The Reason I Stay (29 page)

He pecks my lips, and we eat our sandwiches and drink our wine as he tells me more about the perigee-syzygy phenomenon. When we exhaust that topic, we lay on the blanket, the container with the brownies on his stomach, and my head on his chest. We munch on the fudgy goodness as he moves on to constellations and galaxies, planets and suns, red and white dwarfs, the different kinds of novas and how each would look from Earth, and I start to think I may go supernova soon.
Damn geeky talk.

By the time Matt quiets, all the brownie squares are gone, and the huge moon has moved a little in the sky. “How was the tutoring?”

“Pretty good. I feel smarter already.”

Matt laughs and kisses my forehead. “Great. So how about we go get ourselves wet, and discuss my other tutoring specialties?”

I bet that the “yes, please” belting in my mind shows on my face, because Matt gets up and pulls me with him. We walk hand in hand to the ocean. In comparison to the awful summer heat we’ve had all day, the water is wonderfully cool. We go in until the water reaches Matt’s bellybutton, and pretty close to my chest. The breeze carries the wonderful scent of
home
into my nostrils, that of seaweed, sunkissed skin and a distinct sweetness in the air that blends perfectly into the salty overtones of the water. The sublte spiciness emanating from Matt is just as intoxicating. I breathe in deeply, relishing in the combination as our bodies sway together in the relaxing back and forth motion of the sea. He holds me tight when the waves crash on us, jumping over the waves and taking me up with him like he did on the day I first started liking him. I can’t help but to smile at the almost month-old memory. It doesn’t feel like that much time has passed.

“What are you smiling about?”

A wave passes by us, broadening my smile. “I was thinking about that first Sunday. A lot has changed.”

Matt raises his brows and chuckles. I don’t blame him, because that’s the understatement of the century. But then his face goes serious, and his fingers curl a bit tighter on my lower back, and he adds, “Not everything, though.”

For some reason, my lungs malfunction, and my eyes forget how to blink. Actually, I think my whole body forgets how to operate. All it knows how to do is stare at Matt, and count every breath leaving his body until he gives me some explanation.

As if he knows and enjoys the anticipation I’m feeling, he stares deep into my eyes, and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. My lungs start to burn from oxygen deprivation, and I know I’ll go blue in the face if I don’t breathe soon, so I tap my index finger on his shoulder, hoping that’ll be encouragement.

Luckily, it works. After a quick smile, he takes in a deep breath—the show-off—and calmly says, “I’m still in love with you.”

Suddenly, my lungs remember how to be lungs and start breathing again. Unfortunately, that happens at the same time that my brain forgets how to be a functioning twenty-two year-old brain, and can only form one thought:
ohmygodohmygodohmygod . . . Oh. My. God!

Forget the very important, but still secondary bit of information implied in the word “still,” Mathew Ian Rogers just said he’s in love. With me. Oh my God!

Matt looks at me with the expectant eyes of someone who just said that for the first time ever, but my brain is still stuck on that embarrassing OMG loop. So, in order not to lose my boyfriend—who is in love with me—I resort to non-verbal communication and wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him in a way that tells him that I, too, am SO in love with him.

His lips mold around mine and his tongue dives inside my mouth, taking the words I wasn’t able to say. I give them to him with all the emotion and joy and angst and passion I’ve been harboring over the past weeks. He smiles against my lips as his arms curl around my waist and pull me even closer to his delicious body.

My sluggish brain finally starts working again, and I want to pry my lips away from his for just enough time to say the words, but he won’t let me. And knowing I’ll have a whole lot of chances in the future, I don’t mind.

I fist my hands in Matt’s wet hair as his hands slide down my waist to my barely covered bottom. Instinctively, my feet leave the sandy ground and wrap around his hips. The thin fabric of his shorts can’t conceal the substantial erection rubbing against me.

With long strides, he walks toward the shore and my house, carrying and kissing me all the way. As soon as the porch door closes behind us, my feet touch the floor, and Matt’s hands trace the contours of my body, which he knows so well. We walk toward my bedroom, kissing and leaving traces of sand, salty water and wet garments on my floor. When we finally reach my door, we’re both naked and panting.

Matt lifts me to the bed, finally breaking the kiss. Instead of joining me, he stands in front of me, gazing at my face and body like people gaze at rare works of art. The intensity in his eyes is such that I finally feel like the moment is right. It’s natural and effortless like the bloom of the flowers, the pour of the rain, and the pull of the waves.

“I’m
so
in love with you, Mathew.” The words spill from my lips, and the moment they do, Matt smiles the biggest and most glorious smile I’ve ever seen.

He kneels on the bed and lets his body cover mine, wet and hot and wonderful. His lips trace a line from my stomach to my chest to my neck, until they finally reach the lobe of my ear.

“I know,” he whispers all smug and cocky and
Matt
, before we lose ourselves in a tangle of passionate kisses, intimate touches and unintelligible moans.

For the rest of the night, Matt and I take turns in tutoring each other in the things our respective sex lives have been missing. I teach him what it means to make love, and he teaches me what it means to love so hard you finally feel alive.

A
s hard as I try, my eyes just can’t stay open.

Either going a month without sex has made me extremely out of shape, or girlfriend-sex is more tiring than just a regular fuck—it sure is better. Either way, I’m not supposed to be this tired, even after going through a whole box of condoms. Starting tomorrow, I’m going on a red chili, chocolate, walnut and oyster based diet.

Lexie seems just as tired, her movements lethargic, and her emerald eyes heavy as she kisses my lips. She lays her body next to mine, a smile on her lips, and wishes me goodnight.

“Good night, love,” I reply, resisting the pull of sleep a while longer. This is my first night actually sleeping—and not just napping—beside a woman, and I want to enjoy it.

Lexie nests her head over my chest, and cuddles into my side. Her breathing is peaceful and heavy, as the sleep of the deeply sated should be. I tighten my arms around her, and kiss the very top of her head one final time. Right before I follow her to dreamland, some words my mother used to say to me come back to me.
Love turns us into who we really are. It sets us free.

In the days following my first sleepover at Lexie’s, my mother’s words continue to echo in my mind. For the longest time, I thought she was crazy for saying that. Freedom is doing what you want, and love is being at the mercy of someone else, therefore they are as conflicting as things can be.

However, every morning when I wake up to see the love of my life in my arms, and each day I spend cutting grass, planting trees, designing backyards and getting myself covered in dirt, I realize just how right my mother was. I’m finally free. Free to be myself and do what I love.

That freedom strips every tie I still have to my former life. I let go of my law degree that never brought me a joyful day at work, and of my father, who never looked at me as anything other than an employee. I forget about my apartment that was never a home. I bury with my guilt toward Lea, and with missing my best friend, Fitz. Even Greta, which at one point I considered to be the love of my life, seems to slip away from my heart, leaving it free and open to real happiness.

Life has never been better.

“I
don’t want to sit there.”

Arms crossed over his chest, a pout on his lips and a frowning brow. Those are all things you’d expect from a spoiled five year-old, not from my twenty-four-year-old boyfriend. However, that’s exactly what I’m looking at.

I sigh, frustrated. “There’s no other place for you to sit.”

“That’s ‘cause you didn’t save my booth.”

I clutch the hostess stand, and groan.

“Look around, Matt.” I point at the couple waiting at the restaurant’s entrance. “It’s dinnertime during vacation season. We’re full. We’ve been full for hours, and there are people waiting. Do you really think I can keep the booth free on the chance you might show up? You said you’d be playing poker at Wes’s.”