Bad Idea- The Complete Collection

by Nicole French

  My words don’t help for shit. She just starts crying into my shirt, her hands curling tightly at my collar. I keep one hand at her waist and slide the other up her back to the nape of her neck, cradling her against me. I don’t know exactly what’s wrong, but I can guess. She hides it well, but my girl’s been carrying a lot.

  “Do you know,” she says once her tears finally stop. “Neither of my parents called me today? I know they’re out of the country, but it’s not like they can’t afford a phone call.” She sniffs against my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “It’s okay, baby,” I tell her as I stroke up and down her back. “You got nothing to be sorry about. I know it’s hard not being with your family around the holidays.”

  “No,” Layla says. “No, that’s not it.” She lifts her head and looks at me even while she wipes her tears from under her eyes with her fingers. “It’s...I never had this, you know? In my family, Thanksgiving is a formality. Mom usually hired a caterer, or maybe we’d go eat with one of my dad’s partners. At Christmas, we’d exchange gifts in the morning, and then spend the rest of the day at church. I...” She breaks away for a second to wipe her eyes. “And I miss it. Isn’t that crazy? I actually miss those weird, cold holidays. Because it’s what I knew.”

  I rub her shoulders. “Of course you do, baby. It was home.”

  She sniffs and looks back toward the party. “But then I’m here. There’s so much love in there, Nico. It’s amazing. And it...well...it just made me feel really alone for a second. Like, I’m missing what I never had at all.” She rubs her forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to ruin your night. Really, I’m so grateful you brought me here tonight.”

  She looks out to the city twinkling below. Alba’s apartment looks east toward Times Square, and from here the lights of the Broadway theaters and billboards glow between the buildings. Layla’s face is lit by the glow too, a sort of blue hue that fits her mood. My girl is incredibly beautiful, but she’s also so sad. I hate it.

  “They’re a pain in the ass.” I jerk my head toward the party. “Always bitching at each other, getting into trouble. One wrong thing, and you get a house slipper thrown at you—I’m not kidding. They’re like fuckin’ heat-seeking missiles.”

  Layla chuckles.

  “No family’s perfect, Layla,” I tell her as I press my forehead to hers.

  “True,” she agrees. She closes her eyes and sighs. “I do miss mine.”

  Fuck. There’s not much I can say to that, and I’m not going to blow it off like it’s not important. Her parents aren’t together anymore, and she has no siblings. No matter how distant or cold they might have been, the family she had is gone. I have the same one as ever, full of drama, judgment, insecurity, and, yeah, love. I never thought I’d be the luckier of the two of us, but here we are.

  So, I hold her tight and let her feel what she feels. We look out to the city. Layla shivers.

  “Come on, sweetie,” I say. “Let’s go back inside.”

  We walk back to where the party is in full swing. Even more “relatives” have arrived, and the music has been turned up some more. Even Ma is on the dance floor, swishing her skirt around her knees with the first smile I’ve seen in a while. I have to grin. My mother doesn’t smile that much, so when she does, I know it’s because she’s truly happy.

  “You want to dance some more?” I ask Layla, still holding her hand.

  She shakes her head. “Not yet. I just want to watch for a bit. You should if you want, though.”

  I don’t. I don’t want to be anywhere but with this work of art next to me. That’s what she is to me, and I wish I could tell her without making us both miserable tomorrow morning. Instead, I lean against one of the walls and move her so she’s sandwiched between my legs and leaned against my torso while we watch the party. I wrap an arm across her sternum, and the other around her waist, like two solid locks around her broken heart, and if I’m being honest, mine. It’s already getting late, and my flight leaves early so I can be back in time for work. Tomorrow I’ll feel like shit, having to leave this girl who makes me feel like I can do anything, who trusts me with her soul, and who I want to trust with mine.

  But I don’t want to think about that right now. I nuzzle into Layla’s neck, a low hum escaping from my chest after I inhale her floral scent. We are both full of words we can’t say, promises we can’t keep. But what we feel—neither of us can hide that.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I say as I set my chin on her shoulder.

