by Kilby Blades
He stopped long enough to pull out his phone and pressed a few buttons. As she pulled her own vibrating phone out of her pocket, the opening bars of “Hey Mickey” by Toni Basil began to play.
It took him a few seconds to recognize the song, but once he did, he too came alive with laughter. It set her off again. And again she felt drunk. Or maybe just happy.
Even for those who were new to Sundance, it was clear that the town was transformed. Beyond the restaurants and bars, and shops along the way, all teeming with people, there were other things happening on the street. Pop-up kiosks, signs for parties, both public and private, littered the street. Darby spotted a music venue she had read about online.
“Come on.”
She pulled Michael and they walked in.
“During the festival, a lot of big bands come through, unannounced, and play small shows. There could be someone amazing inside,” she explained
Dropping their coats off at the coat check, Michael gave the teenager behind the counter a very nice tip, or so Darby assumed from the look in the kid’s eyes. Michael took her hand and led her through the crowded room, following the flow of traffic that led to a set of stairs. They descended slowly and already she could hear the beginnings of what sounded like a mellow bluegrass band. She could recognize the twang of banjos and hear soft vocals.
They made their way through the crowd and found a spot in the middle of the floor. When they stopped, Michael coaxed her in front of him so that she could have the better view. He wrapped his arms around her and stood silently with his chin on her temple as the music pulsed through them. The crowd was mesmerized by the band, but she was mesmerized by it all—the dulcet tones of the music and the way Michael held her.
It was so simple, the two of them standing together quietly taking in the amazing music. But it felt like so much more. The band was singing about love and it felt as if Michael were pulling her closer, always closer to him. It felt as if they had melted into one another, as if the words of love were being sung just for them. Everything about their day together so far had felt intimate, but this moment most of all. When he began pressing kisses to her hair, they felt possessive in a way that satisfied her beyond measure. And when his kisses moved to her neck, it felt like an affirmation. When he breathed her name into her ear, she thought of that last night with him at the lake.
When the show finished, she felt a sense of loss. These were moments she hadn’t wanted to end, but as the band packed up and they’d delivered their applause, they followed the crowds out. She felt punch-drunk as they recovered their coats, everything seeming surreal as they spilled onto the street.
Hands entwined, and closer than they had been when they’d entered less than an hour before, they were halfway soused from all the drinks they had consumed, but not drunk, only pleasantly buzzed. The streets were teeming with people, and Darby suspected that a screening had just let out. They walked up the incline of the street they were on, against the crowd that mostly walked down.
She liked this feeling of being lost in a crowd, like a salmon swimming upstream against the current.
“Where are we going?” She figured Michael had a plan. Michael always had a plan.
“Wherever we want. Remember?”
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I told you this morning.”
“Let’s do something we’ve never done.”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“What’s the matter? Spontaneity doesn’t factor into your carefully crafted plan?” she challenged back.
“You want my spontaneous? You can’t handle my spontaneous.”
“Try me.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than he stopped them in their tracks, a river of people still rushing past them as they worked their way through the crowds. He rounded on her, stopping her in the place she had been walking, and spread his legs enough to shorten his height so that they were eye to eye. His arms went around her and he was holding her now, as if without his embrace, she would fall. And she saw it then. The intention in his eyes. He was going to kiss her.
And it wasn’t a wimpy kiss either. Before she could react, he had slid a hand behind her neck and pressed his lips to hers half a second before his tongue probed deeply, longingly but also softly. She felt like he was kissing her for the first time.
The kiss felt infinite. Each time one of them seemed to pull away, the other would coax them back, returning to the fathomless depths of the kiss. Darby was vaguely aware of the cold, of the hordes of people rushing around them, but most of what she registered at that moment was his touch. His thumbs on her cheeks. His body against hers. His breath somehow enraptured. And the way he looked at her when their lips finally parted, what she couldn’t comprehend in his eyes, held nothing of the playful tone his voice had just minutes before.
They seemed to be searching hers for something. But she couldn’t think about what that might be, because he was running his thumb against her bottom lip. She could feel they were a bit swollen from his kisses.
“God, your lips,” he murmured, his gaze resting on them for a long moment before leaning back in to meet hers. Michael noticed everything.
“You should do spontaneous things to me more often,” she declared, out of breath after they had separated once more.
They continued uphill, in the same direction they’d been going in. It was twilight, and the streets seemed emptier than they had minutes before, though Darby realized that they may have been kissing for more than a few minutes. She had no idea where he was taking her and at that moment she didn’t care. At the top of the hill was the gondola, which was still running at that hour, though she thought it might close soon. When Michael didn’t turn off at the last street that would have kept them in town, she knew they were headed up.
“Are we going skiing?”
“Should we?”
He nodded his head toward the ski shop that stood, its doors open, next to the gondola’s base.
“No, let’s just go up. I want to freeze my ass off with you at the top of the mountain.” She nudged him forward.
