Rash Decisions

by Alex Rosa

  “It’s not a fact I wasn’t aware of, Mom. I’ll bring Lizzy around next week.”

  “Please do.” She pulls away, standing up on her tiptoes to place a kiss on my cheek.

  “Bye, Mom.”

  Lying back on the plush leather couch, Lizzy crawls onto my stomach as she attempts to tickle me, and succeeds.

  “Lizzy!” I squeal through surprisingly loud laughter. I grab for her, tickling her right back.

  Her girly giggles twist around mine as she submits, releasing her chubby fingers from my ribs.

  Through her calming breaths she asks, “Julia?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you my friend?”

  I smile. “Of course I am.” I’m tempted to tell her she’s the bestest friend I have.

  She leans down and perches her elbows on my chest as her hands hold up her delightfully angelic face. Her eyes are always more crystalized than her fathers, almost translucent.

  “Good. I like you. I don’t like the kid-ths at th-kool.”

  Her lisp warms me from the inside out. “Why not? Is that why you’re sad?” I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.

  As a reflex she searches the room looking for Sniffles.

  I lift my hand to her chin, touching her soft skin, turning her toward me.

  “It’s okay to be sad. I didn’t get along with kids at school when I was your age either.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “Nope, but don’t worry. Soon they’ll all be standing in line to be your friend. Even boys.”

  Her face contorts into childlike disgust. “No boy-ths!”

  I laugh. “Okay, no boys.”

  She pauses looking me over and then quietly adds, “I don’t like it when Daddy is th-ad either.”

  My heart constricts. “You think Daddy is sad?” When the words leave my lips it feels strange and forbidden to reference Troy like this. Goose bumps appear on the surface of my skin. I try not to analyze the use of the word daddy.

  She nods. “Sometimes. He get-ths quiet and doesn’t want to play, so we watch movies, or he reads a th-tory to me. Why i-th he th-ad?”

  My guts churn painfully as I wonder if I’m the cause to some unknown sadness I wasn’t aware of. I don’t know much of Troy’s life outside of work. Maybe it isn’t me? Maybe it’s his ex-wife. My guts twist again.

  “I don’t know. He’ll be okay. Your daddy is a strong, stubborn person …” I boop her on the nose. “… Just like you.”

  Her cherub cheeks have me ultimately won over, and I can’t seem to understand this feeling forming in my chest, but I know close behind it is fear.

  When I hear the front door open my beating heart speeds up while I watch Lizzy’s face light up at hearing Troy come home.

  I lift my head to catch Troy walking in from the hallway. I hate that I love that leather jacket on him so damn much.

  His eyes find Lizzy’s first and then mine. He looks mentally distracted, but he shoots me a small smirk before turning into the kitchen to place a plastic bag he’s holding in the fridge.

  His quick smile tugs at that unknown feeling I can’t define, like a string to a guitar, and it pings back into my well being, reverberating throughout my body, reaching my fingertips and toes. Whoa.

  He strides back into the living room with determination in his steps as his eyes lock onto mine. They’re trying to tell me something but I don’t know what.

  He reaches the couch and Lizzy lets out a squeak of excitement as she raises her arms for him.

  Finally a full grin spreads through his handsome face, and it does amazing things for his stunning eyes.

  “How’s my little girl?” he asks as he picks her up.

  She responds. “Goooodddd. Julia watched TV with me and we played my new game about am-inals-th.”

  “Did she now? Sounds like fun.” His voice is cooing and soft as he pushes midnight tendrils out of her face. The sight makes me melt, but I try to keep still and quiet from my view on the couch, looking up.

  “Time for bed, Elizabeth,” he whispers as he begins moving toward her bedroom. I’m compelled to follow. When I see them together in their natural habitat I never want to look away. There’s something charming about witnessing a father-daughter relationship when both are so enamored with one another.

  I rise from the couch and trail behind him. A part of me considers this intruding, but when Troy turns around briefly to catch me, his silent smile makes me feel like it’s okay.

