Even If the Sky is Falling, page 18
“How can I not?” he asked, running his fingertips along the curve of her breast. When he hit the peak of her stiff brown nipple, he rolled it around in a circle just to hear her moan. He took it between his finger and thumb and pinched to see her squirm beneath him and felt like he was finally in control of this night. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”
Her dark brown eyes connected to his and she smiled. “You’re not just saying that because the world is ending?”
Nick shook his head. “The world isn’t ending. I would have felt something by now.”
Shea frowned. “What do you feel now?”
“Hope.”
From the moment she descended into his bunker, he felt that hope. Knowing that he wouldn’t be alone at the end made a difference. But after making love to Shea, Nick knew there was more. There were weeks, months and years of being by her side. He held her loosely because he knew there was time.
Shea shifted to her side and faced him. “You think everything outside is okay?”
“I know it is,” Nick said confidently. “In the morning, we’re going to go upstairs where we’ll call our parents and I’ll make you pancakes. Do you like pancakes?”
Shea nodded. “I do.”
“I want to make love to you aboveground, in the sunlight. I want to play more games with you.”
“I can’t believe you’re real,” she murmured with a strange expression on her face. Her lips tightened into a straight line as her eyes narrowed. Nick watched her burrow half her face into her pillow and close her eyes with a sigh. “I can’t believe we’re here.”
Nor could he.
As he stared at her, he felt he’d hit the jackpot with Shea.
Shea
Sharp pings of technology stirred Shea from sleeping in an awkward position. She winced as she lifted her head, a sharp pain stabbed the side of her neck. Following the chirping sound to her left, Shea found her phone. Blue light signaled a message from outside.
The phones worked?
As she extricated herself from Nick’s firm hold on her thigh, she carefully twisted around to grab her phone. It was around 7:00 a.m. and dozens of missed text messages flooded her locked screen. Most of them from her parents, some from her girlfriends, a couple from university colleagues. What she gathered from the messages was that the danger had passed. Everyone she knew was safe. The United States was in the clear. Shea sank against the pillows with a sigh, relieved that her world could go back to normal.
But after last night, she wasn’t sure she wanted to return to a world without Nick. Oh jeez...that felt a bit dramatic. Shea turned to face him, to watch his profile in the dark. His smooth forehead, strong nose and full lips came together to form a beautiful picture, one that she didn’t mind kissing again. Of course, she’d wait until he woke up. And when he did, would the magic disappear? In the safety of the bunker, with the threat of nihilism looming over them, he gave her the fantasy she’d been pining for.
Nick shifted in his sleep, reaching toward her body. A hand landed on her thigh and pulled her against him. She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. He grumbled deep and shifted closer. “What are you laughing at, Ms. Perez?”
“Nothing,” she whispered, scooting next to him. “The emergency alert is over. We’re safe.”
“Thank God,” he said, gathering her into his strong arms. She heard him breathe deeply against her hair before sighing. “I’m so damn glad to hear that.”
She smiled against his chest, placing a whisper of a kiss to the firm muscle. “I suppose we should get ready for the day...greet the outside.” Her suggestion was tentative as she waited on his response. She didn’t want to leave, but she didn’t want to overstay her welcome. He’d been so accommodating and gracious during her stay, offering her amazing sex, but doubt nagged at her.
“What’s your hurry?” he asked. “We’re supposed to have pancakes.”
Shea looked up at him, making out his features in the dark. “That still stands?”
As an answer, Nick took her by the face with both hands and kissed her deeply. The familiar pleasure of last night’s exploits unfurled in her chest and spread throughout her body as she kissed him back. When he pulled away, his hands remained. “Please come upstairs with me, Shea. Let’s keep this going. My weekend, and hopefully every other weekend, belongs to you.”
The doubt dissipated like mist against morning sunrays. Sunrays she was now anxious to see. It was a new day with a new chance at romance, and Shea was thrilled to see where it could lead. “Okay, well, I’m hungry now,” she chuckled.
He reached down and gave her ass a love tap. “Say less, baby. Get on up and get dressed.”
