by Lori L. Otto
“Yeah, I know.”
“This is gonna be your year, Em,” he says after a short, contemplative pause. “I just feel it.” He puts his arm around my shoulder and hands me my bag, holding his door open for me. “I’ll walk down with you.”
We ride down the elevator, just the two of us.
“So, we’re still on for tomorrow night, right?” I ask.
“What’s tomorrow night?”
I groan loudly in frustration. “Wicked, Nate. You promised you’d go with me. I swear, if you stand me up, I’ll–”
“I know,” he laughs. “I haven’t forgotten. A night with witches, I can’t wait.”
“Surely you’re not referring to me...”
“Surely not,” he says, ruffling my hair with his hand. “Oh, the spells you cast...” I barely hear him whisper in my ear, a shiver going straight down my spine.
“You’re funny,” I say sarcastically but nearly out of breath as we exit the elevator. The concierge hands him his keys as Nate opens the doors to his building for me. His car is waiting for him in the drive.
“Just call me,” he says as I begin to walk down the sidewalk toward my apartment.
“I will... Like ya, Nate.”
“Like ya, Em.” He gets into his sporty car, revving the engine and pulling out of the drive quickly. He pulls up beside me and stops abruptly, rolling the window down. “Oh, and burn that shirt for me.”
I stroke the ruffle that runs down my center gently and nod to him. As he drives away, I hold the fabric to my nose and breathe in the fresh scent of his fabric softener.
“You left your phone here,” Teresa says to me when I get back to our apartment, her voice irritated. “I’ve been wondering where you were all afternoon. I needed help getting things ready.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell my roommate. “I was helping Nate get dressed for his date.”
“Nate’s, of course. I should have known.”
“What can I do?”
“At this point, just get ready. People are gonna start showing up in about half an hour.” I linger in the kitchen, feeling like I’ve let her down.
“I really am sorry.”
“It’s fine, Em,” she smiles. “It’s all handled. I’m not mad.”
“Okay.”
“What time did you tell David to be here?” she asks.
“Nine-thirty. I figured I would have had enough to drink to be relaxed, but not so much that I would be completely incoherent.”
“Good plan,” she confirms. “And if things are going well, but he doesn’t seem to have the guts to kiss you, what are you going to do?”
“Take matters into my own hands. I know what to do.” We smile at each other. My biggest fear as the year was coming to an end was spending another New Year’s Eve alone, un-kissed. She had listened to me worry about this for weeks. It was silly and romantic... but that’s me. “I’m going to go shower.” I smile to myself, thinking about the kiss that is sure to come tonight. Maybe it would be my year.
By ten-thirty, I’ve decided David’s not showing up without a little prompting. I knew in the back of my head that this was a possibility since I hadn’t heard anything– email, text, or call– from him in three days. I pull out my phone and check for voicemails again. Nothing.
“Just text him,” Teresa yells over the music as she hands me another cosmo on her way back to the living space from our kitchen. “Lure him here. Promise him food, drinks, strip-tease, blow-job, whatever.”
“I’m not that desperate,” I frown.
“Yeah, you kind of are, Emi.” She hugs me. “But I love you.” I look at her, a little hurt, but admitting to myself that she’s right, even if she’s not really sober at the moment. Neither am I.
“Hey, the party’s just getting underway. I’ve saved you a Stella. You still drink those?” I tap my foot nervously, counting the seconds for a response. Still nothing. Fifteen minutes pass. The alcohol lure isn’t working... please, God, don’t make me lose all my dignity.
Thirty minutes later, having given up on David but not willing to give up on the kiss, I scan the room for other options. All the men seem to be partnered up except for two. One is kind of attractive. He catches me looking at him, and I smile and blush, looking away quickly. The other one is... not my type... but the two of them talk, giving me sideways glances as I busy myself with some carrot sticks and one more drink. I peek up from my glass and see Not-My-Type’s hand gently stroking Kind-Of-Attractive’s chest. Fuck, seriously? They entwine their fingers together and laugh. Probably at me.
