Catch Me

by Claire Contreras

  The business isn’t that big. Everybody knows somebody that knows somebody, so when I realized that we were bound to continue to run into each other, I gave up trying to push him away. And the thing is, he’s a good friend when he’s not trying to hook up with me. Thankfully he hasn’t tried again after our last hurrah when I made it clear that it couldn’t happen again. He’s hazardous to me, the things he’s into can make me crumble—we both know that—so he’s accepted his place in my life. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s a guy that usually gets what he wants and sometimes he looks at me like I’m exactly that.

  Standing up, I grab the notepad with Nick’s number on it and take my empty glass to the sink. “Let’s just go to the party in the lounge,” I say over my shoulder. “I’ll be ready at nine.”

  Shea stands, leaving his empty glass on the coffee table. “You wanna go to the store with me so I can get new shoes?”

  I look into his eyes for a moment and see the sincerity of a true friend and the loneliness of a lost boy. I don’t hesitate anymore. I grab my large purse and place it on my forearm before following him out. We spend a couple of hours shopping because Shea can’t just buy one thing, he has to buy the shoes and matching belt and sunglasses that look good with the shoes and matching belt. I’m not one to talk, since I left the store with a new purse. But only because I didn’t have that style and I really, really liked it.

  “You talked to the Wicked Witch lately?” Shea asks as we stroll down Fillmore Street. There are three bodyguards around us now, blocking us from the views of most of the cameras that follow. It’s times like these that I’m glad Shea isn’t tall, because he can sort of hide out within the fort of the bodyguards.

  “Nope,” I reply, not needing to elaborate the many reasons I haven’t spoken to my mother. Shea knows better than anybody how much I’ve struggled with her in the past. “You talk to yours?” Our mothers are one and the same. His is nicer to him than mine is, but nicer means that instead of pointing out certain things she doesn’t like about him, she ignores him entirely. Unless she wants to go to an event or she needs a new car, then Maria is all over her son. It’s sickening to witness.

  “Eh … a couple of weeks ago,” he says, scratching his head in thought.

  We eat lunch in a little Asian restaurant and head back to the hotel so that he can drop me off.

  “I have interviews with two radio stations, then I’ll be back. I’ll pick you up at nine,” Shea says as I exit the car in the back of the hotel. I get my bags and wave him off, promising that I’ll be ready. When I get back to my room, I’m a little disheartened to find that it’s still empty. Even though I didn’t call Nick, a part of me hoped he would come back. The stupid, wrong, forever dreamer part of me, that is.

  I’m sitting in the living room, waiting for Shea, noticing that the clock on the wall says it’s 9:28. I figured he would be late because he’s never on time, not that I usually am, but I’m never usually this bored either. I’ve already listened to thirty demos, changed my clothes three times, and checked my hair and makeup seven times—this will be the eighth time I get up and go to the bathroom to look at myself. I’m wearing a short black dress and killer black wedges that I had to practice walking in a couple of times before tonight. They have a very Lady Gaga look to them, with the heel curved inward, which I love. My hair is down, as usual, because I never really know what to do with it, and my makeup looks flawless, which is good because if I hadn’t learned anything after the countless makeup classes my mother paid for me to go to, she would have a coronary. She always calls when she sees photos of me in magazines and we “discuss my makeup, hair, and outfit” and “where I went wrong” or “what I did right.” It’s a favorite pastime of hers, discussing the way I look.

  At ten o’clock, I get tired of waiting and call Shea’s cell phone. He answers on the fourth ring.

  “BK, I’m going up there now. Fuck. I completely forgot to pick you up! Shit!” he curses loudly, speaking quickly into the line.

  I breathe, not letting disappointment consume me. I try not to remind myself that this is the same guy who offered not to go to this party but to take me somewhere else to cater to me. I try not to remind myself of the countless times he’s let me down.

  “It’s fine. I’ll meet you down there,” I say, instead.

  “You sure?” he asks.

  I bite my tongue. “Positive,” I say, smiling so that he can hear it. I hope he hears the fakeness of it through the line.