After a short time of getting ready, they ascended the stairs, leaving behind the cozy bunker. The bookstore was safe and secure, just as they had left it. Nick kept the closed sign hanging in the door before letting Shea out and locking up.
Outside was the same as any other day. People on the street, opening shops, buying newspapers. A few cars rolled past the store, moving to their destinations without fear. The morning sun warmed her face and made her feel alive.
Shea watched the scene with Nick standing beside her. Without thinking, she took his hand and squeezed tightly. “Thank you for last night.”
Nick slung an arm around her shoulder and kissed her temple. “I should be the one thanking you,” he whispered in her ear. “Maybe later this weekend, we hit up that coffee shop?”
Ahh, yes...the other reason for her showing up yesterday. She laughed at what now felt like a distant memory. “Of course we can, Agent Roberts.”
* * *
INTERLUDE
* * *
SARAH SMITH
Interlude
The most important lesson I’ve learned as a songwriter and jingle writer is this: have something to write with on you at all times. Always.
Even when you think you won’t need it, like when you’re taking out the garbage or in the bathroom, you will. Because that’s usually when inspiration strikes—whenever the hell it wants to, at the most random and inconvenient moments.
That’s what’s happening to me right now as I sit on the toilet emptying my bladder after guzzling an entire thermos of tea on my drive back home from an impromptu trip to the vet. You see, today my cat, Mango, decided to crawl into the trash can and devour three discarded muffin wrappers. I, of course, panicked and sped him straight to the vet. Thankfully all was well. Because they’re paper, they’ll dissolve in his digestive tract and he’ll pass them in a few days.
But today’s chaos has thrown me off completely. I haven’t eaten or showered and I’ve got a late-afternoon Zoom meeting to prep for. And this is why I’m humming the melody that just popped in my head over and over as I relieve myself because I’m so off-kilter that I broke my own rule and didn’t bring anything to write with me.
The bathroom door squeaks as Mango nudges it open with his face. He plops his chunky body next to my feet, then slow-blinks at me before letting out the quietest mewling sound in the world.
My heart melts instantly. I reach down and pet his impossibly soft orange fur. “You’re lucky you’re adorable. You’re forgiven for earlier today.”
I hop up and wash my hands, all the while humming the melody, then dart down the hallway to my office, grab my phone and record myself singing for thirty seconds. I save it and breathe a sigh of relief. Not sure what I’ll use it for yet. Maybe it’ll be the catchy hook for a song I can pitch to a producer. Or maybe I can use it in an advertising campaign. Those thoughts halt instantly when I check the time and see that I’ve only got twenty minutes until my first Zoom meeting. I still need to eat something. And shower. And put on makeup. Shit.
I dart back to the bathroom, toss my glasses aside onto the counter, flip on the hot water, shed my T-shirt and yoga pants, and hop in the shower. Under the hot stream of water, I quickly shampoo my hair and soap my body. As I rinse off, I force myself to take a breath. Yeah, today has been a mess so far, but I can’t go into my meeting stressed-out, which is with a jewelry company. It’s a lucrative contract—they want something moody and seductive for a Valentine’s Day jingle. If I nail this pitch, this gig will pay in the mid five figures. I want this contract bad. It would be the biggest single contract I’ve ever gotten, which would be a huge professional boost—not to mention a fat chunk of money that I’d love to see in my bank account. This high-end jeweler isn’t going to want to hire a frazzled hot mess to take on their Valentine’s Day campaign. I need to exude confidence during this meeting, like I didn’t just have a ridiculous pet emergency—like I totally, unquestionably have my shit together.
So I do the one thing I always do when I need to calm down: I sing. I choose one of my favorite pump up songs: “Don’t You Worry ’Bout a Thing.” It’s one of my favorite Stevie Wonder songs, but I’m also a huge fan of Tori Kelly’s version, so that’s the one I bellow under the stream of steamy water. It only takes a handful of seconds before the nerves dissipate and I’m swaying my hips and head as I sing and groove.