  I stand in the doorway like I did last time.

  It seems to be routine as Troy tucks her and Sniffles into bed. He presses a kiss to her forehead.

  “G’night, Elizabeth.”

  “Goodnight, Daddy … and goodnight Jule-ths.”

  I cover my mouth from the doorway, the corners of my mouth arching upward in heartwarming delight and slight embarrassment. “Uh … g’night Lizzy.”

  Troy stands and turns around. I’m so baffled by his little to no interaction with me that I feel obligated to say something.

  I open my mouth to speak, but when his hand grabs for mine my mouth involuntary shuts. He pulls me back out into the living room.

  I don’t pull away because I honestly cannot ignore how wonderful his hand wrapped around mine feels. My heart leaps into my throat.

  He stops to face me, and the tension around his eyes calls to me.

  “Troy, are you okay?” escapes me.

  He shakes his head and licks over his lips, his eyes searching mine, maybe in fear.

  “Can you do me a huge favor even though it’s entirely inappropriate for me to ask?”

  I nod, because I’m not sure what else to do. All I know is I want to know what he’s going to say.

  “You can tell me no if you want to. I know it’s all too much.”

  He looks down and lets go of my hand as if he forgot he was holding it.

  “Troy, what’s wrong?” I ask, wanting to know what has him so sad. Is this the sadness Lizzy had mentioned? There goes that pinging heartstring again.

  “Will you stay the night with me? Just … how do I put this?” Both of his hands lift up to my face, cradling my jaw, holding my gaze to his as if not giving me the option to look away. “Just fall asleep with me. This is innocent, I swear. I know I shouldn’t ask. You belong to someone else, but I need you tonight. I had a terrible dinner with my parents, and it’s all I want. I know it’s a stupid request with no back bone, and it probably makes me look despera—“

  “Yes,” I respond. His look compels me. I want nothing else but to make him feel better, wrong or right. Nothing else fills my mind.

  He freezes, his eyebrows scrunching together in disbelief. “Yes?” he questions.

  I nod.

  He expels a breath of relief, letting go of my face and reaching for my hand again. He pulls me toward his bedroom and a whirlwind of memories swarm my mind. I begin to feel nervous.

  When we enter his room he lets go of my hand and turns to close the door behind me. He walks over to his dresser on the far wall and opens up a drawer. He pulls out a plain white t-shirt. He walks back to me, his teeth clamped down tight over his bottom lip as he approaches. I can’t help my smile.

  “Do you want this to sleep in?”

  I see that visible twitch to the corner of his mouth as I take the shirt from his hand and a playful mood seems to set in. I don’t know what any of this means and I don’t think either of us cares to figure it out.

  He takes a step back while his lips seem to be holding back a secret smile, or maybe even a laugh.

  Shamelessly he begins peeling off his clothes right in front of me. I blush, but I don’t move.

  He tosses his leather jacket onto a chair in the corner, and then reaches for his jeans. I look away, and I swear I hear his soft chuckle.

  I too begin getting into my pajamas. I pull my sweater and undershirt over my head. Even with my back to him, I feel too exposed still. I keep hi
s shirt held close to my chest to cover me.

  “Don’t act like I haven’t seen you naked already, Jules,” erupts form behind me.

  It’s a completely inappropriate thing to say, but I laugh as I pull his shirt over my head. I pull in a deep breath as I do so, finding that the smell of fresh laundry and Troy is a heady and delightfully body tingling mixture.

  When I turn back around to give a witty retort I’m confronted with the sight of Troy in only his well-fitted, black boxer briefs that hug his strong thighs and the tight waistband wraps around his narrow hips and perfect V.

  “Aren’t you going to put a shirt on?”

  “I don’t sleep in a shirt,” he replies. His tone implies he’s willing to argue if I wanted to give it a go. So, I don’t.

  I roll my eyes as I watch him crawl into his bed, thankful for the blanket that will cover his body. I couldn’t take staring at him for too long.

