The Fear of Falling

by Amanda Cowen

  “Hey,” he says.

  You look amazing, I want to say. But I stand still instead and don’t say a word, hoping he will be the one to lead tonight. Are we back to an easy friendship where we relentlessly tease each other? Or have we shifted into a couple of weirdos who can’t get past how they’ve slept together, and now find it necessary to compliment one another?

  “You look beautiful,” he says quietly, desire darkening his expression. My heart flutters unexpectedly when he says this. I guess we’ve shifted into a couple of weirdos, then.

  “Thanks,” I answer with a smile. “You don’t look too shabby yourself.”

  He takes a deep breath before relaxing his shoulders.

  “Yeah, well… I guess I have always cleaned up quite nice,” he teases and then shifts almost uncomfortably. He leans closer, and his voice drops. “I mean you look beautiful in the most platonic way possible. I’m not secretly hoping you rip off your panties because I complimented you.”

  “Good,” I smile. “Because I’m not wearing any.”

  His eyes widen and he makes a show of looking me up and down appreciably. “You’re bluffing.”

  “I assure you, I am not.”

  He bites down on his bottom lip and tilts his head to the side

  . “Jesus,” he growls. He’s completely unashamed by the way he scans my body, with his gaze lingering at my hips. “You know how much it’s killing me to not ask you to prove it?”

  “I bet,” I finally say, slowly moving past him and down the hallway. “Although I’m a little offended you doubt my honesty…” I glance over my shoulder to see his stare zeroed in on my backside. I leave the electricity sizzling palpably between us, and we continue to size one another up in the silence of the hallway, the elevator door pinging open in the distance. “Now, do me a favor and stop ogling at my ass, and start behaving like a proper wedding date.”

  His eyes flicker up to my mouth before blinking up to meet my eyes again. “So this a date then, huh?” He presses his warm hand to the small of my back as he leads us into the elevator.

  Glitz and glam and a whole lot of vows later, my dad is married to Heidi. Watching them kiss for the first time as husband and wife sends a chill up my spine despite the eighty-degree weather. Heidi’s dress is virgin-white, even though this is her third marriage and she started fucking my dad while he was still married to my mom. Nothing about her is virginal or innocent. Christina and Becka are her bridesmaids, and wore long and soft blue-lace dresses. No surprise that I wasn’t asked to be part of their big day as more than a measly guest. Even though it hurts to watch them take photos together along the harbor without me, I turn to a cocktail area leading into the reception for a glass of champagne and to engage in sparkling conversation with Ryan.

  Once the conversation about my dad’s new sham of a life starts to trickle into a debate on whether it’s okay to pee in the shower, and then listing off inappropriate things to say at someone’s funeral, my night starts to morph into those familiar good times I can only have with him. We grab another glass of champagne, and all traces of sadness and rejection from my dad’s new life disappears from my mind as Ryan recites funny movie lines, chats with me about my unhealthy obsession with Kernels popcorn, and makes me draw funny cartoons for him on cocktail napkins. He listens to everything I say so carefully, speaks so honestly, and continually inspects my expression. How does he always have this way of making me feel like I am the only person in the room?

  Time passes by quickly before guests are escorted from the cocktail reception into a large hall. Ryan and I follow, but I stop dead in my tracks when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around to see my dad’s sister Penny standing behind me. She’s really the only member of my dad’s family that hasn’t completely forgotten I exist. She sends me a birthday card and Christmas card every year. She lives in New York, and is super-artsy just like me. She’s never been married, and she works as an Art History Professor at NYU.

  “Hi, Ella! So good to see you.” She leans forward and hugs me tightly.

  “Hi, Aunt Penny. Nice to see you too,” I say, pulling away. She’s much shorter than I am, and has long gray hair and piercing blue eyes.

  “I feel like it’s been forever,” she says, grabbing onto both of my hands, squeezing them. “You must come visit me in New York sometime.”

  “I would love to.”

