“You look nice. I like your dress.” Hollis seems glad to see me, though I can’t say the same for Tyler when he walks away from the table for a few minutes.
“Thanks. It’s almost the last thing I have to pack.”
She presses her lips together and looks at her husband, who can’t hold her gaze. “It was nice of you to show up since you’re leaving in the morning. We have a going-away gift for you.” She reaches down next to her chair and holds up a bottle of that terrible peach wine she once mentioned. It has curled silver ribbons hanging off the neck, and it looks so out of place here that I can’t help but laugh.
There’s dinner and drinks, but the conversation isn’t flowing on my side of the table, so I play with my phone for a bit before I decide to check in on my flight. It feels like that will make it final.
“Em, do you agree?”
I look up to see Shawn bent toward me in his chair.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. What are you asking?”
“Is it easier for a guy to get a girl’s number or for a girl to get a drink?”
The table is all but vibrating from the way Tyler is drumming all ten fingers and not looking at me. I glance his way and tilt my chin. “What did Mace say?”
“Numbers.”
“Then I say drinks.”
When he finally turns to acknowledge me, I almost wish he hadn’t. “You want to make a bet on it?”
I tip my almost empty glass in his direction. “Why the hell not, Tyler? One for the road?” I’m on my feet faster than he can speak, a little tipsy in my heels but warm enough not to care. “Which side of the room do you want?”
His eyes are narrowed, and that mouth I was once so attracted to pulls into a thin line. He stands and pulls a sucker from his pocket before rolling his sleeves up to the elbow and makes a motion toward the left side of the room. “Meet you back here in an hour. I’ll have the numbers.”
I have no doubt that he will, but he’s being a smug bastard, and my dress is short, so it seems like a brilliant idea. The heat from his stare could catch my legs on fire, and I know he’s watching when I cross to one of the bars and lean between two businessmen, raising my butt a little and waving the bartender over. “I’m so sorry. I just needed a refill.”
My first drink of the night is courtesy of the man checking out my ass. When I turn to see if Tyler is watching, he’s halfway across the room. For an hour, I ask the band what they’d like to drink and get someone to buy it for me before dropping it off with a forced smile. My buzz starts to wear off, and my shoes are killing me, so I take my seat at the table and wait for Tyler to show up.
Jon is watching me nervously. “How many was that?”
“Twelve.”
Hollis clears her throat like she’s going to say something, but I hold up my hand to quiet her when I see Tyler walking toward the table with measured steps. In one hand he holds folded papers and in the other . . .
Shawn reaches out and takes the numbers from Tyler while this guy, this man who told me to leave, pulls on the hand of a tiny blond girl who is excitedly swaying behind him. There’s a moment, just one glance between us while he lifts his jacket off the chair. Neither of us is smiling when he takes her out the door.
“Thirteen,” Shawn calls quietly, waving the numbers before putting them on the table.
I straighten my shoulders and reach for my purse and that stupid bottle of wine. Getting to my feet, I regard the rest of the people at the table. “He wins.” Without another word, I leave the building. I don’t care that Laura and Grier don’t know I left. I don’t care that I’m a mile away from the apartments. I have a pair of flats in my purse that I carry for nights like these, and I’ll be just fine.
I take the time to think. I take the time to get a little angrier. Then I take the time to open the screw top off the peach wine I’m carrying down the street.
The silver ribbons are long forgotten by the time I’m facing the front of the building. I have a choice. There are two ways this can go. To the second floor where everything is packed and I’m ready to leave. Or . . .
I don’t think I’ve ever hit a door so hard in my life. The bottle is left somewhere in the hallway, and both my hands are on fire from slapping the surface so hard. When it finally opens, I almost fall inside his apartment. He’s holding the door open, his eyes filled with anger, wearing the same clothes from the dinner, and he smells like a cigarette factory has been lit on fire.
