sure of that; Seth might be in his room and I just slept so well through the night that I didn’t hear him when he came in, like I usually do.
“Now I feel bad,” she says and stands up from the coffee table, her long, lightly tanned legs stretching for miles underneath the thin fabric of her cotton shorts—damn, she is sexy; the things I want to do to her right now. “I’m not really hungry anyway, so don’t worry about breakfast. I was just messing with you.”
“Nah, don’t feel bad.” I wave it away like it’s nothing, while at the same time still kneading my back with the other hand. “I’m going to make you something … but you could help me out by walking on my back.”
“Huh?” Her face scrunches into a cute, confused expression. “You want me to walk on your back?”
“Well, yeah,” I say with a nod, suddenly realizing myself how just the thought of her touching me—with her feet, her hands, her lips; I don’t even care which—makes my heart ache and my palms sweaty. “It’ll work out the kinks.”
She smiles ridiculously and shakes her head—I fight the urge to reach out and pull her down on my lap; the image of her bare thighs around my waist, my hands hugging the curvature of her ass … Breathe, Luke … just breathe.
“I’m not walking on your back.” She sort of laughs the words out.
“Why not?” I cock my head to one side.
“Well, I think I’m a little too heavy to be walking on your back,” she says as if I should already know this. “And because it’s weird?” It was more a statement than a question, but something else she thinks I should already know, apparently.
God, she’s so fucking cute.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who wears a size zero and thinks she’s fat.”
“No! I’m not one of those,” she defends. “I just don’t want to hurt you!”
I laugh without restraint.
“OK, well, you’re not going to hurt me. I can promise you that.” I get up from the couch—with pretend difficulty—and step around Sienna and the coffee table and then lie on my bare chest on the floor. “Come on. It’ll really help me out a lot.” One side of my face is pressed against the rug as I look up at her at an angle. She stands over me with her flimsy arms crossed—I grow even harder beneath my shorts.
“No, Luke.” She laughs. “I’m not going to do it.”
“Yeah you are,” I say casually and wave my hand at her as if there’s nothing to it. “The only way you can hurt me is if you jump up and down really, really hard. Now, get on.”
“No.”
“Please?”
She shakes her head repeatedly, her smile growing.
I break out the big guns.
“It’s the least you can do for me letting you stay here for free and have my bed.” I grin slightly, which I imagine looks strange with my cheek smashed against the floor.
“No!” She laughs out loud. “I’ll sleep on the couch from now on if that’s the case.”
With me? I want to say—and almost do—but restrain myself.
&nbs
p; “No you won’t,” I tell her sharply. “What kind of guy would I be if I made you sleep on the couch while I was all sprawled out on the comfy bed? Now, step on and start walkin’.”
“You’re crazy.”
Absolutely, one hundred percent, no-going-back crazy for you—I admit it.
I scoff. “OK, then if you won’t walk on it, sit down and use your hands instead. You can’t hurt me like that for sure.”
That seems to have shut her up for the moment. I smile up at her, searching her face for the meaning behind her expression, and come to the conclusion that she’s a little embarrassed. That, too, I use to my advantage. Because aside from that whole gentleman thing, I’m an ass sometimes, and I happen to enjoy it.
“It’s either walk on my back,” I taunt her playfully, “or … sit on my ass with your naked thighs straddling my sides and rub with your bare hands, allll ooover, until you get the kinks out of all those sore muscles.”
Her face would be beet-red if she didn’t have a light tan.
I break into a smile, unable to contain it for long.
“All right, fine,” she says and steps onto my back carefully. “But if I hurt you, you better tell me.” I feel the other foot press into my muscles and my body melts as her weight presses against me and pushes me harder against the floor.
I want to keep up the whole screwing-with-her-head thing, making her laugh and blush and smile, but I’m finding that becoming almost impossible to do anymore. I’m intoxicated by the feel of her little warm feet kneading the muscles in my back, her delicate steps trying so hard to be careful; her small form brings out something primal and protective within me, and it takes everything in me not to roll over and grab her in my arms and kiss her breathless.
“Am I doing it right?” she asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Ah, yeah, that feels awesome.” I moan a little in between words, my eyes opening and closing as if a coaxing hand lies across my lids. “Mmmm … yeah, right there … ah, yeah.”
“Stop that!” She chuckles, and I feel her weight shift as she tries to balance herself. “You sound like you’re about to get off.”
Babe, if you only knew …
My laugh is muffled and strained, followed by an oomph! as Sienna’s weight continues to shift unsteadily.
She walks on my back for a few more minutes, losing her balance only a couple of times and causing me to suck in a quick breath and my eyes to bulge. But she could go ahead and hop up and down if she wanted and I’d still want her to stay right where she was.
After a while, when I feel like she’s suffered enough, I let her off the hook.
“Owww!” I brace the palms of my hands against the floor.
Sienna jumps off immediately. “Did I hurt you?”
“Not with your weight,” I say with a grimace, pushing down the grin trying to sneak up on my lips, “but your heels are kind of rough. Felt like sandpaper there for a second.”
A burst of air pushes through her lips.
“Shut up!” She laughs and then I feel her toes prodding me in the ribs. I pretend to be wounded. “My feet are not like sandpaper! Trust me, I spend enough time on them so they should be immaculate.”
I roll over onto my back and grab one of her feet in both my hands before she can snatch it away. Then I pretend to inspect it, turning it this and that way with my fingers collapsed around the top and my thumbs pressing into the bottom, which is actually quite soft. She hops on one foot, trying not to fall over.
“OK, you’re right.” I give in and let go. “Must’ve been something else.” I smile up at her.
