So that’s why I’m here. Standing on her doorstep. Secretly hoping she doesn’t answer so I can drop this and run. I’m just about to set down my gift when the door opens.
She’s scans me, her eyes starting at my feet and moving up. They widen.
“Oh. Hi,” she says. She tugs the tie of her robe tight but not before I glimpse her muscular legs under tight cotton shorts. “I thought you were a package.” She rubs her eyes. “Had a package. Wait, what? Sorry, I just woke up.”
She is lovely with sleep, slightly disheveled and off-guard. Her hair is down and the curls are wild all around her except for a small area near her face where they’ve gone sort of flat. She has a pillow line on her cheek and I long to reach out my finger and trace down it.
The cool morning air causes her to shiver. My gaze sweeps her body before I can tell it to stop and when I look back to her face she’s slightly flushed.
“Sorry,” I say and then quickly add, “for waking you. I didn’t even think … Did I wake you?” I wince.
“No. No, I was getting up,” she lies.
“I did bring a package of sorts.” I cringe internally because her saying the word package to me and me repeating it has laced the word with innuendo that I can’t shake from the perverted, teenage part of my brain that also just happens to notice her hard nipples. I take a breath and look around her tidy front yard. It’s xeriscaped with clay red rocks and steppingstones.
“Is that for me?” she asks.
“Yes. Here ya go.” I thrust it forward.
Her foot holds the door as she grabs the fertilizer and watering can.
She blinks down in confusion. This is a terrible idea. I should go. I’m just standing here like a doofus. Of course she already has gardening supplies. My attempt to apologize now feels like a cruel slap in the face.
“What is it?” The heavy bag starts to slip and she uses her hip to hoist it back up, causing the silk robe to fall open. The action also pushes her shirt up to reveal a tan stomach, firm with muscles. I blow out a breath and study the trim of her door. Her nose crinkles. “It sort of smells like a bag of sh—”
“It’s a fertilizer. Sort of. The team has been working on it. As a surprise. It’s only the first batch. I thought maybe for Ferngully,” I explain with the awkwardness of a tween asking a girl to an eighth-grade dance. “But now that—”
“The team?”
“We thought it might help your plant. We’re not chemists, but we figured we’d give it a shot.”
“When did you even have time?” She shakes her head. “I love it. Thank you.” She tenderly squeezes the bag almost like a hug with a sad look of awe. “Really. It’s the best gift.” She leans to set the heavy bag down inside the door and I jump to assist her.
My hand brushes hers and a little shock raises the hairs on my arms. I shudder at the unexpected heat. She pulls back so fast, the bag drops the rest of the way to the ground. She places the old-fashioned tin watering can next to the bag with a gentle reverence that makes me feel better.
When she stands up, she’s wearing a genuine smile. Her hair is so beautiful, lush and wild all around her. She always keeps herself looking professional at work. She looks so different now. I can’t stop staring at her round face haloed by curls.
We stand awkwardly in the doorway. Well, I’m awkward. She’s like freshly tumbled laundry, clean and a little disheveled and warm smelling. How can anyone be this beautiful upon waking? Also, when did my feelings become this all-consuming?
“Well, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to drop this off.” I start to walk backward, stumble over the small step and stop. Real smooth. “Oh, and to apologize for what happened at the meeting. Ken was being an ass and I should have said something.”
Her eyes widen. I guess I never really talk like that at work. I try to keep the morale up because once negativity starts it’s hard to stop it from spreading like a plague. I’ve seen projects destroyed by bad attitudes.
I add, “He shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I’m sorry if it caused a … if it upset you.”
“I’ve handled worse. It wasn’t even that. It was how he talked about your design. It frustrated me.” Next door an older woman is working in her garden. Julia waves to her before turning to me and asking quietly, “Why don’t you come in? I’ll make some tea.”
When she makes her way inside, I quickly scrub my hands through my hair. “Sure. That would be good. Just for a minute. I won’t waste your day off.”
