by C. M. Owens
“Like you said…it shouldn’t be so hard to do something as simple as start a relationship. I overcomplicate things because I need more time to process, and I’m still too much work,” I add. “I have to let people hear what they want to hear because I can’t engage in the conflict necessary to make myself heard unless I have a lot of preparation.”
I can’t help but wonder if he intentionally decided on his underwear choice because he wanted me to see he’s wearing the boxer-briefs I bought him.
He puts his hands on his hips, his head falling back as his eyes flutter shut.
“People never react the way I prepare for them to act, and I’m not stopping until you understand me. I have several different arguments prepared. Do you understand that you don’t owe me anything, or do you still think this is your fault?” I ask, hoping the end of this conversation prompts him to finish changing his clothes.
His head comes down, brow wrinkling again in what appears to be confusion, before he once again scrubs a hand over his mouth.
His eyes rake over me as he takes one step closer.
Then another.
And another.
“I need space for this conversation. It’ll feel too much like—”
I’m not even really sure what else I planned to say. The second his hand suddenly moves, cupping the back of my head, and his lips come down on mine, I stupidly kiss him back.
I really thought he was finally understanding me.
There’s such a weak realization when you feel your strength evaporate so easily because of the inexplicable power one person holds over you.
My hands slide up the back of his neck, kissing him harder, when I’m supposed to be keeping space. His other hand slides down my back, as he starts walking me somewhere. My eyes are shut, so I don’t know. I’m pausing my brain on purpose.
It’s not until he starts lowering me to the mattress that I summon the strength to break the kiss.
His head drops, and he groans into my neck, as I pant for air, becoming very aware of the fact he’s settled between my legs.
“I think I need to start over, because I’ve miscommunicated crucial information somehow,” I decide aloud as he starts kissing his way down my neck.
I press into him, mostly because I’ve really missed him and he’s making this conversation very hard to have. I never knew I could be emotionally starved for someone’s touch after having it in such abundance…until this moment.
Just kissing him, feeling him hold me like he used to, is such a very unexpected reckoning to face. The weight tries to lift off my chest at the hope of reconciliation.
This is the real why people never make the logical decisions they look back and see so clearly.
They’re powerless.
His hand slides up my bare leg as I become twice as aware of how indecent this dress can be when lying down.
“I heard you perfectly well, Britt. But we think very differently, and I strongly disagree with most everything you just said. I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree,” he says before his lips lazily brush back up my neck and he starts dragging my underwear down very slowly.
“I’ll do better at listening in the future so we can avoid these miscommunications,” he says, once again making this his fault, even as his lips curve in a wry grin.
My underwear stops at my knees, because he stops pulling them off when I put my hands on either side of his face and force him to look at me.
“Britt, I don’t want you to be fucking perfect,” he says before I can try to start over, his lips curving like he’s amused by this.
“You’re oversimplifying,” I say very seriously.
He pulls my underwear down my legs the rest of the way, his eyes never leaving mine as he lifts enough to get them off one foot. Then the other.
My eyes stay locked on his as his gaze grows more intense. He settles himself between my legs again so subtly that I don’t even try to stop him.
“I shouldn’t have ever made you think you had to try so hard with me, Britt. You’re practical and honest. You should have just been able to say what you needed to say, and I should have heard it. We would have gotten here a lot sooner. You’re overcomplicating it,” he volleys.
I’ve drastically overestimated my ability to reason with him.
“Let’s say we meet in the middle and call these last three months a chance to focus on ourselves and our careers while you processed your emotions. Now we can move on to the next phase,” he says, now just being absurd with his oversimplification.
“What next phase?” I ask, because I need some direction on where he’s misunderstanding me.
“Now it’s time to do this for real,” he adds, leaning down to brush his lips over mine again.
I can’t tell if he’s stubborn, determined, or obtuse right now.
“Do you need to go ask a Sterling if they think you’re good enough for me? Because I’ll wait right here while you do that, if that’s what you need right now,” he goes on with a straight face.
“Anything said out of context sounds silly when used in that tone. You’re not taking me seriously.”
He reaches up, pulling one of my hands off his cheek, and kisses the palm of it.
“I already told you I love you, Britt. Who’s not taking whom seriously?” He darts a look at me. “Did I use whom right in a sentence?”
When he grins, I sink down on the mattress, letting my head fall back as he resumes kissing the side of my hand.
“You admitted to stalking my social media these past three months, want nothing but good fucking things for me, and became a dark queen while coping.” I feel his smile growing against my hand, and I open my eyes as he meets my gaze and adds, “I’m gonna say it’s safe to guess you love me too, and for the record, I’ve come to a great number of epiphanies these last three months.”
I feel a tear escape the far corner of my eye and roll down the side of my face.
“Statistically, the odds of this getting better instead of worse are highly discouraging, and you should look at the compilation of information I’ve gathered on the subject,” I tell him as a last ditch effort, my will not as stubborn or determined as his.
I miss him too much.