Then, unable to hold myself back anymore, I bring her down on top of me so that her bare legs straddle my waist. Fitting my fingers at the back of her neck, I pull her gently toward me, touching my lips to the edges of her mouth, the little hollow below her nose, and finally her lips—I feel her warm, soft body melting into mine. I kiss her softly, winding my fingers in the back of her hair.
When she pulls away slowly, her eyes are still closed for a moment. And when they open, she just looks at me, I look at her, and I never imagined that so much could be said between two people without a single word.
Finally the moment shifts and she smiles brightly and jumps to her feet, poking me gently in the ribs with her toe again. I draw my legs up, bent at the knees with my feet flat on the floor to conceal the other part of me that is fully awake this morning, making sure that the shorts I slept in last night are loose in all the right places. But I’m pretty damn sure she felt just how hard I am when she was straddling my waist—must be mostly what that red in her face is all about.
I want more than anything to carry her into my room right now, lay her across my bed, and carefully strip off her clothes—it about killed me when she stood up and broke the moment—but then I realize how much more it makes me want her, not just physically, but in every way, and I find myself trading sexual frustration for patience, and her heart.
I never make her breakfast. She said she really wasn’t hungry and that lunch was right around the corner. She let me off the hook this time, but I won’t miss the opportunity again.
We set out soon after for Oahu first thing so Sienna can officially check out of the hotel and get her stuff from the room. And on the way over she sits by the window on the plane and looks out every now and then between our many conversations. There’s never a dull moment between us. And barely a full minute will go by without one of us having something else to say, or needing to laugh, or me needing to pat her leg or hold her hand when I see that lingering fear of flying try to rear its ugly head again. She’s not cured. It’ll take more than a few flights to cure her, but she’s already come a long way.
And she should be proud of herself. I was of myself when I made that first bungee jump with my brother. It was a powerful feeling—letting go of my fear—that left such a mark on my life that I feel compelled to help Sienna feel it as I did. I’ll do whatever I can to help her as my brother helped me.
I want to take it a step further.
I know it’s a long shot, but when we get back to Kauai later … I have an idea.
Sienna
The community center looks pretty much the same way it did yesterday, with the exception of a few more tables that have been set against one wall, and several more paintings placed on easels. It’s practically a ghost town in here—the lights are dull, not bright like they were before, which tells me they’re on dimmers; there’s only a few people walking around, carrying trash bags and boxes, and it’s so quiet. That is, until Alicia sees us and practically glides across the room to meet us.
“It’s good to see you,” she says, taking me into a hug. Then she waves her hand about the room, an anxiety-filled look on her olive-colored face. “As you can see, things aren’t going so well.” She looks right at Luke. “I think we’re in over our heads.”
“Ye of so little faith.” Luke pokes fun at her. “Stop worrying so much; it’s two months away”—he looks at me with bright eyes—“and I have a secret weapon.”
My face falls under a blanket of heat.
“Ye of so much confidence,” I joke. “Keep your expectations of me that high and you might be disappointed.”
Luke pulls me against him with his arm hooked around my waist and he presses his lips against my temple. “I doubt you could pull off disappointing me,” he says, and I melt a little more.
Alicia smiles softly at us, and I admit, it’s nice to see a friend of his who’s a girl look at us as if she wants us to be together, unlike someone else I know.
“So”—Alicia props her hands on her tiny hips and glances about the large room—“any suggestions?” Her long black hair is pulled into a tight ponytail at the back of her head; tiny turquoise teardrop earrings dangle from her earlobes.
Luke’s arm falls away from my hip as I take a step forward, cross my arms over my chest and gaze around at the vast, nearly empty space. Contemplating deeply, I let the ideas I’ve been thinki
ng about since yesterday play through my mind.
Taking into consideration Melinda’s small budget Luke told me about on the flight over, I look to them both and say, “Well, I can definitely help you out; I think I have just the idea.”
“Really?” Alicia looks wide-eyed and hopeful.
Luke just looks proud, as if he’d never doubted me for a minute. He stands quietly with his arms crossed, his defined muscles making his navy T-shirt tight in all the right places. He’s wearing a pair of loose-fitting dark jeans, also tight only in all the right places, with a stylish belt that peeks out from beneath the messily tucked shirt—I’ve yet to find him unattractive in anything he wears; he just gets sexier.
I begin to walk about the room slowly.
“One question,” I say, stopping briefly. “What time of day will the event take place?”
“It’ll be from five to nine in the evening,” Luke answers.
I nod. “That’s perfect,” I say and start moving again. “So it’ll be a day and night event—I can definitely work with that.”
I stop in the center of the room, surrounded by empty easels and extension cords running across the gloss-stained concrete floor. I look up, gauging the distance from the ceiling to the floor.
“The ceilings aren’t too high,” I begin, pointing upward, “so it’ll be easy to hang decorations from them.” I look right at Luke once and gesture with both hands toward the popcorn ceiling. “I think white tulle fabric would be beautiful streaming from the ceiling in highlighted sections of the room”—the motion of my hands becomes more dramatic as I try to visually describe the idea to them—“like this, in one long, sweeping piece, and with enough that the fabric pools just a little against the floor.”
Luke purses his lips, nodding; his expression is thoughtful and absorbed as he takes it all in.
“And then amid the tulle,” I go on, “I think strings of white or clear lights would be perfect—simple Christmas lights will do the trick.” I gesture my hands again, this time to indicate the top portion of the fabric. “And then white globe paper lanterns can hang in clusters from the top of the tulle—in the daytime it’ll all still look really pretty even unlit, but when the night falls, just turn on the lights and it’ll give the entire room a beautiful ambiance.”