The Fear of Falling

by Amanda Cowen

  He nods. “Yeah. Prelaw.”

  “An aspiring lawyer. Wow.”

  “Yeah.” He straightens his shoulders. “Trying to keep the family tradition alive,” he adds nonchalantly, like he isn’t completely stressed out by the pressure his father places on him to follow in his footsteps. “My dad owns a law firm back home in Sacramento. What about you?”

  “I’m studying at City College,” she glances down at his toned thighs. “I’m in the Theater Program. You’ll find me on Broadway one day.”

  “You’re artsy just like Jonesy,” he grins over at me. “How do you two know each other again?” he asks.

  Just as I’m about to answer, Alodie interrupts. “She’s never mentioned me?” She gives me a scolding pout. “We teach a class together at the Ballet Academy.”

  “She’s my assistant,” I clarify.

  Ryan glances over at me with another one of his shit-eating grins, which he’s struggling to hide. This time, I want to smack it off his face because I know exactly what he’s thinking. “You two must have a choreographed Coyote Ugly-inspired routine you could perform, no?”

  “No,” I say. “Stop being such a pervert.”

  “Ohmigod, Ella! We totally should,” Alodie squeals. “It’s your birthday!”

  “I like your spunk, Alodie.” Ryan laughs. “Let me pour you ladies another drink. Jonesy is nowhere near the appropriate amount of drunk. And I definitely want to see that dance.”

  Only a handful of songs pump through the speakers before I’m overly buzzed and super giggly. Ryan pours us two more rounds of drinks and a third round of shots. Naturally, Alodie cozies up to him in the VIP booth and talks his ear off. When she declined my offer to head to the dance floor, Ryan gives me one of his famous “help me” looks just before I rejoin our other friends. Instead of bailing him out, as usual, I decide to leave him behind and light up the dance floor with my stellar moves.

  Maisie cheers me on as I become the center of the circle, and then the center of attention at the club. I’m not even sure I’m dancing well, but all the tequila seems to remove any ounce of self-consciousness I’d normally feel. I attain the level of wildness I hoped for, and even take a body shot off Kale and let him take one off me.

  The hours passes by quickly. Despite my earlier refusal to dance on a bartop, I somehow end up there, with Maisie at my side and the entire club cheering us on. At some point, a random guy hands me a drink, and one guy even gets up on the bartop and starts dancing with me.

  I have no idea how much time has passed when I hear, “Jonesy!”

  I recognize Ryan’s voice as he shouts from somewhere below me. I try to focus on where his voice is coming from, but my vision isn’t doing so well and I’m a tad distracted by my dance partner. I am pretty sure those are his hands cupping my ass.

  I continue to dance, even though I notice Maisie is no longer beside me. I can’t see much and I definitely can’t hear much over the music. I just know I am having fun, and I really don’t want to stop dancing.

  A hand tugs on my wrist a few songs later. I look down to see Ryan staring up at me.

  “Hey! Ryan! Get up here!” I shout.

  He shakes his head and glares at my male dancing partner. Even though I am drunk, I can see he’s irritated.

  “Who is this guy?” my dance partner says against my ear. He glares down at Ryan and then pulls me closer against his chest as we continue to dance.

  “This is Ryan,” I shout and shimmy away from him. “Wait. What was your name again?” I ask.

  “Okay, buddy. That’s enough,” Ryan shouts. “Come on, Jonesy. Party’s over.” Before I can even protest, he grabs me at the legs and tosses me over his shoulder. I start laughing uncontrollably as he carries me through the crowd. Every time he takes a step, I hiccup, which amuses me. I can’t stop laughing or hiccuping.

  When we make it outside, he finally places me down on my own two feet. The entire world starts to spin, and I am fairly certain I need to pee. Wearing heels now seems like a terrible idea. I hold onto Ryan’s arm to steady myself as I enjoy the cool fresh air on my face.

  “Jesus, Jonesy,” he scratches the back of his head and props me up a bit. “You are a mess.”

  “It’s all your-” I hiccup, and then laugh and then hiccup again. “Your fault,” I finally finish my sentence as he pulls open a door of a cab and guides me onto the backseat. “I was having so much fun. Why did you pull me off the bartop?”

