by J. R. Rogue
He looked down at his feet and laughed. I had changed into rain boots, but he hadn’t. He was wearing a pair of converse. He was always wearing converse. I had a couple pairs, but he had many. I always laughed when I saw a new color. Today he was wearing bright green high tops, untied.
“It’s right here,” he said.
“What is?” I asked, squinting in the light, narrowing my eyes at his shoes.
He smiled, looking a little embarrassed. “I write dates on them. On my shoes. My old black ones, the ones that are falling part, I wrote the day my sister died on them. I will never forget the day my world changed. I don’t need it there to remember, but I write it back in when it gets rubbed off. Every black pair I get. It was a black day. I have a pair with the date I met your brother on them. A pair with the day I graduated high school. The day I wrote my first song. I carry them over, when it’s time to throw one away. This pair has the day I found your poetry on them.”
“Why green?” I asked, mesmerized.
“Green, for me, is about becoming new again. I could breathe again when I read your words. I believed I could grow after reading them, despite my past. I felt hope.”
We sat silent for a moment. He waited for me to think about his words. Again, I didn’t know what to say. Eventually he cut in again. “I’m glad you decided to come back here. I’m glad it has helped.” He smiled, and I knew I had to tell him.
“It hasn’t,” I said, never wavering from his eyes.
His forehand wrinkled. “But you said you’re writing? I know you have been.”
“It’s not this place though. It’s you.”
I didn’t want him to say anything. I wanted him to get off that futon, come over to me and kiss me. To put me out of my misery. These small walls were closing in. The scent of him, his confession, my own, my past, it was choking me. I needed his lips, his hands, I needed him to breathe into me. I needed something to calm me. To make me feel clean.
He stayed still. His light eyes burning into my own. We stayed like that for a while. Finally I broke the current. I looked down at my hands and at my notebook. I heard Chace move around, then the sound of his guitar lightly filled the space again. I looked at him, he was looking down. He spoke low.
“I don’t want to play games. So many women just want what they can’t have. I’m a simple guy. When I like a girl, I ask her out. When the feeling is gone, we don’t go out anymore. I know you’re a little caught up in how this looks instead of how it feels, but I know I’m not alone in this.”
“No, you’re not,” I whispered.
“Okay then,” he paused. “Come sit over here with me. Let’s just write.”
Over the next week, I had no alone time with Chace. After class and work, he had Aiden over. The boy’s mother had taken extra shifts and needed someone to watch him. I got to know the child pretty well. He was loud but polite and funny. The three of us ate and cooked dinner together. A couple nights Kat joined us.
I informed her of everything that had transpired with my roommate. She became a vocal “Team Chace” member. I spent lunches with her dissecting every move he made and what it meant. I felt like we were teenagers again, examining our crush’s movements and words, tearing every sentence apart.
Once, while we prepared dinner, Chace walked by me to get milk from the fridge and lightly touched the back of my arm, sending lightning through me. He smiled as he walked back, knowing.
I would explode if I did not get alone time with him to figure everything out. The only thing that eased the tension was our nearly constant texting. We asked each other questions, we offered truths, and it thrilled me.
One thing I had learned about him was that he played hockey but didn’t have time to lately with his crazy work schedule. Now that that was over, he would be playing again in an adult league. He wanted to find time to teach Aiden to skate as well. I was always finding new things to admire about him. He didn’t let anything hold him back.
I began hounding my brother about his band’s gigs. He informed me they had a gig lined up, one for this weekend. I asked Kat if she wanted to go. And Chace. I planned to stay sober. I didn’t want Chace to have any excuse for not kissing me this time. I never wanted anything so bad.
I started riding my new bike up and down the driveway to relieve the tension. I also wrote. I had found a new confidence in my poetry due to Chace and his words. He had read them. He had loved them. I wrote now, for him and for myself. I wanted him to read the new words he had inspired.
