by S. Massery
“Are you going to call me?”
“You haven’t accepted my apology.” He watches his feet, as if he doesn’t know I’ve already started to forgive him.
Now is my time to be courageous. I walk closer to him, until I’m close enough that, with a large enough breath, our chests would brush. He is still enough to be made of stone, and still looking at his feet. Being forward is new to me. Showing affection in public is new to me. And yet, there is nothing awkward about the way I tilt his head up a little, how I stretch up on my toes, and brush a kiss to his lips. I pull away, looking into his eyes. There is a fire smoldering there, hot enough to match the flames in my belly.
He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him, and kisses me again. It feels like my first breath after almost drowning. His lips are oxygen, and I can’t get enough. It feeds the fire inside of me, enough that I am desperately close to inviting him upstairs.
I yank away from him, panting. My lips feel tender.
“Lunch. Saturday. Call me, or something.”
His laugh is a beautiful sound. I am almost to the door when I hear him mutter, “You’re going to bury me.” Morbid, but it makes me grin from ear to ear.
18
Only a day later, Avery calls as I am stepping out of the shower.
“Hi, stranger,” I say.
He laughs and then says, “Wow, we actually are strangers.”
A small smile flickers across my face. I had the same thought earlier today; there is so much I don’t know about him, and so much that I want to know.
“How are you?” His voice sounds like honey pooling in my belly.
I shift the towel around me. “Tired,” I answer.
“I figured that might be the case.”
“You figured I would be tired?”
“Yeah,” he says. “So I also figured you might not want to cook.”
I pull on leggings and a sports bra. It’s true: I’ve been so busy, I wasn’t able to make it to the store at all. My fridge is mostly empty, and I was going to have oatmeal for dinner.
“You’d figure correctly,” I answer.
“Great!” The intercom at my door buzzes twice. “I hope you like Chinese.”
“Oh my god,” I say. I cover my mouth and hold in a giggle. We hang up as I buzz him into the building.
A few minutes later, he stands in my doorway and asks, “Is this too romantic for you?”
I pull down the hem of the shirt I threw on, shrugging.
“A shrug. That’s a good start.”
We sit on my couch and dig into the cartons he brought. I am immediately impressed with his choices: he even hit two out of my three favorites. After most of the food is gone, I set down the fried rice and ask, “Have you been stalking me?”
“What? No!”
I lean away, widening my eyes and trying not to laugh. “That was not convincing. At all.”
Avery shakes his head. His hair is so short, I miss how it used to be. Not long, like our disastrous first date, but somewhere in the middle. I used to dream about running my hands through it and tugging. “Charlotte, I would never stalk you.”
I blow air through my lips and smirk at him. “Yeah, right, only a stalker would say that.”
“You have beautiful eyes,” he blurts out.
I cock my head. My eyes are nothing special; blue but not really blue, they’re a murky lake on a cloudy day.
“You’re a brewing storm,” he says. And then, he leans toward me and puts his hand on my cheek. His thumb brushes my lower lip. I lean toward him, too, instantly desperate to get closer.
“Can you handle this?” I whisper. Our breath mingles.
“I can handle anything you give me.”
We both jump forward, into each other’s arm, and our lips collide. I swing my leg over, straddling his lap, and we both make noises in the backs of our throats at the new contact.
All of a sudden, I can’t stop thinking about the future. Are we dating, now? Do we have sex? Is he clean? Do we use protection even though I have an IUD? Are we serious dating? I’m still kissing him, but my gusto is gone. I want to go crawl into my shower and cry, because I’m not ready to be an adult in an adult relationship. My last relationship was Colby, and he broke me. After him, there was so much damage, so many walls that I built.
Now...
Avery breaks the kiss; I’ve frozen, he had to have felt it. Instead of shoving me off of him, telling me, Go fuck yourself, Charlie, he smiles and rests his forehead against mine. I watch his mouth, because I can’t bear to look at his beautiful eyes.
“It’s okay, Charlotte,” he says. My heart’s guard splinters; I feel so vulnerable.
“I’m scared.” I hate how quiet my voice is, how small I have shrunk myself.
He presses his lips to my temple. “Me, too.”
My arms are still around his shoulders, but I hug him tighter to me. We haven’t even known each other a full week, and I already don’t want to let go.
I climb off of him and excuse myself to the bathroom. I stare into my own eyes in the mirror and dare myself not to cry. It also makes me flinch because, for the first time tonight, I realize I don’t have a shred of makeup on my face. It’s just another layer he’s stripped away from me.
When I come back out, Avery has poured a refill of my wine and whiskey for himself. I point to it, because I certainly do not stock whiskey in my apartment, and he laughs. He shows me the flask he has in his jacket, engraved with ACR. His initials.
“Carter Rousseau.”
“I didn’t forget.”
“Ah,” he mutters. “Is that your way of making me feel bad? Guilt tripping me for forgetting your middle name?”
“No,” I laugh. “I just have a good memory.” Especially around you.
He nods to the television. “Should we find a movie?”
It feels too heavy to sit in darkness and silence.
“How about a game?”
He quirks his lips to the side. “I’m not sure we’re ready for strip poker.”
