by Ace Gray
I set my pool cue aside and follow her, pressing my body to hers and reaching my arms down to clasp her hands. She doesn’t flinch at my touch. Matter of fact, I fool myself into thinking that she breathes out a sigh of relief when my body lays against hers. I hope she doesn’t feel my heart break when we break the pool balls together, but I can’t help thinking I’ve felt hers shatter.
“Four Walls” Broods
God, AJ feels good. And I don’t mean when he kissed me roughly in front of everyone, or when he slithered around me while we played pool. I don’t even mean how his sturdy body holds me so completely as he gives me a piggyback ride on the walk home from Trigg’s. It’s just him looking out on the night with me that feels positively beautiful.
Crosby is running circles around his feet but it does nothing to slow AJ’s steady steps as they crunch in the snow. His thumbs trace circles on my thighs where he holds me, adding a whisper of cowhide gloves against the denim of my jeans.
“AJ, stop,” I whisper then lean in to kiss his neck where it’s barely exposed above his jacket collar. “The Christmas tree.”
He knows what I’m asking and he detours from the sidewalk toward the giant tree Willow Creek erects each year. The behemoth is trucked in on a flatbed semi, slipped into a manhole in the middle of town where it takes up the width of an already far too wide street. For a few days, it just fits in with the painfully quaint and snowy street but then it gets blanketed in lights. That’s when it becomes magic.
And tonight…
Carefully, AJ sets me on my feet in front of the glowing pine. He stands with his arms crossed knowing what comes next. Crosby is running in his small little circles but now around me as I kneel down into the snow. I catch AJ’s smirk as I lay down underneath the tree as if I’m on a living room carpet rather than the snow-covered street.
“Come down here,” I say as I pat the snow beside me, Crosby weaving around my hand and darting to the trunk and back.
“Camilla,” he scolds me, dragging out my name but I can already hear his boots on the snow as he walks toward me.
A moment later, and with a heavy sigh tinged with laughter, he folds down onto the ground next to me. And when Crosby bounds over to lick AJ’s face, he pulls the dog onto his chest the way he always did with Gretzky. I scoot toward them at the same time he reaches for me and nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder.
“It’s beautiful down here,” AJ murmurs but the way his lips brush my forehead tells me exactly where he’s looking.
I let my eyes wander, taking in every tiny detail, praying I remember the way he feels every bit as much as the way the tree looks when snow starts falling through the softly lit pine branches.
“I always liked to look at things a little bit differently,” I say as I study how gold and green and red and blue lights cast their shadows on softly swirling flakes then both dust onto AJ. His eyelashes are coated with brilliant little twinkles and his pout is speckled in the reflection of Christmas above us.
He shifts a few times beneath me, keeping up his gentle petting of Crosby, but then he blows out a deep breath and I realize it’s because he shifting under the weight of something that is neither me nor the terrier.
“Do we look different from down here, by chance?” His words are barely louder than a breath.
I bury my head into his chest, making room amidst the layers wrapped tightly around the sculpted muscles I’ve rediscovered. We both know the answer. We knew it before it was even a question forming on our lips. It started clanging like warning bells days ago but we kept up with the cuddling, and the kisses, and the, well, decidedly un-kissing and un-cuddling, anyway.
“We look like Christmas.” My words are shaky at best. “It’s magical, pure and perfect, but it can’t last. It probably wouldn’t be the wonder it is if we could make it.”
We sat under that tree until the city lights flickered off, leaving both our backsides numb and achy. Silence had filled every space between us since my words had hung frosty in the night air. Neither of us had been brave enough to break it. Not as we climbed out from beneath the branches, walked the last few blocks or even when we slipped through the door and into his living room.
I’m not exactly comfortable with the silence but I’m not going to break it either. The dead air leaves me listening to heartbeats—mine, his. And them beating together in a dark night is better than nothing, better than the soundless hollow my chest is likely to become in the next few days. Or weeks? Years? The familiar rhythm is going to be replaced by the heave of my sobs.
