by Meika Usher
“Hey, Bird.”
I froze at the voice behind me. So close to food. So. Close.
Slowly, I turned to find Shelly, the shop owner, standing just outside the entrance. Her midnight blue hair shone in the glow of the Open sign, turning it electric. “Can we talk?”
I ignored the sinking in my gut. Nothing good ever started with that phrase. Maybe Shelly had finally gotten sick of the Veronica/Birdie drama and was letting me go. After all, Veronica had been there longer. Was more experienced. More—
“Have you thought any more about your contract?”
I backtracked so that I was only a few steps across from her. “Uh, yeah. Still...thinking.”
“What’re your thoughts?” She dug into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Extracting one, she lit it. “Obviously, I’d understand if you walked.” She gestured toward the building. I followed her hand. Inside, Julian leaned over a young guy getting a Pokémon tattoo. Sahara was busy consulting with a group of soon-to-be eighteen-year-olds about their first tattoos. In the far corner, Veronica was setting up for her next client. “Roni hasn’t made things easy for you.”
“No, she has not.” I pushed my hands deeper into my pockets. It was damn cold tonight. I loved it. What I didn’t love, however, was the look on Shelly’s face.
Pity. Or something close to it.
She took a long drag of her cigarette and blew out a huge cloud of smoke before speaking again. “Be a shame to lose you, Roni or no Roni.”
I steeled my spine. “I haven’t decided yet,” I started, pulling my coat tighter around me. “But I’ll be damned if my decision has anything to do with Veronica.”
Shelly’s dark eyes lingered on my face before falling to study the orange glow of her cigarette. “Atta girl,” she murmured, blowing smoke into the frigid air. With one last puff, she snuffed her cigarette out on the side of the building before dropping the butt into the trash. “Let me know what you decide,” she said before heading back inside.
I stared after her for a few long seconds, stuffing my hands deeper into my coat pockets. Shelly had hit right on the reason why I hadn’t decided to stick around yet. She’d hit on the reason, and she’d issued a challenge. I didn’t want Veronica to be the reason I walked away. But I also didn’t want her to be the reason I stayed. Was staying to prove myself any better than leaving to get away?
Not if neither option was what I wanted.
Throwing my head back, I exhaled and watched my breath rise into the air. Truth was, I didn’t know what I wanted. “Fuck,” I whispered into the wind, watching as the word fogged the air and drifted upward. “Fucking fuck.”
“So, uh,” a voice cut into my contemplation. I pulled my eyes from the sky to find Nate standing on the sidewalk, illuminated by the florescent glow of Rusty’s Open sign. My stomach did an annoying little flip. “You never did tell me what you thought of Buffy.”
23: Nate
You know that point in almost every movie where the main character does something so catastrophically stupid that you can’t help but yell at the screen in outrage? You know it’s going to end in disaster, but you watch them do it anyway?
I very much felt like that character in this moment, standing on my front porch with Birdie. This was headed nowhere good. This would end in disaster. There were probably people watching from some invisible audience, screaming their warnings.
I did not heed them.
From the moment I saw Birdie standing on the sidewalk outside of Rusty’s, I knew we were headed here. Well, I’d hoped. And then Birdie looped her arm through mine and marched ahead, leading us down the sidewalk. “Walk with me,” she’d said. “Talk with me.”
I let her lead us away from Rusty’s without question.
But maybe I should’ve questioned. Because now we stood on my front porch and Birdie was looking at me with a glimmer in her eyes. Uncertainty? Shyness? Neither thing felt Birdie-like.
“So,” I said, feeling both those things.
“Wanna go in?” she asked, as if she weren’t inviting me into my own house.
Disaster, a voice screamed in my head. Last chance to escape.
I didn’t want to escape.
My keys jangled as I pulled them from my coat pocket. Without a word, I unlocked the door and pushed it open, letting her in ahead of me. My entire body buzzed. Whether it was from the cold night air or the sight of Birdie entering my home, I couldn’t be sure.