“Funny,” I say. “A game of questions.”
His eyes light up. “I presume the premise is to tell the truth?”
“That would be it.” I push my hair behind my ears. “Let’s start easy, okay?”
“Of course,” he says. “Should you start?”
I pretend to consider, although I already have a few questions lined up. “Favorite color?”
“Blue.” I open my mouth to answer, and he holds up his hand to stop me. “Blue like… a storm is coming on the horizon, and you see it coming from miles away. It’s a bit dirty and dark and wholly terrifying.” His gaze drops to my mouth. “You’re wholly terrifying.”
I blink at him. That may be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.
“I’m sorry that I wasn’t ready for you before,” he whispers. And then he leans back and clears his throat. “My turn. Who’s your favorite actor?”
I smile at his diversion.
“Kit Harington,” I say.
“Oh, no,” he says with a laugh. “You’re a Game of Thrones fan?”
I grin. “Absolutely! Who wouldn’t love Jon Snow?”
“Doesn’t he die?” Avery starts chuckling at my expression.
I press my palm to my forehead. “Don’t say that so loud. George R. R. Martin is evil, and if you ask about it—he’s definitely going to die. So just, shush.”
He eyes me. “I haven’t seen this geek side of you—oh, except the spy novel. Does that count?”
I can’t believe he remembers that. “Are you judging me?”
“Never,” he says. He takes my hand away from my face and rubs his thumb in circles on my palm. My heart picks up speed, and I squeeze his hand.
“So, um…”
He winks. “I think you were going to ask me a question.”
“Right,” I say. “Ice cream.”
“What about ice cream?”
> “Are you for or against?” I narrow my eyes. “Ice cream and popcorn have gotten me through some pretty dark times.”
“So, this could make or break the relationship,” he says.
“Maybe!”
He pretends to wince. “You’re not going to like my answer.”
My cheeks hurt from smiling so wide. “Just tell me, Avery.”
“Vanilla,” he says, like it’s a dirty secret.
“Oh, no.”
“With rainbow sprinkles. And whipped cream.”
“That’s so….” I shake my head.
“It’s so vanilla of me,” he laughs. “I know.”
“I’m going to pity you and tell you that my favorite is Phish Food from Ben and Jerry’s.”
His eyes, I swear, they twinkle at me. “Noted.”
We sit and watch each other for a second, before he says, “I need to kiss you again.”
We do.
It’s just as good as the first time, and the second, and my heart beats fast enough to fly out of my chest. My mind stays calm, though, because his hands don’t wander. He doesn’t cop a feel under my shirt or stray down toward the button of my jeans. I am so used to rushing that I am surprised when he doesn’t. He holds onto my face and neck, and I love how gentle his hands are.
After a few minutes, he tilts away and grins when I groan. I immediately miss the taste and feel of his mouth on mine. “Tell me about your family,” he says.
I grimace, wondering how on earth to capture the personalities of my parents. At one point, I try to describe my mother and make her out to be some sort of a witch.
“She can’t be that bad,” Avery interjects.
“She’s not!” I sputter. “Well,” I think for a second. “Everything I said was true. She’s controlling, insists that she knows what’s best for me, and is very pushy. But she does it out of love.” I laugh again. This night has been filled with laughter. “I think!”
He tells me about his family, too. His sister, June, is two years his senior. She knows everything about love, he says, and has always been available for support and advice. “Even if I don’t want it.” His lips quirk to the side, which makes me wonder if June advised him on past girlfriends. I wonder if she advised him about me.
“She sounds nice,” I say. I imagine they have the same eyes and nose.
“What’s your favorite song?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “I have a different song for every mood.”
“Right now.”
I make a humming noise in my throat, trying to pinpoint my feelings. “Slowly, by Son Lux,” I tell him.
“I don’t know it,” he says. He glances at his watch. “Oh, shit, I have to go.”
I nod, because it’s late and he’s stayed longer than I thought he would.
“Be free on Saturday,” he tells me.
“Why?”
“Just be ready to go at noon. And bring a bathing suit.”
I shake my head.
He stands with his hand on the doorknob, waiting for me to agree. “Charlotte?”
“No,” I say. It comes out firm, and not at all shaking.
“What?”
I flinch. “You’re supposed to ask, Avery, you can’t just demand me to be free.”
“That isn’t what I meant—”
“I would hope not—”
“Stop.” He wraps his arms around me. I love that I fit so snugly against him, tucked under his chin. “Let me try again.”
I nod against his chest.
“Charlotte, are you busy on Saturday afternoon? I want to take you on a date.”
I shake my head. He takes a step back, dislodging me, before leaning forward and kissing my cheek. “What time?” I manage.
“One? With a bathing suit.”
I let myself smile. “Yes.”
He touches my cheek and leaves.
I cross to my phone, trying to will my hands to stop trembling. I turn on “Slowly” by Son Lux and close my eyes.
Please be careful what you say,
I may die this way.
Be careful how your mouth pulled apart,
I can see your lips, I don’t wanna feel your heart.
19
Saturday morning, I stand on the bow of a small yacht while Avery hustles around, doing something with ropes and engines. A man named Mark, who introduced himself as the captain, orders him to various tasks.
