by Meika Usher
Before I could analyze—or, worse, ask—he pulled me away from the wall, lips tilted in a sexy grin. “Lead the way.”
11: Nate
We stumbled into Birdie’s apartment five minutes later, a tangle of hands and mouths and tongues. Behind us, the door thwacked against the wall, which prompted Birdie to giggle, then immediately put a finger to her lips.
“Shh!” she said, pushing the door closed ever so carefully.
And then her lips were on mine again.
I let her lead me down the hall and into what I assumed was her bedroom. Her hand reached behind her to click the door shut, and then we were enveloped in darkness. Blindly, we fell into the room, her bed catching us, me on the bottom, Birdie warm and soft on top.
Pulling her lips from mine, she traced a finger across my stubbled chin. “Hey,” she whispered.
“Hey,” I whispered back, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. To the right, a window let a sliver of light in. Moon or streetlight, I wasn’t sure. Whichever it was, it illuminated her face perfectly. The full lips and delicate chin. The dark lashes framing eyes that, even in the mostly-darkness, shined bright blue. “You’re gorgeous.”
She smiled then, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t the alcohol that made her even more beautiful in that moment.
Reaching up, I pushed my fingers through her silky hair and pulled her mouth back to mine. Those lips...they were addictive. Warm and sweet and—
A deep sigh left her lungs as she kissed me back. Her hand slid between us, finding my cock, which had been hard for, I swear, hours by this point. Even over my jeans, her touch was like fire. I couldn’t imagine the moment she—
And just like that, Birdie had my jeans unbuttoned, her hand slipping beneath the waistband of my boxers.
Electric.
The moment Birdie’s hand wrapped around me was electric.
My hips jerked upward, seeking more. More of this feeling, her touch, the body-jolting need to...to...
“Fuck,” I whispered, pulling her hand from my jeans. In one swift motion, I had her pinned beneath me. Too close.
“I was just getting started,” Birdie pouted, looking up at me with a coy smile. Her hands reached for the waistband of my jeans again, but I couldn’t—she couldn’t do that. If she touched me again, I’d explode. Literally. And I wasn’t drunk enough for that to not be embarrassing as fuck.
Reaching one hand between us, I grabbed her wrists and pinned them over her head. “You first,” I whispered, enjoying the shock on her face. And, before she could protest any further—or worse, touch me again—I kissed her. Hard.
As if she heard my silent command, her knees fell apart and I settled in between her legs. She arched into me, and, even through my jeans I could feel her heat. Squeezing my eyes closed against the surge of want raging through me, I pressed into her, tasting the moan as it left her lips.
Once I was sure I had her full attention, I pulled my lips from hers and dragged my free hand down the length of her body. She was pliable under me. Like clay in my hands. Slowly, I unwrapped my fingers from her wrists and slid my hands down her body, lingering on her thighs. My cock pushed hard against the confines of my jeans, begging to be released. I wanted to oblige. I wanted to—
Grabbing Birdie’s calves, I wrapped her legs around my waist and thrust against her, the resulting gasp like a hot knife through my middle. She arched into me, her hips undulating as she kissed me deeper, our tongues tangling furiously. My body shook with need. Need to be closer, to be inside her, to...
“Fuck,” I whispered against her lips, and she dug her fingers into my shoulders. Even through my shirt, I could feel her nails against my skin. And then she moaned again, pressing herself even harder into me, grinding into me.
“Don’t you fucking stop,” she panted. I could feel the tremble in her legs, and there was no way I could stop even if I wanted to. I wanted—needed—to feel the release rip through her body. I needed her thighs tight around my waist, her nails digging deeper into my shoulders, her gasps and moans in my ears. I needed that more than I needed my own release.
So I leaned down and pressed my lips to the pulse at the base of her neck and I ground into her. She was close. I could feel it. I could hear it in the way her breath hitched, then stopped. A shower of sparks flashed behind my eyelids, and my hands tightened into the sheets on either side of her body.
She was close, but so was I.
