by Kat Pace
“It’s OK,” Alex teases. “It is pretty cool.”
“Very cool. It shouldn’t work,” I whisper.
“Why not?” He asks, laughing at my intensity.
“Globes are round,” I sigh in a duh kind of way.
“This one is round,” he says like he’s explaining something to a child.
“Not really,” I roll my eyes. “It’s all faceted and shit.”
“And shit,” he repeats, laughing at me. “Want to touch it?”
Alex moves behind me and hoists me up by the hips without warning.
“Alex!” I squeal, laughing and flailing. “Stop! Stop!”
“Oh come on, you want to see it! Come on, hold the world in your hand.” He laughs.
“She said stop.” A low voice interrupts Alex.
Alex spins around, me still lifted in his hands. He sets me down on the floor so my heels make a click when they find the wood. Alex hangs his head and sticks his hand sin his pockets. “Hey, man.”
“What are you two doing in here?” Brooks doesn’t smile or look even remotely friendly.
I’m reminded of a vampire in the shadows and about a million other clichés for douchey, protective boys.
“Getting lost,” Alex repeats my words, glancing at me laughing. I laugh back.
“Obviously.” I roll my eyes. Brooks just stares at us, looking back and forth and hesitating in the middle, like he’s seeing some invisible things between us.
“What were you actually doing?” Brooks asks, his voice almost growling.
“What? Brooks knock it off.” I say.
“Yea man. I just walked in,” Alex says, stretching his arms out to show his innocence.
“Right. And the laughing and touching is just casual right?” Brooks asks, agitated. His fingers rake through his hair again.
“Yes, seriously!” I say.
Brooks walks toward us, headed for Alex. I step in between them to stop him from doing anything stupid. The look on Brooks’s face –I can’t quite place it.
“Brooks. Enough. ENOUGH.” I raise my voice. Alex shifts awkwardly between us.
“Well, I’m heading back. See you guys,” Alex says. He leaves the room through the same door he came in. He has to sidestep Brooks on the way out.
Brooks and I are alone and for the first time since we got to Vail I’m unsure of the look that’s on his face –the look that’s in his eyes.
“That was rude,” I say, crossing my hands over my chest.
“Whatever,” he says, shrugging.
Great.
I wondered which version of Brooks he would be tonight. Playful? Flirty? Horny? Pissed? Violent?
I cross the floor to Brooks and reach for his coat. He backs up ever so slightly I almost don’t catch it.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
“What were you two doing in here?” He asks, his voice dangerously close to accusing me of something. I’ll kill him.
“I was in here looking at the bookcase when he came in and we started oh my god, shield your ears, TALKING.”
“He just came in?” Brooks asks, like he can’t believe anyone would enter the same room as me. “He didn’t follow you in here?”
“Don’t be fucking weird.” I shrug his hand off me.
“Don’t make it fucking weird,” he says. His mouth stretches into a thin line.
“I wasn’t!”
“His hands were on you,” Brooks states, like this should be an obvious offense. “He was all over you.”
“Oh my god, Brooks. Please.” I push into him again. “Are you kidding ME?”
“He wants you,” he declares, like it’s some type of punishable crime. I can hear the jealous in his voice.
“No, he doesn’t,” I whisper, trying to keep myself from laughing at him. I give him a look that reads plainly: You have zero right to give me shit right now.
“You heard him downstairs,” he accuses.
“You’re right I did,” I nod. I can’t keep the sour taste from seeping into my words. “Heard him ask the question. Saw you answer.”
“Em,” he sighs. “I wanted to tell you. He knew I hadn’t told you and–”
“It was a game.” I am sure to extra stress the word. “Plus I don’t care. It’s not like I thought you were alone all these years. It wasn’t me who asked for a number, remember?”
“Funny,” Brooks says.
I don’t know why it’s not bothering me anymore, but seeing him in front of me visibly tense hurts. So what if he once hooked up with Katie? She’s just another girl. One of many, I’m sure. I have a pretty full closet too.
“Do you like him? Do you like Alex?” Brooks’s question brings me back to him. His voice sounds strained.
“Do I like him? Do I like him?” I repeat, laughing. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”
“Answering a question with a question. Classic.” He purses his lips.
“My GOD! You’re an ass!” I throw my hands up.
“And you’re a bitch. Back to where we started,” Brooks says, folding his arms. He watched me for a minute. I’m already furious with him and his cold silent treatment isn’t helping ease the tension between us.
“Well?” I finally ask. Not sure what I’m waiting for though.
“Do you find him attractive?” He asks.
How old am I right now? How old are we?