But AJ’s hands come to my body, turning me to face him. He cradles me so gently as he leans in for a kiss. I forget the lingering fear and surrender to him, bowing into his body. The second he feels me go putty in his hands, he wraps one to the back of my head and the other to the small of my lower back. His fingers dig into the down of my jacket in a way that cuts through the poof. Cuts through me.
I moan into his open mouth and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue in. It’s dancing with mine, stealing breaths, stealing my balance, too. When I truly go weak in the knees, AJ backs me toward the edge of the couch. As soon as it presses against my thighs, I sit back onto the perch. His mouth doesn’t leave mine.
His hands do though. They find their way to my zipper, trembling enough to wiggle the fabric against my skin as he unzips. Slow. So incredibly slow. And in sharp contrast to the ferocity that he kisses me with. Like he’s devouring and savoring me all at once. Like I am a Christmas gift to unwrap.
One last gift. One last time.
“Anything you want,” I breathe. “Everything you want.”
He steps back and hurt flashes in his eyes. For a moment he studies me, words obvious on the tip of his tongue, but he stays quiet. After far too long and not nearly enough time, he swiftly shoves my jacket from my shoulders and rushes back to my body, whispering you in my ear.
In that moment, I am a mirror. I want him. Every fiber of him. My very soul needs him, every kiss, every grip, the most exquisite torture. A thousand kisses, a million whisper touches, and the endless valley of forever wouldn’t be enough for me. Me. But for us, for who we’ve become while we’d been apart…
I have to hold the tears in. I have to hold the overwhelming urge to rage against fate, too. My lips sweeping across the stubble blanketing his strong jaw and the taut muscles of his neck will have to satisfy the emotion shredding my insides. My fingers tremble against his zipper as badly as his had on mine.
When I start onto the buttons of his flannel and fumble the way only Cam Collins can, AJ seamlessly takes over. His shirt is off, sliding over his shoulders, his muscles rippling in that sinful way for just a flash, then his hands are back on me. On my sweater, tugging. Cool air kisses my stomach a moment before AJ’s lips find the swell of my breasts.
My head rolls back as my hands find their way into his hair and hold him to my chest. Not that I think he’s going anywhere but I can’t talk myself out of touching him. Out of being the body he so willingly indulges in.
“Camilla,” he groans in between his cherishing kisses and I can’t help but moan in response. “My Camilla,” he repeats as he goes lower, his tongue lapping at the smoke of my tattoo as it laps at me.
I can’t say anything. I can’t think. My world has narrowed to his kisses and the only thing outside of it, are the tiny outer planets created by his fingertips. I don’t even notice he’s removed my bra until his mouth is firmly latched on my breast.
His hair is silky where I’ve all too roughly fisted into it. His lips are just as soft where they brush across my skin. It’s his teeth that are small little lightning strikes flashing through my body.
Then it’s the couch digging into my hip bones when he flips me, smoothly bending me over the back I’d been sitting on. My hands shoot out to brace my body, but just as quickly as he turns me, his hands appear back at my breasts. He rolls my nipples between his fingers as he kisses down my spine. Down every single inch.
> I let my head hang, partially to watch his hands where they work me over, partially because my body is going limp against the upholstery. I don’t realize how lax it is until his hands disappear and I all but fall forward. A deep raspy chuckle behind me precedes hands on my waistband. Goose bumps trail in his wake, pulling denim down lower and lower, revealing all of me.
Gently he slides off my shoes followed by the fabric bunched around my ankles. Then his mouth appears between my legs. His tongue is in sharp contrast to the tender way he undressed me. For fuck’s sake, it’s assaulting me. All of me. There’s not an inch between my thighs he doesn’t explore with nips, with licks, little thrusts. And when he goes up…
“Jay,” I moan—no, whine from the very depths of the lust churning wildly in my soul.
