I blink. “After what?”
“This,” she says, gesturing between us. “You go back. I go back. You keep pretending you like figuring things out, and I keep pretending I’m not bone tired of life.”
It’s meant to be light, I can tell. But it lands heavily anyway.
For a moment, we just stand there, under the moonlight, wrapped in that strange cocoon of vacation air—soft breeze, salt, laughter floating faintly from the direction of the bar. Somewhere behind us, the band shifts into something slower and intimate.
Sol tugs lightly on my hand. “Dance?”
I laugh, quiet and low. “Here?”
“Why not?”
She steps closer before I can think of a reason to say no. Her hands find the way up to my shoulders, fingertips resting at the base of my neck, and I slide my palms to her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her dress.
The sand gives under our feet as we start to move—barely a sway, just enough for the music to catch us. Her forehead grazes mine, and for a second, I forget to breathe.
And here, in this small patch of sand where no one else is watching, it feels almost like home.
“Merry Christmas, Sunshine.”
CHAPTER 15
SOL
Ben’s breathingwakes me before the light does.
Soft and steady and close enough that I can feel the warmth of it against my shoulder. The curtains move with the ocean breeze, the faint scent of salt slipping in through the crack in the balcony door. The sky outside is still the color of ash and I know it’s barely morning because everything is silent.
He’s tracing slow lines along my back, fingertips light, aimless. Like he’s memorizing something he knows he’ll forget. I keep my eyes closed for a few seconds longer, pretending we have more time than we do.
When I finally lift my head, he’s watching me.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hey.” His voice is rough from sleep. “You were talking in your sleep.”
“Was I?”
He nods, smiling faintly. “You said something about the ocean.”
“That sounds about right.” I shift closer until we’re touching, his chest pressed to mine. The sheet tangles between us, too warm and too soft.
For a while, neither of us speaks. It’s the kind of silence that says everything: this is the end, and we both know it.
Ben’s hand drapes around my waist and he pulls me even closer to his body, his hard cock between us against my belly. His fingertips trace the soft skin of my thigh, then drag up to my hip where my constellation tattoo sits. I hear his breath in my ear, and I’m sure if I move my hand up his chest I will feel his heart trying to beat itself out of him.
“In my dream,” I murmur, half lost in Ben’s scent, “I didn’t know when I’d see the ocean again.”
His breath stills against my neck.
“It was this feeling,” I say, eyes dragging down his arms, following a particularly detailed vine, “of weightlessness, with no lists or deadlines or pressures dragging me down. Like everything magically evaporated in the sun.”
Ben presses his lips to the curve of my shoulder, a silent acknowledgement. I wonder if he’s getting what I’m saying—that this, him, makes me feel this way. And that I’m not sure when I’ll get it back.
I straddle his lap and his hands find my waist like they always do. “I don’t know when I’ll get that again,” I add as he shifts higher against the headboard, the rough tan fabric brushing his shoulders. His hand comes up to push a lock of hair off my face, then lingers there, thumb tracing the curve of my jaw.
Ben’s eyes are soft, almost reverent. It’s the kind of gaze that makes it impossible to hide, that sees through every deflection and brave face I’ve built since I separated.