I duck into the cabin, finding a cozy sitting area with a bed all the way in the back. I stash my bag and peek up onto the deck. Avery catches me looking as he passes. Stopping for a second, he plants a quick kiss on my lips. “Sorry for the third wheel,” he whispers. “It would’ve been doable to take it out on my own, but I’m in unfamiliar waters.” Figuratively and literally.
We both look at Mark, who squabbles with someone on the radio by the controls. “Unable to be helped, I think,” I say. He kisses me again before finishing his tasks.
The day on the boat is glorious. His boat was docked at a marina north of the city. We sail out south, along the coastline. It is a calm day on the ocean, which puzzles me. “It’s because we’re protected by Cape Cod,” Avery tells me.
There’s a cove that looks more private than not; it seems like a hidden gem in the Massachusetts coastline. They toss an anchor over, and Mark disappears below deck. Avery has been by my side the whole time while we nursed lime-a-ritas and held hands. For the most part, I kept my eyes peeled open behind my sunglasses. I didn’t want to miss a second of this. Now, I look around the boat and wonder what else he has up his sleeves.
“Swim with me?”
I had wondered where the swim suits would come into play. “Is it cold?” When he shrugs, I surprise myself by agreeing. I watch him pull off his shirt, and his torso nearly makes me drool. His skin has a golden glow, and baby abs are carved across his stomach. I want to touch them and whisper, Are you real?
Slowly, I pull off my shirt. I blush when I catch Avery staring, lingering on the topline of my tankini, and keep blushing when he steps forward and lifts my hand. “You’re gorgeous,” he tells me. I follow him to the back of the boat, where he slides a ladder into the water. He leaps over it, arcing into a graceful dive. His head breaks above the gentle waves, and he motions for me. I jump without fear.
When I surface, he is sputtering. I had landed as close to him as possible, knees tucked into the infamous—at least, to my uncles—Galston Cannonball. I giggle, and he laughs with me. He pulls me by my arms until we’re chest to chest. I wrap my legs around his waist to anchor me to him, and tread water with my arms.
“You’re pretty cute,” he says. He kisses my nose, and I feel his erection poke into my thigh. His eyes darken when I reach down and palm his length through his swim trunks. “Naughty,” he breathes.
It’s is the first time I’ve touched him this way. A tiny part of me wants to swim away, to climb back into the boat and put on all my layers of clothes. But another part is excited, wild, and completely new. I unwind my legs, and we somehow kick to stay afloat without knocking our legs together. His hands hold my waist, while one of mine strokes him and the other balances on his shoulder.
“Kiss me,” I say. I feel a rush of adrenaline at my own words and the power they hold.
He does. I slide my hand down into his shorts, gripping him fully, and he hums into my mouth. “Faster,” he grunts. After another few breathless minutes, he jerks and lets out a moan, pressing his forehead to mine. He comes in my hand, a hot contrast to the cool water. I pull my hand out of his trunks, letting the salt water wash me clean.
“I think I owe you one,” he says with a smile. I shiver, because I don’t want to think in terms of being owed. He kisses me and releases me, angling back toward the boat. “Hungry?”
“Sure,” I murmur. The ache between my legs is an annoying pulse that demands attention. I touch myself briefly, lessening the pressure, until Avery is almost all the way back to the boat. A small tendril of fear creeps through me about
being alone in the deep ocean. Anything could reach up and snag my leg. Only then do I follow him.
We finish the rest of the afternoon on the boat with laughs and smiles. Even Mark loosens up, drinking a lime-a-rita with us after we promise to keep it a secret. I sit in the back with Mark, watching as he checks weather dials and whatever else. Clouds have appeared, blocking out the sun for a few moments, but otherwise it has been a deliciously warm day. It’s hard to believe that it’s almost August.
I watch Avery, who moved to the front of the boat once we pulled up the anchor. He sits at the bow, staring out at the water. He looks a bit sad, or lonely. When I go to him, he doesn’t look at me. I curl my fingers into his, giving a short squeeze. He squeezes back, but his gaze stays trained on the sea. We sit in silence as Mark steers us home.
20
Past
His dining room was covered in candles.
There were two place settings at the corner and a bottle of wine between them in an ice bucket. A vase of flowers in the center of the table. “Happy birthday,” Colby whispered in my ear. He drew his tongue up the shell of my ear, and I shivered.
My eyes got damp, because no one had ever cherished me like this. “I love you,” I told him. He spun me around, kissing me hard. He already tasted like vodka, but I ignored it. The best way to keep him happy was to suck him off or tell him I loved him.
“Baby,” he said against my lips, “I need you.”
He didn’t wait, pushing me against the wall and hoisting me up by my butt. I had worn a dress when he demanded it; I had hesitated, but complied, when he told me to put my panties in my purse as he drove to his house. I knew why, now. Colby never did anything without a plan.
I barely registered that he already had undone his jeans and freed himself; he pushed inside me without warning, and we groaned in unison. We moved together, panting, for a few minutes, until he stilled inside of me. “When are you getting on birth control?” he asked.
