by Jessica Park
I look up at him as he holds the jacket while I slip my arms in. We return to face the band, and he tips his head into me, saying softly so that only I can hear, “A little jealousy never hurt anyone, huh?”
It takes all I have not to smile.
Sabin takes a swig and then tips it my way. “Drink?”
“No, thanks.” I continue looking out over the campus lights, keeping my back to Chris. “Tequila and I have a troubled past.”
“Ha! Is there any other kind of past?”
I laugh. “Fair enough. Pass it over.” I agree to drink tonight because it’s for fun and possibly to calm my nerves, not because I’m trying to block out the world. Even the small sip of tequila burns my throat. “Shit, that’s rough.” But I take another small drink anyway. “I don’t suppose you carry salt and lime with you?”
“I do not. I’m a purist.”
“I bet your sister has some in that bag of hers.”
“Bet she doesn’t.”
“Bet she does.” I tip my head back and interrupt Chris, who is talking to Estelle. “Estelle, we have a bet going. Do you happen to have a lime and some salt with you?”
“Depends. Who thinks that I don’t?”
I turn around. “Sabin.”
“Well, let’s see here,” she says mysteriously. One of the shoulder straps falls as she searches through her oversize purse while Chris and Sabin shake their heads. She looks up and grins. “Catch.”
I swipe my hand in front of Sabin’s and catch the pass. “One lime,” I say with satisfaction.
“Only halfway there,” he grumbles.
“And,” Estelle continues as she roots farther into her bag, “roughly twenty salt packs from the caf.”
“Goddamn it.” Sabin tosses up his hands and starts toward her. “You’re gonna pay for this, little sis!”
“Consider them celebratory confetti,” she yells as she tosses her handful into the air. Sabin tackles her, but she manages to climb onto him and force a piggyback. “Faster!” she commands. Happy squeals echo above us as Sabin starts zigzagging back and forth across the vast rooftop. They collapse in a laughing, tangled heap and stay where they are.
Perfect. Now I have lost my Sabin security blanket, and I am alone with Chris. It’s what I want most and least. The college band has finished their sound check and launched into a pretty good cover set, a series of indie and college-rock–type songs. At least there is music to fill the quiet between Chris and me. I turn around under the guise of enjoying the lofty view of the stage. Eventually, Chris sidles up to me.
“Hi,” he says gently.
I hate how fucking perfect his voice is. While I’ve now spent countless minutes thinking about him during my runs—and, if I’m honest, alone in bed at night—I don’t care for how unnerved and flustered I am getting around him tonight. How can I not, though? I sexually molested him in his room (probably with less skill than he was used to), and then I don’t hear anything from him, except for the emotionally loaded playlist.
He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me …
“Hi,” I say back. “Tequila?”
“Sure, why not? Do a shot with me?” Chris pulls a key chain with a pocketknife from his pants and takes the lime from my hand. “I even caught a few of Estelle’s salt packets.” He bends down in front of me and cuts the lime on bended knee. I can’t help smiling when he holds a lime wedge out to me. “What’s so funny?”
Before this night, I hadn’t had a drink in a while, and the slugs of tequila that I’ve already taken have clearly gone to my head, because I start giggling and can’t stop.
“Why are you laughing?” he asks, bemused.
“It looks like you’re asking me to marry you with a lime.”
He grins. “I guess it does. So? Are you taking the lime or not?”
“Yes.” I take the wedge from his hand. “I am indescribably moved by your proposal.”
“Ah, thank you. I think I can promise that a proposal with a lime is the closest I’ll ever come to the institution of marriage.”
“So you feel the same way I do,” I say.
“If people really love each other, why bother with all the ceremony”
“Precisely.”
He stands up. “Salt?”
I nod and lick the top of my hand between my thumb and forefinger, and Chris sprinkles salt for me. I do the salt/tequila/bite-the-lime routine. I suck on the lime for a second and then say, “It fits perfectly. All that planning was worth it.”
“I have an eye for these things.” He winks just before he licks and salts his own hand.
