Alessandra Torre - End of the Innocence

He grinned, a devilish smirk that made me want to yank down his zipper and suck his cock. “You just evaded the Magiano family. Your ex-boyfriend is hardly cause for panic.”

I frowned. “You are way too relaxed about this.”

He leaned forward, kissing me swiftly, his hands moving as my mouth opened to his, strong fingers circling then gripping my waist, twisting my body until I had no choice but to lift one leg over and straddle him. My worries were lost in his kiss—a soothing connection that turned sexual in a moment, his hands moving brusquely over the top of my shirt, yanking it out of my dress pants and sliding his hands underneath the fabric, the warmth of his touch causing my breath to hitch. I ground against him, feeling him respond underneath me, as he squeezed my breasts, his thumb teasing my nipples through the fabric of my bra.

By the time he laid me back, tugged off my dress pants, and wrapped my thighs around his head, it was decided. He was coming home with me, but I was on my own with Luke. Damn my weak resolve.

We left Friday night, hitting the interstate at six. I called Mom on the way, keeping the conversation brief. I didn’t mention the hulk of a man at my side, or my reason for coming. I didn’t want to give Luke any benefit of preparation. Then I called Olivia remembering two hours out of town that we had made plans for Saturday night—dinner and a movie—a mini-celebration of my new engagement. Olivia wasn’t happy, but understood, her irritation turning to indignation at my mention of Luke’s presence. With her blessing to kick ass in hand, I closed the phone and settled into the passenger seat.

I grew up in a town small enough to be close-knit, but large enough to have a Wal-Mart. Located in an unassuming corner of Georgia, too far from any airport, it typically took me seven hours, but Brad’s car ate up the drive in six. The drive went almost too quickly for my taste, and my mind was still processing possible outcomes by the time we pulled down the quiet suburban street that had sheltered my upbringing.

It was a half hour after midnight when Brad brought the car to a slow stop next to our mailbox and slid it into park. I leaned over, kissing him gently on the lips. “I’ll call you in a bit. You’ll find a hotel?”

He grinned at me. “From the looks of my GPS, this town doesn’t seem big enough to get lost in. I’ll be close by. Call me when you’re ready.”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the upcoming battle. Then I opened the door and stepped out.

♥♥♥

It’d been almost a year since I’d been home. Maybe longer. Long enough that I didn’t recognize the new planters on the steps, overflowing with blooms, Mom’s green thumb at work. The planters had, no doubt, been Dad’s handiwork, that item on the ‘to do’ list finally attended to. I also noted new white curtains in the window above the kitchen sink. Wonder when Mom made those? My childhood home was small, a square block of brick, built in the fifties, back when rooflines and architectural features weren’t deemed aesthetically important. But I can’t help but love its imperfections. I can’t help but think, whenever I step down this cracked drive, that I should come home more. I have so many memories inside these walls. So many moments that shaped my growth, in good ways and bad. I walked down the drive, noticing Luke’s truck, and stepped onto the first step of the porch, my eyes adjusting to the dark, seeing the front door stoop and the man who, at almost one in the morning, leaned against it. Luke .

Looks were never Luke’s problem. His looks were what drew me to him, his looks were what kept me around during the slow times, and his looks had almost made me reconsider my decision to leave him. Thick, blond hair that always misbehaved perfectly, a strong jaw, full lips, and pale blue eyes that had always held a hint of anguish. He stood, his hands tucked in the pockets of his faded jeans, a baby blue polo pulled tight over his broad, muscular chest. He said nothing as I wound my way along the entry sidewalk and came to a stop in front of him. Just watched me, his face tight and eyes tortured. He pulled off ‘tortured’ better than anyone else I knew. And, just like that, the familiar weight of guilt settled around my heart and squeezed.

He had, simply put, not been good enough for me. My over-confident ego had decided I needed someone better—someone more successful, responsible, intelligent. It had been the right choice. But that didn’t mean that my heart didn’t break a little when I looked at him. Because he had truly, head over heels, loved me. And probably still did. I never worried about Luke looking at another girl, or had any doubt of his feelings for me. I had been his entire world. He stepped forward slightly, hands coming out of his pockets, and I held up a hand. “Luke. Stop. Please sit down.”

I wasn’t surprised he was awake. Wasn’t surprised that he was on the porch, waiting for my arrival. It was why I had had Brad bring me straight here. I knew Luke would be there, ready, hopeful. But validation of that fact, his weight against the porch, where it had probably been for hours? It made it harder. Added another stone to my mountain of guilt.

He obeyed, sinking into the closest rocking chair, his eyes never leaving mine—light blue prisms of hope. I sank into the rocker next to him and propped a foot up on the railing, closing my eyes and trying to sort through the churning wave of emotions. Of course he obeyed. He had always behaved, always tried to please my ever-increasing demands. I had been the alpha, he the submissive.

“What are you doing here, Luke?” I turned to look at him—a mistake—the raw look in his eyes nearly tearing me into two.

“I couldn’t find you anywhere. I need you, Jules; I’m lost without you.” He reached out, grasping my arm, his strong fingers caressing the skin before he pulled it, leaning into me. I resisted, dragging my arm away and leaned back in the chair.

Need. Yes, he had always needed me. To wake him up in the mornings, so he wouldn’t miss work. To remind him to renew his car insurance, file taxes, pay his parking tickets. He needed me to cover his rent when his cash was low, pick him up from the bar when he had drunk too much, and hold him in my arms when he was feeling insecure. He had needed me way too much. It was one of the things that made the guilt that much heavier. I wondered, still worried, how he functioned without me.

And it was crazy. I had a new fiancé, another life, but still the pull of guilt almost washed me closer to him. Almost made me weak enough to say things other than what I needed to say. It was why I had cut all contact two months prior. The guilt at leaving him ... it was too hard for me to be firm. Firm seemed to equal ‘cruel.’ But that was needed. Especially when the game had gotten to this unthinkable stage.

I sighed, trying to form words that would hit home gently. “Luke. It’s over. I have avoided you for a reason. You being here at my parents’ house— it’s invasive. You have to move on. You have to forget about me.”

“I’ll be better. I’ll try harder. I won’t go out anymore or skip work or—”

“Luke.” I stood and faced him, my eyes sharp. Be strong. Be firm. “You don’t need to change for me. You need to find a girl who loves you just as you are. Stop thinking about a way to get me back. I’m not ever coming back. Ever. I need you to realize that.”

“Is this about that guy? The one who dropped you off?” He looked wounded, slumping back in the chair, a bare foot coming up and hitting the porch rail. The glimpse of his foot—it struck some latent chord in me, some reservoir of anger, resentment. He had stayed here a week . Gotten comfortable enough in my childhood home to walk around barefoot. Prey on my uninformed parents.