by Mia Sosa
Her voice breaks on the word funny and my gaze flashes to hers. One of the most dynamic women I’ve ever met is crumbling before me, and I have no idea why. Instinctively, I pull her into my arms, wanting to comfort her as best I can. When I cup her cheeks, sweeping my thumbs under her eyes to dry them, she leans into my touch, all soft and vulnerable.
“Hey, hey, baby,” I say. “Talk to me. Why the tears?”
Eva
I look up at Anthony, not caring that I’m a blubbering mess. The warmth of his body is a balm that calms me like a magic cure for a colicky baby. Closing my eyes, I press my cheek against his chest and slow my breathing to match his. “I didn’t come to class today because . . . because I didn’t think my ankle could . . . handle the impact. And I canceled my Friday class at the studio because . . . I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle that, either. And all I kept thinking about, worrying about, was the possibility that my father’s right. An injury sidelined me and I couldn’t do my job, couldn’t train.” I lift my head and blink up at him, my stupid lower lip quivering. “What the hell am I doing, Anthony?”
He inches forward, pulling me deeper into his embrace, tightening his arms around me like a cocoon. “Ah Eva, don’t do this to yourself. You’re being human, and that means you’re going to trip and fall from time to time. We all do. Don’t give it more meaning than you need to. You’re stressed. And you’re in mild pain. You’ve got a lot going on. I doubt this is the best time for introspection.”
With not a hint of self-consciousness, I press my face into his chest, breathing him in, listening to the hollow thump of his heartbeat. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.”
I can count the number of people who have seen me cry on one hand. They include my parents; my second grade teacher, Mrs. Potts, who refused to let me leave the classroom to pee when I had to go badly (I ruined her shoes that day); Tori (but only during gut-wrenching dramas like The Color Purple or epic love stories, never in sadness); and now this man.
Anthony, who just called me baby and probably doesn’t even realize it. Anthony, who’d likely swear up and down that the endearment was nothing more than a slip of the tongue.
“You know what you need?” he says, pulling me out of my musings.
“What’s that?”
He takes my hand. “To get out of your head and enjoy the evening. Forget about everything and appreciate what this town has to offer. I could take you to the Chinese Theatre or the Walk of Fame. You know, the touristy stuff. We could just drive past them if you’re not up for walking. Whatever you want to do.” He shrugs, pulling at the collar of his hoodie as he waits for me to respond to the idea. “We could grab dinner after. Not a . . .” Grimacing, he swallows hard.
I draw back and pinch the skin under my bottom lip as I consider him. Oh, this is fascinating. “You can’t say it, can you?”
He frowns at me. “Can’t say what?”
“The D word.”
“Dick? I say it all the time. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick.”
I reach over and poke him in the stomach. “Enough. You’re such a goofball. I meant the other D word.”
He scrubs a hand over his face like he’s transforming his expression into a serious one with just a swipe. “Eva, will you hang out with me tonight? Not a date or anything.”
“I’d love to go on a non-date with you,” I tell him with a smile. Then I inspect his face. “And no apparent allergic reaction from saying the word date, either. You’re making progress.”
He waggles his eyebrows at me. “I aim to please.”
“If that’s the case, then take me to one of your favorite spots. Doesn’t have to be touristy.”
He answers immediately. “I know the perfect spot, then. I think you’ll love it.”
“I’m sure I will.”
So this is adulting, huh? We talked openly and honestly about our feelings and concerns, and we’re still enjoying each other’s company. I could get used to this new normal.
Chapter Twenty-One
Anthony
“Are you sure I’m not underdressed? I don’t know where we’re going, so I was at a disadvantage when I changed.”
I keep my eyes on the road and suppress a smile. “Eva, what you’re wearing is perfect. I said casual. Look at me, I’m wearing jeans.”