It’s a good thing that he can’t read my thoughts, because watching his tongue sweep over his own hand nearly makes my knees buckle. Apparently, I have forgiven his disappearing act over the past few weeks. When we are together, that’s easy.
He downs a decent gulp, coughing as soon as he swallows. “God, Sabin drinks some cheap crap.” He sucks his lime wedge nearly dry.
“You’re not kidding. This stuff is pretty bad.” I pause. “Wanna do another one?”
“Totally.”
So we do.
After we’ve both coughed our way through another round of too-big shots, we stand side by side and watch the crowd below us that is progressively getting louder. A group of girls by the front of the stage begins hooting and chanting as someone comes onstage. I squint. “Hey, is that… .”
Chris follows my gaze. “Oh my God, yes. That’s Sabin. He and Estelle must’ve gone down the back ladder. I didn’t even notice.”
We watch as Sabin struts across the stage and waves to the crowd gone wild. “This one’s for the newest member of the clan. I love you already, B.!” he yells into the microphone.
“Oh my fucking God.” I close my eyes. “What is he doing? He sings?”
“He can do anything.”
“I know you’re up there, sweet girl.” Sabin looks in the direction of the rooftop as he swings a strap over his shoulder and begins to run his fingers over the strings of an acoustic guitar. “No more worrying, okay?”
When he sings, there is a beautiful, deep rasp in his voice, and I am nearly gutted by what he is singing to me. I don’t know what this song was originally intended to be about exactly, but I know what Sabin is telling me. He is telling me to protect my heart. He is telling me about timing, and dreaming, and surviving. And mostly, he is telling me to abandon my worry. To find joy and to live again.
The tears that fill my eyes are, for the first time, happy ones. I blink them away. Sabin shields his eyes from the lights and peers up to the rooftop. He waves and then does a ridiculous champion-boxer move where he punches the air and then throws both hands up in the air while he takes a victory lap around the stage. He is too much in all sorts of wonderful ways.
“Sabin’s a good guy, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Chris agrees. “He is. He’s incredible.”
I keep my eyes on the stage. “You are, too.” Tequila is making me brazen with the truth.
Before I have a chance to regret my words, Estelle rescues me. “That’s your brother, not mine! And, hey, where’s my lime?”
Chris cuts another wedge, this time using the wall instead of going down on bended knee. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” he says affectionately.
Estelle takes the bottle with one hand and smoothes down her still-perfect hair while she catches her breath from her rushed climb back up the ladder. “Too much to list. But look at him. He’s awesome.” The shot of tequila makes her wince as much as it did Chris and me. “Jesus, this is bad booze. No lime could save us.” She takes a spot next to us, and we stand silently watching as Sabin continues his onstage reign. She rubs the cross that hangs around her neck. “I wish Eric had stayed.”
“Me, too.” Chris rubs her back briefly. “He’s with Zach. He’s fine.”
“I know. I just wish he’d hang with us more. Anyway, Blythe, I’m glad you came out. Drink what you want, guys, and then let’s go down
. Sabin has a spot for us by the stage. I think we’re in for a long night.”
CHAPTER TEN
The Course of An Eternity
Chris holds open the door to our dorm. “After you, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” I walk by him into the dimly lit entryway. As much fun as I’ve had tonight, I’m glad to be back here. The crowd, the music, the noise, the social interaction… . It has all been a lot for me, and I’m ready to decompress. The noise from the speakers by the stage has left a good ringing in my ears, and my voice is raw from having to yell over the music. I feel grateful, though, that Sabin was my home base tonight. He let me come back to him as often as I needed to ground myself. When the noise was too much or the social interaction felt overwhelming, he remained my rock. Chris? Chris was more of my risk. Gravitating to him took more bravery because he could see that the evening was more than I could handle. He must have asked me fifty times if I was all right and if I was having fun. He seems to know me—and knows what to worry about—more than he should. Maybe that was why he’d offered to walk me back after Sabin ran into Chrystle, and Estelle took off with her giant purse after getting a text.
