“Hey, I put a good deal of effort into making sure you’d never see this side of me.” It was the truth, although now, it seems silly.
He looks up at me, meeting my eyes. “Why?”
I almost laugh. At the very least, I do smile. “I have no idea.”
My pants are off and he wraps my legs around his neck. His hot breath blows, and I let out a small cry.
“I haven’t even touched you yet.” He growls at me.
I don’t reply, I can’t, because now he’s got me. His tongue swirls and flicks and his hands are on my hips pulling me closer to him. The sensations are overwhelming, and I have to call out his name.
“Johnny!”
It only makes him attack me more. My breath is shallow and quick and my mouth swiftly dries. I reach for a pillow that has fallen to the floor, and cover my face to mute my screams.
“What are you doing?” Johnny comes up for air.
“I have neighbors.” I cry.
I see him flash a smile before he winks. “Let them be jealous.”
He snatches the pillow from my hands and tosses it across the room.
“Hey!” I yell, instinctually.
“I want to hear you.” His voice is deep and raspy, and I surrender to it.
He moves faster, my screams heightening with every breath. I can’t hold on any longer, it’s too much; I need the release.
And with a final scream, my body goes limp.
But he’s not finished with me. He kneels above my practically lifeless body, and finally releases himself from the confines of his boxer briefs. I fall wet again at the sight of him, ready to take me. My knees are thrust to the sides, and he slyly smiles before pushing into me. I cry out as I feel my body open to him. He brings his chest to mine and offers me a small kiss as he pushes and pulls. From there, we stare at one another. With each drive, my body accepts more of him, and my head kicks back in pleasure. He’s delighted by my moans and begins to move faster and faster until I completely give up my attempt to hinder my screams.
The speed of his thrusts have now become too much to even keep up with, and I let him completely take over until he collapses on top of me. Our breaths settle together, and we say nothing. We simply hold each other for the longest while.
I have forgotten who he is.
I have forgotten who I am.
The only thing I know is that I am happy.
I didn’t realize how unhappy I was until this very moment.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Do you find it a little weird that balloons exist? Like, someone blew up a piece of latex into a round shape and thought ‘now it’s a party!’”
Johnny laughs at my ramblings. “I find you a little weird.”
I smile as I roll over to him. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“I meant it as one.” He says as he kisses my forehead.
It’s that perfect kind of night, the one where you stay up, wrapped in each other’s embrace, and just talk about anything and everything. We talk about food, colors, the beach, the mountains, dream homes, and vegetables.
“I think cauliflower freaks a lot of people out.” Johnny announces as if it’s not a strange assumption whatsoever.
“I have never met a single person who was terrified of cauliflower.”
“I didn’t say I was terrified.” He corrects as he pull me closer. “It just freaks me out, and therefore, I can’t eat it.”
“Then I’m guessing you have never experienced orange cauliflower, have you?” My eyes widen, attempting to jokingly scare him.
“Orange Cauliflower? My skin is crawling at the mere thought.”
We talk about animals, parks, cars, art, and music.
“No, eighties music is where it’s at.” I am determined to win this tiff. “It’s the only decade that isn’t solely focused on love songs.”
“You don’t enjoy love songs?” He looks at me sideways. “You’re a girl. That’s what you’re supposed to like.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” I give him a look. “And it’s not that I don’t enjoy them, it’s that they’re everywhere. Sometimes I just need a break.”
“And eighties music provides a break?” It’s like he doesn’t believe me.
“With songs about robots, and aliens, and whatever the hell Bohemian Rhapsody is about.”
“Ah, see, Bohemian Rhapsody is from the seventies. You just killed your entire argument.”
Damn, he’s right.
I give him a forced smile. “I was really counting on you not knowing that little fact.”
We talk about deeper things, like goals, children, and our parents.
“My dad died when I was twelve, and my mother, just a year ago.” His fingers glide a little faster up my arm as he tells me about his mother.
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.” I really didn’t. IMDB hadn’t been updated to include his mother’s passing. I feel instantly bad for bringing it up, and yet somehow, closer to him.
“Thank you, but I’m fine to talk about it. The only thing that really affects me anymore is that my sister has decided to take on the role of mothering me.” He lets out a half-hearted laugh. “Mostly when it comes to my love life, of course.”
Interesting topic. I decide to delve deeper. “How so?”
“Well, she’s been married a few years now, so she thinks that I’m wasting my time fooling around instead of actively seeking out a mate.”
The word ‘mate’ sounds so funny in his accent, but I choose to sidestep my desire to chuckle.
“My best friend is kind of like that too.” I empathize.
And we talk about what’s next.
“I’m leaving L.A. at the end of this shoot. I got a role in a network television show.”
