by Gia Riley
She’s curled against the arm of the couch when I join her in the living room. Her hair’s still wet, and here’s not a stitch of makeup on her face. She couldn’t be prettier if she tried.
I pat the cushion next to me. “This one’s better.”
She slides over and glances at the menu in my hand. “What’s good?”
“The chicken Parmesan is amazing.”
“Then, I’ll have that.”
I love how simple she is. No glam. No calorie-counting.
But, just as I’m dialing the number to order, thinking I was worried over nothing, my phone rings. Chandler’s sitting so close, so she sees Isla’s name on the screen. There’s no way to miss it. I dismiss the call, but Chandler still inches back toward the far corner of the sofa.
“After we eat, I’ll explain,” I tell her.
“You don’t have to,” she says sweetly. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“Is this a date?”
She thinks about it for a second. “The show was a date, but you canceled.”
Is she serious right now?
“No, I rescheduled. Tonight is still a date. Our first to be exact.”
She glances over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “Wait, where’d Hollis go?”
“Across the hall. To Fisher’s. We’re alone.”
She nods, and I half-wonder if she’d rather be with them right now.
But then she surprises me and says, “I guess staying in can be a date, too. And, if you’re up for it, I’d like to hear whatever it is you have to say.”
I’m not sure I can give her everything just yet, but I’ll give her as much as I can.
In the meantime, we agree on a movie while we wait for the food.
I grab her legs and lift them up, so her feet are in my lap. She has fluffy socks on, making her feet look huge, but I know she’s just trying to keep them warm, so they don’t cramp up. I’ve been around enough dancers to learn some of the tricks. That’s how I know she’s about to moan when I press my thumb into the center of her arch.
“Shit, Wirth. That feels so good.”
I press again, adding my other thumb. She moans louder, and I pray the deliveryman is late. There’s no way I can get up anytime soon. Not with the hard-on she’s giving me.
“If you do that again, I’ll have to marry you,” she warns.
Without pause, I rub harder, and Chandler notices. She lifts her head off the pillow and looks me dead in the eyes. I don’t look away, and neither does she.
“Set a date,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes and then squeezes them shut. “Stop it, Wirth.”
“Stop what? Rubbing your feet?”
“No. You know what you did.”
Laughing, I keep the massage going, and she keeps her head tilted back with her eyes shut tightly. Twenty minutes go by before the doorbell rings, and I have to stop.
Gently, I climb out from under her and pay the deliveryman.
Just as I’m about to close the door, Hollis peeks his head out from Fisher’s place. “How’s it going?” he asks.
“We’re about to get naked,” I tell him with a straight face.
His mouth drops open.
“I’m kidding, asshole. I have a little more class than that.”
He slams the door so hard that Chandler sits up on the couch.
“What was that about?”
“Nosy neighbors,” I tell her as I plate some of the food in the kitchen.
She smiles. “Hollis was checking on us?”
“Yep.”
“He’s a good guy,” she says as she cuddles back down on the couch.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen that look on her face when she talks about Hollis. I don’t think she realizes she does it, but she does this little thing with her lips. It’s a devilish little smirk that’s full of something; I’m just not sure what.
Frustrated, I open my mouth and say something stupid. I feel the words leave my body before I can stop them. “Would you like me to invite him on our date?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says, half-shocked.
“You sure?”
“Wirth.”
When I don’t respond, she gets up from the couch and walks into the kitchen, standing directly behind me. Her little arms wrap around my waist, and she rests her cheek against the middle of my back. She hasn’t been this physical with me since the kiss on the plane, and I’m afraid that, if I move, she’ll rethink her actions.
“I’m on a date with you, Wirth.” I can feel the warmth of her breath through the thin fabric of my shirt. “You’re the only guy I’m interested in.”
That’s exactly what I needed to hear. She doesn’t move her arms when I turn around. She just looks up at me with those big blue eyes of hers, and I realize how fucked I am.
Chandler’s the girl my mom warned me about. Right before she died, she said to wait for the one who felt like home.
When I got on the plane, I thought I was leaving Nashville behind. But, when I look at Chandler, I realize I managed to bring the best part of the city back with me—the only part I wouldn’t be able to live without. I just had no idea until now.
Chandler’s not materialistic like Shannon. Status means nothing to her.
She’s not over the top like Isla. Her confidence is subtle.
She’s chill and calm and everything I’m not. Chandler’s real.
I brush a piece of damp hair away from her face and run my finger down her cheek. Her skin’s as soft as it looks.
“My mom would love you,” I whisper.
Chandler blinks a couple of times. Her eyes get so glassy; I think she’s about to cry.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her.
“I’m just sad I’ll never get to meet her.”
A million scenarios run through my mind, all of which include Hollis and my sister. There’s no way my sister would have spoken to Chandler though. So, that leaves only one possibility—our roommate. Hollis told her my mom died.
I don’t know whether to be pissed or relieved that Hollis already told Chandler. On one hand, that’s less I have to say out loud, but Hollis had no right to talk about my mother to Chandler.