By the time I turn off the water, I’m feeling slightly less frazzled. I dry off, wrap the towel around my hair, slip on my fuzzy bathrobe, then throw on a sheet mask before heading to the kitchen for a snack. Ojai is beautiful and I love living here—it’s got that quiet, small-town charm but it’s only a couple hours from LA, so I can commute to meet with clients when needed—but the desert climate is hell on my skin. I look like the crypt keeper if I don’t moisturize my skin intensely at least four times a week, and I definitely want to look my best for this meeting.
Mask in place, I sprint to the kitchen and scarf down two leftover lumpia along with a green smoothie while going over the client info in my head for the meeting.
The sound of my doorbell going off interrupts my thoughts. I groan while chewing, tempted to ignore it as I’ve now got only ten minutes to pretty up so that I’m camera ready. But then it sounds again, meaning I’ll need to get rid of whoever’s at the door.
When I answer it, I’m greeted by a tall, broad man, I think? Because I’m sans glasses and squinting through a face mask, the person standing in front of me is blurry.
“Hi, Jocelyn? I’m Caleb, from Pop Pop’s Desert Paradise Remodeling.”
My eyes go wide. Today is the day I scheduled to have a contractor come over and give me an estimate to replace my kitchen cabinets. In the chaos of today, I completely forgot.
“Oh! Shit!” I cup my hand over my mouth. “Sorry for swearing.”
Blurry man chuckles. “It’s okay. I’ve been known to mutter a curse or two.”
“Um, right...” I step aside to let him inside, too flustered to laugh at his joke. “Look, I’m really sorry about this, but I have a work Zoom meeting in, like, ten minutes, and I still have to get ready, so is it okay if you take a look at the cabinets without me?”
I move to shut the door and point in the direction of the kitchen. “Promise as soon as I’m done with my meeting I’ll check back in with you.”
“No worries, take your time.”
I yell a thanks before darting back into the bathroom and start swiping on my skin care. When I check the time and see that I’ve only got four minutes till my meeting, my nerves start to crackle. But I close my eyes and make myself take another breath.
“You’ve got this, Jocelyn,” I say.
I start singing “Don’t You Worry ’Bout a Thing” again. I belt out the lyrics, smiling to my reflection in the mirror as I stand up taller. I’ve already come up with a few melodies and lyrics, and I’m planning on singing them to the jewelry store marketing head during our meeting. This song is the perfect warmup for my voice. I reach for my glasses so I can see clearly when I put on my makeup, chaotic day be damned. I’ve got this. Just like Tori and Stevie say, I don’t need to worry about a—
The door flies open.
“Jocelyn?” the contractor booms.
I yelp, dropping my glasses on the counter. All I can see is a blurry form in the doorway.
I clutch at my robe. “What the—Caleb? What the hell are you doing?”
“I—I know, and I’m so sorry, but I hear the warning siren blaring. Didn’t you hear it? Your phone probably has the text alert too.” I’m dizzy as I try to process the information Caleb is sputtering at me. Text alert...siren... I start to wonder why I didn’t hear it until now. Was I that in my own head? And my phone should be on the bathroom counter, but I don’t see it. A high-pitched wail is emanating from outside, and Caleb’s own phone is just a fuzzy black rectangle in his slightly less fuzzy hand.
Fuck.
“We need to take shelter. Now.”
Caleb’s booming voice sends my heartbeat racing.
“My basement. We can go down there.”
Caleb makes an affirming noise before moving toward the door.
“Wait! My cat! I don’t know where—”
“I’ve got him.”
My heartbeat eases the slightest bit, but it’s back to thrashing against my rib cage as the siren wails louder and louder. I swipe my glasses from the counter, dart in front of Caleb, then run toward the kitchen, which is where the door to the basement is. I shove on my glasses, throw open the door and run down the darkened steps as fast as I can.
Even as my heartbeat drums in my ears, I can hear the sound of Caleb’s heavy footfalls behind me. I register the slam of the door and Mango’s indignant mewl.
