by Anne Connor
Bustle, commotion, love. A lot of space to grow into. A yard. A cat and a dog. At least one of each.
“Do you like it?” Drew doesn’t make much noise as he walks up next to me and moves the lace curtains on the window aside to look out at the backyard.
“I do like it. It’s very nice.”
“Did you have a dog growing up?”
“No. No dog. Our building didn’t allow them. Other tenants had them, but my mom and dad were real sticklers for rules.”
“I had a few dogs growing up. They liked to run around at my mom’s place. There’s a lot of land there.”
“I read that your mom lived upstate when you and Eric were young.”
“That’s right. Still does. I went up there a couple of days ago.”
There’s a little bit of tension in his voice, and I’m not sure if I should ask if something is wrong, or just leave him alone, even though I want to know that everything with his mom is okay.
The way he parts the curtains on the window makes the light from the setting sun dance across the warm brown hardwood floors. Even though the overhead ceiling light is off, the room is awash in gold and pink tones, like the colors you see inside your eyelids while falling asleep on your towel on a hot day at the beach.
“Everything okay with your mom?”
“Yeah. She’s fine. She’s going to try to sell the house. I wish she’d come live in the city. I’d buy this place for her, if she wanted it.”
“Do you think she’d like it? It’s got a sort of country vibe to it.”
“Yeah. You’re right. It does.”
He takes his hands away from the delicate lace curtains and lets them go slack, brushing and whispering against the floor.
“Do you like this house?”
He walks toward me, gently and purposefully, not taking his eyes off mine, until he’s standing squarely in front of me. He looks down at me from above, his chest moving up and down with his steady, even breaths.
I should just walk away. Go out the door, back to my apartment. Forget that Drew Anderson ever landed in my building. Think of him as a random rich guy who hit on me at a bar, someone whose name I don’t know. Someone whose backstory I don’t care about. Someone whose struggles I don’t identify with.
“Yes. I like it.”
He cups my chin and brushes his thumb along the edge of my bottom lip, his breath still calm and even.
Inside, my body is screaming. My heart is pounding in my chest, my ears, my throat. I feel like there is a string connecting me to Drew Anderson. I want to cut the tie between us. He is too hot, too confident, too cocky and too rich for me. He would only be at my building for two weeks, and then he would go back to his life. Even if something had happened with him at the bar the first time we met, it wouldn’t have been good. I don’t want to get my heart involved with a guy who has a reputation like Drew’s.
But for all his arrogance and cockiness, all his teasing and ribbing, he is actually being kind to me. And I want to know about him. He isn’t just what I thought he was at first.
That might even be worse.
But I’m already getting swept up in him.
My breathing is speeding up, and even though I want to be cool, to match his wit, I can’t in that moment. I’m unable to be cool.
I’m on fire.
I’m melting.
I’m left helpless by him.
As he finally tilts my chin upwards and moves his soft, full lips to brush against mine, I feel myself giving myself over to him.
His lips part slightly with mine, and he catches my upper lip between his. It’s warm and sweet, and not the least bit awkward.
This is what I was afraid of.
Drew
As if I wasn’t already a lucky bastard, here I am kissing Molly for the first time.
I knew she’d come around. They always do.
But it’s different this time.
She does something strange to me, deep inside. Like I can sense she and I are kindred spirits, and there’s something inside me only she can unlock, and that only I can do the same for her.
I slip my tongue past her parted lips and hers meets mine. I pull away from her, her hand gripping my shirt, like she’s holding on for dear life.
“You’re really fucking beautiful. You know that, right? And I want you so fucking bad.”
God, what the fuck am I doing? How does this woman have so much power over me already? This would have been the perfect opportunity for me to have a fling with this hot girl and then cut it back to the city. But I won’t. I can’t do that to her.
“Remember what you said when you knocked on my door the first time?” she asks.
“Yeah. I think I teased you about you blowing up my phone.”
“No.” She pulls her gaze away from mine and steps back a little. She’s still close, but I can feel the distance between us growing, the gulf between us spreading, even though she’s still standing before me.
“You said you were only here temporarily. And I know how this ends. You’re only here for a couple of weeks, and then you’re going back home. Maybe even sooner, you said, in case something important comes up and you have to leave. This isn’t a good idea.”
“But Molly,” I say, getting close to her again, “that was before I knew it was you on the other side of the door.”
Her beautiful brown eyes light up, like she’s coming back to life.
“I bet you say that to every girl who harasses you to come fix a leaky sink.” She punctuates her words with light, playful jabs on my chest.
“Not a chance. Only you. I do have to admit you’re the first woman whose sink I’ve fixed. I’ve done drywall, roofs, even some light electrical.” I tick off the contracting skills I have, listing them with my fingers.
“But you do have to leave at some point,” she says, turning away from me slightly, her chestnut brown hair glimmering in the faint sunlight. “I know that. I’m not stupid. You have your whole life across the East River.”
“Molly, you are less than five miles away from me.” I look tenderly into her eyes, trying to reassure her.
