Love Show

by Audrey Bell

  He sighed and fluttered his eyelashes dramatically. "He's dreamy."

  I dumped syrup on my waffles. "Actually, spare me the details."

  David laughed. "I'm kidding. It’s good though. I really like him, Hadley."

  “Are you going to need more polo shirts?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But who really cares?”

  “You should,” I said. I took a bite of the waffle.

  He shrugged sadly. “You don’t get it.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “I just feel like…I don’t know. I feel like you shouldn’t have to dress differently for the guy you’re dating. I mean, if I ever started doing that, you’d hit the fucking roof.”

  “Yeah, that’s different.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “Because, you’re straight and everyone you date is straight,” he said. “If some guy wanted you to change, it would be controlling bullshit. Ben has to protect himself.”

  “From people finding out who he is? Who you are?” I shook my head. “David, that doesn't make any sense."

  “He’s on the football team.”

  “The season is over and he’s a senior,” I pointed out. "He really thinks people are so homophobic that he can't be seen with you?"

  “He wants to go pro.” David’s mouth hardened into a thin line. “Look, you don’t understand it because you’re not gay. He doesn’t want people to know. He’s scared. It’s not about changing me. It’s about being scared. And I’m willing to deal with it, alright?”

  I stared at him.

  "Or is that not alright with you?" David demanded.

  "If you're comfortable, then alright. But you didn't look comfortable last weekend when he was ignoring you. I don't think it's healthy. I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear and I know it’s your life and your decision, but, there are a lot of guys out there who wouldn’t ask you to change—”

  “How would you know?” David asked angrily.

  “David,” I said softly. “You’re like the most lovable person—”

  “I like Ben. I want to date Ben. And if this is what I have to do, I’m going to do it. And I don’t need you to judge me for it.”

  “Alright. You’re right. I’m sorry,” I said. I took a deep breath. "Sorry. That's not what I was trying to do." I shook my head. "I don't know. It just makes me nervous. But, I shouldn't be judgmental. Sorry."

  I took another bite of the waffles. I'd drowned them in syrup and they were sticky and oversweet. I went to the refrigerator and poured a glass of milk and took a sip. "The waffles are good," I said, just to clear the air between us.

  “Thanks." He bit his lip. "Actually, I have a favor to ask."

  “Yeah, sure."

  “I asked Ben over for dinner tonight and he won't be comfortable if you're here." He looked worried. "I was going to cook. Um, do you think you can find something to do? Somewhere else?”

  “Sure," I said, in a falsely high voice. "That's great. I've got things to do. I'll stay out of your hair."

  He broke into a smile. “Thanks. Seriously. Thank you.”

  “Yeah, no worries.”

  Even though I'd apologized and even though David seemed to be okay, something had exchanged between us that made sitting quietly in the same room uncomfortable.

  My phone vibrated. I had a text message from Jack: What are you up to today?

  I looked up at David. "What time is Ben coming over?"

  "Well, um, he said he'd help cook. So, if you'll tell me when's good for you, then..."

  "Anytime is fine," I said.

  "Yeah? Well, maybe I'll tell him five-thirty?”

  I nodded. "Cool." Free at 5, maybe a little bit before.

  Come over?

  Sure.

  “Boom,” Jack said when I walked in. He was lying in the atrociously messy living room on his back, in yet another plaid flannel shirt and arching his neck at the television screen while he played Halo with the dark-haired bartender from the week before.

  “Yo, Xander, this is Arrington.”

  “You’re calling me Arrington?”

  “What? I like that name,” he said. "Hadley, Xander. Xander, Hadley. You met at the bar, but you were drunk."

  "I remember," I said.

  Xander glanced up from the violent game for a split second. “Hey. Good to see you again."

  "You, too."

  “She’s the Editor-in-Chief.”

  Xander jerked his head up and paused the game.

  “Hey, what the fuck are you doing?” Jack asked Xander, jerking his controller around. "You can't pause."

