by JJ Knight
So, yes, I’m being terrible. Liar. Sneak.
Just like four years ago.
I circle the building and go in the side.
Irma is at her desk as always. Usual messy twist. Today’s paisley print dress is pale blue.
“Don’t you look pretty!” she says. “Your hair is a crown!”
I touch the braid encircling my head, the long strands falling from it. “Mom taught me how to do it when I was young.”
“It’s a beautiful look. You tell her I said so.”
“I will.”
Irma waves her hand to the back room. “There’s a ton of mail to sort. Lots of junk. Just don’t toss any bills.”
“On it,” I say. Then I take a deep breath so I can speak the lie. “I’m only here for an hour today. Mom needs me at home.”
“Okay,” Irma says. “Plenty of time to get the mail sorted.”
“Yes, I can do it.”
And it’s done. The lie is out.
I set my string bag on a shelf, tugging it open so I can easily pull the phone out to check. It’s on silent, and Blitz hasn’t returned my text. No telling what has him tied up after something as big as a video shoot.
The box of mail waits on the counter. I sit on the floor with it. But I’ve only sorted three envelopes when I stand up and move my string bag closer. I’m jittery, as anxious as I’ve ever felt. What if he can’t meet? I’ve already told Irma I’m leaving.
My hands shake as I toss advertisements for coffee companies and religious tract printing in the trash. I’m glad the work is fairly mindless. I can’t concentrate on anything.
I hear a buzzing sound. What is that? It makes the floor vibrate a little.
I pick up my bag. It’s the phone. I thought it was on silent! Maybe the buzz is what silent means. I have to find a way to turn that off too. It’s very loud in the quiet.
But Blitz has texted me back.
Princess, I’m officially your slave.
I smile.
Then another comes through.
I can already picture my hand sliding up your thigh.
A rush of heat blossoms down low. I glance wildly around, wondering if the prayer books are going to come crashing down on my head for reading this in a church.
When it reaches its destination, I’m going to make you scream.
I suck in a breath, and a piece of hair catches in my mouth. I inhale it, sputtering and coughing and making a terrible racket.
Irma pops her head in. “You okay, Livia?”
I shove the phone under my skirt. “Just swallowed wrong!”
She nods and heads back to her desk just as another buzz comes. Then another.
God, I nearly got caught. I frantically push all the icons until I find the settings. It takes several eternal moments to locate the vibration setting. I finally find it and now the phone is truly silent.
By the time I look at my texts again, there are a line of them.
I want to taste the inside of your knee.
I bite ankles, is that okay?
He seems to get nervous that I’m not replying, so he asks,
Am I going too fast? Because I can back off. I just can’t seem to tick off the minutes until I see you any other way.
I’m not sure what to say. I did start it with my panties text.
Finally, I write him.
You don’t scare me. Not anymore.
His response is instant.
But I did?
At first.
I never want you to feel a second of fear. Not ever.
I won’t.
Is it time yet?
I have to finish my work!
Okay, I’ll just sit here and pine for you at the postapocalyptic park.
He’s already there!
I quickly tap out:
Be there as soon as I can.
And sort the mail literally as fast as my fingers will fly.
Within minutes, I’ve created a stack for Irma and hand it to her.
“See you next week,” I say. “Unless you need me before.”
“We’ll get by,” she says. “Tell your mother hello.”
My feet can’t move quickly enough as I hurry down the street. I don’t want to cross in front of my own house, as it’s too risky, so I duck down a block, then come back up to get to the park.
The red Ferrari sticks out, sitting against the curb like a shiny Christmas ornament. I walk up to it, but Blitz isn’t inside. He must be in the park.
I shade my eyes from the afternoon sun and walk up the path. There are box hedges that obscure parts of the playground.
Children shout on the swings. I walk that direction, planning to take a quick circle of the park and then text if I don’t spot him. He can’t be too far away, since his car is here.
As I approach the playscape, I spot an empty wheelchair. Then Daisy’s mom, holding a toddler squirming in her arms. She’s talking to another mom.
When I see Blitz, my heart swells like it might burst.
He’s pushing Daisy on a swing.
Her mother sees me. “Livia!” she says. “Imagine finding you here! We saw Blitz already. He’s playing with Daisy.”
The toddler kicks her way to the ground. The other mother scoops her up.
I’m speechless for a moment. For one, to see Blitz hanging out with children. And also, because we’ve been seen by a parent who could mention it to Danika.
“Livia!” Daisy shouts. “Look who is here!”
Blitz spots me and waves, continuing to push Daisy. He’s in jeans and a long-sleeved fitted shirt. He’s like a billboard for fatherhood, good looking and hands-on. I would imprint the image on my brain if I weren’t so panicked about seeing people we know.
Daisy says something to him and he nods, carefully stopping the swing. He lifts her out and sets her in the chair. Soon she’s speeding across the dead grass to us.
“Did you come to see Blitz?” Daisy asks. “He was sitting all alone when we got here!”
Her mom snaps her head around at that, as if considering whether or not this is a coincidence.
Blitz saves me. “Livia told me about the park,” he says smoothly. “It’s nice to have a place to chill out near the academy.”
