Fahrenheit

by Alex Rosa

  I grab for a makeup remover wipe, and clean off the night’s worth of pretty dirt on my face, further grounding myself. By the time I blink my eyes open, this mousy-brunette feels like herself entirely.

  Now I’m ready to face Garrett. God, help me.

  I walk back into the living room with a water bottle in hand, gulping from it when I take a seat on the couch.

  Garrett isn’t a shy person. So, I’m not surprised to see his blue eyes probing me. His half smile ignites the embarrassment I don’t want him to see. All because I know he wants all of my salacious details.

  “Did you get what you wanted?” he asks into the void.

  I screw on the cap of my water bottle, letting my grip tighten around it as if to use it like a stress ball. It gives me a moment to turn away as I quip, “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Hanky-panky?” he asks, practically singing.

  My cheeks heat. “You’re in a much better mood than when I left you.”

  “Oh, Amy came by.”

  My brows pull together, dumbstruck by the moron that is my best friend. “Blow off some steam, then?” I ask, rolling my eyes. Does sex solve men’s problems? Is that what I’m supposed to understand? If so, then sign me up, because yoga is doing nothing for me.

  “In a manner of speaking,” he mimics in that patronizing tone I hate. “So, what happened?”

  He’s not going to stop. He stayed up this late because he’s looking for a bedtime story. Heaven forbid I thought it was to make sure I came home safe.

  It’s hard to tell if he wants to know the juicy details for fun, or out of jealousy. I pull in a desperate breath, needing to calm my erratic emotions. I tell myself I don’t care either way. Like I always have to.

  “More bizarre than you could’ve imagined.”

  “Is he into some pretty intense shit?”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “You won’t believe this—or maybe you will, which is what makes this more horrifying.”

  “Oh no, Lo, you didn’t cry, did you?”

  I huff, wrinkling my nose. “What? Why the hell would I cry?”

  He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. You just do that sometimes, and it’s not pretty. I’d hate for that to go down.”

  If I didn’t feel so dehydrated and off kilter, I’d throw my water bottle at him, because right now, the couch pillow would not do this moment justice.

  “I did not cry, but I did in fact chicken out.”

  “No shit,” he chides, and I hate his smugness.

  Fuck hydration. I chuck my water bottle at his face. However, it hits him in his thigh, and I hate my bad aim almost as much as I hate his lack of faith in me.

  “Fuck, Lo!”

  Heat flashes over my entire body, because those words are scarily similar to the ones Nate groaned into my ear a little over an hour ago. It’s hard to forget moments like that, and I hope I never do. I clench my thighs together, the cotton fabric doing nothing for me.

  “From this point on, you’re not allowed to be an asshole about this, or I keep the details to myself. I’m serious. You are sucking the fun out of this for me!”

  He raises one hand defensively, while rubbing over his, hopefully, bruised thigh with the other. “All right, all right. I’m sorry. No more asshole Garrett. Scouts honor! If you chickened out, why are you home so late?”

  “Funny story. I confessed to him who I really am, and how I only took him up on his offer because I’m writing an article on it in order to earn a promotion.”

  Garrett finally looks stunned. His topaz eyes go wide. “Was he pissed?”

  “On the contrary. He was intrigued.”

  I don’t elaborate. I chew my lip, unsure how to explain. I refuse to tell Garrett how Nate thought it would be fun to mess with me because I look as everyone else sees me—innocent, naive, and gullible.

  This thought makes me the tiniest bit bitter, and riles up my determination to show Nate that he’s the one who doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into, not the other way round.

  “What does that even mean?” he whines. “Intrigued?”

  “Yeah.” I shrug. “Like, he wants to help me out as long as I keep his identity a secret.”

  “Like Batman?”

  I snort out a laugh. “Well, I wish I could reach him by spotlight, and my hope is he has a utility belt, but no, not exactly like Batman.”

  “He’s going to help you do research for this club?” I nod. He nods. “And you went to Fahrenheit?” I nod again. “So, this research entails sex?” I bob my head left and right and then nod. He nods more interested now, his brows rising. “Ah, I see. It’s all becoming clear. Shit, Lo. It’s like I need a decoder ring to read you.”