  Xander looked at me and grinned. “You’re the Editor-in-Chief?”

  “That’s what I just said,” Jack said. “Why did you pause the game, you asshole?”

  “You didn’t say it was a girl.”

  “Fuck you,” Jack said. “Unpause.”

  Xander laughed and nodded at me. He kept looking. “It all makes sense now.”

  “Shut the fuck up, and finish the game,” Jack insisted.

  “What makes sense?” I asked.

  “Make yourself a drink and join us,” Jack said. "Kitchen's that way," Jack nodded at it with his chin. I walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. With the exception of a carton of orange juice, all they had was alcohol and energy drinks.

  Xander's voice carried into the kitchen and I cocked my head to hear.

  “It would have been a lot easier to get all of that Justin Shelter stuff off the internet if you had just explained you were trying to impress a hot girl…” I bit my lip.

  I shouldn't like that. It was derogatory and objectifying and it insulted my intellect and my position at the paper. It was an outrage.

  But I liked it. I'd never been the hot girl. I wasn't the hot girl.

  I grabbed a bottle of vodka and fished around in their dishwasher for a clean glass.

  “Fuck off,” Jack replied. “I’m not trying to impress her.”

  “Well, if you’re not trying to impress her, maybe I will,” Xander said. The tile floor in the kitchen was sticky.

  “I'd like to see that,” Jack replied.

  "Yeah, I bet you would."

  "No, really," Jack said. "Knock yourself out. Tell me how it goes."

  Xander's voice dropped. I couldn't make anything out after that.

  I poured a splash of vodka over ice, and filled the glass with orange juice.

  I walked back into the living room and sat down next to where Jack was lying on the floor. I leaned against the couch and held out my hand for a controller.

  “You play Halo?”

  I nodded gamely. I had no idea how to play Halo.

  Xander chuckled. “Well, everything really makes sense now,” he repeated. "Hot girl plays Halo." He nodded. "Whole thing makes sense."

  “Xander, would you stop talking?" Jack asked.

  “Know what you’re doing next year?” Xander asked, ignoring him.

  “Um, not exactly. No," I said. "I have an interview with USA Today on Thursday." I shrugged. "Washington bureau."

  “Awesome,” Xander said. "So, policy journalism?"

  "Yeah."

  "Is that the dream job?"

  I shrugged. "It's a good job, but no. Not exactly. I want to do combat journalism, I think."

  “You do?” Jack asked. He tore his eyes from the screen and gave me a quick searching glance.

  “Yep," I said. I rubbed my chin. "Anyways, I doubt that'll happen before I've been out of school for a while. They want people with experience."

  Xander watched Jack closely. Neither of them said anything.

  "Anyways, yeah. Newspapers," I said to fill the silence.

  "Combat journalism?" Jack repeated.

  "Um, yeah. Eventually. But that's not what the interview is for," I said.

  "Well, that's good."

  "Why is that good?" I asked.

  “I don't think it's worth dying for bad news.”

  I shook my head. "I thin
k it's important. Maybe even worth dying for. If journalists hadn’t gone over to Vietnam, a lot more people would've died there. You need war correspondents to enforce accountability."

  “Well, if that’s…” he started, his voice almost harsh. He let out a long breath and didn’t finish the thought. “Yeah, I guess that’s important,” he said tonelessly. He shrugged.

  “What are you doing next year?” I asked Jack.

  "I’m going to try to find a way not to work,” Jack said. “Which I’m actually pretty good at, so I don’t foresee any problems.”

  “Nice.”

  "Good plan,” Xander said sarcastically.

  “I think it’s a great plan,” Jack said simply. "They always tell you to do what you love. And I love not working."

  “Eventually, you are going to have to do something with your life,” Xander said.

  Jack shrugged. "We'll see."

  “You have to do something," Xander repeated.

  “Don’t argue with me about the meaning of life, my friend. You may be a genius engineer, but I took Intro to Philosophy and got a B+,” Jack said. “And I don’t see the point in getting a job.”