Chandler sees the battle in my eyes, and she squeezes me harder around the waist. “It slipped out,” she says. “That’s all Hollis told me. He didn’t tell me any of the details, and I didn’t pry. I wanted to hear it from you. When you were ready.”
“Do you guys talk about me a lot?”
“Just that once, I promise. No, twice. It came up again on the way home tonight. Because of Isla.”
Normally, I’d be pissed. Hell, it took me months to tell Shannon. And I only told her because she’d overheard my sister and me talking. The entire conversation was over in three minutes, and I don’t think Shannon even cared that the biggest part of me was gone from my life.
She didn’t get emotional at all, not like Chandler is. And that does things to me that I don’t understand.
I point to Chandler’s plate. “Eat.”
“Wirth, I can’t eat if you’re mad.”
“I’ll be mad if you don’t eat.”
She takes her plate and carries it to the table. I sit across from her, and we eat in silence. She gave me the perfect opportunity to tell her what had happened, and I still can’t talk, so I talk about the food like a total idiot.
“Do you like the chicken?”
She knows I’m avoiding the subject and nods.
I finish my dinner, and she manages to eat almost half of hers. While she wraps it up, I stare at the microwave and watch another minute tick off. Another minute of our date that I’ve wasted because I’m too chickenshit to dive into my feelings.
If my mom were here, she’d smack me upside the head, so I start talking, “I was a senior in high school when she passed. I had a diploma and nothing to be excited about. I could tell you all the depressing details about the hospital and what it’s like to watch someone die, but
I’d rather you just know that my mom was the best mom she could have been. All she wanted was for me to have a good life and to be happy.”
“Are you happy?” she asks.
“Happier than I’ve been in a while,” I tell her truthfully.
“What about Isla?” she asks with a shaky voice.
“We didn’t date, if that’s what you’re worried about. She lost her dad around the same time I lost Mom. We were both in a bad place and went to this therapist in Queens. The commute sucked, but we both went once a week to the group therapy sessions, and we got to know each other pretty well.”
“Did it help?”
“Maybe for a little while,” I tell her. “But I’m not sure if it was the therapist or Isla, to be honest. I think it just felt good to laugh and think about something besides death. Because, when I was alone, all I could think about was not seeing my mom again.”
“She likes you, Wirth.”
“No, Chan. It’s not like that.”
“You have to see the way she looks at you.”
I don’t want to argue about this, so I tell her, “How about we agree to disagree on this for now? But I promise there’s nothing there on my end. And I’ll be more mindful around you if it bothers you.”
Chandler’s cheeks get a cute shade of pink. It definitely bugs her. “Why were you in Nashville?” she asks next. “You live here and have a great job in the city. And you know everyone at the theater, so obviously, you’ve been there a long time. I just don’t get how you have these dual lives.”
“I had a stupid dream, Chandler.”
“Your dreams aren’t stupid, Wirth.”
“If you knew what happened, you’d take that back.”
“Try me,” she says.
I wish it were that simple. “I’m still tying up a few loose ends,” I tell her. It’s not a total lie. I have phone calls to make and a contract to figure out, but I’ve been busy. Or so I tell myself. I know I’m just pushing it under the rug, hoping it’ll fix itself.
“And you’re not planning on going back? I know you said you were done performing, but I find that hard to believe.”
If Mom were here, she’d tell me to get back out there and try again. She wouldn’t let me give up music. Not when it means so much to me. But I know that first gig I take will be my biggest reminder that I failed in Nashville. I’d rather just go to work and pretend like that part of my life doesn’t exist.
“Can we talk about Nashville another day?” I ask Chandler.
She nods, letting me off the hook far too easily, so I tell her more about Mom’s death, the hospital ceremony, and how I ended up working sound and lighting after four years in college.
When I’m finished getting it all out, she walks over to the table where I’m sitting and sits on my knee.
“I think you’re pretty amazing, Wirth. You’ve been through hell. Nobody should watch their mother die, especially when they’re only eighteen. I don’t know how you got through that.”
I do. “I have an awesome sister and aunt who keep me in line. And, now, I guess I have you.”
She smiles. “You guess?”
“Chandler, I was miserable until I sat down beside you on that plane. But you and your quirks opened my eyes. And then you spoke, and this pretty little angel flew right into my life. I don’t think it’s a coincidence it happened thirty-five thousand feet in the air.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I think Mom got me as close to heaven as she could and then handed me the happiness I so badly needed.”
Chandler covers her face with her hands, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her against me.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Wirth.”
“Then, why are you hiding?” I ask her with a laugh.
She sits back up. Her eyes are still a little glassy, but she wraps her arms around my neck and then places a little peck on my cheek. “I’m glad she chose me,” she whispers.
Hearing her say that makes it about fifty degrees hotter. Because I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.
“So, does this mean you’re my girl?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
“I do. I realize this happened fast, and we barely know each other.”
“We know enough, Wirth.”