He produced two lift tickets from his pocket, stopped and hooked one into the tassel of her jacket. Seconds after walking into the empty car, the doors shut.
It was a large car, with the capacity to carry twenty-five skiers or more. Though there were wooden benches at each end, neither moved to sit. She went to a far window, watching the ground disappear rapidly as they ascended. He came up from behind, wrapping his arms around her, just as she’d hoped he would.
“You hate being cold.”
His cheek was against hers and she liked the way his deep voice resonated softly through the car.
“You always keep me warm.”
The car rocked as it passed through one of the lower lift stations, but didn’t stop. She thought how this was probably one of the last gondolas that would go up that night, and imagined them staying up there until morning, just the two of them, on top of that mountain. It was a ridiculous idea—completely impractical. She then thought of the job she loved most days, the cozy little house she adored, and how empty she would feel when she returned.
“You’ve got eight questions left.” It came out as a whisper. “Are you going to use them or not?”
He didn’t answer.
“Isn’t there anything you want to know?”
“I already know everything I need to know about you, baby.”
Baby. That stopped her wandering mind in its tracks. He had never—not once—called her that.
It emboldened something in her. “Have you ever been in love?” There would be no better time to ask.
“Yes.”
“What was she like?”
The gondola was slowing. Moments later, the door opened.
“She was a lot like you.”
They were fucking again. Her hair was wet from the shower and hung loosely down to her mid-back, tickling her shoulder blades as they moved in tande
m. They had spent languid minutes under the rainfall spray, kissing and touching as they warmed up fully from so much time spent in the cold. Now, in front of the fireplace, they faced one another, her legs wrapped around him as he thrust into her vigorously from below.
The fire was hot, and the dampness that had covered them when they had arrived from the shower had quickly evaporated. Now the sheen that covered them was hard-earned sweat. He was hitting her deeply, fucking her so good it hurt. So good that with each intensifying thrust, she cried out softly in a mixture of pleasure and pain. His forearm was behind her back, as if he knew she had lost some of her ability to hold herself up. When she tightened around him—so close, but not there yet—he unleashed a guttural moan, and she thought she could have died happy right then.
She let her head fall back because that’s how fantastic it felt. When she did, he lowered his mouth and licked a straight line from between her breasts to the dip in her throat. That did it. She came hard, nearly screaming from the pleasure. She felt him pulse and thought that he was coming too. But when she felt herself being flipped over before she caught her breath, she knew he still had more.
The way he hitched one of her legs up to curl behind him reminded her, as it always did, of the first time they had fucked. She wrapped her fingers around his biceps, so hard as he held himself over them, and felt swept up once more. Michael cried out, loudly and uncontrollably, but he kept driving into her. She felt her next orgasm coming on. She came explosively once more, ending just as his was beginning. He let out an impassioned roar.
He was still pulsing inside her, sporadically now, but he made no move to leave her. They stared at one another, both out of breath, the emotion that passed between them still unspoken, but as naked as their own bodies. They said nothing, because hadn’t they said it already?
For the second time that night, Darby felt the impulse to keep him to herself, to stay in the hotel suite until they had to leave Park City. She didn’t care about they party they’d already missed or the dozens of screenings she’d been excited to attend. Apart from Michael, Darby had ceased to care about anything at all.
“Do you have to get that?”
His phone buzzed on the nightstand and though they hadn’t yet spoken words to each other that morning, each had known the other was awake. It wasn’t uncommon, them holding on to one another, clinging really, in the hours of the morning, neither wanting to break the spell by getting up. He kissed her hair and held her tighter, angling his body to more fully cradle hers.
“No.”
So they continued to lie like that. Some minutes later—she didn’t know how many because she had drifted back to sleep—the buzzing of his phone roused her again.
“Get it,” she commanded softly. He didn’t move at first. But eventually he succumbed, depositing her gently on the bed before he picked up his phone.
“Dale.” He answered neutrally, climbing out of the bed gingerly so as not to disturb her. He mouthed an instruction for her to go back to sleep.
She didn’t quite sleep again, though she was groggy, and she liked luxuriating in the warmth of the bed even though he had gone. As she heard his soft footsteps pad down the stairs and listened to his muted conversation, she let herself think about what had happened the night before.
By then, they’d been there for nearly two days and hadn’t seen a single film. The clock on the nightstand told her that it was nearly noon, but she found that she really didn’t want to get out of bed. She wanted to stay there with him, in their bubble, forever. She didn’t want to face her father’s announcement, and she was not eager to return to the hospital. She wanted this, with Michael, so, so much.
When he returned, he engulfed her back into his arms, placing his phone back where it had been, but not bothering to plug it back in, and she noticed that something about him was tense.
“What did Dale want?” She asked it lightly, knowing better than to push.
“I have to go back to Sydney in a couple of days,” was all he said.
