Make a Move

by Meika Usher

  “Okay, smartass,” Nate interrupted, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Not that far back.”

  “Fine, fine.” I sat my food on my plate and reached for my napkin. “When you met me, I was...going through some things.” I grimaced as I thought about College Birdie. Excellent GPA, star cheerleader, artist extraordinaire. It was...exhausting.

  “I assumed as much.” He sat his own food down and reached for his drink. “Everything I’d heard about you from Sunny prior to finding you in that dumpster indicated that you were this...”

  “Paragon of Perfection?” I tapped my fingernails against the side of my water glass. “She wasn’t wrong. But...that also wasn’t me.”

  I watched as he drizzled soy sauce over the roll on his plate. A lot of soy sauce. “Who was it, then?”

  “Someone I thought I was supposed to be.” I shook my head. Old Birdie was such a shitshow. A perfectly put-together shitshow. “Someone I thought I had to be.”

  Lifting his soy-soaked food to his lips, Nate asked the million-dollar question. “Why’d you think that?”

  Cradling my glass between my hands, I gave him a rueful smile. “You’ve met my siblings. Hell, you’ve met my parents. They’ve all got their poops in a group, you know? Jude set the precedent for perfect, and Sunny was right behind him, being awesome.” I shrugged. “I showed up to life later than them and spent my childhood playing catch-up.”

  Nate listened with his head slightly cocked, and when I finished, he nodded. “I get that. It sucks, trying to live up to other peoples’ expectations of you.” He popped his sushi roll into his mouth and chewed, a thoughtful look on his face. Once he finished, he continued. “So you did cheerleading and student council and art to keep up with your siblings, and that led you to the dumpster?”

  “In a way, yes.” I smiled at the waitress as she refilled our water glasses, then went on. “I reached my breaking point. A person can only maintain that level of perfection for so long, you know?”

  His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “What happened?” he asked. “When you broke?”

  “Oh, that’s when shit gets good.” I grinned and sat back. “So, I was in my Advanced Still Life class, working on this...disgustingly pretty still life of some flowers or whatever. And it was pretty. So pretty.” I paused and met his eye. “I’m damn good at painting flowers, you know.”

  “Oh, I believe you,” he said, his lips tilting. “Now, continue.”

  “Anyway. It was so nice and sweet and just...flawless. And something inside me snapped. I was sick of looking at it. Sick of its perfection. Sick of my perfection. So, I...” I shook my head, a laugh bubbling from my lips. “I soaked my brush in black paint and I just...ruined it.”

  Thinking about it now, all I could do was laugh. My instructor was horrified. My fellow students were baffled. And, me? I was exhilarated. “A thick, angry black slash across this delicate vase of goddamn lilies and roses and what-the-fuck-ever else. And it felt good.”

  Nate leaned closer, rapt. “What happened next?”

  “It’s kind of a blur from there, but the basic stats are as follows.” I held up a hand and began ticking things off. “I quit school. I packed a bag. And I convinced my boyfriend to take me to the airport, where I bought a ticket to Amsterdam.”

  A low whistle escaped Nate’s lips. “That’s ballsy as fuck,” he murmured, awe on his face. “How’d that go over with the family? And how did I never hear about this?”

  I tapped my chopsticks against my plate. “I didn’t tell anyone for weeks. Maybe a month. And even then, Sunny and I were still...figuring out our relationship.”

  “Huh.” He shook his head. “How long were you gone?”

  “All in all, about nine months. I’d socked away some cash during school and had a chunk of savings to live off of. Bounced around from place to place, crashing on couches and in hostels along the way.” A smile touched my lips as I remembered. “It was kind of amazing.”

  A look of awe settled over Nate’s face, and it made me warm from the inside. “You’re a badass, you know that?”

  I shrugged, ducking my head to hide my smile. “Thanks.”

  “Welcome,” he replied. Then, “And the tattoo thing? Where does that come into play?”

