by Katia Rose
“Paige.” She’s started shaking a little, and I don’t pay attention to who might be watching. I just wrap my arm around her and shift my body closer to her. “It’s okay.”
“I don’t know how to be anything else,” she murmurs, “but I don’t think I even get a choice. I already am something else, and it scares me.”
“Yeah.” I stroke her back. “Yeah, I get that.”
“I think I need to—”
She pauses when the song that’s playing fades out and switches to a synth intro. I feel a spark of familiarity at the sound. After the first few notes, my brain catches up and realizes what track it is: ‘Indian Summer’ by Jai Wolf.
Paige had this on a playlist we were listening to one day back when she still had her sling. It’s one of my favourite songs of the past decade, and I loved it even more after hearing her laugh and call me an idiot while I danced to it in her kitchen as I put a load of groceries away.
The song starts building into a tinkling, heart-swelling lift that raises the hairs on the back of my neck as everyone in the room tunes into the same frequency. It’s one of those songs that makes you feel like you’re in the final scene of a movie, right at the part when the dialogue fades and the music swells as the camera pans out to show the girl and the guy walking down a city street together or the gang of kids riding their bikes up a dirt road or the mother hugging her son in the doorway. It’s a song that puts things into perspective and makes you feel connected to everyone and everything around you for just a few minutes in time.
“Paige.” I know she was about to say she needed some air. I know she already told me she wasn’t going to dance tonight, but I’m already drunk on the music, and I can’t let this moment go without trying.
We’ve missed too many of our moments already.
I stand up and offer her my hand.
She hesitates, still looking up at my face, her eyes wide and searching. Then she lets me help her to her feet.
“I’m nervous,” she mutters as we get closer to the dance floor. “Why am I nervous?”
I chuckle, a bit breathless with my own nerves. “You’re intimidated by my sick moves.”
She scoffs. “If you bust out any sick moves, I’m leaving.”
“Duly noted.”
We reach the floor and find a spot amongst all my dancing relatives. Aaliyah catches my eye over Paige’s shoulder. She’s jumping around with a few of her bridesmaids, and she flashes me a double thumbs up like the dork she is.
She looks beautiful tonight.
“Uh, so, I’m not supposed to lift this arm above my shoulder.” Paige points at her injured arm. She’s still got her wrist splint on, and somehow, it kind of works with her outfit.
I step closer, feeling more and more like an awkward teenager as the significance of this moment dawns. We’ve never really danced together before. We made some joking attempts at it in high school, but we’ve never done the whole ‘get dressed up and hold each other on a dance floor’ thing. She flat-out refused to go to prom.
“Okay, well, you can put that here then.” I guide her injured hand to my waist and then take the other one in mine. “And then I’ll hold this here, and my other one can go on your...bicep? I can’t really hold your shoulder, can I?”
She tips her head back and laughs at my awkward grip on her arm. “It looks like you’re trying to kidnap me. Here.” She steps close enough that we’re just a breath away from being chest to chest. “Now you can put it on my back.”
I don’t know why the sensation of laying my palm between her shoulder blades almost knocks the wind out of me. I’ve had her nearly naked half a dozen times over the past few weeks, but this is somehow more intense. The fabric of her dress is so soft, and I can feel the shift of her muscles and spine beneath it as we start to sway.
It’s really not a slow dancing song, but I don’t care. I draw her in even closer, and in the low lights with all the golden party decorations glittering around us, it’s like I’m noticing every detail about her for the first time all over again: the smell of her hair, the swoop of her eyelashes, the little hollow where her collarbones meet just above the neckline of her dress.
I want to kiss her there. I want to kiss her everywhere. I want to tilt her head back and kiss her mouth right here in front of everyone. When I look at her, I can’t ignore the truth—about anything. She makes all the answers clear. So as the song reaches its final crescendo and everyone around me throws their arms in the air the way music like this demands from its audience, I lean in and let myself do exactly what I want to do.
