My eyes closed and I held her tighter, feeling her warmth against me, daydreaming that it was someone else, a boy, a man... Hoping it was. She squeezed my hand.
I slept better that night than I had in days.
-3-
I skillfully avoided Clayton at college. In the classes we had together I changed my seat so I was sitting behind him and not the other way around. Sometimes it seemed he was looking partly back at me, but I was never sure.
Avoiding him, however, had turned out to be easier than I'd expected. Because it looked like he was avoiding me, too.
He made no secret about dating his voluptuously sexy sugar-mommy. She picked him up in her silver sports car three or four times a week, every time smooching the bejeezus out of him and curling her leg around his and squeezing his ass like some broad on a street corner.
Yeah, I hated the bitch.
-4-
Some months and many nights of crying later, I got over it. Sort of. I mean, I made myself get over it. It was time to fire up a new app and trash the old one. It hadn't been the perfect first-love story, but it would be good enough for me to tell people about it in the future. Just like I'm telling you now. 'The one who got away'... 'The man of my dreams' blah blah blah...
Things were picking up. After much internal debate I settled on a style for myself — a little bit of leg, sometimes thigh-highs, and mahogany hair. I realized that geeky and sexy were indeed a combination that could fit.
Jason Carver, captain of the rugby team, had been hitting on me. It had started out, initially, as a few glances in the corridors, then actually stopping by and chatting to me. When he dared to approach mine and Mandi's Sanctum Sanctorum (our oak tree at the quad) and asked me out on an official date, stuttering and blubbering and trying to look all cool, well, I said yes.
Jason was hot, don't get me wrong. He was big but not ripped. He had all the typically good-looking features, nothing out of place. His eyes were light brown, his hair also. He kept it in a buzz-cut. He had a strong jaw and an appealing smile.
I know, I'm not describing him as any sort of god because, well, he wasn't. He was, simply, attractive. I'd come to believe that, fundamentally, true attraction is something intangible, a concept which, as a nerd-by-nature, I really struggled to come to terms with. But it was the only thing which made sense: An intangible magic that fires up at the most unpredictable of times.
Jason and I didn't have that.
He took me to the movies and wore a tight tee and expensive denims. Like most people, he towered over me. When he touched the small of my back and guided me into the movie house, I thought of Nathan...
I thought of his largeness, both of his body and of his...goods. I thought of how his large body had engulfed mine in the bedroom, how his strength had made me feel owned, controlled, and how, regardless, we'd always been equals when it had come to sex.
And thinking of all these things, with Jason's own large body sitting next to me in the movie theater, might have confused me a little.
Only a little.
But I won't blame that. Because, when I moved my left hand over to Jason's thigh and squeezed it, I knew very well it was Jason and not Nathan or even Clayton next to me. I was fully aware of that. So, no temporary insanity plea here on my part.
It had been months since I'd been with either of those two, with any man! It was clear that it was over with both of them. At some point I'd have to get my feet wet again.
I looked up at Jason's chiseled face as he watched the movie. He had a kind face, sturdy, powerful. He was a strong guy, and well mannered — at least when I'd spoken to him at school.
I had no idea how much my mind would change about that — about his 'manners' — in only the next few seconds.
I decided I wanted to know how he kissed, believing you can tell a lot about a boy from his kiss, just like it goes in that old Cher song. (Mom used to love listening to that shit when I was growing up.)
I pressed into his inner thigh a little harder, then rubbed down it, just to give him a hint that I'd accept a kiss from him...if he was willing. From the corner of my eye, I saw him smile, and I knew we were in business.
His own calloused hand eased on over to my right knee. I trembled all up and down my leg and shivers pitter-pattered up my spine.
He pressed in, just on the inside of my knee...and then my eyes closed. And when my eyes close of their own will, the hormones have started taking me over for ransom!
He massaged that same spot, inside my knee, easily, gently. My breathing deepened, my chest rose ever-so-slightly higher than before. I noticed my own hand had stopped moving, somehow caught in a trap by this big man next to me.