I step forward and push both hands into his chest, shoving him as hard as I can. “You’re a bastard. Why would you do that? Is she still here? Did I interrupt you?” I’m still pushing, shoving him into the living room with every ounce of anger I have inside.
“God, you’re a sore loser.” He steps away, out of my reach. “I didn’t bring her back here. She was part of the bet, remember? That girl gave me her number, and I took her outside and hailed her a cab because she was wasted. Kinda like you right now.”
“Shut up. You’re such an asshole to make me think you were going to bring her back here. That made me feel like shit. I’m not good enough for you, but some random from a dinner is?”
He’s on me in an instant, pressing my spine into the wall. “Jesus, will you listen to yourself? You think you’re not good enough for me, and you know that’s not the case.”
“I hate you,” I whisper when his eyes meet mine. They’re burning, and I’m surrounded by the smell of cigarettes, which makes me close my eyes and breathe out of my mouth.
“I know you do, and you should keep hating me. It makes this easier.”
His hands are pinning mine to my sides, and I push against him, my anger still rushing out. “Let me go.”
He leans in close and presses his face to my neck. “I’m trying to.”
His breathing is irregular, and he finally lets my hands go but doesn’t move. He’s exhaling against my skin, his lips barely touching where my dress dips across my shoulders. “What should I say? That I’ll miss this? I will. You’ve barely been here. And you’re so soft.” His voice is a low murmur in my ear, and I can’t open my eyes because he’s so close. “You smell good, too. And when I touch your skin, it drives me crazy because I want it so much.”
“Then stop pushing me away.” My voice is small, my lips covered by his shoulder.
“I have to. Don’t you get it?” When he pulls back so that I can see him, his eyes are filled with worry and shadows of things I don’t understand. His thumb drags over my bottom lip, and he sucks in a deep breath, his eyes traveling from his finger up to my eyes. He stares and holds the skin, rolling my lower lip open while I breathe shaky breaths. His tongue peeks out from between his lips, the red hue so familiar even though I know he doesn’t taste the same.
Then he whispers, “Fuck it,” and grips my face in his hands to kiss me with more force than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
I don’t care that his mouth tastes different or that his hands aren’t gentle. His entire body is enveloping mine, and I can’t hold on to him tight enough, strong enough—enough in general. I have to breathe, so I pull away, and his face is buried in my hair, his hands reaching to cup my ass when he lifts me to carry me to the bed.
There is no sane reason why I want this so much. What makes him different than anyone else? If I knew, I would turn it off.
My shoes are gone, dress discarded, bra half off when he sits up and opens his hand across my bare stomach. I watch his eyes drift closed and lips press together for a second before his mouth descends, littering my hip bone with soft kisses, humming quietly while he does. It’s throaty, like he can’t quite let it leave his lips, and the feel of it on my skin makes me shiver.
“It’s so loud,” he whispers while he rolls my underwear down my legs with one hand and feels along my thigh with the other. His touch is so featherlight I can hardly stand it, and I’m arching into him, gripping his hair in my fist.
I wonder if what he’s hearing is the same as what I’m f
eeling, and the thought makes my chest grow tight while my heart begins to ache.
I’ve done this. I’ve asked for it. For a moment, I think maybe he’ll stop and I’ll be rejected all over again, but then his lips press against tender skin and his tongue flicks so light and fast against my clit that it’s a beautiful kind of torture. It reminds me of watching him drum—the way he plays with wild abandon but never falters in his rhythm. His face, what I can see of it, has that same concentration, and when my thighs begin to quake, he slips in a finger and presses warm, wet lips to my bent knee.
This is my favorite part. The tightness in my stomach. How my hips rise while I chase the white heat, heavy and low. He’s whispering, but I can’t focus because I’m pulled so tight, shoulders digging and head angled upward before the loudest sound comes out of my mouth. I have no control over it.