“But that’s like an hour on the subway.”
“Baby, you haven’t seen my sweet car yet.”
“God, you have a sweet car? Of course you do.” She pokes me square in the chest. “You would.”
“I’m going to take you upstate sometime in it.”
“Some time? That’s a line if I’ve ever heard one. I should actually be getting home, like, right now.”
“Quit your job and come hang out with me.”
“But what about your job? Remember that?”
“Of course I do. But I’ll quit. Just to spend time with you.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
“You’re right. We have a long time until we retire like this old couple that’s moving to Florida.”
Something changes subtly in her eyes. But even if she doesn’t know that I won’t hurt her, I know it.
Molly
“Do you have anything here that isn’t Ben and Jerry’s or a box of wine?”
“Yeah! I do!” I call out from my bedroom.
It’s crazy that I kissed Drew Anderson, but that’s not the most insane part. The really freaking crazy part is that I’ve invited him to come back to my apartment to hang out.
It’s like in college. Hanging out means have a make-out session in the dorm.
Come over to study? Make out.
Come over to watch a movie? Make out.
Come over to see the new awesome tape recorder I ordered online to help with my interviews for my final project in this semester’s journalism class? In case you haven’t already guessed it, some guy in my class actually used that line on me. It was fine because I liked him a lot, and he was hot. But I knew what the line was for.
You didn’t know? It was to make out.
So now, here is Drew Anderson in my apartment to “hang out.” Have a drink. I think once you reach t
he real world and have your own job and your own apartment, you’re supposed to ask the person you’re on the date with if they want to come upstairs for a drink.
So here he is for that drink, and I’m in my room, pacing about like a madwoman, unsure of what to do.
It wasn’t even supposed to be a date.
And now, I’m faced with a few different options.
I can do what Jess told me to do. Just take this opportunity to get back out there and put some distance between myself and the ex. Have a fling with Drew Anderson. I’ve done stupider things. Like the haircut I got last summer. And the aftereffects from that took longer to go away than Drew Anderson will take to go away.
But I don’t know if I’m ready for that experience. I want to think I’m mature enough to have a fling with Drew, but I don’t know if I can do it. I already know too much about him. I already find him too interesting. My mind wanders to him when he isn’t around, and I’m definitely regretting looking him up after the first night I met him.
The second option would be to just see where this all goes. Have a little faith in him, date him if that’s what he wants, and go with the flow.
But I’m not really a go with the flow kind of girl. I’ve always had everything planned out for myself. Grad school, the job, the apartment. It’s all been predetermined. There’s no way I could have predicted and planned for the contingency of Drew Anderson.
Why does he have to be so hot? It’s freaking infuriating. And his cockiness doesn't help. It’s just making it so much worse. Maybe if he wasn’t so cocky and confident, I wouldn’t be so afraid of falling for him.
It’s really the entitlement that makes me so afraid of him. The idea that he wants me, has gone after me, likes me. The way he acts like he’s already got me.
It’s frightening. It’s dangerous.
And it’s a total turn-on.
I check myself in the mirror. I need a haircut and I’m hardly wearing any makeup. I check my hands. They’re dry even though it’s the summer, and I’m in desperate need of a manicure.
Drew’s nails are better manicured than mine are.
Clarissa doesn’t need a haircut. She doesn’t need a dye-job and a mani-pedi. She lives an easy life, and she’s able to do maintenance on her appearance constantly, if she wants to, I’ll bet. It’s not crazy that Drew would go for a woman like her.
What is crazy is that he would go for a woman like me.
So, what’s my third option? My third option would be to kick him out of my apartment, avoid him in the hallways, and pretend I never met him.
“I thought you said you have food in this place,” Drew calls out from the kitchen.
“I did say that!” I yell.
Get it together, Mol!
Option three is out. I’m not going to be rude. That would be rude. After he brought me to the bar and bought me that beer flight, there’s no way I would be able to just ask him to leave. I owe him a drink, at least.
I suck in a sharp breath and turn on my heels to make my way out of my bedroom and into the kitchen.
Drew is searching my cabinets, opening each one and peeking inside. He doesn’t have to stand on his toes to reach like I do, but the edge of his shirt does ride up a little, exposing some bare, tanned skin on his lower back.
He finally checks the last cabinet and turns to face me.
“I guess I’m going to have to go grocery shopping for you. You need a fully-stocked kitchen. We need to have you nice and fed.”
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” I sit down at one of the stools at the counter facing into the kitchen. “I think there’s a granola bar in one of those drawers.”
He checks a drawer and pulls out its contents.
“This?” he asks, holding a metal spatula up.
“Try and eat that, and see what happens,” I say, hopping off the stool and walking over to grab the spatula from him.
“No time to go food shopping, I guess,” he says, putting the utensil back in the drawer and pushing it shut with his hip.
He leans back against the counter and puts his hands on my hips, pulling me close.