When Saturday evening finally rolled around, I was a ball of nerves again. It was worse than the previous week. This time I knew something would happen. Chace and I picked Kat up at her apartment and met Andrew and the band at the bar where they were playing.
Chace couldn’t have looked any more desirable. When he came downstairs in a dark grey fitted t-shirt, dark denim, and white converse, my stomach somersaulted.
A table close to the stage was reserved for us at the bar. Again, I found Kat on her phone a lot leading up to the show. I wanted to ask her who she is talking to, but couldn’t in front of everyone. I wondered if she had a new man in her life, and felt a sting. I wanted there to be one but I would be hurt if she didn’t feel like she could share that with me. I had poured out every feeling I had about Chace. Knowing me, I wasn’t giving her a moment to even open up about her own romance. I had such a bad habit of not being the kind of person others felt they could confide in. I hoped this wasn’t also true with my best friend.
The bar was packed with a lot of women. The band, all very attractive, had a large group of females surrounding them before the show. Chace joined them as soon as we were seated and with drinks. I only planned on having one.
I immediately recognized one female amongst the many. Chace’s ex. She was chatting up the drummer while he set up. When she noticed Chace, she cut the conversation short and approached him. I watched them, jealousy swirling, despite my best efforts. I nudged Kat, she leaned towards me.
“That’s Chace’s ex,” I whispered.
“Oh,” she mouthed, casually observing them. The conversation seemed to be light. It didn’t last long. Chace excused himself and made his way to my brother. A deeper conversation formed between them, their heads were low, excluding those around them.
I wondered if my brother knew anything about us. Not that there was an “us.” Chace made his way back to our table, the band headed to the stage, and the lights lowered. My brother reached for the microphone.
“Hey everyone! Thanks for coming out. We’re BTPCM. Enjoy!”
A large roar erupted from the crowd. I looked at Chace with a question on my face.
“Band That Plays Country Music!” He yelled over the crowd, smiling widely. “Andrew picked the name.”
I laughed loudly and fell back into my seat. It shouldn’t have surprised me at all. It was so him. I turned around in my seat, taking in the sea of people. They really knew how to pack them in. I enjoyed live music immensely. I always ended up having a crush on the singer, that would obviously not be the case with this performance, but I expected it would be the case for many in the room.
My brother was easy on the eyes. He stood over six feet tall, was slender yet built, had shaggy light brown hair, and crystal blue eyes. When he began singing, I added “beautiful voice” to his traits.
Kat was enraptured, I could tell. I recalled the fun she had with him last weekend. If she developed a crush on my little brother, I would have mixed emotions. That was a given. Chace, beside me, so close, was tapping his foot. I focused on the lyrics, wondering when he wrote them. Wondering if they were about his ex. I found her in the crowd. Her eyes were focused on me. They quickly flew to the stage when she caught my own.
I focused mine there again as well. My breath caught when I felt Chace’s hand reach for mine, where it rested on the edge of my seat, below the table. I turned to him. His gaze flickered to mine briefly, then back to the stage. So, I did the same.
He be
gan slowly running his fingers along my own. Back and forth, lightly. My breath left me. I clenched my legs. He was doing things to me with a barely-there touch that others had been unable to do tangled with me between the sheets.
I focused ahead, trying not to make noise. His hand found my knee, bare. I internally patted myself on the back for wearing a skirt. His fingers traced circles on my skin in time with the music. I tried to listen to the words, but I couldn’t hear anything but my own heart.
Andrew’s band was amazing, but I wanted this concert to end. Now. I wanted to be alone with this man. My lips parted as his hand went a bit higher, in my peripheral I saw him notice, his hand clenching at the sight. His eyes traveled down, to my chest, to the heavy up and down of my breathing.
Then, he pulled his phone out and began texting. Who could he be texting right now? His left hand never stopped moving on my thigh. My phone lit up on the table. Chace’s name appeared. I snatched it up before Kat could see.
