Jocelyn

The shower sings over my shoulders, warm gusts of water washing away years of stiffness, frustration, hurt—solitude. Landon Boxer changed me last night, this morning. He broke open a dam I’d been keeping safe all this time, locking in the sunshine, the laughter, the tiny shred of Jocelyn Jones that used to know how to be silly. Fun. Outgoing and bright.

We’d teased, laughed, made love, held each other until the sun began to rise. The whole evening to night to morning had been the stuff of magic. But now, we had to say goodbye. It might be only for a short while, but it was still too long. Especially now. Today. After all of this.

Boxer would take a separate flight up to San Fran to spend tonight with his family, then back to LA to prepare for his first playoff game this upcoming Friday night. It’d be an intense week for him, and he’d already told me not to expect to see him. Though the frown when he’d told me this had made the news slightly easier to digest.

I blush thinking of what he’d said next, something about making up for lost time after Friday, and as I towel off and slip into a new dress, I think that Friday night can’t come soon enough. Win or lose for the Lightning, I’m pretty sure I’ll score.

I survey myself in the mirror and almost cry out of embarrassment at the sight there. I had let Lindsay take me shopping. She picked out a pink dress.

Violent pink.

I’ve never worn pink in my life, and I feel like a carnation standing here, twirling around. Like I belong in somebody’s wedding as the flower girl.

Yet even so, there’s a small part of me that I’ve kept shielded from hundreds of days spent wearing nothing but black dress after black dress that admits it’s cute. Fun. Flirty. All things that Jocelyn Jones is most certainly not.

However, this morning, I suddenly feel like flirting. I feel like grabbing Landon Boxer’s hand and traipsing down the street for a coffee before taking off on my flight, showing the whole world just how colorful Jocelyn Jones can be.

With the burst of confidence, I pull myself away from the mirror and step out of the bathroom. Boxer’s waiting in the bedroom with his back to me. He’s dressed in jeans and a button up shirt, hair still damp from his shower. As usual, he looks perfect.

When he turns, I watch his eyes closely. They begin at my legs, my feet specifically, which I’ve slipped into a pair of slick black pumps. I can’t go all pink, not yet. I’m not that brave.

Then his eyes travel up to the hem of my dress which floats just above my knees, and then further up still until he’s at the neckline, which just barely shows a hint of cleavage. He lands on my face, his eyes coals of fire blue.

“Pink,” he says, with a shake of his head. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“I knew it would be too much.” I clap a hand to my forehead. “I’m such a dork. Ignore me, and pretend you never saw this.”

“What? Wait!” Boxer’s long legs cross the room in four steps. He catches me, one arm around the waist, and pulls me back from the bathroom. “Where are you going?”

“We both know I look ridiculous in this getup. Something some teen girl might wear, and I’m a grown woman.”

“You’re nuts.”

“What?”

“Nuts. Absolutely insane.” He twirls me into his arms, our eyes locking on one another. “I wasn’t criticizing you.”

“Then what were you doing?”

“I was trying not to peel your dress right back off. Pink? It suits you.”

His arms slide down from my back until they’re at my waist, his fingers pressing into either side of my body, holding me against him. I can feel him, even through his jeans, and I have no doubt that if we didn’t have flights leaving shortly, we’d be discarding the pink for a shade of nude that’d make us both quite pleased.

“Joss.” He exhales, and it sounds painful as he curls around me, his hand inching down further and further still, until he sneaks a feel underneath the hem of my dress. “You’re wearing lace.”

“Shall we cancel our flights?”

He looks at me, a note of seriousness in his gaze. “If I weren’t meeting...”

“Charli?” I finish.

“Right. Charli.” He clears his throat and looks away. “I have to meet her.”

“Of course, hey—” I give him a squeeze around the shoulders. “Your daughter comes first. I was just teasing.”

He recovers from whatever clouded his eyes moments before and buries my hand in his. “Do you have time for an ice cream before I drop you off?”

“Of course I do.”

We swing through the lobby, our bags waiting for us behind the counter. Hand in hand, we stroll along the streets, the springtime sun bursting bright on our faces. Boxer slides a pair of sunglasses over his eyes while I settle for squinting. If anything, they make him even more handsome, a shade more mysterious, and I take my time ogling him as he orders for both of us.

“Would you like a lick?” He offers me his cone, eyes glinting.

“I’ll trade you.” I extend my cone, but he shakes his head.

“I have something else in mind,” he whispers in my ear, smelling of sugar and vanilla, his breath a tickle against my skin. “How long do we have before your flight?”

I steal his cone. “You’re insatiable, you know?”

We make our way outside the shop, his arms encircling me from behind. We waddle down the sidewalk, stumbling over one another as we kiss, taste, enjoy the last moments of our perfect weekend. It’s been incredible.

By the time we reach the car, I’m ready to cry tears of frustration for the sole reason that I don’t want this moment to end. Ever. If I could stay here, I’d be perfectly happy for life.

Just as happy as I’d been on my sixth birthday, minus the bittersweet aftertaste.

“Call me tonight if you have time,” I tell him. “But if you’re busy with Charli, that’s fine. Promise you’ll think of me.”

“I don’t have to promise that,” he says, swooping me into an embrace. “That’s a fact of life, these days. I’ll give you a call before bed.”

“After Rapunzel?”

“After Rapunzel.”

“Boxer.” I rest both of my hands on his shoulders, the aftertaste of mint ice cream fresh on my lips. “Thank you for everything. This weekend, the way you talk to me and hold me and treat me.”

He presses a series of kisses along my jawbone. “Don’t thank me for those things.”

“But—”

“Those are the perks of being in love.” He tips my chin upward. “And I have fallen for you.”

“Me too.”

We circle there, in the middle of the sidewalk, my feet barely touching the ground as he molds his mouth to mine. The kiss is long, luxurious, neither of us wanting it to end.

When it finally does come to a close, Boxer punctuates it with a twirl that has my dress spinning like a tutu around me. It’s more than I’d ever dared to dream.

A day filled with joy. Love. Pink.

I sigh when Boxer tucks me into the car, waving goodbye as the driver peels away from the curb. He stands, watches me go, and a bit of my heart is left with him.

Then again, as I face forward, I realize that I wouldn’t want things to be any other way.