  “Oh, that part’s the best part.” I reclaimed my forgotten sushi roll and popped it into my mouth, chewing with unabashed enthusiasm. Once I swallowed, I said, “When I was in Prague, I met this chick, Lenka, in a bar. We hit it off and became friends. Well, she worked at a teensy shop as a tattooer, and I ended up...hanging out there for a while. And I was instantly fascinated.” I shifted in my seat, leaning toward Nate. “It was a completely different kind of art than anything I’d ever done. I could weld silverware and junkyard scraps together to build a mermaid or an elephant or whatever. And I could paint the prettiest things. But this? Etching my art into someone’s body?” I shook my head, awed even just talking about it. “And that someone would trust me enough to do that? It was just...”

  I trailed off and held my hands out, palms up. “I knew it was what I wanted to do from the first moment I watched Lenka give this Dutch tourist a half-sleeve of a parachute drifting through some clouds, airplane in the background. It was...so fucking cool.”

  Nate’s mouth tilted upward. He shook his head. “That’s amazing.” Reaching across the space, he rested his palm on mine. “You are an impressive woman, Bernadette.”

  I let my fingers tangle with his and returned his smile. “I like it when you Bernadette me.”

  At that, he pulled my hand to his lips, dropping a soft kiss on my knuckles. And even that tiny contact sent shards of heat straight to my center. Flipping my hand over, I rested it against his cheek, my thumb roving over his bottom lip. How was it that we could go from casual conversation to...this in a matter of seconds? My brain cells abandoned any thoughts of tattoos or Europe or anything else and replaced them with one. Single. Thought.

  “I want to kiss you,” I whispered, my heart thrumming loud in my head. “I want to do more than kiss you.”

  His eyes flickered and dropped to my lips, where they lingered for a long, excruciating moment. When he dragged his gaze back to my eyes, the flicker had become a flame. “Maybe we should get out of here.”

  31: Nate

  A quick phone call told me that Anya was still at Sunny’s place. Which was perfect, since Birdie’s place was overrun with Evelyn’s book club tonight. Last thing we needed was to be swarmed by a group of old women on their third read of Simon vs the Homo Sapiens Agenda, keeping Birdie and I from our alone time. I wasn’t sure I could muster the will to be nice.

  We reached my house in record time. I could feel Birdie’s eyes on me as I fumbled with my keys, which only made me fumble more. Were we really gonna do this? Were we really gonna fall through this door, fall into each other, fall into my bed?

  Or had I misread the situation, and Birdie only agreed to come back to my place to hang out and watch Buffy? Maybe she had no intentions of so much as touching me. Or letting me touch her. Maybe—

  “Nate?”

  My internal monologue halted. I looked up to find Birdie watching me, her blue eyes twinkling in the porch light. “Yes?”

  “Could you hurry up and open that door so that I can shove you inside and kiss your face off?”

  Well. Guess I had my answer.

  I cleared my throat and finally managed to get the door unlocked. Once I pushed it open, Birdie did exactly as she said she would. She looped her arms around my neck, pressed her body against mine, and pushed us through the door.

  “Finally,” she murmured, kicking the door closed behind us. Her breath teased my lips as her hands splayed over my back. “I can’t wait to get my hands on you.”

  Something inside me exploded then, sending white-hot splinters throughout my abdomen. I pushed my fingers into her hair and kissed her. I kissed her and I didn’t plan to stop. Not for a very long time.

  Together, we backed down the hall, o
ur lips never parting. My blood boiled hot in my veins, rushing like a volcano through my abdomen. Her arms clung tighter around my neck as we bumped into the wall. My hands found her waist and I lifted her up, wrapping her legs around me.

  “Mmm,” she moaned, and the sound shot right to my cock. I kissed her harder, pinning her against the wall. Her fingertips dug into my shoulders as she arched away from the wall, pushing herself closer. “Nate.”

  The sound of my name on her lips—the taste of my name on her lips—pushed me right over the edge. Pulling her away from the wall, I carried her the last few feet into my bedroom.

  My bedroom.

  Where my bed was.

  All kinds of bells went off in my brain as we tumbled onto the bed together. Warning bells. Tell her bells. I ignored all of them. I ignored them and kissed her deeper, stroking her with my tongue. Which was a much better use of my tongue, honestly.