My nails have left red crescent moons on his shoulder, my fingers aching from the force. He’s watching my breasts rise and fall with each rough gasp of air I’m taking in. Lust is there, but wonder is embedded in the deep blue as well.
“Was that what you wanted?” he whispers against my ribcage, eyes downcast while his body rises to hover over mine. Tyler’s knees part my thighs wider, and my entire body is tense with anticipation. His arms flex when he stretches, reaching for a black box on his bookshelf. I know what’s in there and why it’s in such a convenient place.
Once he’s made it safe, his face appears above mine. “Are you sure you want this?”
Sliding my fingers up his jaw and higher, trailing over tiny round steel, I take a deep breath. “Don’t you want to find out what will happen?”
He kisses me again, and so many flavors fill my mouth when he slips his tongue inside. His fingers spread me, and he nudges so I open more and reach to help him. Our fingers brush when he presses forward and I pull him down, gasping as his cock begins to enter so slowly.
This vibration in my body is all-consuming, and I cling to his hips while he continues, one aching inch at a time. He’s been fighting this, and right now he’s figuring out that he made a mistake. I can see it in the way his lips part and his forehead creases. I grip his arm, touch his chest, push up on my elbows to reach his mouth, and he fills me so completely that I want to cry.
The tiny undulations of his hips are enough to make me wetter, and I’m kissing him slow, but the desperation for him is building. Tyler holds my knees and anchors them to the bed, but I let out a small muffled cry at the sharp pain that courses through me.
“Sorry.” He’s breathing so hard when he says it, letting go of my legs to brace himself on the mattress beside my hips.
Closer. More. Deeper. It’s all my brain keeps repeating while I lock my legs around his waist and force him to sink in even more until he can’t go any farther. His hips begin to move, but it’s a smooth, slow rhythm, sliding out and in with a slight roll of his hips when we connect. I’m moaning, and high-pitched staccato breaths are filling the apartment while he stares at me through half open eyes and lets out soft sounds.
My hand trails over my nipples, onto my stomach, and rests there until he reaches over and places it where we’re joined. “I want to see you make yourself come.”
Picking up the pace, he holds eye contact, and I do as he’s asked. My fingers reach farther, and I press, circling above where his cock disappears and reappears over and over. I can’t hold on to him any longer, and my legs fall to the mattress when I begin to tremble. Palm to my face, I gasp and press my cheek against the comforter while I continue to work my clit until I can’t breathe and my limbs freeze up. The force of the orgasm elicits another one of those sounds that’s not just a moan but a loud low note that pierces the air around us. The pulsing between my legs is only overshadowed by the deep thrusts, which have sped up.
He slows and goes still, curving his body over mine to kiss my neck. “You fucking sing when you come, Peach. Did you know that?” When he pulls out, I’m shaking and exhausted. Covered in sweat, my hands are in my hair, eyes closed and heartbeat filling my ears and chest. It’s only for a moment because I’m satisfied and liquid when he begins to cup my breasts, his thumbs making my nipples hard, and the desire for him pools between my closed thighs. With a roll, I end up on my stomach and rise to all fours.
I don’t need to say that I want him to take me. When I lift my ass in the air and drop my forehead to the bed, he steps behind and lays a gentle kiss on my spine. I have to grip on to the sheets when he enters me again, because if I thought he felt good while I was on my back, the angle of his cock from behind makes me want to scream.
I push back against him with each of his rough thrusts, giving him everything I’ve got. It feels so good, and he’s so deep that I have to close my eyes and cry out into the bunched up material in my hands. This time is faster than before, and I just want him to come. I brace myself with one arm and rise up even more to slip my hand down to where we’re joined. I can feel his cock, and my first and second fingers grip his shaft while he speeds up even more, hitting a spot deep within that takes my breath away.
His hands grip my hips so tightly that his wrists begin to shake, and he pulls me as close as possible before he gasps my name and goes still for a few seconds. I feel him pulse and shake, his last thrusts stilted when he comes. His fingers loosen their grip, and he staggers backward while I fall to the bed, facedown and soaked with sweat.
