In My Bed

by Jennifer LaCross

  “If you knew you’d be so exhausted, why didn’t you drive your own car to the show?”

  “Jake was supposed to be my ride home, but he bolted to go and call Rachel. Then it was just Toby since Brian had to leave so quickly.”

  “Why did Brian leave?” Out of the three nights that I’ve spent time with Brian, two of them ended with him taking off abruptly after he made a phone call. I’m starting to think that this is common with him, considering Toby and Nate didn’t seem surprised or alarmed when he left in such a hurry.

  “It’s, uh, part of his volunteering?” he tries to explain, but it comes out more like a question than an explanation. One hand moves to his hair, his fingers gliding through the strands as he pushes it from his face.

  “Well, Mr. Cryptic, I’m going to guess Brian doesn’t really share that information with a lot of people, so I’ll take that vague answer as long as he’s not a drug dealer.”

  He laughs and shakes his head, looking down at his lap. “He’s definitely not a drug dealer.”

  “If you say so …”

  The quiet that follows my statement is calm, but I can feel all the unsaid things swirling around us, waiting to be discussed. I’m still wondering if I was the only one who felt that connection while he was onstage, but there’s no way I’m bringing that up.

  Nate clears his throat, shifting a bit in his seat before turning to face me. “Anyway, thanks again for the ride and for coming to the show.”

  “Anytime.” I smile.

  I expect him to get up and leave, but instead he moves closer to me. It’s really only a fraction of a movement, but I can feel it—feel him coming closer. Everything about him right now is overwhelming: his big body folded into the seat next to me, his masculine scent wafting toward me, the shadows dancing around his smile, his breath coming out as visible puffs and mingling with mine, his eyes glowing with heat as the weight of his gaze presses on my heart. I’m looking right at him, silently begging for him to invite me in even though I know that’s not where we’re at in our relationship.

  “You know, I saw you watching me up there.” His voice is low and rough, the heat of his words reaching out and wrapping me in warmth. My heart starts to pound in my chest the way it did as I watching him on stage, thumping to a beat I’ve never heard and sending out warning that I ignore. “Did you like watching me play?” he asks, moving in closer as he waits for my answer. The way he’s asking me, the words he’s using, are just like the first dream I had about him.

  Only this is real.

  “What do you think?” I ask, my voice dipping low to match his heavy tone.

  “I think you did, Jenna.”

  He keeps his eyes on mine as he reaches down and takes my hand from my lap, the touch of his skin on mine nearly sending sparks flying in my car. Positioning my hand near his mouth, his lips graze the back of my hand as he rubs his thumb along my knuckles.

  “Goodnight, Jenna,” he murmurs, his lips brushing softly over my skin as he says it, his breath warming me through to my core.

  His eyes flick down and he studies my hand in his, shifting them so our palms touching, our fingers aligned. I take my eyes off his face and look down, noticing how small and feminine my hand looks pressed up against his. His fingers are long and calloused and his tan skin looks dark against my light complexion. The intimacy in this simple touch has my heart pounding as it tries to jump from my chest.

  When I look back up at him, his eyes are closed and he looks as if he’s struggling with something. “Nate?” I question softly.

  My voice startles him and he opens his eyes, looking at me briefly before pulling away and telling me goodnight for the second time. I don’t respond as he leaves, shutting the door behind him and patting the top of the car. He walks away toward his apartment, leaving me hot and confused in the driver’s seat.

  I feel like he’s the one who just took me for a ride.

  ***

  “You boys really know how to do breakfast,” I tell Jimmy and Dan as we each dive into our stack of all-you-can-eat pancakes. I pick up the maple syrup and pour it over my pancakes.

  “Who doesn’t love pancakes? Just stay away from me with that maple syrup.” He raises his fork and knife, crossing it like he’s warding off an evil being, laughing in the process.

  “So how was the trip home to see Mom and Dad?” Dan asks me.

