The Opportunist

by Tarryn Fisher

  “What?”

  He let go of my wrists, or more appropriately flung them away, but before I could move, he’d grabbed me around my waist and pulled me against him.

  He kissed me, not a normal Caleb kiss, but a fierce moving of his mouth over mine. He was so in control of my mouth that I couldn’t have kissed back if I’d wanted to.

  My hands pushed against his chest, trying to move the rock of him away, but it was useless.

  My body started pounding in response to his touch. It was so powerful, I was sure I was going to split in half.

  I picked up on the rhythm of his lips and returned his kisses, pressure for pressure, bite for bite. He broke away from my lips just when I had the hang of it and grabbed a fistful of my hair pulling my head back so that he had access to my neck.

  Caleb peeled away from me and for a second I’d thought I’d won. But instead of backing away, he grabbed my t-shirt by the collar and with one tug, ripped it from top to bottom. My limp arms provided no traction and it fluttered to the ground. I stared, disbelievingly at him, and he grabbed me again, kissing my shoulders, running his lips over my collar bone. My bra came off, with a flick of his fingers and suddenly my legs lost their will to stand. Caleb scooped me up from behind my knees and placed me on my back, coming to rest on top of me. I wasn’t providing a shred of resistance at this point. My mind had stopped working—stopped making excuses. I was tangled up in the moment and for once I didn’t mind.

  “Are you still in control?” he said this into my hair, as his hands climbed my thigh. I wrapped myself around him and nodded into his neck. Sure, I was. I was making a conscious decision to go along with this little roll we were having. I desperately wished that he would just shut up and get on with it.

  “Stop me,” he said. “If you’re in control, then stop me.”

  His hand was at the junction of my thighs now and stopping him was the last thing I wanted to do. I dug my nails into his arms in response. Caleb grabbed at the waistband of my sweatpants and tugged them down. Everything was blurry—everything except what I wanted to happen.

  “Who owns you?” he said.

  What? Weren’t we past this already?

  I opened my eyes and looked up at him and I started to grasp what was happening. Caleb still had all of his clothes on while I was lying on the floor in my panties. I had lost complete control. He was playing with me. I let my body go limp and looked into his face.

  “Who owns you?” he repeated more gently, placing his palm over the spot where my heart sat. He was right. He had my heart and every other piece of flesh that was attached to it. He wasn’t being a chauvinist. He was telling me something. I thought about sticking to my first reaction but the adult in me was struggling to get out.

  “You.”

  He stopped moving and I could feel his back heaving as he breathed. We were cheek to cheek, his arms resting on either side of my body. In one giant movement, he sprang off of me, and landed on his feet like a cat.

  “Thank you.” He straightened his collar and then he walked out of the tent and left me—on the floor in nothing but my panties.

  I burst into tears.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Present

  “What is it like twenty degree’s outside?” I shiver and rub my arms. It is our last day and a ball of dread has taken up residence in my stomach.

  “Try fifty,” he says handing me a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

  I frown and climb back inside the tent to pack. I am folding clothes when I hear his voice.

  “Olivia, we need to talk,” I peer over my shoulder suspiciously. He is spinning his thumb ring—always a bad sign.

  I sigh. Is this about the phone? I wondered.

  “Sure.” I am balancing on the very lip of disaster and I can feel our time sliding through my fingers like sand. I remember that creepo, rapist’s warning outside of the music shop; You should get home before it’s too late. The sky’s red with trouble. Red, red, red…like Leah’s hair.

  I follow him outside, my coffee still in hand. He leans on the hood of his car.

  “What’s up?” I try to be nonchalant as I sidle up next to him.

  “What’s going on here, Olivia? What are we doing?”

  “Camping,” I declare, which doesn’t even earn me half of a smile.

  What does he want me to say? What’s safe?

  “We are…I don’t know Caleb. What do you want me to say?”

  He shakes his head. He looks disappointed. Am I supposed to spill my guts? Before I can open my lying mouth, he beats me to it.

