by Whitney G.
He sent me a text:
Are you hitting ignore because you don’t want to admit that I was right about Nicole?
You were wrong about her, actually. We’re at my place taking shots and eating pizza. I’ll call you later.
I’m looking at her right now, so unless you’ve grown a beard and a mustache within the past six hours, I take it that she did, in fact, bail on you?
Unfortunately. The guy she’s with has a beard and a mustache?
Yes. He also looks like he’s at least ten to twelve years older than her.
You’re kidding.
Not at all. What are you really doing?
Moping about what pitiful friends I have. (You included.) You?
Getting ready to head home. I was trying to help Josh find a “just friend” friend at the bar tonight.
Did it work?
No. He decided to go for the one-night stand option instead. You want some company?
Not really …
Well, I do. Be ready in twenty. I’ll pick you up and we’ll come to my place.
What’s wrong with my place?
I would answer that, but it never happened …
I blushed.
Okay. See you in twenty.
I didn’t bother changing out of my pajamas. I put on a pair of old worn sneakers and took a duffle bag out of my closet.
I walked downstairs and stuffed most of the things Nicole had bought inside the bag.
“You going to a slumber party, Ari?” Heather looked up at me from the counter, smiling. “Aren’t we a little too old for those?”
“No, Nicole stood me up again, so I’m going to hang out with Carter for a while.”
“Oh. Well, sorry to hear that about Nicole, again. At least Carter was free tonight, right?”
“Right.” I paused. “I slept with him the other night.”
“You slept with who?” She tilted her head to the side.
“Carter. I slept with him. We had sex.”
“Right.” She put her hand over her chest and laughed loudly. “Like I’d ever believe that! You two are like the cutest non-couple/best friends ever.” She looked down at her work again. “Have fun.”
“I’ll try.” I slung the duffel bag over my shoulder and stepped onto the porch. I was certain that most people wouldn’t believe we’d had sex either; hell, even though I had the memory to prove it, a part of me was still in disbelief.
Carter pulled up just as I was sitting down. Instead of waiting on me to make a move for the car, he walked up the pathway and reached for the duffle bag.
“Are you planning on asking me to move in?” He held it up. “What the hell is in this?”
“Snacks and alcohol, courtesy of Nicole.”
“Well, at least something good came out of her standing you up this time.” He slipped his hand around my waist—sending those familiar, palpable tremors down my spine, as we walked to his car.
We made the short drive to his place without saying much of anything to each other and like always, I adjusted his music from indie rock to soft pop.
I wanted to say something, to laugh and joke about something insignificant, but all I could think about was how badly I wanted to feel his lips on mine again.
“Arizona?” His voice broke me out of my thoughts and I realized he was holding my door open. “Are you going to get out of the car? Why do you always stare into space when the car is parked?”
“Bad habit.” I got out and followed him inside. As we walked down the hallway, we could hear soft moans and groans coming from Josh’s bedroom.
I tried my best to tune them out, as Carter led me into his room and shut the door.
“Are you actually going to talk to Nicole about flaking on you this time, or are you just going to let it go, like you normally do?” he asked, setting the duffle bag on the floor.
“Honestly? I think I’m just going to stop agreeing to go out with her. She’ll get the point eventually, and maybe then, when she realizes what’s happened, we can talk.”
“Makes sense.” He popped open a drink and handed it to me. “Were you two really planning on watching any of these movies?”
“Why?”
“Because they’re all terrible.” He shuffled through the DVDs. “I know I’m the one who wanted company, but can we bypass the chick-flick thing?”
“In exchange for what?”
“I’ll watch one of your cooking shows in exchange for any of these. When Harry Met Sally? Maid in Manhattan? The Breakfast Club?”
“The Breakfast Club isn’t a chick flick.” I snatched that DVD from him. “I doubt she and I were going to make it through any of these.”
“Good.” He picked up the remote and turned on the TV, flipping it to the cooking channel I was watching before.
The chef had moved on from crème brûlée and was now getting ready to prepare a seven-course meal.
Carter handed me the remote and a handful of snacks. “Need anything else?”
“Would you like to take turns painting our nails when the show goes off?”
“Not at all. Is this a re-run?”
“Maybe. Why?”
“I’m just wondering,” he said, getting in bed behind me. “I wanted to know if I would be able to talk to you during the show.”
“You’re the one who was lonely and needed company. I was just fine.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep.” I turned up the volume. “And even though it is a re-run, and you claim you hate cooking shows, I know deep down, you love watching them with me.”
He laughed, but he didn’t say anything else. He pulled me back by my shoulders until I was leaning against his chest.
I swallowed, ignoring the sudden tension between us and kept my eyes glued to the TV.
“Make sure you have the oven preset to 375 degrees. Not 350, not 400. 375.” The chef took out another set of ingredients.
Carter blew a soft breath against my neck and my breathing slowed. I tried to ignore the fact that my heart was now racing, that I could literally feel myself getting wet.
