by Slade, Shari
Sasha: Not really
Tay: Inside and out
Sasha: Laying it on thick tonight?
Tay: I can’t stop thinking about you.
It was torture. The ninth level of Hell. Everything she’d ever wanted him to say was there on the screen, except it wasn’t really for her.
Tay: I wish I could touch you.
And she was burning, flaming. If he were saying these things in person, she’d disintegrate. She tugged on her tank top, pulling the thin cotton away from her itchy skin.
Tay: Is that okay?
She was practically molting, slipping right out of her skin on the spot. This disastrous attraction might kill her. She squeezed her thighs together and shifted in her seat.
Sasha: I want to touch you too.
Tay: Skype?
Sasha: Can’t, still no webcam.
Shit. This was going to be the end of it, again. Who didn’t have a webcam? She held her breath, waiting for the little indicator to flash that he was answering. A full minute. He was probably frustrated, pulling that mop of hair out of his face now, tugging it into a tiny ponytail. A minute and a half. He’d lost interest. Any second now his light would go out.
Tay: Too bad
She exhaled, a rush of relief that left her giddy.
Sasha: Sorry
Tay: Don’t you want to see me?
Sasha: More than anything
Tay: I want to see my hands on you.
Was he touching himself now? She traced a figure eight over the soft skin below her navel, chasing the flutter building there. She’d never be able to tell him the truth, and this was never going to be enough.
Sasha: You’re touching me now
Tay: Where?
Sasha: My belly
Tay: Lower. I’m touching you lower. I’ve got my fingers between your legs and you’re so wet for me.
Tay: I’m pinning you to the bed and kissing you.
Tay: I’ve got my tongue in your mouth. You taste sweet.
Like red licorice. If anyone else sent her messages like this she’d block them in a second. Without thinking, she slid her hand lower, beneath the waistband of her shorts and between her legs, mirroring his description. She’d need to answer him soon. Tell him something, everything she wanted to do to him. But first, she’d take the edge off a little. The edge that had been building all evening beside him, watching love scenes filled with artsy shots of peaked nipples and glycerin-smeared abs and punishing kisses.
Why had they gone to that movie?
She was crushed under the weight of her unfortunate attraction and the game of pretend he didn’t even realize they were playing. Desperate for a friction she couldn’t find, couldn’t manufacture on her own.
Sasha: Keep going.
Tay: What are you doing to me?
That question could mean so many things. And she could ask it herself. What are you doing to me, Tayber? How am I this person right now? She knew he wanted her to type something sexy. Something to make his dick hard or harder. Something he could play over in his mind while he jerked off alone. Both of them alone, together, touching nothing but static.
Sasha: I can feel you pressed against me.
Tay: I am so hard.
This was hard, because it was easy. So fucking easy to pretend to be someone she wasn’t while he laid himself bare. She had to tell him. Not now. She wasn’t that cruel or that selfless. But soon, before she slipped and typed something only Callie would know. Or, worse, repeated something in person only Sasha knew. She moved to the bed. Curled around the laptop, she pushed things further than she ever had before. It had to be the last time. If he could lay himself bare, she’d do it too, in her own way. Her name might be fake, but these dirty fantasies were real. And just for him.
Sasha: my hand is all slippery
And it was. Her left hand, sticky slick, buried between her legs while she pecked at the keyboard with her right hand.
Tay: Lick it. Suck your fingers.
She almost did, but she didn’t want to stop touching yet. It felt so wrong and so good. Seeing his name, his words, blink up on the screen while she skimmed over the hard bud of her clit again and again and again. She pictured the flash of stomach she’d seen earlier, and her mouth went dry with desperate longing to drag her tongue over that patch of skin. And lower.
Sasha: rather suck you
Tay: plz
God, it wasn’t even a word. Just a collection of letters and intent. He was touching himself now, she knew it.
Sasha: squeeze first, tight, until you beg me to put my mouth on you, until you push me down on your cock
Tay: yes suck my cock
She wanted that more than anything. For him to want her as much as she wanted him. More, even. For him to make her, to tangle his fingers in her hair and drag her down. She was so far gone with lust she could barely see.
