by Carnal, MJ
I nod and turn my face forward to look at the metal door as well. “Cool.”
“You headed straight to the airport?” he asks, scooting closer to me when more people step into the elevator and go completely still when his bare arm touches mine. It’s so dumb, really. I’m not in the fifth grade, surely I can handle a man’s arm touching mine, but holy crap his arm touching mine makes my insides mush. I decide in this moment that this is the most ridiculous crush I’ve ever had in my life. So what if he looks like a God himself sauntered down here and sprinkled gold all over him. So what if he smells like one of those little ads that come in Esquire magazine for men to sniff the next perfume of their choice? He could totally model for one of those ads too. It doesn’t matter, though—I’ve seen plenty of hot guys. I’ve been with some too. The difference between them and Nick, however, is that he is a man, not a guy. He. Is. Man. If you look up the definition of hot man, you’ll find Nick. No joke.
He nudges me, snapping me out of my crazy thoughts. “Huh?” I say, confused, looking up at him.
He grins and I feel my knees go a little weak. “Are you going to the airport now?”
“Ohh … well, I have to get my bags and then I’m going.” I frown. “Are you?”
He nods. “Responsible.” He points at himself.
“So am I,” I counter, a little offended at his suggestion.
Nick laughs loudly as we step out of the elevator. “Hey, I don’t know.”
I push his shoulder playfully with my hand, making him laugh louder as he takes my hand and squeezes. “I am responsible! I just need to get my suitcase and that’s it!” I say with a laugh.
“Sure. You don’t need to pack your hair products?” he jokes, grabbing a lock of my hair and shaking it in his hand.
I slap his hand away. “Stop it,” I fume jokingly. “I do need to pack my hair iron,” I mutter under my breath, making us both laugh.
“Figures,” he says, his sea-green-blue eyes twinkling.
“You know your eyes change colors?” I ask randomly.
Nick slows down his pace until we both stop walking. We’re standing in the entrance of the building and people are walking past us on either side, but neither one of us move. We just stand there; holding each other’s stares until I feel dizzied from the way the look in his eyes makes me feel.
He steps in, just an inch closer to me, close enough for my breath to catch at the proximity. Close enough that I have to crane my head to look at him. Close enough for the amazing smell of fresh smelling man that radiates from him to wrap around me. His gaze dances over my face and falls onto my mouth, lingering there as he licks his own lips slowly, making a new kind of warmth curl in my stomach. When he looks back into my eyes, the side of his mouth tilts up, as if he can hear my thoughts ringing loudly in his head. I’m sure what I want is written all over my face. I’ve never been good at hiding my emotions.
“They do change colors—my eyes,” he says quietly, as if I might’ve forgotten what we were talking about. “And I love the way you look at them. Like you get lost in them, like you can’t help yourself.”
My eyes widen, but I’m too stunned to move or reply to that. What would I say, anyway? Yes? I swallow loudly instead and bite down on my lip, looking toward the door for a distraction.
Nick’s finger tipping my chin brings my attention back to him. “See you later, Brooklyn,” he says, dropping his hand and tugging a lock of my hair before walking off.
***
By the time I climb the stairs of the jet, Shea and Nick are already sitting in there playing the Xbox that’s connected to the big screen television toward the back. Shea nods his head at me in greeting, not taking his eyes off of the screen as he continues to shoot his opponent. Nick turns his head to me and smiles, tipping his fingers in a salute.
“Dude! You’re gonna get me killed!” Shea shouts.
Nick laughs and looks back to the TV. I shake my head and walk toward them, plopping down behind them.
“Is anybody else coming?” I ask, propping my head on my hand and laying my body sideways across the couch so that I can still look at the game they’re playing. I don’t think I’ll ever understand the excitement of these Call of Duty games, but Shea loves them.
“I’m surprised you’re a gamer,” I say in reference to Nick. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for one.”
