by N. K. Smith
Yeah, he didn’t drink or smoke anything and therefore not hung over, but I have a feeling that he’s this happy every day. It’s annoying. When I think about what happened last night, how I was ready to just jump into bed with him, and how he wouldn’t even consider it, I’m super embarrassed. I mean, I know that had I not been drinking I would’ve been too nervous to pursue it, but I never expected him to be all fatherly and put me to bed.
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing; all I know is that it’s uncomfortable.
When I can no longer sit out by myself with an empty coffee cup, I go back inside and fix another cup of coffee. Myka and Val are up now and talking to Fox. I hate that everything is so easy for everyone but me. How can Myka have such easy conversations with him and I can’t?
As soon as I hear a footstep behind me, I realize how long I’ve been staring at the coffee machine. I spin, and my coffee sloshes in the cup. “Damn.” My word is but a hiss. When I look up at Fox, he looks like I wounded him with it.
“You okay?”
“Great.”
Neither of us speaks for a moment, then he points to the coffeemaker and holds up his cup. I move out of the way and as he steps up to the machine, his voice is low, just barely there. “You don’t seem great.”
“Well, I am.”
“Did I do something to piss you off?”
“No.”
“Then—”
“Morning, Saige!” Myka comes waltzing in, her arm linked with Valentine’s. She is the sunshine with her glowing brightness. No doubt she had sex last night.
“Eh.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Eh? Really? What’s got you grumpy this fine New York morning?”
I grunt and leave the room. Three people with rainbows and flowers shooting out of their asses is about three too many for me. No one follows me, so after my second cup of coffee, I take a shower.
When I emerge, I feel better and realize how stupid I am. Fox is a gentleman and probably wouldn’t have sex with me because I was drunk. It’s amazing how well my mind can work when not sluggish from alcohol.
I lean down to pull my shoes on.
“What do you call a short psychic who escapes from jail?”
I’ve heard this one before, but as I tie my shoe, I play along. “What?”
“A small medium at large.”
When I sit up, he places a knee on the mattress behind me, and takes my damp hair in his hand. He’s holding my hairbrush in the other. Without a word, he starts brushing through the wet tangles with all the care of someone who has done this a million times before. As he brushes, tension drains from me, and I’m left with a gentle calm.
“Better?” he asks when he’s finished. Fox twists the length of my hair twice and lays it on one shoulder.
I nod.
“Won’t tell me what was wrong?”
I shake my head.
“But it is better?”
I nod.
Somehow, I find myself lying back on the bed with him, my head pillowed on the junction of his shoulder and chest. I fit perfectly in this space and there may not even be a word in the English language to describe the feeling I have when he brings his arm up to curve around my shoulders.
“Big day?”
“Not really. I’m supposed to be super excited to walk around NYU and all that, but I don’t really care.”
“Myka does.”
“I know. That’s why I’m doing it.”
“Why don’t you just let Val and Myka do the NYU thing, and we can go do something else?”
“Because Myka will be bummed and then it’ll become this whole big deal, and we’ll have to talk about how I can’t make decisions and how uncommitted I am and how she’ll just get new friends if I don’t tag along. It makes me tired just thinking about it.”
“Okay, but since it’s a Myka and you kind of thing, maybe I should just hang out here or go—”
“No. Please come.”
“Yeah?”
I prop myself up and study the lines of his face. “Of course. Why are you surprised that I want you to—”
“Because you were acting like you couldn’t get far enough away from me this morning.”
“That’s because I’m an idiot or at least acted like it last night,” I say as I sit up and turn toward the window.
“When did you act like an idiot?”
“When I was drunk and—”
“Oh, please. I think you forget who my friends are. Those guys act like idiots when they’re drunk. You didn’t go streaking around the principal’s house or TP the police station.”
Okay, so maybe I didn’t embarrass myself as much as I thought I did, but I don’t bring up that I was ready to jump him last night. If he didn’t catch it, I’m not going to tell him how hot I was for him.
I get off the bed, grab his hands, and haul him up. “If you’re coming with, you’d better get ready. Myka will be a total freak if she thinks we’re dragging our feet.”
***
All day while wandering around New York, Washington Square Park, and inside the NYU buildings, I daydream about California. As Myka and Fox strike up conversations with total strangers, Val and I hang back. The new wrinkle in my imaginings is now Fox on the beach with me. In it, he’s topless.
I follow along the others and engage enough to keep Myka off my ass, but it’s not until Fox slides his fingers between mine that I come back to this reality. My racing nerves calm the longer his palm presses against mine. It’s amazing how after holding his hand for fifteen minutes, I almost forget that he’s a super hot guy who makes me jumpy and anxious.
After a half hour, it’s like his hand is a part of mine. After forty-five minutes, it feels like a huge loss when he takes his hand away from me to pick up a piece of trash and put it in the garbage can. He’s so perfect that he picks up trash from the street! I don’t even care that his hand probably has germs the size of Jersey on it now; I’m the one who initiates the hand-holding now.
By the time we’re back at the hotel, there’s no way I’m letting go. In fact, I take his other hand in mine and walk backward toward the bedroom. When my legs hit the bed, I fall back and bring him down with me.
