by Erin Leigh
She laughs. “I was close.”
“Very.” Fraser returns the look she’s giving all of us.
“You hockey types all look the same.” She winks. But she doesn't return the look to him. She glances at me, looking for a smile from me. I can’t even fight giving it to her. I don't want to fight how I feel about her anymore. My willpower is dying off.
God, drunk me is a fucking pussy.
We drink and laugh and at the end of the night Nat, Sami, and I walk home. Sami staggers, nattering on, “So Matt and I were thinking we should do something this Christmas, like the four of us. Like go somewhere?”
Jesus. She wants Natalie and I to be the other couple they vacation with, only we’re not a couple. Is God against me on this one?
“I don't know what world you live in where you think my mom is going to let me go somewhere for Christmas.” Natalie wrinkles her nose, taking her shoes off and walking barefoot.
“My brother’s having a baby too. I think it’s January they’re expecting her, but you can’t be sure about the date, right?”
“How should I know?” Sami gives me a look.
“My feet hurt. I hate these shoes, Sami. I like my Tieks.”
“Flats are for Sunday afternoons.” Sami scoffs.
I don't get girls.
I hurry ahead and open the door for them. Sami nods but Nat smiles. “Thanks.”
I don't think I like friendly, easygoing Nat. Depressed Nat was easier to handle. When we get inside the elevator I can’t stop looking at her in my peripheral as Sami natters on, still going on about Christmas.
“You could easily get a jet home from wherever we are if she goes into labor. It’s ridiculous to think everyone is going to put their plans on hold for a baby that might come.”
Natalie snickers and gives me a sympathetic look. Her lips are pressed together, like she doesn't want to say whatever she’s thinking. I suspect it’s the same thing I’m not saying.
“And besides, we could have a really fun time. Think about it. Instead of freezing through a Connecticut winter, we enjoy basking at the beach. I can show you the meaning of ho, ho, ho.” She laughs too hard at her own joke. It’s weird.
I can’t get out of the elevator fast enough. I unlock the door and hold it open for them.
“Thanks.” Natalie sighs, tossing the huge heels to the floor. She stretches her feet and moans.
I walk into the bathroom to take a piss, pausing when I see her phone on the counter face up, getting a call. My eyes are stuck to the face showing. William Fairfield. It stops ringing and I press the home button, noting she’s missed ten calls from him and has a million messages. Some of them are girls calling her a fucking bitch for lying and saying they fucked him.
Who’s him?
Another message is a girl apologizing for fucking him.
Other random numbers apologize or call her a liar.
Ten phone calls from a boyfriend and girls calling her names or apologizing?
Natalie being depressed for two weeks after the weird strip show.
Shit!
I’m an idiot.
That fucker has been cheating on her and she’s desperately upset.
The strip show was her breaking down and I’ve distanced myself from her when she needed me—a friend. I couldn’t keep it in my pants around her so I let her suffer with this alone.
I will kill him if I ever see him.
Chapter Twenty-One
F*$K friends
Natalie
The door buzzes as I’m pulling on a sweater, making me run for it while I finish dressing. “Yeah?”
“It’s Will. I need to talk to you.” He sounds desperate. “Please, Natalie. I need to explain.”
Great.
I sigh and lean my head against the wall, about to press the button. But inviting him up here seems like a bad plan. I shove my feet into my flats and push the talk button. “Be down in a minute.”
Grabbing my keys and cell phone, I head out the door. The moment has come. I’ve avoided it for weeks, assuming he got the point when I confronted all the girls I know about.
Apparently, he did and he wants to discuss the fact he’s a scheming bastard. It’s a conversation I don't need to have. Not at all.
When I push out the front door of the cool old building, he’s sitting on the steps. He looks rough, the sexiest version of rough ever.
“Nat.” He gets up, immediately reaching for me. Disgust fills me, obviously covering my face like a blanket because when his eyes meet mine he recoils. “I’m so sorry, Nat. So sorry.”
