by T. Bester
I have to put it all on the line, right here, right now. At least then I’ll know for sure whether holding on to whatever we had, is worth it.
“We can’t be friends, Nathan. I thought I would be able to but-"
“Fuck being friends, Savannah. I want all of you, with me, every day, and not as my friend.”
“I don’t trust you!” I cry. My anger, frustration and longing get the better of me, much like they did the night Nathan spent with me at the inn. Only this time, I want him to see it. “You could be saying all of this just because you hate the idea of me being with someone else!”
He steps forward, and takes my face in his hands. “I do hate the idea of you being with someone else. It fucking kills me, and I had every intention of asking you if we could try being friends again. But, I fucking miss you, Sav. I miss you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, and will the rampant thoughts in my head to quiet down long enough for me to think. This should be easy. I should tell him to leave, that I deserve better. It’s true, but what if better is being honest with myself? What if better is allowing myself to feel what I feel without worrying who is or isn’t going to judge me?
“How do I know it’s for real this time, Nathan? And not just your fear of seeing me move on?”
The silence stretches, but it’s only in my head that it lasts longer because one minute I’m staring into the bottomless depths of Nathan’s eyes, and the next, he’s pressing his lips to mine.
His breath becomes my breath, and his mouth moves over mine with gentle conviction asking permission rather than demanding it. This is the Nathan I know, the one who takes everything but gives everything too. His lips feel familiar, and yet the way he coaxes my mouth into moving with his is different. There’s a tenderness in the way his lips brush mine, his supplication felt in every part of my body. I break the kiss, and place my wavering hands on his chest.
“How do I know?”
Nathan’s gaze, the storm in his eyes, travels the contours of my face before he replies, “I’ve never met someone I saw a future with. What my parents have, what your parents have, it doesn’t come along all the time, and when I woke up next to you, I had it. But I was terrified of what it meant.”
“I was terrified too, but I wanted to be terrified with you. I wanted to experience everything with you, and after our first night together, I thought you wanted it too. And then you-"
“Told you it was a mistake. I know. And I can’t change it. But I can prove to you that you can trust me, and let me in. If you’ll let me.”
His heart races beneath my palm, in perfect cadence with mine. A steady rhythm, calm, strong, and virile.
And I want it.
I lean in, stretching on the balls of my feet, and bring my hands to the nape of his neck.
“I won’t give you my whole heart, Nathan Penn, but this is your last chance to claim it.”
Nathan
Savannah stares at me, the moonlight accentuates the soft lines of her jaw, her cheeks, her brows. Her lips. We went to bed hours ago after having dinner, but I couldn’t fall asleep, and neither could she. So we stared, and talked, and laughed, all the while having some part of us touching. When I walked into the apartment earlier, I had no idea how it was going to play out, but I was hellbent on being heard. After listening to her talk to Zoey about finding a random guy to hook up with, an irate sense of anger filled me. Irrational, white-hot anger that drove me crazy all day and lead me to her door. Not the most romantic way to win her over, but there was very little that would stop me.
“You didn’t have to stay the night,” she murmurs, her voice a caress amidst the darkness. I wrap my arm around her waist until I can feel her breathing, wanting the contact. “I would have been fine on my own.”
I try to contain my smile, and when I fail dismally, she slaps my chest. “I would have!”
I chuckle, looking down at her. “You’re terrified of the dark, Sav. You wouldn’t have slept a wink.”
Her lips thin, and her brows dip, the most imperceptible frown between her eyes. I smooth it away with my thumb.
“There was no way I was letting you stay alone. Even if you didn’t talk to me, I wanted to be here.”
She sighs. “I hate that you know me so well.”
“Why?”
“Because it means I can’t hide.”
“I don’t want you to hide,” I tell her. I trace my finger up and down her back, and she shivers.
“So, what are we calling this?”
It’s my turn to frown. “What do you mean?”
“I mean us, what are we calling it?”
I don’t want to drop the ‘girlfriend’ bomb just yet. Savannah doesn’t trust me, and I don’t blame her, but I want her to know there’s no one else. I’ve been losing my mind, thinking of ways and excuses, to talk to her. I walked into the office almost every day after my conversation with Brian, intending on finding any reason to talk to her, but every time I’d see her and chicken out, afraid that she wouldn’t even give me the time of day.
“What do you want to call it?”
In my head she was already mine, but she needed to see that for herself, in her own time.
“Do we have to label it?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, as long as it’s you and me, I don’t care what we call it.”
She nibbles on her lip, and drops her gaze. Her insecurity is palpable, a living, breathing thing between us that I want nothing more than to obliterate, at any cost.
“Just you and me, huh?”
“Why do you say it like that?” I brush a strand of her silver-gray hair behind her ear, tracing the shell with the tip of my forefinger.
“The other day at the studio, when you were busy with the photoshoot, I saw you with the redhead and thought…” Her words trail off.
“Me and Chelsea?” Her head bobs, and she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, uncertain. “I offered to give her a ride back to her Sorority house, that’s it. I have to play nice with her because she’s Dean Foxcroft’s daughter, as much as I dislike her. Did she say something to you?”