“Did you mean everything, Lamb?” His words puff hot against the most intimate bits of me, of my backside, and I’m sure I’d twitch or flinch if I had any strength left to do so.
I haven’t done anything like what he’s asking of me. I am surprised he wants it because AJ from high school never did, never asked. But I have to stop comparing him and his past. I have to stop clinging to what he’d been, what we could have been. I have to seize the last few moments, the last few heartbeats, of now.
My words are soft, hushed, brushing like silk against the fabric of the couch. “Be gentle with me, Jay.”
And with that, he takes absolutely everything I have left to give.
“You’ve Haunted Me All My Life” Death Cab for Cutie
Camilla slipped out of my bed sometime before dawn. She disappeared without waking me, and if it weren’t for the red claw marks on my chest, the soft outline of her body rippled on the sheets and the lingering smell of vanilla smoke, I would have thought I dreamt it all.
In the pale pink reflection of the rising sun, I can’t decide if no goodbye is a good or bad thing.
I keep myself from thinking about it at all by focusing on the memories that give me wings. Ones that I’ll treasure for the rest of my life.
Be gentle with me Jay.
As soon as Camilla said it, the way she said it, I knew. No man had ever gotten that from her. I was going to get the last of her firsts. She would always belong to me in that small way.
Tight. She was so tight. And yelped just as much as she purred. Her nails dug into me wherever she could reach but the tension wasn’t rigid or filled with pain but rather frantic and filled with passion. My name and my nickname dripped from her mouth like bright sparkling diamonds.
The second—no, the third time—we fucked, had sex, made love, I don’t even know… it wasn’t the only thing dripping from her lips.
I’d kissed her so many times, and so wildly hard, that her taste clung to my tongue, my lips, my cheeks even now. And what a perfect taste. Salty of course, but smoky, earthy and utterly Camilla. When I’d tasted myself mixed with her, I’d gotten hard enough for another round. If I could bottle that flavor, I would. It was the essence of pure, unending want.
God, I will lust after her forever. Particularly her tits. Perky, plump globes on that slight little body. I licked every inch of the tattoo that wraps around her torso so that I could remind myself that once I had tasted perfection. I could pretend that the trail stayed there as proof.
I’m getting hard all over again. It’s a risk I’m going to have to take when I think about last night.
For the first time, I don’t hate the prospect of it. The famous Casablanca quote comes to mind.
We’ll always have Paris. We didn’t have, we, we lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.
I’d always have her. I always had. Only now I can sip on her bourbon, read her articles, see her mom in the grocery store, and all without guilt and fury wrapping up inside me. Just a deep and grateful sadness. I lay in bed, looking over the memories, basking in the scent on my skin until the sun lights up the room.
It might have been an hour, or an entire lifetime that I spent lost to Camilla underneath the cold covers when a small yap from the floor beside me claims my attention and calms my semi-hard dick. I roll to find Crosby’s tail whipping wildly across the floor as he stares expectantly at me. With the leaden weight I suspect will always linger on my shoulders, and as if I have to pull my very skeleton together, I haul myself out of bed.
Pulling on my sweats, I notice a thong is balled on the floor. As dirty as it makes me, I snatch it up and shove it into my top dresser drawer. For a split second, I think about smelling it, smelling her, but I decide to save it for a rainy day. A day when I can’t vividly remember the fragrance on my own.
Crosby and I walk through the house and I notice she’s left her mark in more ways than one. The flannel I was wearing yesterday is gone. The small throw I kept on the couch has disappeared and our homey quilt is in its place. I head toward the back door, Crosby swirling at my ankles, and a Post-it greets me in the kitchen; open me in her swirly, even handwriting on the handle of the fridge.
Cinnamon, clove and that wall of winter wonder smashes into me when I open the door. I don’t even have to look to know that the fragrance comes from the milk masterpiece she’s been slipping in my coffee. The blue metal pitcher on the top shelf has another note, heat on medium until steaming - do NOT boil.
I smile at the love still clinging to this house. To me.
