by Lauren Runow
There was something so normal, so comfortable about wanting to have her next to me. It wasn’t purely sexual either. With Amy it was more the rush to be inside her any chance I got. This is different. It’s like I’m thinking with my real head, not the one tucked away in my pants. Just kissing her lips left me satisfied.
I never understood why couples held hands or sat so close together, but last night, I wanted to touch her. Not to rub against her or move her hand to my cock. I just wanted to rest my hand on hers, leaving it there for no other reason than because it felt good.
She calms me like no one ever has. I’ve always been the one to show off or use some slick pickup move, but with her I don’t have that urge. It’s like I can really be me.
I have to be completely sure about this though. If this is a tool to help me fully move on from Amy, then I can't go there. Tonight will be my final test.
I texted her earlier that I'd bring dinner home and I’d be there around seven. My eyes were glued to the screen as the little bubbles appeared and disappeared over fifteen times before she replied with a simple, Okay.
I’m still not sure why but that made my day. A smile covered my face as I envisioned her typing and deleting, over and over again, trying to reply with the perfect response while biting her inner lip.
Everything about her makes me smile. Her bubbly personality, her witty comebacks, and holy shit, she's sexy as hell.
How did we even get to this point? That's right, she came after me. Pride fills my soul knowing she’s felt this way about me all this time.
There's a knock on the door. I open it, and we stand in silence as I take in the simple jeans and top she's wearing. Her makeup isn't overdone, and the way her hair is pulled back into a ponytail makes me want to lick from her collarbone up to her ear.
"Hi," she whispers.
My face breaks out in the cheesiest grin as I open the door wider and invite her in. My instincts want to lean in to kiss her but I stop myself short of doing so and stand back against the door as she walks through.
"I've got quite the playlist lined up. I hope you're prepared to go down," I tease as I close the door.
"Nice choice of words. Am I doing shots again, or are you being facetious?"
Laughing, I reply, "Okay, bad choice of words. That's a completely different conversation for later, maybe?"
I couldn't help myself, and when her eyes grow two sizes bigger and she flushes, I know it was totally worth it.
I wink at her as I cross to the kitchen, where dinner is laid out.
"I thought you said you were picking up food. What's this? Did you cook?" she asks when she sees dinner already served sitting at the table.
A sharp laugh escapes my lips. "I like to pretend I cook. I'll pick up food from the Italian restaurant I told you about and put it on a plate so I don't feel like I'm eating out all the time. It's lame, I know, but my mom never taught me how to cook."
"Don't blame this on Nancy. She'd hate to hear you eat out as much as you do."
"She knows, believe me, and hassles me all the time about how I live my life. Can I offer you a glass of wine to go with your lasagna?" I ask, fetching the only two wine glasses I own.
"Sure, thanks." She pulls up a chair and places a napkin in her lap.
"My boss gave me a couple bottles of wine after we won our last case. He says it's his favorite, and I've been waiting for a special occasion to open it. It's called Chimney Rock from the Stags Leap district of Napa. They supposedly have the best Cabernet Sauvignon around. Should I open it?"
"Sounds good to me. I'm not a huge red wine person, but I'll give it a try."
I pour and take the glasses to the table, handing her one as I hold mine up. "May the best music genre win."
We clink glasses, and she takes a sip.
My mouth explodes with the smoothest wine I've ever tasted. After swishing it a few times, I let it roll down my throat, never getting that burn some wines give. I lift my eyebrows in amazement and glance at her.
"Wow. This is good. Okay, so maybe I do like red wine," she states in surprise.
I nod and join her at the table.
The first bottle disappears during dinner, and our conversation never stops. After we clear our plates, there is no question about opening the other bottle. We take it and our glasses into the living room, where we’re about to throw down in an epic battle of the music genres.
She sits on the couch and pulls her legs up, as comfortable as she can be. I have to admit, she looks good sitting there too.
"Okay, lay it on me. You go first, and yes, I will judge everything from your first song, so choose wisely, my friend," I jab.
"Oh, it's on. I love a good challenge, and I'm prepared to win. My first choice is Sam Hunt’s entire album, Montevallo. Every song is about him and his girlfriend, who’s now his wife, but I’ll only play Cop Car because I have a story to go with it. He was a college football player who happened to pick up the guitar one day, and let's just say his career as a quarterback took a backseat after that. So, last year Keith Urban, wait, please tell me you've heard of him?"
I nod, leaning back on my couch to take this whole scene in.
"Okay good, so, he released this song Cop Car, and I liked it but it bugged me because it was more than obvious that he didn't write it. You see, he's married to Nicole Kidman and has been for a while. There's no way they 'fell in love in the back of a cop car' as the song indicates and I don't know why but it really bugged me. So, a few months later I bought this album and guess what song’s on it?"
I playfully shrug my shoulders, having to bite back my desire to tease her about her excitement level over this song.
"Cop Car!" she exclaims like it's the craziest thing ever.
I can't help but laugh.
"Don't you see? It's got to be about him and his girlfriend. It's just too personal of a story for anyone else to sing it."
