Sweet Cheeks(23)

“It’s in the past,” she whispers, eyes angled back up to the sky but the contempt in her voice has been replaced by guarded hurt.

It’s not in the past. Not for her. And that’s the bitch of it, isn’t it? Knowing someone so well for so long, even though time’s passed, you still know them. Can read their body language and infer from their tone so you can’t escape the fallout of your actions.

“You don’t owe me anything. No apology. No anything. It wouldn’t matter if you gave me one anyway,” she replies as she lowers her face from the sky so she can meet my eyes. The defiance I see in them wars against my guilty conscience. “It’s a whole lot too late.”

I nod my head in understanding. The split-second decision I had to make back then seemed so simple, but now owns my thoughts as I look at Saylor in the moonlight across this old tree house.

“Saylor.” Her name is part sigh, part apology on my part.

“Just don’t. Save it.” She shifts abruptly, effectively ending the topic by scooting to the floor and lying on her back.

Anything to avoid meeting my eyes.

She’s not going to make this easy on me, is she?

I stare at her. Hair fanned on the floor and eyes toward the sky, irritated as fuck with me, and I’m reminded of that night when things first started between us.

What did I expect when I brought her here? That the memories were going to soften her and not affect me?

I should just take her home. Pick up the phone and call Ryder to apologize that I can’t return the favor this time around. Lie that the studio has called, needs me back to reshoot a few scenes before moving to the next location. Get the fuck out of here before shit gets complicated. Because looking at her, being reminded of before, is stirring up way more than I expected. Shit I don’t need in my already complicated life. Something I definitely can’t start without walking away and repeating history with her I don’t want to repeat. Can’t repeat.

I’m not that much of an asshole.

Goddamn memories, man. They’re fucking with my head.

So I sigh and do the only thing I can do—try to make this right. I shift onto my knees, cross the space between us, and unfold my legs until I’m lying beside her, just like I did that night. Her body stills and her breath hitches as our arms touch, but she doesn’t pull away.

We lie there for some time staring at the stars that light up the night sky despite the full moon. Crickets chirp around us but there’s not a word spoken between us.

Seconds turn to minutes. Her perfume hits my nose. Our history owns my thoughts. My mind veers to shit I shouldn’t be thinking. Hands off, Whitley. Much easier said than done when I’m lying in the dark with a gorgeous woman.

And she is just that, gorgeous. And all woman. Yet, despite the years that have passed, this feels normal. The being here with her. The feeling that she still knows me better than anyone else when that can’t be possible.

She did back then though. She could finish my sentences. Had loved me unconditionally. Had encouraged me to chase my dreams despite my doubts.

Until I allowed my dreams to consume me. Rip us apart. Leave her.

Leave us.

“Look!” She saves me from my thoughts when she points to a shooting star as it streaks across the sky.

“Make a wish,” we both say in unison and laugh. A throwback to another night, another time, and I feel her body tense the minute she says it. As if she realizes she accidentally let her guard down, but the small moment is enough to break up the tension filling the space around us. Giving me an in.

“I made mine,” she whispers after a few seconds and has me immediately wondering what her wish was. Ten years ago I would have known the answer without question. But not now. Not with the grown woman, so very different but all the same, beside me.

“Me too,” I finally say but know my dreams have already come true—I’m a lucky son of a bitch—so I throw my extra wish her way. Use the lapse in her guard to my advantage. “See that constellation? The one right there?” I point to the sky, to a trio of stars that I make my own pattern out of.

“Like you really know astronomy,” she scoffs, remembering how much it bored me when we were in school.

“No seriously. I do. I had to learn it for a role I played.”

“Is that so?” The exasperated tone is back in her voice and I’m glad to hear it. Annoyed I can deal with much better than sadness. “If that’s the case, then what is that one right there?” I follow her finger as she points to what looks like someone shook a salt shaker filled with glitter to the sky . . . little flecks of bright lights everywhere.