“Yeah, I was super busy making plans to sleep and wallow so we’ll have to keep it short …” She looks over her shoulder to grin at me.
Oh, weekend Julia has a little bite to her. I like it.
“This is it. As you can see, your gift will be much appreciated,” she says, gesturing to a wall that holds several pitiful plants.
She walks to the small kitchen off the main front room hardly large enough for a loveseat and bookshelf. Besides the planet cemetery, it’s impersonally furnished—like a live-in hotel—and I get the impression none of these furnishings are hers.
Still, it smells like her and I like being here.
“I’m just going to get dressed. Be right back,” she says after putting the kettle on.
“Righty-o.” I groan at my awkwardness.
It feels so intimate to be in her house. I can’t imagine having someone stop by unexpectedly. Seriously, what had I been thinking? Who stops over without an invitation in this day and age?
She’s back a few minutes later in a pair of black leggings and an oversized Tupac T-shirt that reveals her shoulder. Her curls are piled up on top of her head and the smell of mint follows her in.
She pours her tea and makes me a cup too. I slide onto a stool on the other side of the counter.
Julia leans against the counter and looks at me as she blows on her cup. “So weird seeing you here.” Her voice is deeper when she’s just woken than it usually is at work. It does something primal to me.
“I got your address from your file. Not exactly sure that’s ethical.”
Her exposed shoulder rises and drops. “At this point that seems sort of moot.”
She doesn’t say it harshly but it reminds me of one of the things constantly weighing on me: the lines being crossed, the rules being broken.
Julia winces as she sets down her mug and there’s something hiding in the clench of her jaw and the dark circles under her eyes. I’m all too familiar with the signs of someone masking pain.
“Are you feeling okay?” I ask.
She hesitates a moment like she’s trying to decide how to answer. After a lifetime of keeping everything buried, being honest must not come naturally. She shakes her head. “Today’s rough.”
“Because of the meeting and the stress of the week?”
“Probably,” she offers. “I almost went off in that meeting. In more ways than one. It hurts when I push it back down.”
I frown, desperate to reach out and hold her hand. Instead, I wrap my fingers around the warm mug. “That’s the other thing I wanted to say. I handled things poorly back at the test lab. When you danced.” I pour my regret into my words. “I can’t possibly imagine what you go through and in no way meant to presume. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. I was short with you. I’m sorry too.”
Both sets of our hands are on the counter, neither reaching for the other, but only a few inches apart.
“But I’m not ready to give up,” I continue, knocking my knuckles once. “I know you see yourself differently than I do. But I’m not ready to stop trying to help you. You’re not the villain. You’re not a freak. We just don’t understand it. I can help. I’m good at figuring things out.”
She smiles at me with a quick tug of the sides of her mouth.
I continue, “I believe in you. I think you are special. You’re not normal, it’s true. But that’s what makes you, you. And I think you’re pretty awesome.”
She holds my gaze. Some color has returned to
her cheeks. “Thank you.”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking about your powers, and I had an idea.” Her episodes appear to be triggered by high-stress situations or negative emotions she suppresses. I wonder if other emotions are as effective, or if every strong feeling she fights to suppress would have the same effect. “A theory,” I add.
I release my mug to go around the small counter that separates us. As I move closer, her eyes go wider. She sidesteps me and flees toward the living room. “Have you met my roommate?” she asks.
I stop moving toward her. I halt. I totally forgot about the roommate.
“Ah, no. Are they here now?”
I can’t help but process the dimensions of the house, doing quick guesstimations in my head. There’s only enough square footage for one bedroom and a bathroom off this room. There isn’t another room for sleeping. Maybe roommate is code for …
“Ginger, this is Nathaniel. Nathaniel, this is Ginger.” Julia grins up at me, hands clasped behind her back. There is nobody around. Does she see dead people too? That one might be harder to swallow. I notice then the fish tank on the table she’s standing in front of. Just when I think I start to figure this woman out … She glances at me and back to the tank, waiting for me to respond.
