“So you’re pretty much only good when you’re in here?”
“Seems so,” I say, and once again start to clear the table.
Nico stands up and starts to wander around my small apartment. “Where’s your cat? It kept me company the other day.”
“He’s probably under my bed. He likes to hide. That’s his favorite pastime.” I open the cabinet and take out a box of treats. As soon as I shake it, Julius comes running full speed, the tiny bell on his collar jingling. I give him a fish-shaped treat and he scampers over onto the couch.
Turning on the television, Nico picks up Julius and pets him, which makes my cat very happy, if you judge by his loud purring. I’ve never been jealous of my cat before. I’m still looking at Nico when our eyes meet and I feel the blood rush to my face. I quickly turn back around and busy myself with the dishes. I remember that he drinks coffee, so I put on a pot as I finish up.
Remembering I have my mother’s good china cups, I open the cabinets above the stove and get on the tips of my toes, but I still can’t reach the cups. I’m struggling to get to them when strong hands grip my waist, startling me. “Let me.” Nico’s husky voice reverberates down my spine as he moves me aside, reaches up, and brings them down. His eyes are on me. “I’m glad that touching isn’t an issue.”
“Me too.”
He’s looking at my mouth and I think he’s going to kiss me. We are standing so close in my small kitchen, I can see the way his eyes are dilated and his Adam’s apple bobs in and out. Instead he clears his throat.
“Maybe I should go.”
“Why? I mean, you don’t have to.” I point to the coffeepot. “I made coffee. You like coffee, I remembered.” I’m talking too fast now, and it’s obvious that I’m nervous. He runs his thumb down my cheek.
“Breathe,” he says, and I exhale and inhale, but our eyes are still connected.
“You have such a pretty mouth.” His thumb is now swiping across my lip. I can’t help but release a tiny little whimper, and my hand goes to his chest because I need to hang on. “I think the shit I said about being friends flew out the window when you opened the door today. I’m a fucking idiot.”
“I won’t hold that against you,” I respond. My voice is raspier than I intend it to be. I feel like I’m outside my body looking down. My head gets fuzzy and my heart begins to tattoo against my chest. It’s similar to the beginning of a panic attack, but instead of wanting to run away, I want to cling to this feeling forever. It’s as if excitement, newness, and hope are all swirling around the pit of my stomach like butterflies. His hand leaves my face and I don’t know what possesses me, but I grab his wrist. “No,” I say, but I don’t know what I’m stopping him from doing.
“What is it?” he asks softly, taking a step closer to me.
“Don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He takes another step, pinning me against the counter. This is where I should be scared. I should want to run.
But I don’t.
“What do you need, Katherine? What do you want?” His eyes are searching, and he looks tormented. I think he wants to kiss me but isn’t sure if that’s what I want—or at least that’s what I’m hoping is on his mind.
So I don’t answer.
“This is what I think,” he says huskily, getting closer. His body is now pressed against mine. “I think you want to kiss me.”
I nod tentatively. Because hell, that is exactly what I want. Again he swipes the pad of his thumb across my lip, and the sensation of his closeness and his skin on mine is making me heady.
“Good, because even when I was confused and angry and carried you home, that damn mouth of yours…I’ve wanted it.” And then he’s on me. No reprieve, no gentleness. His soft beard brushes against my face and his leg is pressed between my thighs as his tongue slides into my mouth. It’s wanton and intense and he’s holding on to the back of my neck in a way no one has ever held me.
Possessive.
Aggressive.
Exhilarating.
It’s the best feeling in the world. I grip his shirt and open my lips so that he knows I want this as much as he does. Our tongues battle as I press against him. He wraps my hair around his hand and pulls back, exposing my neck, which he quickly begins to kiss. “And this fucking hair,” he growls against my neck.
Julius takes that opportunity to jump on the counter behind me to watch. “Motherfucker!” Nico yells, and leaps back.
