Page 24

Hallie

I know I shouldn’t want to spend time with him. I want to be petty. I want to hold a grudge the way I so easily did for the past six years. But the more time I spend with him, the more the armor cracks.

The highlights of my days revolve around him lately. Him popping into my work or leaving a coffee for me on my doorstep. Little moments that tell me he’s thinking of me.

But it’s not him thinking of me now, with me living right next door, that has me wary of jumping back into things. It’s how easily he forgot I existed in the years we were apart. How seemingly forgettable I was to him.

Especially when he never once left my mind.

But I should get his opinion on these backsplash options. It’s his house after all, and sure, we’re still weeks away from needing these types of decisions to be made, but why not get ahead of schedule? We can discuss as he packs for his trip. And if he decides quickly and I end up hanging out with him for a while longer, well, then it is what it is.

Taking two options with me, I head for the stairs.

His bedroom door is left open, so I slip inside, finding his partially packed suitcase on the bed. He’s not in here, though. Both of his closets are left open, including the one he blocked me from going into last time I was up here.

It’s like a beacon, calling me to it, so I take a step in that direction, only to stop myself before I can take a second look.

As much as I want to, I can’t do that.

Then I’m completely distracted when a distant and breathy “ fuck ” echoes from his attached bathroom, instantly stealing all my attention. I whip in that direction, wanting to hear it again, and wondering if that was real.

I don’t breathe. I don’t move. I don’t make a sound as I listen harder, trying to convince myself that my ears were deceiving me.

They weren’t. That’s confirmed by the sound of the shower water running and muffling a moan.

As my hand slaps across my mouth to keep myself from making a sound, my eyes go impossibly wide.

Is he...

“Yes,” he hisses. “ Fuck .”

Holy shit, he is.

I gently set the tile samples on the bed, not wanting them to make any noise when I cautiously pad across the carpet, keeping light on my toes, to press my ear against the bathroom door.

It’s left open slightly, but I don’t dare look inside. I stay hidden, listening closely to hear the distinct sound of skin sliding against skin.

Rio groans and the sound instantly does something to me. Turns me on. Turns me reckless.

I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be listening. But I’ve been busy doing things I shouldn’t be doing lately, so what’s one more?

The shower walls work as an amplifier when he says, “Goddammit, Hallie, yes .”

I’m frozen in place. Entirely fucking cemented right outside of his bathroom, listening to him get himself off while saying my name.

I want to see him. I want to watch him work his fist over himself. I want a front-row view to witness this man come undone.

Fuck it. If he’s saying my name, I’m basically in the room already.

Just a quick glance.

I lean forward slightly, peeking through the cracked door. His shower is a glass surround, thank God , and the steam hasn’t obstructed the view.

And what a view it is.

Palm flat to the tile wall, Rio uses his other hand to stroke himself. Water pummels over his back, dripping down his body as he works his fist over his cock, pulling and tugging.

And moaning .

God, the moaning alone is a soundtrack I could come to. He sounds so desperate, so turned on, coupled with the slick sound of quick pumps along his shaft.

His entire side profile is on display. Long, sculpted back, lean waist, perfect fucking ass, and ridiculously thick thighs. He really is huge now with all that added muscle, but my current favorite ones are those in his forearms, flexing and moving as he strokes himself.

He’s thick... everywhere .

But of course, I already knew that.

His stomach tightens. His chest heaves. He pumps over and over, focusing on the head, and I can tell he’s close. And as much as I want to watch him, to remember the look on his face when he comes, I know I shouldn’t be here.

Pulling back, I hide behind the door once again.

“Hallie,” he repeats, short of breath.

It has me closing my eyes and crossing my legs from hearing him say my name like that again. Like it’s a pleading prayer moments before he finishes.

“Hallie.” His voice is muffled from the water still, but it’s projected for me to hear. “If you’re going to stand out there and listen, you may as well come in and watch. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

Oh shit.

How’d he—

Panic takes over and mortification settles in, but he’s the one getting off on ideas of me while I’m in his house, so if anyone is going to be embarrassed, it shouldn’t be me.

I swallow hard, still hidden in his bedroom, spine flush to the wall. “How’d you know I was out here?”

He laughs, and I can hear that his hand hasn’t slowed in pace one bit.

I fake composure. “You told me to come up to your room if I wanted to hang out.”

“Perfect. You can hang out in here.”

“Rio.”

“Get in here, Hal.”

I know I don’t have to do what he says, but fuck it, I want to.

I take a centering breath, turn the corner, and slowly push the door open. He’s in the same position, only showing me his right-side profile, but thankfully that’s the hand he’s using to pump himself, giving me that same unobstructed view.

I take a slow sweeping glance up his body, taking my time and not being shy in my perusal. And when I make it to his face, I find his eyes locked on me.

His dark hair is wet and slick to his forehead. His green eyes are heated and heavy. His lips, they’re parted and panting, but he slips the bottom one between his teeth as he watches me.