That was a lie. I knew which one it was.
I cast one last glance behind me, almost expecting a group of spectators, shouting their warnings. Only silent darkness greeted me. I took it as a sign.
“You have a really cute place,” Birdie said from just inside the doorway. She’d flicked on the living room light and stood in the middle of the space, eyes taking in her surroundings. “I didn’t really pay attention before.”
I walked through the door and closed it firmly behind me. Stupid decision made.
“Thanks,” I said, fiddling with the buttons on my coat. “Nothing really matches, though.”
“True.” She pulled off her own coat and tossed it into the armchair to her left. “Green chair, orange couch, blue curtains.”
I shrugged and dropped my coat on top of hers. Something about that visual sent sparks to my brain. My coat on hers. My body on hers. My—
Shaking away that train of thought before my body decided to advertise how excited it was to have her here, I walked toward the kitchen. “You want anything to drink? Maybe a snack. I think I have—“
“Nate?”
I turned at the sound of my name. Birdie still stood in the middle of the living room, but now instead of eyeing everything around her, she was looking directly at me. And the light in her eyes cut off my oxygen supply without mercy.
“Yeah?” I said, the word coming out in a whisper.
“I didn’t come here for a snack.” And then she was crossing the room, closing the distance between us, taking my hands in hers.
I looked down at our fingers, tangled together, and my mouth went dry. “What did you come here for?”
And, dammit if she didn’t answer with a kiss.
A really good kiss.
Not that all the other kisses we’d shared hadn’t been good. But this one...this one was different.
Fire, immediate, scalding fire, rushed through my bloodstream. One hand lowered, finding her waist, and I pulled her closer. Then closer still. I tilted her head back and ran my tongue along her bottom lip. The resulting sigh dragged a groan from my own lips.
The soft curves of her body pressed against me as she wrapped her arm around my neck and deepened the kiss. Her tongue slid over mine in a teasing, confident stroke. She stepped closer. And closer. Until my back was against the door. Until the only thing I could do was hold on. Hold on and kiss her back.
“This isn’t what I came for, either,” she whispered against my lips, her hands sliding down my sides to hover at the hem of my t-shirt.
“Then we should stop,” I whispered back. And then my lips found hers again. I pushed away from the door and backed her into the living room. I had no intention of stopping.
We hit the couch together, me on top of her, and her legs parted to wrap around my waist. Instantly, memories of that night raced through my mind—and my body—and I leaned closer, pressing into the heat of her.
“Mmm,” she purred, arching her hips. “Too many clothes.”
And, just like that, my body seized up. Last time we were here, in this position, I had...well, I couldn’t let that happen again.
I pulled away, kneeling above her. And, holy fuck, she was gorgeous. Pink cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, breasts rising and falling with every breath. All I wanted in that moment was to bury myself inside her, feel her hot and tight around me.
Warning bells clanged in my brain. Meaningless. This was meaningless. It would be meaningless. And I couldn’t—
“You gonna touch me or what?” she whispered, a s
low, sexy smile spreading over her face. A smile that was almost as electrifying as her touch had been. And all warnings faded into the background, because, hell, I wanted to touch her. I wanted to do more than touch her.
“Oh, I’m gonna touch you,” I whispered back, my hands finding the top of her jeans. She lifted her hips enough for me to pull them down over her hips. As I slid the pants down her legs, she pulled her coat off, followed by her shirt. And then there she was, all black lace creamy white skin. I swore I could come just looking at her.
“I’m gonna taste you, too,” I said as I leaned down, burying my lips in the curve of her collarbone. I dropped slow, teasing kisses along the swell of her breasts, letting my palms rove over her soft skin, from belly to thighs to calves, then back up again. One kiss at a time, I moved lower, pulling the lace of her bra aside to catch her taut nipple between my lips.
A soft hiss slid from between her teeth as she arched her back, silently asking me not to stop. I didn’t. I flicked my tongue over the nipple, savoring the way she gasped, savoring the heady feeling of power rushing through my veins.