Chace: You’re killing me…
Me: What the fuck do you think you’re doing to me?
Chace: This week has been torture. All I have been able to think about is touching you. Then you wear this skirt. You. Are. Killing. Me.
Me: You’re doing the same to me. And death never looked so fucking beautiful.
He laughed at my last text. My foul mouth was coming out and I was being cheesy. I finished my drink, my only drink, and headed for the restroom. I mourned the feeling of his hand falling from my lap. I felt him watch me as I walked away. It burned.
I walked into the restroom, finding the sink immediately. I splashed cold water on neck then headed for an opened stall. I needed a moment. I put the seat down and sat there to catch my breath.
I heard the bathroom door open again, an unknown number of giggling girls entered. The smell of alcohol followed. I tuned them out, staring at my phone and the texts between Chace and me until I heard my name outside the stall. My pen name. My focus went to the girls.
“Yeah. She writes those porn novels. I can’t believe he would be interested in her.” I had one guess as to who that was. Chace’s ex. Another voice chimed in.
“Did he say he is? Isn’t she like in her thirties or something? What a cradle robber.”
“Yeah. I guess he likes them old now.” Charming girl.
“Don’t sweat it. Maybe she will head back to New York soon. Good riddance. He doesn’t need someone like that. He needs a good Christian girl like you. He’ll figure it out.”
I was reminded once again I was in the Bible belt where many frowned upon my work. I had received some stares in my time home. I decided to meet the little gossipers head on. I was still giddy from Chace’s touch and my drink.
I pushed open the stall door and walked over to the sink next to the ex. Her friend stared over her shoulder. Eyes wide. I washed my hands and turned to her back. Tapping my finger on her shoulder.
“Hi,” I beamed as she turned to me. “Just so you know, I don’t plan on going back to New York. I like it here. I like the company. I like Chace. Chace likes me. Time to move on.”
I walked away, the sound of my boots echoing in the silent bathroom. I waved as I left the restroom.
I headed straight for the bar, and waited for the two girls to emerge. I flagged down the bartender and pointed them out. I handed over a wad of cash, asking that he make sure they did not drive home drunk. I turned to see Chace staring at me. Then glancing at his ex, then back to me, a question was there in his eyes. I turned my head to the side and smiled.
The rest of the concert was amazing. I was so proud of my brother and Chace. I paid more attention to his lyrics for the rest of the night. His hand immediately found mine once I returned to my seat. He had me flustered once more. He would let go for minutes at a time, only to reach for me again. My body, a rollercoaster of emotions, was on the brink.
Kat drank quite a bit. She swayed in her seat with the music, enjoying herself. I noticed Andrew wink at her once during the show, I turned to Kat and questioned her with my eyes. She just rolled them at me, playing off the flirtation. I was beginning to suspect them more and more. After the show, we hung around as the band signed autographs and talked with fans.
After we dropped Kat off, Chace’s jeep was silent. His hand reached over to mine and held it firmly. I stared out the window, my hair whipping in the breeze, and smiled. We drove down the driveway slowly.
The April air was warm. Leaves were growing quickly on the trees, flowers were blooming all around the house. My heart beat faster as the house came into view. Chace parked and I quickly jumped out, heading for the porch. He cut me off, grabbing my hand and leading me towards the large pond on the property. A small deck jettisoned out into the water. We walked on the wood to the end and sat. He laid back, so I did too.
The stars were bright, a full moon shone in the sky, illuminating us. Chace turned onto his side, facing me and reached over, running his fingers along the skin exposed between my shirt and skirt. I parted my lips, sighed, and closed my eyes. His hand left me and my eyes flew open, he reached over and brushed the hair from my ear, exposing my neck. I closed my lids again, and turned my head to the side. Once again inviting his lips to my neck. Knowing this time he would accept the offer.
He spoke then, his soft voice, hushed, I turned, to hear him better. He was staring at the hand lightly tracing my skin.