“You humiliated me for three years. Sorry is just not the word for this. We don't have anything to discuss. You broke up with me, making me think it was me every time like I wasn't enough for you or this was too much too soon or we were too young to feel this way. And all you wanted was a hall pass for something better for the weekend.”
“None of them meant anything to me. I never cheated on you. I could never. There’s just so much pressure.” At least he’s not lying. That would send me over the edge. “What can I do?” He swallows hard. His dark-blue eyes are full of remorse. He has actually never looked like this before. It’s alarming and a tiny piece of me is buying it.
But it’s a small part of me. The rest is angry. “Go back three years and take it all back.” I hate him. Which means I care about him still in some ways. I hate that too.
His dark-blond hair, tanned skin, and sexy body makes it easy to care about him and find him appealing. He looks like a young Paul Walker but with dark-blue eyes. He’s gorgeous. So having him begging at my feet is a little bit awesome. The fact he screwed my friends while we were on the Ross and Rachel break that he initiated so he could screw my friends, makes me want to stab him in the eye.
“I want to start fresh. I want you back. But I want it to be different. I want to be different.” He steps closer, taking my hands in his. He’s warm and familiar and he smells so good. “I want us to be the relationship we want to be and not care what family or friends say. I want us to be ourselves.” He pauses and looks deeply into my eyes. “I love you, Natalie. I always have.” He says exactly the thing I’ve always wanted.
My fight dies there. The way he touches me makes my heart thump a little bit. I even make those sad excuses like we weren’t technically dating. We were technically broken up. He didn't cheat. He didn't do anything that wrong that I can’t forgive him. The whispers are old me talking and new me sees how fake this all is.
“I love you so much and I’m an idiot.”
He leans in, pressing his soft lips against mine but like it’s God saving me, someone calls my name, “Nat?”
I blink and pull back, exhaling the magic William is trying to trick me with. When I turn, everything comes into focus as I see Brady walking up to the apartment with his hockey bag. I drag my hands from William’s and nod. “Hey!” I hold my hand up and point. “Brady, this is William, my ex-boyfriend. Will, this is Brady, my roomie.”
Brady tries to smile but it’s not even half his best effort. His eyes don't sparkle at all. “Hey.” His voice is deeper too.
“You’re roommates with a hockey player?” William ignores Brady and glares at me. All the remorse and desperation is gone. “Have you been screwing him the entire time while riding me about a few whores while we were broken up?”
“No, what? Don't be an asshole. He’s my roommate,” I snap at William, suddenly seeing him so clearly. The way he’s treating me is cruel and I don't deserve this. I never did. I always deserved better. “And just so you know, I want a fresh start too. On life. Just not with you.” I take a step back, freeing myself of the bullshit my brain is whispering. “I’m sorry, Brady. William was just leaving.”
William takes a step toward me. “We are not done talking.” He grabs my arm, not roughly at all but Brady drops the bag, not helping the situation.
“No.” I turn and give Brady a look. “Go upstairs. He’s leaving.”
Brady’s
stare darken as his brow lowers over it, ignoring me completely. “Don't touch her.”
“You fucking slut.” William’s grip tightens on my arm. “You’re fucking this piece-of-shit white trash behind my back and ragging on me for a few chicks when we were broken up? You hypocritical bitch.”
I spin to tell him off but Brady pulls me back, punching William in the face. He takes the hit and comes at Brady, foolishly.
Brady pulls his shirt over his head, holding him down and looking at me. “You go upstairs! NOW!”
I want to argue, but I think taking me out of the situation will defuse it faster. Near tears made from anger not sadness, I turn and walk into the building. When I get inside the elevator, I don't touch a single button. I lean against the corner with my hands over my face. The tears fade away and the anger pauses as I think about the fact Brady is kicking his ass all over the sidewalk.
