by Sara Ney
I hear the deep timbre of his laugh behind me, and when I glance back again, his big frame is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking…
Stop looking at him, Eliza.
Lord he’s cute.
And that accent is doing me no favors; it’s no wonder half the student population is drooling all over this guy, men included.
Instead of me going into the bathroom by myself once the other girl exits, a hand stops me.
“You don’t actually have to pee?”
“No.”
“Can I come in? Please, we need to talk.”
Talk? “About what?”
Jack raises his head and looks up, the living room of the fraternity house growing more and more crowded as we stand here, waiting.
He leans in. “Eliza, please—I just want to have a chat with you in private. Please. I can’t think of a single way to get you alone.”
He wants to have a chat with me alone?
“You’ve had plenty of chats with me alone—you don’t have to stuff yourself into a tiny bathroom at a party to do it.”
“Uh, are you going inside, or not—some of us have to use the toilet,” the guy behind Jack interrupts.
“Mate, go take a piss outside in the bushes like the rest of us have done,” Jack tells him with authority, then gazes back down at me. “Just a few minutes, Eliza.”
“Is that why you’re here? So we can talk?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you just call? Or text me?”
“Isn’t it the same thing? I’m trying to make an effort.”
Oh.
Oh…
I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if he came inside. “Fine. But you’re sitting on the toilet.”
“Can I at least close the lid?”
“No.” I laugh, stepping inside the small room. There’s a single sink set atop a small, white cabinet and a toilet located next to a small window.
Compact water closet.
Jack reaches around me and closes the door.
Locks it for privacy.
At least, I hope it’s for privacy and not so he can murder me while we’re in here.
He closes the lid on the toilet and sits, making himself as comfortable as he can with how large he is. Legs spread, he crosses his arms.
I lean my butt against the counter and cross my arms, too. “Well? What did you want to chat about?”
I love the way he strings a sentence together and find myself mirroring his British phrases.
“Just that…I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, and I’m not sure what that means. Actually I know exactly what that means. I’m just wondering if you’ve been able to stop thinking about me.”
He hurriedly blurts out the jumble of words, and I hesitate—piece it all together—before responding with a sassy, “Are you asking if I’ve been doodling your name on my assignment notebook?”
Jack laughs. “I’m not sure what that reference means, but sure, if that’s how you want to interpret that question.”
I uncross my arms and rest my hands on the countertop behind me, wishing there were more space in this tiny room. I reach over and unlatch the window, pushing it up to let some fresh air inside.
Is it hot in here or is it just me?
The breeze passing through the screen feels so much better, but I still feel stifled. There is nothing more nerve-racking than the hard truth staring up at you from a toilet seat.
Toilet confessional. I laugh to myself.
“Have I been thinking about you?” I repeat the question to buy myself time. It’s a trick I learned in a class about interviewing.
Jack nods.
Would it kill me to be honest right now? Would it kill me to tell him yes, I can’t stop thinking about him either? To the detriment of my relationship with Kaylee…but we can’t choose who we fall in love with, can we? Not that this is love in any way, but I do find myself feeling some kind of feels for him, and isn’t that saying something?
Do I owe it to him to say it?
Do I owe it to myself?
Do I owe it to Kaylee to keep my mouth shut?
I want to be sick, right there in that toilet. Toss my cookies to end this dreadful conversation entirely.
“Eliza?” His soft voice says my name.
“I’m sorry, I…” Clearing my throat, I turn to face the mirror, but that’s worse—gazing at my own reflection and the expression on my face.
Behind me, Jack stands, his head above mine, clear eyes looking back at me, his hands rising to my shoulders and resting there.
I watch as his head dips.
Feel his lips touch the sensitive skin below my ear.
“It’s okay. I understand.”
“Do you?”
My eyes close with those words, his breath sending a tingle down my spine. God I love kisses on my neck.
I tilt my head.
An invitation.
Jack’s eyes find mine in the mirror as his mouth finds the pulse below my ear. Makes contact.
I sigh, hands braced on the counter as his lips trail up and down my neck in one of the sexiest first kisses I’ve ever had, the most sensual and intimate.
The most secretive.
What are we doing? This is wrong.
Then why does it feel right?
Why do our bodies fit so well together?
I want to turn and face him so he can kiss me like he means it. Kiss me like we’re running out of time and the person next in line for this room is about to knock on the door.
Then they do.
Three short raps against the wood startle us both, and we jump but don’t separate.
This time I do turn.
This time I look up, tilt my chin up, and wait.
Eleven
Jack
I understand completely.
Understand that she’s loyal to her roommate. Understand that she likes me despite it.
Understand that she wants to kiss me as much as I want to kiss her, has wanted to since walking her home in the rain last night.
I hide it well, but not for long. I was never good at gambling, and my poker face can’t last forever without cracking.
