by Lola West
Spent, I pulled my hand from her panties. And then I circled her waist with my arms, dropped my face to her shoulder, and gently kissed her skin. Her breath caught at my touch.
She whispered, “That was…”
I finished for her, “Incredible.”
I kissed her neck and closed my eyes. I could smell sex all around us.
Still circled in my embrace, she turned to face me, put her arms around my neck, and brought her lips to my lips. This kiss was soft and sweet, a lover’s kiss. Eventually she dropped down to her flat feet and rested her cheek on my chest, a position that I was quickly growing too fond of. As they do, our orgasms had changed the tone between us, and I could feel her creeping toward fear.
“So, we did that,” she said, clearly never one to brush the complicated stuff under the rug.
I wanted to stay light. I wanted her to know that at that moment I was happy, even if the morning might bring something else, so I let a deep chuckle rumble in my chest and said, “We certainly did that.”
“And now?” she asked, looking for a much deeper answer than I could give her.
I ran my hand over the small of her back and leaned so she was forced to look at me. I wanted her to believe that I wasn’t freaked out. That maybe I was stronger than I was before she kissed me. Or maybe I wanted to believe it.
So I said, “Now, we clean up. After that, we put on the fluffy white hotel bathrobes that are in the closet by the door, and then we order room service, way too much for two people.”
She smiled. “What about after?”
“After room service?” I asked.
She nodded.
“We fall asleep next to each other and figure the rest out in the morning.”
That seemed to satisfy her. She turned, took my hand, and headed toward the bathroom. Halfway there she stopped, looked over her shoulder at me, narrowed her eyes, and teased, “What do you have against beds?”
Curling up the corner of my mouth, I replied cockily, “Nothing, you want me to prove it?”
She rolled her eyes at me, but she was fucking happy. Kissing me, being touched by me, laughing with me, that made Lua Steinbeck happy, and making her happy, that was like the best moment of my life.
18
Lua
I woke up to the sound of Drew’s phone ringing. Drew didn’t hear it. He was still heavy sleeping, his skin warm and his body spooned tightly around mine. We had stayed up most of the night, exactly like he planned. We donned the spa robes that the hotel supplied, sat cross-legged on the fluffy hotel bed, ate greasy cheeseburgers and fries, and talked. Drew told me about his sister Molly and his brother James, how they were all athletic and how he played lacrosse and hockey in high school. He told me about his first girlfriend when he was thirteen, and how he was so nervous about kissing her that it took him eight months to seal the deal. I told him about Lucas, how he was my first kiss and how he broke my heart. Drew called him an idiot.
I said, “That’s what Joe says.”
“Joe’s right,” Drew replied.
“Joe’s always right.”
Drew perked up at that. “What does Joe say about me?” he asked.
I knew he wanted to know about Joe. But explaining Joe was complicated. It was like when people asked about my mom. How do you explain something so deep that it’s just part of you? If you asked me about my mom, I’d just say I don’t have one, but of course it’s more complicated than that. I had a mother; she gave birth to me. She freaked out and left before I was two days old. She never held me, never looked at me. That’s more than not having a mother. It’s shit I probably have to deal with but don’t. It’s big. It’s deep, and it’s empty. It’s ugly and messy and more than I can express in words.
If you asked me about Joe, I’d tell you he’s my closest friend but really, he’s more than that, because friends come and go. Joe belonged to me. People didn’t get that. They only understood that kind of love if you were blood or lovers. We weren’t either, but we were bound. Our connection was solid. It was contextual. It was big and deep and full. It was beautiful and messy and more than I could express in words. Obviously, that was sometimes an issue for other men in my life, even Lucas, who grew up with us both, felt threatened by Joe.
In response to Drew’s question about Joe’s perspective, I said, “We haven’t talked about you in depth. But I can confirm that he advised me that lip gloss and mascara were appropriate for going out to dinner with you.”
Drew took my answer in stride. He didn’t try to probe further.
