Combative

by Jay McLean

  Her gaze lowers. “You don’t need to worry. I’m already intrigued.”

  Just like at dinner, she asks that I choose a movie for us. She says she doesn’t care. It not about the movie; it’s the experience. As a joke, I ask her if she’s ever been to a movie before. She shrugs and changes the subject.

  She does that a lot.

  “You want to make out?” I whisper in her ear. It’s meant as a joke, but she clearly doesn’t get it because she slowly turns from the screen to me, eyes wide. “What?”

  I try to get her to relax a little. “You said you wanted the experience, right? Hot date...dark theater...It’s all about the making out.”

  Her brow bunches, her eyes darting everywhere as a million thoughts run through her pretty little head.

  A chuckle filters out of me. “I was just messing around, Maddy.”

  She squirms in her seat. “So you don’t want to kiss me?”

  “Oh, I do...trust me.” I fake a yawn and stretch my arms in the air, then settle one around her shoulders. “But I can wait.”

  She looks back at me with a hint of a smile.

  “Hey...the fake-yawn-arm-around-your-girl-move is the best part of the movie experience.”

  She smiles full force now, not looking away.

  I grip her shoulder and point to the screen with my free hand. “The movie’s that way,” I tell her.

  “You called me your girl.”

  I grimace. “I haven’t dated since I was seventeen, so maybe I’m a little rusty.”

  Her eyes practically bug out of her head.

  “Watch the movie, Madison,” I say, just as my phone vibrates in my pocket.

  Jackson: We need to talk.

  Ky: I’m out.

  He calls, but I reject it.

  Ky: Can’t talk. I’m at the movies.

  Jackson: This is serious, Ky. I’m not fucking around.

  “I got to go to the bathroom,” I whisper to Madison.

  She nods; her focus now back on the movie.

  Once I’m out in the foyer, I call Jackson.

  “Hey.”

  “What’s up?” I respond.

  “Are you on a date?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Neighbor girl?

  “You said it was urgent.”

  “I don’t want you to worry,” he rushes out.

  “But?”

  “DeLuca was seen leaving your apartment building today. No one saw him go in, just out.”

  I release a frustrated breath. “So he knows where I live?”

  “Yeah...”

  Moments of silence pass.

  Jax speaks first. “I don’t want to be a dick, but you’re starting to date this girl—”

  “I’m not dating her,” I cut in. “We’re on a could-be date. There’s a difference.”

  “Whatever. The fact is she’s already a distraction. You keep it going with her, she becomes part of the mess. You want her in that danger?”

  “There’s nothing going on and even if there was, I can keep the two separated.”

  “No, Ky, you can’t. When you fall for a girl, you fall hard. She infiltrates every part of you...she becomes you. You remember Ashlee, right?”

  I hang up.

  MADISON

  I waited until I knew he was no longer in the theater before pulling out my phone and sending a message.

  Me: I think he wants to kiss me.

  Sara: You think?

  Me: No. I know. He asked.

  Sara: Well at least he asked…

  Me: You have to tell me what to do.

  Me: …

  Me: ….

  Nothing. I got nothing. Not until he walks back in a few minutes later and starts making his way back to me.

  Sara: Do it.

  Sara: Don't let him touch you.

  Sara: A kiss… it's only a kiss, right?

  Sara: I miss you.

  KY

  Madison’s phone illuminates her face; her eyebrows bunched in concentration. She looks up and smiles when she sees me approaching.

  Once I’m in front of her, she pats my chair. I sit down and put my arm around her while she shifts beneath me until her front presses to my side and her hand rests on my stomach. “Ky?” she whispers.

  I look down, just in time to see the uncertainty in her eyes before her mouth settles on mine.

  If it weren’t for that split-second look I caught, I wouldn’t have hesitated.

  She must’ve known because she pulls back before I get a chance to speak and mumbles an apology.

  “No,” I cut in quickly. “It’s not you...” I shake my head at myself, feeling stupid for using such a cliché line. But it’s the truth. It really isn’t just her. It’s both of us. “I’m not—” I break off with a sigh, not knowing what more to say.

  “It’s okay,” she says, but her voice and her eyes tell me it’s not. She’s hurt. And I’m the one who hurt her.

  “I’m serious, Madison. Any other time, any other place, I’d be all in.” I take a calming breath before adding, “It’s not that I don’t want you. Believe me, I do. I just need to sort some shit out before—”

  She takes my hand in hers, putting a pause on my rambling masterpiece. “It’s fine, Ky. I understand.”

  I sigh again, louder, harsher. Her sad eyes stay on mine.

  Placing my hand behind her head, I bring her in and kiss her forehead. “Just...”

  “What?” she asks, searching my face for answers.

  She won’t find them.

  They don’t exist.

  It comes out a plea when I say, “Just...wait. Okay?” Please, I think, just wait until this bullshit with Jackson is over and I can give her what I really want.

  She smiles—a genuine one that reaches her eyes.

  We spend the rest of the movie in silence. Or at least it seems that way. But in my head, my thoughts scream at me, wanting to be heard.