“Just that I shouldn’t waste my time because you’re not interested. She thought I was there to see you.”
My lips curl and Savannah is quick to wipe away my frown with her delicate fingers. “She’s wrong,” I tell her. “And if she ever says anything like that to you again, I want you to tell me.”
“Is she an ex?”
“Fuck no. She’s Michael Drew’s ex, and even if she wasn’t, she’s not my type.” Michael Drew is bad news, and so is Chelsea. He plays football with Brian, and aside from being a Grade A dickwad, he’s also the guy who wanted Toby out of the Frat house after he came out to us. Chelsea is cut from the same cloth. Manipulative. Cunning. And ruthless. The idea of her talking to Savannah irks me. I don’t like it.
“So, what is your type?”
“I like girls with silver hair, big blue eyes, glasses, sharp mouth…” I pretend to think about it a little more before adding, “Nipple rings are a bonus too.”
Even in the moonlight, I see her cheeks redden. I can’t deny that I find her pierced nipples extremely sexy, but that might have something to do with the fact that I didn’t expect her to have them. “Truth is,” I continue, “I didn’t really have a type until I met you.”
And I sure as hell wasn’t such a sap when I met her either. But, if I have to bare my feelings, and leave myself wide open and vulnerable to get her to believe me, then that’s what I’m going to do.
“You’re such a dork.”
I kiss her nose. “There’s something else I want you to think about,” I pause. “Let me help you with Dear Delilah.”
“I still don’t know how you know about that.”
I exhale, contemplating whether or not to tell her how I really know about it, only because I don’t want her to think I came here just for that. But if she’s going to trust me again, I have to be honest with her, regardless of the outcome.
>
“Toby asked me to help you.” She opens her mouth, but I cover her mouth with my hand until I know she’ll let me get out what I need to. “I thought about it, but for no other reason than finding a way to spend time with you again.”
“So why didn’t you say yes?”
“Because I wanted you to come to me when you were ready. I didn’t want to force you into something you didn’t want.”
“And then you heard me talking to Zoey.”
“Yeah,” I huff. “I didn’t mean to, but I walked in and you were there and I heard Zoey tell you to get a ‘friend’ to help you.” I say the word ‘friend’ with disdain, the thought alone of her being with someone else making me irate. “The idea of you with someone else…” I shrug.
Savannah lifts her hands, and tucks them beneath her chin. She yawns. “I wouldn’t have gone through with it, you know. I wouldn’t have jumped into bed with someone else when I’m still so hung up on you.”
That makes me smile. “Good, because I would have killed him.”
“Caveman,” she mumbles around another yawn. “But I kind of like that you were jealous.”
Murderous is more like it, but I keep that to myself. “What can I say? I’m pretty hung up on you too.”
She sighs. “I think I can live with that.”
“So is that a yes?” I press.
“Let me think about it.”
My lips tilt into a grin. Even now, she’s being stubborn.
14
SAVANNAH
I CAN FEEL the weight of Zoey’s stare on my face. I’ve been ignoring it for the last hour or so, while trying to work on Monday’s letter for the column. I’m no closer to answering it though. I sigh, shut my laptop and look at Zoey. Our classes start a little later on Friday’s, and I only have to be in the office in an hour.
“Your staring is distracting,” I tell her. “Spit it out.”
“Spit what out?” She bats her lashes, and leans on the kitchen counter.
I give her a look. Nathan left a little while ago, after sneaking out of my bed, but Zoey caught him and he left me to explain why he was in my bed to begin with. I expected her to ask me the moment I walked into the kitchen, but she stayed quiet, watching me from over the rim of her mug with a deliberate, probing gaze.
“You want to know why Nathan was here.”
Her mouth tilts into a wicked smile. “Oh, Sav, I know why he was here. What I want to know is, what happened?” She rights herself. “Without too many details though, because eww, it’s my brother.”
I tsk. “Nothing happened. We talked, he slept over, and then he left. Nothing else.” I emphasize the last bit, making it clear that all Nathan and I did was sleep. Neither of us initiated anything more, both just content with being together.
“Is that why you haven’t stopped smiling?”
I touch my mouth, self-conscious. I didn’t realize I was sporting a perma-grin.
“So are you guys together?” she asks.
“We haven’t labeled it,” I reply. “But it’s not the same as it was before.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“No, not at all.” I fiddle with my hands. “I’m a little scared though, to trust him again.”
“And that’s perfectly fine, but I have a feeling you have nothing to worry about.”
Maybe, maybe not. Only time will tell. Having Nathan here last night felt right though. Natural. And waking up next to him? It was perfect. New.
“Right now all I’m worried about is this letter,” I reply. Zoey pulls my laptop in front of her and opens the document I was working on. Her brows furrow as she reads.
“Hmmm…” she taps her lips. “This one I can help you with.”
I perk up. “You think so?”
“Of course.” She pushes my laptop back towards me. “It’s an easy one.”
“For you, maybe,” I snort. “I’ve never been on date before.”