Eliza has her back to the sink, hands braced on the counter behind her, chin tilted up. An invitation?
She smells incredible, like shortbread cookies and strawberries, her hair like cherry and almonds. Delicious, like dessert. She shivers when I run the tip of my nose along the delicate skin below her ear.
“I just wanted to tell you how I feel.”
She gives a stiff nod.
“I can go now…” if you want.
Her brows shoot up, and I almost laugh. She’s no more done with me than I am with her, but, “We can’t stay in here forever, Eliza.”
There’s another knock at the door, not an aggressive one, but at some point we’re going to have to have the decency to let the next person take a piss.
She clears her throat, lips only inches from mine since I’m leaning down.
“Could you…say my name again?”
“Eliza.”
Her throat contracts with a heavy swallow, tongue darts out when she wets her lips.
“You really shouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Lick your lips like that.”
Slowly, she does it again, and this time, it’s me whose throat is contracting with a thick swallow, a lump forming there. Nerves. Excitement.
I haven’t actually kissed anyone since Caroline, no matter how set on coming to America and having senseless, meaningless flings I was.
The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife, this moment between her and me a defining one to be sure.
“We can’t stay in here forever.”
Now we’re repeating ourselves, nothing else to say.
We have two options:
Back away from one another and walk out of this room.
Kiss one another and get it out of our systems.
“What do
you want me to do, Eliza?” I purposely use her name now that I know she has a reaction to hearing it—a favorable one at that. I’d even wager I make her panties wet. Apparently she is not immune to my accent after all, like the rest of the female student population at this university.
“What do you mean what do I want you to do?” she asks innocently, eyes looking a little glazed.
“The way I see it, we can do one of two things: leave the loo or…”
That chin tilts up higher. “Or?”
She knows exactly what I’m referring to, knows exactly what is going through my mind right now because it’s the same thing that’s going through hers. We both want the same thing; she is just fighting the guilt festering. It’s clear that Eliza is a sensible girl who thinks with her head instead of her heart.
“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since last night,” I finally admit, my water closet confessional, large palm running up the length of her arm and up her neck so I can cup her jaw in my hand. My thumb strokes her smooth skin.
“You have?”
I nod, having nothing more to say. If she doesn’t want me to kiss her—or even if she does and won’t allow herself to let me—there’s nothing more I can do.
I’ve said what I’ve said, and it spoke volumes.
Eliza goes up on her tiptoes, her hands rising and wrapping around the back of my neck, stunning me. Is she…
…putting the moves on me?
Softly, she presses her lips to mine, and the hand on her cheek remains there as I kiss her back, tilting my head and lowering my stance so she can reach my mouth easier. Eliza is a tiny thing, much shorter than I am by a good thirty centimeters, and I’ve no intention of squandering this opportunity by making it difficult for her to reach my face.
Quickly our chaste, exploratory kiss turns into a passionate one—I cannot get enough of her or her lips or her tongue on mine.
I can feel my cock beginning to stiffen even though she’s not rubbing up against me—she arouses me that much. That easily. When my hand leaves her face and travels to her waist, I pull her closer, wanting to feel her pressed against me.
Shite this was a bad idea; how the bloody hell am I to walk out of the loo and pretend nothing happened? How am I supposed to turn left when she turns right and returns to her roommate?
Her tongue tastes like sugar, and her body feels incredible beneath my palms. Like she’s right where she’s supposed to be. And I’m supposed to let her walk out? I never felt this way with my ex-girlfriend, not even at the very beginning when we were young and carefree, in the days when Caroline was nice.
I wish I could say I don’t feel a certain sense of expectation for the way I want this thing with Eliza to end, but my common sense tells me I’m fooling myself if I expect her to return my affections after tonight.
She is too loyal for that.
She feels incredible pressed up against me, but now I’m repeating myself and it seems we’re destined to do so over and over because Eliza has rendered me stupid. I can’t seem to form a rational thought when she is near, and now she has me following her into bathrooms and confessing my feelings to her.
She has me following her to house parties on weeknights like a lovesick puppy dog.
Is that what I am? A lovesick puppy dog? It sure does seem like I’m acting like one, having lost total control of my faculties.
I don’t even know her, but I do.
This may not be totally smooth—our tongues have gotten tangled awkwardly a few times—but it feels natural and it feels right and I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to walk out of this room and go back into that party full of people.
I want to pick her up and carry her out the front door and back to my house, and I want to lay her on my bed and kiss her all over.
All over her body…
I’ve only thought about this a million times.
There is more knocking at the door, which finally has me pulling away, my lips tingling, my hands brushing the hair out of her face.
I lean into her one more time, greedy, and plant a kiss at the corner of her mouth, pressing my lips against that soft indent of her skin.
“Time to go.”
