by Meika Usher
Our eyes met, and I saw the sheer nakedness I felt inside echoed in his gaze. My pulse stumbled, like a warning call. Turn back now, it said. Point of no return.
Together, we slid the condom onto him. Together, we closed the remaining distance between us as he slid deep inside me. And, together, we held tight as the world shifted around us.
No going back, my brain whispered as I clung tight to him, as I pulled him in deeper, as I kissed his neck, his cheeks, his lips. No going back.
But, I thought as he returned my kiss, fervent and raw, I didn’t want to go back.
43: Nate
“Shh, not now.”
Birdie swatted my hand away from her bare thigh and narrowed her eyes on the TV screen. We’d been watching Buffy all afternoon and were barreling toward the season two finale. Shit was intense, and Birdie couldn’t tear her eyes away.
Which I would’ve enjoyed a lot more if she weren’t sitting over there, all pantsless and sexy and oblivious to my existence. It didn’t matter that we’d spent the entire morning in bed, learning and memorizing every inch of each other. It didn’t matter that every bone, every muscle, every cell in my body ached with exhaustion. And it definitely didn’t matter that Birdie had just slapped my wandering hand so hard it still stung.
I still wanted her.
But I had officially lost her to Buffy.
Sinking back onto the couch, I crossed my arms over my chest to prevent myself from reaching for Birdie again. I was horny, but I wasn’t stupid. Besides, this was a good episode. Maybe after—
“Ughhhhh.”
Birdie and I turned at the loud, agonized groan coming from the doorway to find Anya dropping her backpack to the floor and throwing her head back. “Port Asses sucked my soul dry.”
“I wasn’t aware you still had a soul,” I replied, pausing the show as she walked into the living room and plopped into the armchair.
“Port Asses?” Birdie questioned, stretching her bare legs over my lap. Anya didn’t even bat an eye at the lack of pants. Apparently, I was the only one who cared about her lack of pants—and that was only because all I could think about was how those legs felt wrapped around my waist.
Clearing my throat, I shifted to disguise the tightening in my sweats. “Port Agnes Con,” I explained to Birdie. “Also known as the worst con this side of Lake Michigan. It was this weekend.”
“So bad,” Anya grumbled, throwing her legs over the arm of the chair. “And it just keeps getting worse. Do you know what they pulled this year?”
I rested my hands on Birdie’s legs, and her smooth skin warm against my palms sent blood rushing straight to my cock. Seriously? I thought. Shins? I really had it bad.
Birdie tossed a knowing smirk my way and turned her attention to Anya. “What happened?”
Anya rolled her eyes and ran her fingers through her short hair, leaving it in blond spikes all around her head. “Raised their booth rates,” she replied. “By a hundred bucks.”
“What?” I sat up straighter. Port Agnes Con already charged ten percent of artist and vendors’ take. Raising the booth rates was excessive. “That’s fucked.”
“No shit,” Anya agreed.
“What the hell are they thinking?” I leaned forward, momentarily forgetting about my downstairs situation. I suppressed a wince and sat back, keeping my hands on Birdie’s legs, hoping she’d take the hint and leave them there. Last thing I needed right now was Anya spotting my hard-on. “They’re gonna start a riot.”
“They’re gonna run the whole thing into the ground, is what they’re gonna do.” Anya helped herself to the last slice of pizza from the box on the coffee table, earning a squeak of protest from Birdie. “Already rumblings of at least a third of their usual vendors dropping out for next year.”
“Not surprising.” I said, working hard to get the blood flowing back to my brain. “Only reason they’ve been around this long is because they’re the only con in the area.”
“Exactly.” Anya took a huge bite of the pizza and chewed. “I wouldn’t even bother most of the time if you and Sunny weren’t here.”
“You know you can visit without going to Port Asses, right?”
“I know.” She polished off the slice. “But I can’t just show up and sponge, man. I need a reason for the sponging.”
“What’re you gonna do when they go under?” I countered. “Just never visit?”