  Birdie’s thighs tightened around my waist, and any thoughts about telling her anything but what I wanted to do to her left my brain. Because, fuck, I wanted to do things to her.

  Pulling my mouth from hers, I dropped kisses down the column of her neck, inhaling the sweet smell of her skin. “You smell like chocolate chip cookies,” I murmured against her collarbone. “Sexy chocolate chip cookies.”

  She laughed, the husky sound sending jolts of electricity straight through me. “That’s a first,” she said, throwing her head back to give me better access.

  First.

  My brain latched onto the word, its Dudley Do-Right tendencies trying to take over. You should tell her she’s your first.

  How ‘bout no? I thought, sliding my hands up the bottom of her shirt. How ‘bout hell no?

  Birdie arched into my touch, her smooth skin gliding under my palms. Leaning in, I pressed a soft kiss to her jawline. She tilted her head and I took advantage, trailing my lips down the column of her neck, pausing to nip at her collarbone. Her fingers threaded into my hair as she gave a little moan, and every molecule of my body stood at attention.

  Gripping the bottom of her shirt, I pulled it upward, greedily finding her skin with my mouth. So soft. So sweet. So...not enough. I wanted more. I needed more. My fingers had just grazed the button on her pants when impatience got the better of Birdie.

  Before I could process what was happening, she had flipped me onto my back and straddled me. I watched through glazed eyes as she pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it somewhere behind her. My hands reached up to cup her breasts—this time in an electric purple bra—but she grabbed them before they reached their destination.

  “It’s my turn,” she said, her lips curving in a mischievous smile. Then, she found the hem of my t-shirt and pulled it up until I had no choice but to oblige. I helped her remove it.

  Her lips were on my skin almost before my shirt hit the floor. She trailed hot kisses over my shoulders and down my stomach, wringing hiss after hiss from me. My heart pounded louder and louder as her mouth played over my skin. My hands pushed into her hair as she reached my hips and lingered there for a few seconds, her fingers playing at the waistband of my jeans.

  I stopped breathing.

  This. This was what I’d been craving. What I’d been afraid of. Birdie, touching me. Birdie, tasting me. Birdie, knowing me like no one had before.

  I was rock hard and aching beneath the jeans. And I wanted nothing more than to feel her mouth on my cock. But it’d been so long since anyone had...and what if...

  My fingers tightened in her hair as I made a move to stop her, but she’d already made quick work of the button fly and was yanking my jeans down my hips.

  “Birdie,” I started as her hand closed around me. Sparks shot white-hot behind my eyelids. If I came right now, it would be so—

  “Uh-uh,” she said, and I could feel her hot breath teasing me. “My turn, remember?”

  And then I wasn’t even thinking about stopping her. Because her lips closed around me, sending an inferno of sensation through my entire body.

  “Fuck,” I whispered, my hips jerking upward.

  She laughed, and the sound vibrated through every inch of me. I squeezed my eyes shut, determined to make it last. Not to embarrass myself after a thirty-second blowjob. Because how would I recover from that?

  But Birdie wasn’t making it easy to hold back. She flicked her tongue across the tip, sparking a million tiny lightning bolts. I inhaled sharply. She leaned closer, taking me deeper into her mouth. And, Jesus, was that good, too.

  I groaned, my hips lifting from the bed without my permission. She drew back, then slid her tongue up my hard length once, twice, three times, before dropping hot, soft kisses in her tongue’s place. Oxygen left my lungs in a long, slow breath, and we locked eyes. Something flickered across her face. Something like shyness. Something like nerves.

  Reaching down, I pushed the hair away from her face and trailed my thumb over her cheek. She leaned into my touch for a moment—just one moment—before wrapping her hand around me and pressing a long, lingering kiss to the tip of my cock, never breaking eye contact.

  I groaned, my head falling back onto the pillow, and then she pulled me deep into her mouth in one smooth movement.

  I could feel the pressure building hot in my abdomen. Could feel my heartbeat thrumming through my entire body. And when her hand closed around me, pumping in time with her mouth, I could feel the pressure careening toward an unavoidable precipice.