  “Awesome. See you here. You’re my date,” he says.

  I laugh because I can’t stand it, and I hang up the phone as I head out of my room. I figure that Leo and Fern will be down there, so I’ll have them to talk to anyway, and I don’t want to stay holed in my room the entire night. I spot Darius when I get to the lounge, and he ushers me in, taking me to where Shea is sitting with two girls on either side of him. He’s wearing a black button down shirt and jeans, his hair a crazy mess as usual. He’s talking to one of the girls, the blonde one wearing a red dress, when he spots me and his eyes bulge out of their sockets for a second. I internally pat myself on the back and let myself smile, though it’s not a smug smile, it’s the fake one I reserve for Shea when I catch him off guard.

  “Damn, BK,” Shea says, standing up and giving me his hand, which I don’t take.

  “Thanks,” I say, cutting off his compliments. I don’t want him to tell me that I look hot or fine or whatever other compliment he wants to throw at me right now. I’m not in the mood for it. “Where’s Leo?” I ask, looking around.

  Shea stands beside me and puts his arm around my shoulder. The wedges I’m wearing make us stand at the same height. I may even be a drop taller than him. “I’m so sorry I forgot to get you. They kept calling me, so I came down thinking I would have enough time to go back up, but then I got caught up,” he explains, his voice soft and cajoling.

  I nod in understanding, knowing exactly what he got caught up in. “It’s totally fine,” I say. “I’m going to get a drink and see if I spot Leo,” I respond, shrugging away from his hold.

  “All right, I’ll be here,” he says, walking back to his groupies. They’re faceless to me. I stopped looking at the girls around him a long time ago. They always have the same “He’s taking me home tonight” look in their eyes regardless of the state they’re in.

  Making my way down the steps, I walk to the bar, which is lit up with a nice blue glow around it. I squeeze between two empty stools and ask for a rum and coke when I get the attention of the bartender. I smell Nick standing beside me before I turn to acknowledge him. It doesn’t even cross my mind that it could be another man wearing his cologne because the pounding of my heart tells me it’s him.

  “Rum and coke, huh?” he asks before I figure out what to say to him. He leans in closer, his chest brushing against the back of my arm and I close my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I spit out while I still have the courage to apologize, hoping he accepts it without me having to turn around and look into his eyes as I do it.

  His hand wraps around my forearm and he pivots my body so that we’re facing each other. My senses are hyperaware of him, of his smell, of the tension that’s radiating off of him as he stares at me … while I stare at nothing under my eyelids.

  “Why are you sorry?” he asks, his voice low and in my ear now. I intake as much breath as I can without feeling lightheaded, which is pointless because the only thing I breathe in is Nick and he makes me feel breathless.

  Slowly, I open my eyes and find his for a second before quickly dropping my gaze. Instead of looking at his face, my eyes trail down his body and back up. He’s wearing jeans and a striped button down shirt that he has rolled up to expose his strong forearms. His hair is styled into his signature faux hawk and I can see a shadow of stubble over his jaw that makes me want to extend my hand and trace it. His eyes look amazing under the glowing blue light of the bar, almost matching the color. The way he’s looking at me so intently,
I almost don’t hear the bartender tell me my drink is beside me.

  “I’m sorry I slapped you,” I say looking into Nick’s eyes, and surprisingly, I feel lighter after saying the words this way.

  He nods, accepting my apology. “You here with Shea?” he asks, his words coming out tense.

  I let out a laugh. “Does it look like I’m here with Shea?” I ask, raising an eyebrow and knowing that Nick, who towers over me even in these heels, can see what Shea is up to behind me. He glances over me, probably confirming what I’m saying before pinning me with his gaze again.

  “So you’re here alone?” Nick asks, seemingly needing a confirmation.

