Expressionate

by Lucy Smoke

  I take off toward the building, walking fast, but not running. If I gave in to the need to run, then it would just show him how deeply he’s affected me. I don't want that. I feel only marginally better when I make it to my apartment and shut the door behind me.

  8

  Tax

  I watch Love take off towards the building. Even though she takes measured steps, her legs still waver on the sidewalk. I wish I could say it was because of me, but I saw how her face changed when I came down on top of her. One moment, she had been as drenched in me as I was in her, and the next, it was like she was in a different time – with someone else. Whoever it was, it wasn't someone she wanted to be with. That much was obvious.

  Leaning back against the Jeep, I inhale the warm night air and fill my lungs with the smell of gasoline and oil from the passing cars. There’s also smoke on the wind; it could be the smell of a fire burning somewhere, but the only fire I’m concerned with is the one Love has left me with. As I wait for my erection to go away – because that girl really fucking gets me hot – my phone buzzes in my pocket. It's Keith. I answer.

  "How did it go?" he asks.

  "I won," I say.

  As if there was ever any question that I would. God, it felt so fucking good to be back in the ring again. I’m already thinking about other fights. I can probably get into another one soon. Just to take the edge off. I’m always on fucking edge even when I’m pretending I’m not. Love distracted me for a moment, but now that she’s gone, it’s back with a vengeance and I’m craving bloodshed again.

  Keith’s relieved sigh pulls me back from those dark thoughts. It tells me just how concerned he was over this. "I can't tell you how much this means, Tax. If you ever need anything from me, man, all you have to do is ask."

  "Actually," I say, an idea taking root, "you and Abigail still have her old man's loft toward the city?"

  "Yeah, why?" he asks.

  "You mind if I borrow it next weekend?"

  "Sure, but it's a wreck man. I keep meaning to clean it up, but with the baby coming and everything..." He trails off, sounding embarrassed.

  "I don't care," I tell him. "I'll clean it up. I just need a place away from the guys for a while."

  "Somewhere to bring chicks?" he asks. "I know you have Ally now. That's a good idea. I could have it as a crash pad for a while if you want it, at least until the baby is born and Abigail and I are settled, when I can get around to selling it."

  "Done," I say. "I'll stop by the garage tomorrow to pick up the keys and drop off the money." The wad of hundreds in my back pocket – my compensation for getting the shit beat out of me earlier – burns a hole in my gut, but it will help out an old friend and I got to release my demon for a little while. All in all, it wasn't such a bad trade.

  “Thought you wanted to meet at the university?” he asks.

  I had forgotten about that. What had made me want that? Oh yeah, I wanted to see if I could catch Love in another element. But after tonight – after the last few moments – I had a feeling she was a little raw. I needed to give her some time. I’d come back. I wasn’t going to stop. I still wanted her. In fact, the closer I got to that icy fire of hers – the more I craved it.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, “we can meet at the garage, no problem.”

  "Thanks again, man, I really–"

  "Yeah, yeah," I cut him off. "See you tomorrow." I hang up the phone, shoving it into one of my front pockets before I head toward the complex.

  When the front door to my apartment swings shut, it takes all I have not to wince. I'm sore in places that haven't been sore in a long while. No one comes out, and for that I'm grateful. Ally’s not here and the guys know the deal – they come with me, they watch my back, but when we get back, it's like none of it ever happened.

  I make my way to my room and shut the bedroom door before collapsing on my bed. Reaching up, I feel along my bottom lip with my thumb. The sweetest torture is that I can still smell her. I can still taste her on my mouth and I want more.

  Keith’s loft, set in one of the shitty neighborhoods within a five-mile radius of downtown, despite its decrepit exterior and poorly cleaned interior, is prime real estate. When it manages to get cleaned up, he'll get a pretty penny to really push his business along. He might have been able to sell the thing to get the money he needed immediately, but it would have been at less than half what the place is worth.