  I reach for my jeans and push them off my body. I want to reply, “Well, I don’t sleep in pants,” but I doubt he’d object.

  He doesn’t attempt to hide his staring. His soft look of sadness and remorse flits over his face as his eyes adoringly devour me from head to toe.

  I tut, rolling my eyes again as I flip the light switch off.

  I cautiously walk toward the bed. My insides swirling with nerves, but funnily enough I’m not confused, nor do I feel guilty.

  I allow a slow smile spread through my face as I climb into bed.

  When I lie down his arms quickly come around my waist, pulling me to him, pressing my back to his chest.

  I can’t hide my gasp. I don’t hear his laugh, but I feel his bubbling chuckles against me.

  Surprising myself I turn my body around in his grasp. I can’t make out his features in the dark, and I’m glad because it gives me the ability to find the confidence I need.

  I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck with a finesse like I’ve done it many times before, resting my cheek against his chest.

  He freezes, but only for a moment.

  It isn’t until his arms relax around me that we let out a cathartic exhale at the same time.

  When my eyes flicker open my senses are not accosted by the smell of woody spice and fresh laundry, or by the navy blue comforter wrapped around me. Instead, my whole body feels like it’s smiling.

  I take a deep breath, basking in the moment. It’s quiet and simple. That’s when my head turns to look to my right and I really do smile. This moment is mine, and I refuse to feel guilty because I think I know what I need to do. It’s clear now. I can’t deny it. I’m not toying with these feelings any longer. However, I don’t really know which direction to take them as I analyze the sight before me.

  A sleeping Troy Dillinger is by far the most adorable thing on the planet. I find myself happy that he didn’t wear a shirt to bed last night. It felt wrong then, but staring at him now feels entirely right. The lines of Troy’s body are mind numbingly perfect.

  Did I really snuggle Troy all night until we feel asleep? I can’t believe I agreed to that, however I slept better than I have in a while.

  I analyze the relaxed creases to his forehead, glad that the tenseness has finally left him. I haven’t met his family yet, but why do I get the feeling that I won’t like them? I worry what yesterday’s dinner did to him. If our double-date, brotherly fiasco was a hint at what his dad is like, then I already have a good idea what he might’ve gone through. I don’t blame him for his exhausted reaction.

  I twist my lips at the thought and realize it’s probably a good moment for me to leave now. I’ve done what I can for his nerves. I’d hate to sneak out on him again, but I get the feeling he would understand this time. Regardless of how I feel, I still need to try to do the right thing.

  As I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my toes barely make contact with the carpet before I hear, “Are you sneaking out on me again?”

  When I swivel back around, Troy hasn’t budged. His eyes are still closed as if asleep. When he’s given nothing but silence in return, his lips stretch into that annoyingly charming smirk, eyes still closed.

  The fact that Troy’s morning personality is riddled with his effortless confidence has my body buzzing and at ease all at once is boggling. How does he do that?

  I retract my previous movements, bringing my legs back into the bed as I turn to him. With still nothing but silence he’s forced to open his eyes, and I’m stunned by their bright color in the early morning. They shine brighter than normal, like gemstones. I chew my lip to restrain my dumb girl smile, and jab him in the chest with my index finger.

  “No,” I reply far less confidently than I would like.

  He hums, turning to face me. He adorably fluffs his pillow, never tearing his eyes from mine as he rests his head back down.

  It’s like he’s teasing me or daring me to stay with one glance. He’s calling me out on my running away, and it’s up to me to conquer it or continue. He’s letting me choose, mocking me with it, but nonetheless I’d assume he’d be changing his tune if I headed out the front door.

  However, it doesn’t matter, does it? I made my choice moments before he woke, but he doesn’t need to know that. I get great joy from this as I lick over my bottom lip, slipping back into bed next to him.

  His eyes widen infinitesimally at my boldness.

  “Worried?” I ask.

  Without missing a beat he replies, “Absolutely.” He pauses, his eyes darting all over my face. “I don’t like the idea of you running away from me.”