  I throw my hands up. “What the hell is it with you and superhero references?”

  “Sorry. I’ve been on a comic book movie binge.”

  I shake my head, anxious to get to bed now, and decide to yank off this Band-Aid. “We’re kind of exchanging favors. He helps me out by teaching me how Fahrenheit works, and we get to fool around in the process. We’re honest with each other. He knows I’m clueless, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m curious.” I rise from the couch when that word leaves my lips. The word is too personal to me now, and I don’t need Garrett knowing anything else about my curiosity. That isn’t his anymore and hasn’t been for a while.

  I watch Garrett’s fingers strum a nervous beat on his pajama pants as his eyes dissect me from the couch, and his smile teeters on fake. “What was it like in there?”

  I blink a few times, shocked that he’s not grinding me for more information. However, I like this direction better.

  “Crazy. Bizarre. Purple.”

  “Purple?” He laughs, and the tension I didn’t know was coiled in my shoulders loosens.

  “Yeah,” I chuff. “Neon purple and pink everywhere. It really is like an erotic rave.”

  “Where is it?”

  I shake my head, smiling. “Nope.”

  “What! I don’t get to know?”

  “I’m taking this seriously, Garrett. This club is serious.” Too serious, I think.

  “So, were there whips and chains on the walls? People having group sex in the foyer while a chick makes out with another chick onstage and someone whacks off watching?”

  “Whoa! Calm down. Now I know what your fantasies contain, weirdo. No. I thought more gnarly stuff like that, but not that much. To be honest, my introduction was basic. I saw some woman in leather and a dog collar, but it was just people sitting at tables screwing around. The music drowned out a lot of the moans,” I lie, continuing on. “I think most of the action happens down this one hallway.”

  “Hallway? Like fetish stuff?”

  I shrug. “I think so. That’s kind of how he explained it. An area for people who like certain things, which I think can be anything from BDSM to—” I wince, knowing I have no idea what I’m talking about when I say it. “Orgies, maybe?”

  “Wicked.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I guess it is.” I smirk, knowing I’m a lot more interested than my prudeness implies. This is when I find my best friend’s impression of me useful as a veil to how much I liked being inside Fahrenheit. “I’ll find out more the next time I see him.” I pause, biting the tip of my thumb, remembering something. I mumble more to myself than to Garrett, “Except, the jerk won’t let me write anything down. I should probably go take some notes tonight.”

  “Lo.”

  My vision flies upward, and Garrett is leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he runs his hands through his hair.

  “Yeah, what?”

  “When are you seeing him next?”

  I bite my lip, only to reel in my giddy smile. “Um, Thursday.”

  Garrett nods, processing it. “Is this research like going to class?”

  I think he’s joking, and luckily, I’m rewarded with his smile, which is the only thing keeping me and us level. This is new material for us. Sex was never hard for
us to talk about, but I guess sexual underworlds come with a little more depth.

  “Kind of. Thursday is Lesson Two.” I cluck my tongue.

  “Sounds like fun,” he chides. “Can I come?”

  I roll my eyes, stretching my arms as I yawn and turn around. “Definitely not, but—”

  “You’ll keep me updated?” he interrupts.

  I laugh, nodding. “You bet’cha. G’night, Garrett.”

  I don’t bother turning around. I can’t look him in the eye. I’m afraid he’ll ask me what Lesson One contained.

  I close my bedroom door behind me, and then go in search of my notebook. That’s until I hear a ding from my cell phone.

  I nearly pounce onto my bed to grab it.

  Nate texted me.

  The message is simple. It’s almost blasé, but I fall back onto my bed, hugging my phone, wondering why Nathan Sanders makes it hard to breathe even when he’s not around.

  His text is nothing I should get riled up about, but I follow his directions, closing my eyes and thinking of the two tiny words he’s sent me.

  Sleep well.