“Are you sure?”
“There’s plenty of time to slow down,” she says. “But we live together, so I’m not sure that’s possible.”
“So, you’re sure?” I ask again.
She rolls her eyes and says, “Just kiss me, stupid.”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice.
I’d like to carry Chandler to my room and lay her down in my bed, but I don’t think we’re ready for that yet. She’s right; even though it might be impossible to slow things down, we should try to navigate this like a normal couple. But not before I kiss her properly.
I stand up and set her on the edge of the counter. She yelps from the coldness of the granite. The couch would have been the more comfortable choice, but I can’t wait another second for her lips. I have to taste Chandler.
She licks her lips, and I almost bite the tip of her tongue before she puts it back in her mouth. I groan the second I touch her, and she wraps her legs around my back, pulling me as close to her as the counter will allow. This really was a poor choice of spots for this.
But Chandler doesn’t let the kitchen slow her down. She tastes my lips in a series of little pecks, and then she goes deeper, her tongue melting against mine.
“Wirth,” she whispers, followed by one of the sexiest moans I’ve ever heard.
I know that, if I don’t stop kissing her, there will be no stopping. I’ll take her to my room, and that’ll be the end of taking things slow.
“Why are you stopping?” she questions when I pull away.
“Because I want to do the right thing.”
“Maybe I want you to do the wrong thing.”
I run my hand over my face, completely torn. My body’s saying go, and my brain’s telling me no. I fucking hate my mind right now.
With her face in my hands, I scan every inch, wondering how this pretty little thing ended up here. Of all the possible girls Maisie could have sat me beside, she’d chosen Chandler. Of all the possible replacements for the dancers, Ms. Sue had chosen Chandler. And, of all the possible tenants, the landlord had chosen Chandler. That’s got to mean something, which is all the more reason why I need to get this right.
“Come lie with me on the couch,” I tell her. “We can watch a movie.”
She gives me a shy smile. “Okay.”
“You’re not mad?” I question.
“Why would I be mad?”
I unintentionally graze my hand across her chest, and she shivers.
“Because I know you want more from me.”
She doesn’t deny it. “I just want to be around you, Wirth. I don’t care what we’re doing.”
“Then, let’s go watch a cheesy chick flick.”
“You’d do that for me?” she questions.
She doesn’t know the half of it.
After I lift her off the counter and set her on her feet, she brushes against my dick.
I’m positive it’s not an accident even though she says, “Sorry,” and then giggles.
I curse my good conscience all the way to the couch.
Chandler
When I open my eyes, I realize I’m still on the couch, snuggled next to Wirth. His arm is draped over my stomach, and though I’m comfortable and warm, my body is aching. It’s not the couch’s fault; it’s just the aftereffect of a full day of dancing. If I don’t get up, it’ll only get worse.
I’m able to slide out from underneath Wirth’s arm without waking him. For a few seconds, I stand there, watching him sleep, like a total creeper. I can’t help it. Never in a million years did I think that, once I got to New York, I’d be sleeping next to Wirth Sutherland. I’d pinch myself, but after
that kiss in the kitchen, nothing about us is a dream. We’re really happening.
There’s Advil in my room—the only thing that’ll help me get some sleep—so I tiptoe to the kitchen and grab a cold bottle of water. Just as I close the refrigerator, the front door opens. It’s after two in the morning, so I’m surprised to see Hollis stumbling home. The hockey game ended hours ago.
Leaning against the counter, I watch as he peels his sweatshirt off and kicks his shoes in the vicinity of the hallway. I’m sure he’ll trip over them in a second, but Hollis doesn’t walk in that direction. He makes a detour to the kitchen.
Shit.
At first, he doesn’t see me. But, when he does, he stops dead in his tracks. He blinks a couple of times and says, “It’s you.”
I hold my finger to my lips, shushing him. “Wirth’s asleep on the couch.”
He glances over his shoulder, like he doesn’t believe me or something. When he turns back around, he’s not smiling anymore. “Did you sleep with him, Chandler?”
I’m pretty sure my eyes bulge out of my head. Where he got that from, I have no idea. “We fell asleep on the couch, Hollis. That’s all.”
I think he believes me, but he doesn’t say anything else about it. He just keeps staring.
“Did you have fun with Fisher?”
He shrugs. “We watched porn after the game.”
Laughing, I set my water on the counter. I wasn’t aware that was something guys did together, but what do I know? “I’m guessing you had a few drinks, too.”
“Couple,” he says.
He takes another step closer and then another. He’s so close to me; I can smell the alcohol on his breath. It’s not beer either. It’s the hard stuff.
“This one chick looked just like you. Kinda sounded like you, too.”
“I’m sure she had bigger boobs than me.”
It’s a stupid thing to say because his eyes land on my chest. He doesn’t even try to cover up the fact that he’s looking.
He smiles when I cross my arms over my chest. The grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes though. They’re glassy and droopy, maybe even a little red. “You know you’re gorgeous, Chandler.”