  “Nick, did you get my drink already?” a female voice to my left asks. I’m still looking at Nick, whose face shows no signs of anything at the question. I tell myself that it’s because he has nothing to hide, he’s with Stephanie—I know this. When I look at the girl beside him, I notice that she’s a redhead, not the Stephanie girl I saw him with before. He did say that she wasn’t his girlfriend, but goodness, this is like Shea all over again. Because I am really trying not to be that girl—the one that’s always second place to everybody—I pick up my drink and put a bill down on the bar before walking away. Nick doesn’t come after me, which tells me everything I need to know, and I don’t turn around to see what he’s doing because I don’t need to see him with another woman. Actually, I would rather rip my eyes out than have to see him with another woman.

  My heart is still beating out of my chest when I reach Shea’s table. He’s narrowed down his two groupies to one, it seems, because only the girl in the red dress remains.

  “What’d you get?” he asks as I take a seat beside him.

  “Rum and coke,” I respond, noticing the way his bottle of vodka is almost out already.

  “I would’ve offered to get you a bottle, but I know how you get about sharing drinks,” he says.

  Again, I bite my tongue. I wonder if he remembers the time they slipped something in our drinks at a club and had us hallucinating well into the next night. After that experience, I decided that if I ever stepped foot in a club or lounge again, I would buy my own drinks. This night is proving to be grating my every last nerve. I decide that I’m going to have this drink and call it a night. Nick walks up the stairs soon after, the redhead trailing closely behind him. I wish I could fight the way my heart soars around him. I wish I could tell him to stop looking at me with those eyes that tell me he wants me, especially when he’s with somebody. And more than anything, I wish I could just forget about him and his lying ways.

  I stiffen when Nick takes a seat directly across from me. Because of the way the couches are set up, our legs brush against each other’s when he extends his legs to get comfortable. He locks eyes with mine and takes a sip of his amber drink; I take a sip of mine. The redhead sits in the seat beside him and my stomach turns when she leans in to whisper something in his ear. They continue their conversation, as Shea’s conversation with the lady in red has progressed to him sticking his tongue down her throat, and I just sit here, alternating between staring at my drink, taking large sips and sorting through my clutch purse.

  When Shea leans in to me and asks if I want to dance, my eyes dart to Nick, who’s explaining something to the girl he’s with. She looks completely enthralled by the conversation and he looks just as into it, using his hands to emphasize his every word. I catch random words of it and notice they’re talking about producing, which is better than sexual positions, but it still makes me crazy.

  “Oh, you decided to come up for air,” I say to Shea, who laughs, throwing both arms around me and squeezing.

  “Jealous?” he asks playfully.

  “Fuck no,” I respond, and it’s the truth. I’m more disgusted at him than jealous of him, and knowing that the entire universe thinks he’s exclusively dating Gia and he’s in here making out with some nobody is even more of a turn-off. “What would Gia say if she walked in the door right now and saw you?” I ask curiously. It’s not like Gia is a saint either.

  Shea drops his arms and shrugs, scrunching his nose the way he does when he thinks. “I dunno, never really thought about it … she’d either be pissed or want to join us.”

  I make a face. “Gross.”

  Shea laughs. “So you wanna dance?”

  Throwing back the rest of my drink, I look at Nick, whose eyes are now on me, even though the redhead has now moved so close to him that she’s almost sitting on his lap. I smile at him, showing no teeth because I’m grinding them together, and stand up, adjusting my dress as I do. Nick’s eyes travel slowly from my feet all the way up my legs, taking in every inch of skin I’m showing. He doesn’t stop until he reaches my eyes, and when he does, his are filled with the kind of desire that makes it hard for me to breathe.

  Memories of what we shared in the bathroom of the airplane and in the hotel room come flooding into me, making my stomach clench. I know that we’re totally eye fucking each other, I can feel that we are and it crosses my mind that we’re being rude, but I can’t find it in me to care. Shea pulls my hand suddenly, breaking the spell Nick has cast on me, and drags me to the dance floor. I feel Nick’s eyes boring into me as I walk away from him. I’m not sure if I should relish the fact that he’s looking or let the feeling of uneasiness that is tingling through me win. In the end, the music squashes the uneasiness, and I find myself dancing to a hip hop song with Shea.