  Sometimes I wish Garrett were a girl so I could raid his closet when I need to. That would be useful, because right now, I can’t remember why we’re friends when he won’t stop looking at me like either a puppy needing to be pet, or a green-eyed monster when we’re around each other.

  I had to plead with him not to walk me to the cafe again. He can be weirdly protective. I understand a lot of mystery comes with what I’m doing, but how many times can I reassure him I can handle myself?

  Eventually, he left in a huff to go on his own sexual escapades. Who knew I’d approve of such a thing until now.

  After two long days at work, avoiding my boss, and still managing to be productive, my whole body is a tangle of nerves, and I have this coiled tension at the base of my spine.

  I nearly had an aneurysm trying to pick a dress because I’m so wound up. I’m hoping tonight with Nate will fix that.

  I have this reflexive need to feel guilty and embarrassed over the fact I’m looking forward to no-strings-attached sex, and I wish I could stop.

  Tonight, I was torn between the navy blue quarter-sleeve lace dress, or a miniskirt, tube top combo.

  I realized the miniskirt was too much of a reminder of post-break-up-party-girl me during that stint after Brian dumped me for the girl he met at the hipster grocery store we’d frequent. Ugh.

  I decide I like the illusion of conservativeness with the lace dress I found hidden in the back of my closet. It hugs me close, rises high on my leg, and the sheer lace covers my shoulders and most of my chest, but it’s backless, revealing a dangerous amount of skin above my ass.

  Professional in the front and party in the back, I remember joking when I bought it for my college graduation party a few years ago.

  I roll my eyes, wondering if I can manage not buying more clothes in the next few weeks. How many new outfits will I need to keep Nate wanting me and looking like I belong? My credit card took a hit with my bra purchases, and I should probably take it easy.

  As I stroll the sidewalk toward our meeting place close to 10 p.m., I stumble in my strappy heels when I see Nate’s Mercedes waiting at the curb, parked a block closer than the cafe. He’s leaning against the hood, staring off into the distance with his back to me. I really like it when a suit is tailored to a man, and Nate’s blazer was definitely made for him. The black material stretches across his back.

  The closer I get, the more of a profile view I can see, and the more enigmatically attractive he becomes. He’s focused and fiddling with his bottom lip with one hand. His other hand is stuffed in his pants pocket. I watch how his fingers tug on his lip before brushing against his dark stubble, and then trail through his thick black hair.

  Seems he’s got something on his mind. I don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure that out.

  I wonder what he’s thinking. Although, I know I’m not supposed to.

  It’s as if he can hear my forbidden thought, because he turns around.

  “Lauren,” he says. My name on his lips holds hidden promises, and his eyebrows lift as he takes in the sight of me.

  “Nate,” I greet.

  The corner of his mouth twitches, and he moves around the car to open the passenger door for me.

  You can almost peg him as a simple sort of guy by the way he looks. His uncomplicated white dress shirt is open at the top again, and paired with black, fitted skinny jeans. His head of hair in perfect, carefree disarray implies simplicity and purpose. Although, he must not be a fan of ties. On most men, this look might seem incomplete, but Nate looks supremely put together.

  He may look simple, but he’s anything but. That, I do know.

  When I slip into his car this time, I’m not busy scouring for clues. I’m too busy rubbing my sweaty palms over my thighs. If Lesson One was reaching second base, I would assume we’d raise the stakes with Lesson Two.

  I’m ready. I think.

  I’m excited. I know.

  Nate slips inside and doesn’t speak when he turns the car on, shifts gears, and zooms off in the direction of the nightclub.

  I don’t handle silence well, and I try to keep my eyes forward, but every now and again, I peek at him, and he’s smirking.

  I chew my lip to stop myself from saying something potentially stupid, but it’s an impossible battle.

  “Do you listen to music?” I blurt out.

  He tilts his head to the right, but doesn’t look at me.

  “Yeah. A lot, actually.”

  “What kind of music do you listen to?”

  He shoots me a no-nonsense look, but at least the right corner of his mouth is still lifted wryly.