“Highly likely.” She stood and stretched. “This may be the last you ever see me in your house.”
“Oh, darn,” I shot back. “How will I ever survive without our friendly morning chats through the open bathroom door?”
“What is your hang up with that?” Anya asked, dropping her arms to her sides. Looking to Birdie, she added, “Did you know he was such a prude?”
Birdie laughed, her gaze landing on me. “I’ve actually found him to be quite the opposite,” she said, eyes flickering. And, dammit, I’d almost had my situation under control.
“Ooh.” Anya sat on the coffee table in front of us, elbows on knees. “Are we about to talk about your sex life? Because I am curious.”
“No,” I growled before Birdie could answer—because I knew she would tell Anya about our sex life. And that wasn’t a conversation I wanted to be present for. “She’s not.”
Both women looked at each other, matching smirks of amusement on their faces. Later, Birdie mouthed to Anya, giving me a grin.
“Looking forward to it.” Anya stood and ambled toward the kitchen. “Anyone want a beer?”
“I’d love one,” Birdie called, her grin widening as she caught sight of my face. “Would you relax,” she murmured once Anya was out of earshot. “I’m not really gonna tell her.” She paused and leaned forward, pressing her lips to my cheek. “Much,” she whispered before pulling away.
I folded my arms across my chest and grumbled to myself as Anya returned with three beers. Grudgingly, I took the one she offered to me and cracked it open. “You know,” I said, after taking a long sip. Time to get this conversation back on track. “Port Asses wouldn’t be so bad if they put any effort at all into organization. I mean, last year, Sunny and I could hardly find our booth. It’s a clusterfuck.”
“Right,” Anya agreed, latching onto the subject change. I breathed a slow sigh of relief. “And why do they never have mods for their panels?” She flicked her bottle cap into the air and let loose a whoop when it landed in the trash can next to my desk. “It was like fighting feral cats trying to answer questions yesterday.”
“Ugh.” I tapped my fingers against my bottle. “It’s such a waste. Port Agnes deserves more effort than that.”
My words echoed in the sudden silence as every one of us went still. I straightened, looking from Anya to Birdie as an idea, tenacious and loud, took hold in my brain. Why had I never thought of this before?
As if reading my mind, Anya nodded. “You know what you must do.”
Birdie pulled her legs from my lap to push to her knees, her hand on my arm. “Dude,” she said, eyes wide. “Yes.”
“I don’t know,” I said, pulling my gaze from hers to stare at the bottle in my hand. “It’s a lot of work. And money. Plus, I don’t even know where to start. I—”
“You’ve been attending these things for years,” Anya cut in. “You know a good one from a bad one.”
“But that’s different. I—”
“And you have Aidan,” Birdie added. “You know he’d be so into this idea.”
At the mention of my little bro, a jab of guilt twisted in my gut. “Aidan’s dead-set we’re gonna open another Floppies,” I said, looking up. “I can’t do both.”
But as I spoke the words aloud, a feeling of...rightness overtook the guilt. Floppies 2 had filled me with dread every time Aidan brought it up. This idea, though? Terror, sure. Anxiety, absolutely. But dread? Nope. Not a twinge of dread to be felt.
“Aidan just wants to expand your business,” Birdie was saying when I tuned back in. “Whether that’s
with another store or starting your own convention, I don’t think he cares. He just wants a chance to challenge himself—and you.”
I tilted my head in her direction. “How do you know that?”
She shrugged. “We talked while you and your mom did dishes last night.” Sinking back on the couch, she folded her legs beneath her. “I thought Floppies 2 was a good idea, but this?” A smile curved her lips as she looked at me. “I can see it all over your face. You wanna do it.”
“I...” I trailed off, pushing my glasses up to rub my eyes. When I pulled my hand away from my face, both women were staring at me, Anya with her trademark impatience-tinged smirk, just waiting for me to get it. And Birdie...Birdie with a look of absolute faith in her eyes. She believed I could do this. She could sense that I wanted to do this. And, well, that was the exact thing I needed to see in that moment.