“Leaving?” I try to sound as though I’m not disappointed.
“Yah. The gig is in New Zealand.” He stumbles a bit, but continues. “It’ll be fun.”
“Absolutely.” I agree, trying desperately to sound excited for him, while inside, a big part of me is crying.
“I mean, you could come with me.”
I can tell by his face that he did not mean to say that. Or if he did, he’s now regretting it.
Oddly enough, part of me actually considers it.
We continue down our little path, still skimming around the edge of any real conversation regarding relationships, but I don’t push. I like exactly who we are and what we’re doing. I wouldn’t change a thing. Except for the fact that he’s moving to New Zealand, of course. I would absolutely change that.
He tells me about Wales, and I tell him about my favorite places in New York. He tells me about the dog that’s in his pictures, and I tell him about my pet squirrel that I kept when I was a child. He talks. I listen. I talk. He listens. We talk. We listen.
And then we fall asleep.
It’s simply perfect.
But I do a double take, as when I next roll over and my eyes blink open, I expect Johnny to still be sleeping next to me. Instead, on my pillow is a little pink post-it note. It says that he had an early morning training session and didn’t want to wake me. He then offered me the day off, saying that I deserve a day to myself.
He signed it with a “J”.
That’s cute.
The funny thing is, though, I don’t want the day off. I want to spend my day with him, and the only place I can do that is at work. I had spent so much time on the fence about whether I liked him because of who I always thought he was rather than who he actually is, but after last night, I have an answer. Sure, he can be a jerk, and he’s used to having his way, and he doesn’t know what a nectarine is, but there’s another side to him. And he finally showed it to me. Now I want to spend all day digging deeper into the person I have only just met.
Still, he has a point. I do deserve a day to myself, or at least an hour to do laundry.
I figure I’ll split the difference and take a half-day. Laundry in the morning and Johnny
in the afternoon, not too shabby. After all, I did send over my pilot and spec script to Josh, the screenwriter, and I’m hoping if I hang around enough, it’ll force him to follow up with me sooner. So, laundry in the morning, Johnny in the afternoon, and if I’m lucky, a little sprinkling of feedback from a working writer, not too shabby at all.
I pour myself a bowl of cereal and read the headlines in the Times. Even if I am taking half of the day off, I still like to stick to my routine. With the extra time, I can even add in that shower that sometimes gets passed over.
I know, I judge myself too.
Once I’m showered, I throw a few essentials in my bag, and grab my laundry. While I don’t have a unit in my apartment, there are a few washers and dryers in my complex, so it’s just a quick trip across the grass. But I don’t get across the grass.
Nick is sitting on my porch, playing on his phone.
“Nick?”
“Caroline.” He stands when he sees me. “Hi.”
“How…” I stumble over my words, surprised to see him. “How long have you been out here?”
He shakes his head. “Not long. Maybe an hour.”
“Why didn’t you knock?” I drop my laundry to the ground, knowing that this isn’t going to be a quick conversation.
“Well…” He shrugs. “I know how you like your morning routine, so I figured I wouldn’t bother you.”
Just when you think you’ve had enough of someone, they show you how much they really know about you. It’s hard to pull away from that. It’s comfortable. New is… scary.
The problem with Nick is that I really like him. I actually do love him, but something isn’t right. We don’t really mesh. We’ve been together for five years and whenever someone asks when we’re getting married, we both just laugh it off or he makes a joke about how he’s waiting for me to propose.
And it’s awkward.
And I don’t want to marry him.
And I’m fairly certain he doesn’t want to marry me.
And yet, it’s so comfortable to be with him.
But now there’s Johnny, and Johnny is… well, he’s Johnny.
Why can’t this stuff ever be easy?
“I thought you left.” I sit across the table from him.
“I was going to, but then I really didn’t want to spend another six hours on the plane.”
I chuckle. “You do hate to travel.”
“I really do hate to travel.”
We’re silent for a few seconds, each waiting for the other to start talking first. We both know where this conversation is heading, and yet neither of us wants to take that first step. It’s been this way for far too long now. We’ve forgotten how to talk to each other.
And then I start to cry. It’s pathetic, I know, but it’s the definitive end of something that has been a major thing in my life. I’m losing someone who has been the person I’m supposed to think about when my mind wanders or the person who I text “hey” when I am bored.
And I know I solidified that loss by choosing Johnny over him, and maybe I should have waited until we had this very conversation, but it isn’t very often that a moment such as last night presents itself. Did I really want to be the person who spends the rest of my life wondering “what if”?
“You know I’ll always love you, right?” I speak softly without looking at him.
“And I, you.” He simply replies.