“Yes! OK. Is that what you need to hear? That I find him attractive? I do. Always have. Alex is hot. Do you find him attractive?” I want to keep going but Brooks covers my mouth with his hand to stop me.
“Enough.” He steps back.
“What? You don’t think Trix and Meg are hot? I know you think Katie’s hot.” I think of him and that look on his face during the game.
“That’s not it,” he grunts. Detached Brooks. That’s who I get right now. But that’s not who I want to end the year with.
“Then what is it? You just being ridiculous again? Deciding to flip the switch again? Alex is my friend. He’s YOUR friend too! Like what the fuck?”
“I’m –I just should have told you. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t. And Alex saw the chance to and took it.” He looks away from me. “I’m sorry Em.”
“Hey,” I mumble, his bottom lip between my teeth. “It’s Daisy to you.”
I can almost feel him roll his eyes above me, but he gives in. He opens his mouth and yields to my kiss and then his hands are on me, all over me. I moan quietly between the kisses. He steps backwards, pulling me with him. We are so close we may as well be glued together.
We may as well be one person.
I feel him bump into the door. It clicks shut behind him and he turns the old lock on the knob. My chest heaves with excitement. Brooks moves us to the corner. The shaded lamp casts an eerie glow over the room, draping everything in a haze of red hues.
“What time is it?” I can hardly ask the question between my panting. I don’t want to miss New Years, not while everyone else is here downstairs.
“It was only 11:20 when I came up,” Brooks says, his breaths pitter-pattering soft against my skin.
Here it comes. The tease.
I moan when he presses his front into me. I can feel him hard beneath his dress pants. I reach into his coat and wrap my arms around him. He is warm. I pull the coat off and toss it on the sofa bed. I unbutton the first three on his shirt, resting my palm on his chest under his suspenders. His hands are already down my back and up my skirt, his fingers reaching under my butt for my inside.
Another squeal escapes me as he moves inside. At the same time he puts his free hand to my mouth and pushes his fingers through my lips.
“I’ll be the last person to have you this year,” he says, planting little kisses along my jawline, down to my chest, and then up again, until his breath is warm against my ear. “And the first to fuck you next year.”
His words drive me wild with desire. I tap out, man. I can’t live anymore.
I writhe, my weight f
ully supported by my arms around him, by his fingers inside me. My legs do not work. They’ve turned off. He goes in and out, in and out. One hand squeezing my bottom lip and then finding my hair. I am exploding.
“Have me,” I pant, swallowing hard with his fingers still in my mouth.
The desire is in his eyes, crawling out from the depths where he tried and failed to suppress it. He craves me like he’s trying to escape starvation. I feel his fingers come out and his hands grip my waist. It would hurt if it were normal circumstances –if my nerves weren’t already blazing –if the endorphins weren’t already coursing through my veins.
My lips are sticky from the heat, from his lips, from his fingers. The red haze and the perfumed candles have suddenly made the library feel very confined.
He lifts me into him and carries me to the open curtains –to the French doors. A click and they open; the cold air is fresh air.
The library must be on the backside of the house. This is my first thought for the balcony does not overlook the back courtyard. There is no teeming fountain or glow of bulb string-lights. I can hardly hear the music anymore. Instead I hear the trees whispering their harmonies on the wind. The air is chilled, welcoming us with smells of snow and smoke.
The moonlight casts tall shadows over the empty ground below. Brooks drops me against the ivy-riddled wall, cornering me like some ravenous predator.
The way he looks at me like that drives me wild. My palms glide down his chest to his pants. I can’t undo his belt fast enough. His fingers flip the hem of my dress. Brooks lifts me again, pressing me against the wall, into the wall. Shaking, his hands grab in the stone groves on either side of our little alcove. I’m pinned to the wall with only our waists holding me up –with only him holding me up.
“Jay,” I whimper into his hair.
I can hardly breathe, but I welcome the suffocation. Maybe it’s not suffocation at all. Maybe I’ve just always been breathing wrong.
We move like you see in the movies. Not the shitty rom-com movies from the 2000s with the exaggerated sex scenes, but the true movies. The classics. It’s like I’m experiencing him for the first time. And I want to savor every second.
The beads of sweat shimmering on his bare chest.
The way his hair turns deep raven under the moonlight.
The way it cascades over his forehead with every push into me.
His deep breaths and hoarse voice when he says my name.
Everything we are saying without words.
The unspoken promise we are making to each other.
I want to savor it all.
My legs are locked around him, keeping myself perfectly in place. I can feel him pressing on every side of me, moving in small circles, groaning into my ear.