  “You would love the art scene. If I remember correctly, you are incredibly talented, my dear.” She beams in my direction, eyes sparkling with love. “Just look at you, all grown up! Last time I saw you in person, you were just about to graduate high school. You are still as beautiful as ever.”

  “Thank you.”

  She looks up at Ryan and curiously smiles at him. “Are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?”

  I blush, and glance up at him and his smile. He must be getting a kick out of this.

  “Oh, ah… Well, he’s not my boyfriend,” I tell her. “We’re just friends. Ryan, this is my Aunt Penny, my dad’s sister.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he holds out his hand, and she shakes it.

  “Aren’t you just tall, dark and handsome,” she gushes. “Why on earth aren’t you dating my beautiful niece, huh?” she teases.

  “Um—” he starts waffling.

  “Because Ryan already has a girlfriend,” I pipe up.

  “Actually… I don’t,” he quickly responds. I glance up at him, confused. “We broke up.”

  “You did?” I ask.

  He nods, concentrating on his drink and refusing to make eye contact with me as Aunt Penny observes us.

  “Penny! Over here,” a male voice shouts from behind us. She glances over my shoulder and waves to someone in the distance before meeting my eyes again.

  “So sorry, Ella. We’ll have to catch up later. Please excuse me,” she says. “Ryan, it was very nice to meet you. Hopefully, I’ll see you on the dance floor.” She slips away into the hall.

  A million thoughts run through my mind as Aunt Penny walks away. I can’t keep doing this. Either I’m strictly friends with Ryan, or I’m nothing to him. I can’t keep on having these flip-flopping emotions from one minute to the next. Hearing him say he broke up with Alodie – again – is seriously messing with my head. Why didn’t he tell me?

  I tamp my instinct to press him with more questions. It doesn’t matter anyway if they aren’t together; it has zero effect on my life, and the last thing I want tonight is to talk about Alodie.

  We walk into the lavishly decorated hall, and over to a table in the back far-right corner where our seats are.

  The reception goes into full swing. Dinner is served, the speeches are given, and eventually the DJ starts to play music. The night moves slowly and painfully through each course. We are stuck at a table full of random relatives from my dad’s family whom I haven’t seen since childhood, and most of them are senior citizens. The conversation is pleasant enough, but less than riveting.

  Ryan headed to the bar a while ago to fetch us another drink. I scan the large room to find him at the bar standing beside a tall brunette. They are standing close together, his head bent slightly as he listens to her.

  His head is blocking her face from my view, and my eyes narrow when I notice her hand reach up and grab his forearm. She laughs at something he says, then pulls away slightly, allowing me to get a better look at her.

  I don’t recognize her. She is beautiful, with long and straight brown hair. I watch as she places a shot glass in his hand and cheers him on while holding her own shot glass. An uncertain look crosses his face as he examines the shot before downing it.

  I feel something inside me snap. The thought of him taking a friendly shot with the same openness — the thought of him having a shot with another girl, -period — makes my stomach twist with anger. Which is absolutely insane because he can have a shot with whoever he wants, whenever he wants.

  I watch for a moment more, before Ryan grabs our drinks from the bartender and
gives a departing nod to the mystery girl. She bites down on her bottom lip as she watches him walk away, her eyes telling me she’s not backing down anytime soon from attempting to score with him tonight.

  “They didn’t have any whiskey left, so I got us a rum and coke instead,” he says, sitting down on the empty chair next to me. He slides a drink in front of me with a smile, clearly oblivious to my jealousy. I watch him lean back against the chair, legs spread, eyes on the dance floor. He takes a long pull from his drink and glances over at me. “Did you want to dance?”

  “I wouldn’t want to do a taco-blocko by letting your shot buddy think you are taken,” I sniff.

  Ryan watches me for a few seconds. Within that time, I have a few several different conversations in my head. There’s one where he tells me I am being crazy. There’s another one where I apologize for being a jealous twat. In one conversation, I prattle on about how I don’t want to hear or see his shot buddy tomorrow morning leaving his hotel room. Then there’s one where I ask him to leave this wedding and come back to my hotel room.