“You know you can’t put people in the smallest boxes designed for them, Britt,” he says as he smirks down at me. “The human element fucks with the plans in your head all the time. Do you love me?”
I know he doesn’t suffer from the disillusion that love truly does conquer all, so I have no idea why he’s pressing this.
“I cry when I try to throw your toothbrush away. The thought of experiencing intimacy with anyone else still nauseates me. Obviously, that’s a forgone conclusion by this—”
He kisses me again, his body coming down on top of mine as my fingers slide up his bare back and my legs wind around his waist.
“I’m trying to be mature and practical about this,” I say against his lips, even as my nails press against his skin on reflex.
“Stop trying to save me, Britt,” he says between kissing me and pulling my legs wider. “I don’t need to be saved.”
I pause, idly wondering if I should have factored in a hero complex on my side of the statistical disadvantages in our relationship. It’ll have to wait, though, because he kisses me to distraction once again.
I give up the fight, because the last resistance in me is gone, all the aching fading more and more the longer he kisses me.
His hand moves away from us, and I hear the crinkling of what can only be the condom wrapper that he threw on the bed…
I break the kiss and pull back as he rips open the package with his teeth.
“You made up your mind twenty-three minutes ago and I shared more of my rehearsed arguments during that time for no reason,” I say as my mind finally pieces together the real reason he started undressing.
Pushing up to his knees, his lips tilt in a wicked little grin as he stares down at me and starts rolling the condom on, no s
hame or modesty. Another one of my favorite things about him.
He doesn’t answer as he leans back down, his lips teasing mine as he shoves my dress up.
“My newest realized fantasy is fucking a dark queen with pointy ears and gothic eye makeup. I’m seriously turned on by this dark, evil-genius sort of angle you take when you’re missing me,” he adds, still oversimplifying.
“Never knew I was into that sort of thing until you stepped out of this tent earlier,” he adds before his lips find mine again.
It’s completely inappropriate for me to smile against his lips, but I simply can’t stop it from happening.
“The dress and ears stay on,” he adds as I feel him lift me just before he rolls us without warning.
I end up sitting astride him as I adjust in his lap, and he keeps kissing me as I feel the teasing glide of skin and latex against my bare skin under my dress.
He starts guiding himself inside me, and I really don’t know how I made it three months without sex when he does. It’s almost like setting all my nerves on fire at once, and I sit up more, using his shoulders to steady myself, lowering my body inch by inch as my eyes flutter shut.
Sweet agony—an oxymoron that now makes perfect sense.
“Where’s your head at right now, Britt?” he asks as he sits up abruptly, his front pressing to mine.
His hands go to my hips, dragging me down the last centimeter or so as he ghosts his lips over mine.
“A poor oxymoron pun about an oxymoron,” I absently tell him as he grins against my neck.
He shifts his hips under me as he grips my sides harder, holding me to him.
His breath hitches when I roll my hips, and I’m positive an involuntary sound escapes me to vocalize how embarrassingly much I’ve missed this particular part about us.
He starts moving me, and my eyes flutter open to find his already concentrated on my face, lids half shut as he just rakes his gaze over me.
The intensity in his eyes is simply too much right now, which shouldn’t be a possible thing.
“Where’s your head at now?” he asks as he leans forward, moving my body with his in a way that feels too natural…and all I want to do is get even closer.
Our skin glides together, and I kiss him because I need him to stop talking right now. It’s as if it sets off his own sense of urgency, and he deepens the kiss as he groans into my mouth. I idly notice he’s missing his piercings, not that it detracts from how good he is at this.
I stop thinking altogether when he starts building the perfect rhythm, somehow controlling all of this from the bottom. I’m forced to break the kiss, because I can’t focus enough to feel all the sensations and kiss him at the same time.
He rips the top of my dress down, introducing more skin-on-skin contact that pushes me over the edge.
My nails dig into his skin, and my body tenses as a shockwave of pleasure rockets through me.
A series of random sounds escape me with too much abandon, as my head falls to his shoulder, forgetting that he’s still chasing his. I’m too busy basking in my own this time.
He shoves his face against my throat as he makes a muffled sound, his body stilling against mine as his arms close around my waist.
It’s just our breaths in the otherwise silent tent for a second, our bodies still somewhat sticking together.
Still breathing heavily, I ask, “Did you bring more than one condom?”
I feel his grin spreading a few seconds before I realize we’re not the only ones submitting to carnal acts in a semi-public area with minimal privacy.
He pulls his head up, smirking at me, as the sounds outside our tent get louder and louder, as well as more telling.
“I only brought one, but I’m guessing it won’t be hard to find a few more,” he says as he starts kissing his way down my neck again. “And people think musicians are the ravenous ones,” he adds on a more mocking note.
Someone makes a very loud cry that I think also represents sweet agony.
My arms stay around his neck, as he continues to kiss along the side of my neck, moving up again.
“If you’re this determined to disregard logic, will you be my date to Raya and Kade’s wedding?” I ask him.