“I’m gonna start a con,” I said, trying out the words as they left my mouth.
They felt right.
“I’m gonna start a con,” I said again, more sure this time.
Birdie grinned and grabbed my shoulder, shaking it. “Fuck yeah, you are!”
Across from us, Anya lifted her beer in a toast. Birdie and I joined her, clinking our bottles together. “To Nate’s con,” Anya said. “May it not be asses.”
As I took a swig of my beer, I let the idea settle into my brain. There was a lot to do. A lot to research, a lot to plan, and a lot to sort out. But none of that freaked me out. In fact, I was excited as fuck.
And I couldn’t wait to get started.
44: Birdie
“You should just...never wear pants,” Nate said a few hours later as I collapsed on top of him.
I laughed and pushed my fingers through his hair. “But then you’d be walking around with a boner all the time.” I dropped a kiss on his forehead and rolled off of him.
After Anya left to blow off some steam with a few people she’d met at Port Agnes Con, I’d climbed into Nate’s lap, ready to put the hard-on he’d had all evening to good use. We ended up in a heap on the floor, sweaty and panting and surrounded by a pile of throw pillows. Perfect way to spend an afternoon, if you ask me.
Nate rolled onto his side so he was facing me, then moved closer, pressing his lips into the curve of my neck. “I don’t see a problem with that,” he mumbled against my skin, his breath making me shiver.
“Oh, really?” I put my hands against his cheeks and lifted his face to mine. “You were damn near traumatized by the idea of me talking to Anya about our sex life. You seriously think you’d be okay marching around town with a big ole boner all the time?”
He grimaced. “You have a point.” Rolling away from me, he grabbed a throw blanket from the couch and pulled it over us. “Can we compromise and put a no pants rule in place when you’re here?”
I rolled onto my side, looking at him. “But what if I get cold?”
“I’d warm you up.” As he said it, he ran his fingertips up my spine and a line of tiny flames lit my skin. “I’m pretty good at that, you know.”
“Oh, I know.” I tucked my hands under my cheek and studied his face. His glasses were missing—somewhere on the couch, maybe—and his hair was even more mussed than usual. And, fuck, I loved him like this.
The thought brought on a moment of stillness inside me. The word brought a stillness. I waited, gearing up for the piercing panic I was sure hovered just behind it.
Nothing.
Huh.
Instead of overanalyzing that, I laid my hand on Nate’s bare shoulder, watching my chipped fingernails move over him. “You should let me tattoo you,” I murmured, imagining the lines I would trace over his smooth skin.
“Can’t,” he said, and I looked up to find his eyes wide on my face. “Needles freak me out.”
“Oh, come on,” I replied with a cajoling smile. “It would only hurt a little.”
“How do you know?”
I stiffened, fingers stilling on his arm. His question—a question I’d heard one million times before—echoed in my brain. “What do you mean?”
He slid his hand over my hip and up to rest on my waist. “I’m pretty sure I’ve touched—and tasted—every inch of your skin,” he said. “And, unless I missed something...you don’t have any tattoos.” Leaning in, he kissed my shoulder, soft and sweet. “Why is that?”
I rolled onto my back. I needed to not be looking into his eyes right now. I needed to not feel this naked. Well, more naked.
Closing my eyes, I exhaled. Every other time someone asked me that very question flashed through my mind. Every time I fumbled for an answer. Every time I defended myself—and my ability. Every time I watched doubt and contempt and...so many other things crawl across the faces of the people who’d asked.
“You know must have tattoos is not on the list of requirements for my job, right?” The edge in my voice was sharp, even to my own ears, and I winced.
“I know,” he said, and the hurt in his voice made me look over. None of those things I’d seen on countless other faces were on his. “I didn’t say that.”
I pressed my lips together and forced a breath through my nose. Asshole. I was being an asshole. “I’m sorry,” I said when I met his eye again. “It’s just...I get that question a lot, and it’s usually with a hefty side of, do you even know how to do this job?”