  “You mean the girl at the bar?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

  I nod, taking a sip from my drink.

  He laughs. “I don’t even know her first name.”

  “That doesn’t make you sound any better.”

  “Come on. You know I never turn down a shot. Just like I know you never turn down a dance.”

  My heart drops into my stomach as I understand how my jealousy is coming across to him. He must think I am being ridiculous. I open my mouth to backpedal, to pretend I am not jealous at all, but his words come out faster: “Come on, you are dancing with me.”

  And with that, he drags me onto the dance floor.

  We cha-cha, we Macarena, and we even do the hustle. I find out shot girl is Becka’s friend, that her name is Kelly, and that she isn’t shy about making a strong move on Ryan. Becka must have told Kelly that Ryan and I were just friends because she joins us on the dance floor, interjecting herself between the two of us whenever humanly possible. When she blatantly grinds her body against him, he senses my discomfort and dances his way back in my direction.

  With the night coming to an end, the DJ slows things down with a country love ballad.

  Kelly taps Ryan on the shoulder. “Dance with me?” she asks coyly, with what I guess is her most rehearsed seductive smile.

  “Thanks, but I’m going to have to pass,” he says politely. He then turns to face me, putting his hands on my hips. He doesn’t miss the way I shiver slightly; he smiles at me. “I’m going to have this dance with my date.”

  Kelly looks pissed as she storms away through the crowded dance floor and over to Becka.

  I laugh nervously. “Me and you are going to slow-dance? Have you ever done this before? Maybe you should put your feet on top of mine so I can help guide you.”

  His eyes darken. “Very funny, but I’m more than capable. And no, I’ve never actually slow-danced before… which isn’t a bad thing, I guess, because that technically makes you my first,” he winks.

  We sway to the music and I watch him warily.

  “Come on, you actually expect me to believe you’ve never slow-danced? Not even with your mom, or in high school? What about prom?”

  He shakes his head. “I have two left feet. I pretty much avoided all dance floors until I met you.”

  I blush hotly, and I tighten my grip on his shoulders to keep my hands from sliding up his neck and into his hair. I am a little taken aback. For all I know, this is nothing more than what I’d feel if I hadn’t had sex with Ryan: a sense of giddiness, a yearning to be the one beside him though every new experience. I remind myself not to get lost in potential feelings, and try to digress from the intensity in which he’s regarding me.

  “So… Why did you and Alodie break up this time?” I ask before my mind can stop my mouth. I want to punch myself. Why did I have to bring her up?

  Good one, Ella. Real smooth.

  He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, he’s looking off to the side, to some unknown point in the distance. “She gave me an ultimatum,” he murmurs.

  “What kind of ultimatum?”

  Finally, he looks down at me. “If I didn’t stay in San Francisco with her this weekend, it was over.”

  I dig around inside my head for what to say, but the only words that bubble right near the surface are words about us, or spring break, or him, or my own fucked-up brain.

  “I didn’t ask you to come here,” I say quietly.

  His hand lifts at his side, pausing before finally reaching out. Sliding his fingers into my hair, he follows forward with his body, eyes wide open as he rests his forehead against mine, and whispers against my lips. “You didn’t have to. I wanted to be here.”

  My heart slams against my rib cage. “I feel awful.”

  He closes his eyes, pretending he isn’t amused, but I can see him swallow a laugh. “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do,” I protest.

  His smile dissolves slowly, and he runs a finger over my chin, “Say it again with a straight face.”

  I try my best. “I do. I feel awful.”

  His hands slide lower onto my back. “Don’t feel awful. Because I’d never not be there for you. I’d drop anyone anywhere if you needed me.”

  I swallow, and my heart slams against my sternum, my skin humming with warmth. Every part of me feels tight and stiff.