“Sure, if you’ll go with me to New York to a thing I have to play the weekend before,” he says before playfully nipping at my ear.
We should separate, and we should definitely sleep. But I want to do this too much to take a step back.
“You’ll be backstage, because I have no fucking idea what sort of crowd control the scene has, but there’s a badass backstage area guaranteed to make that an irrelevant issue where you’re concerned.”
I don’t even get to respond, because he starts kissing me again, leisurely now, the way he kisses me when all he wants to do is kiss me.
“Britt, I’m coming in,” Harley’s voice says very abruptly.
I hear the rustling of my tent just before Base jerks me against his chest, and I dart a look over my shoulder as Harley walks in.
“I brought some more clothes for—”
Her eyes go wide, just as Dale trips in. His eyes come up, widen to a dangerous point, and he curses before turning and stumbling back out in one big rush.
“Damn it, Harley. My eyes!” he snaps.
My mouth opens and closes a few times as my brain stalls long enough for me to consider the awkwardness of the entire situation. My chest stays pressed against Base’s, and my dress hangs at my waist, covering most of the essentials.
“I-I-I…my bad,” she stutters before choking back a laugh and also running out.
Base drops back, laughing as I come down with him.
He brushes my hair out of my face before asking, “Where’s your head at now?”
My eyes fasten onto his. “I think we should find more condoms.”
Epilogue
BASE
A shudder spreads up my spine as I partially collapse to Britt’s back, eyes on her in the mirror as she pants for breath, hands still clutching the edge of the bathroom sink.
I grin against her shoulder, kissing it as I pull the strap of her dress back into place and start fixing myself as she does the same, a smile on her face the entire time.
“You’re adding this to the mental tally of public places right now, aren’t you?” I ask as I strategically hide the condom.
She just continues to smile, not answering, before she turns and gives me a quick kiss.
“They’re going to wonder why I’ve been gone for so long,” she says as she hurries out the door.
After washing my hands, I pick up the bouquet, and I hold it out just before the door bursts open again.
“Thanks,” she says as she snatches it and starts to turn again, but I grab her wrist and haul her to me.
She comes willingly, kissing me as I walk her out of the bathroom.
“I really do have to go,” she murmurs against my lips, a slight groan barely escaping her throat.
I finally let her go, and she hurries down the hall as quickly as she can in her heels.
It’s not until she disappears into the room that I realize I’m once again holding the damn bouquet. Stifling a laugh, I knock on the door, expecting Britt to answer immediately.
It’s not her.
Bo answers the door, and her eyes immediately drop to the bouquet.
“Britt, it’s impossible for you to actually forget something. What really happened to my bouquet?” I hear Raya asking in a slight panic. “Did it get ruined?”
“Found it. And it’s in pristine condition,” Bo says with a smirk as she opens the door wider.
Raya, standing there in one really extravagant wedding gown, takes one look at me and then darts an unimpressed look at Britt, who is smoothing her hair down in the mirror, playing it cool.
Britt’s eyes meet mine in the reflection briefly, and the barest of smiles flirts with her lips.
“Be glad I still appreciate the disgustingly sweet phase,” Raya says
on a grumble as she turns around, her dress zipped only partially—but it doesn’t look like it’s going to zip anymore.
“How does Paul Colton himself mess up measurements this badly? Why am I trying to fix it instead of him?” Bo asks, somehow managing to make it across the room without me noticing.
I glance back over at Britt as she makes her way toward me.
The room is full of girls, material, fancy bridesmaid shit, and various other really pink and purple things.
They all fuss over something that Raya is freaking out about, trying to calm her down. I don’t really pay it much attention because Britt is pulling me down by my tie.
“Britt, can you go get the other fabric from my office to see if it’ll match up since Raya doesn’t want to tell her future father-in-law he messed up?”
Britt starts to leave, but Rain squeezes by me. “I’ll go get it. Britt will make too many detours,” she quips as she hurries toward the back doors.
“Did you not do a final fitting or even try it on?” Bo is asking incredulously, as Raya huffs out an annoyed breath. “Are you that tired of this wedding before you even have it?”
I tune out the intense backstage drama that will be eclipsed with a show and bright, shiny photographs that will probably make it feel like this never happened.
“So you’re going to Houston next?” Harley asks us. “After the reception?”
“We’ll be riding in the back of Taylor’s van instead of flying private,” I tell her, knowing what she’s about to offer. “He just had it refurbished, so it’s not as terrible as it sounds,” I add.
“Enjoy it. Before spoiled grandparents that keep delaying your wedding. Don’t forget there are also the prenuptials, a stupid perfect wedding dress, extravagant venues, conmen and wealthy moguls all on the same monstrous guest list…”
Raya stops her rant, and exhales again as tears start springing to her eyes.
I just nod like all that makes perfect sense.
“I’ll save you a piece of chocolate cake at the reception,” I tell Britt as I back away.
She grins as she slowly shuts the door, and I turn, twirling the bouquet—
“Fuck’s sake,” I groan as I turn back around.