by Sunniva Dee
“Ingela.”
“Mm-hmm?” I arch my spine a little on purpose, which doesn’t go unnoticed. He pushes underneath my upper body with one hand, securing me in this position and leaving my miniscule boobs inches from his face. Cameron lowers his head and brushes light stubble over one nonexistent mound, then the other. My response is swift; goose bumps spread across my body, culminating in nipples that become hard nubs against his lips.
“I fucking adore your tits,” he hisses. I don’t blush often. I do now.
When he comes up to meet my stare, shades of purple and black adorn his eyes. Again, I think of meticulously applied war paint. A pang of heat rushes down my belly to my sex. Cameron is a soldier of primitive pasts ready to conquer.
I’m pulsating.
Fainter bruises spread random patterns across his ribs, chest, and down to his briefs. He doesn’t leave me to consider for long before he pulls them off, showing me, feeding me—
Himself.
All things considered, I’ve been doing great since Bo’s and my phone conversation a week ago. He has kept his word, leaving me alone according to my initial plea. The sting of having begged him to reconsider has eased. With Cameron’s return from Whistler, we’ve been hanging out, and now I actually feel relief over Bo not coming to shake up my calm existence.
It’s Thursday night at Smother, the start of the student weekend in our little college town. The club is packed. Leon stands by the DJ booth, an elbow on the glass, scouring the clientele from afar and ducking heads with Robin. He loses focus on their convo, though, eyes lighting up as always when he sees Arriane pass by. She gives him a flirty wave of her fingertips, and he smirks back at her. The girl has it made. Both of them do.
She drops off a stack of dirty glasses with Manuel in the kitchen before returning to me. “Cam’s alone in the patio bar,” she shouts. “Are you dressed warm enough to head out? He’s got a line.”
My stomach clenches at the thought of Cameron. It’s the good sort of clenching. Happy butterflies and giggly thoughts. I was off yesterday, and he, the day before. Some lighthearted flirting sounds nice about now. “Sure, I’ll help.”
Arria smiles. I might’ve shared a couple of details about my latest dorm visit. “That face you have on right now is cute,” she calls into my ear. “I think someone finally discovered a certain funny-boy.”
“Bullshit!” I shout back. Arria shuts her eyes and covers her ears playfully as I leave for the patio.
Outside, Cameron doesn’t have a line anymore. He does, however, have both of his extreme-sport buddies, Marek and Dan, occupying stools at the counter. The bruises around his eyes still have that nice war paint look that makes him appear even wilder than he is.
Cameron shoots an arm out, probably imitating supreme velocity. The board or whatever he’s impersonating vibrates, then undulates in the air and crashes on the counter in front of him. Eyes wide with glee, he accentuates the obvious faceplant by forming a “bam!” with his mouth.
One mountain man friend shrugs and nods, adding some short comment to Cam’s story. At Smother, people wear all sorts of clothes. Even so, Cameron is the only one of the three fitting in. The others appear to have rolled out of a tent and walked right in here, wool sweaters and hiking boots included.
At the sight of me, Cameron stops talking and smacks a kiss in my direction. From the main room, Begging for Thread by Banks blasts out. It’s sexy and true, and I take some dance steps, slinking past a drunk pixie in a sniveling embrace with one of her girlfriends.
With blond hair in disheveled chunks, sunny-boy rounds the edge of the bar and meets me halfway. “Hey, pretty-girl. You weren’t in my bed this morning.” His smirk is low, mischievous, and he finger-locks my hand, draws it up around his neck, and pulls me in tight.
“True, because I’ve got better things to do than entertain bedridden weaklings.”
We sway slow, an innocent imitation of something more. I close my eyes when his other arm presses me against him, his nose at my ear. He rules how my body moves in this position, forming me to him.
Strong. Hard. The puff from his exhale sends warmth to my abdomen. I feel him all over. I surrender to the playful, seductive shifts of our bodies. My nerves—sure, they flutter, but it is good.
I smile.
“You’re my favorite fuck-buddy, though.” The murmured attempt at an insult causes me to giggle. Cam nudges me tight. The perv’s probably enjoying that my chest shakes with humor.