“Hiya.” I crouch down to smile at the vibrant orange fish. The fish flips herself around and fans out her fins. “Aren’t you a pretty lady?”
“Show off,” Julia grumbles. Louder she says, “Technically, she’s a he. Betta dudes have the plumage. They have to do the attracting, like in most species. Which is a whole conversation for another time.”
“He’s gorgeous,” I say to the tank.
“Yeah, but don’t let him hear you. It’ll only go to his head.”
“Ginger? Because of his color.”
“Like Ginger Rogers. When he dances around it always reminds me of swishing dance skirts.”
I watch Ginger twirl and dance around the bowl. Next to me, Julia is studying him too. Her eyes are a bit more soulful as we watch the fish dance. Ginger really does seem to notice we’re watching him and hams it up.
“Do you miss performing?” I ask. Julia. Not the fish.
She sighs and smiles sadly at me. “I did like dancing for an audience. But it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to do that. Mostly I miss my grandma and grandpa. I miss not having to be so aware of myself all the time. I miss just existing.” Her eyes are hazy with memory.
A deep connection of understanding passes through me. I can’t remember the last time I said anything at work without thinking of how the team would react to it. Or when I worked normal hours, had hobbies, and felt balanced. The last time I felt like a good brother, if ever. I’m so tired, too. Sadness threatens me, so I say, “I don’t have any pets. Maybe when Lincoln moves in with me, we can get a dog.”
I say it out loud, though I didn’t mean to. Something about her company makes me want to share my dreams, both big and small. I want to know all hers, too. I want to know everything about her.
“He doesn’t live with you now?” She straightens to ask.
“I’m hoping to get custody soon,” I mumble. “It’s complicated.”
Maybe sensing that I’m not ready to talk about it she just says, “You guys should definitely get a dog.” She’s close enough to smell the mint from her toothpaste.
We hold each other’s gaze. I take a step forward. Her eyelashes drop as she watches my feet step closer.
“You, ah, mentioned a theory? Some thoughts you had?” She wets her full bottom lip.
“Yeah.” I take deep breath but don’t step back. “You mentioned you thought that dancing triggered you, right? Something about the exertion.”
She nods, her gaze moves around my face. “Any time I’m really worked up.” Her voice is a whisper.
“But I was thinking about other times you went off.” I take a small step forward.
She steps back.
“A performance,” I say.
She nods once but doesn’t take her gaze off me.
“At the meeting.” I move closer.
She swallows but doesn’t step back.
“Times you were intimate with a partner.”
Color rushes to her cheeks and I long to press my fingertips there to feel the heat. “Mm-hmm.”
I do have a theory. And as I know from years of work in the scientific field, the best way to learn is to test it.
* * *
Julia
There isn’t enough space between us to do a shuffle step. I may not have a ton of experience with men but every womanly instinct screams that Nathaniel is about to kiss me. It makes my skin tingle. I want him so bad. I’m at war with myself.
He came here to apologize. He brought me a gift. He cares about me and any anger from that night in the lab has officially melted away. Now I only feel this growing desire between us.
“I have this idea.” He only needs to whisper because he’s so close. I study his lips as he speaks. “Maybe when you care about something, it triggers emotion in you. It’s the suppressed emotion that causes you to lose control. It didn’t work at the lab because you had already gone off. There was no risk or elevated awareness, just general happiness. You were able to be yourself.”
Despite his proximity, I let his theory sink in. It was true. I’d been more relaxed than ever that night. And when I dance, it’s always the idea that I might go off that makes me tense, almost as though the thought of it happening makes it true. Like being on the cusp of a panic attack, just thinking you might have one can push you over the edge.
With him being this close, the power starts to stir in me. But is it him that triggers the power, or is it my feelings for him? I long for the easy comfort of his nearness when he’s not around, but when we are together I feel so hyper-aware of every molecule in the air between us.
