by Meika Usher
I sunk further into the couch, heat crawling up my neck and onto my cheeks. “I did no such thing.”
A smile curved his lips and my fingers itched to trace over it. I balled my hands into fists and crossed my arms over my chest. “Just hit play,” I grumbled.
He didn’t reply. Just chuckled and obeyed. And then I forced all my attention to the TV screen and away from Nate. Away from Nate and the way he carefully kept his hands to himself. Away from the chasm of distance he seemed to put between us.
And definitely away from the way that made me feel inside.
THREE EPISODES OF Buffy later, I pulled my knees against my chest and angled myself toward Nate. “Poor Xander.”
“Poor Xander?” Nate folded a leg beneath him, facing me. “Poor Xander? Are you serious?”
“Yes!” I threw my arms up, maybe more worked up than necessary, considering these people did not actually exist. “That poor dude is head over heels, and Buffy could care less. She’s all obsessed with Angel when she’s got a perfectly good guy right there in front of her.” I paused, then added, “Also, hello. The guy is a vampire. She is a slayer. What the fuck is she thinking?”
“It’s built-in conflict!” He leaned forward, pushing his glasses up. “Every romance needs conflict. Otherwise, hello snoozefest!”
“Well, maybe I like things a little less complicated.” I stretched my legs across the couch, my toes brushing against Nate’s leg. “You’ll never catch me falling for an angsty vampire. Even if he does look like Angel.”
Nate’s lips tilted. “Good thing, too. Considering how many of them are wandering around out there.”
“Hey, I’ve met a few soulless bloodsuckers in my day.” I flexed my feet and watched as my toes came into full contact with his leg. He hadn’t touched me since earlier. Not at all. Not even for a second. And, suddenly, that was all I wanted. I craved it.
Sliding deeper into the couch, I draped my legs over his. “All I’m saying,” I continued, watching him from beneath my lashes. “Is that Buffy should at least give the dude a chance.”
Nate’s hands hovered above my shins, as if he couldn’t decide whether he should rest them there or not. Yes, I willed him silently. Drop those hands.
And then I had to roll my eyes. Because here I was, half-dressed and sober, wanting nothing more than for a guy to touch my shins.
Scandalous.
Much to my disappointment, Nate draped his arms on the couch instead. I bit back a sigh of protest and sat up, bringing my face closer to his. “What do you have against poor Xander?”
“I don’t have anything against him.” His eyes flickered over my face, lingering for just a second on my lips. “He’s just...not right for Buffy.”
“You know what I think?” I swung my legs over the edge of the couch and sat up. “I think you’ve got a huge boner for Buffy and you can’t imagine her settling for the ‘normal’ guy.” I air quoted normal, then added, “Some chicks like normal, you know.”
He stretched his legs over the cushion I’d just abandoned. “You are way off base, Bernadette,” he said as he laced his fingers together behind his head. “Buffy and Xander together is sick and wrong. No other explanation needed.”
“Did you just Bernadette me?” I tilted my head toward him. He was smiling. “I only get Bernadette’d when I’m in trouble.” Then, before I could think it through, I threw one leg over his hip, straddling him. “Am I in trouble, Nate?” I asked, leaning in to rest my forehead against his, my palms against his chest.
Nate’s hands hesitated before landing on my waist. I could feel his touch through my sweater, which I’d put back on about halfway through the first episode. “I think you could be.” His voice was low and scratchy, and it pulled at me like a marionette.
I wanted to close the distance. I wanted to kiss him. But something held me back.
There were a thousand reasons why I should stay away. And only one not to. Right there, in those liquid black eyes. It was like driving down the road and finding a sign: Danger Ahead. And, sure, I registered the words. I knew what they meant. But I stepped on the gas anyway.
“I think I want to be,” I whispered, lowering my lips to his.
His hands tightened around my waist, holding me in place as he kissed me back, dragging a ragged sigh from my lungs. I pushed my fingers through his hair and kissed him harder, taking his bottom lip between my teeth. He growled, and I swore I could feel it in my bones. Lava rushed through my veins. I wanted to...I needed to...