Chris and I pause after stepping into the dorm, knowing it’s time to part ways. I’m tired, but I’m not ready to leave him. At least I am clearheaded since we abandoned that vile tequila on the top of the architecture building hours before. I know that I won’t do anything horrifying like throw myself at him. Despite the massive appeal that holds right now.
The staircase to the right leads up to my room, and the one on the left leads down to his. “So, I’ll see you around. Thanks for tonight. It was really fun to see Sabin onstage.” A quick exit is probably smart, so I start up the stairs.
“Hey, Blythe?“
“Yeah?”
“Where do you think Estelle was going? When she got that text, she sort of took off fast.”
I laugh. “Honestly? As her brother, you may not want to know what I think.”
“What? Do you think … ” Chris wrinkles his brow. “Oh no. Really? You think she had a date?”
“Define date. But yes, I do.”
He shivers. “Yuck. But she’s all … religiousy and shit. I was hoping that she was morally opposed to … stuff.”
I try not to smile. “Stuff?” It’s funny to see Chris like this since he is usually so articulate.
“I’m not phrasing it any other way.”
“Understood.”
We linger for a moment by the first floor landing. Why are good-nights always so uncomfortable?
Some late partiers, loud and clearly drunk, stumble through the front door and stagger up the stairs. I finally walk up the first few steps. “It’s really late, I guess.” I tuck my hands in my back pockets and do what I can to appear casual. “Good night, Christopher.”
“Good night, Blythe.”
I feel a certain pride in making it back to my room without giving in to the urge to turn around and shove my tongue down his throat. It’s a positive in an otherwise frustrating situation. The main thing here is that Chris seems to like me well enough as a friend, and having him in my life in any capacity is better than not having him. Plus, it’s only because of him and his siblings that I went out tonight with a group of people—a pretty monumental event for me. And it was fun. Truly, honestly fun. All in all, I can’t complain.
The light of the moon through my window is bright enough that I don’t crash into anything, and I welcome the quiet of my room. I strip down to my underwear and throw on my black cotton robe. It’s two in the morning, and I should be exhausted, but I’m not. I walk aimlessly around my room, remaking my futon and tidying the untouched single bed that used to belong to my roommate. There is some laundry that I could put away and a book I’ve been wanting to read…
Awake and restless, I stand unmoving in the center of my room. I don’t want to clean, and I don’t want to read. This night should not be over, and I am hyperaware of missing Chris. He has infiltrated my entire core in a way that I cannot shake off tonight and in a way that I will probably never shake off. Nor would I want to. I turn and face my door as if it’s possible that he can feel our connection.
And then there is a knock. It has a hesitant, questioning rhythm. It shouldn’t.
Without saying anything, I open the door, and he is there.
Chris steps into me and kicks the door shut behind him. The second it slams, his hands are tight on my hips, and he moves in. Turning me around, he is behind me, pulling me against him hard and crushing his chest into my back. I gasp as he moves his hands roughly over my waist, my stomach, his breath hot in my ear when he pushes the fabric of my robe aside. Going up the back of my thigh, the palm of his hand eases steadily and confidently higher until he has my ass in his hand. Over and over, he strokes me up and down in a sultry rhythm. Chris slides my robe off one shoulder and brushes my hair to the side with his other hand. The feel of his lips on my neck and the top of my shoulder is heaven. When the grip he has on my ass tightens so much that it begins to hurt beautifully for only a fraction of a second, he stops and slowly slips his fingers under the back of my underwear. Over the course of an eternity, he runs his touch just under the edge of the fabric.
I force myself not to grab his hands and move them immediately where I want, but it’s torture. How can I get through this? But I don’t want him to stop, so I let him set the pace. When he’s traced his way to the front, I lean my head back into his chest, willing this to never end. His hand moves from my hair, across my collarbone, down my chest, and then slips under the top of my robe. Now he is brushing my breast ever so teasingly, and I am convinced that I have hit my tolerance for standing up straight. My knees are beyond weak, and with the way my legs are starting to shake, I’m not sure how long I can stay like this in the face of so much pleasure.