I go out into the hallway, hoping for privacy but just running into a few of our friends making out in front of our neighbor’s door. I walk to the stairwell and pull out my phone, my fingers pressing numbers feverishly. The phone rings... rings... rings... pick up the damn phone, please... rings... eventually goes to voicemail.
Feeling I have no other options, I send a desperate text.
His response is not just “no” or even “No.” It’s “NO.” Got it.
Completely frustrated, I go back inside, wishing that the entire apartment would clear out so I could crawl far under my covers and hide for days and days. Eventually, the countdown comes...
10... 9... 8... 7... 6... fuck me... another year... without... any... 1.
“Happy New Year!” the room shouts in uniform cheer. I look over to my roommate, her lips locked with her boyfriend du jour, his hands all over her ass. What is so wrong with me? My breathing becomes shallow, as if I’m starting to hyperventilate. I will not burst out in tears right here in front of God and everyone. I will not. Fuck, I won’t!
I almost manage to swallow the lump that has formed in my throat as Teresa glances at me from across the room, and my eyes begin to water, giving me away. She smiles sympathetically, leaving her boyfriend behind.
“Happy New Year, Em,” she says as she throws her arms around me. She kisses my cheek. “It can only get better from here,” she says, smoothing my hair down. “Come on, come get another drink. That fucker isn’t worth a single tear. No man is.”
I wipe away that single tear that managed to drop down my cheek, but I can’t help but think that at least one man is...
NATE
CHAPTER 2
“Nate,” she whispers in my ear as I feign sleep. I don’t want to get up yet, much less continue the fight we started last night. I roll over on my back but keep my eyes closed. It seems too early to let the bright sunlight in.
“Nate?” she says again. I can’t tell by her soft voice whether or not she’s still angry at me over the conversation we had last night. Admittedly, I’m kind of surprised she’s still here at all.
When I don’t respond to her words, her lips gently touch my cheek, and make their way to my lips. I taste her lipstick, can smell the freshly applied powder on her skin. Sleepily, I respond.
Waking up to a woman kissing me is pretty exhilarating. Honestly, I like the idea of being the first thing someone thinks about in the morning. With Laney, I’m not. She always gets up, showers, and creates the perfect facade of beauty before I’m even awake. I like it when a woman feels comfortable enough with me to completely be herself, to let me see her natural beauty. Laney and I, we aren’t there yet, a month and a half into our relationship. I hope we get there soon. Even on mornings when I wake up first, she spurns any of my advances, no matter how tempting they may be. It’s frustrating that none of my reassuring compliments make any difference to her.
Suddenly, I feel her legs straddle mine. I touch them, finding them to be completely bare. As my hands continue to travel up her body, I learn she’s naked. I’m fully awake now, opening my eyes to admire her body on top of mine. There is nothing better in the world than morning sex.
I guess I have the answer to my question. I guess she isn’t mad after all. “Good morning, baby,” I say to her, the effects of a good night’s sleep still lingering in my voice. She doesn’t return the greeting verbally. She just pulls my boxer shorts d
own my legs, throwing them carelessly on the floor, positioning herself over me. I guide her slowly, both of us letting out heavy sighs at the feel of one another.
She rocks back and forth as she lightly grazes my chest with her fingernails. My eyes finally look up to meet hers, but she’s not watching me. Her eyes are closed, her head angled toward the ceiling. As I put my hands on her waist to pull myself into her deeper, her steady breathing quickly turns into small gasps. Her painted fingernails dig into my skin, the pain somewhat pleasurable. She moves faster and her cries of passion get louder and louder.
I can feel the stirring inside begin, and I roughly pick her up off of me and throw her on her back against the mound of pillows on my bed. She whines, upset that I’ve stopped before she’s had her release.
