Noelle August - Boomerang

He gives a sharp inhale. “Wait, Mia,” he says. “I need to tell you something first.”

I graze his nipple with my teeth. “What is it?”

He tilts my chin up so that I’m looking at him. “I . . . I choose you.”

“I know,” I say. “You’ve probably told me a hundred times already, only I was too dumb to pay attention.”

“But I need to say it in real words. And I need you to know it has nothing to do with . . .” His hands brush over me, and I shiver. “This.”

“Really?” I press against him. “Nothing?”

He grips my hips and pulls me down harder, sending a shock of pleasure through my entire body. “Okay. Not nothing. But it’s more than that. It’s you, Curls. The whole package. The way you look when you’ve got your camera in your hands, like you can see through people, right down to their cores. And your crazy giant hair. Your laugh. How goddamn smart you are. All of it. I choose all of it.”

I want to say it all back to him, tell him how much I love his focus, his generosity. His eyelashes. His perfect, straight nose. His intelligence and loyalty. The way I know I can trust him with every part of me.

I want to, and I will. I’ll try to tell him that every day. And I hope those days stretch to the rest of my life. But for now, I just say, “Thank you,” and I kiss him, hoping he knows what’s contained in those words.

“You’re welcome,” he says, his hand slipping down to my panties. “Now let’s get rid of these.”

Laughing, we finish undressing each other. He finds and puts on a condom then pulls me back on top of him. We kiss for a long, long time, clinging to each other in a stream of bright moonlight. I suck on his tongue, and we both groan and then we laugh at ourselves.

But then he looks at me, and his deep blue eyes glimmer with intensity. “I want you so goddamn much, Mia,” he says. “I can’t wait anymore.”

I feel molten inside, like liquid fire. I want to pour myself over him, envelop us both.

“Then don’t,” I say.

By some magic, our bodies find each other perfectly, and he presses himself slowly into me, pulling me down by the hips, filling every bit of me.

“Okay, we definitely haven’t done this before,” I gasp. But then we begin to move together, and I lose my words. Now it’s only this stunning juncture of his body and mine, this perfect wavelike rhythm, ebbs and flows, like we’re elemental. Meant to be.

His hands move over me, and I catch one and pull his long fingers into my mouth. Because I want even more of him. Because I’m not sure there’s enough of him to satisfy this hunger he’s created.

He rolls me over and pins me against the mattress. I want to cry at how good he feels on top of me, how solid and lovely and ridiculously hot. He slips a hand down between our bodies, all of him moving, his tongue in my mouth, his hips against mine, his fingers urgent and circling.

“But it’s supposed to be your turn,” I try to say. Only my body’s selfish. It rises against him, urges him for more.

“Mia,” Ethan groans. “You definitely . . . don’t . . . have to worry about that.”

I wrap my arms around him, drawing him closer. We burn against each other, chafing and igniting, and again, I feel that sun inside me, that radiating, cutting warmth. It builds and builds, and my whole body trembles, filled with how good this is. How good he is.

Then it tips over and explodes, catching me in this sharp electric current, hollowing me until I lose myself to it, burn and tremble and fracture into a million scintillating bits.

Ethan moans, and his movements grow intense, focused. A sheen of sweat glistens on his shoulder, and I taste the salt of his skin. His rhythm builds, and he buries his face in my neck, saying my name. The feel of him driving toward his own pleasure is more than I can take, and my body climbs to meet his.

My trembling makes him tremble.

His groans make me groan.

Finally, he grows rigid, and his arms pen my body, containing me. He gives a deep, long shudder, and it feels like my own body quivering.

Slowly, we stop moving, our breathing quiets. My heartbeat starts to feel like it’s within normal human range.

“Wow, Curls,” he murmurs.

I laugh, and hold him against me. “Yeah,” I tell him. “Go, team.”

Ethan

Q: Do you chase dreams, or do you actually catch them?

Why don’t you hop in the shower?” I say. “I’ll meet you in there.”

Mia sits up, naked and gorgeous, and gives me a wry smile. “Shower? Why do I need to shower?”

I have to laugh because her hair is gigantic. “I thought maybe, uh . . .” I make a motion encompassing the black mountain of curls around her head. “I’m not quite sure how to describe what’s going on here. I don’t think Diana Ross or Bride of Frankenstein even come close, to be honest.”

Mia play-punches me. “It’s your doing.” Then she pats her hair, feeling the dimensions of the awesomeness that surrounds her head. “Wow. This is impressive. I think I’m going to call this style The Hat Trick.”

“You know what a hat trick means?”

“Sure do,” she says, scooting off the bed. She stops at the door and looks back, grinning. “More importantly, I know how it feels.”

Well, that settles that. I can die a happy man.

My work here is done.

Except it isn’t.

I grab my cell phone from the nightstand and type two quick text messages—one to Beth and one to Matt—then I send a message to Rhett.

Ethan: Hey man. Booth status?

It’s 7 a.m. but he replies right away.

Rhett: Questionable. We’re trying.

That doesn’t sound good. My side of the display is working, but a knot settles in my stomach. Mia’s side obviously still isn’t.

Ethan: Keep trying.

Rhett: Will do. Mia status?

I’m tempted to type very satisfied, but I know that’s not what he means.

Ethan: Holding up.

I let him know we’ll be back by eleven, then I head to the bathroom, catch a glimpse of Mia in the shower, and realize I should’ve told Rhett noon.

But what the hell. They can wait.