  Layla sighs. “Thank you for bringing me,” she whispers, turning her face to mine.

  I know I shouldn’t. I’ll catch a torrent of shit about this for a month, from my mother, my sisters, every Puerto Rican in a twenty-block radius wanting to know who this is, this first girl I’ve ever brought home. The first girl I’ve danced with. The first girl I’ve ever kissed in front of all these people.

  But I don’t care.

  Tenderly, I press my lips to Layla’s. It’s a church kiss, the kind you’d do in a chapel full of people. It’s not our most passionate kiss, the kind that makes me want to rip both our clothes off. Totally chaste, especially by our standards. But it’s a kiss full of those words that neither of us will say out loud. It’s a kiss I’ll never forget.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Layla

  It’s past two when we finally make it back to my dorm. The building is empty; almost everyone has gone home for the break, so our footsteps sing on the stairs, echoing up the concrete stairwell until we get to my floor. There’s a nip in the air, almost like it might snow for the first time this winter. Snow will always make me think of Nico—our first kiss was shadowed by soft flakes.

  When my door closes behind us, in the apartment that’s still dark, we face each other, consumed by the sudden silence.

  Nico was quiet the rest of the night—careful with me, always holding me, touching me. We danced a bit more, mostly to slower songs, but for the rest of the night, even if we were chatting with some distant relative or one of the impossible number of aunties at the party, he always had at least one arm around me, one hand touching me somewhere. His blatant affection in front of his family was unexpected, but also its own weird kind of foreplay. Because as soon as we’re inside, that feeling, that desire to be close, blooms bright within me.

  He follows me into my room, and practically runs into me when I stop suddenly and start to undress for bed. Nico watches, transfixed as I remove my shoes, tights, the thin sweater I had over my dress.

  “Help me out here, will you?” I just want to get into bed with him. Curl up with his arms around me. Get closer than we’ve been all night. Than we’ve ever been.

  “Jesus,” he breathes as he pulls the zipper down my back. The thin straps hang a bit off my shoulders, and then the silky fabric falls to the floor.

  “You are so goddamn beautiful, Layla.” Nico draws a line down my vertebrae.

  I shiver and smile shyly over my shoulder. “You always say that.”

  His black eyes are full of promise. “It’s always true.”

  Up until now, his touch has been tender, but strong. All night long. We danced a few more times, but no more fancy moves. It was all holding me, guarding me from the scary things in the world, even though he knew what hurt was on the inside.

  Now his touch is just as strong, but as he places his hands on my bare skin, his strength and tenderness is threaded with a different kind of electricity too. He presses his hands all over me, drawing his fingers, palms over my skin as if to memorize the contours of my body, but also to imprint his touch there so it won’t ever leave. Almost a massage, but I’m anything but relaxed. My skin buzzes with each powerful handprint.

  I turn around to face him, and his brow furrows with concentration as he continues the pressure: over my chest, between my breasts, down my stomach, where they fan out over my waist. His eyes follow his hands, brows crinkled as he memorizes my body. As his palms slide behind, over my ass, and then
he’s crouching, following that same forceful yet tender touch down the outside of my thighs.

  He presses his nose into my thigh and inhales deeply. I want to grab his hair and pull his face more to the center, but he has his own agenda.

  “I can’t,” he murmurs into my leg before he stands back up. “It’s too...God, it’s too fuckin’ much.”

  There’s no one here. No roommates to worry about. No students on the other side of the thin walls. We can be as loud as we want, wherever we want.

  But we’re quiet, the only sounds between us our breaths, both suddenly hoarse as we stare at each other. Nico’s chest is suddenly heaving, and his breath is ragged. Harsh. My chest feels like it’s being squeezed, and a wave of longing suddenly erupts all over my bare skin. He’s right in front of me, staring at me while a muscle ticks in his jaw. We’re both paralyzed by how much we want each other, unable to move.

  “Nico,” I say, barely able to get out the word.