  “Because I’m pretty sure your dance partner was getting the wrong impression.” He does not sound impressed.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t mind,” I hiccup. “That’s the most action I’ve had in months.”

  Ryan looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but I can tell he’s mildly amused. He scans my body from head to toe, a smile lingering on his face. He’s so damn observant sometimes that it makes me blush, and I know that as soon as his smile slowly disappears into a fine line, he’s thinking about something he’d rather not say.

  “Where am I dropping you two off?” the cab driver asks.

  My stomach turns, and a wave of nausea passes over me as Ryan rambles off my address to the cab driver. I can’t remember the last time I was ever this hammered. I am not a hardcore party girl, but the last thing I wanted was to be a dud on my birthday. But somehow I ended up a complete mess, in the backseat of cab, and gauchely intoxicated for the first time in months, sitting close enough to Ryan that I could use his shoulder as a pillow.

  “Hey,” I slur, trying to keep myself alert. It dawns on me I have no idea where the rest of our friends are. “Where did everyone else go?”

  “They left a while ago.” He makes a mildly irritated expression before continuing. “No one could get you away from that creep.”

  I tilt my head. “Aw. Are you jealous?” I laugh.

  Ryan doesn’t answer.

  “Is that why you waited for me?” I tease him. “You didn’t like Mr. Touchy-Feely groping your buddy Jonesy?”

  Oh boy. I’ve definitely had too much to drink when I start talking in the third person.

  “I promised I’d get you home safe,” he says, his tone unreadable. “Maisie left with Jayce. Kale left with some random girl. There was no one left to babysit you.”

  “What about Alodie?” I ask.

  He studies me with his dark, brooding eyes. “What about her?”

  “She was all over you,” I remind him.

  “She was obnoxious.”

  “That hasn’t stopped you before,” I say, slurring my words. Ryan has never turned down an overly flirty female as gorgeous and as willing as Alodie. When he doesn’t respond, I continue to ramble. “I could name a ton of obnoxious girls you’ve taken home from the club. Seriously. Why didn’t you go home with her? I can take care of myself.”

  Ryan remains silent. The longer he stares at me, the more it feels like my heart is beating a little too rapidly for my liking. My chest just gets tighter and tighter. For the first time ever, Ryan is making me nervous.

  “I didn’t want to go home with her.”

  The cab becomes silent as we stare at each other in an impenetrable silence. Beneath his gaze, I see something there I hadn’t seen before, some depth he usually keeps hidden, as if tonight, a shield was stripped away. It can’t be just the alcohol because we’ve both been drunk together so many times before. I can’t even begin to panic or push away the unfamiliar feeling in my belly as he slides a hand along my neck and into my hair. I don’t even flinch from his touch, or from his warm eyes as they gaze into mine. I look at him, feeling confused. Drunk, mostly.

  Ryan leans in closer and kisses me once, just a touch. Even though I am completely taken aback, I don’t pull away like I should. For a quick beat, he gazes down at me, panicked, like he’s waiting for me to slap him away. I know kissing him back is a terrible mistake. He’s my best friend, and we are both drunk.

  But my heart rate picks up. Before I can even stop myself, I stupidly kiss him back, groaning as my h
ands slide up his chest and around his neck. His lips fall into an easy rhythm against mine – nothing feels weird about drunk-kissing my best friend in the back seat of a cab, even though it really should. I can taste a hint of spearmint gum mixed with the shots we did in the club. He’s never been a sloppy drunk, but his cheeks are warm from the alcohol, and his body is a little too relaxed considering I’m the person he’s making out with.

  The next thing I remember is exiting the cab, stumbling together into my apartment, more kissing, sucking and biting. Somehow, I’m very naked with the one person I shouldn’t ever be caught naked with.

  Chapter 2

  I dream a lot. My dreams are so vivid sometimes, I find it hard to differentiate whether my dreams are just dreams or real events that actually happened to me. Some are easier to decipher than others; if a tiger beats me in a salsa-dancing competition, chances are it’s a dream. But it’s those dreams that mirror current events in my life that cause me to question their validity. If I dreamt I was mad at Maisie for borrowing my favorite pair of shoes without asking, it could be real life.