  Why the hell was DeLuca at my building?

  I hold a hand to my chest, trying to ease the ache that had suddenly built.

  “Are you okay?” Madison asks, her big brown eyes peering up at me.

  I swallow and wipe the sweat that’d formed behind my neck. “I’m good.”

  “You’re breathing erratically, and your heart’s pounding. I can feel it against my cheek.”

  Squeezing my eyes, I try to calm my breathing—try to settle my pulse.

  “Maybe you should get some air,” she says.

  I don’t respond, but I don’t have to—she’s already on her feet, taking my hand to help me up.

  I’m a victim of my own past. A past I’ve spent too many years trying to escape. And now it’s back...and the fucker’s a ticking time bomb waiting to explode in my face.

  Once we’re out of the building and into the cold, I hold both her hands in mine to warm them. “I’m not crazy,” I tell her.

  “I didn’t think you were.”

  She shivers slightly and I bring her into me, hugging her close.

  “Was it the movie?” she asks.

  “What?” I hadn’t even been paying attention.

  “The dad who died. The Marine. Did it set off something for you?” she says, reaching up and fingering my tags.

  “Yeah,” I lie, because it’s so much easier than telling her the truth.

  Her arms wrap around me and she hugs me back. “So what now?”

  “Did you want to go home?”

  She shakes her head. “What else did you have in mind?”

  “I could do with a drink.”

  “Lead the way.”

  7

  KY

  I TAKE HER to a bar a block away from our building. We both get carded at the door. I show them my ID. She looks through her purse for a good five minutes before pouting up at the bouncer. He just smiles, gives her a quick once over, and lets her through. I get it—I’m not immune to that pout, either.

  For a Wednesday night, the place is packed. There’s only one seat free a
t the bar, so I let her take it and stand next to her. “What do you want to drink?”

  She shrugs at first, then seems to look around at what other people are drinking. The bartender appears quickly and asks for our orders. I eye Madison. She panics and starts to stutter.

  “Do you need more time?” I ask her.

  “Um—no. I’ll...” she trails off.

  “I don’t have all day,” the bartender yells over the noise of the bar.

  “Dude,” I yell back.

  “Whiskey,” Madison rushes out.

  I turn to her and raise my eyebrows. She does not look like the whiskey type.

  “Single?” the dude asks.

  “Double.”

  “Ice?”

  She shakes her head, then looks at me for what seems like approval.

  I shrug.

  “Neat,” she answers.

  “And you?” the bartender asks.

  “I’ll have the same,” I say, my eyes fixed on Madison. “You drink whiskey?”

  She grimaces and nods slowly. “Is that bad?”

  “No. It’s badass. I hadn’t pictured you the type.”

  Our drinks are placed in front of us and after throwing some cash on the counter, I pick up the glasses and hand her one. She looks at the liquid, as if unsure. Then she closes her eyes and lifts the glass to her lips. She downs half of it before a small smile graces her face. She licks her top lip, slowly, from one side to the other. Then she does the same to the bottom one. I watch—captivated by her closed eyes, her lips, and her tongue—all while she makes a goddamn porno of drinking whiskey.

  Then she does the worst possible thing my heart can handle.

  She does it again.

  And again.

  When she’s done, she opens her eyes and catches me staring. “You don’t like whiskey?” she says, motioning her head at the untouched drink in my hand.

  I swallow, and then lift the glass and swallow the entire thing. The alcohol both burns and warms my insides. “Another one?” I ask.

  I hope she says yes because I’d give just about anything to watch her performance again.

  She nods.

  I call the bartender and order another two.

  And then we repeat the process.

  She closes her eyes.

  Makes love with her lips.

  And all I can do is watch.

  After another three rounds, my imagination can no longer handle the confines of my mind. Neither can my dick.

  She leans into me, her body swaying—no doubt from the alcohol. Her mouth’s on my neck, not kissing, not moving. Just there. I rest one arm on the counter, the other arm going around her waist and pulling her body against mine. The room spins. The voices around me are nothing but loud murmurs.

  She whispers my name.

  And I lose it.

  I pull back just enough so I can see her face.

  Her eyes are half hooded.

  “Madison?”

  She looks up.

  And then she smiles.

  And I lose it all over again.

  My mouth crashes down on hers, but she pushes me away. “Not here,” she says, her eyes darting around us.

  I don’t care where. I just want her. So, I grab her hand and hold it all the way home—not just because I want to, but also because her unsteady feet need me to. By the time we get to our building—the alcohol has made its presence well and truly known.

  Her chest heaves, matching mine as we stare at each other on opposite sides of the elevator. I ball my fists and hold them behind my back—my only form of restraint from ripping her goddamn clothes off.

  The whiskey had done its job. I no longer feel the weight of my past—of everything—pressing down on my chest and choking the air out of me.

  I feel free.

  And I feel desire.

  And lust.

  And Madison.

  All Madison.

  I barely wait for the elevator doors to open. But when they do, I reach for her.