  “Same here. I’d never not be there for you either,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, I know,” he says into my neck just as the song ends and another one begins. We take a moment before pulling away from each other.

  It’s getting late. Guests start funneling out of the hall, and I can see my dad and Heidi at the back corner, saying goodbye to their guests.

  “Should we call it a night?” he asks, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets. “Or should we get another drink?” He nods over to the bar.

  Around us, people are talking, music is playing, and glasses are clinking. But to us, the room is completely silent; we just stare at each other. His eyes grow anxious and wide.

  I realize he is getting embarrassed the longer I take to reply. “Maybe let’s just call it a night,” I suggest.

  He nods, and guides us out of the hall, into the elevator, and down the hallway to our separate rooms.

  “So, this is my stop,” he says at his room’s door.

  I can’t push any air past the tangle in my throat. Finally, I manage to say “Yup, mine too.”

  We stare at each other. He opens his mouth to say something, but I panic and interject. “I’m really happy you came,” I tell him.

  He sighs and looks down. “Yeah, me too.”

  “And I… uh, I am really happy we’re cool again. Like, back to normal, you know?” Jesus, Ella. Stop talking.

  “Yeah. Me too,” he repeats in a wobbly voice.

  “Because obviously we were both stupid to think we could have sex without complicating things. Who were we kidding?” I nervously laugh.

  “Ourselves,” he says, straight-faced.

  “Exactly. I’m glad we moved past it,” I ramble on. “Because I don’t have any feelings for you. You know that, right?”

  He glares at me. “Okay, that’s good, because I don’t have feelings for you, either.”

  I force myself not to feel anything when he says this. “Okay. Good,” I repeat, then turn away from him, sliding my key card into the slot.

  “Ella, wait…” he starts, and I turn around slowly to face him.

  “What?”

  The words he wanted to say seem to leave him. I watch his shoulders fall, the air leaving his lungs. He stares at me for a long while, his eyes losing their fire.

  “Good night, Ella.”

  He pushes open his hotel-room door and disappears behind it.

  Chapter 20

  I endlessly pace the room. My head is a mess; my heart won’t stop pounding.

  I have no idea what ju
st happened, only that I missed my big opportunity. I could have told Ryan exactly how I feel about him – that I like him as more than a friend – but instead, I panicked and told him the complete opposite.

  What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t stop my mind from racing with thoughts of knocking on his door and kissing him. But I’m afraid that if I try to kiss him again, he could reject me, and I could lose my best friend for good.

  I stop in front of my door and simply stare at it. Make a decision, Ella. Either knock on his door and tell him how you feel, or crawl under the covers and go to sleep.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  I jump from the swift sound. I stand frozen in place, worried my mind is playing tricks on me. Am I hearing things, or did someone seriously just knock on my door? But when it happens a second time, I step forward and pull it open.

  Ryan appears in front of me. My heart trips. His shoulders fill the doorway. I look up, admiring his bare chest as it widens and retracts with his slow and steady breaths. His muscular shoulders lead to a smooth, tan neck. His lips part slightly, and his tongue peeks out to wet them again. My eyes drop to his toned arms, the large hands relaxed at his sides, his flat stomach, and the front of his pajama bottoms begging me to rip them off and explore further.

  Okay, Ella. Play it cool.

  Silence ticks between us. He runs a hand through his messy hair; then looks at my eyes, cheeks, and lips for a long moment before meeting my gaze again.

  “Hey,” he says, a gorgeous and deadly smile tugging at his mouth. “Did I wake you?”

  I swallow thickly and cross my hands over my chest, only now fully registering what I decided to change into: a flimsy t-shirt and black lace panties.

  “No. I was, uh, just – what did you want?”

  “You,” he exhales, watching me carefully before saying the word. “I want you.” His eyes darken with intent, and he takes one step closer. His hand grips the back of my head, and he gives me exactly what I want: the deep, demanding kiss I’ve been craving all night long.