  The only time I don’t dream is when I’ve had a little too much to drink. Those dreamless nights are what I like to call a blackout.

  After stretching my arms across my pillows, I feel a little disoriented from my blackout.

  I normally rise and shine with a dream fresh on my mind, like I’ve backpacked through Thailand or wrestled a grizzly bear. This morning is a very different experience. I feel all kinds of terrible. My head pounds fiercely against my skull, and my stomach twists and turns in a way that makes me wonder if I’ll make it to the toilet should I need to puke.

  The sun filters through the window and warms my cheek in my dizzy haze.

  I lay there in silence, trying to piece my evening together and how I even ended up at home in my bed and – wait – why am I naked? My heart is hammering wildly – and – with the pulse of adrenaline in my blood – the memories from last night hit me like a physical blow to my chest. Touching. Kissing. Pulling Ryan down the hallway and into my bedroom. Flashes of naked skin, movement, and the incredibly explosive orgasms, one after another. I wince, nausea sweeping through me.

  Holy. Fuck.

  Panicked, I sit up a little too quickly, gather my sheets around my chest, and look over at an empty bed and pillow beside me. Even though I am so dizzy, I am able to let out the most relieved breath. Thank God. I’m alone.

  Of course, it was just a dream. I chuckle out loud into my empty bedroom. A very hot and satisfying dream, mind you, but not my current reality. I guess it wasn’t a blackout night after all.

  What the hell is wrong with me, though? Why would I dream I slept with Ryan?

  I thump my head back against the headboard and stare up at my ceiling, thanking the heavens I did not sleep with my best friend. But that still doesn’t answer how I ended up alone and naked in my bed. When I glance over at a pile of my clothes on the floor, I gather I was just a drunk mess and stripped down full nude.

  I take a few moments to let my heart rate return to normal, and hope this nausea washes away with a hot cup of coffee. I move slowly off my bed and over to my closet as light shoots in through the window, slanted shadows casted across the wood flooring throughout my tiny bedroom.

  My vintage refurbished furniture is my absolute favorite. The furniture belonged to my grandmother; they were left to me after she passed away. The dresser and end table are full of framed photographs of my family and friends back home in Yachats, Oregon, including a few sporadic photos of me and Ryan, me and Maisie and then a few more of our entire group. My walls are decorated with original and very colorful paintings I painted myself, giving a whole artistic feel to my space. I throw on a baggy t-shirt that reads Allergic to Mornings, a pair of black lace panties, and warm wool socks before I exit my bedroom.

  It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust once I step into my brightly lit kitchen, but when they do, I let out a startled scream at the sight of Ryan digging around in my fridge. The memories from last night flood my brain again. This time, I know those memories are definitely not a dream.

  Ryan closes the fridge door, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. My pulse trips in wild throbs against my neck, and I try to calm my thoughts and survey the kitchen. The sheer reality of it all catches me off-guard, and for a moment I think I may collapse.

  For the first time since I’ve met Ryan, I feel self-conscious in his presence. Our height difference suddenly has me wishing I wore high heels out of my bedroom, not ugly wool socks. He’s always been at least six inches taller than me, and at least twice as wide. But as he stands in my kitchen shirtless, his tanned and muscular chest on full display, no tattoos and with only a scar from having his appendix removed his senior year of high school, the sight of him has me feeling a bit faint. Even though I’ve seen him shirtless a thousand times before, this time everything is different because his shirtless body was on top, underneath, and behind mine all night long.

  “Hey. How are you feeling?” he asks.

  “Like absolute shit.”

  He waits, thinking. For the first time, I realize he is as as awkward as I feel. I can see his eyes nervously scanning my face. Normally when he studies me, it’s because he’s amused at something I’ve said or done. Clearly nothing about us sleeping together is amusing or we’d be laughing about it, not uncomfortably staring at each other in a deafening silence.

  “You don’t have any milk in your fridge,” he turns away from me and grabs a pot of coffee, pouring a mugful. “I know you hate black coffee, but here. It works just like an antihistamine,” he smiles, nodding down at my stupid shirt.

  “Thank you.” I take the mug from his hand and slide onto a bar stool at the kitchen island.

  Another awkward few beats pass before Ryan clears his throat. “Oh, and I’ve got Tylenol.” He pops open a bottle and slides two pills across the island. I thank him again and swallow them down with my coffee.