She sits back, finished with her story and looks at me. "You ready?"
I smile. "Play it."
The song starts off slow talking about trespassing to watch planes take off. When the police arrive, they get arrested and he falls in love with her in the back of the cop car, hence the name.
Even though it's a sappy country song, it has meaning and tells a story. She mouths the words intensely with her eyes closed. The passion she has for the song hits me somewhere I've never felt, and I’m surprised how much I like it.
It ends, and she hits stop to her music app. "Okay, beat that."
"I don't have backstory on mine like you do, so I feel like there's some rule-breaking going on here, but how about this?"
I swipe my phone and scroll to the song. "Since you so openly dogged their name, I choose Thousand Foot Krutch for my first song. It’s called Down."
"Wait. Please tell me you at least know the meaning behind that odd name?"
I tilt my head, thinking. "I've never even thought to research why they're called that."
"And you call yourself a fan and, even worse, a lawyer? Isn't it your job to research this kind of thing?"
"Well, if they ever kill someone, I'll make sure to research what their name means, but till then, sorry, music is my escape from my job."
She bites her lip as she grabs her phone; on a mission I'm sure to figure out where their name came from.
"Are you going to pay attention or research on your phone?" I push her device down.
"I can do both, hit it. Wait." She stops me before I do. "Why this song?"
“When I was applying to law firms, this was kind of my motivation song. They talk about people doubting them being able to make it in the music world, because a million people can sing. I don't know. It pushed me forward. Someone has to do it, so why not me?"
"Hmm, I like. Okay, I'm ready now."
The song starts with a heavy rock guitar playing which causes her to raise her eyebrows so I squint my eyes, silently telling her to give it a chance.
When the chorus comes on, I
sing along, emphasizing the parts that drove me to success.
When it's over, she nods. "I call that round a tie. Agreed?"
"Yes. What's next?"
She scrolls through her playlist and stops on Brad Paisley. "So this one doesn't have a crazy story to go with it, but I think it's really cool how he's married to the chick from Father of the Bride. I love her so in turn I envision this song about her. It's called Then."
She hits play and we listen to the sappiest country song about how he thought he loved her then and how his love grows every day.
Her head falls back against the couch, singing the song but only barely moving her lips, in a trance over the words coming from her speaker.
I can't peel my eyes from her. For the first time in my life I understand a sappy country song. The words explain my feelings growing for this girl before me, the person I never thought I'd be sitting with.
When the song ends, she turns her head to face me but keeps it lying back against the couch. Her eyes open to catch me staring.
"No comment." I pretend I don't like the song instead of telling her what I'm truly feeling.
She lets out a sigh. "Fine, do me one better."
I pull up my next choice before she changes her mind. "It's called Life is Beautiful by Sixx: A.M. It doesn't need an explanation, just listen."
"What is it with these names?"
"I actually know this one. It's Nikki Sixx's new band. Look how it's spelt”—I show her my phone—“that's why, and A.M. are the initials for the other band members."
"Finally, he's able to spit knowledge about a band he likes," she teases.
I start the heavy rock song and pretend to play the beginning drumbeat. The song is all about living, feeling alive and seeing that life truly is beautiful.
I pretend to be her and close my eyes at the ending chorus, rocking out to the lyrics and letting them wash over me. When I open them I see her staring at me with her eyes welling up.
She quickly blinks them away, coping my previous words. "No comment, so it's a draw."
After scrolling again she stops at someone named Maren Morris. "You know I wasn't raised religious so this song really spoke to me. I've had people try to explain the feeling they get when the Holy Ghost touches them. Even though I've never felt it, from what they explain that's the feeling I get when I listen to music. This song is My Church. You'll think it's a religious song but listen to the lyrics."
She's right, the lyrics explain exactly what she said and I completely agree with her. Music is my church too.
That's going to be hard to beat so I scroll through my songs for the best song ever made and I love the remake even more.
"This song needs no introduction," I say, hitting play on Shinedown's version of Simple Man.
Once she realizes what's playing, she reaches over and yanks the phone from my hand. "You broke the rules, you lose. That's not fair. That's a classic rock song."
I try to grab my phone back from her. "How is that losing? It's rock."
"No, it's classic rock"—she lifts one eyebrow—"You know there's a difference or I would have played something similar."
"So you like classic rock?"
"Of course I do. Who would deny classics like that? Though—" She pauses, pulling her legs up to sit cross legged like she's about to spill some serious gossip.
It's a move I've seen my sister do plenty of times and instead of turning me off, it actually makes me smile.
"I watched a documentary on John Lennon and I must say, I'll never look at him the same."
"John Lennon, the John Lennon?”
"You know what's his name shot him because he said he was a hypocrite, right?"
"No, actually, I never heard that." I turn her way, lifting my leg on the couch so I'm facing her.
"Yes. You see, he sang that no one should have possessions and stuff but yet he owned expensive art pieces worth millions and lived a different life than what he preached about in his songs. But, the thing that got me most was that he had a son who he basically disowned."