The weight of her absence is a massive chain around my neck, but it’s beautiful, so beautiful, that I want to carry it. Crosby bolts into the snow the second I open the back door, and despite heating the frigid outdoors, I leave it cracked so I can pad down the hallway to the bathroom.
I mean to take a piss but I freeze instead. But only for a heartbeat. One singular heartbeat is all it takes for me to turn and run from the room, yanking on any clothes I can find along the way. I’ve shoved my feet into boots and arms into down sleeves in less than ninety seconds. I’ve grabbed my dog in another thirty and I’m barreling toward my truck, leaving the dangerous red lipstick I love you big and beautiful where she drew it on the bathroom mirror.
We make it to the tiny, one landing strip airport just in time. I know half of the security guys, most having played hockey with me since I was seven, and only one tries to stop me, halfheartedly, because I have a dog in the airport. They get a little more forceful when I try to bulldoze through security.
“AJ, you really can’t go in there without a ticket.” The voice connected to the arm holding me back, holding me from Camilla, is trying to reason with me.
The blind need driving me toward her isn’t letting me think straight. “Just give me one. To anywhere.”
“You have to go back to the counter for that. Go see Connie.”
But I catch a glimpse of Camilla on the other side of the glass wall separating the flimsy excuse of a terminal from the even more pathetic excuse of a gate. She’s smiling that weak, broken smile of hers, the one that doesn’t reach her eyes but reaches straight into my heart and squeezes, as she nears the door to the tarmac.
“Camilla!” My voice booms over top of every single person in the room and when she turns, I know it reaches her.
Thank you, Dad.
Automatically she pulls her ticket back in and starts walking toward me. Her smile is more genuine even though her eyes fill to the brim with sorrow. Casablanca can’t help me anymore. Not now, not looking at her here, thinking about losing her all over again. I don’t want Paris, I don’t want a perfect Christmas, I want her. Forever. I don’t know how to soldier on without her.
The woman walking gracefully toward me is in leather leggings, that lush wool coat, and those sinful red bottom stilettos. She’s my Camilla and yet…
“Jay, what are you doing?” She’s still on the other side of the partition glass but I can catch the pitiful warmth lacing her voice.
“Don’t,” I manage. “Don’t go.” Crosby yaps his agreement.
A single tear breaks free of the beautiful glitter of her eyes but she doesn’t answer me. She just clo
ses her eyes, lifts her little hand to her lips, kisses it ardently then presses it to the glass. I can’t help but shove my big cracked hand out to mirror hers. Her eyes open and flash to where we’d be touching if there wasn’t a wall in between us. The painstaking perfection of the metaphor drags another beautiful twinkling tear down her cheek. And without another word, without even another gut-wrenching gesture, she turns, hands her ticket to the attendant and walks out of my life.
The telltale squeak and whir of the barn door starts exactly one breath before Crosby’s barking. I can only count my life in breaths now. My heartbeat stopped three days ago. I haven’t been able to get it started again.
Or wash her lipstick off my bathroom mirror.
I’m staring at the wood in front of me so hard, so desperate for it to talk to me the way it used to, that I don’t look up. Trigg and my mom are the only two that have bothered to deal with me anyway. Monosyllables aren’t for everyone.
“You’re a fool.”
I don’t need to look up to picture Trigg’s hands on her hips.
“AJ, go get her.”
I shoot her a look from where I’m hunched on my workbench that should have her shaking in her boots.
“Don’t you dare start with me,” she says roughly. “You guys are only apart because neither of you ever thought to speak your minds before. Don’t make the same stupid mistake twice.”
“I did speak my mind, Trigg.” My voice is venomous.
“Fight, then.” She comes closer, crouching down into my line of sight. Crosby sits next to her, somehow matching her pleading face.
“For what, Trigg? Tell me, because I don’t fucking know,” I shout at her just before I bury my head in my hands.
“For Cam. For a future with her.” She places her hands on my knees.
“In Seattle,” I say into my palms.
