The Best Kind of Forever (Riverside Reapers)
The Best Kind of Forever: Chapter 7

AERIS

Sunlight peters through the slits in my blinds as warmth fills me to the tips of my toes, trickling down the length of my spine. When I muster the courage to pry my eyes open, my head feels like it’s been crushed by an industrial car compactor, and my mouth is as dry as sandpaper.

I groan, thrashing in my swelter of sheets.

Did I imagine last night? Did I hallucinate the whole thing? I guess it doesn’t matter, because I never got Hayes’ number—if he was a real person.

I jackknife to a sitting position, wiping the dried drool at the corner of my mouth. I reach for my phone and take in the giant eleven on my home screen.

I really don’t want to get out of bed. I want to hibernate like bears do in the winter and sleep for days. Bears don’t have to deal with feelings of inadequacy and hopelessness—at least, I don’t think they do.

But thanks to the water I kept nursing last night and my biologically tiny bladder, I’m going to have to get out of bed one way or another.

I wobble down the hallway and into the bathroom, narrowly tripping over a curled ball of fluff in the center of the floor.

Crunchwrap stares at me, hisses, then saunters out of the room. Little shit.

I’m in the bathroom for longer than I would’ve liked, mostly because I almost fall asleep on the toilet. The second I step into the hallway, the intoxicating scent of maple bacon ambushes my nostrils, making my mouth water.

Why do I smell bacon?

Once I round the corner, I’m pleasantly surprised to replace a blond giant hunched over my stove, humming to himself under his breath. There’s no denying whose back that belongs to. Hayes is in my kitchen, cooking me breakfast. Did I enter some parallel universe? This can’t be happening.

He’s ditched the towel for his clean set of clothes, and now that the lighting is more than subpar, I can appreciate the way the fabric clings to every bundle of muscle. I watch with hooded eyes as he reaches up to grab something from the cabinet, making the hem of his shirt ride up, exposing a sliver of washboard abs. The faint happy trail disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants magnetizes me.

Dear Lord, give me strength. Make me think about anything else besides riding Hayes like it’s the Kentucky Derby.

“Hayes?” I pipe up, his name barely leaving my lips.

Hayes finishes shoveling the last of the sizzling bacon onto a plate, his whole face lighting up as his gaze lands and softens on me. “You’re awake,” he chirps, loading up his arms with multiple dishes of breakfast foods.

Not only has he cooked bacon, but there’s a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, a bowl of fruit salad, and a side of scrambled eggs.

Confusion claws at my chest. “I don’t remember having this much food in the house,” I comment, a little notch forming between my brows.

“You didn’t. I went grocery shopping.”

“You went grocery shopping?”

He nods his head. “I’ve had my fair share of bad hangovers, and you seemed like you could use some cheering up.”

“You didn’t have to do anything for me,” I insist, shaking my head.

Hayes plies me with a disarming grin, one that births a firestorm inside of me. A cloying warmth leaps to life in my heart, maintaining a fuzzy circulation in my veins.

“I wanted to.”

His words are so simple, so straightforward, yet it’s the most beautiful proclamation my ears have ever heard.

Say thank you, Aeris.

My cheeks flush, and I struggle to suck in a single atom of oxygen. “I…”

He must descry my uneasiness because he takes the reins of the conversation. “How are you feeling? Think you can stomach some food?”

I open my mouth to answer him, but my stomach lets out a deafening growl instead.

A hearty chuckle rocks his beefy frame. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, pulling my chair out for me.

Blushing, I shuffle over to him, planting my ass in my seat without objection. There’s a tangled mess of nerves writhing inside of me, and that’s the last thing I want to feel at a ripe eleven in the morning.

I wait patiently as Hayes sits across from me, but the moment I pick up my fork, all my ladylike manners fly out the window. Oh my God. The chocolate chips from the pancakes melt on my tongue, and the sweetness pairs perfectly with the salt from the bacon.

“This is incredible,” I mumble through my food, shielding my mouth with my hand.

Hayes shrugs bashfully. “I went through a Master Chef stage at one point. It’s nowhere near Gordan Ramsay approved, but it’s not half bad.”

I bob my head enthusiastically, spearing a chunk of pancake and a crispy piece of bacon. Once the medley of flavors inundates my tastebuds, an orgasmic moan escapes me, and I slouch against the back of the chair.

Hayes bristles. “Jesus, you’re going to kill me.”

“What?”

He pushes his empty plate away from him, which I swore was just filled to the brim with food. His Adam’s apple slides in his throat. “I—never mind.”

The second I’m done with my food, Hayes is up and out of his seat, and in two quick strides, he’s standing right next to me. The sight of him hits me like a freight train, and it urges me up from my chair.

His calloused hand ghosts over the contour of my cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

I’m so close to him that I can see the disproportionate reflection of myself in his pupils, can smell the sweet aftertaste of chocolate on his breath, can feel the heat radiating off his body in tidal waves.

His eyes travel over my lips, conduits of anxiety zinging through every inch of me. I accept his invitation with a wordless confirmation, rising to my tiptoes and twining my arms behind his neck, slowly leaning in. I wait for him, anticipate him, and I thank my adrenaline for keeping me interlocked in his grasp.

A melting pot of colors breaks through me when our lips acquaint themselves with each other, and I inhale him like the weight of the world has suddenly lifted off my shoulders. He tastes like a warm afternoon, and I’m afraid that if I risk a glance away, he’ll fade into the backdrop of my imagination.

I want to hold him closer; I want to deepen the kiss. His tongue prods at the seam of my lips, requesting passage, and I let him slip deeper into my mouth, allowing him complete access to the very threads of my DNA.

His hand snakes around my throat, applying the slightest pressure on either side of my windpipe, and my breath pinches. I delve my fingers into his back, scraping my nails through the soft material of his shirt. My peaked nipples brush against his chest as viscous arousal saturates my panties.

A growl rumbles in the back of his throat, and he clamps his hands down on my waist, pulling me into him. I flaunt my clavicle to him, mewling when his lips leech on to the bone. He pulls the thin skin between his teeth, sucking, gnawing, then soothing the purpling bite mark with a lap of his tongue.

Tiny aftershocks quiver through my body from the blast of his touch. “I…want…”

“What do you want, Aeris?” Hayes teases, stroking his hand up my stomach, lingering just below my tits. The bass of his voice throws accelerant on the fire of lust blazing through me.

“I—”

I’m interrupted by the blaring ring of Hayes’ phone.

He lets it go for a few rings, then picks it up with a soft groan, disengaging himself from our entanglement.

I fight off a frown, willing the warmth in my groin to subside.

Holy shit. Why did I let him kiss me? This is going to end badly, I just know it. My number one rule is to never let anyone in. And what’s the first thing I do? I let someone in.

Hayes looks agitated as he listens to the voice on the other side of the speaker, and his reply is brusque. “Okay, I’m on my way.”

Once he hangs up, regret simmers in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I have to get to pr—I have to go.”

I gnash my teeth together. “It’s okay. I appreciate you making breakfast,” I tell him.

“Do you have your phone on you?”

I slip the device from the back pocket of my sweatpants, unlocking it and handing it to him.

His fingers work at lightning speed, and when he hands it back to me, his contact information is broadcasted across the screen. “Call me, okay?”

The corners of my mouth hook up into a smile. “Okay.”

His lips make one last pass at my cheek, and then he’s out the door, headed to God knows where. I don’t know if I’ll see him again. When people leave, they usually don’t come back. That’s something I’ve come to accept—that people will leave no matter how hard you beg them to stay.