Sasha: sucking hard
Tay: gonna cum in yr mouth
Sasha: yes
Tay: on yr chest
Sasha: make me a mess
Such a mess. Twitching and achingly empty. So close. The more she got, the more she wanted. With her eyes squeezed shut, the space between enough and good enough shimmered behind her eyelids, flickered at the tips of her fingers—an invisible barrier. She needed something real, something solid. Instead, she clung to what she could have. The life she’d fashioned out of Popsicle sticks and poor substitutes. The pillow she’d shoved between her thighs. All the close enoughs she could manage. The pleasure built and built until the only way out was through. Her orgasm was a burst of light in the darkness, a secret wish given voice.
She closed the laptop without signing off.
* * *
He left her picture open on his desktop long after she stopped responding. How had he gotten to this place? He could stumble out of his dorm room and find a warm body in no time. He could message someone he actually knew and have a knock on his door in fifteen minutes. But he didn’t want just any lips on his cock, not anymore. Instead, he was trying to memorize the curve of her breast, the sliver of pale skin exposed where her bikini top skewed. He held that image in his mind while he stroked himself back to hardness. Slow, lazy, still spent from the last round. The image slipped, blurred, morphed into dark hair and a sad smile. She turned away from him, lifted her hair up as though waiting for something, the gesture an echo of one he’d seen earlier that day. Not a stranger.
Someone who never asked him for anything. Someone he should not be thinking about with his hand in his pants.
Fisting his cock, he jerked hard and fast. Flashes of breast, of navel, of wide blue eyes pierced his consciousness until he finished hot and sticky in his palm.
Did it even matter who he was talking to? If his fantasy matched a reality that probably didn’t exist? He kept seeing those eyes, bright and searching. I know those eyes. Not Sasha’s. Hers were hidden behind giant neon sunglasses. His brain was filling in blanks. And there were so many blanks to fill. Callie was just the last person he’d seen. He grabbed a towel off the floor and cleaned himself up before closing the laptop for the night. He slept with his shame tucked around him like a blanket. It had been keeping him warm for years.
Chapter Two
She’d made it to class on autopilot, but the professor’s droning lulled her deeper into a zombified state. She planted her elbow on the sloping desktop and rested her cheek against her palm. She was listening, she just needed to prop her head up a little.
“Callie, wake up. It’s time to leave.”
The shaking startled her, but she squeezed her eyes shut against the sound of Tayber’s voice. His fingers rested on her bicep, and she didn’t dissolve into a puddle of insensate mush. Good sign.
“I’m awake.” No use tempting fate, so she shrugged out of his grip. Ducking her cheek into her shoulder, she prayed he hadn’t seen her drooling.
“I’m usually the one falling asleep in class. What gives?”
“Late night.” Her voi
ce cracked. Four hours to function might work for some people—for him, obviously—but she needed at least seven.
He raised an eyebrow and broke into a grin. He swung his leg over the seat in front of her and sat backwards. “You got a boyfriend?”
The incredulity stung. He was joking, but it was so close to the truth her stomach clenched. I was studying. I was sick. I was abducted by aliens. I was up all night pretending to be Sasha, and you told me things I’m still blushing over.
She swam in an ocean of lies. She could fish out any explanation. He’d believe her.
“Yeah, so?”
She clapped a hand over her backstabbing mouth, too late. His face went blank. His decadent mouth vanished into a thin, hard line.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Deflect. Deflect. “It’s not like you tell me everything.”
He’d never mentioned Sasha, for one thing, but she couldn’t call him on that.
“Right. Sure. I better grab some lunch before Lit.” Tayber shook his head and squeezed her shoulder.
“You wouldn’t want to face your mob of adoring fans on an empty stomach.” Back on the common ground of banter, his hand off her shoulder, she settled.