His hand moved up, up, up, into my skirt —
Whoa WTF!?
I slammed my hand against his wrist and...and... Urgh! Damn it! What is it with guys and their fucking hormones!? Goddamnit!
Just to make absolutely damn certain this dude got the point, I shook my head at him.
He looked mortified.
My god!
I didn't care. He had no business thinking he could do this without even so much as a peck on the cheeks to warm me up!
I pushed my knees together. Jason moved his hand to his own knee, stared straight ahead. It crossed my mind that he was maybe a little inexperienced (correction: completely inexperienced!), operating off some primal instinct instead of with his brains.
Oh, brother...
I decided I'd watch the rest of the movie with him, but it was over with this guy. So over.
I wondered if maybe my clothes had given him the wrong idea, or if people had said things about me at school, that I was easy or something. I thought of when I'd met Nathan at that party. Did he have a reputation at the college? I'd never heard of him before and I'm pretty sure no one else had either so surely that couldn't be it.
At least I learned something from this fiasco. I learned there are two types of physical relationships: With respect, and without it. Jason's over-eager finger gave me a glimpse into how it might feel to be disrespected fully. I decided that night that I would never be with someone who didn't respect me. Never. Little did I know how much that tiny decision would affect the course of my life in the next few weeks.
I shook my head of it, tried to focus on the chick being chased by an ax murderer on the screen. Oh great, Jason picked a screamer so he'd have an excuse to hug me or touch me or something...
I shifted a little further away from him.
-5-
Some plumpy chick who'd been sitting behind us gave me a judgmental glare as we walked out the theater. Had she seen something? I couldn't imagine this night getting any worse...
I guess people make mistakes, and Jason Carver looked appropriately mortified and embarrassed as we stood there in the bustling crowd, the smell of buttered popcorn wafting into the air. I decided to end this off as elegantly as possible.
"Jason, I think — "
"Layla, I'm so sorry, I — "
I put my hand up. "Fine, whatever. Look, just, I mean..." All I saw in his eyes was idiotic inexperience... I decided to let him go off with a warning. "Look, Jace, just...just take it a little slower with the next girl, OK? A kiss first would have been good..."
He ran his hand through his hair, went red as my lipstick.
"Can I give you a ride home at least?" he offered.
I saw no harm in it. Jason wasn't evil. Just fucking stupid! "Sure. Just let me go to the bathroom first."
On my way to the bathroom I pulled out my phone from my pocket to put the sound back on. It had a missed call and a message. I checked who it was from and my hand froze on the bathroom door.
One missed call: Nathan Lockwood.
I stared at that screen for eons. A short blonde rammed through the bathroom door and walked into me. She apologized and I apologized back. I looked at my phone again.
I called voicemail.
When I heard the message, tears stung my e
yes immediately. But they weren't because of Nathan...
I'd never told him how I'd gotten my name, because he'd never asked. My dad had been an Eric Clapton fan. When I was born, he'd chosen the name Layla for me. In the voicemail, Nathan said the following in his echoing southern drawl:
"Baby, you got me on my knees. I'd love to take you out for a drink. Call me." Then Layla by Eric Clapton came on to a cheering crowd, the unplugged version...
I fell back against the carpeted wall. My knees collapsed and I slid to the ground with the phone to my ear, thinking of my dad, of the call that he'd died, during my eleventh birthday party...
And I thought of Nathan, his burning need for sex, and how I knew, somehow, that behind his lily-leaf green eyes was a storm so powerful that he used these so-called no-emotion relationships to carry him through. Just like I did. I'd never found out what raged so menacingly in his mind. Just as he'd never found out what raged in mine, never found out about my fears, my losses...
Was this love? Two souls afraid of life and finding courage and strength in each other's pain? Is it just knowing that someone out there suffers from what you also suffer from, but that it's better to suffer it together than alone?
I didn't care.
Layla played on in my mind. When the message ended, I played it again.