“Em, Em,” He sighs against me.
He grips the stone tighter. He moves deeper. Deeper than I thought was possible. I think for a second I might burst. I might break open and seep all over the wall.
“Fuck,” I pant, breathing hard against his ear.
He nuzzles into my neck and kisses it, almost biting. He’s starving again. I bite my own lip to keep from screaming.
11:46 PM
“There you guys are!” Trix shouts, pulling me by the hand closer to the bar. “And where were you?”
“Seriously! It’s almost midnight.” Travis says, grinning.
“Sorry,” I smirk.
I take the champagne flute she’s shoving into my hand. The blush rosé is spilling over the edge of the glass. Bubbles galore.
Trix looks at me, eyes rolling, and takes my by the hand. She drops her voice so only I can hear. “You two are nuts!”
“Finally! Thought you two would miss the countdown,” Meg says walking up to us.
Nate slides his hand around her waist. “Something tells me they wouldn’t mind missing it.”
I shoot him a shut up look.
“Emmy was just giving private tours,” Alex laughs.
“Not true!” My voice comes out squeaky.
I go tense at his words and can’t ignore how Brooks shifts next to me. I squeeze his arm beneath my fingers. Silent reassurance.
“I need another drink,” Brooks says, shrugging my hand off him. I let it drop and watch him walk away in the direction of the bar.
“I’ll be right back,” Travis says. He disappears in the same spot where Brooks just went. Trix bulges his eyes at me like it’s my fault they just left.
“Em, what happened? What’s with Brooks?” Trix shakes her head.
“I don’t know what his issue is,” I say, answering her telepathic question. “But I need a drink too.”
Trix and I circle back to the champagne tower again. It’s still overflowing. We grab glasses. I should really take two.
“Ok, come on,” Trix is pulling me back to the spot we just left –back to where Meg and Nate and Alex and Katie are waiting.
Someone takes the stage, the burlesque show continuing on in the background. The jazz stops and so do the voices. An eerie calm settles over the entire mansion. The woman with the red fur is next to us again. She’s staring intently at the man on the stage like she’s begging him to take her somewhere.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Ten minutes remain.” A loud applause erupts around the mansion, spilling onto the terrace and echoing in the courtyard.
Brooks and Travis snake through the crowd, fresh drinks in hand. They’re laughing. Good sign. OK.
“That was quick,” Trix says. She pecks Travis on the cheek.
“Wouldn’t keep you waiting.” Travis returns the kiss. Ugh. Vomit.
“Hey,” Brooks says, quiet. Grinning down at me and shit, hair parted and slicked back, his suspenders showing.
Oh, another mood swing.
“Hey,” I smirk back.
His hand slides around my waist and with that we are the last of the couples to brace for impact.
Here it is: The end of the epic, the countdown.
It’s a new kind of electrifying, subtly yet significantly different from last night’s rave. There’re no drugs in my system and not nearly as much alcohol as last night. But the hype is hysteria, contagious. The burlesque lead takes the old-fashioned microphone in hand. The band strikes up a jazz beat. The crowd starts.
TEN
NINE
EIGHT
I turn to look at Brooks standing next to me. He looks unreal. This entire thing feels unreal. I pinch myself to keep from thinking of our sexcapade on the balcony. His lips spread into a grin when he sees me looking at him. The rest of the room becomes a blur.
FIVE
FOUR
I’m hardly aware of Trix and Travis behind us, or Meg and Nate already making out next to us. A blob of red fur rushes past me. The jazz tempo increases. I down the rest of my champagne.
THREE
TWO
ONE
ROAR
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
“Happy New Years!”
“Woo-hoo!”
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the twenties!”
“To the twenties!”
I hear only what my subconscious picks up; the entire party is now some distorted realm of reality. Gold tinsel confetti showers us in glimmering specs of foiled light. The only thing I’m fully aware of is Brooks. His lips on mine. His hand on my waist. My arms crossed behind his neck. His hair under my fingers.
We false started. Flag on the play. We kissed on TWO. We ended 2019 and started 2020 during the same kiss –the first time we’ve done this since senior year of high school.
And guess what?
I want to do it every year.
12:01 AM, 2020
My heels crunch down on the foiled confetti as I follow Brooks out on the terrace, holding hands like some romantic couple. We leave the dancers and their tasteful nipple tassels behind us. We pass couples embracing, companions clinking glasses, and some people just emptying glasses.
We are 100 years ago. Truly, swallowed by the sands
of time. We do not exist here in this world, not tonight. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe nothing we do tonight counts.