  The reflexive arching of my mouth is something I don’t try to hide. It’s as if we know what the midnight cuddling meant, and what this moment means now.

  When he scoots his face closer to mine so our heads share the same pillow, I melt.

  “Why are you smiling?” he asks.

  I blush crimson. “I wasn’t aware that I was.”

  “Thanks for staying with me last night to hold my hand like a baby.”

  I lift a careless shoulder, trying to mimic his confidence. “It was painful, trust me, but your bed has a higher thread count than mine so I consider it an upgrade, even if it’s just for a night.”

  He chuckles, and when matched with his bed-head I can’t contain my own giggle.

  “I have to tell you something,” I squeak.

  His eyes soften, adjusting the pillow nervously. “Yeah?”

  I adjust my head on our pillow, our heads inches away from one another as I say as crisply as possible, “I’m going to break up with Noah.”

  Well, that secret didn’t last long.

  With Troy’s eyes on me I should probably feel guilty, but I don’t, and the smile that slowly and sexily starts to grow on his face has my own forming.

  “Hm,” is all he says.

  “Hm, indeed,” I say to him in return. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Troy Dillinger.”

  His expansive grin in return throws me. It’s a stunning look on him and it has me wanting to cover my face in embarrassment purely because I can’t help but reflect his look.

  He leans in closer. His eyes tell me what his intentions are, and although my confession says it all, my conscience is ready at a moment’s notice.

  “You know you shouldn’t,” I say, and I know he knows exactly what I mean.

  “There are a lot of things we shouldn’t,” he says just as cryptically. “You can always stop me if you wanted.”

  I let out a breath, hating and loving the moment all at once.

  When he closes the few inches, the touch of his lips to mine is cautious, and I know it means he’s nervous. Troy has never done nervous well, and I enjoy it too much as a smile spreads through my lips. With our mouths pressed together, I feel his mirroring grin too, and it’s wonderful. That’s when the confident Troy I need reappears, ready to make my decision for me.

  I could stop it if I wanted to, but when his hand comes up, and his fingers drag themselves up my
jaw and twist into my hair, I’m caught. There’s no turning away.

  I kiss back, wanting to taste him. I hate that I can’t remember the finer details of our drunken night, so when his tongue dips into my mouth and his body molds against mine, I tell myself never to forget it. My tongue explores his, and he rolls his body on top of mine. My hands crave to feel him as they drag up his torso, my nails digging into his smooth skin. His groan isn’t what I expect as he breathes out, “Dammit Jules, you taste so good.”

  I’m too scared to speak. I focus on kissing him back, trying to tell him that I only want more. Everything escalates. My legs wrap around his narrow hips. His erection presses into my core as a breathy gasp escapes me.

  He moves his mouth down the length of my neck as his hips press into mine and I know my want and need has soaked through my panties.

  His hand slides down my body to my hip, tucking his fingers into my panties, and when his fingers come in contact with my wetness he buries his face in my neck, letting out a slow hiss between his lips. I want him there, I want him everywhere.

  He lifts his head to mine, his fingers stroking the most sensitive part of my body, and I’m trying not to squirm as my hips involuntarily arch into his hands, begging for more.

  His face hovers above mine a moment, his eyes a deep turquoise as they dissect me. I smile. I don’t know why, but I do. I actually can’t stop smiling. Here we are, incredibly intimate yet endearing at the same time. I lift my hand to his face, dragging my fingertips over a day of stubble on his chin, and move them to his forehead to brush a piece of hair back before lifting my face to kiss him. My hand stays tangled in his hair, anchoring his lips to mine.

  There have been moments that I never wanted to end; like the drunken night in the city, storytelling in Times Square, and this moment right now. They all involve Troy, and that’s a fact I can’t ignore any longer.

  I know guilt is something I should feel, but I don’t, and that’s how I know I need to leave Noah. I shouldn’t allow this moment, but it’s the first time in weeks I actually feel my entire body relax. I had no idea how tense I’ve been until Troy put his hands on me.

  Then we hear it. A door.