  I go for her face.

  She goes for my shirt.

  We fumble with each other as we make our way to her door.

  I pin her against it; my mouth claiming hers.

  My hands are all over her while she tries to unlock her door. She retreats, just long enough to get the key in the hole and kick the door open. We enter in a daze. I slam it shut with my foot, my mouth never leaving hers. We trip over ourselves to get to her couch. Her ass hits the arm of it and she falls back, her knees resting over it. I look down at her; her chest rising and falling, her dress hitched up, revealing more of her creamy thighs. I groan and close my eyes, trying to fight the urge to spread her legs, drop to my knees and devour her...

  “Ky!”

  My eyes snap open. She’s leaning up on her elbows now, watching me curiously. I blink a few times, willing the buzz of the alcohol and the uncontrollable lust to back the fuck off for just one second so I can calm the fuck down.

  And then she licks her goddamn lips.

  And that’s all it takes.

  I lose it.

  My mouth crashes down on hers.

  Her legs wrap around mine.

  I start to remove her sweater; she reaches for the buttons of my shirt. We laugh, clumsily undressing each other. She moans when she undoes the last button of my shirt and her fingers lay flat on my stomach. I try to get her sweater past her elbows, but she’s too busy fumbling with my belt. She leans up slightly, causing me to move back. I watch her face; her unfocused eyes and her overly exaggerated pout. Her lids are heavy as she curses—her eyebrows drawn, fixated on unfastening my belt.

  Then she looks up, her chest heaving.

  I stay still, waiting for her to finish.

  “It won’t...” she murmurs.

  Her eyes flick to my belt, and then back up at me.

  And I see it—an insecure innocence that has me questioning everything.

  “Madison,” I whisper.

  “I just...”

  I cover her hand with mine. “Madison,” I say, louder, firmer.

  With a shaky breath, she gazes back up at me.

  I groan internally. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this.”

  “What?” she breathes.

  I let out a frustrated grunt. I’ll regret this in the morning. Hell, I’ll regret it in five seconds. “I should go home.”

  She yanks her hands away and sits taller. “What? Why?”

  My eyes roam her face, down her incredible body, and back up again. Yeah, I’m already regretting it. “I just...we’ve been drinking. You’re drunk...and I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  “Oh,” she whispers, dropping her gaze. “Oh my god...” She lifts her sweater back over her shoulders, hugging it tightly around her. “Okay. Yeah...” She gets off the couch but refuses to look at me.

  “Madison?”

  She starts toward her door. “No. You’re right. This was...” She opens the door for me but keeps her head lowered. I stand in front of her and try to reach for her hand. She yanks it away and holds it to her chest.

  “Will you please look at me?” I beg.

  She shakes her head. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She stays silent a moment, then her quiet whimper breaks through. “I’m so embarrassed right now. Can you just leave? Please.”

  I bend my knees to look in her eyes.

  She moves her head to the side, avoiding me.

  “Maddy...”

  “Please?” she cries.

  “Maddy, don’t do this.”

  “It’s fine.” She still refuses to look at me as she grabs me by my shirt and spins me around, pushing me out of her apartment. “I just need you to go.”

  MADISON

  All that time wasted on cherishing the idea of a dinner and movie date...and this is what I get?

  What a stupid cliché.

  8

  KY

  Training this morning was a whole lot of fun.


  Not.

  I was pissed off and angry at the world.

  Then Gunner made it worse by existing.

  I took out my anger on him.

  He looked terrified.

  I wish I could say it helped—but it had zero effect.

  Now, I was pacing my living room, just like I’d been doing for the past hour. Finally, I open my door, take two steps to hers, and knock.

  Nothing.

  Great. She’s ignoring me.

  I wait a few seconds before knocking again. This time her door opens, just enough so she could peek through it.

  I smile, hoping it’s enough. “Hi.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Can I come in?”

  She shakes her head, opens the door wider—just slightly—and steps out.

  “What’s up?” she asks again.

  My eyes narrow at her now closed door. “You got someone in there?”

  “Ky.”

  And now she’s avoiding my questions. Fucking perfect.

  “Did you want something?” she says, her chin in the air like she’s attempting to rein in whatever confidence I’d stripped from her last night.

  “I wanted to apologize.”

  “Is that all?”

  With a shrug, I say, “I guess.”

  I watch her open her door and squeeze back in through the tiny opening she’d made for herself.

  There has to be someone in there. Someone she doesn’t want me to see. Probably a guy she has on speed dial to physically take away the pain I’d caused.

  I want to puke.

  Instead, I go back in my apartment, shower, and make my way to stupid fucking therapy.

  ***

  “How’s things going with the girl?” is the first thing Doctor Aroma asks when I get in her office.

  “It’s not.”

  “No? Why not? Did something happen?”

  “I think I’d like today to be one of those silent sessions where you just judge me and make me feel shittier than I already do.”

  She picks up her pen and notepad and starts scribbling.

  I stare out the window.

  This lasts for an hour.

  I tell her time’s up.

  She waves goodbye.