And that’s it. It’s all we have to say. It’s been a long time coming, and we understand each other. We always have.
“So what now?” I stand, grabbing my laundry.
“Now, I have to travel again.”
We both quietly giggle before giving each other a final hug. I walk him to his rental car and tell him that if he’s ever in Los Angeles, to look me up. He says the same to me regarding New York, and then he’s gone.
It was the easiest and yet hardest break up I’ve ever been through. I stand in the middle of the parking lot, willing myself not to cry again. I’ve spent the last few months slowly getting over Nick. Why does it feel like I’m doing it all over again now?
And I know it’s terrible, but part of me is happy that I have Johnny, at least as a rebound. I’m not used to being alone, and he can definitely help ease me back into that lifestyle. Plus, he’s leaving for New Zealand, so it’s not like anything real could happen between us. He’s completely a rebound… that’s it.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and for a brief second, I feel a sense of excitement at the prospect that it might be Johnny. But it’s not: it’s Melissa.
“Hey.” I hold the phone between my ear and shoulder as I load the washer.
“You had sex!” She yells back at me.
“How do you do that? Please, I need to know.” The girl is ridiculous at reading me. I don’t get it. Even over the phone, I can’t keep a single thing from her.
“Oh my God. Tell me all about it.”
I can tell by the background noise that she’s finding a comfortable place to sit so she can listen to a story. And I certainly give her one. I give her every detail. It’s kind of fun: like reliving it.
“Wait, Nick just left?”
“Yeah.” My wash stops spinning, signaling that it’s ready for the dryer. Wow, that was a long story.
“And you’re through with him? For good? Like for good?” She sounds just a little too excited.
“Yes. For good.” I appease her by saying it one more time.
“So what’s up with Johnny? Are you guys dating?” I can see her in my head. She’s scrunched up in a ball like a five year old that’s being read an adventure story by the librarian.
“I don’t know what’s up. I mean, I doubt we’re dating. And anyway, I just got out of that. If we could keep doing this for a bit… well, I’d be happy with that.” I throw my clothes in the dryer and wait for her response.
“Meaningless sex with no strings? No commitments?” The tone of her voice changes.
“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing!” I scold her.
“I didn’t. It’s just…” She pauses, and I know exactly what she’s thinking.
“It’s just what, Melissa?”
“It’s not you.”
I knew she was going to come back with that. “Well, maybe it should be me. At least for some time.”
“Okay Care Bear.”
“You’re not on board.” I groan.
“It’s not that I’m not on board.” She defends herself. “I honestly don’t think you’re on board. I think you’re going to try and set these boundaries, say that you just want meaningless sex, and then, as soon as he sees someone else, or that meaningless sex takes a hiatus, you’re going to freak out. I just don’t think casual is in your nature.”
She has a point, a great point, but I don’t want to believe her. I want to try being this new person for a while. I don’t want to constantly be tied down to someone.
“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” I start, because I know she’ll give me the (,) I told you so look if my plan goes sour, “but I just need to try it this way for awhile.
She takes a breath. “I’m proud of you, Care Bear.”
“Thanks Meliss.”
And that’s all we speak of it for the entire time it takes my clothes to dry. Everything else is just small talk. The good news is: if I feel the need to text someone “hey” when I’m bored, I know I can always text Melissa.
And let’s be honest: if my mind wanders, I’ll absolutely be thinking of Johnny.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Fight for us.”
“Can’t you see that I am?”
I get to the studio just in time to catch the final take of the love scene Johnny and I rehearsed the day before. He’s good, powerful, and I can’t take my eyes off of him.
That might also have something to do with the fact that he’s all I’ve been thinking about the entire day.
“And if I don’t wait for you?” The actress playing his counterpart is very believable.
“I’m asking you not to.” Johnny whispers, just as he did the night before, with me.
“So you’re asking me to leave you alone without any hope?” She looks up, and I’m pretty sure I see tears in her eyes. Go her!
“Hope is all I have.”
And then she says that final line: “It’s not all you have. Tonight, you have me.”
I want to clap. I don’t know why. I guess I’m so used to seeing stage shows in New York. Luckily, I stop myself before making any noise. But the director hasn’t yelled, “cut” yet. He’s letting them play out the scene, and they are taking their time. There’s a look here, a glance there, a hand here, and a breath there.
And then they kiss.
And the jealousy rages within me.
Meaningless sex, Caroline. Meaningless. I try to tell myself, though I’m fairly certain I won’t have much luck. Melissa was right: I don’t do casual.
Damn.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” Johnny sees me for the first time back at the trailer. I have his things set out on the table, next to his backpack.
Beautiful PRICK Page 13