She shakes her head and shoves a hand in her purse. “That’s not saying much. Most guys think every occasion either calls for T-shirts and jeans or a tuxedo. They have no concept of anything in between.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her peering at me. “You don’t like surprises. Is that it?”
She pulls out a tube of lipstick, lowers the visor to access the vanity mirror, and applies her makeup as she speaks. A woman’s never done that in my car. When she puckers and pops her lips, I shift in the driver’s seat, trying to convince my brain that putting on lipstick isn’t foreplay. Then she licks her lips. Oh, yes, the fuck it is.
“It’s not that I don’t like surprises,” she says. “I just like hints, too. Thinking about the clues helps me pass the time. Makes me less nervous about it.”
“So you want a clue.”
“Yes, that would be nice.”
“Black latex.”
She tugs on the sleeve of my sweater, a touch of indignation in her voice. “Oh my God, are you taking me to a sex club?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Confession. I’m disappointed.”
“I’ll bear that in mind for future dates.” Dates. Future dates. How the hell did I let that slip out? Oh, I know. Eva crashed into my life and upended it in the best way. I’m not that guy. Haven’t been that guy in a long time. But I’m finding it hard not to be that guy with her. “You know what I mean. I’ll keep it in mind when we hang out next time.”
“Oh, yes, Anthony, I know what you mean.”
The surprise location isn’t far from where I live. I make a left turn onto Fletcher Drive and half a mile later another left onto San Fernando Road.
“You’re taking me to a park? At night?”
Her voice doesn’t betray anything other than curiosity.
“I am.”
The road is hugged on both sides by a canopy of trees that add to the mystery. I couldn’t have planned a better route to our destination. The car hits a patch of gravel, and then we enter a clearing.
“A drive-in movie?” she asks.
Her voice is high, a note of laughter in her question.
“Yeah, is that cool with you?”
“More than cool. I love this surprise.”
She’s grinning from ear-to-ear and taking in the sight of the rows and rows of cars already parked on the grounds. The people who aren’t watching from their cars are sitting in their own chairs and on blankets on the lawn in front of the large projector screen, which for now, only shows a digital clock counting down to the start of the movie. Eleven minutes to go.
The attendant waves us into a space, but it’s front and center, and that’s not where I’d like to be. Too far from the restrooms.
I lower the driver’s side window. “Hey, we’re probably going to head out before the movie ends. Where’s the best place to put us?”
The attendant looks around and points his traffic baton at a space in the last row. “There should be good. When you’re ready to leave, just make a left here and get on the exit road.”
I park the truck and turn off the engine. The bag between us holds a bottle of wine for her, a few bottles of water for us both, mini-sandwiches courtesy of the deli across the street from EST, and a few fleece blankets. “Ready to jump in the back?”
“My ass will be raw by the time the movie’s over.”
I laugh. “I’ve got a cushion and plenty of blankets. Your ass will be fine.”
She eases out of the car and smoothes her bottoms, a heather-gray skirt that ends above her ankles and resembles sweat pants without legs. A sweatskirt is how she described it when she first got in the car. The way her ass and hips look in it,
I’d say the name is accurate; I’m sweating just thinking about the loveliness underneath.
The ankle wrap reminds me that she shouldn’t be hopping around, though. “Need help getting up there?”
She shakes her head in exasperation. “I’m fine, Anthony. I can handle the climb. I’ll be careful. Promise.” Sure enough, she sits on the truck bed and scoots backward, slowly shifting around to get into her desired position. “So what’s the feature film?”
I place the bag inside and climb in behind her. “The Matrix.”
“That’s what you meant by black spandex. Trinity’s outfit.”
“Right. Kind of hard to forget it.”
“I saw the second film first.”
My mouth drops open. “You watched them out of order?” I place my hands over my chest in a fake display of outrage. “How could you?”
She laughs at my reaction. “I was ten when the first one came out. I knew it was out there, but my parents wouldn’t let me see it. Had to wait until four years later. Watched it during a sleepover at a friend’s. Now I understand that it was groundbreaking, but back then I just wanted to be a badass like Trinity or Niobe.”
