Lost In Me (Here and Now) (23 page)

“Nate.” I try to draw back, to escape the sensation before I’m lost in it. He lowers his mouth to my breast and sucks hard. Then instead of pulling away, I’m rocking forward. Instead of withdrawing from the pleasure, I’m running toward it.

“I can’t stop thinking about how it would feel to be inside you,” he whispers. “You are so fucking responsive, and I could get off right here just imagining that pussy squeezing around my cock.”

I cry out, my hips rising off the bed. “Please.”

He groans in my ear and rocks the toy inside me, moving it deeper this time. “I know, baby. I want it as much as you do. But you’ve done something to me.” He removes the vibrator, and I cry out, hungry, empty, desperate.

“Fuck me, Nate.” I wouldn’t have had the courage to say those words to anyone before meeting him, but he brings out this bold side of me. This wicked side. “Don’t make me wait anymore.”

“It would be so damn good.” He touches the vibrator to my clit and my body squeezes tight, climbing higher. “I’d never get enough of you. I’d fuck you from behind. I’d fuck you with your legs wrapped around my waist. I’d fuck you in the shower and until you thought you couldn’t come again.”

“Now. Please.”

He slides two fingers inside me and holds the vibrator snug against my clit. “Not until you’ve made a decision. Not while his ring is waiting in your jewelry box.” With those words, he rocks against my clit and curls his fingers, and I’m gone. Flying. Falling. Releasing.

W
HEN MY
alarm beeps at four thirty on Friday morning, I roll over in bed and bury my face in the pillow, howling in frustration. I thought about Nate Crane all night—his eyes on me, his dirty words, his wicked touch. And when I managed to fall asleep, I dreamed about him.

My body is a live wire of hot need at the memory, an ache pulsing between my legs that I don’t want to ignore. For thirty seconds, I lie there with my eyes closed and contemplate sliding my hand beneath the sheets to banish the ache, but guilt has me climbing out of bed.

I take a cool shower before dressing and heading for the bakery, where I lose myself in the comforting motions of baking.

Liz comes in at six and works the front while I experiment with a new cupcake recipe—stress management for bakers.

When Drew comes in after school, Liz hands over front-counter duties and drags me away from my flour and sugar. “Time to stop stewing and get cleaned up.”

“What? Who said I’m stewing?” I let her lead me up to my apartment, and I unlock the door for us and push inside.

“You are, aren’t you?”

My shoulders sag. “Totally.”

“Want to share?”

“I had a Nate Crane memory.”

She frowns. “Was it bad?”

I chew on my lower lip and shake my head. “No. It was good. Really good. And now I’m having memory guilt.”

We sit in silence for a minute before Liz asks, “Does it bother you not knowing what made you choose Max?”

The question makes me uncomfortable in my own skin. I want to say no. To swear that I don’t
need
to know. To say that every morning when I wake up, my heart chooses Max.

But that’s not true. My heart? It doesn’t know what it wants.

“You don’t have to answer that,” she whispers.

I sigh. “Bridesmaid dress fitting this afternoon?”

“Yeah. Yours is going to need to be taken in. We ordered them a couple months ago. I think we’re going to choose bridesmaid dresses for your wedding while we’re there.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess we need to do that.”

She frowns. “Don’t get too excited.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t fit?” my mom screeches from the other side of the dressing room door. “That dress fit you perfectly the day we bought it!”

The seamstress studies her shoes and shifts uncomfortably. “I could try the zipper again,” she whispers.

I shake my head. “It’s no use.”

We met Cally, Maggie, and Nix at Cleanstein’s to try on our bridesmaid dresses and see if they needed alterations. They pinned mine to be taken in. Then Mom showed up and decided that I should try on my wedding gown for the girls.

“Okay,” Mom says, pushing into the dressing room. “We can put off final alterations for, what, another couple of weeks if we need to. You can get the weight back off, can’t you, sweetie?”

I look to the seamstress. “Is it possible to take it out?”

“We have maybe half an inch to work with,” the seamstress says. “It might just be enough, but in a dress this style, there’s not much wiggle room.”

“Let’s wait,” Mom says. “Hanna’s going to fit into it, and if not, we’ll take it out.” She forces a smile and pats me on the shoulder awkwardly before leaving the dressing room.

The seamstress helps me out of the dress and leaves me alone to study myself in the mirror. Somehow it looks different to me now. The curve of my hips and my breasts. The returning softness of my belly. This is a body two amazing men lose their minds over. It’s something beautiful. Something worth caring for.

“Are you okay?” Maggie calls on the other side of the door.

I shake my head to clear it and dress. “I’m fine.”

She’s waiting outside the door when I exit the dressing room. “I heard it doesn’t fit,” she whispers.

“I’ve gained weight.” I lower my voice to make sure Mom can’t hear. “There are probably only five pounds between me now and me getting that dress zipped, but just staying the size I am now until the wedding is going to be hard enough.”

“Would you be offended if I offered my old dress from my canceled wedding?”