  “You can’t think of anything to say?” he quizzes. I shake my head. Why do I always lie? For real, it’s like a disease.

  “All right then…” He does the unexpected, instead of pushing me for more, he starts packing up our things; sleeping bags, clothes, Pickles. They all get tossed into the car, one by one, two by two, and all I could do is watch with my mouth open. But then what could I say? I want to be with you Caleb. These few days have been the stuff of dreams. I love you more every second I’m with you.

  I am in a corner. I reluctantly get into the car and stuff my cold hands under my armpits. Caleb turns the music all the way up and ignores me. I am so mad. I think about things I can say to piss him off but I am too chicken to carry any of them out. The old Caleb had a hot temper, and if this guy had inherited it, I don’t want to find out.

  The hills became flatland, as Georgia melts into Florida.

  I turn down the volume as we cruise through Tallahassee and turn my body until I am half facing him.

  “Caleb…talk to me.”

  I see a muscle in his jaw twitch, but other than that he gives me nada.

  “Please—talk to me,” I try. This is going to be harder than I expect. New tactic.

  “Why are you being so sensitive? I don’t say what you want to hear and now you’re sulking?”

  That does it. He takes the exit, swerving to the right at the last minute. I hear a grunt from Pickles as she’s thrown across the backseat.

  We are in the middle of nowhere and there is only trees and road ahead of us. Caleb zooms into the gates of what looks like a park. There are only three parking spaces and they are all deserted. He pulls into one and jerks on the brake. This place is really creepy. I fidget nervously and look at his face.

  “What are we doing?” he asks again.

  “I…” I look out of the window desperate for an escape. He’s trying to get me to talk about my feelings, something I can’t do with all of the lying going on. Despite my fear of the dark, I jump out of the car.

  “Where are you going?” he demands, opening his door and following suit. Before I have the door shut, he walks around to where I am and corners me.

  I try to push past him but he presses me against the door with his body and puts both hands on either side of my head. We are nose to nose, as he seethes at me.

  “What. Are. We. Doing?” he demands.

  I squirm, but there is nowhere to go. I place both of my hands on his chest. Why is he trying to milk this out of me anyway? I’d swear this is the old Caleb, not the gentle little fawn I’ve been dealing with.

  “Okay, okay. But, you have to get out of my personal space…”

  He relents a few inches and I use the opportunity to duck under his arm.

  I ignore his calls and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. I am heading into complete darkness, but it seems better than the alternative. I need to think for a minute. I walk until I can no longer hear the hum of the highway. I am in the woods—no, I am in an orange grove. I recognize the fragrant white flowers that are peppering the trees. They smell like Caleb, of course, because everything in my freaking life has to be about Caleb? I kick a tree.

  I can hear feet moving in the dirt behind me, so I stop. Might as well tell him everything now, so I square my shoulders and prepare to fight.

  Caleb walks out of the darkness like a beautiful ghost. When he catches sight of me, h
e stops short. We stare at each other and then I cross my arms over my chest.

  “What are we doing?” I repeat his question. “I am trying to escape my miserable, lonely life. I…” I take a deep breath before I continue. “I am a liar and a wicked person. I’ve lied to you, I—”

  It takes him three seconds to reach where I am standing. I hear myself gasp as he pins me against a tree. He is inches from my face, his arms braced on the trunk to block my escape.

  “Stop,” he says. “Just stop.”

  I look at his eyes and look away. Why is he making everything so hard? I just want to get it out already…

  "Look at me," he demands.

  I do.

  "You're making excuses and you’re playing games with me," he says.

  "No—I…"

  "Yes. You. Are. I don’t care what you’ve done. Just tell me how you feel."

  He looks so angry I shrink back against the tree until I felt the bark digging into my back. He wants an honest answer, but I’m pretty sure you have to be an actual honest person to give one of those. I lick my lips, thinking…thinking. I have a million thoughts a day and they’re all about Caleb. All I have to do is make them come out of my mouth.