“Nate,” I whispered against his lips. “I need to touch you.” And I let my fingers leave his hair to bury themselves beneath his shirt. A shaky breath left him as I slid my hands upward, gliding against his naked skin.
Instantly, he stiffened. I paused in my exploration and pulled my lips from his. “What’s wrong?”
He brushed my bangs away from my eyes and went for a smile. “Nothing,” he said, leaning in to drag his lips across my jawline. “I’d just much rather touch you.”
My eyes started to drift closed as his breath teased my skin, but I resisted. Leaning back, I pulled his face up so that I could look into his eyes. “No,” I said. “I want to touch you.”
Behind his glasses, his eyes flickered. He started to shake his head, to deny me again, but I cut him off. “What the hell is this, Nate?” Climbing from his lap, I stood, fists on hips. “Why don’t you want my hands on you?”
He shoved his glasses onto his head. “It’s not that I don’t want...it’s just that I...” Scrubbing a hand over his face, he exhaled. “I just really like touching you, is all.”
“And I’m sure I’d really like touching you.” I dropped to my knees in front of him, bracing my hands on his thighs. “If you’d just let me.” Sliding my hands up, I squeezed. His breath hitched. I leaned in closer, our lips almost touching, my fingertips moving higher. “Let me touch you, Nate,” I whispered. “Please.”
His eyelids fluttered, then closed, as I let my hand graze over the bulge in his jeans. My heartbeat thrummed louder in my ears. I wanted him, hot and heavy, in my hand. I wanted to take him into my mouth. I wanted to—
Nate cleared his throat and backed away. “So, uh,” he started, his voice tense. “Remember that thing I did with my mouth earlier? You should...you should let me do that again.”
“Okay.” I shoved away from him and stood again. “What the fuck is going on here?”
He leaned forward and cradled his head in his hands, a ragged sigh leaving his lips. But he didn’t answer.
“I’m serious, Nate.” I waited till he looked at me. “What’s going on? Do you...do you only have one testicle or something?”
“What?” He frowned. “No. I—”
“Are you worried about your size? Because that’s not as big a deal as some women make it out to be. In fact—”
“Everything’s fine in the size department,” he cut in, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. His gaze was glued to the floor, and heat bloomed over his cheeks.
“Then, what? Do you have some weird penile dysfunction? Does everything work okay?”
“No, it’s not that.” His body wound tighter and tighter with each question I fired his way. “It...it all works like it should.”
“Sunny, then.” I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? She’s engaged to her brother’s best friend. If she’s got a problem with this, that’d be the most hypocritical thing I’ve ever heard.”
He pressed his lips together and winced. “Not Sunny.”
“Okay, so...” I inhaled deeply before asking the next question. Because if everything was fine with him, and it wasn’t Sunny related, then that left... “Is it me?”
“What?” His head shot up, his eyes found mine. “Birdie, no. You’re—”
“I’m ‘free-spirited,’ and ‘experienced,’” I interrupted, finger-quoting as I said the words I’d heard so many times, from so many people. I squinted against the burn in my eyes and finished. “Which we both know is just code for sl
utty.”
At that, he stood and reached for me. “Birdie,” he started, his fingertips brushing against my wrist before I stepped out of his reach. “That’s not—”
“Are you holding out for a good girl or something?” I folded my arms across my chest to keep him from trying for my hand again. “Some nice, sweet girl waiting for marriage?”
Nate stepped back like I’d slapped him. “I—”
“Knock, knock!” a new voice sang, cutting through the air like a blade. “Honey, I’m home!”
My insides frosted over as I watched the owner of the voice walk through the front door. A tall, lanky, gorgeous woman entered the room like she owned it, then froze when she took in the tableau before her.
“Uh...” she started, eyes darting from Nate to me, then back again. “Am I interrupting something?”
25: Nate
Tension pounded the air like a sledgehammer. For a long stretch of seconds, no one moved. No one spoke. We just...eyed each other from our respective places, waiting.