He leans down to give Daisy a squeeze. “I’ve got to get going.” He pulls his keys from his jeans pocket. “See you all at the academy!”
I follow his lead. “Bye, Blitz.”
He pulls his phone out and holds it up. I know he’s telling me that he’ll text me where to meet instead. I’m terribly relieved that he understands the situation, and I’m so glad I told him about my parents already.
I give Daisy a hug and wave to her mom. “I was just cutting through. I live close by. See you next week!”
And I continue on through the park to the next street.
As soon as I’m out of sight of Daisy, I pull out the phone. I’ve forgotten the phone is on silent, and I already have two messages from Blitz asking where to meet me.
I give him the name of the two streets at the corner and wait at a bus stop bench. I hear the roar of his Ferrari before I see it. He pulls up in front of me and rolls down the passenger window. “Pretty lady need a ride?” he says. “I’ve got candy.”
I walk up to the car and lean in the window. “I only take candy from strangers.”
“Then pretend we’ve never met,” he says, laughter in his eyes.
I open the door and hop into the seat.
And I can see the floor!
“Hey, you cleaned up,” I say.
“See, you’re already good for me,” Blitz says. He pulls away from the curb. “How much time do we have before the clock strikes twelve?”
It’s so much easier to navigate this with Blitz understanding my situation. “A couple hours.”
“Is there a movie theater around here?”
“Sure. It’s kind of old and dumpy, though.”
“All the better. Tell me where.”
He steers throug
h the streets as I give him directions. I’ve only gone to the theater a couple times. It usually offers second-run movies and old black-and-white features. My parents let me see Singin’ in the Rain and The Wizard of Oz there when they played them for special occasions.
“What will we see?” I ask as he parks in the lot, almost empty on a weekday afternoon.
“Whatever is about to start,” he says. “You’ve never done that before? Just gone potluck on a movie?”
I shake my head. I don’t want to tell him I’m not allowed at modern movies, at least not anymore. I got to go plenty when I was a kid. Now Dad says they promote loose morals. Same as pop music and television. I’m too susceptible to ideas.
It’s probably true. But I can’t stay sheltered forever. And this is probably his worst nightmare, getting tickets to an unapproved movie with one of the sexiest, wildest men on TV.
It makes me want to laugh. My dad would probably spontaneously combust if he saw us.
“I like seeing you happy,” Blitz says as we get out of the car. “Let’s go find out what we’re watching.”
He wraps his arm around my waist as we walk. We could be any couple walking to a movie theater. It feels so good.
“Besides, I want to get you in the dark,” he says.
My heart thumps against my sweater. “And no Danika or Hannah to interrupt.”
“Exactly.”
We walk up to the box office, where a girl is leaning her cheek on her hand. She doesn’t recognize Blitz. “Can I help you?”
Blitz scans the marquee. “Two to whatever starts next.”
She rolls her eyes and prints out tickets. Blitz passes a twenty under the Plexiglas window.
We go inside. “Hungry?” Blitz asks. “You’re bad for my fitness regimen, but then, my trainer quit.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, she said she wasn’t going to work with anyone who had so little respect for women.” He walks up to the counter. “Can’t blame her.”
I squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry all this happened.”
“My own fault. I was out of control. The network wanted a hot-and-bothered guy who didn’t take no for an answer, and I delivered.”
“But it wasn’t really you?”
“I don’t know anymore. I played the role so long, it sort of became me.”
“But you’re not like that right now.”
He looks down at me. “Not with you.”
We stop at the empty concession counter.
“You know how to work a popcorn machine?” he asks.
“I’m game to try.”
The same teen from the box office comes around the counter. “Can I help you?” she asks in the same bored voice.
“Do you run the projector too?” Blitz asks.
She shakes her head.
“Okay. Big popcorn. Like, big as your face. And…” he looks at me. “Should we be good with bottled water or go for the teeth-rotting soda?”
“Teeth are overrated,” I say.
“Two giant Cherry Cokes.”
The girl fetches them. Blitz takes my hand and within seconds, I’m turning in circles, following his cues.
How does he do that?
We dance around the empty foyer of the theater while the girl assembles our order. My skirt billows out a little, but it’s long, so nothing shows but my knees. I remember the panties and wonder if I can go to the bathroom to take them off. The very idea makes my face burn hot.
“You’re blushing,” he says, twirling me into him. “What’s on my sweet princess’s mind?”
I wish I were bold and flirty and could say things like “Wouldn’t you like to know?” But I’m tongue-tied.
Fortunately, the girl plops our drinks on the counter, making them fizz though the top.
“Now that’s service!” Blitz says merrily. He lets me go to hand her money and pass me one of the drinks.
“You can go on back,” she says. “Theater 2 on your right.”
“Has anyone else bought tickets?” he asks.
“Not to that show,” she says.
Blitz picks up his drink and the popcorn, and we head to the hallway.
The previews are flashing onscreen as we pass through the doors. I peer into the seats. She’s right. There’s nobody here.
I hesitate in the aisle, not sure where Blitz wants to sit. He heads straight up the stairs to the back row. Of course.