  “Short, but sweet. My mom absolutely loved my hair. She’s always wanted me to go back to my natural color, but unless I grow it out, this is as close as I’m going to get. How was your Friday night?”

  “Great,” Jimmy says, a sly smile growing on his face. He glances over at Dan, who has the same smile on his face. “We went to Fairy Tale.”

  “I figured since you nearly always go on Fridays, but what’s with the look you keep giving each other?” I ask, my eyes darting between the two of them.

  “They got a new Robin Hood,” Jimmy says, trying to act nonchalant. “I think you know him.”

  “Oh my god! Who?” Being a dance major at a school near Fairy Tale, I know several of the go-go dancers who work there.

  “Me,” Dan says with a smile on his face.

  “What!”

  “Yeah, it’s only one Friday a month because you know how they like to rotate their dancers, but it’s good money and it’ll be a blast. I got up there last night just for fun and when I got down, the manager asked me if I wanted the job," he explains, a proud smile on his face.

  I look over at Jimmy. “And you’re not worried about your boyfriend being up on stage like that with other guys watching him dance?”

  Jimmy chuckles and shakes his head. “No way. I trust him completely. Other guys may look, but I’m the only one that he’ll be touching,” he says, raising a brow.

  As we eat our breakfast, we discuss what Dan will do with his extra income, what each of us is going to do for rest of the day, which flavor syrup is the best on pancakes, and which flavor is best on waffles. But the whole time I’m thinking about the way Jimmy completely trusts Dan. There’s no doubt in his mind that Dan will be faithful. There is no question of his loyalty. And I wonder what it must be like to have that unwavering level of trust in someone.

  Not that I want to.

  ***

  After last night, I’d expected the weather to be cold, but it’s actually a really nice night. I’ve been spending a lot of my time surrounded by people or busy with work or homework, so I decide to take advantage of the weather and head to the beach for a run by the water. I get plenty of exercise dancing, but every once in a while I like to go for a run and take advantage of the stretches of gorgeous beaches this city has to offer. And this time of the day is perfect for a run on the beach. I may not be a romantic, but I still enjoy the beauty of a perfect sunset over the ocean.

  I arrive at my favorite beach and park my car into an open spot. I pull what I can of my short hair into a ponytail and clip the rest back from my face. Putting in my earbuds, I connect them to my phone and set the playlist before I get out of the car. I walk down to the sand and take off at a steady pace keeping to the waterline. I watch the pier in the distance as I run toward it, getting lost in my music and the feeling of my feet pounding the sand.

  I reach my destination just before the sun is about to set and turn off my music. Walking leisurely down the pier as I catch my breath, I listen to the waves crashing around the beams below me as they keep the structure hovering on top of the ocean. As I near the end of the pier, I see his profile—his defined jaw, his strong brow, a few hairs tucked just slightly behind his ear.

  He looks like a god among men.

  Nate straightens and stands, his tall and broad shouldered frame casting a shadow behind him, his torso naked and glistening with sweat. His hands go to back of his neck, his elbows pointed to the sky and muscles flexing as he looks out over the horizon.

  Nate is a gorgeous man, but I’ve seen plenty of gorgeous men. What has me moving toward him like a magnet to its match
is the tattoo he reveals to me as he turns to face the sunset. This isn’t just a tattoo—this is art. I had no idea he had any tattoos, let alone one that covers almost his entire back in color. The detail is so clear it nearly makes me forget that I’m looking at a man’s back. This piece obviously took a lot of time, and there is clear symbolism in the artwork.

  The trunk of a tree moves up his spine until the branches take over, twisting out over his shoulders. The leaves and flowers have all fallen leaving just the naked branches, but instead of browns and oranges, the leaves cover his lower back with various shades of green and pink. A wooden swing hangs off one strong branch, and through the artist’s hand I can tell it is blowing lonely in the wind. A single pink rose lays unmoving on the seat.