  Xander threw his head back, like he’d had this same conversation with Jack a dozen times. “Enough. I have things to do,” he scooped his backpack from the floor and nodded at me. “Nice to meet you, again, Hadley.”

  “You, too,” I said to Xander. I watched him go. We both heard the door close behind him and then we were on our own.

  It was strangely electrifying to be alone in a room with him. I could hear the fullness of the room’s silence: the way the floorboards creaked when Jack moved, the way my sleeves rustled when I brushed a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

  Jack finally sat up and looked at me. “Sup?”

  “Sup yourself?”

  He smiled and reached for my drink. He took a sip. “Who has a screwdriver for dinner?”

  “You didn’t have any other mixers,” I said.

  "Yes, we do."

  "Well, they all have names like Heart Attack in a Can and Lethal Dose of Caffeine."

  He cocked his head and took another sip. “You want to eat?”

  "That's like rule number one."

  "Ah, you're never available for dinner," he said. "What about snacks?"

  I threw him a look and he laughed. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  “I barely even know you," Jack said in mock horror.

  "That's why I'm not taking snacks from you."

  I raised an eyebrow and he laughed. I finished the rest of the drink in a long gulp. He pulled me to my feet by the wrist and nodded at the kitchen.

  “So, how’s the newspaper?” he asked, refilling my drink and making it twice as strong.

  “There's talk of a Valentine's Day issue," I said.

  "You look horrified," he said. He added a few ice cubes to my glass and took a second one out of the dishwasher for himself. "I don't know how well you'd do in combat if Valentine's Day makes you nauseous."

  I raised my eyebrows. "I just don't see the point."

  “It’s this holiday where couples give each other candy and presents and flowers and go to dinner,” he said. “The colors are pink and red, also white. It’s named after a guy who married a bunch of people or something. I think he was a Saint. Saint Valentine.” He nodded, lifting his glass and tipping it towards me, like a half-toast. He took a sip and swallowed. "Yep. Also it’s a movie with Ashton Kutcher. Probably not your kind of thing. I'm embarrassed how much I know about this, actually."

  "I know about the massacre."

  "What massacre?"

  "There was a massacre in Chicago in 1929." I said. "Some gangster thing."

  "Really?"

  I nodded. I sipped my orange juice. "Al Capone versus Bugsy Malone. Five members of the North Side gang shot and killed."

  He chuckled. "Well, that's fantastic. Thank you for that. I'm talking about Ashton Kutcher and you're talking about Al Capone."

  “No problem,” I said.

  He grinned and kissed me. And then he nipped at my neck, sharply.

  “Did you just bite me?”

  “I don’t know, maybe. I was trying to kiss you and it got a little weird. I’m starving, but you don’t have time to have dinner with me.” He said all of this without batting an eyelash.

  I laughed all the way up to his room.

  “You’re disturbingly organized,” I said.

  He shrugged. “I just like to know where things are.”

  “So do I but this…”

  He smirked at me. “Well, if you’re that disturbed by it, wartime reporting is really going to knock your socks off.”

  “No, this is unnatural.”

  He chuckled. “Okay. And warfare’s super-organic or something?”

  “Or something,” I said. I took a long sip of my orange juice and vodka.

  He took it from my hands and took a sip himself.

  "I need that."

  He shook his head. "No, you don't."

  "I do. I decided to sleep with you and it's been years. Actual years."

  He didn't laugh, which I was expecting. He took another sip. "I don't want you to be drunk."

  He set my half-full glass down on the desk next to his. I walked toward him. He sat at the edge of the bed watching me warily, his rich brown eyes glimmering. He reached for my wrists and pulled me to him and kissed me hard.

  He fell back and took me with him. I closed my eyes as he rolled over me, and dug his fingertips firmly into my hips. “Why are you wearing so many clothes?” he whispered, undoing the button on my jeans.

