by Carrie Quest
My anger at myself must show on my face, because she backs up fast to a safe distance. “Or I can get a cab home,” she says. “You guys go on without me. No worries. Probably not a girlfriend thing.”
Fuck. Now she thinks I don’t want her to go, when nothing could be further from the truth. I scrub my hand over my face a few times and put on a smile. It’s probably weak, but I mean it.
“Don’t talk crazy,” I say, grabbing her hand. “You’re coming.”
She smiles up at me, but her forehead is creased with little worry wrinkles. Fucking adorable.
“Are you sure?” she asks quietly. “I mean, clearly you guys came out to have fun.” Her eyes dart down to my dick, which is still half-hard. She clears her throat and her voice drops so only I can hear it. “I totally understand if you’re looking for a hot chick to bring home so you can take care of business with someone else this time.”
I reach out and press my thumbs over her forehead, smoothing out the little grooves. “I’m not interested in anyone else’s business.” I shouldn’t say it, but I do anyway. Because fuck it. I’m only telling the truth.
“Oh.” Her eyes go a little dreamy and her plump lips make a circle that’s impossible not to touch, so I run one thumb down her soft cheek and trace it. Her tongue darts out and swirls around the tip, so quickly that I’m not even sure it happened, except it must have because we both groan and it’s taking all I’ve got not to lean in and kiss her.
Her eyes are almost black now, just like the night I came home and pissed her off, and I hope this time it’s because she’s turned on. Because she wants me as much as I want her.
All the reasons why we shouldn’t be together, why I shouldn’t get to have her, are still there. They’re racing around in my brain, jockeying for position and yelling at me to shut this thing down, but the longer I look at her, the more the voices fade away. I’ve never felt like this before. Never laughed so much with a girl, never been so curious about what makes anyone tick, never felt this overwhelming desire to possess someone. To sink inside her and stay there. Maybe never leave.
What if I try it? Just give myself the summer? I’ll still take care of Adam, but maybe I could fit Nat in my life too. If she wants to be there.
I’ve already given up snowboarding. Is that enough?
“Natalie?”
Someone else is trying to get her attention, but she keeps staring at me, neither of us turning away until whoever is talking has repeated her name a few times. Finally, she breaks eye contact, shakes her head a few times, and takes a step away from me.
“Oh, hi, Monique.”
Ah, the professor. I smile because it will help Nat if I make a good impression, but it doesn’t come easy when I remember that this is the lady who wanted Eli to get in Nat’s pants. Monique smiles back at me and shakes a head full of red curls. Her eyes run up and down my body, and she raises her eyebrows.
“We were just leaving,” Nat says. “Thanks so much for tonight. I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow, right? I’ll bring the chapters we talked about.”
“Actually,” Monique says. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor.” Her eyes flicker over to Eli, who’s staring at Brody’s half-empty bottle of beer like he’s about to swipe it and run. “Filipe’s only in town for the night, and I thought maybe Eli could sleep at your place?”
Nat stiffens, and I grin. This prof is crafty as fuck. This whole Eli/Nat set-up was really about Monique getting herself laid.
“What about Carole or Karen?” Nat asks.
Monique shakes her head. “They left ten minutes ago.”
Nat bites her lip and takes her own look at Eli, then shudders. I can tell she’s looking for a diplomatic way to tell Monique to fuck right off and take Eli with her.
Monique glances over at the table she came from, where a guy with an orange tan is staring at his phone and frowning. “It’s fine if you can’t do it,” she says. “Filipe might be able to change his ticket and stay a bit longer, but that would mean that I couldn’t make our lunch.”
My grin fades. What a bitch. She knows how much that meeting means to Nat, how much Nat has riding on this summer.
Nat still doesn’t say anything. She hugs herself and runs her hands along her upper arms, trying to warm herself up. Then she looks at me and raises her eyebrows. Is she worried I’ll get pissed if she says yes?
Fuck that. I’m not going to be the reason her summer goes down in a ball of flames. I can’t carry the weight of ruining yet another person’s future.