“I can’t help it if girls go crazy over my dramatic recitations.” He pulled himself up to his full height and put his hand over his heart. For all his flailing over math, he had a gift for language. With his free hand he grabbed her fingers and drew them toward his mouth. Don’t kiss me. Oh, please God, don’t kiss my hand here. Instead, he gave a stiff bow and laughed. “Accompany me, Milady.”
“Rein it in, Romeo.” If he were quick, if he’d paid attention, he might have heard her gasp when his mouth was mere inches from her skin. But he wasn’t, and he didn’t.
As if on cue, one of his groupies appeared. Meg, all sleek black bob and doe eyes. Callie and Tayber only had one class together. Lucky Meg had at least two since they shared a major. Callie tried to picture Meg as an English teacher. She could see Tayber breaking hearts at the head of a class, but not so much Meg. Meg looked like she belonged at the helm of an edgy fashion magazine. Callie couldn’t see herself in charge of anything.
Apparently oblivious to the fact that Tayber was currently holding Callie’s hand, she bumped her hip against him. “Hey, you. Are you headed to the library? I need a study buddy for today’s quiz.”
Hello. I’m right here. Do you not see that we are in the middle of a personal conversation?
Please don’t ditch me to go make out with her in the stacks. Please don’t. Please don’t.
“Sorry, I’ve got plans.”
Yes, he does. Thank you very much. With me.
“Alrighty then. Catch ya later.”
Callie braced herself for a snarky comment or a dirty look, but Meg only nodded, flashing a grin that could be interpreted as a challenge or begrudging admiration. Before she could decide which it was, Tayber tugged her back to reality.
“Let’s eat.” He propelled her out of the room.
Nothing felt natural anymore. She was too self-conscious, too aware of his touch. Too aware of everybody looking at her. She might never be able to look at him directly again.
The dining hall was a treacherous place, filled with people she kind of knew, but not really, and she was never certain where to sit unless directly invited. Usually she tried not to come during peak times, instead choosing to eat when she could be sure of an empty table. Lately she hadn’t been coming much at all. She had a kitchen now. She could make her own less-than-stellar food.
But today, Tayber was her cruise director. He’d engraved her invitation with a cocky flourish, and she followed him into the depths of social hell. She wasn’t even hungry, barely noticing the food she picked up as they wove through the lines.
Tayber set his tray on an empty table and grabbed half a sandwich off hers. Chewing, he sprawled in a chair. He never just sat. Spreading his legs, rocking back, dropping an arm across the chair beside him, he took up as much space as possible. Stupid boy.
“So when were you going to tell me?” A few crumbs drifted into his lap as he spoke.
“Tell you what?” Her heart stuttered as a curl of ice twisted in her belly.
“About your boyfriend, space cadet.” He waved the stolen sandwich in the air for emphasis and rocked even further back in his chair.
“Oh, that. I don’t know.” She slumped, dropped her head into her arms and watched him from the corner of her eye. Never, because I’m a big liar.
“He isn’t going to be a douche about you and me hanging out, is he?” He wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve and let his chair slam back to its upright position.
“No, he isn’t like that.” Her situation wasn’t just hopeless, it was ridiculous. I have to come clean. She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat and started to tell him that she didn’t really have a boyfriend, but when she opened her mouth all she could manage was a pathetic little “uh.”
“Good. Who else is going to save my ass in Statistics?” She’d be pissed if that’s all she was to him. The smart girl he took pity on because she helped with his math homework. But he licked his lips and smiled his sunny, dimple-busting smile. “I’m happy for you, Callie.”
She was gutted. Be jealous, you big jerk. Be pissed. Be anything but happy.
“I have to go. Meet him. Before my next class.” The lies, they just wouldn’t stop. Next she’d be planning an imaginary wedding. If she were looking for more ways to destroy their friendship, she couldn’t have done better.
“Later.” And he was grabbing his stuff, ready to swoop in on a gaggle of girls she knew he’d spotted as soon as they entered the dining hall. He was like a compass drawn to the magnetic north of hotness, and she was the pitiful South Pole. Except last night, when she could have melted ice caps. She shivered at the thought and clutched her books tight against her chest.