  “I want you to kiss me.”

  He doesn’t look surprised.

  “What else?”

  His lips— all I can see are his lips, so full and sensual. My breath is coming embarrassingly fast.

  If I just lean a little bit forward, our lips will touch. But, I know from years of experience that he won’t give me what I want, until I give him what he wants.

  My stubbornness kicks in. I turn my head to the side. He steers it back with a little swipe of his finger.

  "Olivia...." he warns. His eyes are gunning holes in my head. I can feel the heat of his chest beneath my fingertips, and I know that his heart is beating fast like mine.

  "Say it, Olivia. For once, damn-it, say it." He is looking at my lips-waiting. I think about lying. I don’t like how direct he’s suddenly become. I was perfectly comfortable playing games.

  "I want…you to…” I search for the word and can’t find it. “Can you just kiss me first and then we’ll see how I feel?”

  He does this thing where he puts his tongue between his teeth. He looks at my mouth like he’s considering it. I almost keel over on the spot.

  He moves his hands, resting one forearm on the tree above my head and wrapping the other around my waist.

  We are face to face with our foreheads touching. My breath is coming fast, my chest heaving in anticipation. I am a cliché; butterflies, tingling and heat swirling through me in the strongest form of desire I have ever experienced.

  I have two fistfuls of his shirt, and I clench tighter. "What are you waiting for?"

  Game playing, red-head loving, malingering fool!

  He narrows his eyes and I want to kiss the creases that appear at their corners. His voice is gruff and exposed when he speaks.

  "If I kiss you, I'm not going to stop.”

  I shut my eyes. It’s a threat, but a good one.

  "I won't ask you to.” I whisper it against his lips.

  The moment I feel his lips brush against mine I want to die. He nips at my bottom lip and pulls back. My hands leave his chest and wrap around his neck.

  “You said no games.”

  He smiles against my mouth. I am on my tiptoes, pressed against every warm inch of him. One soft kiss… two…another nip; his kisses are a lot like his personality. He’s lots of teasing; alternating between fast and slow, hard and soft. I am just getting accustomed to his rhythm when his tongue slides in my mouth. I make an embarrassing gasping noise. He smiles again, and it is so sexy I kiss him harder.

  A few more feathery, light kisses and then he comes at me full force. Our mouths crush together like two angry thunder clouds. His hands move up my abdomen.

  I begin to attack back because I am mad too. I kiss him for all the times I never got to kiss him, and for the times he’s been kissing Leah instead of me. I kiss him because I ruined everything and I could have had this every day. He breaks to kiss the sensitive spot at the nape of my neck.

  “Olivia,” he says into my ear. I shudder at the tone of his voice. When his voice drops low like that, I know he means business. We are both breathing hard.

  “Do you love me?”

  I freeze. A chill runs up my spine.

  He grabs my chin, and pivots it up.

  I know if I don’t answer him, he will walk away. I want so much to be honest with him; to tell him how long I’ve loved him, and why I love him-but all I can manage is a weak, “Yes,” in a whisper.

  “Say it,” Caleb says.

  I grit my teeth.

  He shakes me. “Say it.”

  How does he know it’s there to say?

  “I love you,” I shout at him. He looks like I’ve just slapped him. Now I’m fucking mad.

  I reach for his waist and pop the button on his jeans. He wasn’t expecting that.

  He is frozen. His body tense. I kiss him and try to melt away his resistance. It works and he comes at me like a flood. He breaks away from my lips to peel off his shirt and then he comes back so quickly I barely have time to breathe.

  Tentatively, I reach my hands up to touch him. His muscles tense under my fingertips. He’s so beautiful; broad shoulders, narrow waist. I pull my hands away, unsure of myself. Caleb grabs my wrist bringing my hands back to his skin. He is expert and I am novice; it is very clear to both of us. He paces me, controlling the moment. Slipping my shirt over my head, he kisses my shoulders, unclasps my bra. I step out of my pants.