  I can see there is a quote written into the trunk of the tree, the script bending and twisting like bark. When I get close enough for me to make out the words, I stop.

  Real loss is only possible when you love someone more than you love yourself.

  My breathing stops for a moment and then I let it out in one big whoosh. This tattoo is a dedication to someone he’s lost and someone he loves. Even though I’m close, he can’t hear me because he has headphones in his ears. To get his attention, I start taking small steps toward him, stomping my feet hard with each stride. I make as much noise as I can, hoping that the vibration of the wood below me will cause him to turn around. As a dancer, I’m used to graceful and fluid movements, so walking like this is seriously unnatural, but worth it because it works. It’s less than a minute before he starts to turn around and when he sees me a confused and surprised smile starts to grow on his face.

  Standing in front of him, I realize dream Nate has nothing on real Nate. I take him in, noticing the indents of his muscles, defined and shimmering with sweat as the sun sets behind him. He’s big and toned and all male—and my reaction to him is strong and deep. It’s a feeling I’ve felt with him before, and just like every other time it has me completely off balance.

  “Jenna?”

  I attempt to compose myself as I squint at him, the sun bright in my eyes. “Hey, Nate. This is kind of weird running into you here.”

  “I could say the same. You don’t come here often,” he states like it’s a fact.

  “How do you know?” My voice sounds light and flirty, even though a million thoughts and feelings are swirling around and clouding my mind.

  “I come here a lot. A great view at the end of a great run.”

  “Oh. Well, I come here sometimes. It’s not really part of a routine or anything. I normally like to dance for my workouts, but every once in a while I like to run,” I explain to him as I put my hand up to my eyes, trying to shield them from the insistent sun.

  He tilts his head a bit to the side and moves closer to me, stepping forward and blocking the sun from reaching my eyes with his shadow. “Better?” he asks, looking down at me.

  My heart flutters and I don’t even care. That thoughtful gesture deserves a heart flutter. “Yeah, thanks.”

  “I’m heading back to the parking lot in a minute. Do you want to walk back with me?”

  I look into his eyes and smile. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

  “Cool,” he replies, reaching for his shirt and pulling it over his head. “Let’s head out after the sun sets though. This is my favorite part of an evening run.”

  “Mine too.”

  We move to lean against the railing on the pier and watch the sky as the sun starts to sink below the horizon. The sunset is beautiful, but I barely notice the brilliant pinks and purples painting the sky. All I can see right now is that tattoo.

  “It’s magical, isn’t it? The way the sky changes,” Nate muses, pulling my focus back to the sky.

  “What?”

  “I’m talking about the sunset …”

  “Yeah, it’s great. Really great.”

  “You sound distracted,” he says, turning to look at me. “Everything okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. Honestly, I was just thinking about your tattoo. You never told me you had one.”

  “I never told you I didn’t,” he says, his voice wary.

  “That’s true,” I concede. I hope he’ll elaborate on the meaning of the scene he has inked on his back, but he doesn’t. “Why did you get it?”

  “A lot of reasons,” he says, sounding sad. I wait again for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. The sunset is over now, and the sky is starting to turn black as the stars come out. “Let’s head back.”

  We take our time on the walk back along the beach, our hands touching every so often, my fingers grazing his as our arms swing at our sides. There isn’t much conversation, but the things we talk about are easy and my questions about his tattoo remain unanswered. I don’t dwell on the fact that he didn’t want to open up and instead spend my time focusing on the way I feel when I’m with him and my heart takes over.

  Beating, fluttering, skipping, speeding and dancing all it wants.

  Chapter 12

  I’m not one for avoidance, but after our walk on Saturday night, I’m relieved to get a break from seeing Nate. We’ve both been so busy that we’re not even texting that much. This little breather has allowed me to think things over and sort through my feelings.