“I’ll make it up to you,” I assure her, climbing on top of her, taking her left leg in my hand and kissing her knee before returning to her. She mumbles something unintelligible as her hands grasp the ends of my hair. She quickly finds her pace again as short wisps of air escape her smiling lips. I am completely overcome and give into my desire until I climax, taking her roughly, fast, my need for her feeling suddenly insatiable. Her hands fall limply to the bed as her chest rises and falls quickly.
“I love you, baby,” I tell her finally, and the exhaustion quickly sets in. I collapse on top of her, delivering a few kisses to her stained lips. I roll over onto my back and breathe heavily.
“I love you,” I repeat to her wearily, glancing over at her and smiling. She normally returns the sentiment, sidles up to me, rests her head on my shoulder and plays with my hair.
But that doesn’t happen this morning. Instead, she gets up off the bed and stomps her way to the bathroom, picking up her clothes along the way with purpose.
“Laney?” I call after her. I hear the bathroom door close, and wonder if she might still be angry after all.
Last night was not the best New Year’s Eve I’ve ever had, to say the least. We had gone out to a nice, secluded sushi restaurant for dinner, and then to a crowded club after that. We came back to my loft– freshly cleaned, just for the occasion– around eleven-thirty so we could toast the new year with champagne at my home. It was one of the few nights of the year I actually planned to drink. This year, I was hoping for a very romantic evening. It was shaping up to be just that, and up until that point, the night had been perfect.
My phone rang, and I decided to ignore the call. I was sure it was just my mother. She called me every year on this night shortly before midnight, even though I was typically with a woman and I never answered her call. She would leave a message, wishing me a happy new year, and confirming our plans for lunch on the second. We had the same routine, year after year.
But no message was left, and a few minutes later, I got a text message. Laney happened to check the phone before I could get to it.
“Is it safe to come over?” it said, and Laney read it aloud not once, not twice, but three times, her voice getting louder with each repetition. I knew the text message was harmless, knew exactly who it was from, but Laney didn’t know the whole story.
“I thought you said that you and Emi were just friends!” she started yelling, throwing the phone onto the sofa across the room. Laney had consumed about seven drinks at that point in the evening, so the irrational reaction didn’t come as a surprise to me. I was a little irritated, though, and walked over to the phone, texting back my answer to her question: “NO.”
“Laney, I’ve told you, we are just friends. You’re being ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?!” she continued. “Then why is she asking to come over to your place at midnight? On New Year’s Eve? Friends with benefits, maybe? Is that what’s going on?”
“No,” I answered calmly. “She knows we’re together tonight. I have no idea why she’d want to come over.” I had hoped– for her sake– that everything was okay at her party, but I knew immediately when I got that text that her night hadn’t turned out how she wanted it to. The selfish man inside me smiled a little, though. I don’t know why. Emi and I were never going to be anything more than friends. I had accepted that long ago. She was looking for something I was unable to give her.
“I have some ideas,” Laney said sarcastically, finishing off both glasses of champagne that I had poured for our toast and crossing her arms in frustration.
“It’s not like that with us,” I warned my girlfriend. “Her roommate has guys over sometimes, and there’s no privacy in their apartment. Sometimes she likes to come over here to get away, that’s all.”
“She stays the night over here? When you’re here?!”
“Laney, calm down. This is no big deal. I swear to you, Emi and I are just friends,” I explained.
She glared at me in disbelief and was completely silent, waiting for more clarification.
“How many times do I have to remind you that we’ve been best friends since high school, Lane? We’ve been through a lot together– as friends. Yes, she stays over here sometimes. That’s why I have a guest room.”
“What do you do when she comes over at a quarter till midnight?” she asked, clearly insinuating lascivious acts of passion.
“I don’t know, what do most friends do? We work, or talk about things, or watch movies, or do something completely innocent,” I pleaded.