My feet hit the carpet and I smack the light switch on the wall. I do a quick glance at the space, quietly thankful I finally hired a contractor to finish the basement this summer. It’s a small space, only about four hundred square feet, but it’s carpeted with a cozy pull-out couch along the wall, flat-screen TV and a fully stocked small refrigerator. There are worse places to ride out a natural disaster.
When I spin around to check on Mango and Caleb, I promptly freeze. Because standing in front of me is the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life, his chest heaving as he catches his breath, holding my cat in his massive hands.
A stammer lodges in my throat. He looks like an extra from a TV series about Vikings, except instead of fur pelts, he’s clad in worn jeans, work boots, a flannel and a hoodie. Dude’s gotta be at least six foot three, maybe four? Even though his clothes are loose fitting, it’s clear he’s jacked. I’m one hundred percent certain that if I grabbed his forearm, my fingers wouldn’t touch by a solid few inches. And his thighs...holy Jesus. My eyes go wide for a long second before I remember that it’s rude to stare. I blink and aim my gaze back at his face, but I know without a doubt that I won’t be able to get those thighs—those thighs that resemble tree trunks more than actual human legs—out of my mind anytime soon.
Golden blond hair falls in shaggy waves around his face and a pair of warm hazel green eyes gaze at me, unblinking, like he’s trying his hardest not to let his eyes drop any lower than my face.
Probably because I’m standing in front of him in just a robe. I glance down and notice the belt knot has loosened. The top of the robe is open enough that my cleavage is on full display, and my legs are fully exposed all the way up to my upper thighs. I clutch one hand to my chest, pulling the fabric together. My other hand grips the fabric shrouding my crotch.
“Um...” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his gaze glued to me. Then he presses his eyes shut and shakes his head. “Sorry, um... I didn’t mean to barge in on you in the bathroom. I am so, so sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” I mumble, gripping the fabric even tighter around me. “It was an emergency.”
He nods, eyes still closed. “I swear, I didn’t see anything.”
I didn’t think I could burn any hotter than I did seconds ago when I first took in Caleb’s male model appearance. But as it turns out, I can. My face is currently engulfed in flames at the thought that Caleb glimpsed even the tiniest bit of my naked body. I haven’t shaved my legs in a week. My bikini line? Even longer.
I quickly readjust my robe and tighten the belt, shuddering at the thought that maybe he did actually see me and he’s just saying this to be polite since we’re stuck together for god knows how long. A full-body cringe starts to make its way through me, but I tense up and ward it off. No. I can’t let my brain go there. If I do, I’d die of humiliation, and I need to maintain some level of composure if we’re going to be stuck together in this small space.
“Again, I’m really, very sorry...” His hands shake slightly as he speaks, eyes still pressed shut, and that softens me the slightest bit. Because it shows he’s just as nervous as I am right now.
“Caleb. It’s fine. You don’t have to keep apologizing.”
He finally opens his eyes, the worry lines in his forehead smooth away. His hazel eyes flash relief as he gazes down at me.
He scrunches his lips, like he’s too nervous to smile. Mango squirms slightly in his hold. “Is it okay if I set...”
“Mango. And yeah, you can set him down.”
I take in Caleb’s slow, steady movement as he lowers his tall, broad frame to the ground, places Mango on the carpet and stands back up. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans and steps back until he almost hits the wall behind him. All the while he keeps his gaze lowered. When he stops, he hunches his shoulders, instantly shrinking himself by a few inches. And that’s when it hits me: he’s trying to maintain space between us, trying to make himself less physically imposing to me.
I soften even more. The nerves lingering inside of me ease from fiery to tingly. That is so considerate of him to do that. As a smaller woman, I’ve been around my fair share of hulking dudes who either don’t know or don’t care just how disruptive and intimidating their size can be. But even though Caleb is nearly twice my size, I don’t feel uncomfortable in his presence. Yeah, I’m nervous, but not nearly as much as I was a minute ago—and I wasn’t nervous because of how big he is, more because of the awkwardness of this situation combined with how freaked out I was at the sound of the warning siren.