  Carefully picking through the layer of broken furniture blocking my way into the loft, my thoughts wander to the fight last night. From the moment I’d stepped inside that cage, I reverted back to a place where I was all powerful. Feeling Love's eyes on me had only heightened that sense of power. Halfway through the fight, though, the feeling of being watched by her – the slow, sensual prickles along my spine that let me know her eyes were on me, analyzing me, undressing me – disappeared. For some reason, it bothered me and channeling that frustration into laying out the dick, who had tried to ram his knee into my balls towards the end of the fight, had been a good way to work through it. Too bad I still feel the edges of that lust for blood lingering in my mind.

  Shaking away the thoughts as much as I can, I heft a wooden rocking chair in my arms, and set it just outside the front door, on the platform of the stairs leading up to the loft, to give myself some space to move. The rest of the room is filled with similar shit. When I stopped by the garage to get the keys, Keith had told me to use or take whatever I wanted. Looking across the loft, I know most of it will be condemned.

  The layer of dust is thick, and I have to cover my nose and mouth with my shirt as I sort through some of the shit left in here. There are heaps of trash and debris that make the entire place smell like mold and rot. By midday, I'm able to see patches of the dirty floor. Boxes – both empty and full – have been separated and piled either together or taken apart and dropped outside, over the wooden rail to the ground below. I manage to get to the other side of the loft and open up one of the windows. It's actually a fairly large place. If someone added walls, and the bedrooms were kept small, it might even be big enough to act as an apartment for two or three people.

  As the fresh air from the window filters in, I drop my shirt from my face, and something catches my eye. I tilt my head as some of the sunlight flickers over the shiny object sticking out of an untouched box. I make my way toward it, tossing empty boxes and cheaply made furniture out of my way. Bending over, I lift a medium sized, heavy box into my arms and turn, wading out from behind the trash heap I've immersed myself in. I carry the thing that weighs a damn ton to a space I've already cleared, and rip open the top. I pause when I see what's inside.

  The typewriter is an older model, black except for the metal along the carriage and underneath the bubbled keys. I run a hand over the dusty top of it and imagine Love's fingers running along the surface. I don't even know if it's something she would like. I don't even know that much about her; just that she doesn't care about appearances, she works in a bookstore, and she has a sister and a slutty roommate.

  I box the typewriter up again, deciding that she can throw it out if she doesn't like it, but if she does...well...this is one way I've never tried to get into a chick's pants before.

  "Hey, where the hell have you been?" Cross asks from the couch as I walk through the front door, toting the typewriter box in my arms.

  "Cleaning up Keith's old loft," I say, dropping the thing on the kitchen counter.

  Ally walks out and wrinkles her nose when she gets a look at me. "You look like you buried yourself in trash." She pinches her nose shut. "You smell like it too."

  "I feel like it," I confess. Abigail's old man – the one the loft had belonged to before he had up and croaked, leaving the place to her and Keith – had been a fucking hoarder and half the shit was so disgusting, all I did was throw it over the side of the landing and then call someone to come get it later. "That's why I'm heading for the fucking shower, man."

  "That girl came over earlier,
" Cross says, his eyes looking me over.

  "Your new girlfriend? Why the fuck do I care?"

  Cross salutes me with his middle finger. "She's not my girlfriend," he says. "You know I don't date. I mean the other one."

  "Love?" I ask. "What did she want?"

  He shrugs, grabbing the remote and turns the TV to a different channel. "Don't know, she was looking for you. Told her you weren't here. She said never mind, but I figured I'd tell you anyway."

  "Thanks, man." I pause in the living room, wondering what she wanted.

  As if reading my thoughts, Ally shakes her head at me. "Shower before you do anything," she urges. "Please, you'll thank me later."

  I laugh and open my arms. "What's wrong, baby sis?" I grin. "Don't wanna hug your big brother?"

  She backs up. "Not when you smell like that."

  I laugh again, launching myself at her. She squeals and barely manages to dive out of the way, skittering toward the couch, crawling across Cross to get to the other side. "Fuck! Ally!" Cross yells as I half land on him, trying to get to her. I'm too amused to chastise him about his language in front of my little sister. Especially when he blanches. "Dude, she's fucking right, you smell like ass!"