His weight on me is new and wonderful, and when his lips find mine, I’m sure there’s nothing better in the universe. He moves his mouth lower and his tongue touches the hollow of my neck. I can’t stop shivering. I close my eyes when his lips are back to mine, and I tighten my arms around him.
There’s something frenetic, yet measured in the way he kisses me. It’s not hard to figure out that I’m the wild frenzy, and he’s the calm, dignified restraint. I can’t move much because the weight of him limits me, but I’m able to shift just enough to free my legs. It’s instinctive to wrap them around his waist, but that brings about a whole other rush of sensations.
I inhale deeply the moment his lips part from mine, but it’s only a moment of freedom. Fox sweeps his tongue out over my bottom lip, and it’s all I can do to let out my breath in a slow, but stuttered exhale.
It’s crazy how much I want him. It’s insane how just being with him changes everything.
I no longer care where Myka and Val are. I couldn’t care less about why we’re in New York, or how just this morning my fear and insecurity forced Fox away from me until I got it under control.
The only thing I care about right now is Fox. His body on mine. His tongue against mine. The waves and waves of his energy crashing against me, flooding me in the sea of his being.
I can feel his hands on my torso. Fingers just under the bottom of my shirt. My heart speeds up even faster and my breath quickens.
But he never moves his hands up. Instead, I’m faced with the sharp loss of his lips and his body against mine. Braced on his arms, he shines a smile down at me. “That was surprising.”
I want to ask him, but good, right? Instead, I stay silent, eyes fixed on him.
Fox might see the question hidden somewhere in my expression b
ecause he bites down on his perfect bottom lip and makes a “Mmmmhmmm,” sound.
I don’t know what it means, and I’m not sure how to ask. I let my hands fall away from his torso as I slide my eyes away from his. Before I have the chance to focus on anything, he kisses me again. It’s different though. Short, quick, but powerful.
A stupid smile curves my lips this time as he retreats. “I guess now I don’t have to tell jokes to get you to smile.”
With closed eyes, I say, “Nope. Just kiss me, and I promise I’ll smile every time.”
Fox moves off me, pulls me up to sit next to him, and brushes my hair out of my face. He runs his hand over my hair, letting two fingers slide over a strand caught between. When his fingers are at the bottom, he asks, “What color is this?”
“Huh?”
“Your hair. I’ve been trying to perfect it for my paintings, but no matter what I mix, it doesn’t come out exactly right.”
“My grandma says it’s auburn.”
“Hmmmm. That’s the only thing I could think of too, but it’s not the right word. Maybe I’ll use a light brown, let it dry, then use a delicate red over it and a yellow to finish it. See if that does it.” He studies my hair for a moment more before saying, “You’re the only person I know who has complicated hair.” Fox drops his hand, but moves his other one up to my face. The rough skin of his thumb brushes underneath my eye, along the bone, and follows it all the way back to my ear. The thought of his rough, callus skin excites me for reasons I don’t understand.
A buzzing sound with an Avett Brothers ringtone splits the peace that’s settled in the air, and Fox takes his hands away to dig in his pocket. He silences it, but holds it out to me just a little. “It’s a text.”
I nod at the obviousness of his statement.
He uses the thumb that was just against my skin to scratch at his collarbone as he studies the phone. Turning his eyes back up to me, he asks, “Will you read it for me?”
My stomach plummets at his question. I don’t want to be a crutch for him, but I have no idea if he really needs a crutch or not. I don’t want to be insensitive, but if he knows how to read, he should just power through it. “No,” I say with a shake of my head, then add, “but I’ll help you.”
He pulls the phone back and stares at the screen.
“Do you want—”
“No, I’m fine. It’s from Gage.”
It takes him a while to read the short text and even longer to compose a reply. When he’s done, I try again. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine. I can do it, so it’s not a big deal that you didn’t. I mean, I understand.” He gets off the bed. “I don’t want you to think I’m stupid or lazy, so it’s cool.”
“I don’t think you’re—”
Fox stands up and like usual, interrupts me. “Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?” I play along, but if he’s doing this to make me smile, I’d prefer the way we just discussed. Kissing is better than jokes.
“Broken pencil.”
“Broken pencil who?”
“Ah,” he says, waving his hand, “doesn’t matter. It’s a pointless joke.”
I roll my eyes once I get it.
“Are you going to be okay going out? I know you don’t like Gage, but he’s my friend and he’s getting us into some bar Myka seems stoked about.”
“Of course. I don’t, like, hate him or anything. I just don’t—”
“People change, you know. He’s probably not the same guy you remember from high school.”
***
I should’ve taken the out when Fox gave it to me. I thought I’d be fine, but now outside this pseudo-industrial bar, I realize how very out of place I am. The moment I see Gage, I remember how much I despise him. It hits me like a bucket full of cold truth. The annoyed anger I usually carry around with me doesn’t creep back, it floods in.
“IDs,” the big guy at the door says. Almost in unison, Myka, Val, Fox, and I flash our perfectly forged licenses, and he lets us in.