  “Mmm hmm,” she murmured, her voice thrumming against me. My fingers twisted tighter in her hair. Bright lights flashed behind my eyelids. Every single cell in my body zoned in on my cock. Her mouth. The way her tongue grazed the tip every time she pulled back. The tightness of her fist. “Mmm,” she murmured again, and then I catapulted right off the edge.

  “Oh, fuck,” I groaned, thrusting upward one final time. “Birdie.”

  She didn’t slow her pace as I came, spasm after spasm rocking through me. Her hot mouth wrung every last shiver from my body, every last drop, until all I could do was collapse, depleted. Drained.

  She wriggled upward, settling in next to me as I struggled to level my breathing. “Yep,” she said, dropping soft kisses along my collarbone. “Definitely two balls.”

  And then I laughed. Turning to my side, I wrapped my arm around her middle. “Told you.” I brushed her hair away from her face. Guilt gnawed its way through the euphoria. You should tell her, it said. You should tell her right now.

  But then she leaned in and kissed me, and the kiss was so sweet, so tender, so un-Birdie-like, that I couldn’t bring myself to ruin the moment. So instead, I pulled her closer, I kissed her back, and promised myself that I would tell her.

  Just...not right now.

  32: Birdie

  “Okay, okay,” I moaned a while later, pushing my fingers into Nate’s hair and pulling him up from his place somewhere near my navel. “You are going to kill me if you don’t stop.”

  “But I’m not done,” he said, leaning up, elbows braced on either side of me. His mouth glistened with moisture, and I urged him closer, kissing him deeply, tasting myself on his lips. “I’m far from done,” he whispered when we parted.

  “Well, unless you’re going to fuck me,” I replied, running my thumb across his bottom lip. “I’m definitely done.” I raised a brow. “Are you going to fuck me, Nate?”

  Something flashed across his face, but he caught it before I could identify it. “I...don’t have condoms,” he said, easing further onto the bed so that he was lying next to me.

  “I have some.” I pushed onto an elbow. “They’re in my purse in the—“

  “Too far away,” he interrupted, draping his arm over my midsection. He pulled me tighter against him, and I could feel his hard cock pressing into my hip.

  “Well, I’m not fucking you without a condom, so—“

  “Oh, I know.” He kissed my shoulder and rested his head on the pillow next to me. “I would never ask you to.”

  I glanced over, our
eyes meeting. Surprise flittered in my stomach. I had encountered more than one guy that tried to convince me that condoms weren’t necessary. I knew that look. This didn’t seem to be that.

  “So,” I started, turning onto my side so that we were lying face to face. “You don’t want to grab my purse, one room away, so that we have condoms?”

  He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pushed my sweat-dampened bangs off my forehead and kissed me there. “Truthfully?” he said as he moved away. “I’m pretty sure if we have sex right now, it’ll be a...two-pump chump situation.” He winced, his expression a blend of embarrassment and self-deprecation. “Maybe three.”

  “I see.” I nodded sternly, fighting hard against the smile that threatened to form. “That is not enough pumps.”

  “That’s what I’m saying.” He pulled me tight against him, dropping loud, obnoxious kisses down my neck and shoulder and diffusing the sexual tension like a fire hose. “You deserve more pumps than that,” he said between kisses.

  I threw my head back and laughed, pushing my fingers into his hair. “You made your point,” I said, pulling his face to mine. “We shall postpone the pumping.” Releasing a long, dramatic sigh, I added, “For now.”

  “That’s all I ask,” Nate replied, his lips tilted. “Now, how about some water?”

  I stretched and sighed. “Water would be perfect.” And then I watched as he stood, crossed the room, pulled the door open, and walked down the hall—completely naked. Smiling to myself as he disappeared, I sat up and surveyed my surroundings.

  Nate’s bedroom, like the rest of his house, was tidy and cozy. In the dying evening light, I could just make out the pale blue walls and soft, sheer curtains. Idly, I wondered if he had someone help him decorate.

  Maybe an ex-girlfriend, my mind whispered, but I shoved the thought aside. I didn’t want to think about Nate—sweet, sweet Nate—getting crushed by some heartless woman. I didn’t know how I knew, but I just knew he didn’t do the breaking.