“Yeah, um, later.” She wasn’t sure where she was going. Certainly not to meet her fake boyfriend. She needed to go. Away. Immediately. She fled. She was always fleeing him lately.
“Callie!”
She turned around and he was right there. He grabbed her shoulders and looked her dead in the eye. “If he isn’t decent to you, you tell me. Okay?”
She could only nod. His palms were so warm and he was so close. His cologne, the scent that was so him it haunted her dreams, fogged her brain.
Meltdown in three, two—
“He better appreciate what a good girl he’s got.”
One.
I don’t feel like a good girl. Soft lips, warm and dry, touched her forehead. The spark of heat radiated over her scalp, down her neck, and across her chest. For a split second her mind went blissfully blank. She forgot everything except the feel of his mouth on her skin. Stunned, reeling in the middle of the dining hall, the truth of their situation returned. The truth of her lies.
She ran, hoping he wouldn’t realize that she’d never told him her fake boyfriend’s name.
* * *
Lunch cut short, Tayber made a pit stop in the career center. The lady at the front desk introduced herself as a ‘job coach’ and handed him a survey.
“I’m looking for anything that doesn’t require a lot of experience. I can start immediately. I’ll work any shift that doesn’t conflict with my existing class schedule. I’m desperate.”
She nodded sympathetically. Tapping her chipped nails against the desk, she encouraged him to take advantage of the self-help materials and local job postings.
He’d rather shove a dull pencil in his eye than tutor the person who’d posted the ‘you’re English skills are needed’ flier, but he grabbed it anyway. Who used red ink on blue paper? That and one for a house-sitting gig. ‘No weirdos. No pets.’ He wasn’t sure if those were requirements or job perks. At this point in the semester, the job center was more suited to finding internships and capital C careers. He needed fast cash, like human-guinea-pig fast. Where were the medical test subject fliers?
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He scanned a small business card seeking nude models for an art class. ‘$50 a session Suite 314, Arden Hall.’ That wasn’t bad money, but stripping for cash turned his stomach. Even if it was for educational purposes. Even if he’d get paid with crisp twenties in a clean envelope, not sweaty singles shoved into a g-string. He’d seen behind that curtain. Maybe back in Denham that was all he could’ve been good for, but he’d come to Copeland to escape that spiral. To try, at least. If he started peeling off his clothes now, what was the point?
He waved the house sitting flier at the job coach. “You know anything about this one?”
“Oh, that’s been filled. I was supposed to take those down yesterday.”
Blowing off Lit, he hauled ass back to his dorm, crushing the pale blue paper in his sweaty fist. He’d leave a message about the tutoring job. Maybe he’d swing by Suite 314 just to see. Modeling wasn’t really the same as stripping. For starters, the art department probably didn’t offer the models a line of coke at the beginning of their shifts. Of course the least distasteful job was taken. Dignity didn’t mean much when you were facing eviction. Hadn’t he heard his mother say those exact words more than once?
* * *
“CJ Evans here at WCCC, The Cube, with Random Nonsense. Regular listeners, all five of you, I’ve got the blues. The actual, gritty, blow-your-mind, blues. So I’m going to shut my mouth and let Bessie Smith tell you all about it.”
She tapped a cracked jewel case against her laptop after she cued up the track. Usually she worked from her MP3 collection, or the music library at the station, but when she’d found this cover-less CD in a Goodwill bargain bin, she’d slipped it into her purse without thinking. Impulsive and reckless and stupid.
As she’d darted across the parking lot, head down against the wind, it had practically vibrated against her hip. She’d glanced back to see if an angry manager was on her heels, leaned against a dusty delivery van parked at the far corner of the lot, and fished it out. It was like the Sexy Lips gloss incident all over again. Only her mother wouldn’t find this buried at the bottom of her underwear drawer, drop it into her lap at the dinner table, and drag her back to the drugstore by her ear.