I have no clue what Fox sees in Gage, but I try to keep quiet and let him visit with his friend. As we sit down in a horseshoe shaped booth, I act like I don’t hear Gage say to Fox, “So I heard a funny one the other day.”
“Yeah?”
“What do you call a virgin on a waterbed?” He doesn’t wait for Fox to respond. “A cherry float.”
I don’t need to look at Fox to see how uncomfortable he feels, but he doesn’t say anything back to Gage. A gentleman would remind his friend there are ladies present, but I guess a real gentleman might tell his douche of a friend that his jokes aren’t funny and are inappropriate.
“Here’s another one. What’s the square root of 69?”
A little pride blooms up within me when Fox says, “I’ve heard that one, and it’s stupid.” He pauses for a second. “Haven’t seen you in a few. How’s life, man?”
“Awesome now that summer’s here.”
“How’d your finals turn out?”
I turn my attention to Myka and Val because there’s no need to listen in. I’m sure he’ll say something idiotic, and I don’t need any more reasons to hate the guy. But it doesn’t take long for me to grow bored listening to my friends either, and pretty soon I’m lost inside the world of waves, sunlight, and old fashioned typewriters by the beach.
I’ll be typing away, enjoying the sun and salt air while Fox paints the landscape on his massive canvas. Shirtless, of course. Perhaps in speedos. No. No man beyond Michael Phelps should be in speedos.
So nice board shorts it is. He’ll have a great tan and his skin will glisten from sweat and sunscreen. I’ll wear a cute little bikini because I’ll be about five or ten pounds lighter. He’ll try to maneuver me into a position for making out, but I’ll playfully push him away because I’m right in the middle of an important scene, but as soon as the sun starts sinking into the watery horizon, I’ll be all over him.
He’ll grab my waist and press his stubbly face against the tender skin of my neck. Then I’ll—
“Saige!”
My focus snaps back to Myka. “I said Val and I are taking off.”
“What? We just got here.” I glance back at Fox who’s animatedly talking to Gage. “Don’t leave me alone with—”
Myka leans in close, “Saige, Fox will take care of you.”
“We’re only at this stupid bar for you!” I sigh in a much more dramatic way than is necessary.
“I would like some private, naughty time with Val.”
“In a hotel I paid for.”
She gives me her unimpressed face. “I’ll pay you back. Val and I only have a few months until he leaves, and I’d really like to show him how much he’s gonna miss me.”
There is no way for me to win this. “Save the details, just go.”
My friend wastes no time and before I know it, I’m alone with the boys. Somehow a beer has appeared in front of me, so I start drinking as I wonder how long I was lost in my daydream. After what seems like forever, Fox turns from Gage and drapes his arm around my shoulders.
“Doing okay?”
“Super,” I say.
“Lies.”
“No, I’m fine. Just—”
“Bored out of your freakin’ mind?”
Even though he speaks the truth I deny it with a shake of my head. “I’m good.”
“I have to go to the bathroom. Will you be okay?”
“I’m sure I can survive without you for a minute or two.” His little kiss on the end of my nose forces a girlish giggle from me.
“So you’re Saige?”
I turn to Gage after watching Fox disappear into the sea of dancing bodies. I don’t bother adopting a pleasant expression. There’s nothing about Gage I like. “You don’t remember me from high school?”
“It was a long time ago,” he says before chugging half of his beer.
“Pretty sure it was only two years ago for you.” He gives me little half nod, but I don’t know what it
’s supposed to mean. “Maybe I just didn’t rate high enough to remember.”
Gage laughs like it’s a joke, finishes off his beer, then drains what’s left of mine. “Asshole,” I say in a stage whisper.
He laughs again, waves a skinny little server over to us, and orders another round of longneck beers and a couple of tequila shots. He says nothing until after the drinks are in front of us, but when they are, he levels me with a look meant to destroy me or at least diminish me.
“I don’t know what you did to get him to like you, but you’d better pick up your game.”
“My game?”
“All the other girls he’s dated have been fun, not boring little wallflowers. You act like you’re too good to have fun like the rest of us.”
I knock back the shot because it’ll make this night a little more pleasant, but then he ruins it by saying, “There you go. Maybe a little alcohol will make everyone like you a little bit more.”
“By everyone, you mean you, because by your own words, he likes me.”
Gage just stares at me as he does his shot then chases it with the beer. With a wave of his hand, he orders another round. “Fox is a special guy.”
“Are you hot for him?”
He cracks up like what I said was something worthy of such a laugh. “Cute. You’re not special though. You’re like every other rich little girl out there who thinks she’s smarter than she is.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You don’t even know me.” Despite my confident tone, my insides are twisting at this abrupt conflict.
“And you’ll like him for a while because he’s the sweet guy. The guy that says the right thing and does the right thing and is so damned loyal, you’ll never need a dog. But you’ll get tired of him because he doesn’t read the books you’re reading, and he doesn’t write you mushy love poems, and—”
“You know nothing about me,” I say again. “And you know nothing about my relationship with him.”
“I don’t need to. All the fucking girls in the world are the same when it comes to him.”