I hear him walk to the bathroom, but I don’t move. When he appears at the side of the bed, he’s carrying a glass of water. “I thought you might need this.”
I crawl to the edge and take it, wondering how crazy I look at this very minute because I’m sure half my makeup is on the bed and the rest is all over my face. Not to mention the disaster on my head. Once in the bathroom, I confirm that I do, in fact, look like an insane circus clown. With a quick face wash and comb through with the brush I’ve found on his counter, I feel like I can face him again. I’m still naked, but there’s a chance that my dress is not in one piece. It’s not like he wasn’t just finger fucking me wide open out there anyway.
I’m so tired, and the fight has gone out of me. I just want to sleep. He’s sitting up against the headboard, studying me while I move to the edge of the bed. “Don’t look like that. Come on and get in.” He pats the comforter, and I’ve never been so happy to be asked to sleep.
Nestled into his arm, I have enough strength to look up at his serene face. His eyes are closed, and he’s breathing slowly, rubbing his thumb along my waist.
“How is it?”
He smiles without looking at me. “It’s perfect.”
The stinging in my nose causes me to dip my head into the side of his chest, beneath his chin.
And right before I fall asleep, I swear I hear him ask me to stay.
Morning light is streaming across the bed, and my left hand feels unnaturally warm while my right is freezing cold. I’m greeted with the silence of Tyler’s apartment and an empty bed. A piece of paper sits where his head should be on his pillow, and I pull it closer to read what he’s left.
Stay? I’ll see you there.
I stare at the note for longer than I should, swallowing the sadness that’s creeping into my throat. There’s no staying. I’ve made my choice, and I have a flight to catch. My clothes are all over the place, but once I’ve located them and dressed to the best of my ability, I take the paper in my hands and turn it over. With the black marker he has on the kitchen counter, I write a note of my own and leave it there for him to find when he returns.
Less than an hour later, I’m standing outside with Laura while I load my belongings into the cab. She’s wringing her hands, and I give her a hug to stop the motion.
“I’ll see you soon?”
I let her go and give her a little nudge on the chin with my fist. “Of course. Your time here is almost up, too.”
Laura nods and holds her hand up to shield her eyes while she gazes down the street. “It was fun here.”
“Austin i
s weird.”
“So the bumper stickers say.” She manages a soft smile.
I open the cab door and turn back to look at her. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I wish I’d been here long enough to see the bats.”
PART 2
Chapter Eighteen
Almost a year later I’m eating cereal in the apartment I share with Rachel and Daniel, my roommates. Seattle has been a nice change of pace, and I’ve grown to like my new job. It’s more sitting and less action, but finding talent instead of following it has been much less stressful.
“Are you eating Fruity Pebbles again?” Daniel is a worrier and always circling like a hawk. Rachel is the exact opposite, because she couldn’t care less what I do, which is probably why they make such a fantastic couple.
“You know what? I think you worry so much because you’re afraid you won’t go to heaven.”
“Don’t . . .”
Rachel calls from the other room. “It’s true! Gingers don’t have souls, so you’re working overtime, babe.”
Daniel glares and points his thick finger at my face. “You need to eat something. And do your laundry.”
I shrug and drink the rest of my fruity flavored milk from the bowl. “I’ll get to it.”
Rachel walks through the kitchen, hands in her long black locks, eyeing everything on the countertops. “You need a haircut.”
“I had one six weeks ago. Leave me alone and stop trying to touch my hair.” Living with a stylist makes me self-conscious all the time. She’s constantly checking for split ends when we watch movies together.
It’s our Sunday routine. We argue about my eating habits and what a slob I’ve become since leaving Texas. She cleans up after me and her boyfriend until she has to leave to visit her grandpa in his senior living complex, and then we watch a movie like we’re in some dysfunctional three-person marriage.
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