I guess I’ll have to go with options one or two. I’m just not so sure yet which one it’s going to be.
He slips his thumbs against my stomach as he squeezes me around the waist, pulling me closer to him. I recognize his cologne from the makeup store I like to go to. Sometimes I check the mens’ fragrances section and pick out the most expensive bottles just to sample them. I used to think it was crazy that someone would spend over two hundred dollars on a few ounces of a scented liquid, but in his arms, now I can see why he would.
But it’s not just the cologne that I can smell on him. It’s also the freshness of the evening, the dewy night time air coming through the window. He’s part of the atmosphere, and it’s like he belongs here as much as I do, even though I know he’s going to leave, one way or the other.
“So when I asked you in the bar whether you have a boyfriend or not, you really weren’t lying when you said you didn’t?” he asks, pushing my hair behind my shoulders and gathering it at the nape of my neck.
“No,” I say, looking up into his green eyes. “Why would I lie about something like that?”
“I don’t think you would. It’s just crazy that some guy hasn’t already scooped you up. But I’m glad.” He puts his lips to my ear and whispers. “I have some things in mind for you. When I saw that gorgeous little mouth of yours, I knew I needed it.”
I feel my knees get weak and I’m glad Drew is strong enough to hold me up without even noticing that I would fall down without him to grab onto.
His hands make their way to my ass, and he grazes them over my backside.
“What did you need, exactly?” I ask.
“I think you know what I needed. That I needed to kiss it. I needed to kiss you,” he says, scooping my ass into his hands and giving it a squeeze.
“You’ve done that, Drew,” I reply breathlessly, standing on my tip-toes with my arms thrown around his shoulders.
“So you know that’s not the only thing I want to do with that mouth, then,” he said, drawing his lips close to mine and taking them with his.
He tastes like spearmint and craft beer, and his chest moves slowly and steadily against mine, his breathing taking on the same even tempo as it did earlier.
I can feel his heartbeat in his chest through his skin and his thin shirt, and as he picks me up and spins me around to sit me on the kitchen counter, my mind spins with the room. The heat between my legs is unbearable, and as his lips and tongue crush mine and he spreads my legs apart so he can stand against me, I feel a hand slip up my dress and into my bra.
“I can’t wait to get you down on your knees. That pretty little mouth is all mine now, babe.”
I’ve never had someone talk to me like this before. The hot sensation between my legs has me squirming in his arms.
His tongue slips over mine and his fingers wrap around to my back to unclasp my bra. He frees my breasts from my bra in two seconds flat, and I wonder how many bras he’s unclasped in his day.
Now I really have a decision to make, but it’s like his tongue is making my brain unable to operate.
“Your body is fucking unbelievable,” he says, taking his mouth away from mine for a moment and growling into my ear.
This is the real Drew Anderson. I’m not sure whether I expected something different. Now I really have to make a choice. Options one and two are still open to me. Obviously, option three, kicking him out, is no longer a possibility. I guess I could still tell him to stop, push him away, send him to wherever it is in the building that he’s staying, and pretend to not see him around, but like I said before - that would be rude, and I certainly was not raised to be rude.
Option two seems to be flying out the window by the second, too. Date this guy? The guy who soaked my panties with just a light kiss on the lips isn’t any guy I would be able to date, and I’m starting to realize that maybe I am
just a conquest for him. I don’t want to think it, but there’s no way a guy who kisses like this and says he wants me on my knees - and of course I know what for! - would really want to take me out on a second date and then back to his mom’s house like he said.
So by process of elimination, it seems that all I am left with is option one.
A fling. It’s already a fling, I think, and it seems that the first option chose me, and not the other way around.
I can’t think straight, and I make the conscious decision to close my eyes and let myself get swept away by Drew. Or is it a conscious decision? I feel completely out of control of my own body as he picks me up again and starts to bring me toward the hallway to my bedroom. I wrap my legs around him, and I’m afraid he can feel how wet I am already. It’s embarrassing, almost, the fact that this guy has had this effect on my body so quickly.
“I think you’re going the wrong way,” I say, pulling my mouth away from him.
His mouth contorts into a wicked grin.
“What do you mean? You wanted me to fuck you right there in the kitchen? I can do that. Floor or counter?”
“No, no. I mean, I think reruns are about to start. You gotta bring me back into the living room so I can watch my shows.”
“Fuck that,” he says, putting me down and opening the door to my bedroom. “I have more than enough entertainment for you in here. You’re going to be begging for me to come over to replace your 90s sitcoms.”
“Really? You think you’re funny?” I straighten my dress out and shift my feet around, unsure of what to do. My bra is in Drew’s hands, and he turns it over, examining the lacy pink and orange fabric.
“This is pretty,” he says. “Do the panties match?”
I don’t say anything. I involuntarily suck my bottom lip between my teeth and nibble. My clit does a little jump as he walks toward me.
“Let me see,” he says, picking me up by the waist again and placing me down on the bed. I lay back and see, clearly, I am firmly within option one territory.