So she returned to her own thoughts, because him having to disappear off to where he was needed was nothing new, and if he didn’t have to go yet, their time now was good enough for her. So they stayed there, thoughts still swirling in her head, most of them too scary to voice. But the one she could say, she finally said aloud.
“It’s going to be a vicious campaign.”
He kissed her hair again and said nothing in response.
“They’ll look for anything to use against him and he’ll play just as hard. I know this must sound paranoid to you, but—”
“I know, baby. I know you’re not being paranoid.”
There’s that word again.
“They’ll spin anything into anything. It will be completely invasive,” she continued. He only held her tighter. “I wouldn’t blame you if—”
“Shhhhh,” he soothed, silencing her then. “Don’t even think like that.”
But she couldn’t help it, nor could she help the apology that passed her lips.
“I’m sorry.”
He shushed her again.
DARBY ENJOYED THE CALM SILENCE of Michael’s apartment, and was content to lounge in his waterbed as he showered. She relished the way the morning sun—which was not too bright yet—cast light into his room, and the soft sounds of the water hitting the tiles through his open bathroom door. She could have easily joined him, and some mornings she did, but her position on his bed gave her the perfect view of his enormous closet. Watching him get dressed was still one of her favorite things about staying over.
It was like watching a sacred ritual. He wasn’t trying to be sexy—he was so into his own dressing routine that she doubted he was even aware that she watched—but to Darby, it felt like soft-core porn. First he put on his underwear: navy boxer briefs that looked like Lycra but felt like the finest silk. Next, he would take a moment to adjust himself. He wore a simple Hanes V-neck undershirt, but it fit in a way that flattered his devastatingly fit body. From there, it was socks, which were always loud and interesting, a quirk she had never asked him about. When he turned the shower off, she smiled to herself in anticipation of the show. Then she heard her phone. The song was Like a Boss. It was Kelly, and she had to answer it.
“This is Darby,” she said neutrally, managing to mask the slight disappointment in her voice.
“Darby, it’s Kelly. I’ve got good news for you. Some important donors who we’ve been courting have agreed to meet with us this afternoon. I want to tell them about your research, so I’ll need you there. I’ll give you some background on a few of them so you can prepare.”
The words kicked Darby into gear and she realized she needed to find a pen and paper.
“Hold on, let me find some paper,” she said.
But in Michael’s apartment, always flawlessly neat and clean, every practical item was put away. Not finding anything in his bedroom, she did another fruitless search of his kitchen before hurrying to his office.
A month had passed since Lake Geneva and he still hadn’t shown her any of his drawings. Walking into his office tripped her up. She’d passed by this room before, of course, but she’d never actually been inside. It, too, was as neat as every other room in his apartment. Since she’d become fascinated by what he might be drawing, it felt odd to be in this space, as though she were snooping. But her boss was waiting and she figured there had to be a notepad and pen someplace.
In a stylish leather cup on his drafting table, she found the fanciest pencils she’d ever seen. On his desk, she found a sketch book, and quickly flipped to the last page. Giving Kelly the green light, she took the details down quickly and they said their goodbyes. She held the paper tight and ripped the page she’d written on from its spiral binding.
She was just letting the book fall shut when she caught a glimpse of what was on the earlier pages. They were drawings. Whatever she’d seen in the blink of an eye was very, very good. She breathed deeply, knowing she should leave it al
one—after all, Michael, hadn’t invited her to look. But she was aching to see the kinds of things he drew.
What she saw when she opened the book took her breath away, and she gasped, audibly. These drawings were beautiful, executed with nearly unfathomable skill. Each one contained an emotion that she could barely comprehend. And they were not drafts of buildings—as he’d said, they were everything and anything else. Buckingham Fountain in the summer. Sailboats in the marina. Then, randomly, an octopus that was uncannily realistic.
When she heard the sounds of Michael’s shoes against the hardwood floor, she knew she’d been caught. She closed the book, and kept her hands on it as she stared down at the desk for a beat, preparing herself to meet his eyes.
“These are exquisite,” she said softly. She found that unshed tears were clouding her vision as she looked up at him. “I didn’t mean to pry…I just needed a piece of paper.”
She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he didn’t seem upset with her. If anything, he looked a bit vulnerable.
“You can look,” he said, and she knew it for what it was—his attempt to be more transparent. She wasn’t sure that he wanted her to see—only that he felt he should.
But curiosity got the best of her, and she picked up the book a second time, paging through more slowly, eating up one drawing after the other. Flipping from a sketch of a child in the park, to the picture of what, at first glance, looked like a beautiful woman, Darby realized the woman was her.
“You drew this from memory?” she asked, unable to look at him. There wasn’t one time when she’d sat for him, not one time she could recall when he’d taken a picture of her like this. She saw him from her peripheral vision.
“I spend a lot of time looking at you, Darby.”
She nodded, still not meeting his eyes.
“It’s beautiful,” she smiled, no longer turning pages, just looking at the way he’d drawn her face to perfection, her nose, her lips, her hair.