I gritted my teeth and tried to divert my attention from the pressure building in my balls. But my attention would not be diverted. My attention was very firmly focused on the feel of Birdie grinding hard into me, her gasps in my ear, and the thought that it was me—I was the one bringing her to the brink.
And then...ah, fuck.
Fuckfuckfuck.
“Oh, fuck,” Birdie groaned, arching as she shattered beneath me.
And then the sparks behind my eyelids exploded into a full-blown fire as I came, too. Helplessly and embarrassingly. I sank my teeth into her tender skin and bit back a groan of my own as I came.
In my pants.
Because of course.
“Jesus,” Birdie said as she collapsed beneath me, her arms and legs falling to the bed, panting. “I was not expecting that.”
“Yeah, uh.” I cleared my throat and rolled away. “Me, either.”
I couldn’t look at her. My heart hammered loud in my head and my face flamed. Shame, awkward, hot shame, sliced through me. I sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, wincing at the wetness in my jeans. “Definitely didn’t expect that.”
She pushed to her knees and draped her arm over my shoulder. “No complaints here,” she whispered into my ear, and I shivered. “Let me return the favor.” And then her hand was reaching down, its destination clear.
I flew up from the bed faster than I’d ever moved in my entire life. “I...uh...I’m good. Thank you. You don’t have to do that.”
“But I want to,” she pouted, looking flushed and hot as fuck. “You should let me—“
“Actually,” I said, moving even further out of her reach as she extended her hands toward me. Sober was right around the corner. I could feel it. And, with sober, I knew I’d start overthinking, overanalyzing, freaking out. I always did. Sober Nate also talked way too much. Was too honest.
Sober Nate would tell Birdie he’d never had sex.
My mind flashed forward, to that moment. The moment I sat on the edge of the bed and confessed.
“I’m a virgin,” Sober Nate would say.
I didn’t have to live through it to know how it’d go. I’d been there before.
I’d rather not go there with Birdie.
Birdie.
Fuck.
This wasn’t just any girl. She was my best friend’s sister. I’d have to see her after this. All the time.
“I’m not feeling so well,” I managed, reaching behind me for the doorknob. “I should, uh, get going.”
I needed to escape more than I needed...well, more than I needed to take care of the situation in my pants.
“Nate, wait—“
“I’ll, uh, see you,” I said, pulling the door open. I exited into the hallway and closed the door behind me, exhaling deeply before forging ahead.
“Young man, if you’re going to break into an elderly woman’s apartment, you could at least be quiet about it.”
At the sound of a voice coming from the other end of the hall, I jumped. Whirling around, I found a tiny woman, all wrinkles and white hair and flowery nightgown, peering at me from her red-framed bifocals.
“I...uh...um...” I stammered, trying to wrap my brain around what was happening. Had Birdie shape-shifted since I left her in the bedroom? And teleported to the living room? Was this woman somehow in the wrong apartment? What—
“Evelyn, I am so sorry.” Birdie came up behind me. “I didn’t mean to wake you. This is Nate. He’s a...friend.”
“My dear,” Evelyn said, adjusting her glasses. “Last I knew, friend
s did not do the things you two were doing in there.”
At that, my skin flushed hot. Well, hotter. Clearing my throat, I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at the hardwood beneath my feet.
“Well,” Birdie replied, her voice wry. “You’ve had the wrong friends, then.” She brushed passed me and draped her arm over the old woman’s shoulder. I watched as she steered her toward the living room, not a smidge of embarrassment on her face.
Which made sense. She wasn’t the one who’d accidentally come in her pants.
“I’m inclined to agree with you, dear,” Evelyn said, her voice growing quieter as they headed down the hall. “That boy is quite adorable.”
I couldn’t hear Birdie’s response, but I secretly hoped she disputed Evelyn’s statement. There was nothing adorable about what he did to me.
There was also nothing adorable about the end result.
Speaking of which, I grimaced and crossed the room. I could not get home fast enough.