“Shoo. Go away, Julius,” I say to my cock-blocking cat. To Nico I say, “Don’t stop. Ignore him.”
Nico leans his forehead against mine, and my fingers go into his beard, caressing his face. “I should stop.” He’s breathing as fast I am. “I should go.”
“Or you could stay.”
“I really shouldn’t.” But he doesn’t make any effort to leave. Our breathing is ragged.
“You want to get out of the kitchen?” I ask.
“Give me another second.” His eyes are closed and we are still pressed together. I can feel his hardness against me.
“I’m going to go, Katherine,” he says, as if he’s made a difficult decision.
“You are?” I know I’m pouting as I say this, but I really don’t want him to go.
“I have to. If not, I won’t be able to stop.”
“So don’t.”
He groans. “Don’t say shit you can’t handle. I’m the first person you’ve had contact with in months, maybe years. We can’t just start having sex. Not yet, at least.”
“Okay,” I say, not certain what it is he wants.
He kisses my nose and steps back. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Thank you for coming.”
“I wish I had,” he mumbles, sounding frustrated. “Can I see you on Monday?”
I’m sad that he says Monday. That’s two whole days away. “Okay.”
He kisses me less passionately this time. “Good night, Katherine.”
“Good night, Nico.”
At the door, he looks back. “You’re not at all what I expected.” He kisses me again.
“You’re quite unexpected too,” I say softly.
That night I sleep a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
Seven
Faint
Nico
I wake up the next day feeling like shit. I tossed and turned all night. Katherine surprised the shit out of me with that kiss. For some reason I expected her to be shy and inexperienced. Instead she was eager and demanding and…experienced? That thought doesn’t sit well with me. From seeing her driver’s license, I know that she’s thirty-two, so it’s not like I expected her to be a virgin. But since she rarely leaves her house, I guess somewhere in my perverse mind I thought maybe she would be.
That kiss, though…that kiss told a different story. It showed me that she knew exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it, and fuck me if her assertiveness didn’t make my dick hard. But even so, I need control in the bedroom—it’s the way I’m built. So even if she’s assertive, I need her to let me take charge.
If I really think about all her issues, control seems to be the common denominator—feeling out of control frightens her. I don’t want her to be scared of me, but if we ever do have sex, I need her to let me take charge. I’m worried that’ll be a hard no for her, though. I’m probably jumping the gun even thinking about sex, but after that kiss, I know that’s where we’re inevitably headed.
Our busiest day at the club is Saturday, and I’m supposed to go in early and begin setting up, just like I’ve done for years.
After my morning run and subsequent swim, I look at my phone and don’t see anything from Matt. I want to know how last night went—it’s the first Friday I didn’t show up at Panic. I can’t stand not knowing. No, Katherine isn’t the only one with control issues.
But I’m also too mad and too proud to call my brother. I’m pacing around my house like a maniac when I get a text from Katherine: Hi.
I feel my mouth go from a scowl t
o a smile with that one simple word. Instead of texting back, I dial her number. “Hello,” I say when she answers.
“I wasn’t sure if I should text or call,” she admits, and I’m happy she’s thinking about me in the first place.
“Either’s good so long as you do one or the other.”
“What do you do during the day? I assume you don’t start at Panic until night?”
“Normally I work out in the mornings and then head to the club and get things ready, do inventory, wait for shipments, stuff like that. During the week I usually have meetings with different vendors, and on weekends it’s just the craziness of making sure everything’s ready for when the doors open at eight, although it doesn’t really get busy until eleven or so.”
“So you’re getting ready to leave, then?” she asks.
I look at my watch. It’s two in the afternoon, I should’ve been at the club a long time ago.
“I decided not to go in today,” I tell her, and quickly change the subject. “And you? What’s your day like?”
“It’s the same every day, pretty much. I wake up, shower, have breakfast, sit and work, eat lunch, work some more, work out, have dinner, watch some television or read, and then go to sleep.”