There’s something akin to joy trickling into me. “Happy to rock your world, little boy,” I say. “Let’s do it again sometime. Don’t call me—I’ll call you.” I lean back and wink at him. He guffaws now, and I love it.
This untamed, silly, straight-talking man. He’s so much like me and yet so different. He paints a grey world orange.
“Cameron? Swedish girl. I need a beer,” a nameless regular shouts.
“Give us a minute,” Cameron hollers back. He grabs my ass, thrusting us together. I suck in a hard breath.
“Oh, kitty-cat,” he whispers, “sounds like you need a reminder of my big-boy status. How ’bout after work? Or hey, why wait? We could follow Arriane and Leon’s lead from their early days and live it up in the office.”
I’m about to fire off a snide remark when my eyes draw to the entrance, and there.
There—
In a silhouette against green and red spotlights, Bo waits for me, hands in pockets. Shoulders sharp-edged, elbows bent, he watches us.
He’s gorgeous, so familiar. So—
Everything I’ve ever needed.
It’s dark and yet I see them, his winter eyes. Grey, not shiny, glittery, breathtaking but full of everything we are. All of our history, our love. All of the pain and the heartbreak. They remember and know. They apologize, and yet they hold no mercy.
Bo is out of place. He’s not Deepsilver, not my present. He’s more out of place than anyone I’ve ever seen, and I want to cry again. For us, for him—for how he’s out of place—I don’t even know.
Fleetingly, I think of paging Jason, our bouncer. Scream at him to haul my forever off to nowhere and dump him. Leave my life with some remnant of light.
Bo doesn’t intrude. He doesn’t need to move. From experience, we’re both aware that I will come to him.
I pull out of Cameron’s arms. His gaze is on me as I stalk awkwardly toward Bo. With all that I am, I inhale long, dyed-black bangs, high cheekbones that hollow into narrow cheeks below.
“You came…” I sob the two words at him. His eyes flow over my face, see me like no one else does. Love me. He’s inscrutable, holding back—for me, I know, because I’m the one hurting when things go wrong.
“Just passing through. I’ll leave in the morning.”
No one passes through Deepsilver. It would never be a hub between Gothenburg and Los Angeles.
“You look good, Ingela,” Bo says. Still not touching me.
“You too.”
Our years cover my skin better than clothes. Every fingerprint he ever laid on me burns in layer upon layer over my body. Fingertip to toe, each curve and dip of me he has memorized, and my hands tremble from the fear of needing him. But I am always brave with him. I’ll never not be brave with Bo.
Touch me.
“Ah, you look good.” Pained, Bo closes his eyes. Eclipses winter-grey that has the power to kill. I won’t cry.
“I’m off in ten,” I lie. “Want a drink?”
He shakes his head. Lets me move light fingers over glacier-white skin and stop over blue veins to find his beat. It’s slow, sad. Missing. Mine is fast, fast with the damage of adrenaline.
I bring him a drink anyway. Water. He doesn’t sit, just stands there in the doorway between the main room and the patio. He’s waiting for me, eyes skimming his surroundings, dusting some of him onto walls that have been free of our past until now. Bo isn’t tall for someone from our part of the world. He’s taller than me, though, but so slim he’s square somewhere u
nder that shirt.
I go on pure routine in the bar. Mix drinks and hand out beers. Avoid Cameron’s questioning looks. I barely curl a lip at silly stories from customers I usually tease ruthlessly. I should speak with Arria or Leon, because I’ll be a nervous wreck if I stay here much longer. It’s time to leave. Go home with Bo.
People meander past him in that doorway without seeing. How do they not jolt at his magnetism, the pull, the intense draw that destroys with its sweetness? Our customers are not me, but my mind cannot fathom that anyone can carry on unaffected.
As I think it, Arriane dodges two clients on her way out, bumping into Bo. God, she has no idea who he is when she winches her gaze up, meeting his and apologizing. He quirks a polite grin at her. It’s boyish, charming as fuck, and unintentionally erotic. It’s Bo, all the way Bo, and Arriane sees him. About now, he quips out a short, funny comment, and she laughs, pleasantly surprised.