I’m completely mesmerized by his movements, unable to look away. His hand never stops stroking, and my attention falls to the head, red and swollen, leaking precum onto the shower floor.

I swallow hard. “I thought sex was off the table?”

“It is. I’m not fucking you. I’m just fucking my fist thinking of you.”

Jesus.

No, we don’t tend to be shy with each other, but to hear him speak like this, so confidently, so directly... It’s hot.

“Fuck, Hallie, keep looking at me like that.”

I step fully into the bathroom, leaving the doorway. “Like what?”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Like you wish it was your mouth getting me off and not my hand.”

I nod quickly, telling him that’s exactly what I want to do.

Every muscle in his body fires at that, his head thrown back. “I’m going to come just thinking about it.”

He keeps his attention on me and that heated look has my core clenching and my legs tightening.

Mirroring his confidence, I take another step towards him. “Does that feel good?”

He chuckles this disbelieving laugh. “You have no idea. And fuck , please keep talking. Hearing your voice is going to make me come.”

Okay. This is wildly hot, talking him through it.

I take another step. “How often do you say my name while getting yourself off?”

“A disturbing amount.”

Another step. “And what exactly do you think about?”

His jaw clenches, his stomach contracts. “Everything. How good it felt to be inside you. How well you used to suck me off. How pretty you looked on your knees with my cock down your throat.”

I remember the first time. I didn’t know what I was doing, but he taught me what he liked once he figured it out too. I was nervous, but he took it slow even though he was ready to come the moment I wrapped my mouth around him. It was fun learning together. Teaching each other.

My bottom lip slips between my teeth at the memory.

“Holy shit,” he pants. “Biting your lip like that. You’re thinking of it too.”

I quickly nod. “I can tell you’re close to coming. I remember exactly what you used to look like when you were close.”

“I’m so fucking close, baby. Please keep talking. Please keep looking at me.”

His strokes are short and quick, and his eyes never leave me.

I step closer to the glass enclosure. “I really want you to come.”

“Yeah?”

God, that one strained and breathy word sets me on fire. My entire body is lit up and I don’t know if I’ve ever been more turned on in my life. Shifting on my feet, I confirm this when I feel how slick I am between my thighs.

“Are you still thinking about me?”

“I’m always thinking about you, Hallie.”

An unpermitted whimper escapes my throat at that admission.

“Fuck me. Those noises.” He moans the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard before giving himself one long stroke. His stomach bunches, showing off each and every one of his abs. His head falls back, but his eyes stay on me for as long as they can before they’re forced shut from his orgasm.

He paints the shower wall in front of him as he comes, jerking and trembling. The rumble in his throat pulses through my own body, and eventually his hand slows, pulling out every last drop while he rocks his hips, chasing the high until he finishes.

I’m mesmerized. Standing and staring as the water rolls off him and rinses the wall, washing it all down the drain.

I’m also very turned on.

It’s nice to know that after all these years, I still have that effect on him. I can still make him come, and I didn’t even touch him myself.

Arms crossed on the wall, Rio leans his forehead on them, catching his breath before he laughs to himself. “Fuck, Hal. That was hot.”

I swallow, wetting my parched mouth. “You owe me one.”

“Mmm.” That smile lifts and that sinister tilt sends a pulse straight to my core. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Rio stands tall under the shower spray, letting it clean him off. He really is all man now. Hair on his chest, his legs, and trimmed by his cock. His still hard cock that’s jutting out proudly as he showers.

He lathers himself with soap, continuing as if I’m not standing here gawking at him and didn’t just help him orgasm.

“You’re welcome to join,” he teases. “But you know the rules. Just keep your hands to yourself.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re not very fun.”

“I don’t know.” He directs that grin at me. “Personally, I just had a blast.”

I should go before I do something stupid like climb into that shower fully clothed and beg him for an orgasm.

Without giving him a second glance, I rush out of the bathroom, down the stairs, and back to the kitchen. And when I return to the samples on the island, I continue to work as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened.

I play with different combinations. A ceramic tile in a simple shape versus a handmade clay option with perfect imperfections. Aged brass hardware compared to a classic black. Countertops with heavy veining or a more minimalistic option.

And none of that does anything to keep my mind off what just happened.

Does he always think of me while getting himself off? Did he always sound like that? Because I swear to God, that whimper-moan combination is going to be playing in my head on a loop when I go home, lie on my bed, and slip my hand between my legs.

I couldn’t care less about picking out finishes for his kitchen right now, and that becomes obvious when twenty minutes later, Rio finds me while wearing a perfectly fitted suit with his suitcase in tow, and I still haven’t made one single decision.

He sets two tiles on the counter to join the others. The same ones I left upstairs on his bed. “Well, I feel better now, don’t you?”

“Get fucked.”

He chuckles, hand sliding against my lower back before he hides his face in the crook of my neck and plants a kiss there. “I just did. Thanks for the assist.”

