Just a Crush

by Tabatha Kiss

  He looks at me once more. His breath stops, almost as if time itself stopped along with it. Not that I’d blame it, really. If I could lock myself in this moment for as long as possible, I certainly would in a heartbeat.

  Jonah’s eyes fall to my lips and he sighs. “I need you,” he simply says.

  I stiffen, unsure what to do. He needs me? Needs me as his muse; something precious and untouchable? Or needs me needs me; something urgent and primal? What do I do?

  What do I do?

  I kiss him. That’s what I do.

  I kiss him and he starts breathing again, filling his lungs with the warm, shared space between us. I kiss him and his hand shifts to the small of my back, fingers splayed out to pull me even closer than before.

  I kiss him and he kisses me back twofold.

  My ankles sway beneath me so I hook my fingers even tighter around his biceps. He flexes harder in response, his tongue curling with mine as a deep groan vibrates his throat.

  One step forward for him, two steps back for me, and I feel my bed brush against the pits of my knees. I lower down, guided ever so gently by his cradling hands. His thigh presses between mine, effortlessly pushing me back to lie on my pillows while he hovers over me on his arms, our mouths barely parting the entire way there.

  I roll my hips, letting instinct drive a natural urge growing inside of me. Jonah’s knee presses into the place between my thighs and I grind against it once. Twice.

  Holy shit.

  Heat sparks through my body but I hesitate, feeling more than a little self-conscious beneath him.

  When I stop, he slides his leg down and lies flat above me. “Are you okay?” he whispers.

  I nod. I swallow. I melt. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “You didn’t like that?”

  “No, I did. I did. I just… feel silly, that’s all.”

  He smiles. “Well, it looks good,” he says. “Sounds good.” He kisses me again, soft and slow. “Tastes good.”

  His hips move between my thighs, denim brushing against denim.

  “Sexy,” he says. “Not silly.”

  I quiver as he grinds a little harder and I feel a stiffness press along my seam.

  Jonah Botsford has an erection.

  He has an erection because of me.

  And I… I…

  Oh, my god.

  A sound escapes my throat. I feel the quickening pulse down there, reacting in time with his movements. My hips rise to meet his, forcing the grind to touch me just right again and we both sigh into each other.

  “Fuck,” Jonah whispers. “Is this okay?”

  “Yes,” I gasp.

  His head drops, lips on my neck. I moan softly as he kisses to my collarbone over my shirt. I comb my fingers through his hair as our bodies move together; up and down, up and down. Not an inch of skin is touching other than our mouths but I’ve never felt anything more intimate in my life.

  My core trembles, each new brush of his body sparking new pleasures within me. I follow it blindly, closing my eyes and letting myself feel him. I touch his chest. I rest a hand on his side. He glides a hand up my thigh and lays it an inch below my breast. I wonder when he’ll go higher. I wonder if I should tell him to. I wonder if he’s thinking of asking.

  I… I…

  I moan.

  He grunts.

  He curses under his breath again.

  I quiver at the sound of it.

  That deep growl.

  All because of me.

  Me?

  I’m just Marla. I’m…

  I’m…

  I’m gonna…

  My door opens.

  A gasp.

  “Sweet Jesus.”

  I fling up to sit, pushing Jonah off me and wiping my mouth as I look in horror at the open door.

  My mother stands there, her uniformed outline illuminated by the bright light in the hallway.

  “Mom!” I throw my feet on the floor and stand up, awkwardly planting my hand on the bedside table for balance. “I thought you were gone ‘til midnight.”

  Her lowers her hand from her mouth. “It is midnight,” she says.

  I blink twice toward the clock on my desk. 12:05.

  “Oh,” I say.

  Jonah stands up. “I didn’t realize it was so late,” he says, clearing his throat. “I should really go this time.”

  “Yes, you should,” Mom says, her hands now perched on her hips.

  I look at her with pouting eyes, silently begging her to be cool about this.