He doesn’t do this on purpose, never has. It’s his charisma speaking at a thousand decibels, the very reason he’s got a fan-crazy following in our little hometown and already in Gothenburg. And he blackens my entrails with jealousy.
“That’s him,” I say, simply, to Arria once she’s by me.
She frowns, not understanding.
“The guy you just bumped into? Is Bo.”
She stills, searching my eyes for a hint that I’m joking. I nod.
“Wow, I didn’t think he was coming?” Her attention goes back to him. To his unassuming form under the arc. So deceptive.
“I know. He changed his mind.”
“Are you okay?” she immediately asks. Arriane is smart; her next thought is Cameron. Of course she finds him too, giving him a onceover.
“Yeah. I need to take off, though. I’m… I don’t know. He’s leaving tomorrow again.”
“So soon?” she asks, and then I’m bawling.
Arriane pulls me out of the bar and over to what we call the Lover’s Nook. It’s a dim corner only occupied right before closing time when people make out and seal the deal for a sleepover.
“Take the rest of the night off. Tomorrow too if you need it. Seriously, Inga. Jade has asked for extra hours. We’ll be fine.” She wipes her thumbs beneath my eyes, removing liquid. “Are you sure you want him here, though? We can house him if it’s too hard for you.”
She’s so sweet. I’d cry over that too. My beautiful BFF. “Naw, I’ll be okay. I’m used to this.” It’s the night for lying. “I always come out on my feet. Plus, where would he sleep? In Lyric’s crib?” I try for a smile.
Cameron hovers behind her, keeping his distance and leaving this to Arria.
“Better than in your bed, upsetting you,” she states firmly. “You’re not going to let him in again, are you? I mean, in all senses of the word?”
“Of course, I will. He’s crack. Cocaine. Adrenaline. Everything I don’t need but want like crazy. It’s how I grew up, Arria—”
“—but didn’t mature. Did we not just have this talk?”
Cameron closes in. Arms crossed and brows lowered in a frown that isn’t him, he overcomes his discomfort with crying girls and makes it to us. “What’s going on? Do I need to kick someone’s ass?” he only half fibs.
“Might not be the worst idea,” Arria ponders.
“My ex has arrived,” I tell him. “The guy I just spoke with is Bo.”
Ingela walks away, approaching some douche with a leg propped up along the doorjamb. She’s not chipper, her posture not sassy and insolent as usual. My fave chick isn’t ready to take a jab at whoever’s within reach. The dude doesn’t go to her but watches until she’s so close they brush shoulders. Then, he takes her hand and walks them out of the patio. Just like that.
Some have it easy.
“Ready for that beer any time soon?” Dan asks, catching me off-guard again.
“Fucking high maintenance,” I mutter, slamming a foaming draft down in front of him. He’s got complaints at the tip of his tongue but closes his mouth when he sees my expression.
BB girl Beth wiggles her butt in on a seat next to Marek. She pouts a glossy lip in my direction, making me think of vaginas. “Oh no, is Cameron sad? Where’s the smile, baby?”
Her voice whines, probably the reason why she’s never been my pick for a lay. Her boobs jiggle, though.
“Hey, Beth. How’s the Blood Bank tonight?”
“Oh, I’m not sure. I work part time, you know, and I’ve got Thursdays off.”
“You like Smother, huh?” I state the obvious. Girl pops by more often than most regulars lately.
“Well, my female intuition told me Cameron is blue tonight and to come and cheer him up.” She lowers some really long eyelashes. Damn, those things are fake. Then, she squints. “Where’s your girlfriend, Cam?”
“I don’t have one.”
“No? Ingela isn’t your GF?” Everyone knows we’re just friends, so I suspect that she’s digging for info. I limit myself to pinching her nose playfully as I pass on the outside of the counter. Once I’m back with an armful of used glasses, she’s still there, waiting for me. She starts gyrating her hips to the music as soon as I’m close, pole-dancer-like. It’s nice.
“Any other BB girls with you?” I ask, realizing how easily this shitty night could turn into a high. A threesome, man. Adding Beth to a former lay willing to play along and we’d be talking.
Love is lust. Love is desire. Love is the pain of giving yourself up and letting it become your oxygen. Love is courage, love is stupid. Love is no regrets ever and—regrets, regrets, regrets.