Nineteen
Paige
TREMOLO: A vocal effect used by singers to create a trembling sound in the voice
I’m kissing Youssef. I’m kissing Youssef in the middle of a dance floor surrounded by his family and friends, and I couldn’t stop if I tried.
I press my chest to his and slide my good hand out of his grip so I can wrap my fingers around the collar of his suit jacket. He tastes like champagne and spice. I can’t get enough of him. I can never get enough of him.
The song swells in my ears and starts to fade into the next track, but we don’t stop kissing. This moment feels like a gift, like some extravagant indulgence you’re not sure you should even accept, but it’s here and we’re in it, and I’m going to keep kissing him until we’ve taken every last drop we’ve been offered.
I brush my fingertips along the back of his neck, and his hand presses harder between my shoulders, steady and firm as the room spins around us. I’m not drunk, but I feel like I can’t keep the floor straight underneath me. This is all so much more than I expected.
I thought I’d be some anonymous face in the crowd today, just a girl for people to nod at when they asked if Youssef had a date. I didn’t think Aaliyah would recognize me, or that she’d hug me as soon as she saw me and look between Youssef and I like she was caught between smiling and sobbing. I didn’t think so many aunts and uncles would want to shake my hand. I didn’t think I’d end up having a hilarious time huddled in the corner with a little old Egyptian lady, slinging back champagne and swapping embarrassing stories about Youssef.
I didn’t think I could do any of those things. Just this one night of opening up to something more than all the years on my own has left me split open like a chasm, face to face with how empty I’ve been all along.
It’s almost too much. I’ve been feeling these weird moments of panic ever since we got to the wedding. I don’t want to ruin the day for Youssef, but holding it all in is getting harder and harder as the night goes on.
Youssef is the one to finally break the kiss. He rests his forehead against mine as we both gasp for air. When I open my eyes, his are still closed. His expression is pained, and he’s still holding me so tight, like I’m a treasure someone else is intent on pulling away.
“Ow ow!” The moment breaks with the sound of someone whooping, and I look over to see Aaliyah with her hands cupped around her mouth. “Yeah! Get it!”
She starts clapping, and that’s when I notice that everyone in the immediate vicinity is staring at Youssef and I, some tenderly, some sharing Aayliah’s whooping enthusiasm, and some clearly appalled by the distinct lack of room for Jesus between us.
A few other people join in the applause, and when I look back at Youssef, he’s grinning.
“Whoops,” he whispers into my ear.
I’m already flushed with embarrassment. I can hear my heart hammering in my ears, and I can’t believe I let myself get so carried away. Everyone is staring at me, and the fact that I can’t pull a hood over my head or bury my hands in some floppy sleeves just makes it worse.
“Can we go?” I mutter as people start to lose interest in us. “I need some air.”
The grin slides off Youssef’s face, and he nods. “Of course. Follow me.”
I stop paying attention to where we’re going as he leads me through the party. I keep my eyes trained on the back of his suit, the black fabric highlighti
ng the planes of his shoulders. He looks good—ridiculously good—but I can’t even focus on that. I’m out of my depth, swallowed up by the newness of it all, and I need to break the surface and breathe.
We exit through some glass doors and step out onto a stone patio that’s been packed up for the fall season. The strings of little bulbs overhead are lit up, but the chairs have been piled against the wall of the hotel, and there’s no other furniture.
We’re the only ones out here. I ignore the chairs and head to the edge of the patio. I sit down right on the stone slabs and adjust my dress so I can cross my legs. Youssef sits beside me without saying a word, and for a minute, we just stare into the night. Beyond the patio, there’s a little garden area dotted with tall bushes that cast long, dark shadows on the ground, and past that, I can see one of the hotel’s parking lots. The air is cold enough that I wish I had my jacket. Youssef strips out of his as soon as he notices me running my good hand up my arm.