She nods silently, turning to face the mirror, fingers running through her long hair to straighten it. Index finger dabbing at her mouth, at the saliva from mine, wiping it dry.
“Oh god, it looks like we’ve been making out.”
It does.
Skin an angry red from the stubble on my face, her cheeks most certainly look aflame. Coupled with a blush, it’s a dead giveaway.
Can’t say I’m sorry for it.
I’d do it again in a heartbeat, and, might I remind her, she is the one who kissed me, if we’re being technical about it.
“Do I look okay?”
“You look gorgeous.”
Our eyes meet in the reflection and she flushes harder, casting her eyes down, embarrassed.
“How do we do this? Do I go out first and then you follow behind me after waiting a few minutes? Or what?”
“No, love, we both have to go out at the same time—there are people in line and they know we’re in here, so we might as well face the music.”
“Oh my god I can’t believe this. People are going to think we—I don’t know—joined the mile-high club or something when we were just talking in here.”
“Talking? Is that what we’re calling it these days?” I smile down at her; she’s way too cute and supremely naïve.
“Do you think anyone will notice? Lord, how do I have bedhead when all we did was kiss?”
Yes, people are going to notice, but it won’t be anyone who isn’t already in line for the toilet.
Her hand rakes through her hair in an attempt to tame the tresses that are sticking up en masse at the back of her scalp.
“Eliza, do you honestly think anyone at this party is standing around watching who goes in and out of the loo? That would be weird. And if anyone is missing you, they probably just assume you went to get another pint or something. Or that you’ve gone off to the porch.”
Her shoulders relax, slouching a little; I know my words have made her feel better. It pleases me that I am able to do that for her so she isn’t stressed out about the situation. There’s really no need to be—far worse things happen in this house than the innocent, chaste kiss we just shared.
Eliza puts her hand on the doorknob; I can see she’s steeling her spine, bracing herself for whatever fallout she dreads lies on the other side of the door.
“Go ahead and turn it,” I coach. “It won’t bite.”
“Ha ha, very funny.”
But it has her turning the knob and pushing it open, several irritated faces greeting us but none of them familiar. We’ve managed to extradite ourselves safely and without notice—from Kaylee anyway. I see her nowhere in sight; my guess is she’s off in some corner flirting with one of these fraternity twat waffles. Bunch of knobs the lot of them.
Remind me of most of the blokes I grew up and was raised with.
Eaton chums have much in common with these American fraternity lads.
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask as soon as we’re back in the thick of things.
“I don’t think so,” she says. “I should definitely go find my roommates. I feel like we were in that bathroom for hours.”
I look down at my watch and check the time. “Actually, you’d be surprised to know we were only in there for eight minutes or so.”
“Eight minutes? That’s oddly specific. How do you know—were you keeping time?” There’s a laugh at the end of her question. “Did you start a stopwatch when you ducked inside with me?”
If only I were that clever. “Not technically, though I did look at my watch while we were standing in line. Needed something to do.” Check it again just now.
Eliza’s eyes are scanning the crowd, still in search of her roommates. From my vantage point—which is far better than hers considering I’m that much taller—
I haven’t spied them, either. Odd given that Kaylee is somewhat obsessed with me, not to brag.
And so what if I have no idea what the other roommate, Lilly, looks like, having never met her.
“Want me to help you find your mates? We can divide and conquer.”
“No, I can do it alone, thank you. I think for now it’s best if we go our separate ways.” She runs her palms down her jeans and I wonder if they’re sweaty but don’t get the chance to ask—Eliza turns her back and, without a glance, disappears in the crowd.
Twelve
Eliza
Jack kissed me.
Jack kissed me.
Jack.
Kissed.
Me.
Or did he?
It may have been me who stood on my tiptoes and rose up to press my lips against his first. It may have been me who tilted my chin up and presented him with my mouth as a form of encouragement.
It may have been…
It was.
When I close my eyes after climbing into bed, willing myself to fall asleep—sleep that doesn’t come for hours—all I can see is Jack’s earnest face. All I can hear are his words:
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, and I’m not sure what that means. Actually I know exactly what that means. I’m just wondering if you’ve been able to stop thinking about me.”
I will never forget the look on his face as he spoke those words. Not next week. Not one year from now. Not when I’m an old lady, married to someone else with a passel of kids.
Not ever.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you…
I toss and turn to the echo of those words. Stare up at my ceiling and see them written on my walls. Dream about the expression on his face…the curve of his mouth…the timbre of his voice…
Of course, it doesn’t help that as soon as we left the party, Kaylee inundated me with questions about him. Again. As usual. Pumping me for information I no longer want to give.
And when I pressed her about her whereabouts? Turns out, she was making out with a pledge on the back porch. “I couldn’t help myself, I was drunk—and Jack disappeared and what was I supposed to do? He won’t answer my texts.”