  I shrug playfully, and flash him a smile. “What? It’s not that personal of a question, but if you feel uncomfortable, then don’t worry about it.”

  “I’d rather not,” he replies.

  My lips start to squirm as I try to focus on the night in front of us zooming by again. They fidget and twitch as something preposterous crosses my mind. My cheeks puff out, and my eyes crinkle, restraining a giggle. It isn’t until an embarrassing squeak escapes me that my hand flies to my mouth to hide it.

  There’s something hilarious about all this, and I’m sure I’m an unsexy mess because of it, too.

  We pull up to the nightclub, the same valet standing stoic next to the metal door, unmoving, waiting for us. Nate puts the car into park, and pulls the parking break. I still can’t contain my giggles.

  Instead of exiting, he shifts to look at me, and I’m relieved he’s still smiling. His eyes make a quick journey down the length of my body before capturing my stare.

  I’m sure these giggles are unattractive, but I don’t care. I want to burst into full-blown laughter.

  “What’s so funny?”

  His tone makes everything below my waist clench, and my laughter slows as I swallow it down. I shrug, leaning forward, feeling a little more in control, though still not someone who Nate might be used to, let alone, normally attracted to.

  I lift my hand to straighten out his collar, smoothing out the edges. My eyes stay trained on my hands while I attempt to rein in my snickers. I try not to notice his flinch, but I’d be lying if it weren’t satisfying to feel.

  “You. You’re funny,” I reply, my eyes flickering up to his.

  He grins. “Most people wouldn’t call me that. Why am I funny?”

  My brows pucker. Why would no one find Nate funny? He totally has a killer sense of humor, even if he tries to hide it. It’s in the way his eyes dance with mine on a near constant basis when we’re together. Okay, so I’m aware that’s no time at all, but still.

  “I just think it’s funny that your favorite music is too personal of a topic for me to know, yet you having your hand up my dress isn’t. You have to admit the dichotomy is sort of absurd.”

  “They’re differ—”

  I roll my eyes. “Nate, I’m aware how th
ey’re different. I just think it’s funny. That’s all. You are funny. People should probably tell you that more often.”

  His brow knits together, but it smooths out as quickly, as if I’m not supposed to see it.

  “Indie rock and roll. Acoustic rock. Alternative. Maybe some folk.”

  I smile as if I were gifted the moon. “That’s the type of music you like?” He nods. “Thank you.”

  His eyes fall to my lips, but he doesn’t do anything to cure the current tingling ignited by the gesture. He releases a quiet, possibly frustrated, exhale before leaning back. He opens his door to exit, leaving me in the silence again.

  I purse my lips at what I find his absurd hilarity.

  Surprising me, my door opens, and Nate’s hand is extended to me. I peer up at him from my seat in his car, tilting my head, giving him by best sardonic smile.

  “Ya know, we almost had a moment.”

  He rolls his eyes, trying to hide his smile. “I’ll give you a moment worth remembering later. Now, let’s go.”

  I like these innuendos wrapped up in light reprimands and implied sinful promises. A girl could get used to that.

  “Only if you promise.”

  “I definitely promise that.”

  Damn him and his hot, dangerous smile. I should fear it, but I’m only drawn to it. I have a feeling it’ll be the centerpiece to my ridiculous article.

  “The smile that you can’t help but follow.” I can see it now.

  I pull in a leveling breath, feeling this electric surge run through my body. Maybe it’s in anticipation, but maybe it’s because I’m figuring out that Nate isn’t as much of an island as he wants to be.

  I shake my head when I put my hand in his. I tell myself that I don’t want to be on that island. He isn’t my assignment. Fahrenheit is. He’s merely the gatekeeper to what I need, and maybe a little of what I want, but he is not my main objective.

  So what if I’m curious if we like the same bands, and if he knows all the words to the new Mumford & Sons song?

  I try remembering what he said the other night. This is about sex. It’s why he’s here. For him, this is a game, and for me, it’s a job. The only difference is that orgasms are involved. Emotionless orgasms.