  I really can’t handle our silence, or him nervously staring at me.

  “So… did I dream we had sex last night, or did we actually have sex last night? Because if we did, wow… we sure know how to groove under the covers.” Good one, Ella. I have to physically restrain myself for smacking my palm to my forehead. To make matters worse, I add a lighthearted laugh, hoping he tells me I dreamt it up and us sleeping together isn’t a real possibility.

  “Come on, Jonesy.” He looks a little offended. Both his eyebrows shoot up. “You were drunk, but you weren’t that drunk. You really don’t remember whether we grooved under the covers or if it was one of your crazy dreams?”

  “A little… well, no.” My heart is beating so hard, I can hear the whoosh of it in my ears. Deep down, I know what we did. I just want him to be the first one to say it because I don’t think I can say it out loud. I’m scared that once I admit it, everything will change between us.

  His brows pull together and I clarify: “I remember some things… like I was having a ton of fun at the club. Oh, and that cute guy I was dancing with,” I pause, waiting for him to say something. When he doesn’t, I continue. “I’m pretty sure his hands were up my skirt.”

  “That guy was a fucking creep.”

  I stay quiet because I can’t discern Ryan’s facial expression. I didn’t expect him to be supportive of some random guy feeling me up, but it was his idea after all for me to let go of all my inhibitions and dance freely for the entire club.

  “You’re the one who wanted to see me get so drunk I’d Coyote Ugly.” I remind him.

  He smooths his hands down his mouth and over his chin, holding my gaze. “I’m not asking if you remember what happened at the club. I’m asking if you remember what happened after the club.”

  “A little.”

  “That’s not really an answer.”

  I take another few sips of my coffee. I know him well enough to know he also doesn’t want to be the one to admit we slept together, either.

&n
bsp; Looks like we are at an impasse.

  “Define ‘a little’,” he pipes up again.

  “You carried me out of the club and put me in a backseat of a cab and then…” I stop, changing my mind against admitting I know what happened. Too messy. Too much. “That’s about it.”

  His brows draw together again, and more questions seem perched on his tongue. But instead of asking them, he takes one step closer. He studies my ugly wool socks while scratching the back of his head. “Really? That’s it?”

  “In case you forgot, I did want my twenty-first birthday to be a wild night full of bad decisions.” Heat seeps into my bloodstream as he moves around the island and slides into the empty chair beside me. “Mission accomplished, I guess.”

  “Bad decisions, huh?” His gaze shifts to my eyes.

  “I’d prefer if we never talked about what happened ever again.”

  “We probably should,” he says, still smirking darkly at my lips.

  “No. We shouldn’t.” I ignore the smug tilt on his lips. At least I’m trying to hide the way I’m shaking inside, so muddled with sensation overload by the way he’s looking at me. But maybe I shouldn’t be so self-conscious. It’s not like I’m the first girl he’s ever had casual sex with. What happened was a huge mistake, we both know it, and most importantly, we can’t let it ruin our friendship.

  Ryan reaches behind me. I feel my senses rising in anticipation of his touch. He gently gathers my hair in his hands, barely brushes his fingers against the nape of my neck as he bunches the strands into a twist and closes a single fist around it. “Come on, Jonesy. Just admit you remember every kiss, every lick, every dirty little word I whispered in your ear. Because there’s no way in hell I’ll ever be able to forget how sweet you tasted when my head was between your legs, or how wildly you squirmed all over my face. I especially won’t forget when I pressed myself inside you and finally heard you moan my name. Now stop playing games with me and just admit you remember.”

  I’m practically gasping; my heart is thudding so hard. I can’t stop myself from feeling hot and bothered and mostly embarrassed. I can’t believe we did those things with each other. I try to move, but he’s still holding me by my hair. His eyes are impossibly mischievous. His smile, infectious. This feels familiar, and also not: this time, he’s not giving me a nougie. I look up at his bare chest. It’s hard and smooth and way too close for my liking. Memories of our night together come rushing back all at once. He lets out a sharp hiss when I slap his bare bicep, signaling him to let go. He releases his grip and I slide off the stool, taking a few steps backward to put a safe amount of distance between us.