“This is how you want to season the vegetables.” The chef was smiling at the camera, showing off his different brushes, but I wasn’t paying any attention. I couldn’t.
Carter was kissing my neck every few seconds—letting his teeth softly graze my skin, and my body was betraying me by reacting to his every move.
“Could you get us some ice from the kitchen?” I broke away from him, once his hands began to massage my shoulders. “And some glasses, please?”
“Sure.” He smiled and stood up, leaving the room.
Shaking my head, I took several deep breaths and tried not to think too much. Then I moved to the other side of the bed, at the end, by his dresser.
Carter returned to the room and looked at me, holding back a laugh as he set the ice on his desk. He filled one of the glasses with juice and walked over, handing it to me.
“Any reason why you moved down here?” he asked.
“The view is better from here. Much better.”
“Do you mind if I join you and see for myself?”
“Yes.” My cheeks were on fire. “Yes, I do mind. You seemed to enjoy the view from where you were on the bed before, so …” I stopped talking once I realized he was ignoring me and moving behind me anyway.
He pulled me against him again and began to run his fingers through my hair.
I tried to zone in on what the chef was saying again, but it was no use. I’d seen this episode hundreds of times, cooked the meal alongside him quite a few times, and I could probably recite his recipe and instructions from memory.
Feeling Carter tug at my hair again, I turned around to face him. “Why aren’t you paying attention to the show?”
“Because I’d rather pay attention to something far more interesting.”
“Something like my hair?” I smiled. “Interested in the type of conditioner I used today?”
A smile formed on his lips and he looked like he was
about to say something smart in return, but I beat him to it.
“Are you trying to have sex with me?” I asked.
“By running my fingers through your hair?” He smirked. “If that was the case, I think I would do something far more deliberate than that.”
“Like attempting to kiss me?”
“Attempting?” He leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine. “No. I would just kiss you.” He didn’t let go of my mouth until I was breathless, and then he pulled me into his lap, so I was straddling him.
Without saying another word, he ran his fingers through my hair, kissing my lips again and again.
“Do you—” I paused as he planted a kiss against my forehead. “Do you remember how I said we should forget how that night between us happened?” I asked.
“I have no idea what night you’re talking about.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Is it in reference to when I ‘fucked’ you?” He smiled.
“Yes.” I pushed his shoulder. “Well …”
“Well?”
“Technically, we had sex in the early hours of the morning that day. It wasn’t at night so … We still have the hours of today, which are included in the hours of the weekend, so I think that we should have sex again but not past today. Because that way …”
“That way, what?” He pulled me close.
“That way we get to use the full weekend of um, sex, to our full advantage. And our friendship won’t get messed up still because I think we can put this behind us when it’s over. What do you say?”
“I didn’t catch anything after you said, I think we should have sex.”
I blinked and within seconds, his mouth was on mine and my fingers were in his hair. He slipped his hands underneath my shirt and unclasped my bra, rubbing his hands up and down my back.
Slowly tearing his mouth away from mine, he whispered against my lips. “Are you still interested in hardcore?”
I blushed.
“Tell me.” He pulled my shirt over my head. “Do you still watch that?”
“Yes …”
“Good.” He drew my bottom lip into his mouth and bit it gently. He placed my hands against his belt, silently commanding me to unbuckle it, and when I did, he lifted me out of his lap.
Taking off his shirt, he stared at me. “Take off your pants and get on the floor.”
Hesitating, I stayed on the bed, instead watching him as he took off his own pants. My eyes veered to the bulge in his briefs, and as he pulled them off, I swallowed.
“Ari …” He tilted my chin up with his fingertips. “Take off your pants and get on the floor. Now.”
I didn’t listen.
I leaned forward into his lap instead, pressing my lips against his cock.
He sucked in a breath as I took him into my mouth, threading his fingers through my hair as I bobbed up and down. His grip in my hair tightened and he tensed as I moved faster, as I felt him on the verge of coming, but he moved my head away.
Smiling, he gently pushed me out of his lap and ordered me to stand up.
Obliging, I stood in front of him and started to untie my pants, but he moved my hands away and loosened the drawstring himself. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against my stomach—slowly trailing his tongue to the edge of my panties.
In one smooth motion, he ripped them off and pushed my pajama pants to the floor.
“Get on all fours,” he said, his voice low.
I looked at him a few seconds before obeying, letting my knees sink into his floor’s plush carpet. I kept my eyes forward as he moved behind me, as I heard the sound of him unwrapping a condom.
His hands were on my sides seconds later, and he gripped me tightly. He slid one hand between my thighs and slid a finger against my wetness, sucking in a breath as I moaned at his touch.
Without warning, he thrust into me all at once—filling me completely.
I cried out and he pulled me back by my hair. “If you scream like that,” he whispered into my ear, “everyone in this house will hear me fucking you.” He pounded into me again. “Is that what you want?”