  She doesn’t react.

  Shit.

  “Mom, this is Jonah,” I say, an attempt to defuse the situation. “Jonah, this is my mom. Angie.”

  Jonah gives her a respectful nod. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” he says.

  Her face doesn’t move at all. “Hello,” she replies.

  I step forward, putting myself between them. “I’ll walk you out,” I say to Jonah.

  My mother silently shifts to the side to unblock the doorway and I take the opportunity to bolt out into the hallway. Jonah stays a half-step behind me the entire path to the front door. I open it for him and he walks out into the autumn desert air first. My mother lingers in the living room, hands on hips and mouth tightly wound.

  I raise a finger, silently asking her for a minute, and I follow Jonah outside onto the porch.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper as I close the door. “I can’t believe I lost track of time.”

  Jonah chuckles, his posture lovingly curved in my direction. “It’ll be okay. On the scale of traumatizing parental walk-ins, that could have ranked much worse. Trust me.”

  I exhale a deep breath. “I do.”

  He dips down further to kiss my cheek. “Tomorrow?” he asks, the word brilliantly full of possibility.

  “Tomorrow,” I say with a nod.

  Another kiss, this one on the tipped edge of my mouth. “Sweet dreams, Marla,” he whispers.

  I smile. “Goodnight, Jonah.”

  He turns on his heels and walks down the sidewalk toward his car with an extra skip in his step. I watch him go, beautifully paralyzed while butterflies tear me apart from the inside out, until that lightning blue car takes off down the street.

  My mother stands at the curtained windows as I walk inside. “Is that a Porsche?” she asks, suspiciously.

  I close and lock the door behind me. “Yes,” I answer.

  “You’re dating a boy with a Porsche?”

  “I’m… friends with a boy with a Porsche.”

  She chortles. “You’re friends with benefits with a boy with a Porsche?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “It wasn’t like that until like five minutes before you came home.”

  “It took five minutes to create you, honey,” she says. “If I had been five minutes later—”

  “No,” I say again. “Really, Mom. It’s not like that yet.”

  “Yet?”

  “Mom.”

  She holds up her hands. “I need wine for this,” she says.

  I deflate as she walks off toward the kitchen. I’d like nothing more than to run to my room and bury my head in the sand of a pillow fort but I follow her instead, moving slowly to mentally prepare myself for what’s to come.

  I reach the kitchen as she sets two plastic tumblers on the table and twists the cap off the wine bottle.

  “Sit down,” she says as she pours an ample amount into both of them.

  I do as she says and take a seat across from her. “Look, Mom, I—”

  She raises a finger to silence me and takes a long drink from her cup. As she sets it down, she leans back in her chair and wipes the dribble from her lip. She swallows. She exhales.

  She digs in for a long talk.

  “Are you having sex?” she asks me.

  “No,” I answer.

  “Are you going to have sex?”

  I inhale and pause. “I don’t know. Eventually in life, maybe. I assume.”

  “Do you remember how to
protect yourself when you do have sex?”

  “Yes, Mom. I remember.”

  “Because I’d be more than happy to review the important bits with you right now.”

  I raise a begging hand. “I know how it works. I know how to be safe. I’m twenty-one years old. None of this is necessary.”

  “Shut up and drink your wine.”

  I pick up my cup and take a drink as she does.

  “How long have you been friends with this boy?” she asks before her cup reaches the table.

  “His name is Jonah.”

  “Until I deem it necessary, he’s this boy.”

  I chuckle. “Fair enough.”

  “How long?”

  “… A few days? But I’ve known him for a long time,” I add.

  “From where?” she asks.

  “The hotel.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Is he nice to you?”

  “Of course he is.”

  “Because I don’t want you giving it up to some snobby jerk because you think you have to.”

  “Mom.” I give a kind smile. “Jonah is very nice to me. He’s thoughtful and respectful and I never would have let him in this house if I didn’t trust him.”