Every part of me knows he deserves every hit he gets, but I don't like violence, and I don't like boys fighting over girls. It’s pathetic. And I am guilty. I’ve flirted with Brady. I’ve not texted William. I’ve made the bed they’re wrestling in.
Taking deep breaths I try to calm myself.
When the elevator door opens Brady is standing there, heaving his breaths, looming over me like a heavy cloud. He swallows hard, stepping in. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” My eyes lower to the bloody knuckles. I take his trembling hand in mine, lifting it. “I’m so sorry. I don't know what his problem is. He’s slept with everything that moves, and I’ve never given him a reason to think me and you—”
“Stop.” He steps forward, pinning me against the wall. His hands lift and cup my face, tilting me to look up at him. I almost protest the whole two seconds it takes for his face to lower near mine.
Everything gets disconnected.
I lift my face more, staring at his lips just as he does mine. He hesitates and the moment he squeezes my face even slightly, I know it’s over.
“Don't get back together with him, please. You deserve so much better.” His words almost make me cry. It’s entirely frustration. I want him to just take that last step and bring his lips down on mine. But he doesn't.
“I won’t,” I whisper back.
“Sorry.” He growls and turns, pressing the button for our floor.
I grab his arm, spinning him around. “What are you sorry for? What is this?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, but I see the lie in his eyes. They’re so dark I can see my face in them. “I’m just worried about you.”
“You’re lying. This is something, we both feel it.” The elevator door opens and I brush past him, grabbing the door handle to our place and flinging it open as I unlock the door. I storm into my room and slam it shut. I don't even know what the hell for.
The door flings open, with him standing in the doorway. “What do you expect, Nat?”
“Nothing—” I want to say more but he cuts me off.
“That's exactly what this is. We’re roommates. We can’t be more than that. We live together. I don't shit where I eat. I don't screw the same girl more than twice a month. I don't screw girls I know. I don't do relationships.”
Something comes over me, maybe the adrenaline from dealing with the asshole on the street below, maybe the fact I find the whole protective thing very attractive, or maybe it’s just the asshole in my bedroom giving me attitude.
Whatever it is, it has me across the room, shoving him lightly. “I just got out of a huge mistake of a relationship based entirely on lies and making a world-class fool out of me. I don't want another one. Have you ever considered I just want to fuck? Maybe I want to fuck you too.” I regret it instantly and want to take it back even if it’s the truth.
He pauses, looking like he might run away but he doesn't. He steps closer, testing the water or the validity of what I've just said. The thing that came over me, comes over him. He attacks.
He shoves me back into the room playfully. “You wanna fuck?” He laughs and nods. “I have been wanting to fuck you from the moment I met you.” He drags his shirt off, grabbing my sweater and pulling it off. It’s rough and exactly what I need. There’s nothing nice about this moment.
We stand there looking at each other, both breathing hard but not touching. I imagine this is what it’s like when two virgins have sex. There’s an unknown. But neither of us is a virgin. He’s a manwhore and I want to be used by him.
I unsnap my bra, freeing my breasts. It’s my way of saying I don't want to turn back. He fights the urge to look at them for a moment before he finally gives in and that ends the struggle.
He pulls me into him, wrapping all the way around me. His body is hot and smells like deodorant and a bit of sweat. It’s the perfect mix. I inhale him as he lifts me up and carries me to my bed. He places me down like maybe I’m a princess. It’s less intense than I expected. He brushes my hair from my cheek, swallowing the lump in his throat as he lowers his face to mine.
Finally, our lips meet.
I’ve been picturing it for weeks. It feels like years. And the kiss is better than I imagined it would be.
It starts slowly, two mouths brushing delicately together. He sucks my lower lip in, flicking his tongue against it. I reach up, grabbing his head, running my hands through his thick hair. It feels just the way I knew it would, soft and clean.
His hands stay on my back, holding me to him. I lower one hand and undo my jeans, starting the struggle of getting them off.
Maybe it’s the act of me undressing that gets him going, but the moment I get my pants to my knees his tongue invades my mouth. The kissing speeds up. We get sloppy, kissing each other on the cheek and chin as I work my clothes off.