I couldn’t focus. He wasn’t giving me a chance to respond.
“I thought you were the ‘private’ type, Ari …”
“Carter …” I moaned as he slid a hand up my waist and squeezed my breast. “Carter …”
“Yes?” He slapped my ass. Again and again.
I bit my lip to prevent myself from crying out, dug my nails into the carpet as I felt myself getting closer and closer to a release.
“Oh … Oh ... Oh god …” I felt him strumming my clit with his thumb. “Ahhh … Ahhh …”
Intense pressure was building between my thighs, and my legs were beginning to shake.
Out of nowhere, he stopped and held me still for a few seconds. His hands still firmly pressed into my skin, he whispered my name a few times before gently rocking into me.
Moaning, I felt him rubbing his hands against my sides—heard him saying, “Let go …”
He said my name one last time, and my body gave in at the same time as his.
I collapsed onto the floor.
Pulling me back against him, Carter whispered a few things I couldn’t understand, before sliding out of me and tossing away the condom. He slid his hands underneath me and lifted me up, placing me into his bed.
I stared at him as he wiped between my legs and ran his hands across my breasts.
“Are you okay?” he asked, turning off the TV.
I just stared at him.
Leaning down to kiss my forehead, he climbed in bed next to me and wrapped his arms around my waist.
“What’s wrong, Ari?” He looked concerned. “Was I too rough with you?”
“No.” I smiled. “I’m just not okay. I’m more than okay.”
Smiling back, he kissed my lips, my cheeks, and my forehead again and again until I drifted to sleep.
Track 15. Everything Has Changed (3:43)
Arizona
The first time I woke up, I was laying on top of Carter. His hands were entwined with mine and my head was resting against his chest. Twice in the middle of the night, we’d woken up and had sex, and we’d somehow fallen asleep mid-kiss.
The second time I woke up, I was alone. And I was late.
The alarm clock was blaring loudly and my watch read 11:30.
Shit!
I jumped out of bed—heading to my closet, quickly realizing that my closet wasn’t here. Not in Carter’s room.
I pulled his drawers open, looking for something better to wear than flannel pajamas. I settled on one of his T-shirts and tied it at the back. I even tried on his pants—the smallest ones I could find, but it was no use. They fell off as soon as I buttoned them.
Shit. Shit. Shit...
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and literally gasped. There were red marks all over my neck, my lips were puffy, and my hair looked like I’d spent one too many seconds with my fingers in a live electrical socket.
Not willing to risk being fired just yet, I pulled my hair into a messy high bun, licked my lips, and found a different shirt to cover up the marks.
The pajama pants would have to stay.
“Why are you wearing a turtleneck in the dead of summer?” My boss looked up at me as I approached the pier. “Have you forgotten what part of America you live in?”
“Not at all …” I said, sweating profusely. “I just felt like wearing a turtleneck today.”
He looked at his watch. “You’re lucky I actually need you today. Get in there.”
I pushed the doors to the box office open and set down my bag.
My coworker, Ashley, looked up at me. “What’s got you glowing today?” She smiled. “You and Scott finally made up?”
“No, we, uh, broke up actually. I’m not glowing.”
“You are!” She stood up and walked over to me. “Tell me …”
Thankfully, I didn’t have
to change the subject or find a distraction on my own. A customer approached the window, and after we arranged her boat tour, twenty more customers drew near.
Per the usual summer season, the line became never-ending, the questions nonstop. By the time our lunch hour came around, flipping a coin for who should take a break first, was far more important than discussing whether I was glowing or not.
“Heads it is!” Ashley clapped. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes. You want anything?”
“No, thanks.” I flipped our window sign to “Out for Lunch” and closed the blinds.
After she left, I began the less than thrilling task of counting the sales for the first half of the day. I was halfway through the children’s tickets, when the fabric of Carter’s turtleneck itched me to the point of no return.
I pulled out my phone and called him.
“Hello?” he answered.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“I’ve already forgotten about last night.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. But I’m glad we’re already on the same page with um, that. That thing which did not happen.”
He laughed. “What’s the favor, Ari?”
“Can you go to my house and get me some clothes and bring them to the marina?”
“Are you currently there naked?”
“No.” I rolled my eyes. “There’s a spare key under the flower pot on my front porch. Anything in my top right drawer—shorts, T-shirts, jeans, would be great. No tank tops, though. Do not get one of those.”
“Why no tank tops?” There was a smile in his voice. “I’m pretty sure that’d be a perfect thing for you to wear today, unless you’re trying to cover something up?”
Gasping, I hung up and returned to my spreadsheet. When I looked up again, I realized forty minutes had passed with no sign of Ashley, so I called her.
“Hey!” She answered on the first ring.
“Um hey …” I looked at my watch. “Um, do you plan on coming back before or after our shared hour is up? I would like a break, too, you know …”
“Oh! Time just completely passed me by! I’ll be back in exactly fifteen minutes!”
“That’ll only give me five for a break.”