  She nods slowly. After a moment, she taps her cup twice on the table and exhales. “All right, then. If it happens again — and preferably not when you’re at home alone with the boys —”

  “Yeah, sorry about that, I really didn’t—”

  Her finger sticks up. I close my mouth. “If it happens again, give me a heads up. I don’t want to walk in on anything more than what I already have.”

  “Okay, but… really, Mom, I’m not even sure what that was let alone if it’ll ever happen again.”

  “Still. If it does…”

  “I will put a scrunchy on the door.”

  “Thank you. Now. Having said that…” She finishes off her drink and sets the empty cup down as her expression shifts to something lighter. “He was cute.”

  I chuckle. “He was, yeah.”

  “And familiar.” She squints. “Where have I seen him before?”

  “Oh. Well. He’s, uh…” I fill the time with a quick sip. “He’s Jonah Botsford.”

  Her brow arches. “Botsford?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “As in the Botsford Plaza Botsfords?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The baseball player?” she asks, trying to narrow them down.

  “No. The one in the band.”

  She blinks. “The one in Criminal Records? That one?”

  My smile digs in deeper. “That’s him.”

  Her expression settles into a mixture of shock, awe, and genuine pride. “Well, if you’re not gonna have sex with him then can I?”

  My jaw drops. “Mom! No!”

  She flashes a teasing grin. “Are MILFs still a thing with the boys nowadays? Because I’ve still got it.”

  I laugh. “Please don’t.”

  “But seriously,” she says, her laugh quietly lingering, “be careful.”

  “I am careful.”

  “I’m not hypocritical enough to tell you not to do what you’re gonna do anyway, but…”

  “I know.” I reach out and pat her hand. “I’ll be careful.”

  “Okay, then.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “So, how did this happen? There’s gotta be a good story behind why I walked in on a rockstar dry-humping my daughter tonight.”

  I cringe. “Okay, yeah. There is.”

  She props her chin upon her palm and waits.

  I take a long drink from my cup. I sit back in my chair and wipe the dribble from my chin. I exhale.

  I dig in for a long story.

  Eighteen

  Jonah

  Tomorrow, I said.

  As in the morning at the earliest.

  But I can’t wait that long.

  I fish my phone out of my pocket and swipe it on before my hotel room door even latches behind me. There’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep tonight with that encounter on my mind, so open-ended and non-committal. I need to know. I need to be sure exactly when I’ll see Marla Gorchinsky again or else I’ll go insane.

  I kick off my shoes as I plop down onto the edge of my bed and listen to the dull tones of her ringing phone. Will she let me go to voicemail? Why did I even call? I should have just texted her, though I know if I did I’d spend the night over-analyzing every piece of punctuation or lack thereof. No, this is best. Calling is best.

  Assuming she even wants to talk to me after I practically forced myself on her.

  Stay.

  No, she asked me to stay. She wanted me to stay.

  Christ, if her mother hadn’t have showed up…

  I’ll picture that in the shower later, I’m sure.

  “Hello?”

  I startle, blinking out of my trance. “Hey, it’s me,” I say.

  “Hey, Jonah.” A door closes in the background. “What’s up?”

  “I was just calling to check in on you after… well, that thing that just happened.”

  “Right, yeah. The, uh… the thing.”

  “I didn’t get you in trouble, did I?” I ask.

  “No,” she says. “No, on the scale of brutal Angie Gorchinsky tongue-lashings, it could have been much worse.”

  I chuckle. “Good.”

  “She said you were cute, so… it really could have been worse.”

  My grin spreads as I lie down on my sheets. “She did, did she?”

  “Yup.”

  “It’s nice to know I play well to her demographic.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, right.”

  I laugh with her and pause, taking a deep breath to clear my thoughts before continuing. “Listen, Marla, I’m sorry if that was too much back there.”

  She replies slowly. “It wasn’t.”

  “No?”

