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My dirty mind, of course, is imagining kissing her between her legs, over and over again for two seconds at a time. I bet I could still make her come.
Clearing her throat, Holly clarifies her statement with “Above the neck,” as if she knows exactly what I was thinking because she was thinking it too. I know how much she loves my tongue. I would gladly lick her pussy every single day for the rest of my life.
Oh shit.
The car swerves, nearly running off the shoulder when that last thought punches my face and gut at the same time. It wasn’t an exaggeration. I actually meant it.
I want to wake up every morning with Holly in bed beside me, where I know she’s safe and happy, where I can reach over and touch her, kiss her, hold her every single night.
I’m just not sure if I would be enough to make her happy. Now, sure. In a few years, though, she’s going to want babies. I would rather Laurel or even Lyla have a kid before that happens. That way, at least I wouldn’t have another soul to be responsible for. An innocent life I could so easily hurt, let down, or screw up.
“Are you okay, Isaac?” Holly asks. Her question brings me back to the present, the car, the passenger I’m driving, and trying not to kill us in traffic.
“Shit. Missed the turn,” I tell her, which is the truth. I hate thinking about the future, knowing we’ll come to a dead end at some point. But at the same time, I can’t fucking let her go either, which makes me an asshole.
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
Holly
One second, Isaac is being sweet and amazing, and the next, he’s someplace else, slamming a door in my face or building a wall between us. I don’t know what makes him go distant, but I can take a guess.
He’s still second-guessing me. Us. And he still doesn’t think we could ever be an actual couple.
By the time the car stops, though, he’s back to being the fun date I never expected.
“We’re going on the beach?” I ask as I read the signs around us in the dark.
“We’re going to the beach. I should’ve brought a blanket,” he says, and then he’s out of the car, coming to my side, where I slip out before he can open my door.
Taking my hand again, Isaac leads me to the public-access path in the dunes that leads to the roaring ocean.
I’ve been on the beach at night in the summer for bonfires but never anything like this. There’s no one out here but us on a breezy fall weeknight.
The reminder that I have to work tomorrow hangs over my head, but I wouldn’t trade the time with Isaac tonight for anything. That’s what coffee is for anyway.
“Your dating profile said you liked long walks on the beach,” Isaac remarks, making my face warm at the reminder of what else I said I liked, and he kindly obliged. “But when it’s dark, I’d rather lie on the beach instead.”
When we’re in the softest sand that doesn’t have any seashells, Isaac plops down, pulling me with him. Giving my hand a final squeeze, he pulls away to lie down flat on his back. Those long legs of his are stretched out in front of him, his hands propped up behind his head as he stares up at the sky. With his arms up, his shirt under the leather rises to show a few inches of his flat stomach.
My fingers yearn to touch that space, to ease up under his shirt and stroke his abs and chest. But doing that would probably lead to sex on the beach. My hormones are not happy with me when I heave a heavy sigh and lie down on the sand next to Isaac. We’re close enough to touch, but we don’t. Neither of us says a word either.
At first, I worry about the sand getting in my hair and…other places. If there are sand crabs crawling around us or some creepy-crawlies that come out at night.
But eventually, I relax as I watch the clouds roll across the dark sky, revealing twinkling stars. The waves are a constant soothing ebb and flow, the temperature chilly but mostly perfect down on the ground. The air is salty but crisp and cleaner than any I’ve inhaled in a long time.
It’s as if all those things combined are a healing balm to my soul, patching up gaping holes until I’m perfectly content in myself, with myself, for the first time in…a really long time.
I take a deep breath and let it out, let go of all my doubts about Isaac, my fears of being a bad mother, my stress of telling Lyla, and everything else.
“Nature’s therapy sessions are necessary every now and then,” Isaac eventually says. “And they’re always free.”
Smiling, I tell him, “Definitely worth getting a little dirty for this.”
“It isn’t this perfect and peaceful without you,” he says quietly. “The six times I came out when we weren’t…those months I didn’t see or talk to you, I would either get rained on or nearly stepped on by kids. Sometimes both.”
Rolling to my side to face him, I prop my head up on my elbow. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not. I come out here once a month. Left drenched or annoyed by other people wandering by.”