“Even on the weekends?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Jesus, Katherine,” I say, running my hand through my wet hair. Her life is so dull and monotonous, it breaks my heart.
“It’s not so bad.”
“Which part of your day am I interrupting right now?”
“The part where I figure out what to make for dinner. I skipped lunch and I’m starving. I was just going through my fridge.”
“What are you going to make?”
“Usually I have all my groceries delivered on Monday and I plan everything so I have enough ordered, but today, I have to admit, I don’t have much planned. And I don’t have the makings for anything elaborate. So I’ll probably make some spaghetti or something.”
“Did you say all of that in one breath?”
She laughs, and her voice is a little raspy through the phone, making my dick stand to attention. “Sorry. I’m not so good at small talk.”
“You’re doing just fine,” I say. “So tell me about your workout. I saw a treadmill.”
“Yes. I do five miles on it every day, and then an hour of yoga.”
“Wow.”
“I used to be on the track team in high school.”
“Where was that?”
“I was born and raised in New York, but after my parents divorced, my dad moved to Miami, so I’d spend some time here. But mostly New York. I loved running in Central Park.”
“So you used to be an outdoorsy person?”
“Yep, I wasn’t born like this or anything. In fact, I’ve been fine most of my life.”
“I want to take you out.”
“Out? Like on a date?”
“Exactly like that. But I don’t want to pressure you into anything, I want you relaxed.”
She doesn’t say anything, and I don’t know her well enough to gauge what she’s thinking. The only things I know about her are the little things I’ve learned through our text sessions, and that she scares easily, and that she’s a fantastic fucking kisser. The rest I don’t know, but damn if I don’t want to find out. She intrigues me in ways no one ever has. She’s drop-dead gorgeous but has absolutely no clue. She’s shy yet feisty. Scared but fucking braver than most. If you met her in a random place, she’d seem like the most normal person. And yet she’s by far the oddest person I’ve ever met, and I don’t mean that in a negative way at all. I mean she’s odd in a way that caught my attention and makes me want to know more.
“We don’t have to go anywhere,” I add. “I’ll order a pizza and we can stay in. Maybe watch that movie we never got around to watching. I want to get to know you. I’d really like a chance to do that.”
“Nico, what if you don’t like the person you get to know?”
My heart breaks for her. “I think that’s impossible.”
“But Nic—”
“I’m not going to let you push me away when we’ve barely just started getting to know each other. Plus, I’d really like to kiss you again. I’m coming over,” I say, not giving her a chance to make up a million excuses or work herself into a frenzy. Now that I’ve spent countless hours researching her condition, I feel as if I know enough to understand that she spirals out of control when she starts thinking too much about something that may give her anxiety. Dialing my favorite pizza joint with one hand, I lock up my apartment with the other.
Katherine
I’m in soft leggings with a crazy print, sneakers, and a T-shirt that used to have a neck but has stretched so much it falls to the side, leaving my shoulder exposed. I need to change before he gets here. He lives close by, from what he’s told me. Quickly I begin to tidy up my apartment, but in less than ten minutes there’s a knock on the door.
“Shit. Shit. I didn’t change yet,” I say to myself, hopping in place and flapping my hands. “Julius, what do I do?”
“You open the door, corazón.” I hear his deep voice through the door, and that word, corazón, makes me feel discombobulated. My mother used to call me “my heart.” From living in Miami this long, I’ve picked up a few Spanish words and I know that corazón means “heart.” I also know that in Spanish it’s a common, almost throwaway term. Even knowing this, my heart can’t help but flutter.
I unlock all the bolts and the chain. “That was fast.”
“You know I live close. I ordered the pizza, and it should arrive soon,” he says, and comes right in. I’m fidgeting with my shirt, and he takes my wrists and stops me.
“What’s going on? Tequila?” he asks, using our safe word.
