Rachel had gotten the thing for me as a joke. She called it my“Congrats on getting divorced!”gift. It was bright pink and had way too many settings—most of which I’d never used.
The orgasms were better than anything I’d had with my ex-husband, though.
I’d never been the most adventurous partner in bed. I never really gave myself the chance. Grady and I were each other’s first. In the time between our end and the beginning of me and Thomas, there’d only been a handful of drunken make-outs that never turned into anything more. I’d been too nervous to take it any further. Sometimes I wished I hadn’t been. Sometimes I wished I’d let loose and run a little wild instead of staying home and crying.
Maybe if I had, getting over him wouldn’t have been as hard. Maybe I wouldn’t have married some asshole just to fill a voidor found myself carrying around an irrational anger for almost twenty years.
I didn’t realize how long I’d been standing beneath the water contemplating my life until the shower began to run cold. Quickly, I shut it off and stepped into the small, steam-filled space. The fabric of my towel felt rough against my skin as I quickly dried off. Now that I’d acknowledged how long it’d been, my body was inherently aware of what it’d been deprived of.
Even though I knew I could handle the problem myself, my body was rejecting the idea. She knew it wouldn’t be as good as it could be with someone who knew what they were doing. Someone who would draw out the pleasure and let it build until it met a cataclysmic crescendo…
Someone like Grady.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force out the thoughts of what it would be like to kiss him again. To touch him in ways that were neither appropriate nor possible. I had no idea what was going on with him personally, not that I had a right to. Not anymore.
Charlie spoke highly of both her parents. It was obvious she was well-loved and cherished, but there was no mention of them living separately or her bouncing around between two houses. Something had to have happened, though. Otherwise, why would Grady be here when he’d built his life in Tennessee?
I was stuck somewhere between desperately wanting answers and hoping they never came. Looking over at the clock, I cursed as I noticed the time staring back at me.
11:11 p.m.
It may have been a lifetime since our last kiss, but I still remember it.
I was cursed to remember everything.
cleo
. . .
16 Years Old
“Doyou think we’ll be home before my curfew?” I asked, glancing down at my phone. It wasn’t even eleven yet, which meant we had over thirty minutes to make it back to the ranch.
Grady glanced over. “You realize we’re only like five minutes away, right? I told you I’d get you home with plenty of time to spare, and I’m gonna deliver on that.”
He was right, and he had said that plenty of times. I wasn’t sure why I was so keen to be back at the ranch. It was probably because I didn’t want to give my parents a reason not to let me see Grady after a handful of dates, which would be devastating.
I wanted to see him again so badly it hurt.
Not that I’d said it out loud or anything. That would be way too embarrassing, especially if he decided this was all we’d have. Just some sweet summer fling that kept the two of us busy until school started back in the fall and we went our separate ways.
He hadn’t kissed me after our first date, or our second. It’d been a struggle not to ask him why, especially after he kept talking about how much he was looking forward to it. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe I needed to protect myself a little longer because I wasn’t sure I could get over that kind of heartbreak.
Though I’d never experienced it, I’d seen girls from school go through break-ups. Some of them cried for days. One of them even dumped a soda on their ex’s head after she found out he was already seeing someone new. While I don’t think Grady was the kind of guy to do something so careless, he’d already wrapped me around his finger after three dates. Seeing him with someone else, especially in our small town, would probably send me into hiding forever.
I tucked my hair behind my ear, returning his smile. “I know. I’m sorry. Guess I’m just nervous.”
“For what?” Grady asked. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel in perfect timing with the melody. I realized he did that a lot, and to nearly every song.
Somehow, music came up every time we spoke. Grady knew way more about it than most kids our age. He appreciated the craft—like he felt each lyric and melodic note on some soul-deep level. And when he sang along to the grainy radio, it’d nearly taken my breath away. I’d never heard someone sing like their very life depended on it, like he would simply die if he didn’t match that melody.
His voice wasn’t where his knowledge ended, though. Apparently, Grady’s mom had taught him how to play the piano as a kid. When he told her he’d wanted to learn the guitar, too, his dad had reached out to a family friend who didn’t mind giving him lessons. When he would call me late at night after both our parents went to bed, sometimes I’d hear the faint strum of his guitar as he spoke. It was so dang cute that he couldn’t help himself.
“What am I sorry for or why am I nervous?” Both were about him, but each was vastly different.
“Both.”
Normally, I wouldn’t feel comfortable being this vulnerable with someone, especially someone I wasn’t close with, but therewas something familiar about Grady that made me want to try. Maybe it was the fact that we had technically known each other since kindergarten, or maybe it was justhim. “Well, I guess I’m sorry for this not being the best date?—”