“What do you talk about?” she asked, wiping the tears that were forming in her eyes. I sighed heavily and walked over to comfort her. She shrugged away from me, angrier than I had anticipated. The night definitely wasn’t going as well as I had hoped.
“Sometimes I bounce some ideas off of her for my next piece. Sometimes we talk about music. Sometimes we bitch about clients. We talk about our families–”
“Do you talk about me?”
Do I say yes or no? Is there a right answer? And if so, what the hell is it? I take a gamble, knowing I have a fifty-fifty shot at getting it right. “Well, yes, Laney, you’re a part of my life, of course we talk about you.”
“What kind of things do you say?” she slurred, her speech succumbing to all the drinks she had consumed. Had Laney been sober, she wouldn’t have cared about all of this, would she? We had talked about Emi before, multiple times, and they were all just fleeting conversations, as this one should have been. This was the alcohol talking.
“Laney... really... maybe we should just go to bed and talk about this in the morning.”
“What kind of things do you say about me?!” she yelled, emphasizing each and every word. I sighed again. What sort of things do I say about her to Emi? Honestly, I make it a habit to talk very little about my girlfriends to Emi. I had learned my lesson long ago. I used to go on and on about how this girl was the one, and then we’d break up a month later. I repeated it so many times that even I got tired of hearing it. I could see the doubt in Emi’s eyes after awhile. That even started putting doubt in my own mind.
“I just talk about things we do,” I said nonchalantly.
“Like in bed?” Her question was so inane that I didn’t even want to dignify it with a response. Why waste my breath on that one?
“No, Lane, not things we do in bed,” I said, rolling my eyes and taking a seat on the couch. “I do have some sense of decency.”
Well, there was that one time, but Emi made it clear she didn’t want to hear about it anyway. There was no point in trying to make her jealous, and when I realized that’s what I was doing, I never finished the story.
“Then what?”
“I tell her how much fun we have together. I tell her about the restaurants we go to or the exhibits we see.”
“And?” she said after a heavy sigh. I could feel her calming down. I tried to soothe her as best as I could, trying to salvage what was left of the night. We had already missed midnight.
“I tell her how beautiful you are.” I pulled her on the couch next to me and put my arm around her. She sat up straight, careful not to return my affection.
“And?” she said with these wee
py eyes.
“I tell her how much I love you, how much I care about you...”
She blinked and one last tear escaped from her eyes. I brushed it away with my thumb as I took her head in my hands.
“And I tell her how wonderful you make me feel,” I whispered in her ear before lightly kissing her forehead.
Her eyes looked even more brown, more beautiful, after she had been crying. When she quietly sighed and looked down, I pulled her head back up so her eyes could meet mine once again.
“Do you know how wonderful you make me feel?” I leaned back in and pressed my lips to her cheek. “Because I know how wonderful I can make you feel.” I kissed her ear.
She playfully slapped me away. “Don’t try that on me tonight. I’m going to bed.” She started to walk away, but I caught her arm and held her back. I kissed her hand, then her wrist.
“Um, no, Nate. You’re not getting laid tonight,” she said adamantly. As she stumbled toward the bed, she began to undress, leaving her clothes strewn across the floor of my loft. When she was completely naked, she turned around seductively and said, “Good night.” With that, she cuddled under the blankets, making sure to take them all, and turned her back to me.
“Really? You’re still angry?” I asked in disbelief. I wasn’t used to getting turned down.
“I need to think about it,” she mumbled. “I have a headache.” I was sure that was true and not an excuse.
I was hoping that she would quickly think about it, and then quickly realize how silly she had been. I’d decided to take a hot shower to clear my head. I was hoping she would join me, so the shower lasted longer than normal as I had given her ample opportunity. I toweled off and walked over to the bed, wearing only my boxers. As I crawled on the bed from behind her and kissed her cheek, I tried to get under the covers with her, but she pulled them tighter around her body and, again, told me good night. Point taken.