“No, no tequila. I wanted to change,” I admit, looking down at my frumpy attire.
“I wouldn’t change a thing,” he says, and lifts my chin with his hand so I’m forced to look at him. He brushes his lips against mine, and it’s nothing like yesterday’s kiss, but yet it’s everything. Yesterday was hormones, lust, and uncertainty. Today it’s promise, tenderness, and familiarity. Still standing by the door, he laces his fingers with mine and tugs me into my apartment. “I hope you like everything on your pizza. I should’ve asked before I ordered.”
“Works for me,” I say as he sits on my couch and tugs me down next to him. He surprises me by reaching to the top of my head and pulling the hair tie out. Yesterday we were sort of pushed together by Matt, and before that I wasn’t sure if he even believed me about the PTSD. Now it’s as if he’s made some sort of decision and I’m what he’s chosen. He’s sure of himself and of what he wants, and there’s no pretense or awkwardness.
“I like it down,” he says.
“It’s too long. Once I get myself together, I’m getting a haircut. It’s my first order of business.”
“Not too much. It’s the first thing I noticed about you,” he says, wrapping a hank of hair around his fingers. There’s an intimacy in the way he’s sitting close to me, touching me, talking to me, that’s exhilarating.
“You didn’t go to the club today? Does that mean you’re still mad at Matt?”
“Yes. But I don’t want to talk about Matt. I mean, he hasn’t even bothered to call,” he starts. “After everything I’ve done for him, for the club, all the sacrifices, he could’ve called. He could’ve apologized.”
“So we are talking about it, then?” I smirk.
He leans in and give me another kiss on the lips, but this time he lingers a little longer and his big hand tightens around the back of my neck. “Don’t be a wiseass.”
“Look, I don’t know the whole story, but it seems to me that you don’t like to argue with your brother. It also seems to me, based on the little that I know of you, that you have a lot of pride and don’t want to be the first one to call.”
He guffaws and leans back. “I’m not calling him.”
Rolling my eyes,
I say, “Exactly. So maybe he’s at the club or at home thinking the same thing. Yesterday he sounded hurt—from what I gathered, he’s upset that you don’t have any faith in his ability.”
“I do have faith in his ability.”
“You sure about that? Have you told him that?” When he doesn’t say anything, I continue. “I don’t know you all that well, and I know Matt even less well, but I do know that you will feel better if you forgive him. Forgiveness is about you, not him. You don’t want all that weighing on you. Plus, he’s your brother and it’s not good to leave things in an argument. God forbid something happens to him—you’ll always have that guilt and regret lying heavily on your shoulders. It’s not worth it.”
There’s a knock on the door, and he stands up and motions for me to stay where I am. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll think about it,” he says as he opens the door and pays for the pizza. He brings it over and puts it on the coffee table right in front of me.
“Smells so good!”
“You have beer?” he asks, walking to my kitchen.
“In the fridge.”
“You want one too?”
“Sure.”
I hear him rummaging through my kitchen. He seems so comfortable in my house, and it feels so natural that I’m a little taken aback. I mean, it’s only been a few weeks since I met him, but it’s not as if we’ve been on the best of terms for most of that time.
He comes back with some napkins and beers. “Tell me you’re not a fork-and-knife pizza eater.”
I chuckle as I pull out a slice and fold it in half. “I’m a New Yorker. Of course not.”
He smiles and takes his own slice, and we eat in companionable silence as he fumbles with the remote control.
Nico
“I’m stuffed,” she says, and pats her flat stomach. I can’t believe the woman ate as much as I did. “Hey, I baked that cake today. You want some?”
“You did?”
“You sound surprised.”
“Do you know the last time I ate an actual home-cooked meal—other than yesterday?” I don’t wait for her to answer. “Years. Well, no, Christmas and Thanksgiving at my sister’s house. But other than that, years. I eat fast food and take-out every day.”
Pull Me Close: The Panic Series Page 10