“I saw you on T.V. last year. I remember. That day I went to drop some music off with your brother. He was so excited. His sister was going to be at the Oscars. So I watched that night. I wanted to see more than just the pictures from the house and the ones in magazines. You were wearing that white dress. Your hair was pulled up. I had never seen anyone more beautiful.”
He stopped, pointing down to his shoes. I looked.
White converse, with the date I walked down the red carpet with Tristan, written in black ink. I closed my eyes, and he continued.
“I wrote so many songs about you. That dress. Your hair. Your skin. But here, the way you look to me right now…that doesn’t compare to this. To the way you feel. I know it sounds silly. I never thought I could be the kind of guy to have a woman like you turn his way. I broke up with my ex when I found out you were coming here. Not that I thought I had a chance, but being with someone when you have these, these thoughts, it’s not fair. I just wanted to be free. I want to know everything about you. Not just the pretty things, the dark, the dirt. And I want you to see mine.”
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. I opened my eyes and stared at his own, they were trained on his hands. I willed him to look at me. He finally did, and he held my gaze.
“What are you thinking?”
I could barely think with his words and his hands on me.
“I’m just trying to figure out if you’re real,” I managed. “Or if I just wrote you in my head, then placed you in my life to deal.”
His lips found mine, and I died. It started light, then quickened. His body pressed against mine, his hand found the apex of my leg, pulling it around him; I pressed my heel into him, as I pushed myself into him. He groaned into my mouth. I pulled my mouth from his, and he quickly moved to my neck.
I started repeating four words repeatedly, ‘tell me you’re real’ in between inaudible sounds and curse words. His answer came once, ‘I am’.
He trailed his lips and tongue down my neck, to the neckline of my shirt; I laid my head back gasping, as his hand traveled from the hold on my knee, up my thigh, beneath my billowy skirt. He rolled onto me, settling between my thighs, my skirt fell down around me, the slight chill of the air left goosebumps everywhere.
When his hands found the lace underneath I grabbed his neck, pulling his mouth to mine once again, begging him to continue.
I was filled with conflicting forces. Arousal and anxiety. I was often a fan of the big three. First kiss, foreplay, fucking. Intimacy was not in the cards with me. Best to get it all over with, then on to the writing. It was my M.O. I was dange
rously close to repeating it. I didn’t want to move too fast with Chace. My body needed to quit being so bossy.
I gasped as his fingers suddenly entered me. I gripped his shirt, my nails digging into his back. They quickly left me, as his mouth did as well. He pressed his forehead to mine and whispered, “I’m sorry. Too much. Too much.”
I shook my head to agree against him. “Don’t stop touching me,” I begged. I reached his mouth again. Needing him. I stuck my hand under the back of his shirt, tugging upwards, he pulled away from me long enough to reach behind him, yanking it over his shoulders.
He took my hands from his body, raised them over my head, and secured them with one hand. His lips found the tattoo starting at my wrist; he traced his tongue along the script. He found each visible bit of poetry, and claimed them with his warm lips.
I chanted each poem that was forever on my flesh, in my mind, as he branded them. He lifted my shirt, finding the script upon my ribcage, below my bra, and I became dizzy. I focused on the stars above, poetry screaming inside. His hand still secured my wrists, I was helpless, and I arched my back off the deck. He traveled lower, to the prose on my thigh, tracing each word. I clenched at the nearness of his mouth, the desperate need for him to taste me.
Why was I fighting sex? Couldn’t we just give in? My mind and body went round and round, they were both beat up, and which would win would surely be determined by the beautiful man kissing every word on my body, swirling new ones inside.
I pushed him back, confusion threaded his face as I found my way to my knees, I pressed against his bare chest. He was all hard lines and soft voice. I was undone. I pushed him onto his back and took him in. The beauty of him. It was a full moon, and his ivory skin burned into me. He had no words to read, no verse to place my lips on, but I didn’t need it.