A skinny red-head with seriously hot boobs (the kind of girl I'd always hated) headed to the bathroom and stopped to look at me, then asked, "Love, you OK?"
I smiled, nodded that I was fine, my mascara no doubt all over my cheeks.
"Oh, honey," she said, waving her hand dismissively, "if it's about a guy then he's an arsehole! You're far too beautiful for some doofus to do you wrong!"
I sobbed out a laugh. The red-head patted me once warmly on the shoulder then walked into the bathroom, leaving me with a slightly better feeling about skinny girls with sexy boobs than I'd had a second ago.
I looked at my phone again.
I texted Nathan.
Layla: I'm also on my knees. Tonight?
The message had come out more desperate than I'd planned, but one thing was becoming clear about Nathan and me: It had not been love at first sight, but it had quickly bloomed into something much more than fleshly pleasures.
-6-
The more I thought about it, the more the whole thing with Jason upset me, because the fucking guy could've darn well given this girl a kiss first, couldn't he? But I only got angry later, as I was walking from my place to Nathan's at ten P.M.
I'd told Jason in no uncertain terms that I thought he was a great guy but that, maybe, he'd expected something else from me than what I was willing to give him. I also made sure he wasn't going to spread stories about me at school like he'd 'scored' or something. I told him he shouldn't do that because that's what a gentleman would do...and that I knew how to hack into any Facebook, Twitter, Google Plus or any other online account and find any dirt on anyone, just as a side note.
He got the point.
I knocked on Nathan's door.
When he opened, he looked a wreck. His light-brown wavy hair had grown beyond his ears. He hadn't shaved in a few days and the surrounds of his eyes were dark. Despite all of it, he was still deadly gorgeous, manly and rugged. My heart thumped nervously as I stood there, shadowed by his overwhelming size.
He stepped back unsteadily and held the door open, almost losing his balance.
He's been drinking. Damn it. "Seven years down the drain," I said, sparing no pity for him.
Nathan closed his eyes in shame, looked down. "Come on in, honey." He stood out the way and I walked in, tripping slightly as his musky scent billowed into me, making me lightheaded and immediately needy.
He'd lit the fire even though it wasn't really that cold. The smell of pine cones made me feel strangely at home, as if this were Christmas and he and I were about to snuggle up to a bottle of wine and make love slowly afterwards.
On the kitchen island was a half-empty bottle of Jack and a crystal whiskey glass. "Bourbon?" I asked, a disappointed edge to my voice.
"Best o' Tennessee," he said.
Damn, his voice had such an effect on me...
"How long?"
He paused a while. I turned to face him.
"A week," he finally said.
I nodded tightly, I looked at the bottle, looked back at him, raised an eyebrow. "I'm pouring it out."
Nathan said nothing, not approving or disapproving.
I went to the island, grabbed the bottle and started pouring it down the drain, half expecting him to swing me around by the shoulders and start shouting at me. But he didn't do that. He just stood there, eyes red from either booze or tears.
"Where's the rest?" I said.
He pointed to below the island. I opened up a cupboard and saw five more bottles and started pouring each one out.
On the second bottle, he said from behind me, seated on a couch in the lounge of his open plan home: "It's good to see you, Layla."
I nodded, my throat feeling tight, feeling that it was so good to see him as well, and not liking that feeling at all.
I started on the third bottle.
"I'm... I'm sorry about the call," I told him eventually, not facing him. "I mean, our last conversation."
He said nothing. I turned and he was looking out the glass walls to his backyard. "Nathan? I said I'm sorry."
He turned abruptly to me. "Oh, hon, I heard you. No, no. It's fine. You don't need to apologize. It was my stupid rules after all. Heck, you're the first girl to ever end the deal with me before I did." Pause. "Darn it, you're the first girl I ever had one of these deals with for more than a week!"
I said nothing, pouring the fourth and fifth bottle out. Then I went to an ottoman and sat.
"So, wanna talk about it?" I asked, referring to the boozing.
He shook his head.