I bring my eyes together in confusion. "Really?"
"Right? I thought the same thing. He preached about loving everyone but barely showed his own son the same love. He openly said he was the outcome of a bottle of whiskey and no birth control or something crazy like that."
She waves her hand around in an animated fashion that makes me laugh.
"But the mom was not some random chick. I think they were actually married the first few years of his fame. So, when he died, his will only left this son some sad amount like five thousand dollars or something. Can you believe that?"
Her story surprises me, but it’s not her words as much as her passion. It's so over the top and she's excited to share her knowledge.
"Okay, well that's your Beatles trivia for the day." She repositions herself and to my surprise brings her head down to lie on my lap. Like it's second nature, I move without thinking, straightening out my leg to give her a better headrest.
Holding up my phone still in her hands, she scrolls through until she finds a song she likes, and we sit like that, my playlist playing on shuffle late into the night.
9
Dear Diary,
I’m falling fast. Too fast. I wish I had someone I could talk to, but no one knows my truth except Tracy and, um, yeah, the fact that he’s her brother won’t go over too well. I wish you could talk back to me, Diary, and give me some advice. I’ve never felt so torn. One part of me is saying I should throw caution to the wind and live my dream life. I’ve loved him for years, and he’s finally noticing me. But that love is breaking my heart because I don’t want to hurt someone I love. If I keep this going, he’ll get hurt, and it will be my fault. How can I live with that? Either way, one of us will be screwed. It should be me, I know it should be me, but I want this so bad my heart aches. Please give me a sign as to what I should do.
Mackenzie
Connor
When I open my eyes, I'm momentarily confused as to where I am and how I got here. Blinking, I get my bearings and realize I'm in my living room, and I slept on the couch.
Mackenzie is asleep on my lap. Memories of last night, of our little game and the conversation that followed put an instant smile on my face. It's been years since I've talked to a female like that where nothing sexual happened.
I can't help but focus on the woman I've known since she was ten. I basically grew up with her, yet somehow I don't see that same girl I once did.
I never realized how beautiful she is. Her hair is a rich, dark auburn color I know is natural, because it's always been the same.
The longer I stare at her, the more I wonder why I didn't recognize her at the club the first night. To me, she was always that ten-year-old girl making friendship bracelets in Tracy's room or standing right next to her at every dance recital I was forced to go to. At least that's who I envisioned when I spoke to her on the phone about law schools.
I mentally count back and realize the last time I saw her was when she was around fifteen, about eight years ago. Then she was at law school on the east coast. No wonder I didn’t know who she was.
She stirs and opens her eyes to meet with mine and we sit frozen for a few seconds. I raise my hand to her face, moving her hair away from her eyes and tucking it behind her ears.
"Good morning," I whisper.
"Good morning," she replies. "What time is it?"
I pick up my phone. "It's six."
She sits up in a panic. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. You slept all night like that? You must have been so uncomfortable. Why didn't you wake me?"
I pull her back down. "I actually slept great and just woke up myself. You seemed to fit there pretty well."
She instantly blushes, and I fucking love it. She worries her lip between her teeth, and it's so cute how nervous she is.
How did I never notice this side of her?
"How did you sleep?" I ask.
"Good actually. Your place is much q
uieter than mine."
"Ouch, that hurts. Here I thought you slept well because I was next to you." I couldn't help myself. I was dying to see the flush of embarrassment creep up her face again.
"Well, s-sure it was." She’s flustered.
I place a finger over her lips. "Sorry for teasing you. My place is quieter. I had new windows installed a few years ago."
She huffs out a tiny laugh. "They make a big difference. You own this place?"
"Yeah. Each unit is owned separately. I've lived here for about three years."
There's a brief silence, and she looks away, unsure of her next move. "So, um, didn’t you say you had to work today?"
"Yeah, not till nine though. Want to grab coffee or something?" The smile that spreads over her face warms my heart.
"Sure. Let me go get changed."
"It's okay, stay here. You can turn on the TV, and I'll take a quick shower, then we can go." I help her off my lap and hand her the remote. "I'll be right back."
I can tell she's still unsure of the morning’s events. Hell, I am too, but for now I'm rolling with it because it feels so right.
I go into my room and disrobe before stepping into my bathroom. It's not long before the air and water tease my cock, along with memories of her face, and it throbs, wanting attention. Knowing she is mere feet away makes the urge worse, and I quickly rub one out.
When I exit, I walk out in only my dress pants, saying I need to get something from the laundry room. The way her face lights up at the sight of my bare chest makes me want to throw her down on the couch.
I'm beginning to really like being with her, and not just sexually. It’s so much beyond just sex, and it’s surprising the hell out of me. For now at least, I need to refrain my temptations in my pants and focus on being with her outside of my bedroom.
I slip my shirt on in the laundry room but leave it unbuttoned as I join her in my living room to put on my socks.
When I catch her looking at my bare chest again, I wink and she blushes but stands up quickly to grab her purse from the kitchen.