I may not have had sex, but this? This, I could do.
Birdie’s fingers threaded tight into my hair, urging me lower. The sweetest noises eased from her throat. Like begging, or pleading, or...please without saying the actual word. And, god, I wanted to oblige.
And so I did.
Dragging my mouth from her nipple, I left a trail of kisses down her belly, my fingers tucking themselves into the waistband of her underwear as I moved lower and lower. In one swift pull, the underwear was gone. I tossed it behind me and pressed a kiss into the crease of her thigh, my teeth scraping across the tender flesh. The resulting sharp intake of breath made me groan.
“Nate, Jesus,” she whispered, her fingers tight in my hair.
I smiled against her thigh and dropped another kiss on the other side. Then, slowly, teasingly, I ran my tongue along the seam of her sex. And, god, the way she trembled would’ve brought me to my knees if I were standing.
Lifting my gaze to her face, I watched as my lips parted her, sucking her clit gently into my mouth. Her eyes flew open and locked on mine, her breathing ragged. “If you stop, I might have to actually kill you,” she managed.
I laughed. She moaned, her hips tilting upward. And then all amusement was gone. Along with any semblance of patience. Grabbing her hips, I pulled until her legs draped over my shoulders. And then I buried my mouth between her thighs, the sweet taste of her on my tongue almost more than I could take.
Birdie’s heels dug into my shoulders as she raised her hips, trying to get closer to my mouth. My hands tightened on her waist, holding her steady while I lapped and suckled and licked, drawing moan after moan from her. When she went silent—only the sound of her gasping breath filling the room—I knew she was close. Picking up the pace, I flicked my tongue over her clit, wanting, needing her release. Her thighs tightened around my head, fingers grasping desperately at the couch, and then—
“Oh, god,” she groaned, and, fuck, it was hot.
Slowly, so slowly, I kissed her pulsating sex until she sank back into the couch, limbs loose, breath ragged. Then, I moved up to sit next to her. Once she caught her breath, she turned her head my way and pulled my mouth to hers, kissing me long and deep, the taste of her still on my lips.
“Where the fuck did you learn that?” she said once we parted. Her eyes were wide with shock, and I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
“I don’t know if I should be insulted by that or—“
“No. Not insulted.” She kissed me again. Hard. “Proud. You should be proud as fuck.”
I leaned up on an elbow and took her in. Bra half off, otherwise naked. Hair strewn over the couch, makeup smudges below her eyes. And, in that moment, I was proud. Because I did that. And so I grinned. “Thanks.”
Birdie laughed, and, damn, she had a sexy laugh. “I should be thanking you.” Then she rolled onto her side, mischief lighting her eyes. “In fact...”
When she reached for me, panic surged. If she touched me, she’d know. Because all it would take was a single touch and we’d have a repeat of last time. Hell, it hadn’t even taken that last time. So, I grabbed her hand. I pulled it to my lips and I pressed a kiss to her palm.
“Do you need a drink?” I asked, standing from the couch. “I’ll get you a drink.”
I speed-walked into the kitchen before she could reply, and once alone, I sank against the counter, a long, jagged sigh escaping me. I was rock hard and desperate for release. And I had a hot girl in my living room, willing to oblige. Why shouldn’t I take her up on it? Why couldn’t I?
The answer rang loud in my ears.
Because, to Birdie, this was nothing. But, to me...
“Fuck,” I whispered, shoving my hands into my hair. I didn’t want to be nothing. Not to anyone, and especially not to Birdie.
As the thought settled into place, I sank back against the counter. It wasn’t like I’d never done any of this before. Since Lucy, there’d been women. There’d been encounters. But nothing that went anywhere. Nothing that meant anything. This...this felt different.
It wasn’t just that I didn’t want my first time to be meaningless. It was that I didn’t want to be meaningless to Birdie. I didn’t want any of this to be meaningless.
And that was a problem.
24: Birdie
This was not on my to-do list.
My to-do list was as follows: leave work, go home, eat leftover tuna casserole over the sink, and go to bed.