  I think one of the things I always liked about dancing with Shea when we went out was the way people made room for us, even at a crowded club. This lounge isn’t crowded, but the dance floor opens for us just the same, giving us room to move around, not that we need it with the way we dance. Shea and I have the art of seductive dancing down to a science, even though we make it look more like a dirty sonnet. We’ve done it so many times and have heard so many cheers, and we both know the right moves that will get us that praise. And we do it tonight, just like we always do.

  He puts his arm around me and grinds against me in a sensual motion that drives women all around the world crazy, gaining us hoots and hollers. When he spins me to face the crowd, I notice that Nick is standing, watching us intently. I almost expect him to grab his date and leave, but he doesn’t, he just stays there, his eyes transfixed on mine, daring me to look away from him—so I don’t. I watch him the entire time my body moves against Shea’s. I see the way his eyes blaze when Shea takes his hand and places it flat over my stomach, and the way his jaw clenches when Shea dips me toward him. Thankfully the song switches to another one, and even though we get a request for an encore, I hear Shea turn it down. I don’t even pay attention to the cheers coming from the crowd; I don’t bask in them the way I normally would because the person whose praise I want is looking at me like he just experienced his own death before his eyes. It’s not an upset look; it’s more of a tortured look, one that makes my heart feel hollow.

  Shea kisses me on the cheek and tells me he’s going to get laid before walking back to the girl in the red dress, leaving me standing there torn on what to do. Nick’s eyes stay on mine as he makes his way over to me. A guy with a thick black beard has now started to move beside me, probably thinking he’s going to get that show and maybe more out of me, but I don’t look at him. I can’t look at him, not with the way Nick is striding over to me like a cat trying to catch a mouse, even though the feral look in his eyes tells me he knows I won’t run.

  When he reaches me, he cups one side of my face with one of his hands, his eyes boring into mine, and begins to walk me backwards. To everybody else we may look like we’re dancing, or moving to dance in another area, and maybe we are. I don’t know what he has planned; I just know I want to be part of it. I jump when my back hits a wall, my eyes widening as I look at him. The air, which started out as little clouds of desire, is now fogging around us, making it impossible to acknowledge anything but one another. Nick lowers his head slightly, close enough to kiss me, but doesn’t. It’s driving me crazy tha
t he’s only touching my face.

  “You never got a chance to tell me who you were here with,” he says, the rasp in his voice potent near my ear.

  I swallow loudly, trying to unclog the haze in my ears that my ricocheting heart is causing. “I’m not with anybody,” I respond, surprised at how steady my voice is.

  He pulls back, narrowing his eyes as he drops his hand from my face. “Fair enough. Who are you leaving with?” he asks.

  Looking at him I can only think of one reply, so I answer before I chicken out. “You,” I say, mouthed, not spoken.

  Nick closes his blazing eyes and takes a breath before opening them again. “Are you staying with me tonight?”

  “Are you staying with me?” I retort.

  He dips his head, his teeth clamping down on my lower lip before he sucks it into his mouth, and just when I think he’s going to stop, his lips begin to move against mine, his tongue slipping into my mouth and exploring it in a way that takes my breath away completely. I wrap my hands around his neck, squeezing it with my fingernails, moaning into his mouth at the sound he makes when I do that. Nick breaks the kiss and looks at me, both of us are panting, our eyes wild on each other’s.

  “I’ll stay wherever the hell you want. Let’s get out of here,” he says, pulling me toward the exit and to the elevators of the hotel.

  Our elevator ride up to the room is quiet, but when Nick takes my hand in his, I don’t feel the need for extra talking.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” he asks, swinging our hands in a playful motion that makes me relax despite his question.

  “I wasn’t sure what to say if I did,” I respond truthfully.

  He takes the room key out of my hand and I stand beside the door waiting for him to unlock it, looking up at him when he doesn’t. He turns me so that my back is on the door and he’s hovering over me. Once again, I find myself getting lost in his scent, in his molten eyes and the way he looks at me, and when he dips his head and brushes his nose tenderly against the side of my face, I feel my resolve crack a little more.