I thought about what I was doing here, what this had always been about, being with Nathan. He and I had had an agreement. Physical only. Monogamously physical. And by now I'd come to know undoubtedly that I craved that sensual touch as much as he did. But I wouldn't be anybody's fuck-buddy, appearing at their beck-and-call. Not even for Nathan. So I asked the obvious. "Were you hungry for a fuck while you were boozed up? Is that why you called?" There was no warmth in my question.
His right eyebrow raised, but no humor crossed his face. "Baby, you know it ain't as meaningless as that, don't you?"
I tried to process the statement. There were so many possible meanings that I took the safe road. "Care to explain?"
"Do I need to?" He looked down at me, then raised an eyebrow.
I shook my head. "No, I know it's not just some random fuck, that it's more powerful and meaningful than that. But it is just physical at the end of the day. Those are your rules. No emotional attachment — "
"Ah, fuck my damn rules!" He reached over for a glass that wasn't there. "Fuck the damn rules," he repeated, quietly now. "To answer your question, yes, I wanna fuck. I wanna fuck you hard and every day of my life, Layla. But I want to change the rules."
Now it was I who looked out the window. I both liked and disliked his suggestion. I liked the idea of raw, primal sex, with him. Because I knew we had a mutual respect for each other. What I didn't like was being told 'no questions' or any other such bullshit of his.
"What you say I make some rules this time?" I challenged. Nathan waited. "I ask as many questions as I want, when I want. But we keep the rest of the rules the same."
"That's precisely what I was going to say." He paused, looking for my reaction. I made none. "With one modification: Rule four is cancelled. If any of us wants to leave, the other is welcome to put up a fight."
I thought of how I'd left him, no explanation. It had been easier that way...
Damn it. "You mean like, um, a real relationship?"
He shrugged. "I guess."
"I don't know if I'm ready for that..."
"Neither am I. But when you pulled rule four on
me last time, leaving me just like that, I collapsed."
I raised a suspicious eyebrow. "You're gonna blame your fucking drinking on me now?"
He smiled. "See? We're arguing just like a real couple already..."
Couple. Damn it, he was scaring me. His handcuffs didn't scare me, fucking me against a tree didn't scare me. This scared the living shit out of me...
"Anyway, no, I don't blame my drinking on you. I blame it on me. For being a fucking asshole. For letting you go. For letting a good thing go — "
I stood up, wiped my palms on my skirt. "Nathan..." I scratched my forehead, paced up and down. "I can't...I'm sorry, I just can't."
I started walking out but Nathan bellowed out with such fervor that I stopped immediately. "Fine. Rule four stays, on your part. I mean, you can leave when you want. But if I try and leave you and you don't want me to, then you can put up a fight. I don't want to dump you on a whim."
I shook my head. "Whatever happened to just physical? What happened to no emotions?" I turned to face him.
"There's no such thing, baby. The more you fuck someone, the more you love them. It's the way it goes..."
Love? "Nathan, you have to understand. You're important to me. Very important. And it's because of that that I have to say no. Because I need something with no ties. I need..." I need you inside me, holding me, that's all.
I turned to walk out. "OK," he commanded.
I paused, a little confused, turned back to him.
"OK," he repeated. "You got it. Physical only. Monogamous while we're together, fucking at the drop of a dime." He was sitting up now, almost ready to run to me and stop me from leaving.
I smiled and shook my head. Darn it, I liked this man. Liked him too much for my own good... Liked him so much that I felt something push me toward him, felt my body ease on over to him even though I hadn't consciously yet decided to do it.
I walked over to him, slowly, felinely, one leg over the other like a geeky runway model. I was hot already, my inner legs warm. Only physical, his rules. That's what I needed.
He swallowed.
"Wait," he said, putting his hand up to stop me. "Let me go and shave first. And I sure as fuck want to sober up a little before we do this. I want to feel all of it with you, no senses dulled whatsoever."
Girl-Nerds Like it Deeper (Erotic Romance) Book 3 (Girl-Nerd Series) Page 2
