“Yes. You said you love me. Do you mean it?”
I step closer, backing her against the elevator wall. Tracing a finger along her jawline, I tilt her chin up to meet my gaze. “I mean it.”
Her breaths come faster as she melts under my touch. “Do you promise to talk to me if you ever relapse? I’ve realized I can’t just expect you to be perfect. I have to try to support you.” Vulnerability clouds her eyes.
“No more secrets between us,” I tell her firmly.
“All right. The thing is”-she takes a deep breath-“I’ve never said this before… but I think I love you too.”
This makes everything worth it.
I chuckle. “You think?” I raise a brow.
“I know,” she says decisively.
I press her body against mine, ready to kiss her senseless. She’s everything I’ve been searching for, and I will never let her go again.
“Wait.” She pulls back slightly. “I have to know. Have I already told you this before? That I love you?”
“No.” I smile down at her in amusement. “We’re making new memories now.”
I grab her and crash her lips to mine.
The moment our lips touch, it’s a whirlwind of sensations-her taste, sweet as honey, the softness of her lips.
My hands find their way into her hair, gently grabbing a fistful. Her hands follow suit, fingers wrapping around my strands before pulling me so close that no air can slip between us.
Our kiss deepens, our bodies flush against each other as though an electric current binds us together. Our hands are everywhere, tracing a path of desperate yearning.
The walls of the elevator become our anchor as we stumble, panting and groaning and laughing breathlessly into each other’s mouths at the absurdity and sheer intensity of the moment.
This small, confined space suddenly feels like our own personal wellness retreat-where past mistakes have no hold on us, and our future is a blank canvas, ready to be filled.
It’s chaotic, intense, fucking beautiful.
“JP,” Lucy laughs against my mouth, “if we keep going like this, we’ll end up breaking this elevator.”
With a smirk, I pull back just enough to look into her eyes. “Well, sweetheart, there are worse ways and places to get stuck, don’t you think?”
One week later
Lucy
Lying in my hammock, I close my eyes and turn my face toward the sunset. Its remaining light dances over Bear Mountain’s rugged terrain, offering a tranquility that should be bottled up and sold.
A smile tugs at my lips as I take a deep breath, the crisp, pine-scented air filling my lungs. It’s beautiful out here. The peace is palpable. After all the recent chaos, this serenity feels good. Really good.
Today, JP and I hiked, then spent the afternoon reading in his garden. Tomorrow’s plan is paddleboarding. Just two normal people, on a normal vacation, stepping off the grid for a week.
We agreed to vanish from the world, just for a bit.
Escape was a necessity with all the media mayhem. JP made a public announcement about stepping down from Quinn & Wolfe, his stint in rehab, and the dated video that’s been circulating. Now he’s a hot topic in the meme community.
The transition was bound to be daunting-for both of us. JP, the former helm of America’s biggest casino empire, is now caught in the crosshairs of uncertainty, with a stretch of leisure time yawning at him. But, as his mentor has emphasized, this hiatus is an essential part of his journey.
We’re not exactly a classic couple, me with my botched memory, and him, the reformed bad boy trying to keep his nose clean. It’s less Cinderella, more twisted Grimm tale, but in this chaos, we’re scrabbling to find our happily ever after.
Matty and Taylor told me that the rumors are spreading like wildfire around the office about me and JP.
Of course, Matty relayed it in his unfiltered, no-nonsense manner, while Taylor applied a more empathetic filter. I’ve jumped from being office wallpaper, to the Memoryless Woman, to the Memoryless Woman caught in a street-side confrontation with Wolfe. And, quite honestly, it scares the shit out of me.
Living in the spotlight isn’t my vibe. But if I’m going to figure out what’s between me and JP, I guess I’ll have to suck it up.
In JP’s book, we’ve been an item for months. To me, he’s a thrilling new chapter. This relationship skew, courtesy of the accident and my amnesia, isn’t going to resolve overnight. His memories of us aren’t mine. But when we’re together, playing at domestic bliss, I can’t deny the connection. It’s there, buried deep. I can feel it resonating in my bones. That sizzle. That affection. That love. It’s in my gut. And yeah, the ovaries are feeling it too.
JP rises from the jacuzzi, every muscle of his magnificent body glistening, completely naked. Saying he’s sculpted like a Greek god might be cliche, but he’s a walking, dripping cliche. His thick cock protrudes proudly from its nest of groomed coarse pubic hair, like a mighty oak tree.
It’s the most beautiful penis I’ve ever seen, even more so than anything I’ve seen on my ethical porn website.
“Hey!” I squeal, shivering as icy rivulets pelt down on me from his body. “That’s freaking freezing.”
He dips, pressing his lips to mine, and my hands defy all known self-restraint, frisking over the moisture-glossed landscape of his torso.
“Dinner in an hour,” he breathes huskily against my mouth. “Sound good?”
“Sure.” I grin, feeling like eating is definitely not what I want to be doing right now. “Whatcha cooking tonight?”
“That spicy beef stew from your favorite Eritrean joint.”
“Dang.” I think of the dish I always order from the cozy little place near my apartment. He’s confident, I’ll give him that. “Pretty ambitious of you.”
Apparently, I’ve tasted his lobster dinner that we had on our first date, like, a dozen times.
“Found some time today. Skimmed through the recipe.”
“That’s real sweet of you. You sure you wanna take on that challenge?”
“Absolutely. And no, you’ve never tried this one.” His grin is infectious. “Not my version, at least.”
He saunters off, giving me a view of that glorious ass. Two firm mounds of steel.
He told me that he wants to fill our relationship with countless fresh memories, even if it’s just something as simple as dinner. Not that the spicy beef stew is simple. And for all his thoughtfulness, it’s not exactly a meal that screams “pre-coital appetizer.” Spicy Eritrean cuisine turns me into a human balloon.
And yet, despite our newly minted pact of honesty and transparency, I reckon that particular nugget of information can remain my little secret.
Bits of the past are tiptoeing back into my mind, albeit wearing fuzzy socks. As JP steered us up the mountain road, an echo of me, cross-legged and cackling while we quibbled over the superiority of rock over pop, materialized. Submerged in the bath together, as I reached for the bubble bath, I was hit by a splash of deja vu.
Even the other day, as Libby spun around to ask if I wanted a cup of coffee, I was sideswiped by the oddest sensation of been-there-done-that. Obviously, we have, many times. The memories are trivial. But to me, they’re precious breadcrumbs on the path back to myself.
They might never fully return, and I’m learning to be okay with that. Perhaps everyone’s memories get a little mixed up and distorted over time. After all, what we remember is just how we saw things from our own point of view.
My phone buzzes on the table and I let out a groan, not wanting to leave the cocoon of the hammock. JP saunters over, snatches the phone, and casually scans the caller ID before handing it to me.
“It’s your mom,” he says.