I playfully push him away. “You’re mean.”

“Why?” He scoops me by the waist, bringing my chest flush with his. “Did you get turned on watching me?”

“You know I did.”

There’s that sly smile again. “Like you said, I owe you one. Give me a call later if you need me to walk you through it.”

“Your rules are all over the place. So, phone sex is on the table?”

“Oh, it’s all on the table, Hart. All you have to do is give me a chance.”

My previously melting body stiffens in his hold.

His playfulness morphs when he realizes. “I’m joking around.”

“I know.”

He searches my face. “Take your time, Hal. I was giving you shit.”

“I know.” I fall into his chest and let him hug me goodbye.

He wraps his arms around me tightly, resting his chin on my head. “I’m leaving my truck for you to drive. It’s parked in the garage. Zee is picking me up.”

“Thank you for that.”

“I’m leaving my espresso maker for you too, if you feel like making yourself a latte.”

“But my latte art will never be as good as yours.”

“Well, at least you’re self-aware.”

I chuckle against him.

“And the rest of my house is yours while I’m gone too,” he continues. “For work, or for... exploring.”

Pulling back, I look up at him. He doesn’t have to explain. We both know what he’s referring to.

“See you when I’m back home?”

I nod. “See you then.”

His eyes roam over my face and his thumb dusts over my cheekbone as if he were about to kiss me. I can see him contemplating, struggling with himself not to, but eventually, he decides against it.

Leaving me alone in his kitchen, he takes his suitcase with him.

Once he’s gone, I try to get back to work, but it’s no use when all I can concentrate on is that closet upstairs. I attempt to find an ounce of patience, but it’s pointless. All I needed was his permission, and now that I have it, I can’t wait any longer.

Leaving the samples on the kitchen island, I take off for the stairs, heading straight for his room. That closet door is wide open, left intentionally for me to see. But before I can take a step in that direction, my nerves slow me down.

I have no idea what I’m about to find.

What was so bad that he didn’t want me to see a few weeks ago, but has no problem with me discovering now?

I can’t even begin to guess, so while trying to brace myself for anything, I step inside.

I quickly learn this isn’t his main closet. It’s filled with backup hockey gear, extra luggage, and some old jerseys he’s saved from over the years. I can tell they’re old because they have a number eighty-three on the back, and he hasn’t worn that number since college.

There doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary in here, and again, I don’t know what I’m looking for. But when I push his old jerseys apart on the top rack, I find a black box sitting on the shelf below it.

My intuition screams that this is it. Whatever I’m supposed to find, it’s in here.

There’s not a fleck of dust gathered on the lid, but the edges are worn, like this box has been opened and closed hundreds of times over the years. It weighs next to nothing and there’s a slight rattle inside from when I pick it up and carry it to the bed.

Taking a seat on the mattress, I open it.

When I look inside, my stomach hollows out in a way I’ve never experienced before. My lips part of their own accord and my breath catches in my lungs. I don’t need to do much digging to know exactly what this is. What these are.

I tossed my own copies years ago. Partly out of anger, and partly because I no longer recognized the hopeful girl who once saw the good in everything. Who once had so many best memories she needed a way to remember them by.

The box is filled with every mixtape and CD I made for him over the years, each given to him on my birthday.

All of them, from ages eleven to nineteen, which include the two I gave him before we started meeting up on the roof, they’re all in here. And it’s evident they’ve been played endlessly over the years. They’re each in their individual cases, which are all cracked in one place or another. Some of the hinges are broken from overuse, from being opened and closed too many times.

It suddenly feels impossible to breathe.

I cannot believe he kept these.

Judging by the look of betrayal on his face the last time I saw him, I assumed the first thing he did was get rid of these. Burned them. Shattered them. Something dramatic to match how hurt he was.

But he kept them.

The only other thing in this box is an old piece of embroidery thread, which doesn’t really make sense. I pull it out to take a closer look. It’s almost unrecognizable, tattered, discolored, and worn. It takes a moment until it clicks, for me to realize what this is.

It’s that old friendship bracelet I made him on my thirteenth birthday. The one he wore on his wrist and never took off until it withered away and fell off on its own sometime after he had left for college. It broke off without him realizing. I assumed it was long gone by now.

Something so small. So seemingly unimportant. But it wasn’t. None of it was.

In disbelief, I move on, trading the bracelet for a cassette, thumbing over the signature I inked there years ago. I linger on the tail of the heart the way he always used to. It’s such a silly little signature that I came up with when I was a kid, but I never moved on from it because I loved watching the way he’d trace it every year.

All my best memories. He kept them.

He listens to them still.

For so long, I held on to every little detail of our relationship, replaying them in my mind on a loop. I cherished the smallest moments we had together. Even at my lowest points, I was grateful that I got to be loved like that at least once in my life.

I never forgot him. I never forgot us .

And apparently, neither did he.