  I could taste the vodka and orange juice on his mouth. He smelled like fresh air and marijuana, and he had the softest, most talented lips in the world. He pulled the shirt over my head in one firm tug that made my hair static.

  I shivered.

  He sat back on his heels and looked at me.

  “What?”

  He smiled. “Take off your bra.”

  I did. I shivered in the cool air in his room and he didn’t move. I wanted him to do something, but he just stared at me. For a brief moment, I worried that something was wrong.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said throatily.

  “Shut up,” I whispered.

  “No, really. You are.” He smiled and he leaned forward and he kissed me. I pulled his shirt over his head and ran my hands over his wide shoulders.

  He stroked my ribs slowly and smoothly. His hands felt warm and cold at once. I shivered, my skin prickling wherever he touched me.

  He slipped off my jeans, tugging at them easily until they came off. He smiled at me.

  I kissed him and he thumbed my breast.

  “I want to fuck you,” he whispered. The way he said it sounded dirty and sweet at the same time. He kissed me hard, but his hands were gentle as they pressed down on my ribs. His callused fingers slid up and down my spine lightly and I shivered and arched my back.

  I wanted him to fuck me, too.

  He reached for my waist and pulled me closer. I felt the warmth of his body. His boxers rustled slightly as I pressed against him, tangling my fingers in his soft hair, which was just long enough for me to run my fingers through.

  He sat against the headboard, holding me against him, grinding his hips slightly against mine and I felt a spasm of desire shooting through me, down my legs to the tips of my toes.

  I bit his lip softly.

  “Christ,” he murmured. He lifted me up, and pushed me back slightly, so that I was lying on my back beneath him, with my head near the foot of his bed and my legs still clasped around his waist.

  “Jesus, Hadley,” he said fiercely. He slid on top of me, holding most of his weight on his legs and forearms. He kissed me until I was breathless and aching.

  I nodded. I didn’t know what he was saying ‘Jesus’ to, but I was there too. Out of breath and wild with the sensation of being so close to him.

  He hooked his fingers into my black underwear and I
let out a soft sound. I flushed when he slid them down to my knees.

  “Jesus, I want to fuck you,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You should do that.”

  “Yeah?” he asked.

  “Yes.” My throat tensed. My body froze with anticipation and anxiety. It had been a while.

  I sat up and ran a hand through my hair. I was nervous. But, God, I wanted to have sex with him.

  He grabbed my chin and kissed me. “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  He laughed and with his lips still resting against mine, I could feel the vibrations of his laughter. “Then, relax. It’ll be fun. I’ll go slow,” he said, meeting my eyes and seeing more hesitation than I was going to admit to.

  He pressed me back to the bed. He kissed my mouth and my neck, and he moved down my body, dropping kisses on my breasts and my stomach, on the sharp edge of my hipbone. When he reached the soft skin of my inner thigh, I grabbed a handful of his hair.

  He chuckled low and easy and I closed my eyes and felt a jolt as he slipped two fingers in between my legs.

  “Relax,” he said again, moving back up my body to kiss my neck. I curled my toes so hard they cracked and his low laugh moved through his body.

  “You okay?” he asked, only half-joking.

  “I’m…” he curled his fingers and I swore. He had hit something that went through my body like a shudder, only the shudder that ran up my spine and down my toes was warm and white and somehow soft.

  Whatever word I was trying to say came out much closer to a moan.

  He smiled.

  “You’re a bastard,” I murmured, touching his face.

  “I’m going to love watching you lose control,” he teased. He slipped his fingers out of me in one smooth motion and reached for a condom.

  “This is good? You’re sure?” he asked.

  “How many times are you going to make me say yes?”

  He grinned and nipped at my neck. “Until you’re screaming it, sweetheart.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  He cocked his head, slipped on the condom, and kissed me again. He moved over me and ran one hand up my leg. He hesitated when I closed my eyes.

  “Hey, look at me,” he said.

  I opened my eyes. “You’re awfully bossy.”

  “I’m awfully bossy?” he said. He raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes.”