“I’m not sure what triggers it,” I say.
Fear? Excitement? Straight-up horniness?
He is so close to me now. My longing must be written all over my features. I would be ashamed but his eyes are dark and stormy with desire too.
“I would never hurt you,” he says with such vehemence that the truth of it settles into my bones.
“I know,” I say.
“But I’m not without sin,” he says.
He’s gaze studies my bare shoulder. He’s watching it like it might have the answers to everything.
“Who among us is?” Even to my own ears my voice is too deep, too husky.
“Hmm.” His right hand slowly lifts from his side to hover just in front of me. His pointer finger reaches forward and painfully slow, gently presses to the divot at the base of my throat. My body trembles against him. I don’t dare move. A simple finger touched to me is the most direct contact I have felt in years. My eyes shut and I let myself have this moment.
His finger grazes the skin, tracing the shape of my collarbone. As it travels, my shirt shifts out of his way as though waiting for the slightest provocation to fall off. My body tingles with desire, grows heavy from it. My mind battles the luxury of this moment with an alarm bell buried so deep in my longing, it can’t be heard.
“So soft,” he whispers.
He steps closer so the heat of him encompasses my entire front. From the tips of my toes to my hair line, I feel his heat. Not my own. Another body burns against mine for once.
“Nathaniel,” I whisper. I’m not sure if I think he should stop or keep going.
Keep going. Definitely keep going.
“I love how you say my name.”
“Is this a good idea?” I manage to gasp out, though it’s a struggle with his touch short-circuiting my brain.
“I can stop any time you say,” he says. “But I am running an experiment.”
“True.”
“And that takes pushing things to their limits.”
“Yes,” I gasp softly.
“And lots and lots of tests.”
“I fucking love science,” I say
on a rushed sigh.
He chuckles and makes a soft Mm sound. “Me too.”
With eyes still closed I focus only on this moment. I luxuriate in his gentle touch and think only about that. I’m not alone in this. This sort of spark can’t be imagined. His finger stills.
“Remarkable,” he mutters.
It’s enough for me to open my eyes. I gasp in wonder as his finger starts up again, travelling lightly from shoulder to shoulder, tracing my collarbone. Everywhere it touches, his finger leaves a small glowing trail behind, like an overexposed photograph of a shooting star. His touch leaves an imprint on my body. He’s pulling my light to the surface.
His gaze moves to mine, eyes full of wonder. “Beautiful. This is amazing. You are amazing.”
“What does it feel like?” I ask.
His mouth opens on a soft inhale of breath. “Like how I imagine petting a butterfly’s wing feels. Warm. But soft.” The wide of his mouth lifts. “A little tingly.”
“Good?” I ask breathlessly.
“Good.” His gravelly voice causes me to shiver. “So good,” he says.
Instead of just a finger, his entire hand presses against my collarbone. His fingertips slide behind my neck, his thumb at the base of my throat. My hammering pulse beats against his touch. He squeezes lightly. His other hand drifts to the base of my back, gently pulling me closer to him.
My eyes close again as my mouth opens. I lean toward him, into him, flush against him. We’ve come together in so many places; our toes, our thighs, my stomach against his waist. He’s hard when I push my hips closer to him. He groans low in his throat. Every single sensation spirals as I melt into his touch.
Our lips meet.
The soft strength of his lips is intoxicating. His scent invades me. His body rocks gently once into mine. It’s the dream I let myself have in the dark of night, under the blankets. It’s the touch I’ve longed for. It. Is. Everything.
He gently rocks his head side to side, his lips creating a soft friction along my closed mouth. He’s mimicking the way his finger traced my chest. The simple action is the most arousing thing I have ever experienced by a mile. His breath is warm and indulgent as it mingles with mine.
The Untouched: THE UNSEEN SERIES, #2 Page 14