  I push off him and wink at Ally. "I'll get you next time, baby sis."

  "You will not!" she yells as I make my way toward the bathroom, stripping off my shirt as I go. Love reenters my thoughts as I wash and stays there.

  I rush through my shower, grab a new shirt, slide into clean jeans, and snatch the typewriter up before I find myself standing in front of her door with my arm raised to knock.

  I knock, and the door slides open after a few moments later. The girl – the roommate who has an aversion to clothes that cover her ass and tits – stands before me. Wide eyes look up at me before she licks her lips and bites the lower one. I raise an eyebrow and barely contain my repulsion. "Were you coming over here?" she asks. Dumb as well.

  I nod. "I am." I balance the box containing the typewriter in my arms. "Is Lovel–" I barely stop myself, "Love," I correct, "is Love here?"

  The girl – whose name escapes me – frowns, as if disappointed. "Oh, yeah, she's here." She opens the door wider and points down the hall. "Her room is that way. I'm heading out. Don't fuck in the living room."

  I frown after her as she disappears out the front door with that parting statement, letting it swing shut behind her. What kind of people is that girl used to? If Love lets me fuck her in the living room, I'm not gonna question it. I'll fucking take her against every goddamn surface in this apartment. For a woman like Love, though, I'll probably have to work a little bit harder before we get to that, but it'll make the sex that much more explosive, I'm sure.

  I head down the hallway. All of the doors are closed but one. And from that open doorway, I hear the strings of something soft and dark. A singer mumbling through a song with a smoky voice about holding one's breath and a girl with austere curls. I pause in the hallway, peering into the small room. It's almost utilitarian, with very little personality, which is odd for the girl I see sitting in front of her computer, staring at the screen.

  "Those things will ruin your eyes, you know," I say by way of greeting.

  She jerks, startled, and whirls toward me. Big, green eyes blink at me, a flush rising to her cheeks. "Beverly let you in?" she asks, surprised. Ahhh, that must be the roommate's name. I nod. "I told your friends to forget I came over."

  "Cross told me you said something along those lines." I step further into the room, and she stands up, looking uncomfortable.

  "Sorry it's a mess in here," she says.

  I stare at her. Is this girl serious? The floor is empty. The desk is a little cluttered, sure, with books and sticky notes. There are a few books on her small bed. I grimace. I don't know how I'll ever fit on that thing. She doesn't know it yet, but the moment I get her to give in – I'm getting her a bigger bed. I'll move my damn bed in here if I need to. Once I have her, I'm going to want her again and again. Of that, I'm sure.

  "It's fine," I say. Her eyes drop to the box in my arms.

  "What's that?" she asks.

  I grin and nod toward the bed. "Do you mind if I set it down? I brought it for you."

  "Uh...sure?" She sounds uncertain, but I don't give her time to change her mind. I stride across the room and set the box down on her bed. She comes up beside me. "You got me something?"

  "I did," I say with a smile. I step back and push her gently forward. "Open it."

  Love looks at the box like it might contain something vile, like spiders or snakes. "There's nothing in it that's going to bite you, I swear."

  She still doesn't look comfortable, hesitating before she reaches for the top folds of the box. I've already opened it, all she needs to do is pull back the cardboard flaps and peer inside. When she does, her eyes widen and then flash up to mine before returning to it.

  "Is this...?"

  My grin widens. "Yeah, I found it while cleaning out an old loft. My friend told me I could have it. I don't have any use for something like this, but I thought you would like it. Go on," I press, "pull it out."

  Carefully, she reaches inside and the small muscles in her arms tense as she lifts the heavy typewriter out. It thunks back down on the bed. "Sorry," I move forward. "I've been lifting and carrying that thing all day. I forgot how heavy it was." I slide around her and pick it up. "Tell me where you want to set it up."