Instead, he sucked on his lower lip and then while looking down at his plate, he nodded affirmation and said, “Nice call, Joe.” He paused to take a bite of his burger, chewed, and before completely swallowing, finished his thought by saying, “I’ve been dreaming about that lip gloss for weeks.”
My eyes went wide, and I almost choked on a fry. Neither of us had really discussed the depth or duration of our feelings or our attraction or whatever we were going to call what happened between us. It was like we were living in an imaginary world or a movie: Drew and Lua go to New York. A make-believe scenario where we pretended that everything between us started in the lobby of the hotel, but it didn’t. It started for me that night at Bonnaroo, and clearly, I wasn’t totally alone.
He smiled but shook his head at me like I was a dope. “Don’t look so fucking surprised, Lua. You’re the one who caught me with your bandana in my pocket.”
That was true. But I’d never done anything like what Drew and I had done. I’d never longed for a stranger. I’d never had a night like the night we shared. I’d never been so intimate with someone I hardly knew. Everything that happened with Drew was new for me, and I didn’t know the protocol. I waffled between feeling close to enlightenment and so naïve and scared that it seemed like I was going to be suffocated by it all.
“Lua,” Drew said, and I looked up into his eyes. “Stop that.”
I tried to brush it off and shrugged my shoulders.
“Stop what?” I asked, reaching for my burger, even though my mouth was too dry to take a bite.
“Stop freaking out.”
I nodded.
He looked at me hard, furrowing his brow. Then he crawled over the plates, getting his face close to mine. “I mean it, stop freaking out.”
He was on all fours and so close to me I could smell his breath; it smelled like burgers, which should have been gross but instead it just made me want to lick his face. Even with him so near, my chest was still tight. I kept trying to tell myself to live in the moment. He inched his body closer. The cuff of his robe landed in the ketchup on my plate and my fries and the onion I picked off my burger spilled onto the sheets.
“Your robe, the bed.” I pointed.
“Who cares?” He was so close that I had the instinct to lean back, but I didn’t. “This robe is going to the dry cleaner tomorrow and there’s another bed right there.” He pointed over my shoulder at the other bed in the room. Then, his voice deeper than a moment earlier, he said, “I know how to make you feel better.”
My breathing involuntarily sped up whenever he was near me. “Oh really?”
He leaned in even closer, like he was going to kiss me, and then less than an inch from my lips, he whispered, “Cake.”
In an explosion of laughter, he fell over onto his side, splaying fries all over the bed. I laughed with him. This Drew, the Drew who laughed and teased and rolled around on the bed, was irresistible. His happiness was undeniable, goofy and carefree, like a child, and yet still so sexy. Even with burger breath and greasy fry fingers, I was drawn to him. I wanted to be with him, roll around naked with him, spend time getting to know his quirks, argue with him about our differences and find common ground, grow to trust him, see who we could become together.
Propped up on his forearms, he surveyed the bed and said, “This table’s done. Let’s eat the cake over there.”
This time he pointed to the floor. He stood up, undid the terry cl
oth belt, and dropped his robe on the bed. I kept my robe on and we sat on the floor, him in his boxer briefs, me in my robe, eating cake. It felt so easy to be together, and I thought maybe it would be okay when the sun came up, but as soon as I heard his phone ringing, I knew that calls at seven in the morning were not for the guy who crawled through a field of burgers to make me laugh. Calls at seven in the morning were for the Drew who I ran into in the lobby the day before, the Drew who clenched his teeth, had tension in his jaw, and anger knitted through his brows.
I rolled over so I was facing him. He stirred but didn’t open his eyes. I slipped my hand up between us and softly caressed his cheek. Then I leaned in and lightly kissed his lips. The phone had stopped ringing, but I thought he might want to check the call.
“Drew?” I whispered.
He groaned and pulled me close, sliding his thigh between my legs and pressing his clearly hard length into my thigh.
I fluttered my lips against his a second time. “Drew?”