  His eyes open wide, and my voice, small and timid, cuts through the silence. My eyes are watering, not from tears, but from desire. I want him so badly I can’t see straight. I wonder if it will always be like this.

  “Please,” I say. I swallow hard, barely able to do it because my throat is so tight. “Please.”

  Nico frowns, almost like he’s in pain. His mouth—that full mouth, with the lower lip that’s soft, plump, begging for me to suck on it—falls open.

  Then he’s full of action. His hands find my thighs, and with a quick, graceful movement, I’m lifted up and set on the desk behind me. He snakes a hand behind my neck while the other clasps my back, and with a determined, forceful look, he sets his mouth to mine.

  It’s the kiss we’ve both wanted all night. While we sat next to each other at his mother’s apartment, our knees continually touching, feet brushing under the table. While we walked hand in hand to Alba’s party, body to body in the packed elevator. While we twirled and turned around the crowded dance floor. Even while we stood against the wall together, when he wrapped me in his strong arms and made me feel safer than I’d felt in months.

  All that time, I still wanted this kiss. I was starved for this closeness.

  It’s the kiss we wanted and couldn’t have until now, when his fingers and mouth possess me with a kind of certainty I lack. My hands move on their own, up his chest, then down his arms, clutching the bulges of his biceps, that raw, animal strength that he controls so elegantly. His touch is delicate yet firm as we move in a dance reminiscent of the one we did earlier. All of it says the same thing he murmured to me all night.

  I got you, baby.

  He doesn’t say it now, but the words release knots in my shoulders and back I didn’t know were there, a ripple that flutters through me. Nico senses the change. The hands at my neck and waist relax, and his mouth breaks away as he rubs his nose against mine. He kisses me again. Once. Twice. Worries my lower lip between his teeth a little until I squeak. It’s only then I can feel his smile against my mouth.

  “Do you ever feel this way?” he wonders as his mouth travels across my face, down to my neck where he sucks, hard, at that soft spot just below my ear.

  Goose bumps immediately erupt all over my skin. “What way?”

  His hands slide up my thighs, then grab my ass and squeeze. “Like we can’t get close enough?”

  My arms wrap around his neck so I can press my body against his. I want to feel every edge of him, hard and soft. I want there to be nothing between us. Not even a sliver of light.

  “Layla,” Nico says in between kisses that seem to grow deeper and deeper, like he wants to swallow me whole and also dive into me himself. “Layla.”

  It’s then I realize that he’s waiting for me to take the next step. He’ll do this all night—just feel our bodies together, the way our skin produces a new kind of warmth. He’ll keep rubbing his hands over my skin with a pressure that’s demanding, but never out of control. Kiss after hungry kiss. Touch after starving touch.

  He’s waiting for me to tell him he can let go. Even now, when I can feel the shape of his desire throbbing between us, the length of him that begs to come inside, he protects me.

  “I know one way we can,” I finally say.

  Nico watches as I press him back just an inch or two, and proceed to undress him. Like he did with me, I take my time about it, unbutton each button of his black shirt, push the tailored material over his broad shoulders, and watch it fall to the ground. I slide my hands over his chest, pausing slightly as I trace the delicate work of the tattoo over his chest. Half-compass, half-clock. A reminder that he has only one life, one direction to find. A direction he’s searching for now in California.

  The thought makes my chest squeeze, and I push it away. As if sensing my shift, Nico catches my hand and kisses it.

  “Do you know what I’m thinking right now, baby?” he asks, the deep bass of his voice pulling me out of my brooding.

  I blink at him. It’s written all over his face, just like I’m sure it’s written across mine. But we’ve done this before. And just like I don’t want to think about the fact that he’s going back to California tomorrow, I don’t want to think about what happened the last time we said the word love.

  They tell you how good it feels when you find love for the first time. But no one ever tells you how much love hurts when you have to let it go. And the way I’m feeling tonight, I’m not sure I can take it if I hear him say it again just to walk away. I’m not sure my heart can take it.

  “I know,” I finally say. “I know.”