  Love blinks at me before pointing to the desk. She rushes ahead of me, shuffling books to the side, and picks up her laptop. I set the typewriter down and wipe a bit of dust down the sides of my pants before I can think better of it. Ah, shit. I just cleaned up. Love doesn't look like she's paying attention though. Instead, she looks entranced by the thing on her desk. I gently pry her laptop from her arms, close it and set it on the bed, then snatch the box up and set it on the floor. Her fingers hover over the keys, softly stroking without pressing down. I almost want to do a dorky fist pump or something. She likes it.

  "Not bad, huh?" I say, drawing her out of her reverie.

  Her gaze returns to mine, eyebrows lowering. Her mouth opens, and she bites down on that plush bottom lip. I gulp. This is what the roommate had been trying to do. But no one can look as sexy as Love does when she's not even fucking trying. Images of her skin sliding against mine flash through my mind. I can’t say why there’s this beating urge under my skin to crawl under her clothes and strip her bare. But that fucking kiss lit something within me. I want to see what she’s like when she’s not so tense, not so closed up. My erection strains against my jeans. When her eyes move back to the typewriter, I quickly and as discreetly as possible adjust myself, tucking my cock into the waistband of my jeans. It's not ideal, but better than standing around with tented pants.

  "Why did you get me a typewriter?" she finally asks, turning to look at me fully. “Why did you get me anything at all?” She moves away from the thing as if she's scared she'll lose herself again and keep touching it. I watch as she folds her arms across her chest and tucks her hands in, hunching forward. I grin. Oh, sweet, naive Lovely, I think. Innocent, she may look, and she's got the act down. She can't honestly be surprised by a gift, can she?

  "I just saw it and thought you'd like it," I say. "I didn't have to pay for it or anything.”

  "You didn't have to do that," she says. “We barely know each other.”

  I raise an eyebrow. "Yeah, I know. I wanted to. And I’d say we know each other a little better than you’d like to admit." I lean back against the desk, propping myself up. “I’ve seen where you work, you’ve seen me play and fight.”

  Love’s teeth make an appearance. White as pearls as she bites down on her lower lip. All of the blood south of my navel thrums. Fuck. This girl.

  I tilt my head to the side before turning my face away. I straighten and make my way out into the hallway. Instinctively, she follows. I stop in the living room and she stops too. Her teeth sink back into her lower lip and my mouth goes dry.
I look around the room and see all the places I could fuck her – the couch, against the wall – hell, even the goddamn floor will do. Anything to get inside this insanely attractive and confusing woman. The same woman who will smoke cigarettes with tricks and go to a cage fight and tell me off. Why is getting her naked all I can think of? That’s definitely not normal.

  “Why did you come over?” I ask. “Why were you looking for me? Did you need something?"

  "No," she says, shaking her head. "It was...it is nothing. Forget it. I told your roommate to."

  I hum. "Hmmm." I crack my neck. "Well, I guess I'll head out then. I wanted to bring the typewriter over anyway. So, yeah." Great, I think, now I'm feeling awkward. Love nods, her hands moving against each other in front of her chest. She fidgets so fucking cutely.

  "I'll see you around?" Her voice breaks at the end, going up – making it sound like she's asking rather than telling me.

  I smirk and nod. “Anytime, Lovely.” She grimaces and then narrows her gaze on me as my hand touches the doorknob. Her phone rings and she stiffens, her back going ramrod straight, and a peculiar expression makes its way across her face before it drops into nothing but an apathetic mask. I turn, watching as Love pulls her phone from her pocket. It's not someone calling, I realize, it's a text message. Several if the repetitive dinging is any clue.

  She looks at the first couple of messages, and sucks in a breath.

  "Everything okay?" I ask.

  Her eyes meet mine again and there's something there that tells me whatever she's reading is not okay. I silently urge her to reach for me, to ask for help. But I know she won't. She keeps saying we hardly know each other. I'm going to change that. Even if it's slow going, I'm going to make Love turn to me when she needs someone. I want her to.

  When she shakes her head and simply tells me she has to go, I don't do anything. I don't ask her why. I don't offer to go with her. I'm not going to press the issue. Soon, but not yet.