Now he growled not groaned. His hot hand dove inside my robe, finding my breast, and he buried his face against my neck, his mouth open. I felt a flush rising, and I was instantly panting. The phone rang again. He rolled over so that he was above me and crushed himself against me, driven and desperate.
“Drew,” I said with some urgency because the phone was still ringing. Above me his jaw was tight, and his eyes were closed.
“What?” he spat out, his eyes flying open. His pupils were wide, dark, and lusty, and his expression one of frustration.
I flinched, a kernel of sorrow blossoming in the pit of my stomach. “Your phone. It’s been ringing.”
“Fuck.” He pushed off me and stumbled from the bed. Running his hands through his hair, he walked over toward the windows where his jeans were on the floor. I couldn't help but look at his rigid penis, pressing against the cotton of his gray boxer briefs. He bent over and pulled the phone from the back pocket of his jeans. Looking at the missed calls, he cursed again.
“Fuck.” He pressed his finger to the screen. Held the phone to his ear with his shoulder and used his hands to step into his jeans one foot at a time. The line picked up as he stood there, his jeans unbuttoned.
“Sorry. I was in the shower.” He paused to let the person who called reply. “I didn't know.” His voice was tense. “Gloria didn’t know either; are you pissed at her?” He was on the verge of yelling now. “No one fucking cares, Senator.” As soon as he said senator, he glanced at me; his face was twisted in anger, his nostrils flared, his lips tight. His eyes softened a touch when they landed on me, but not enough. He turned and faced the wall of windows.
“I got it. Yes, sir. I’ll be in my fucking seat at seven o’clock.” He didn’t say goodbye. He just hung up. He stayed facing the windows. The change between us was like a storm rolling in, like you could see it coming on the horizon and smell the humidity in the air.
With his back to me he picked up his dirty t-shirt and put it on. My stomach swirling with nerves, I became frightfully aware of my state of undress. I was still in the robe, my bra and panties. My clothes were closer to him than to me. He was still silent. His shoulders stiff, he coarsely ran his hand through his hair. I could still smell him all around me, but it felt like I was in the room with a complete stranger. I stood quietly, adjusted the robe so it was tightly closed, and silently made my way to my things. I was crouching on the floor when he turned to face me.
I stood, holding my clothes, locking my eyes on his as I rose. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised that he still didn’t say anything. We stood there for more than a beat just looking at each other. His stance was collected, tight, like it had been in the video of him reading his statement to the press that I watched online. If all I had to go on was his body language, then the Drew that held me in his sleep was gone. He was closed up tight, arms crossed, lips pursed. But there was something, some little glimmer in the way he was looking at me that didn’t jibe with the story he was selling. And just like that it became clear that I was about to watch a show. He was going to try to tell me that our night was a mistake, or worse, pretend that it didn’t matter to him. Or something equally ridiculous. And just like that, I was furious, fire-breathing, stone-throwing, steely-resolve furious.
I wasn’t having it. Drew could tell me that we couldn’t happen, that we were from two different worlds, a modern-day Romeo and Juliet. He could say that our connection freaked him out; it freaked me out. He could say he was weak, that his father would never understand us dating and he didn’t know how to manage that. He could say the press would have a field day. Honestly, I was sure there were a hundred reasons why the connection between Drew and I couldn’t, shouldn’t, and wouldn’t make it out of that hotel room, but pretending that what we shared was nothing? No.
I pulled my clothes tighter against my chest, narrowed my eyes, and huffed, “Don’t. You. Dare.”
His brows furrowed for a second, and then the mask returned.
“Listen, you’re super…”
I interrupted him. “Shut up, Drew.” I needed to be dressed. I threw my blouse on the bed and pulled my jeans on while still wearing the robe. I had to jump a little to get them up and over my hips.
“Lua… this was…”
I interrupted him again, my voice thick with anger. “So help me, I will not listen to this.” I turned to leave, but before I could even reach for my shirt, he was snapping at me.