  I know that I want to explore my feelings and I want more than friendship, but I’m not sure what level of more I can handle. When I think about giving in and going for it, those old feelings of betrayal and hurt start to surface, making me rethink even being his friend. But then again, the thought of ending this thing I have with him is just as upsetting—if not more.

  The good news is that he’s not pushing me to make it official or make a commitment. Taking it slow seems to be working for us right now and there is nothing wrong with taking your time. In fact, if we ever decide to explore the physical side of our relationship, I will definitely appreciate the take it slow philosophy.

  It’s Thursday evening when I finally see him again at my interpretive dance performance. When I spot him entering the small theater, I start to get butterflies, nervous for the first time about my performance. It’s not that I’m nervous about my ability to perform; I’m nervous about the way he’ll react. The performance I’m giving today is fairly intense. When he told me last week that he wanted to come to see me dance, I just thought he was saying it in the “let’s do lunch” type of way—noncommittal and feigning interest. Then he texted me earlier today to confirm the time and place, and I’ll admit my heart responded to that text.

  “Hey! You made it,” I say, walking toward him. My arms are full of costumes, so he just nods at me.

  “Yeah, it’s kind of a small place,” he says, looking around at the small stage and twenty chairs set in front of it.

  “It’s usually only the instructor and a few of our classmates watching. There are three different interpretive performances today, so this will be one of the bigger audiences. This is just for a grade. If we want, we can chose to perform in the showcase in front of a bigger audience. I usually sit those out.” I love performing in front of an audience, but I don’t need to do it for my classes. I miss it a lot, but I gave up performing on stage when I chose to change my profession.

  “Sounds intimate.” He winks.

  I laugh and let him know to have a seat since we’ll be starting soon, but before I can walk backstage with the costumes, he touches my arm, stopping me. I tilt my head to the side in question.

  “Did you have something to do after this, or did you want to grab some dinner with me?” As he asks the question, he moves in a little closer.

  I smile and nod. “I’d like that,” I reply, my heart pounding at the idea of spending some time with him. And suddenly, I don’t know why I ever wanted a break from him—a break from this feeling.

  “Cool,” he says with a bright smile. “And break a leg.”

  I walk backstage, the smile never leaving my face as I bring the costumes to the rest of our group. We all go to the dressing rooms and get changed, meeti
ng back in the wings to watch the other two groups perform.

  For this assignment, each group was given a part of the life process to interpret through dance. One dance about falling in love, another is the sexual interpretive dance, and my group will be interpreting life and death. Other than the instructor assigning the topics, everything else was left up to us—the music, the costumes, and the choreography.

  I stand and watch as the first group dances to Ella Fitzgerald as she sings Let’s Do It (Let’s Fall In Love). It’s sweet but really unimaginative. They go through the courtship, running and dancing around each other as they fall in love on stage, but I feel like I’ve seen this same dance before. At the end, they even do the cliché spin and dip into an almost kiss.

  As the next performers walk onto the stage, I peek out of the curtain, indicating to Nate that this is the dance I was talking to him about last week. I muffle my laughter at the face he’s making while the dance starts. His eyes are wide and surprised as the dancers on stage start to grind against each other before the music even comes on. Drunk In Love by Beyonce, starts to play as they dance through their interpretation of a one night stand, taking a song that I love and totally ruining it for me.

  I have had many one night stands and I’m completely annoyed by their version. Even though I don’t have an emotional connection, when I have sex I respect my body and the body of the man I’m with. I think their interpretation has discounted the value of just being with someone out of physical attraction making it seem cheap when it could have been heavy and expressive. Thankfully, they finish quickly because the guy doesn’t have any stamina once he gets the girl into the metaphorical bedroom. It was bad and I’m so glad it’s over.

  They leave the stage and my group moves into position. Our assignment was open for interpretation and it took us a while to decide which way we should take it. Instead of performing a representation of an individual’s life and death, we decided to chronicle a couple who raise a child and then have to deal with loss of their teenage daughter.