“Here. Indulge my gentlemanly impulses.”
He drapes the jacket around my shoulders, and I can’t help huddling into it. It smells like him, and the swaths of fabric make me feel safe.
“I’m sorry if, uh, if the kiss was too much,” he begins. “I—”
“No.” I’m still looking out at the garden, but I shake my head. “No, I just...I think I’m done with the party. You should go back in, though. I know you probably want to be with your family and stuff, not out here dealing my weirdness, so—”
I move to give him his jacket back, but he puts a hand on my shoulder and keeps it there until I look at him.
“Paige,” he says, the little lights above us casting shadows on his face, “don’t do that. Don’t pull away, okay? I’m here because I want to be here. I want to be with you.”
I watch him for a moment. “I...I want that too. I’m just not really used to it, and...”
He starts to stroke my shoulder with his thumb, and that gentle little touch is enough to make my eyes prick with heat. I don’t know what’s happening to me.
“And?” he prompts when I don’t go on.
“And...” My voice sounds so small and quivering, but that’s the part of me he’s found: the small scared part that’s been locked up for so long it doesn’t remember how to be in the light. “You could really hurt me, you know?”
He brushes a piece of hair out of my face. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Paige.”
I shiver. “Or I could hurt you.”
His thumb traces the neck of my dress. “So don’t.”
“But—”
“Paige.” He tilts my chin so that I’m looking at him. “I won’t hurt you.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and lean into his touch, closing my eyes as his hand cradles my cheek.
“What do you need?” he murmurs.
I twist my head to press my lips to his palm, and once I start, I can’t stop. I want to get lost in him, just for a moment. I want to forget about everything else. I trail my mouth down the side of his hand and then across his wrist. I hear him take a sharp breath, and I gasp when his other hand finds the small of my back.
“I want to be close to you,” I say against his skin.
I don’t just mean his body. I want to be close to who is. I want to prove that what we are is stronger than all my fear.
“Please,” I rasp before I wrap my lips around his thumb.
He swears under his breath, and the hand on my back slides up to grip my hair. “God, Paige.”
I lick the pad of his thumb and then give it a gentle scrape with my teeth. My scalp twinges when he gives my hair a sharp tug.
“Fuck. Sorry,” he says, his voice strained. “I just...Fuck.”
I open my eyes just a fraction of the way. “It’s okay. I liked it.”
He swears again, and then we’re kissing. He’s so careful of my bad arm, even when we’re clawing at each other like animals, and the tenderness just makes me want him even more. His suit jacket slides off my shoulders, and I’m moaning into his mouth with my legs slung across his lap by the time we come to our senses.
“Paige, you’re...God, I just...” His hand strokes up and down my bare thigh as he shakes his head, giving up on words.
I will myself to find my own.
“Can we...Could you take me to your room?”
His hand freezes, and he shudders like he’s straining to control himself. “You want that?”
I don’t want to wait for this anymore. This night has been a lot, and right now, I need it to be just us.
Just him and me.
I nod, my face just an inch from his. “Yes. If you do.”
He lets out a shaky breath. “I want that so bad I can’t even breathe.”
I don’t really register the minutes it takes us to reach his room. All I’m aware of is his hand in mine, tugging me through the reception room and lobby, then into the elevator and down the hall. He doesn’t even get his room’s door open before he has my back up against it.
“Paige.” His hands are on my waist, his lips on my neck. “Tell me if I should slow down, okay?”
My nerves are gone now. I just need him—now. I run my fingers through his hair and pull. He groans.
“I think you should open the door, Youssef.”
After some fumbling with the key card, we finally make it inside. It’s pitch black, and I stand in the doorway while Youssef stumbles around bumping into things before the bedside lamp clicks on.
He turns to face me and freezes. “Wow.”
I glance behind me. “What is it?”