Instead, here I was, lying on Nate’s couch, melted bones and throbbing body. And, holy shit, how did that happen?
In the kitchen, I could hear Nate running the water and rummaging through the cupboard. He escaped before I could get my hands on him. I wanted my hands on him real bad. My hands and my mouth and...
I shivered as my body clenched at the thought of him buried deep inside me. I’d gone months without orgasms—or, at least, without orgasms I didn’t facilitate. And here I was, two-and-oh with Nate.
Nate.
Nathaniel. Kim.
How the fuck?
Sitting up, I readjusted my bra and let my eyes skim the room. It was cozy, warm space. A bookshelf along one wall, a desk along the other. TV parked in front of the couch, coffee table between. My eyes fell on Nate’s black-frame glasses, sitting on top of a stack of graphic novels. He must’ve taken them off at some point during...
Picking them up, I tried them on.
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Nate said as he reentered the room. “I’m blind as fuck.”
“Wow,” I said as my vision instantly blurred. “You’re not kidding.” I took them off and held them out. He took them and handed me a glass of water. “Thanks.”
He settled in next to me, his glasses firmly in place, and I took a long, deep drink of the water. “So,” I said once I finished.
“So,” he repeated, his hands fidgeting in his lap. He was nervous. And it was cute. “I don’t generally...” A hand gestured between us. “Do this.”
“Huh.” I smirked and enjoyed the way he very intentionally did not look at me. “You could’ve fooled me.”
“Yeah, well.” He turned toward me, his face the epitome of discomfort. “I especially don’t do this with...”
“Your best friend’s little sis?” I supplied, and he grimaced.
“Exactly.”
So that was his hang-up. Which, to be fair, was a legit one. I didn’t know how Sunny would react to...what we’d just done. But honestly—
“It’s none of her business,” I said, finishing my thought aloud. “We’re two grown-ass adults, man. And, anyway.” I threw my legs over his lap and leaned back into the cushions. “Odds are she’ll kill me before she’ll kill you. She likes you more.”
He glanced at my legs, still bare from our...activities, before relaxing enough to sit back. “I would rather she didn’t kill either one of us.”
“Oh, me
too.” I watched as he settled in, seemingly forcing himself to relax. Man, he was wound up. “Because that? What we just did? We definitely have to do that again.”
At that, a smile—a teeny, tiny smile—touched his lips. “I’m inclined to agree with you.”
Inclined to agree. What an adorable nerd. I suppressed a smile of my own and added, “Plus, you know, a lot more.”
At that, he looked up, a brief moment of something like panic touching his face before he smashed it down and forced a casual expression. He missed the mark, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. I waited for him to respond. Agree that, yes, there should be more activities of the dirty, filthy variety. Or say we probably shouldn’t continue with the naughty business. He didn’t say any of that, though. Just pulled his eyes from mine and reached for the remote.
As he pointed it at the TV screen and pulled up the menu for Buffy, I tried not to give in to the panic edging into my brain. Nate had flown from the couch like a spring-loaded Jack-in-the-box when I reached for him. As if my touch were poison. As if letting me anywhere near his body was revolting. And it was hard not to be insulted by that.
Exhaling long and slow, I sank back into the couch. “What’re we in for tonight?” I asked as he thumbed through the episodes. “Season three? Season seven? What?”
He glanced over, brows furrowed in contemplation. “Actually,” he started. “I think we’re gonna start from the beginning.”
I turned toward him. “What? After hopping back and forth with no rhyme or reason last time? How does that—”
“Oh, there was both rhyme and reason.” He selected the first episode of season one. “I got you hooked, didn’t I?”
My eyes dragged over him, from the tips of his Captain America socks to the top of his messy hair. Oh, yeah, I thought, stomach flipping. I’m hooked all right. “Eh,” I said aloud, forcing myself to look away. I was hooked. He was not.
“Eh?” he repeated, skeptical. “You cried last time. More than once. You cried and you asked for more.”