“Of course he can stay,” I say, taking the decision out of her hands. I pull off my hoody and drape it over her shoulders. She pulls it tighter around herself and smiles at me.
“Thanks,” she says.
“No problem,” I say. “He can sleep on the sofa.” Which leaves me with the floor of my room, but fuck it. I’ve slept in worse places for worse reasons. One night won’t kill me.
“Excellent,” Monique purrs. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Natalie.”
I glance over at Eli. I thought he was tanked and tuned out, but he’s clearly been following the conversation because he’s got greedy eyes trained on Nat. That’s when I decide I won’t be sleeping in my room at all. I’ll stretch out on the floor outside Nat’s door, because there’s no way I’m leaving her alone with this creep.
“I guess it’s all settled then,” Eli says. “Did I hear you say something about a party?”
“Absolutely,” I say. I reach for Nat’s hand and grasp it firmly. “Let’s go.”
13
Natalie
Ben holds my hand all the way to the party. Brody’s friend lives up on the Hill, and it takes forever to walk there because Eli keeps stumbling into bushes and stopping to rest. I’m not complaining, though. I’m actually glad Eli’s here, because every time he puffs out a breath and slumps against a lamppost he’s giving me another two minutes of Ben’s warm palm pressed up against mine, his thumb rubbing little circles on my fingers.
The Ben’s Babes have clearly underestimated this guy. I can’t speak for his penis or his tongue, but I’m thinking his whole body is magic.
The only bad part of the walk is that it gives me maximum freak-out time. Is all this touching just part of Ben pretending to be my boyfriend? What did he mean when he said he wasn’t interested in anyone else’s business? He could be saying he only wants my business. (Shit! When is the last time I trimmed my business? Or even shaved my legs?)
He could also be saying that he doesn’t want anyone’s business. Maybe he’s a hands-only man who jerks off exclusively instead of having sex.
Is that even a thing?
I have never needed Google more than I do at this moment, but pulling out my phone and looking up “masturbatory habits in males aged 20-25” would definitely be a mood killer.
When we finally make it to the party, Eli perks up. All it takes is one glimpse of an unguarded keg and he zips off without a second glance at any of us. I’ve seen Big Tom around a few times, but I’ve never been to his house. He used to snowboard, which is how Piper knows him, but he broke his back a couple years ago, so he retired and went back to school. He lives in an apartment on the second floor, but the party is spread out over the whole house, so the first floor and the basement are rocking as well. Everyone’s blasting different music and I spot an intense game of beer pong through the window when we dodge across the porch to the steps leading up to Tom’s place.
Upstairs is loud and packed with bodies. Brody charges down the hallway toward the back room and Ben follows, pulling me along. He glances back and squeezes my hand a few times, maybe worried that I’ll let go and get lost in the crush of people.
Yeah, right. Like I’m letting go of him now.
Brody pushes open a door and leads us into a room that smells like dirty socks and other even less savory boy scents. I recognize Big Tom in a few pictures on the dresser, but the only thing alive in here right now is the mold growing on the filthy plates coveri
ng the floor.
“Rank,” Brody says. “So glad I don’t live with this guy anymore. Longest year of my fucking life.”
I’m surprised he lasted a year, but I keep my lips zipped. Not my hazardous waste problem, not my business.
Ben chuckles and pulls me over to the closet, which is empty except for a vintage, sky-blue fridge with one of those handles that looks like a lever.
“This is where he keeps the good stuff,” Ben says. He yanks the door open and grins. The thing is so packed with beer that the rusty iron racks are bending, and I tense up when Ben pulls out three drinks, sure that he’ll upset the Jenga stack of bottles and send all of them crashing to the floor.
“Hit me,” Brody says. He catches the beer neatly and shoves it in his hoody pocket, then climbs on the dresser and disappears out the window.
“You afraid of heights?” Ben asks.
“Not so far,” I say.
He tilts his head toward the dresser. “Then let’s go.”
“Out the window?”