Chris’s voice is a low whisper in my ear. “I want to hear you come. I need to hear you come.”
I tremble and turn around into his arms. Chris backs me up until I am pressed against the door to my room. The way he kisses me with such raw sexual heat just about makes me lose my mind. He takes my hands in his and raises them above my head, pinning them against the door as his kiss deepens even more. The feel of his body starting to grind slowly into mine is getting me dizzy. I cannot think. I can only react. We kiss for what seems forever until he lets go of my hands so that I can finally hold him the way that I want, my hands working over the front of his pants. It’s the first time that I’ve ever touched a guy like this, but my need for him makes it easy. I like feeling him hard under my palm and the way that he presses himself into me a bit. He’s not pushy or self-serving, though. He’s responsive.
He moves his mouth from mine and lowers his lips to my neck, then works slow kisses down to my breast. The tip of his tongue sweeps over my nipple so painstakingly slowly that I can barely take it. Then my nipple is in his mouth. He sucks on me firmly and decisively until I whimper, and he moves to kiss my mouth again. This time he is gentle, running his tongue over my bottom lip, teasing me with his lips and his taste.
Keeping his body close to mine, he looks down and unties my robe. My hands are now in his hair, and we both watch as he caresses the curve of my breast, moves down my stomach, then to the inside of my thigh. This is the first time anyone has touched me or seen me like this, and I’m surprised that I’m not nervous or self-conscious. There’s a reason why: it’s Chris. He sweeps his hand over my underwear, just once, making me dig my fingers into his shoulders.
“Chris.” His name is barely audible even to me.
“I want to hear you come,” he says again.
Jesus, he is making it impossible to talk, but I want to tell him something. “No one … no one has … ” I manage.
He pauses for a moment and then lightly trails his fingertips up from my underwear all the way to my face. “No one?“
I smile a little. “Well, no one but me.”
He smiles back. Chris holds my face in his hand,
kisses me once more, and then presses his cheek against mine. “Will you let me? I have to know how you sound.”
All I can do is nod.
He has one hand over my underwear and the other flat against the door by my head when he speaks again. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“Don’t you dare.” I will kill him if he stops.
He eases my thighs apart just a bit and barely grazes the back of his hand between my legs. My arousal level has just gone into new territory. I am delirious with lust, but he keeps his pace unhurried and steady, making me want more with every move. Using one finger, he lifts my underwear and holds it to the side. Chris stays still, letting my tension and need mount as he hovers over me.
“Please,” I murmur.
So he runs a finger up and down, smoothly and sensuously, over and over.
I whimper again. The sound of his voice drives me crazy, and it is impossibly easy to turn myself over to him. I feel completely safe.
His finger goes against me a bit harder until he is moving in slow circles against my clit and I am groaning in his ear. I am not this loud when I’m alone, but there is no way to control myself with what he is doing to me.
“Yes … .” he encourages me. “I want to know what feels good for you.” His words coax me closer, heightening what already feels so perfect. He adjusts his touch slightly, and I put my hands on his shoulders.
“You like that?” he asks me in a murmur.
I groan again in response.
Then my underwear is down—I have no idea how this happens because I am so, so perfectly lost—and his fingers move lower. He parts me open slightly while he goes up and down with the barest hint of movement. “What about this?”
I dig my fingers into his skin.
The sound that I make when the tip of his finger goes inside me is unlike any other I have ever made.
“So that’s good, too?” he asks as he eases in a bit more.
“Yes.”
He starts to slip his finger in and out, delicately and seductively, luring me closer to orgasm. “You are so wet,” he breathes as I start to move reflexively into his hand. “And so hot. God, you feel like velvet.” He continues while he also places one finger higher, rubbing my clit again, just where I need it. I can hear my breathing getting faster, my sounds getting louder, and my world getting smaller, until the only thing left is the intensity of us.