  “It was a lot, definitely. But it wasn’t too much.”

  “Right.” I nod. “I get it.”

  “If you don’t want it to happen again, I completely understand,” she adds, her words coming quickly like ripping off a Band-Aid.

  “Why would you think I wouldn’t?” I ask.

  “Well—”

  “And don’t ask me why I would.”

  She stops. “I sort of figured that you came to me as… I don’t know, a last resort?”

  “Of course I want it to happen again,” I say. “You weren’t a last resort, Marla. You were my first choice.” I wait for her to say something but she stays quiet. “You hear me?”

  “Yes,” she says. “I heard you.”

  I flex my open fist, a futile attempt to calm myself. “I have you in my life because I want you there,” I add. “And I laid you down on that bed because I couldn’t stand not to anymore.”

  “Jonah…” she says, weakly.

  “I like you, Marla. If that’s a lot or too much then I’ll back off but I don’t want to stop seeing you. I meant it when I said I needed you.”

  “Your muse?” she asks.

  “Exactly.” Again, I wait. I wait for her to refute it or agree she needs me as much as I need her or even put me out of my misery. I just need to hear her voice again. “Marla?” I ask, impatient.

  Marla exhales loudly. “You left your beanie here,” she finally says.

  I reach up with my free hand and run it through my hair, somehow realizing for the first time that I wasn’t wearing it the whole way home. “I guess I did…”

  “Yeah, you left it on my… on my bed,” she says. “So, I should bring it back to you sometime soon.”

  I smile. “Yeah, I’d appreciate that. It’s my favorite one, so…”

  “I could tell.” She chuckles. “You wear it a lot.”

  “That I do.” I clear my throat. “Hey, so, I’m gonna be at band practice tomorrow until about three.”

  “Three? Isn’t that usually when you wake up?”

  “Yeah, I gotta be there at seven AM. It’s going to be… rough.” I hear her laug
h harder and I smile, blissfully taken by the sound. “But I need to get back into it and it’s best to just dive in, you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  “Anyway, I was wondering if you’d be around after to work on the song? I’m dying to hear your second verse.”

  “Sure,” she says. “Mom is off, so I’ve got the afternoon wide open.”

  “She won’t mind you sneaking away with me for a few hours?” I ask.

  “No, she won’t mind. She’s cool about… that thing that happened.”

  “Cool. I’ll, uh…” My lips twitch. “I’ll meet you here in my room around three, then?”

  “I’ll bring the beanie,” she says.

  I take a deep breath, a futile attempt to take one final fill of her before she has to go away again. “Sweet dreams, Marla,” I say.

  I hear the smile in her voice as she replies, “Goodnight, Jonah.”

  Nineteen

  Marla

  I’m his muse.

  I step into the Botsford Plaza, just as I’ve done a thousand times before. There’s still a bit of auto-pilot in my muscles, making me want to step behind the counter and head to the break room to deposit my things before starting my shift but those days are over. Those days are heavily-missed, but they’re over.

  No, I’m here for another reason entirely and I’m not exactly sure what that is anymore.

  We kissed last night.

  Are we going to kiss again today?

  I laid you down on that bed because I couldn’t stand not to anymore.

  I can’t get that out of my head. I practically stayed up all night thinking about it and the desperation in his voice. That kiss wasn’t a spontaneous happenstance. It might not have been planned either but it was certainly premeditated. Jonah wanted to kiss me.

  I wanted it, too.

  So, we’ll kiss again today, right?

  Shit, I don’t even know.

  “Ms. Gorchinsky!”

  I pause in the middle of the lobby and turn toward the voice calling my name. It’s just Rian, my classmate and former co-worker.

  “Oh, hey, Rian,” I say. “What’s up?”

  He catches up to me and stops, standing tall with his heels flush together and a hidden smile on his mouth. “A Mr. Jonah Botsford has asked me to deliver you this,” he says, speaking with very fake and very bad British accent.