  Nico nods, that same delicate pain I feel is etched over his strong face. His gaze drops to my lips as he reaches into his pocket.

  “Please,” he says as he presses a condom into my hand. “Please let me come closer.”

  I take the condom, and he kisses me, slow and steady, absorbing the waves of emotion, pain, love, tenderness that wash over us again and again. Still controlled. Still waiting for me to take this at my own pace.

  We’re both silent as I unbuckle his pants and push them and his briefs down. I hold him in my hand for a moment, and he shudders. It would be so easy to take him again, with nothing between us. So easy. So natural.

  But I don’t want to regret anything I do with Nico. Not ever again. So I roll the condom on while he groans slightly, then guide him toward me. He looks down, watches for a moment as he finds his way inside, finding that place where his body fits perfectly, deeply within mine. Then he finds my face again, his black eyes fathomless.

  “Come here,” I say as I slip my hands around his neck.

  So he does. But this time his kiss isn’t measured, isn’t quite as thorough. It’s hungrier, belying the control he’s losing. The rest of him is still, though his hands take hold of my thighs so tightly it almost hurts. It turns me on even more.

  “I don’t want to move,” he says in between kisses that are losing their control. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

  I tilt my hips, taking him even further. He groans.

  “You won’t,” I say as I bite his lip. “I need it just as bad as you do.”

  Slowly, slowly he obeys. His lips float over mine, his breath uneven as he starts to move.

  I fall back, only barely registering that he catches me with a strong arm. His lips catch one of my nipples as he picks up his pace, his cock moving in time with his lips.

  “Nico,” I whisper, my voice hardly more than a whimper.

  My legs wrap automatically around his waist as he thrusts even deeper. A moan erupts from deep within my chest. My words are no longer any language I know.

  “I got you,” he keeps saying against my neck, my chest, my ear, his breath now coming in torn waves. “Let go, Layla.”

  It’s not just the friction of him as he moves steadily, finding that spot only he seems to find. Nor is it the way his lips feel, feather-light as they drift staccato touches over my neck and collarbone, or the way his hands knead the fullest parts of my body with aplomb. It’s
all of it—his complete and utter want of me that undoes me in the end.

  The world explodes behind my closed eyelids as it hits me, a detonation of color and light that’s brighter than the center of Times Square itself. My body tightens; every muscle seizes, and I squeeze him tightly, wanting him deeper still as I fall apart around him.

  “Layla,” he shudders, his hips continue to move. “Baby. I. Fuck.”

  His words dip into unintelligibility right along with mine. He calls my name out just as I call his. We fall into each other, completely laid out as the world envelopes us together.

  “Layla.” My name echoes across his lips. “Layla.”

  “I can tell about your mom,” I say much later, when Nico and I are curled up in my twin bed. I lie on his chest, tracing the outlines of the compass tattoo. It splays over his heart, about a hand’s width. He has one arm draped over my shoulders, the other tucked behind his head.

  “What’s that?”

  “That she’s not here legally.”

  Beneath me, he tenses. It’s not a secret—he told me a long time ago that Carmen doesn’t have papers—but it’s not something he likes to discuss. A few seconds pass before he replies.

  “How’s that?” he asks finally.

  “Little things. You can see the difference.” I massage his tricep, which has suddenly gone stiff. “Between her and K.C.’s mom. Alba is so open, and it seems like she’s done all right for herself.”

  Nico relaxes a bit. “Well, K.C. paid for that apartment a few years ago. But yeah, Tía’s done pretty good. She got a job housekeeping at one of the big hotels and then started her own business.”

  “She just seems comfortable. Your mom seems...I don’t know. Closed off, somehow.”

  My fingers trace a path down his sternum, in the hollow between his chest muscles. He’s smooth there, only a few stray hairs. The black ink on his chest and encircling most of his right arm shines in the moonlight.

  “Plus, you know, her apartment gives it away too,” I add. “The bathroom doesn’t exactly meet housing code. I’m guessing people don’t live in that kind of place legally.”