Page 139 of Blush Crush

When she comes undone, I follow her there, and I hold her through every shudder, every soft cry, every aftershock.

And for as long as I live I’ll never forget the first time I made love to Ariana Ledger.

The following morning I wake up and realize, for the first time since Miles died, I don’t dread my birthday.

It helps that Ariana is in my arms. Her hair is splayed out on my chest, tickling me, her leg hooked over mine, the scent of warm sugar swirling in the air. She usually starts her workdayhours before me, so having her here, on today of all days, feels like its own kind of gift.

I press a kiss to the top of her head and she stirs, tilting her face up to look at me, sleep-dazed and warm.

“Morning,” she murmurs.

“Morning, doll.”

She curls her soft, naked body to mine, stretching, and my cock thickens immediately. I’m merely a man with the world’s sexiest woman bare and stunning beside me. It doesn’t matter that I had her three times last night before we passed out, our slick, sated bodies thoroughly spent. When it comes to Ariana, my supply is never short, my need for her never-ending.

She smiles shyly at me, hesitating on her words before speaking. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, baby.” I kiss her, rolling my body over hers.

She welcomes me with parted legs and I enter her in one decadent stroke, and I can’t think of a better way to start the day.

Afterward, we lie tangled, my knuckles gently stroking her back.

Eventually I sit up a little and Ariana swivels her head to peer up at me.

“Do you want to come with me?” I ask quietly. I don’t need to explain any more than that. She knows what I’m asking.

And it’s something I’ve never asked anyone before. I’ve always gone to visit Miles alone.

“Are you sure? I understand if it’s not something you want to share with me.”

Of course I want to share this with her. I want to share my whole fucking life with her. I don’t say that, though. Instead I nod silently, giving her hand a squeeze.

Once we’re ready and out the door, the drive is mostly comfortable silence, Ariana’s hand resting on my thigh, her thumb tracing absent circles.

When I pull off the main road into the cemetery she stiffens in her seat but doesn’t say anything. She just looks out the window at the rows of headstones passing slowly as I navigate the familiar path I could drive in my sleep.

I park and cut the engine.

The grass is still cold and damp underfoot, the trees bare, the sky pale and gray. It looks colder than it feels, yet dreary all the same. Logically I know it’s still winter, so of course the sun won’t be out blazing and warm—but sometimes I think there’s a reason it’s never sunny on my birthday. Like even the sky knows it’s a sad day. As if mother nature decided long ago that this particular date wasn’t meant to be bright.

We walk together toward his headstone. I’ve made this trek so many times I don’t have to think about it. Left at the old sycamore, past the row of matching granite headstones, then right toward the secluded section near the back.

I stop when we reach him.

Miles Conrad Benton.

Beloved son and brother.

The dates underneath are the ones that still catch me sometimes—same day, different years. Eleven years apart. That’s all he got, frozen in time.

With my hands in my pockets, I stare at his headstone, doing what I always do. Just being here.

Sometimes I talk to him. Other times I stand here peacefully and just think.

Ariana slips her hand into mine and holds it.

“When we turned twenty-one, I brought him a beer,” I say, breaking the silence.