“It was groundbreaking. I can see its influence on the movies I’ve worked on, too.”
“Can you watch without analyzing the action sequences?”
“Nope. That’s mostly what I do. Figure out what’s special effects, what’s stunt. It’s a totally different movie experience. Now that I’m a stunt performer, I can’t go back to be being blissfully unaware of what’s happening behind the scenes. It’ll happen to you, too.”
I pull out our goodies, watching her face to see if she’s okay with her options. She sits back as I unwrap the sandwiches. For a second, she grimaces.
Groaning, I pause and consider the obvious. “Don’t tell me. You’re not a fan of sandwiches, right? I ordered tuna, ham, corned beef, and roasted veggie, but I didn’t think about getting something without bread. Sorry, I should have—”
“No, no,” she says, gently placing her hand on my arm. “It’s not the food. And I don’t mean to be high maintenance”—she points to the back of the bed—“but this isn’t the most comfortable way to sit.”
I slide the platter of sandwiches within arm’s reach and crawl over to her. “That’s a problem I can solve if you want.” I lean on the back of the bed and pat my chest. “Use me as a pillow.”
Her gaze drops to my chest, and her lips part.
Fuck. I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Making it awkward between us. “Hey, but we can prop up some of the extra blankets, too. Here.” I refold the blankets and hand them to her. “See?”
She looks at the stack. “No, it’s okay. I’m going to need those to keep warm. It’s chillier than I expected out here. Just don’t think about getting frisky, okay? Unlike the women in your class, I do know how to split a man’s balls in half.”
I shake my head at her. “Woman, if you want my chest, take it. But don’t threaten me with bodily harm for offering you some comfort.”
She throws a blanket at me and turns around, grabbing a roasted veggie sandwich. I spread my legs to give her space to recline, and then she falls back against me. Humming softly, she holds the sandwich in the air while she uses the other hand to spread the blanket over us. It’s cozy. Too cozy. And the smell of sugar cookies fills my nose.
“What’s the stuff that smells delicious? Is that in your hair?”
“It’s my deep conditioning treatment. Why? Is it bothering you?”
I take a deep breath and realize my error as soon as her head moves with my chest. The scent is intoxicating. “No, it smells good.”
She enjoys her food as I try to remain unaffected by the way her body’s draped against mine.
“Thanks for getting the food, Anthony. This really is perfect.”
“I’m glad you like it. You’re not too cold, though?”
She shakes her head. “It’s great under here. No complaints at all. Oooh, the previews are starting.”
For some unknown reason, I’m ridiculously happy that she’s content. Maybe it’s because I know she’s experiencing big changes in her life and she’s worried about whether it’s going to work out. Maybe it’s because she’s a vibrant woman who makes me laugh and I want to give her back a little of the happiness she’s given me. Whatever it is, I’m glad I could give her this evening.
Eva
Anthony’s chest is the best pillow I’ve ever had the pleasure to rest my head on. It’ll be a miracle if I’m able to stay awake for the movie. Every breath he takes calms me. It’s like I’m out on a lake and the water is lapping gently against my kayak.
“The sandwich is delicious, by the way.” I lift the remaining half behind me and toward him. “Want a bite?”
He dips his face down and sinks his teeth into it. Is this too intimate? Yeah, this is too intimate. But then why does it feel so right? Trying not to overthink as usual, I focus on finishing the sandwich during the theater’s rundown of its upcoming season. “Shrek in September. We should come back to see that.”
“Not something on my watch list, but for you, sure.”
For you, sure. Now that Anthony’s clarified his feelings, I don’t need to guess what he means. He cares about me, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to change for me, either. I don’t have time to wallow in my conflicted feelings, though, because the film’s starting, and the first scene has a killer action sequence. Pun intended.