Love is staring into winter-frosty irises that are calm, not like yours, turbulent, wild, afraid, in search of forever.
“Inga.” His voice becomes a caress like his hands, and I’m scared that he’ll leave, bereave me of my enemy, the adrenaline I suddenly crave.
“I just needed to see you,” he says. “We shouldn’t go any further, though.”
I hear myself from the outside, and my small whimper sounds alien. It’s what he’s always done to me; turned me into someone I’m not.
“No, it’s fine.” I kiss him again, because there’s nothing like Bo’s lips. He’s quiet, kissing me back, mouth slow-dancing with mine.
Love is needing someone more than air. It’s Bo. He’s what I need, and he is my breath now with his lips on me.
We’re in my room at the apartment. He’s hesitant, fingers scrunching my top between them, not freeing me of the cotton. Bo’s hands are firm, guitar-strong, but unwilling to strum me. He should—he should. I’ve been shattered before and can take it. One cannot say “no” to love.
We’re teenagers on top of the covers. Simmering nearness. Not close enough. “Ingela,” he whispers to me again. “Who is using who? I don’t even know anymore. If we sleep together tonight. What does that do to either of us?”
I slither into him, desperate for him to accept. All of him is the same, every too-sharp rib, each joint. That belly button protruding a fraction against my fingertips. I lift his shirt and flatten my palm. Feel soft hairs of happy trail, sweet warmth inviting me down.
“No, baby. No,” I murmur. “No one’s using anyone here. We’re adults and just… good together.” I don’t want to scare him, not now that he’s afraid of hurting me. This is my decision. Because I am chock-full of adrenaline and courage. I tremble for him, needing him as close as two beings can be.
“Give it up already. It’s what we always do, you and I. Have you ever had better sex than with me? Did you finally meet my match?” I mock. After the words are out, doubt implodes, turning my stomach to ice.
He’s so tender when he turns on his side, cupping his palm to my face. He meets my mouth, my hunger. Telling me what I want to hear at the same time as it’s not.
“Sweetie, no, and I don’t expect perfection with everyone. Making love can be amazing even if it’s not perfect. This sexual chemistry—I think we found it too early, and I don’t think it’s supposed to be like this. You were only sixteen
, Inga, and I eighteen. It’s a lifetime to compare to others. Too long.”
“Ah, don’t talk like that. Love is this,” I say, and I shouldn’t have because he’ll object.
“No. Love is not only sex.”
“I know, but…” I’m crying again. Crying, crying, and he kisses my tears away. “… I love you,” I sob out.
“Don’t you see? You’re miserable with me, Inga. I love you too, just not the way you love me. Maybe your capacity for love is bigger than mine—I don’t know. I can’t promise you anything, and I don’t want to make you sad. But here I am, aren’t I, doing it again.”
This we do too. It’s an unwritten script. The same thoughts cycle and are spoken out loud. Sweet, caring Bo. Showing how wonderful he is and what I’m missing out on at every turn when he doesn’t choose me. He’s special. Bo is everything. And for this I love him and hate him.
“Stop talking, Bo—please. Make me happy right now. I want this, okay? Live the moment. Take us both to heaven.” I start on his clothes, and he’s hard against my hand, allowing me around velvety skin. He hisses air in through his teeth and recalls how we’ll both feel so soon. I know him. I know him. He knows me.
Slow, torturous. Once he gives in to my needs, he peels my clothes off one by one, the exact item at the perfect time. He plucks my strings, making me hum.
My forever has made me wait too long. I’m so wet his fingers slide over me and inside of me. We hear me, ready and needy. “Condom?” he sighs out, and I say, “No, no—please, just us.”
“Still using?”
“Still on the pill. I never stopped, Bo, after us.”
“Okay… I always—”
“I know. You wouldn’t jeopardize my health.”
And so it’s us again. Only us. I close my eyes to become skin, nerve endings, scent, and sound. He pervades me with all he is, everything I’ve always wanted. I soar like I knew I would.
He thinks he’s aware of what he does to me, but does he really know? If he cared about me and really knew—would he even visit me?