His hands leave my body, hurrying to his pants. He undoes them but stops, pulling back. He takes a moment to look at me. He lowers his face to my neck, kissing delicately. His hands slide along my waist and ribs until finally they make their way to the places I want them, on my breasts. He massages and groans, “You’re so soft.”
He bends and places a soft, wet kiss on my nipple. I moan, arching my back, making his movement change. His tongue flicks my nipple, creating more of a storm in me as his thumb rolls my other one.
It’s not what I want. It’s too much and not enough. I push him off, dragging him up onto the bed and pushing him down on it as I wrestle my jeans and underwear off.
He looks like he might protest, but I climb onto him, dragging his pants down to his knees. From the look of his underwear I’ve bitten off far more than I can chew. “Condom in my pocket?”
“Did you know we were going to—?”
“No.” His cheeks flush even more.
“You keep condoms in your pocket?” There’s a layer of judgment I should not have in my tone, but I can’t help it.
He parts his lips but laughs and shakes his head like he doesn't want to say what he’s thinking.
I shrug. “It’s cool. Better safe than sorry,” I try to make him feel better as I fish the three condoms out of his pocket. I tear off one and toss the other two on the floor.
Sitting back on his calves, I look at him like a present I’m about to open. His dark-gray boxers have already told me what I’m getting but my stomach is still fluttering. Committing this act is like signing my soul away to the devil.
Brady Coldwell is the devil I want.
With trembling fingers I reach and pull back the underwear, gulping when I see exactly what I’m dealing with. I suspect it won’t fit. I even look down at my vagina, almost apologizing ahead of time. He’s twice the size of William who I always felt was a bit small. This is a bit big. I open the condom, not even touching his cock except to slip the rubber over it.
I take a deep breath and crawl up him, sitting on him, not letting it enter me. He sits up, scooping me up in his lap as I wrap my legs around his back.
He gives me a look and I feel like a virgin again. “You sure?”
I nod. I don't have words. I have fear and appr
ehension and some brand of bravery I’ve never used before. He kisses me passionately as he puts me back on my knees so I’m straddling him. “You control how it goes in. I’m a big boy.” He chuckles and mumbles against my lips. His hands rub up and down my back, caressing and massaging. I reach between my legs and stand it up, slowly lowering myself.
Oddly enough, the whole experience has me ready. I rub him back and forth against me, before lowering even more. He stretches and widens me but it doesn’t hurt; it isn’t too much. I dip and come back up, very carefully. When I get all of him inside me, I pause, taking a breath. It’s just right.
His hands trail down my back, grabbing my ass and cupping me. He lifts me gently, thrusting and rocking us slowly.
My arms grip his head, resting his face against my neck as I ride slowly and get accustomed to the size.
After a few minutes he lies back, still gripping my ass and hips, working me on him, using his thighs to lift me up and down at a delicate pace.
I rub my hands up and down his muscles, gripping as they flex, moving us like we’re a boat on the ocean, the same boat.
I sit up, leaning back, forcing his cock to hit the right spot. I come up off him, using the head to rub against my G-spot. I’m so turned on and excited that the buildup is there almost immediately.
I reach a hand down between my legs and rub my clit as I start to bounce, increasing the pace.
His hands come up to my breasts, rubbing my nipples again. I orgasm, crying out in gasps and spurts of breath.
He groans, squeezing my breasts harder, until I’m done gripping his cock with my spasms.
I fold forward, taking all of him again, forcing more gasped breaths from my parted lips. His hands lower to my ass, lifting me up and down to meet the pumping of his thrusting hips. His pace quickens as he bounces me, but he makes me take it all. An experience I feared I might not like, but I do.
We moan together as his grip tightens with the quickening of his pace. He squeezes and grunts once as his orgasm comes. I help him through it, working his cock as he flexes his entire body and then releases with a single moan.