“Tom and Brody have a thing about roofs,” Ben says. His eyes light up and he huffs out a laugh. “This one time, we were staying at a lodge in the Alps and they tied together a bunch of sheets to make a climbing net between the roof and the balcony. Then Tom decided it would make a great hammock, and he was looking for some privacy, so he went up there with a girl. Brody started untying the sheets and…”
He keeps telling the story, but I tune out because he’s got a grin on his face that I’ve never seen before: totally unguarded. His eyes are shining, like sun hitting a deep blue mountain lake, and laugh lines radiate out from their corners. That dimple on his left cheek flashes as he talks and my fingers twitch, wanting to trace it and then reach up farther to push back the dark blond hair that keeps falling into his eyes when he looks down at me.
He’s dropped his mask again, like he did that first night in the basement, but that time he looked like he was in terrible pain. Right now, he’s radiating pure joy.
It’s beautiful.
And irresistible.
He walks toward me, and I close my eyes, trying to think. The chaos of the party is nothing compared to the pandemonium inside my head. Writing, Piper, my parents, no-boy summer, agent emails, business classes, magical penises…the thoughts whip through my brain faster than I can process them. What am I doing? Am I really going to break the rules I made for myself only a few weeks ago? Am I that weak?
I stumble backward, my eyes still closed, until my butt hits the dresser. Big Tom’s pictures rattle and a pile of books thump to the floor.
I open my eyes and Ben is there—right there—in front of me. He reaches up to push a lock of hair behind my ear and my breath catches.
Yup, I’m totally that weak.
I press my face into his hand and he cups my cheek, his fingers rough with calluses, and all I can think about is how they’ll feel when he runs his hand down my body, catching slightly on the smooth skin of my stomach, then creating delicious friction when he circles my clit. His eyes are hooded but I can’t hold his hot gaze because my own eyes are drawn to his lips: the top one a perfect bow and the bottom one full, just asking to be sucked into my mouth. It’s healing up but there’s still a red line through it from whatever happened in the desert.
He drops his hand and puts both palms on the top of the dresser, caging me in. His hard chest brushes against my breasts, which feel heavy and achy, my nipples standing at attention and begging for his touch. I want to jump up on this dresser, wrap my legs around his waist, and pull him closer until all of his hot, hard body is pressed against me.
“You okay?” he whispers.
“Yeah,” I sigh, forcing my eyes back to his. They’re molten, full of desire and a hint of doubt, and I know that there must be a cavalcade of questions riding roughshod over his brain as well. We stare at each other for a moment, and I’m about a millisecond away from flicking my tongue out to lick the red line on his bottom lip, when he sighs and moves back.
“We should probably get out there before there’s another Brody/Tom/Fireman rescue situation,” he says.
I nod and lean forward, skimming my lips over his cheek in an almost-kiss that’s close enough for me to feel his evening stubble but not quite touch his skin. His hands clench the dresser on either side of my hips and the muscles in his forearms are corded tight. I look lower and stifle a moan when I see the hard ridge of his erection trying to push its way out of his jeans.
“Let’s go,” I whisper in his ear.
He groans, and I feel his heart pounding and the hot pants of his breath on my neck.
My blood pumps furiously, keeping rhythm with the chant of kiss me, kiss me, kiss me that’s running through my mind. This is reckless, I know it is, but it feels so good to let go. For the last year I’ve been constantly second guessing myself, doubting my choices, weighing every possible consequence and outcome before daring to make a move. Dealing with my parents, my writing, and the uncertainty of the future has paralyzed me. I’ve forgotten how to listen to my body, and now it’s roaring for some satisfaction and relief.
His hands grip my hips and I hold my breath, waiting for him to yank me closer.
But instead, he lifts me up to the dresser and backs away, scrubbing his hands over his face.
“You okay to head out first?” he asks.