“Ugh, first dates are always awkward, and super cheesy. You always end up worrying about whether or not to split the bill — because hello, it’s the twenty-first century and girls pay for their own shit — and then once that’s done, you worry about whether or not you should kiss, if you like him enough to go on a second date. Then you think about the stupid 3 day rule that was probably invented by a guy who is dating more than one woman, and wonder if he’s going to call you, because you can’t call him for the first 3 days after your date . If he calls you, he likes you, and if not, then he’s not into you.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s all so stupid, really, and completely inapplicable to modern-day dating.”
“What’s the 3 day rule?”
Zoey walks around the island, and sits down beside me. “It’s so stupid. When you go on a date with a guy, they tell you to wait three days before you call him, otherwise you come across as ‘too eager’.” She glances at my computer screen. “And the ‘3 date’ rule is even dumber, if you ask me. Women are told to wait for the third date before she thinks about giving up the goods and sleeping with the guy, and anything before that makes her ‘easy’.”
“And you disagree?”
“Uh, yeah. I think it’s completely antiquated, and just another way for society to reinforce every ignorant misconception about women, and sex.”
My brows rise, my eyes widening behind my glasses. “You’re getting a little worked up, Zo.”
“You should be too!” she retorts. “If a woman wants to sleep with a guy on the first date, then she should be allowed to do it. Let me ask you this, when your parents bought you your first car, did you test drive it first or just buy it?”
“I test drove it, but what does that have to do with having sex on the first date?”
“Simple. You would never buy a car before you test drive it, same way you wouldn’t be able to have a relationship with a guy if you’re not sexually compatible. Even short-term relationships fizzle out if the sex is bad.”
Well, color me ignorant. Before Nathan, none of this would have mattered to me, and before Delilah, I never would have thought to question the things I’ve been taught, what I’ve been exposed to.
“So, you’re saying we should have sex on the first date?”
“I’m saying it’s up to us. If you’re into it, and your date is into it then by all means, go for gold. If it’s great, then you can decide if he’s worth seeing again, and if it’s bad, then you won’t end up wasting your time on him.”
“How do you know he’s into it?”
“Easy, by the amount of effort he puts into your first date. Crappy date equals he’s not really into it, but a great date means he has potential.” Zoey’s expression becomes quizzical, her head cocked to the side. “You’ve really never been on a date before? Not even with Nate?”
“No. Guys were never on my radar during high school, and as for Nate, that just kind of happened. We never dated.”
“Huh. Interesting.” She stands up, and grabs her bag. “Anyway, I have to go, but I’ll see you when I get home?”
I want to ask her one more question, but she’s already out the door.
Let’s hope the girls at Hudson University are ready for a driving lesson.
BY THE END of the day, I have a notebook filled with scribbles about cars, and no matter how many websites I look at, they all say the same thing.
A girl has to wait until the third date before she has sex with a guy, and they even go so far as to specify exactly what needs to happen on the dates.
First Date: Coffee/Drinks
Second Date: Dinner and Drinks/Coffee
Third Date: Dinner/Drinks, something fun, and then either back to his place or yours for sex.
They sound like steps, the kind you’d find in a magazine detailing exactly how to find your Mr. Right. None of these steps, however, talk about chemistry, about how you should feel when you’re on a date. I imagine you’d be nervous, but that you’d also feel giddy, and excited, and you’d have this uncontrollable pull between you. Of course, I co
uld just be romanticizing it again under the assumption that you wouldn’t be on a date with a guy unless you liked him.
My thoughts are interrupted when Erin drops into the vacant seat beside me. She places a steaming cup in front of me, and when I catch the whiff of the chocolate-coffee aroma, I almost throw myself at her in gratitude. I’ve been so focused on the column that I skipped coffee this morning, and my body is now catching up, staging a revolt against the lack of caffeine.
“It’s not from me.” She pulls a note from her pocket, and places it in front of me. My heart flops around in my chest, but I train my expression to hide my glee. I know it’s from him. The last time he wrote me a note, I’d made the decision to move on and get over him, not realizing at the time that nothing — be it love, family, friendships, or relationships — is that simple or that easy. And nothing is certain either. We can make a decision today, and tomorrow, circumstances and people can make us change direction and before we notice, we’re sitting at another crossroad, hoping like hell we choose the right path the second-time round.
I look past Erin, searching for Nathan, but I don’t find him.
“He’s at the gym with Brian,” she explains. “He asked me to give this to you.”
“Thanks,” I reply, almost bashful. “I haven’t seen him…” I want to say ‘since this morning’ but think better of it, not wanting to deal with Erin’s equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition. But from the look in her eyes, I know I don’t have to tell her much for her to put it together. I like that about her. I like how she holds her own with Brian, how she seems to let him think he’s the one in control, but really, she’s holding the reigns.
“Well, are you going to open it?”
“Now?” I squeak.
“Yes, now. I did not stand in that line for an hour to get that choco-mocho-cocoa thing, with a love letter from Nathan, just so you could read the damn thing in private.”
“How do you know it’s a love letter?” Do people still write those?