“You’re really leaving, huh?” Birdie asked and I turned to find her in the doorway between the living room and kitchen.
“I, uh, have an early day tomorrow.”
“I thought you said you weren’t feeling well.” She cocked her hip. My throat tightened. I looked away.
“Both those things are true,” I managed, wishing I could teleport out of here and avoided this entire situation.
“Uh huh.” I could hear the disbelief in her voice. I couldn’t look up to see it on her face. “Well. Hope you feel better. Or that you get enough rest. Whichever one is true.”
Then she was gone, disappearing down the hall.
And I was left alone. Just me and my shame. Me, my shame, and a nosy old lady peering at me from the hall.
Lifting my hand, I waved goodbye, then pulled open the door. It was going to be a long—and sticky—walk home.
12: Birdie
“Hey, Bird. How’s it hanging?”
“Oh, you know.” I smiled at my co-worker, Julian, as I entered Rusty’s a few days later. “A little lopsided and never as long as I’d like it to be.”
“Been there.” Julian nodded sagely, the neon blue gauges in his ears catching a glint of light. “But confidence is key.”
I rolled my eyes and shrugged out of my coat, shaking off the snowflakes that had collected on its hot pink surface. “Confidence doesn’t fix everything, man.”
“Says you.” He laced his fingers behind his head and raked his eyes over me. “You look way too chipper for someone with snowflakes in her hair.”
I smiled and ran my hand over my snowflake-covered hair. Pre-winter had tentatively eased into winter-winter, and I was loving the dainty flutter of snowflakes on the wind. They wouldn’t stick around. Forecast called for low-fifties in two days. Because Michigan. But, dammit, I was going to savor the moment. “What can I say?” I said as I glanced out the window. “Snow is my favorite.”
“Freak,” he said, going back to the drawing in front of him.
Instantly, Nate’s grin as he said the very same thing a few nights back flashed through my mind.
I hadn’t heard from him since the night of the hump-and-flee. I was trying—really trying—not to be bothered by that, but seriously. You give a girl an amazing orgasm, then run from her apartment like the place was on fire, the least you could do was text.
Right?
Unless, of course, he was ridden with regret and wanted to pretend the thing never happened. In which case, yeah. Maybe don’t text.
I swallowed a bitter sigh and hung up my coat.
Julian, oblivious to my angst, tapped his pencil against the desk and gestured toward the waiting room. “Your six o’clock is here.”
“Shit.” I glanced at the Grim Reaper clock on the wall. Its hands indicated that it was only five. “Way early.”
“You know how first-timers are.” Julian flashed a grin and, for a moment, I was distracted by the sheer beauty that was him. Then, I remembered that we’d made out once and he basically ate my whole face.
I shuddered and turned away, rifling through the pile of papers on the desk I shared with Sahara, one of the other artists that worked here. I had a preliminary sketch here somewhere. The eighteen-year-old in the lobby had been very specific. Not a Monarch butterfly, because that was cliché. But the swallowtail she’d ultimately settled on was definitely not cliché.
Trying to suppress my judgment, I yanked a sheet of paper from the bottom of a stack and assessed it. Over the years, I’d done countless butterflies. Infinity symbols and arrows and inspirational sayings, too. They were my bread and butter, so I really shouldn’t judge. In a couple years, I’d move on to much cooler stuff, but for now...
Butterflies, it was.
Squaring my shoulders, I pasted a smile on and headed out into the lobby. “Gabby?”
The young girl stood, a nervous smile on her face. “I’m, like, super early, I know. I just, you know, couldn’t wait!”
“Oh, it’s all right.” I waved away her non-apology. “Better early than late.”
She smiled again, then glanced at the paper in my hand. “Is that it?”
I nodded. “It is,” I said, flipping it around so she could take a look. “What do you think?”
She took the paper from me and studied it intently. “I really like the way you drew the roses,” she said finally, her finger gracing over the intricate petals and thorns. “This is gonna look so cool!”