Nick chuckles and turns his head, his brows raising slightly as he does a slow sweep of my entire body that leaves me shivering. When his eyes reach my face again, my stomach feels like it’s zip lining from the look he’s giving me. He looks like he wants to devour me and between the way my heart is beating against my chest and the rest of my body is coiling, I wish he would.
“I’m a man of many talents,” Nick says, his voice dropping into what I can only describe as a sensual timbre that makes me bite down on the inside of my cheek.
“Nick! You’re gonna fucking die!” Shea screams, visibly upset over the game.
Nick completely ignores Shea’s plea to get back in the game and lets his gaze continue to rock through me, making me feel unnerved, bare, as if I’m under a microscope. I’m not one to back down from a challenge, but I know that the only reason people look at each other like that is because they either want to kill each other or fuck each other to death. Because I know we’re both aiming for the latter of the two and I don’t know if I would survive that with him, I find myself shuffling to my feet quickly and excusing myself to go to the bathroom. Shutting the door behind me, I sag against it and let out a breath, closing my eyes until my heart goes back to normal speed.
There’s a knock on my door shortly after, followed by the flight attendant telling me they’re ready for departure. I open the door and peek out, noticing that the bathroom light is on and only Nick is in the cabin. I take a breath and push my shoulders back, walking toward the couch again to buckle my seat belt. We don’t have to do this, people rarely actually put their seatbelts on during private flights, but I like to be safe and not rolling all over the cabin. It happened to me once before and I learned my lesson.
Nick is on his computer with his earphones on, his head bobbing, and hasn’t acknowledged my arrival. If he knows I’m here, he shows no sign of it. Shea steps out of the bathroom, stretching his arms up, his white T-shirt riding up and the top of his underwear showing. It’s the same underwear I saw him in an advertisement for.
“Do they give you free underwear now?” I ask curiously.
Shea grins his shit-eating grin that he throws around when he catches girls checking him out and I have to laugh because he’s that ridiculous. He sits down beside me and throws his arm over my shoulder, tucking his face into the side of my face. Normally I would laugh at his antics, but for some reason the only thing I can think about is Nick and the fact that he’s sitting right in front of us. The entire thing makes me feel weird for some reason, though I don’t know why.
“You wanna see them?” Shea whispers into my ear, causing me to shiver, but it’s more on the disgusted side than turned on side. It’s not that I’m disgusted by Shea, but the idea of being with him in that way only clouds me with bad memories, horrible memories even, ones I don’t care to explore more than I’m doing by going to San Francisco with him. Even that’s pushing my luck, I realize, but at least I can rationalize my visit by thinking I’ll get some closure.
I move my face further away from him and catch Nick’s eyes bounce from the computer screen directly into mine. Shea’s oblivious to my discomfort. Oblivious to the fact that I’m more tuned into what the guy across from us is doing, the guy who hasn’t even touched me, yet ignites tiny fireworks in my veins with just one look. Shea doesn’t feel that my body isn’t responding to him but leaning away instead, the way it has been for years. He doesn’t get it though, he just keeps leaning in, trying to drain me of whatever I have left, even though it’s not his. Not anymore.
Nick, however, notices. He sees it all and he doesn’t look pleased with any of it
. Why does this thrill me? What is it about him looking at me like he wants to possess me that makes me giddy inside? Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve never felt as wanted as he makes me feel with just one glance, just one phrase. Maybe it’s because stupidly, I want to believe that he’ll prove me wrong and show me that not everybody is selfish.
When he doesn’t take a hint, I push Shea off, not taking my eyes off of Nick’s. “Stop clowning around. I was just wondering,” I joke, watching Nick’s eyes and the way they watch my mouth move when I speak, even though I’m talking to Shea.
“Sure,” Shea says. “You know I’d drop Gia if you said you wanted to be with me again, right?”
My eyes widen at his words. The way Nick’s face darkens doesn’t go unnoticed, and I realize that he can hear our conversation despite the earphones covering his ears.
“Shea, you wanna listen to this?” Nick asks, shooting daggers at Shea, who’s scooting even closer to me.