I draw in a breath, remembering how much I loved Maggie’s dress. She ended up calling off the wedding, and I never thought about what happened to it. “Would it fit me?”

She nods. “It’s a ten and it’s an A-line, so it’s only fitted right above your waist and at your chest. It’s in the closet in the guestroom at Asher’s if you want to try it on.”

“You think Mom would flip out?”

She shrugs. “It’s your wedding, Hanna. I think it’s more important you wear what
you
want.”

Maggie’s wedding dress fits like it was made for me.

“Oh, Han-Han,” Lizzy breathes. “It’s perfect.”

The A-line bodice accentuates my breasts while making my waist look small, and the basic bridal satin is covered with the most delicate organza I’ve ever touched. The satin bodice is heart-shaped, with only the organza continuing over my shoulders in wide, sheer straps.

“Do you want us to stay or do you want to be alone?” Maggie asks as I look at myself in the mirror. “Think about it for a little bit?”

I watch my reflection as I turn side to side. I’ve never felt so beautiful in my life as I do in this dress. So why does the idea of wearing it in three weeks make me want to weep?

“Can I have a few minutes?”

She nods and ushers Lizzy out of the room with her.

The bedroom has French doors that lead out onto a balcony overlooking the river. I unlock them and pull them open. Desperate for fresh air, I lift my skirt and step out onto the balcony.

I close my eyes as the breeze brushes through my hair. I concentrate on my breathing.

Everything is good. Everything is okay.

My mind scrambles through reassurances, but only one calms me—I don’t have to go through with this. If, in a couple weeks, the idea of marriage still panics me, Max would understand. Wouldn’t he? Or would I lose him for good? And what would my mom think? She’d be so embarrassed to have another daughter with another botched wedding. Maybe the Thompson girls are cursed.

“Hanna?”

I turn toward the voice to find myself face to face with Nate Crane.

His eyes take me in inch by inch, like he’s drinking in what he sees. Me. The dress.

“What are you doing here?” After last night’s memory, I’m simultaneously more drawn to him than ever and more wary of being near him. Stepping toward him is as instinctive as breathing, but I catch myself and stop. I clench my hands into fists at my sides. I want to smooth over the hurt between his eyes, to touch his cheek and feel the heat of his skin under my fingertips.

“You look…” His dark eyes scan over me again. “God, you’re so beautiful it hurts.”

Birds chirp happily and the sun warms my skin, and I hate myself for wishing I could be seeing him somewhere else. That I could be
someone else
.

“You probably shouldn’t be saying things like that to me.”

He must hear it, that brokenness in my voice, and he must care something for me, because he lets out this long, shaky breath, as if he’s as fucked up over all this as I am. “You’re really going to marry him.” It’s not a question. More like resignation.

I look down to my ring and remember Lizzy’s question.
“Does it bother you not knowing what made you choose Max?”

Nate turns to the river and squeezes the balcony rail until his knuckles go white. “When you told me you had amnesia, I wanted to believe he tricked you into taking that ring.”

“Max wouldn’t do that.”

Nate cuts his gaze to me. There’s something in his eyes—a secret locked away—but he doesn’t disagree. “For the record, I knew this was how it would end. We both did. It’s the amnesia that fucks it all up. Makes this harder than it needs to be.”

“Max is perfect for me.” I say the words because I don’t know what else to say. I need to remind myself that I can’t have this man take me into his arms, no matter how desperately I want him to. Not when I chose Max. “And I’m going to tell him the truth. I’m going to tell him that I cheated on him.”

His face shifts, that sadness and resignation tightening, hardening into anger. “You didn’t
cheat
on Max.” He drags a hand through his hair, looking like he wants to throw something. “Jesus. Is that what he made you think?”

“He didn’t have to. I remember.”

He draws in breath in a sharp hiss. “Everything?”

“Bits. Pieces. Enough to know I was unfaithful.”

His jaw ticks, and I can tell he’s fighting some kind of internal struggle. Then, as if he can’t handle looking at me anymore, he tears his gaze away. “You weren’t unfaithful. Not at all. The night you met me—”

“Three months ago. In St. Louis,” I supply.

“You remember?” The question is cautiously whispered, but I can’t tell if he hopes I do or don’t.

I shake my head. “Maggie told me.”

“You’d just broken up with Max that night. Come on, Hanna. Use that amazing brain of yours. You aren’t the kind of girl who would date one guy and mess around with another. You wouldn’t have ever gone out with me that night if you and Max hadn’t broken up.”

“A breakup?” I almost laugh. “You don’t understand small towns. If that were true, everyone would have known.”

“But you two didn’t want anyone to know. Your mom was helping him get that grant so his business could stay afloat, and you knew she’d stop if you two weren’t dating anymore. Things had gotten bad for him—he sold his fucking house, for Christ’s sake.”

I don’t like the logic of those words—the way they dig into my skin and crawl like a hundred parasites.

“You didn’t cheat,” Nate repeats. “Tell him whatever you want about us, but you weren’t unfaithful.”