He leans in close, speaking near my ear. “See there? When she looks like she’s running across the wall. That’s a wire-harness.”
I try my best to appear unaffected by the warmth of his breath against my skin. “Right.” I clear my throat. “But she does a flip, too, so there’s some work beyond the harness.”
“Yeah. And it looks like she did that herself.”
“That ambitious wench needs to step aside and give someone else a job.”
He chuckles against my ear. “This movie employed plenty of people in the stunt industry. No need to be outraged on our behalf.” He points at the screen. “See there. That jump across the roof?”
“Wire-harness again, right?”
“In a warehouse somewhere with a green screen. She’s landing on a big stunt pad.”
I turn my head to the side and look up at him. For a moment, it’s as though we’re both frozen in place.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing’s wrong exactly. I’m just wondering if you’re going to ruin the entire movie for me this way.”
He pinches my hip, causing me to yelp. Someone in the car to our right whispers for us to be quiet. I turn into Anthony, burying my face in his chest to stem the laughter that’s bubbling up inside me.
“Sorry,” he whispers, moving his hand off my hip. “I shouldn’t have pinched you.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper in reply.
And then, because once again, it just feels right, I reach for his hand and return it to my hip. His heart is beating so hard and fast I can feel it at the base of my neck. My heart is beating so hard and fast I’m afraid I might pass out. But it’s okay. I don’t think I’m alone in this. I want him to move his hand against my hip. If I had kinetic abilities, I’d try to will him to do it. He won’t, though. Because that’s not Anthony’s way, and I’m glad for that.
So I thread my fingers with his, and now we’re both resting our hands on my left hip. Slowly, so very slowly that I’m worried it’ll take forever, I move my hand and his along with it. In circles. Slow, torturous circles.
“Eva,” he whispers in a low groan. “Friends shouldn’t do this.”
My mind agrees, but my body wants the relief it knows he can give me. I feel compressed on all sides, enfolded in his warmth and consumed by the need to release the tension building in me. “I know. I do. But I don’t care.”
He takes a fortifying breath, but he doesn’t speak or move. My chest collapses when I realize he’s not willing to go further, b
ut then a few seconds later, his other hand lands against my right hip and I gasp in relief.
“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice whisper soft.
My mouth’s dry now, so I nod.
“Use your words, Eva.”
I smile at that directive. “It’s okay. It’s better than okay. So okay that I wish you would do okay things to me all night.”
His chest vibrates under me. How can he laugh at a moment like this?
“When you say ‘okay things,’ what exactly do you mean?”
“I’d like you to touch me. Everywhere. Anywhere. Just . . . I don’t know.”
“Would you like me to raise your skirt and slip my fingers inside your panties? Is that what you mean?”
I raise my hand to my mouth, needing to stem the moans that are desperate to escape it. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”
He leans down and nips at my ear. “Keep watching the movie, and don’t make a sound. I’ll see what I can do for you.”
On the screen, Neo’s on a ship. There’s talking. So much talking. But none of it makes any sense. And the pounding in my ears isn’t helping to clarify it.
Behind me, under the cover of three blankets, Anthony’s hands are raising my skirt inch by delicious inch, his fingers leaving a blaze of heat across my skin as they travel up my thighs. My ass refuses to stay put. I’m squirming in an embarrassing display of ultra-heightened arousal.
“How does this feel so far?” he asks.
“Really nice, but I wish you’d hurry up a bit.”
He pulls my skirt up to my waist before I take my next breath. “Spread your legs for me, Eva.”
I point my toes, stretching them like a world-class ballerina, the swelling in my ankle long forgotten, and then I slide my legs open so my outer thighs are pressed against his inner thighs.
“I wish I could see you, but for now feeling you is going to have to be enough,” he says. The palm of his right hand slides from my hip to the crotch of my panties. He traces a single finger up my slit, pressing the fabric inside me. “Oh fuck. You’re already wet.”