  He pulls back.

  Then, he looks at me. I am mortified, it is a savage and masculine moment and I let him have it because I never did before. I feel like I am on display for the world. I have never let anyone see me naked.

  When he has taken his fill, he pulls me towards him.

  “God, Olivia,” he says into my neck. I am burning red. I don’t know what his words mean. I pull back to look at his face. His eyes have shifted. They are not calm and laughing anymore. I can see urgency and lust. I am so afraid of this moment.

  He scoops me off my feet in one graceful movement and I feel the cool grass prickle beneath my back. I can smell orange blossoms on the air. I curl around him, waiting.

  He takes his time easing into me. Our eyes are locked; mine grow wider with every inch. I didn’t know it would feel like this. I want to moan. I want to dig my nails in his back and wrap my legs around him, but I am too proud to do any of these things. He watches my face in fascination. He’s looking for a reaction, but my reaction is all on the inside where he can’t see it…where I am hiding it.

  He moves out, then in. He sucks on my lower lip. He laughs into my mouth. I pull my head back to look at him.

  “You’re that kind of girl.”

  I don’t know what he means. I’m not sure if I care—it feels so good.

  He grabs my wrists, pins them above my head.

  “Relax your legs.”

  For the first time in my life I do what I’m told. All of a sudden it feels even better. I press my lips together and roll my head to the side to hide my face from him. He runs his teeth along my earlobe and goose bumps skitter across my body. “Look at me.” His voice is raspy. I look at him. He moves harder. My breath hitches. Harder… and I’m breathing like I’ve just run a marathon.

  “You feel so good.”

  That does me in. Something like a moan gets lost on his collarbone as I press my face against his chest. When I look up he has a Eureka look on his face. “That’s how I make you moan?”

  After that he says really dirty things in my ear. He’s found my weakness. I make noises I will regret until the day I die.

  I feel myself climbing, but I don’t want it to be the end. He is in complete and utter control of my mind and body. I don’t like the feeling of not being in control. When he bends his head to my shoulder, I take the opportunity to flip myself o
n top of him. He lets me steer our movements for a few minutes before taking control of my hips. Two can play at this game. I lean down to say something into his ear.

  “Harder Caleb… and don’t pull out…” His eyes close and his fingers dig into my thighs. I feel a slight victory until he flips me onto my back.

  “I wasn’t planning on it.” My orgasm punctuates his sentence.

  I do not make a sound.

  We don’t speak on the drive home. Caleb helps me clean the mess in my apartment. We fill ten giant trash bags with the leftovers of what used to be my life, scooping broken plates, and glasses into one and the shreds of my clothes into another.

  We work in silence with the radio playing softly in the background. I keep pausing in the middle of what I am doing to think about what happened in the orange grove.

  I taste salty tears on my lips when I lift my Thomas Barbey print from its cracked frame. It is just a print but still it is mine and I loved it. Before I can crumple it up, Caleb rescues it from my hands, and s it to the side.

  “We can fix that one,” he says running a finger along my jaw.

  When I find my grandmother’s antique porcelain figurine lying in shards on the floor, I lock myself in the bathroom to cry. Caleb sensing the importance of the hand painted shepardess leaves me be, and discreetly disposes of everything aside from her face, which miraculously stayed intact. I find it later, wrapped in tissue paper and tucked in a box of barely salvaged items he thinks I would want to keep. When everything that used to be mine sits in ten garbage bags by the front door, Caleb hugs me and leaves. I lean against the window overlooking the parking lot and watch him walk to his car. I feel a loneliness so violent my lungs feel like they are closing. I place both of my palms on my temples and squeeze. I can’t do this. I can’t lie anymore. He is too good. He doesn’t deserve the wickedness I deliver and he deserves to hear the truth from me, not Leah. I run for the door and rip it open. “Caleb wait!”