Page 66 of Take Two

“We’ve been living inside this little bubble,” I continue, keeping my voice low, almost like I’m afraid of disturbing something fragile. “I think I’ve been terrified of bursting it, because the moment we do, we have to face reality. All of it. Schedules and distance and cameras and everything else that comes with both of our lives.”

Jamie’s hand lifts briefly from the steering wheel before settling over mine across the center console, his fingers threading through mine in the same unhurried, natural way they always do, like they’ve always belonged exactly there.

“I don’t have the answers either,” he finally says, the words quiet and honest and entirely like him. His thumb moves in a slow, steady arc across the back of my hand. “I just know I don’t want to lose you again.”

The emotion catches in my throat before I’m ready for it, sudden and sharp. The need to cry, for the second time tonight, presses hard behind my eyes and I don’t bother fighting it the way I might have once. I’m not someone afraid of his own feelings. I don’t want to hide any of this from Jamie. I want him to understand exactly what is at stake for me, how much weight this moment carries. He’s not a summer distraction dressed up in good light and social media speculation. He’s not a rumor or a headline or something casual that I can let go of cleanly when September comes. He is so much more than any of that, and I need him to know it.

“So, what do we do?” I manage, wiping a stray tear from my cheek with my free hand.

Jamie doesn’t answer immediately. The silence inside the truck stretches long and considered, filled only with the steady hum of tires rolling against warm asphalt and the low, half-forgotten music still drifting quietly through the speakers.

Finally, he speaks. “We stop pretending this conversation can wait.”

I stare down at our joined hands, squeezing tight, like I can anchor myself to him and let everything else fall away.

“And then?”

A small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, visible even in profile, though his eyes stay fixed ahead on the road.

“We figure it out.”

“How?” I press, needing more than that, needing something I can hold onto.

“One conversation at a time.”

I let those words move through me slowly until the knot beneath my ribs begins to ease. Maybe there is no clean answer waiting at the end of all this. Maybe there never will be, but maybe the answer was never supposed to be clean. Maybe it was only ever supposed to be honest, and willing, and chosen over and over again by two people who refuse to pretend it isn’t worth the effort.

I lift Jamie’s hand and press my lips against his knuckles, letting them linger there longer than I need to.

“We’ll figure it out.”

When he smiles this time, it reaches all the way to his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “We will.”

Chapter 16

Jamie

Cyaire stands there, just inside the entryway, his hands still warm from where they’d been tangled with mine in the car. The drive home had been charged, heavy with the weight of everything we’d finally said aloud. There is still no clear path forward, no roadmap for how two people like us navigate something this complicated. As long as he has his hand in mine, we will figure it out together, that much is certain.

I felt assured by his touch during that drive, anchored by it. His thumb had traced slow, soothing circles over my knuckles for the rest of the ride home, a quiet rhythm that said more than words could have managed. That small, constant motion, deliberate, grounding, reminded me that he was choosing this just as much as I was.

Home. The word sits differently in my mind now, heavier and more expansive than it did this morning. Yes, I want this space to be not only mine, but his as well. I want him to feel like he belongs here, like he can leave pieces of himself scattered throughout these rooms without hesitation. Would it be considered too soon to want that? More than likely, in the minds of so many people who, at this point, I honestly couldn’t give two fucks about. Their opinions, their timelines, their expectations, none of it matters. Nothing about Cyaire and me has ever been linear. We’ve circled back to one another across years and distance and entirely different lives, and now that he’s here again, I want to keep him in my orbit. I want to build something that doesn’t require justification or permission from anyone else.

I don’t know who moves first. Maybe we just collide, drawn together by the same gravity that’s been pulling at us since the moment he walked back into my life. His hands find my waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of my shirt like he’s making sure I’m real. I cup his face, my thumbs brush over the sharp line of his cheekbones, and he leans into the touch like he’s been starving for it.

The kiss isn’t hurried. It’s not desperate. It’s slow, deep, like we have all the time in the world, because right here, right now, we do. His lips are soft, a balm to my soul. I’ve wanted to do this all day, but I spare my family the PDA. Next time, I tell myself as I deepen the kiss, I won’t hold back. Cyaire sighs into my mouth, it’s the sound of someone finally letting go. Our tongues tangle. The sweet taste of lemonade drank on the ride home still lingers. I kiss him, chasing the taste, but it’s not enough. I don’t think it will ever be enough.

Cyaire is the one to break first, his chest rises and falls in quick, uneven breaths as he presses his forehead to my shoulder. The warmth of his exhale seeps through the thin fabric of my shirt, his nose brushes against the curve of my neck like he’s breathing me in. His voice is rough, raw with need when he speaks, his fingers already curling into the hem of my t-shirt, seeking skin.

“Jamie, please baby, I need to feel you.” His words are a plea, a demand, a confession all at once. “All of you.” The pads of his fingers skim upward, tracing the ridges of my abs. The contact sends a jolt through me, my dick throbs in response. A low groan rumbles in my chest, the sound swallowed between us as his touch sets every nerve alight.

I don’t waste time. My hands slide down the dip of his spine, mapping the familiar terrain of his body. When I reach the firm swell of his ass, I grip him hard, my fingers sink into the muscle, kneading, claiming. The sound he makes, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, goes straight to my head.

“I need to feel you too, Blue,” I murmur against his ear, my voice a dark promise. “I need to sink my dick so far inside you that you’ll still feel me tomorrow. Next week. Hell, next month.” My grip tightens, pulling him flush against me so he can feel exactly how much I mean it. “I want to fill you with my cum, over and over, until you’re dripping with it. Until there’s no part of you that doesn’t know who you belong to.” My lips brush the shell of his ear, my breath hot. “And all the other times I’ve had you? They won’t even compare. You want to know why?”

Cyaire’s body trembles against mine, his hips roll instinctively, seeking friction. He tries to capture my mouth again, desperate for more, but I pull back just enough to deny him. His frustration is palpable, a growl building in his throat, but I don’t let him have what he wants, not yet.