“What the fuck, Lua? We both knew what this was.” He was angry too, maybe at me, maybe at the senator, didn’t matter; I was going to receive the attack.
I wouldn’t let him get to me. I wouldn’t let him spoil it for me. I understood that one night with Drew was bigger and more overwhelming than all my nights with Lucas. There was a piece of me that even thought it was possible that no one’s hands on me would ever feel the way Drew’s did. But I wasn’t a fool. Drew couldn’t trust me, and I couldn’t trust him, because we were already twisted up. We didn’t sleep together because we knew better, because our connection was already too deep. If we had sex, it wouldn’t have been hooking up or fucking. It would have been love, making love. It would have toppled us both. Because no matter how strong our feelings for each other were, there was no room to breathe them into our lives. He was diminishing it, making it less so it was easier for him to take. It was exactly what I feared he’d do. It was callous, cold, and cowardly.
“Did we?” I asked righteously, my voice high, raging. “Because right now, I think you are trying to play it off like something it wasn’t.”
His jaw tightened. “Really? And how’s that, Lua?”
I didn’t answer right away. I struggled to find the words to make it clear, to break through to him and get him to realize what he was doing.
Finally, I said, “You’re acting like it doesn’t matter.” He blanched, almost like I’d punched him, and I felt like crying but I didn’t. “I’m not an idiot, Drew. I get it that this…” I pointed at him and then back to me. “… is complicated. But I was there. You cannot pretend I’m just some chick that you screwed around with, and when the sun came up, it was time for me to go. Sure, it would be easier and less complicated for you if that was the truth, but it’s not. You were the one with my bandana in your pocket, hanging on to the thought of me when life got complicated. That was you, Drew.”
I paused, took a breath, and then brazenly dropped the robe. As soon as I was shirtless before him, he swallowed. I stood there for a minute, letting him look. Even fuming angry, my body responded to his gaze, which he could not control. His eyes ravished me, longing and lusty. He even instinctually took a step toward me. I stepped back. I pulled my blouse over my head.
“I matter to you, Drew. And there is nothing you can say that would make me think otherwise. So, do me a favor. Wo-man-up and tell the fucking truth.”
He flinched when I cursed; when you don’t curse often, the power of a curse word can have a lot more impact. The ambivalence in his expression was gone, and
so was the anger. He looked drawn, drained of energy, and deflated.
He fidgeted and looked down while mumbling bits but nothing of consequence. “I tried. I couldn’t. I did my best…”
I was still boiling, harsh and impatient. “Spit it out, Drew.”
I don’t know if it was what I said or how I said it, but something ugly and defensive ruptured in Drew and he looked back at me hatefully, his nostrils flared, his stance aggressive. His head shook as he spoke, and his tone was forceful. “Okay. Fine. There is no place for you in my world, Lua. I knew that. I tried to keep you from that, but you pushed me. You pushed me and now you’re gonna feel pain. There is nothing I can do about it. It doesn’t fucking matter what I want or you want…”
“That’s crap. In my life it matters what I want, Drew. I fight for what I want. I will not be ashamed of that, and I don’t need you to keep me from anything. I make decisions for myself and I am not afraid of consequences.”
“Ridiculous.” He fervently shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t have a clue. You can’t even begin to understand what I was protecting you from because you don’t know what the real world is like, Lu-a. In the real world, I am always a conservative senator’s son and you are that liberal girl who grew up in a cult.”
He knew what he was doing. He knew what buttons to press. And even though I knew he did it on purpose, his words pierced me, clawed into my chest, leaving me raw and wounded. I took a deep breath and looked at his face one last time. I could see the regret in his eyes, but he kept the tension in his face. It was done. I turned and started for the door.
Right before I twisted the doorknob, I stilled. I didn’t look back, but I said, “You’re going to hurt too, Drew. And you would have, whether I pushed you or not. Because it mattered; it was real and deep, and it made us both better, but it’s now gone. We’re not friends, Drew. Don’t speak to me.”