“I think so,” I agreed, taking the paper back. “Go ahead and have a seat, and Kels will get your paperwork started.” One more smile and I disappeared into the back. I had to print the design on the stencil paper before I brought Gabby back.
“Sweet kid,” I murmured to Julian as I passed him.
“She’s about to be a sweet kid with a tramp stamp,” he replied, pushing his chair away from the desk.
“It’s a lower back piece,” I said through clenched teeth. “Fucking patriarchy, ruining perfectly good tattoos with its slut-shaming.” I powered up my computer and glared at Julian.
“Sorry, Bird.” He threw his hands up in surrender. “I have been schooled.” And then he went back to his sketch.
I turned toward the computer, shaking my head. “Tramp stamp,” I muttered to myself. “Jesus.”
As I waited for the computer to boot up, I studied the intricate rose-and-butterfly I was about to permanently etch into that girl’s skin. It was beautiful. And it’d look perfect on Gabby’s back.
I pushed away from my desk, anxious to get started.
“Gabby?” I said as I reached the lobby. “I’m ready for you.”
She stood, hands wringing nervously in front of her. “It’s not gonna hurt, is it? I mean, I know it’s gonna hurt, but it’s not gonna hurt, like, bad, right?”
I pursed my lips, choosing my answer carefully. This part of the job was always a bit tricky. I could tell clients it would hurt like a bitch or I could tell them it’d be as painless as a massage. They never believed me. Why? Because there wasn’t a speck of ink on my skin.
How I’d managed to work as a tattoo artist for years and not get inked was always a topic of fascination. Among co-workers, among clients, among friends and family. My mom and dad were convinced I’d show up to family dinner one day covered head-to-toe.
But, no.
And it weirded some of my clients out.
So, when Gabby asked if her tattoo would hurt, I couldn’t decide how to answer. I could’ve lied. I could’ve told her I had plenty of tattoos, just not where she could see. She’d never know.
Except that I’d know. And I’d feel like shit for lying.
Pressing my lips together, I exhaled. The truth it was.
Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how this would proceed—Veronica Raymond, fellow tattoo artist and Satan’s meat puppet, chose that moment to swing her hips on by us. “Oh, honey,” she said to Gabby, eyeing her up and down. Lioness and prey. I knew that look. “It’ll be like little bunnies hip-hoppin
g across your back.”
“Really?” Gabby asked, wide eyes taking in the snakes and flowers and skulls that covered Veronica’s skin. Visible proof that she knew what she was talking about. A level of expertise I did not have.
“Absolutely.” Veronica shrugged, her red lips twisting. “Only, maybe a little more painful than that.” She held up her thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart and squinted through them. “Or a lot more.”
Gabby’s face fell. “Oh.”
I glared at Veronica and put an arm around Gabby’s shoulders. “It’s not gonna be that bad,” I assured her, steering her toward my station. “Veronica just likes to mess with people.”
Satan, I thought. Satan himself resided in that woman.
“I—I don’t know.” Gabby looked backward. Toward Veronica or the exit, I wasn’t sure. “Maybe I should wait until my best friend can be here. Or maybe my mom.”
The exit, I thought, swallowing a grimace. Definitely the exit.
“If that’ll make you feel more comfortable, we can certainly reschedule.” I dropped my arm from her shoulders and smiled, even though inside I was swearing like a sailor who’d just stubbed his toe after banging a frigid hooker. I had the next three hours blocked out for Gabby.
“Would you mind?” Her brown eyes lit hopefully. “I just think I’d feel so much better if someone was here with me.”
“Sure, yeah.” I shrugged and hoped my face didn’t betray me. “No problem!”
“Thank you so much!” Gabby smiled widely and skipped toward the exit. “I’ll call you soon!”
I lifted my hand in a wave, a fake grin on my face. As soon as she was out of the shop, I marched straight for Veronica’s desk, hovering over her till she turned around.
“What the fuck was that?” I demanded, my cheeks hot with anger.
“What do you mean?” Veronica blinked her icy eyes, going for innocent but landing on smug.