In the shower, I wrap my arms around her and hold her. She’s relaxed and tired, and I can tell yesterday drained her. I kiss her, playing with her soft lips, my hands exploring her body. I want to make her feel good again, but she shakes her head.

“Maybe a little later?” she says. “Sore.”

“Sorry. Not sorry,” I say. She laughs, and I trap the sound with another kiss and tell her, “I have some healing techniques . . . Tonight, Curls. Or sooner, if we don’t get out of this shower.”

Her smile grows wider. “Okay, tonight. Counting on it.”

She’s so sleek and beautiful this way. I can’t resist her. I take her face in my hands and look into her green eyes. “Mia . . . we did this thing all wrong, at work and on dates that weren’t even ours, but it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change where we are. You’re mine now.”

It sounds possessive and psychotic, but that’s not how it feels. How it feels is like I want to become a human force field around her. Like I want to give her anything I can—everything, to keep her happy and safe. The truth isn’t so much that she’s mine as it is that I’m hers.

Mia shakes her head and smiles. “I already was yours, Ethan. The minute you put my panties in the toaster oven, I knew you were the one.”

“Yeah? I’ll admit that was an inspired move.”

The shower starts to run cold, so I shut off the water and wrap a towel around her. Mia looks up at the sound of a cabinet slamming in the kitchen.

“Someone’s here.” She stares at the door, and then gasps as a loud laugh explodes from the other side. “Is that . . . Beth?”

“Sounds like Sky to me, but you would know.”

Mia darts away from me, opens the door and bolts into the living room.

I grab another towel, wrap it around my waist, and follow her.

The chatter in the apartment stops. For a second, we all just stand there. Me and Mia, half-naked. Skyler, at the kitchen table. Isis, about to crack an egg against a mixing bowl on the counter. Beth, by the couch—which is covered in dresses and pants and shoes. Jason in the middle of everything like a startled animal that doesn’t know where to flee.

“What is this?” Mia tugs her towel higher. “What are you guys doing here?”

Skyler lifts a coffee carrier from the kitchen table. “I brought lattes.”

Beth spreads her hands like she’s presenting the couch. “The usual for me. A fabulous assortment of clothes for you.”

“I’m making pancakes,” Isis chirps from the kitchen.

Jason shrugs, the corner of his mouth lifting in an embarrassed smile. “I just live here.”

Mia looks at me, a question in her eyes.

“Seemed like the right time to call in the troops,” I say. And I’m rewarded with a perfect smile before she’s shuttled into my bedroom amid a barrage of condolences and questions.

“Damn,” Jason says, when it’s just him and me. “They’re like a category five hurricane.”

But at the moment, I’m too grateful that he’s here—that they all are—to joke. “Thanks, J.”

“Not necessary. It’s not every Monday I get to drive a Bugatti to Malibu.”

Jason’s running Adam’s car home for me this afternoon.

“I meant for letting us have the place last night, and for looking out for her grandma.”

“Like I said, no thanks necessary.”

“Okay.” I turn around and stop, realizing I have no access to my room, and therefore my clothing.

“That sucks.” Jason says behind me. But it doesn’t. I love that Mia’s in there, surrounded by her friends—old and new.

Jason sits at the table. “Pull up a chair, buddy. Here. Have a Skinny-Mocha-Chai-whatever-the fuck-this-is.”

I sit and take the coffee.

“So,” he says. “It appears you violated the code of conduct established by your employer.”

Idiotic fucking office policies. They almost cost me Mia.

“Might have done that last night,” I answer. “Might have done that this morning, too.”

“Uh-huh,” Jason says, with zero surprise. “And this professional”—he waves his hand in the air, searching for the right word—“transgression . . .”

“There was nothing wrong about it. Nothing.”

“I hear you, brother. I do. It’s about freaking time you two did the deed, but my question is this: you’ve got another week or so on the job—sorry, internship. Are you going to hide what’s going on between you from Blackwood?”

“Too late for that,” I say, remembering how I wrapped Mia in my arms in front of Adam yesterday. He’s no idiot. He knows what’s going on.

Jason takes a sip of coffee. “You don’t seem too worried about it.”

“I am for her.”

“What are you for you?”

“Good. Real good,” I say. Then I tell him about my conversation with Matt in Colorado. About the sports psychology graduate program. And about how I’m going to apply.

I only just decided to go for it this morning. Or maybe it was at some point in the night, holding Mia, but as I talk to Jason, I hear someone who’s sure. Someone who has an unshakable confidence about the path he’s chosen to walk. Grad school always felt right. I just had to find the angle that fits me.

“I just texted Matt,” I say, finishing. “I’m going to get in touch with his contact. Get that ball rolling as soon as possible.”

Jason sits back and studies me. There’s a smile in his eyes. This feels right to him too, but he shakes his head. “Psychology, huh?”

I smile. “Yup.”

“You know what?” he says, crossing his arms. “I’m going to be pissed if you become a doctor before I do.”

An hour later, after Mia checks in with her parents and learns that Nana’s condition is stable, we leave for Vegas. Sky and Beth drop us at the airport in time to catch the 10 a.m. flight, which gets us back to the hotel just before noon. As we walk through the casino to the exhibit floor, I feel Mia’s dread mounting with every step.

During the flight, we brainstormed ways to work around the corrupted file containing the footage she’s been shooting for the past weeks. We even made a list of people who might be able to help. Zeke, my gaming contact. Gayle, our IT expert, who was supposedly flying in this morning. And, in an act of supreme selflessness, I even suggested Brian.