My head buzzes with nervous energy as I follow him. What will happen here? Technically, we’re in public. Realistically, we’ll probably be alone the whole time.
Blitz plunks down in the center seat and props his sneakers up on the seat back in front of him. “Still a surprise, but the previews will give us a hint.”
“I’m going to laugh if it’s a kid movie,” I say.
Blitz picks up a piece of popcorn and presses it to my lips. I open for him and accept it.
It’s salty and warm and Blitz’s fingers linger after I’ve closed my mouth. My body wakes up, vibrating and on edge. I think again on the panties and wish I had been more daring.
But the movie will probably distract us. Something with lots of action and violence, or maybe a comedy.
I glance back at the screen and Blitz picks up his drink.
The preview is dark and moody, an art film. So is the next. There is a flash of skin, a sensual instrumental setting a mood.
So definitely not a kid movie. Or an action blockbuster. I remember those from the time before, Percy Jackson and the Olympians. The Karate Kid remake. The last movie I saw before my parents locked me away was Tangled. I can still see that girl in the boat, looking at the lights after escaping the tower and feeling that finally her life had begun. Fitting.
The previews end and the company logos for the feature begin. I guess they really do expect you to know what movie you’re seeing, because this one just sort of begins.
It’s in Japanese with subtitles. I glance over at Blitz, and he shrugs. He leans in. “All the better to make out.”
He sets the popcorn in the seat beside him and takes my hand. He lifts it to his lips. “Mmm, buttery,” he says and takes one of my fingers in his mouth.
My body flames so suddenly and so hot that I suck in a breath. His eyes watch me as he takes in each finger, his expression mischievous and bright.
I wish the seat arm wasn’t between us, but I lean in as close as I can. He lowers my hand and kisses my mouth instead. He keeps it easy, light feathery movements that steady my hammering heart.
His hand moves to my waist, flirting with the underside of my breast. Then his thumb slides up, crossing the nipple. I suck in another breath, everything flashing hot.
Blitz leans in even closer, his mouth seeking me now. We’re barely into the movie and things are moving fast. But I want them to. I want to take this as far as we can go. I want to remember all the things I’ve forgotten and pushed aside.
And learn more. Who better than Blitz to show me, remind me, teach me?
I reach for him, placing a tentative hand on his thigh. He places his hand on me more fully, capturing the entire breast in his palm. I’m on fire now, wanting more, to feel skin on skin. I want to burn the panties away, wondering if he’ll feel disappointment when he encounters them, or if things will even progress that far.
A sudden noise onscreen startles us and we turn to it. Then gape. A maid is giving another woman a bath in an old-fashioned tub, and the scene is intensely erotic.
“Perfect,” Blitz says in my ear, then his mouth moves to my neck, kissing along my collarbone. His hand moves to the bottom of my sweater, and then I get what I want, his fingers brushing my skin.
An electric charge bolts through me. I want to moan with the pleasure of it, but try to stay calm and quiet. I have to keep some sort of control, although thinking back, that was never my strong suit. I was impulsive once. Passionate. I let emotion carry me way beyond society’s boundaries.
His fingers travel up along my ribs and rest at the ba
se of the bra. I don’t require much, and there is no underwire or thick cups for him to wrangle with. He doesn’t hesitate, but slips his thumb beneath the fabric and touches me without hindrance.
Now I can’t stop from groaning near his ear. His mouth returns to mine, taking my tongue in deeply. I fall into the kiss, his touch, my own hand gripping his leg in the jeans.
My body arches toward him. I wish we weren’t here, in these seats, separated by the silly armrest. I want fully against him, so close. Everything is flooding back, every feeling, every need. I don’t care that I’ve only known Blitz two weeks. I understand him. I see what nobody else does. How he can really be.
I break the kiss and look around the theater. No one is here. We’re well into the movie. Nobody is going to come.
Summoning every bit of daring I possess, I stand up and turn to Blitz.
He looks up at me in surprise, probably wondering if he’s taken things too far and I’m going to leave.
But I slip my knees on either side of his thighs and slide forward, straddling him as best I can with seats on either side. My skirt gets trapped between us, so I jerk it free and let it fall across my thighs.
His hands go to my legs beneath it, caressing the skin.
“No dance tights,” he says.
“Finally,” I say.
I wrap my arms around his neck. I’m slightly taller than him in this position. I could lift up and my chest would be at face level for him. I think of doing it, but his hands slide up my thighs and the buzzing is so intense that I stop thinking.
He’ll encounter the panties soon. My heart threatens to falter. I hold my breath. He whispers, “Your skin is perfect,” then his lips find mine again.
Blitz doesn’t push, just trailing his fingers along my inner thigh.
Then his thumb brushes between my legs, and I’m jolted into the next level of need, wanting the touch harder, more intense. I kiss him with more fervor, letting him know that this is okay, that I want it.
His hand presses against me, molding the cotton fabric to my body. A finger finds its mark, pushing as far as the panties will allow.
I can’t kiss anymore, too lost in the roar of sensation overwhelming me. I want him inside, need him inside. I’m desperate and rock my hips to press harder against his hand.