I resist the urge to scream “Why me, god?” and shake my fist at the night sky. Barely. Instead, I climb out the open window onto the flat roof over the front porch and pull in a few deep breaths of the cool night air. When I look back inside, Ben is staring at the floor, hands fisted at his hips and a furious look on his face. He’d better not be pissed off at me for flirting, especially after the way he was all over me at the bar.
“You coming?” I call out.
He looks up and his dimple pops out on a grin. “Two minutes. I’m gonna get another drink, maybe stick my dick in the freezer.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, equal parts surprise, relief, and happiness. I’ve known since I saw him that Ben was hot, and hearing Piper’s stories let me know he was a decent guy, but the way we laugh together is something I’ve never experienced with a guy before.
It’s addictive. Maybe even more magical than his penis.
I reach back through the window and snag my beer, then scramble up to where Brody and Tom are perched near the peak of the roof. They greet me, but they’re deep in a conversation about where in Alaska Brody should head to film his next movie, so I lean back on the rough shingles and look at the sky. There’s too much light to see many stars, but a few are peeking out.
A few minutes later Ben climbs up, looking slightly sheepish, and drops down next to me.
“Did they tell you you’re sitting on a holy spot?” he asks.
“Holy to who?” I move a little closer to him, trying to steal some warmth.
“This is the place where we all joined the Sacred Order of the Roof Tumblers,” he says. He scoots over and lounges next to me, his body long and loose. His leg presses against mine and suddenly I’m right back in the bedroom we just left, his arms caging me in, his breath hot on my neck.
Definitely not cold anymore.
“The Sacred Order of the Roof Tumblers?” I ask.
Brody overhears me and laughs. “Shit, man. I forgot about that.” He shakes his head. “Fuck, we were dumb.”
Tom punches Brody’s shoulder. “Blasphemer!”
“Is this like a cult?” I ask.
“Only a cult of idiots,” Ben says. “We were sixteen, back home for the holidays, and we came to Boulder to party with Tom’s older brother. He lived in this house and he was a climber—even more of a roof junkie than these two.”
Brody cuts in. “He could get up to the roof without even going inside. Went without using the stairs or the front door for six months, just to win a bet with his roommate.”
“Seriously?”
Tom nods. “It’s true. He said the only thing that sucked was trying
to bring girls home. They tended to bail when he pointed them up that narrow staircase on their own.”
“We wanted him to buy us beer,” Ben says. “But he wouldn’t do it until we joined the Order. Said all his buddies were in it and we had to prove ourselves worthy.”
“What did you have to do to join?”
“He had an obstacle course set up,” Ben says. “You had to walk the ridge, forward and backward, without stumbling or stepping off. Then do a cartwheel, land it, and do a forward roll down there.” He points to the top of a steep gable that drops off over the backyard.
I study the slope. It’s not very long. “Did you have room to even stop yourself after the roll?”
Brody holds up his left arm. “Broken wrist.”
“Two months in a cast,” Tom says, wiggling his ankle. “My brother took me to the ER, but he didn’t let me have the beer.”
“Fucker,” Brody mumbles, shaking his head.
“What about you?” I look up at Ben, the strong line of his jaw silhouetted against the night sky. One side of his mouth turns up in a little smirk. “Nailed it,” he says. “I got all the beer to myself. Of course, I was sixteen and stupid, so I also got alcohol poisoning. Didn’t drink again for years.”
Piper’s always made such a big thing about Ben’s discipline, it’s strange to think of his being that out of control. I close my eyes, trying to picture baby Ben up here on the roof, walking the ridge with an intense look on his face and then tossing out that dimpled grin when he made it. I bet he was a hottie even then.
Who am I kidding? I bet he was a hottie always.
“We all ended up in the hospital together,” Brody said. He shakes his head. “Man, that was an awesome night.”
“After we got out,” Ben says. “He told us he made the whole thing up to fuck with us. There was no Sacred Order of the Roof Tumblers. It was all a lie.”
“Dude, there’s totally an Order,” Brody says. “We’re here, aren’t we? We’re it.” He takes a long swig of beer and winks at me. “Maybe we should recruit some new members. Where’s that Eli guy?”