Shea snaps his head in Nick’s direction and moves away from me but leaves his arm over my shoulder. “Sure. I’ll listen to it in a little while,” he responds to Nick. He looks back at me. I can feel his eyes on me, but I’m scared to turn my face to his because how close we are. “Bee,” Shea says.
Casting my eyes down so that I don’t see Nick’s probing eyes on me anymore, I exhale. “What?”
“You never answered me.”
“About what?” I whisper, not wanting to have such a personal conversation in front of somebody. Shea may think Nick’s not paying attention, but I know better. And the kicker is that I actually care.
“About Gia,” he says, his words short as if he’s annoyed that he has to clarify.
“Can we not talk about that?” I ask, shrugging his arm off of me.
Shea exhales deeply. “Sure.”
When we’re in the air, Shea moves away from me and sits beside Nick. They go back and forth over music and songs that he can record for his album. After listening to them go over the same things a couple of times, I plug my own earphones in and tune them out. I have at least ninety demos I hope to get through during the flight, but by the tenth, I find myself falling asleep. I’m not sure when it finally happens, but at some point I do end up completely asleep because the next time I open my eyes, I’m laying down in the bed with Shea sleeping beside me.
Rubbing my hands over my eyes, I sit up in a stretch, admiring the sleeves of tattoos that adorn his arms and remembering the first one he got. It seems like eons ago, and in a sense it was, even though sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday.
I cover him with as much of the covers as I can and get out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb his slumber. Grabbing my bag, I close the door behind me and tiptoe into the bathroom beside the bedroom. Gazing in the mirror, I run my hands over my flushed face and take out my toothbrush. My eyes are still glazed over from my nap and my hair is a mess. After looking for my hairbrush for a while, I decide to finger comb it as best I can as I open the door, jumping back when I find Nick standing right outside of the bathroom. At the sight of him, my heart instantly picks up speed, warning the lightning bugs in my core to wake up in the process.
“Did you have a good nap?” he murmurs, stepping into my personal space, making me feel like there’s not enough oxygen in the entire airplane for the two of us as his eyes wash over me.
“Yeah,” I whisper. I’m wearing flats, which means I’m at eye level with his chest. I take in a breath, inhaling him as I look at his face and decide that his smell is my favorite of all the amazing smells I’ve ever smelled.
His gaze softens as he looks at me and exhales. He straightens out and looks away for a moment, running both hands through his short faux hawk as if mulling something over, and I notice his last name scripted in his inner bicep as he does it. I’ve never understood why people get their own names scripted on themselves, as if they’re going to forget it or something, but Nick’s tattoo totally does it for me, just like everything else about him that I’ve seen so far.
He lowers his arms, looking at me again and walks forward a step, forcing me to walk back one. I can see the question in his eyes and I don’t even think twice about the response, there’s nothing for me to think about. I step back into the small bathroom allowing him to come in as well. The way he keeps dropping his gaze to my lips, I know he wants to kiss me. I also know I wouldn’t stop him if he did. When he cups my face in both his hands and draws circles over my cheeks with his thumbs, still staring into my eyes, I automatically part my lips, welcoming him, pleading him to place his mouth over mine.
Nick dips his head slowly, his eyes never wavering from mine, still asking. I wrap my hands over the backs of his muscled biceps and stand on the balls of my feet, begging him to get closer. He dips his head slightly so that our breaths are mingling together, but not close enough that our faces touch.
“I really, really want to kiss you, Brooklyn,” he murmurs, his voice raspy and soft and filled with need. “I really, really want to.”
“So do it,” I whisper against his lips.
He shakes his head, rubbing the tip of his nose against mine. “I don’t want to share you.”
“I’m not yours to share,” I breathe.
“That’s why I’m not going to kiss you,” he whispers against me, so close I can practically taste his tongue on mine.
My breaths are coming in short spurts; that’s the kind of need I feel for him. I need him to kiss me. I need it so much more than the damn oxygen I’m lacking in my lungs right now. I need it more than I need this plane to land. That’s how his warm touch on my face makes me feel. I feel like I’ll die if he doesn’t kiss me, but at the same time my heart might explode if he does.