Anya was the first to react. “So, uh...” she started, taking one step backward. “I can come back later if you—”
“No.” Birdie’s voice came out in a single harsh syllable. “You stay. I’ll go.” As she spoke, she dug through the mess of blankets and clothing strewn over the couch. “I just...need to find my pants.”
Her voice caught on the last word, and, finally, I snapped into action. I could see where her mind was going. And I had to stop it. “Birdie, wait.” I reached for her hand, hoping to buy a few seconds, to keep her from running before I could explain. Before I could tell her—
She stealthily dodged my touch as her fingers closed around her jeans. Shaking the pants out, she jammed one leg inside, then the other. As she buttoned them, she looked up. Looked at me. For the first time since Anya’s arrival. And her eyes were fire.
“If you just give me a second,” I started, almost reaching for her again. But the anger radiating from her kept my hands at my sides. “It’s not what you—”
“It’s not what I think,” she finished for me. “Let’s be honest. It’s not like you’re gonna tell me what it is.” She shoved her feet into her shoes and reached for her coat. “I think I’ll just go ahead and fill in the blanks myself.” And with that, she marched toward the exit, letting her shoulder hit mine as she moved by.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Anya as she passed her. And then the door slammed behind her, offering up a single, reverberating message: follow at your own risk.
“You, uh,” Anya started, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “Gonna go after her?” She dropped her duffel bag to the floor and motioned toward the door. “You should probably go after her.”
“Fuck,” I muttered, crossing the room in three long strides. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be back. Just...make yourself at home.” And then I tore open the door and raced down the porch.
A Birdie-shaped figure moved speedily down the sidewalk. “Birdie, wait!” I called, my heart pounding loud in my head.
Birdie did not wait. She sped up. And, shit, she was fast. I broke into a run, catching up to her, cutting her off. “Birdie,” I said again, my breath coming out in huge white gusts as I leaned forward, bracing my hands on my knees. “Stop...please...listen...”
“Listen to what?” Birdie asked, and her voice was so sharp I winced. “Listen to you tell me that you’re just like every single douchebag on the planet?” She crossed her arms over her chest and scraped her gaze over me. “Listen to you tell me that, yeah, you’ve got a girlfriend, but what we did? That’s not cheating. Because I never touched you?” She barked out a laugh and shook her head, flames roaring in her eyes. “Go on, Nate. I’m listening.”
“Anya’s not my girlfriend.” I held her gaze, feeling the burn of her fury on every inch of my skin. “She’s a friend. Just a friend.”
Birdie crossed her arms over her chest, disbelief scrawled all over her face.
“Okay, so yeah. Maybe we—”
“I don’t need the details,” she cut in. “Maybe you should go explain the pantsless chick she just found in her living room.” She shook her head, another bitter laugh falling from her lips. “God knows I’m trying to explain that to myself.”
And before I could get another word in, she shoved passed me and, this time, there was no catching up to her.
When I returned to my place, Anya had, indeed, made herself at home. I walked inside to find her stretched out on the couch, bowl of microwave popcorn in her lap and a rerun of Supernatural on the TV.
“Ugh,” I grumbled, glaring at the screen. “Do you have to taint my home with that shit?”
“Hey,” she shot back, moving her feet so that I could plop down on the couch. “I don’t insult Buffy. You leave my boys alone.”
I didn’t reply. Just reached into the bowl for a handful of popcorn and shoved it into my mouth.
“You catch up to her?” Anya asked as I chewed.
“Yep.”
“You don’t sound happy about that.”
“Nope.” I shoveled another handful of popcorn into my mouth and watched as Sam and Dean growled and scoffed their way through a scene.
Anya was quiet for a few seconds, but I could feel her eyes on me. “Out with it,” I muttered, not even glancing her way.
“Well, I have so many questions.” She leaned forward and deposited the bowl on the coffee table. “Like...who is she? And what were you guys up to?” She gasped and leaned closer, slapping me on the arm. “Are you devirginized?”
I shot a glare her way and sank further into the couch.