“Well, that’s not what I’m saying.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m just curious.”
I let my eyes rove over his face as I let that sink in. He wasn’t questioning my ability, wasn’t being a dick. He just...wanted to know.
I sat up and pulled the blanket around my naked chest. “I almost got a tattoos couple times. Once in Prague, and again when I got home. I just...” I shrugged a shoulder and shook my head. “Never found something I wanted to be stuck with forever. Putting something on my body permanently is a big deal, you know?” I looked up to find him watching me as I finished. “What if I wake up years from now and look at it and think, Now why did I do that?”
Nate sat up, too. “I get that,” he said, reaching for my hand.
I watched his thumb move back and forth over my knuckles, my mind turning. “I also think it has a little to do with expectations,” I said, and then looked up. Now where had that come from?
“What do you mean?” he asked, still caressing my hand. “Elaborate.”
“I don’t know.” I exhaled and pulled my hand from his to tangle it with the other in my lap. Swallowing against the slamming of my heart, I frowned. What did I mean, expectations? I couldn’t commit. That was always my reason. I’d said it, over and over, time and again, to anyone who asked. I didn’t have tattoos because I couldn’t commit to something for that long.
But the more I let the word roll around in my head, the more sense it made.
I exhaled, every syllable like a weight lifted. “I’ve spent my entire life doing what everyone expected of me,” I finally said. “Cheerleading and student council and art and...” I shook my head. Jesus. Just...everything.
“And the moment I took this job,” I continued, looking up to find Nate still watching me, patient. “The moment I took this job, people expected me to get tattoos.” I exhaled and scrubbed a hand over my face. “I...I guess I’m just tired of being what people expect of me.”
I balled my hands into fists to keep them from fidgeting. “I feel like the moment I give in, the moment I let someone leave their mark on me, I’m...that girl again, you know? The one who does what she’s expected to do.”
Nate was quiet for a long, long...long moment. At least, it felt that way. His brow was furrowed as he studied me, like he was deep in thought. Or picturing me naked. Hard to tell, really. When he finally spoke, I didn’t know whether to expect something really deep, or really dirty.
I kinda hoped for the dirty. That’d be easier to handle right now, when I was feeling ripped open and naked...well, more naked.
“You know what I think?” he said as he pushed
to his feet. I watched him cross the room in all his naked glory, both impressed with his confidence and hot for that sweet, sweet ass of his. “I think...” He rummaged around on his desk and found whatever he was looking for. “I think that you left that girl behind a long time ago.” Joining me on the floor again, he reached for my hand. “And I think that you can’t go through life without something—or someone—leaving a mark.”
I watched as he uncapped a marker and turned my hand over. “What are you doing?”
He threw a smirk my way. “Leaving my mark.” And then he leaned down and squinted, dragging the marker over the blank canvas of my inner wrist.
“Nate,” I said, laughing as I tried to pull away. “You better not be drawing a penis on my arm. That marker looks permanent.”
He held steady and did not reply. I tilted my head, trying to see what he was drawing, but all I could make out was a series of black lines and circles. “I swear to god, Nate, if that is a penis—”
“It’s not a penis,” he said, going in for one more final detail before moving away. “Do you not have any faith in me? Damn, woman.”
“Well, I’ve never had a dude randomly decide to draw on me in marker, so you can see where I’d be concerned,” I said as I took my hand back and dropped my eyes to my wrist. No, I realized. It was not a penis. It was...two stick figures holding hands, with a tiny, crooked heart floating in the air between them?
And it was the most absurdly adorable thing I’d ever seen. Even if it did look like it was drawn by a kindergartener.
“I know,” Nate said when I didn’t speak. “It’s terrible. But I’m not as talented as you. Or Sunny. Or—”
I cut him off with a kiss. Cradling his face in both hands, I kissed him with all the fervor and intensity of my wild, beating heart. I kissed him with every ounce of mushy, gooey emotion flowing through me. I kissed him, and I soared when he kissed me back.