He leans in closer, nudging my legs apart slightly with his own and presses his hard body against mine. When he dips his head, I open my mouth automatically for his, but he doesn’t kiss me. He sucks on my bottom lip, slowly, savoring it, moaning as he does it, making me feel like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted in his life. Once he’s finished with it, he moves to my top lip, and then to the side of my mouth before slowly sucking his way along my mouth from one corner to the other. I can’t breathe as he does this, the only thing I can do to keep me from sagging to the floor is hold on to his arms. My head is spinning at the feel of his mouth on mine and the calculated way he devours me without letting me kiss him back. He pulls away slowly and places his forehead against mine, closing his eyes as if to level his thoughts. I’m still breathing heavily when his eyes flutter open and he looks at me again, the heat in his eyes never wavering. As I look into his blue eyes, my heart and stomach still pounding away, I realize that never in my twenty-five years of life have I experienced anything more erotic than this. The longer we stand here, the thicker the air grows between us. I feel like if my heart beats any faster, it’ll end up inside his chest, which seems like a likely place for it at the moment. I move just a little closer to him, my pelvis hitting the hardness in his and he elicits a low groan that resonates through me, making me tighten my grip on him when my knees buck beneath me.
“There’s nothing I want more right now,” he says in a strained whisper, answering an unvoiced question as the tips of his fingers dance along my face.
The mesmerizing way he looks at me makes me want to tell him to take it all right now, and I open my mouth to do just that when the bed creaks in the room beside us. Nick’s eyes dart in that direction as he backs away from me, letting go of my face and holding my arms to steady me. He looks into my eyes one last time, his eyes swimming with desire as he runs the pad of his thumb over my cheek, and exhales before he turns to walk out. As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, I lurch forward to lock it right before sitting down on the floor beside the toilet. I sit here feeling dazed, stunned, running my hands over my lips until I’ve willed my heart and my breath to even and decide to go back out. Unwilling to look at Nick in the eyes, I walk back to the bedroom and close the door behind me, glad that Shea is no
longer in here.
I throw myself on the bed, burying my head into the pillow as I play the kiss but non-kiss over and over in my head. I don’t know whether to laugh at how it made me feel or cry because I want it to happen again so bad. Why didn’t I just tell him I would be his, dammit? I hate those moments that you wish you could press rewind and have a do-over. The worst part is the thought that he may not try to kiss me again. The second worst part is that I have to see him for the next week and I don’t know how to act normal around him without thinking about him sucking my lips. This is going to be the longest week ever. I already know it.
I’m not sure how long I’m in here before Shea knocks on the door and asks me to go back to the sitting area so I can listen to one of his songs. I get up hesitantly and brush past him. He closes the door behind us and grabs my arm to stop me when we step into the sitting area where Nick is sitting typing on his computer. He looks up, our eyes locking for a moment before his gaze drifts to where Shea is holding my arm.
“You feeling okay?” Shea asks, turning me to face him, his voice is full of concern. I nod, even though my stomach is tying up in knots of discomfort.
“Yeah,” I assure him. “Perfect.”
He frowns, searching my face and pulls me into a hug. I wrap my arms around his waist and turn my face, placing it over his chest. My eyes find Nick’s as I lay my head there, listening to Shea’s beating heart under my ear. Rather than tearing my eyes away from his intense stare, I drop my hands from Shea’s middle and begin to walk to my seat.
I sit down across from Nick, beside Shea, and cross my legs Indian style on the seat to get comfortable. Shea scoots close to me and places an arm over one of my legs, the way we always sit when we’re together. I notice that my heart doesn’t sputter in my chest the way it used to once upon a time when he touched me or was near me. I realize that I’m just comforted by him, the way I have been for the past seven years. Nick isn’t looking at us anymore; he’s consumed by whatever he’s doing on his computer, so I tilt my head and look at Shea. His messy hair is getting longer and he needs a shave badly. He’s beginning to look like a slob, despite his expensive clothes and jewelry.