Yeah. Anya knew. Anya knew because four years ago, we’d gotten drunk at Big Deal Con and ended up back in my room, making out. Clothes came off. Hands were everywhere. And then...I told her. And she froze. You oughta save that for someone special, she’d said, tucking my cock back into my pants. Let’s snuggle instead.
To this day, I wasn’t sure how our friendship had survived that level of humiliation. Probably, it was because Anya had simply decided we were gonna be friends, and I had no choice but to get over it. And so I’d gotten over it.
“I’ll take that as a no,” she said now, folding her legs beneath her. She studied me harder. When I didn’t elaborate, she groaned. “Nate, you’re killing me. I need to know what happened. You know how I can’t stand a mystery. Give me answers.” As she said the last word, she gripped my shoulders and shook.
“Okay, okay.” I moved out of her grasp. “Jesus. I forgot how annoying you are.”
“Yeah, but you love me.” She grinned and rested her chin in her hands, her green eyes sparkling in the angst-glow of Supernatural. “Now, out with it.”
“That’s, uh...Birdie.” I glanced her way from the corner of my eye. “Oliver.”
“What?” Anya socked me on the arm. “You’re fucking around with the littlest Oliver? Ohh, Sunny is gonna kill you.”
“Not if Birdie kills me first.” I shifted so that we were facing each other. “She thinks you’re my girlfriend.”
“Well, yeah. Obviously.” Anya nodded, unsurprised. “You didn’t clear that up out there?”
“Tried.” I rubbed my face and exhaled. Behind my closed eyes, Birdie’s anger-lit face flashed. “She wasn’t hearing it.”
She wasn’t even thinking about hearing it. How could she possibly think I could do the things I’d done with her if I had a girlfriend? Did she really think that low of me? Did I seem like that kind of guy?
“Ughhhh,” I groaned into my hands. “Why can’t you learn how to fucking knock?”
“Oh, so this is my fault?” Anya hit pause on the TV and clocked me on the head with the remote. “You’re the dumbass that let her leave.”
I rubbed my head and glared. How did I find all these aggressive women?
“She was about to leave, anyway,” I said, pushing to my feet. I gathered the empty glasses and Anya’s popcorn bowl and headed into the kitchen.
“I don’t know,” Anya said, follow
ing me. “She didn’t have pants on. She looked like she was ready to stay for a while.”
“She was.” Yanking the dishwasher open, I deposited the glasses inside. “Till she wasn’t.”
Anya leaned a hip against the counter. “What the fuck are you talking about, man?”
I closed the dishwasher and straightened, wiping my hands on my jeans. The argument we’d been having when Anya showed up replayed in my head. Birdie was mad. Rightfully so. I sank against the counter beside Anya. But I didn’t speak.
“Shit,” Anya said. “It happened again, didn’t it?” She crossed the kitchen and opened the fridge. Grabbing two beers, she swung back around. “Did you ruin another chance to get rid of that pesky virginity by being excruciatingly honest?”
Before I could say anything, she continued talking. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t just tell women this shit. I mean, I’d have fucked you that night at BDC. I’d have fucked you senseless. But you ruined the moment.”
I shoved all thoughts of Anya fucking me senseless far, far out of my mind. Because, while I’d have been into it back then, I knew far too much about her now. Nothing killed sex vibes like hours of video-chatting about an ingrown hair in the groin region—with plenty of close-ups.
“I haven’t told her.” I managed, suppressing a shudder. “And...that’s the problem.”
“Huh.” Anya tipped her beer back and drank. Once she swallowed, she studied the label on her bottle and seemed to be choosing her next words carefully. A weird thing for Anya. She was a blurter, said whatever popped into her head. So this...this made me nervous.
Taking a drink from my own beer, I waited. I waited and tried not to play the hurt on Birdie’s face over and over in my mind.
I’d really fucked this up.
“So, if I’m understanding the situation correctly,” Anya finally said, heading back for the living room. I followed and she continued speaking. “You had a hot chick in your living room, with no pants on, and you did not tell her your little secret?”