To all of the above. Especially the wet mouth part and the you at my house part.
Stone’s words rattle in my skull. I wonder if he’s right. If I should confess it all, put it out there and let her do with it what she will. Maybe she won’t be scared. Maybe the Nashhole didn’t ruin her completely. Before I lose my nerve I type another text. Stay at my house until I leave.
Like move in with you? How I wish I could interpret the tone of a text message. I’ve never wanted anything more. Fuck.
Yes. I want you sleeping in my bed every night.
A long few seconds pass. Sleeping sleeping? Or sleeping?
Sex is always there. In every single moment we’re together or just merely talking. It’s the elephant in the fucking room. I promise to make you come twice every single night. I want to be little spoon. I grin as I shoot off the text. Stone’s waving me to the truck, trying to pack up to leave the beach.
Okay. I’m bringing my other boyfriend with me then. I ignore Stone’s shouts, because I only see red. Before I can type a text back and hit send another of hers comes through.
Battery operated boyfriend, Mav. Get yo’ panties out of a wad. He has no problem going Windsor diving. Maybe you could help me with him? Sometimes he gets out of hand. :)
Fuck yes. I pop wood just thinking about it. Yes. Please.
I miss you so much. I want you in my arms. I miss your smile. You’re so miss-able. My heart does that weird hammering thing it always does when it comes to Windsor. I read the text a few more times. And I smile, because if she misses it, I’ll do it constantly to make her happy. I want to text her back and tell her how missing her is worse than any sort of torture I’ve had to endure in my life. I want to tell her inside her arms are where I’m happiest, where I want to call home. I should tell her I love her and that I want to make love to her the second I’m back. But I still can’t say any of those things. Time is running out, too. I’ll be down range trying to do my job and I’ll be drowning in all the words that I couldn’t say. Stone is right. I need to clear my fucking head.
I say the only thing I can that encompasses it all without actually saying it. I’ve said it once before and I think she knows what it means. You’re everything to me. See you tomorrow, baby. 5 p.m. Airport.
I unzip the top of my wetsuit, pull out my arms, and sit on a towel in the passenger seat. A few minutes pass without a message back. We’re rolling down the freeway, the beach passing alongside us as we head back to Coronado. Stone is hammering the steering wheel pretending it’s a drum, beating along to an old rock song. I smile. My phone chimes a few minutes later.
Her message reads, You’re everything, too. There it is. Just as good as I love you, too, but it’s not. And it’s my fucking fault.
“Let’s go get new tats,” Stone says, breaking up my thoughts of Windsor and my inability to tell someone I’m attached to them.
A new tat is exactly what I need. The sting of the needle, something permanent etched on my body. It’s fucking genius. I can show Windsor how much she means to me. Pulling out the big guns is what needs to happen. I’ll be gone for six months. That’s a long ass time for her to wait for me in the real world, with every male clawing for her attention. She’s oblivious to her beauty. It only makes things worse. The dolphin dick tattoo was a joke.
I pull out my phone and Google search something. I know exactly what tat I want to get and where. This will be a grand gesture she can’t ignore. She’ll know I’m hers. All hers. Forever. Permanently.
Stone screams out a few lyrics. “I want to get a lobster body with Morg’s face. She’ll fucking love it,” he says, patting his forearm where he plans on getting the monstrosity that Morganna will surely hate. She’ll come around, like she always does with his dumbass body art, but I would pay money to see her face when she sees a lobster with her head. Fuck