He bursts out laughing. “You, Paige. You are wow. I...” He comes closer, taking both my hands—with some careful navigation of the splint—and looks at me with a mix of desire and wonder that makes my knees get all shaky.
“I know you don’t like people saying things about the way you look, but I...I just have to tell you, Paige. You are beautiful.” He raises our hands to his chest and holds them there. “Beautiful.”
That stupid heat pricks my eyes again. “I...I like it when you say it.”
He grins, and we just stand there for a second, like the two clueless teenagers we were all those years ago. Finally, he drops one of my hands and uses the other to lead me to the bed.
“Shall we?” he says when we reach the end of the cream-coloured comforter.
Now it’s me who starts laughing. “Did you seriously just say ‘Shall we?’”
He shifts on his feet. “Uh, yeah. I really just fucking did that, didn’t I? Wow.”
I’m still laughing when I lower myself to the mattress and roll to lay flat on my back. He flops down on his back beside me, and we both lay there, laughing and staring up at the ceiling. After a moment, he kicks his shoes off, and I start to do the same with mine before I remember I’m wearing heels with ankle straps.
Not my area of expertise.
I start to sit up, but Youssef beats me to it.
“I’ll get them for you.”
He shifts himself down to the edge of the bed before guiding me to bend my knee so he can reach my foot. His touch on my leg sends a thrill all through my body, and watching him slide the tiny black strap through the thin metal holder is way more erotic than I expected. He rubs my ankle once the strap is undone, and I let out a moan before I can stop myself.
He glances up at me, and something dark and hungry slips into his gaze. He pulls my other foot into position, and by the time my second shoe is off, I can feel every brush of his fingers sending a pulse between my legs.
I expect him to lay back down now that he’s finished, but instead, he skims his hand up my shin, over my knee, and along the top of my thigh until his fingers come to rest a few inches under the hem of my dress. My hips buck instinctively, and he draws a hiss in through his teeth.
“I really need to touch you.”
All I can do is nod as he uses his other hand to spread my thighs apart. My dress slides up a bit. The hem has almost reached my hips now. Hi
s fingers tease the inside of my thighs, trailing fire wherever he touches me. I need to feel him. I need him all over me.
By the time he starts shifting my hips, I’m about ready to just grab his hand and put his fingers where I need them. He has me paralyzed, though. I’m aching for him, but I’m mesmerized by his pace, by the way he gives just enough hints of what I want to leave me totally helpless on the bed.
Being with him this way, kissing him and feeling him touch me—it’s everything I remember, but a thousand times more intense. It means more now. He means more now.
He slides my dress all the way up to my waist, revealing my plain black thong. The cool air of the room combined with the anticipation of what he’ll do next makes me tremble.
I’m so soaked I’m sure he can see it.
“Beautiful,” he says again as he stares down at me. “Paige, you are so fucking beautiful.”
And then he runs a finger up the narrow triangle of my thong.
“Oh, fuck.” My curse comes out low and breathy. “Fuck fuck fuck. Youssef. Fuck.”
One side of his mouth twists up into a grin, and he starts to rub me harder. “Does that feel good?”
“So. Fucking. Good.”
I close my eyes and bite my lip to keep from getting any louder. He hasn’t even moved under the fabric yet, and I’m already going crazy.
“Need you...” I murmur as my hips start thrusting against his hand.
“Hmm?”
“I need you.”
I open my eyes and find him watching my face, his eyes hazy and his jaw slack.
“It sounds so good to hear you say that. I need you too, Paige. So much.”
He presses over my clit, and I moan. I don’t want to be teased anymore, and he seems to get the message. He yanks my thong to the side, and I don’t even have time to take a breath before he’s slid two fingers all the way inside me.
I cry out as my back arches and lightning streaks across my vision. I mumble something incoherent and rock against him as he starts to thrust. He makes a sound that’s close to a growl and picks up the pace. When the thumb of his other hand starts stroking my clit, I have to twist my head and bite down on the pillow.
