by Slade, Shari
This time there was no cord between them. Only the lilting lull of Nick Drake’s vocals, streaming from her small desk speakers, and the relentless cello plucking. She could feel it, like a phantom hand on her body.
Tayber, sitting on the edge of her bed, wasn’t making either of the music faces she expected. He looked confused, tugging on his lip. “I don’t know what it is about this song.”
He ran his hand over his forearm. Did he feel it too? That thrum.
She took a step toward him, then another, until she was back between his legs like she had been on the porch. Only this time she was standing, facing him, not panicking. She followed the path his hand had taken with her fingertips, trailing from his wrist to his elbow. He shivered.
How many times had she written that she wanted to kneel before him, that she wanted to use her mouth? What would it be like to just do the things she wanted to do?
“It makes you feel. That’s the magic. The words are almost meaningless.” She didn’t want to think about words right now, anyway. She wanted to act. She knelt before him at the foot of her bed and used both of her hands to open his pants. It was like a perversion of nighttime prayers. Her fingers trembled.
He slid forward and sucked in a breath when her palm brushed against his erection. “Really?”
Didn’t he want her to? She shook off the doubt. Of course he did. He leaned back onto his elbows. Opening up for her.
She’d pictured this moment in her mind, let it carry her over the edge as her fingers pumped inside her. Now she could actually wrap her hand around his girth, run her tongue from base to tip. Gripping his hips, she swirled her tongue over the head of his cock before taking him all the way into her mouth. She did exactly the things she’d talked about doing when she was Sasha. Her eyes watered as he hit the back of her throat, but she swallowed, relaxed, took a deep breath through her nose. Hollowing her cheeks, she sucked, rolling her tongue and gripping him tight at the base. All she could taste was clean skin and salt. Tayber’s groan was followed by the tug of his fingers in her hair. Soon his hips were pumping, and she let him set the pace, let him fuck her mouth, ignoring her sore jaw and numb knees. This was about him. She couldn’t tell him, but she could show him. I love you.
* * *
He pulled free of her mouth at the last second and tried to catch his come in his hand. Too late. Some of it hit her neck, trailing down toward her collarbone. His softening cock throbbed when she reached up to touch her neck, to wipe the come away with her fingers.
The urge to push those fingers into her mouth overwhelmed him, and he nearly died of lust when, as if he’d spoken his desires aloud, she did it herself. Traced the curve of her bottom lip with her ring finger, darted her tongue to follow the same path, then slipped that finger right into her mouth up to the first knuckle. He’d been in that mouth, so he knew what it felt like. Hot and wet. Fuck.
He grabbed her by the chin and pulled her up to his lips. Tasting himself, he couldn’t resist the urge to taste her further.
“On the bed. Clothes off.” He hadn’t meant to order her, but he had so little restraint left. She scrambled to her feet and wobbled a little as she crawled toward the pillows.
He watched her pull the t-shirt over her head, exposing a thin, white sports bra that did nothing to conceal the hard points of her nipples. He peeled her yoga pants down over her hips, impatient to have her naked. To have access to everything. She lifted up to help him, covering her chest with her hands while he wriggled the pants the rest of the way down.
“Don’t hide from me.” He pulled her hands away and pushed the bra up, spilling her small breasts from under the band, framing them. With a flick of his tongue over each nipple, he meandered his way down her torso, alternating long laps with sharp nips. When he plunged his tongue into her navel she bucked up off the bed.
“Tell me what you want, Callie,” he pleaded, laying his head on her soft belly, gazing up the length of her body to her face. He didn’t know why it was so important to hear her say it, but it was.
Eyes shut tight, she shook her head. “Please. Just, please.”
With the heat of her core pressed against his chest, he could guess it was the same thing he wanted. When he finally reached the apex of her thighs, her panties were so wet they were almost translucent. He drew the cotton into his mouth, and she tried to cross her legs against him.
“No?” he asked, sure she was about to kick him out of the bed, deny herself—deny him—this. He wanted it so much that not having it was almost guaranteed.
And then, the muscles in her legs relaxed. “Yes.”
Thank you. He grabbed hold of the top of her underwear and dragged them down her legs, leaving them tangled around her ankle. He hooked her knees over his shoulders and settled in before she could change her mind, taking one tentative swipe at her slit, before diving in to savor in full what he’d only sampled on her panties. He rolled his tongue in lazy, languid circles. She tasted of salt and shadow. Sharp and dark and fucking awesome. “God, I could live here.”
She still didn’t speak. She dug her fingers into his hair and held him against her as he plunged his tongue in and out of her hot opening. The tug and scratch of her nails against his scalp was electric. He was surrounded by her, drowning in her. She lifted her hips, bucking against his face, sloppy and frantic.
He was so hard.
He pinned her down with a forearm over her belly and gripped his cock with his free hand, squeezed it once against the building throb, and released it.
She cried out a wordless moan when he slipped a finger inside her, and then another. Curving them, pumping them. He wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked.
“I can’t. I can’t,” she gasped, shaking beneath him, flooding his tongue until everything was so slick, so perfect, he knew she absolutely could. She had.
She stilled, and he smoothed his palm over her sweat-damp waist, down her hip, and rested his head on her thigh. “You can talk to me. You can tell me anything, ask me anything. I wish you would.”
She jerked again, and he didn’t think it was aftershocks. “I can’t.”
The bed rocked beneath them as she pulled a pillow over her face and rolled away. Damn it, she still didn’t trust him. Maybe she never would.
Chapter Nine
Tayber rested his elbows on the sticky bar top and laced his fingers behind his neck, his cheap beer going flat. Piss water. A dozen people were scattered nearby, on stools and in the peeling vinyl booths that lined one wall, but he didn’t approach anyone. This wasn’t social hour. He needed a few minutes to himself, to gather his thoughts, to breathe. He couldn’t get that in the apartment, and he no longer had a key to his emptied dorm.
A man without a country, relegated to gummy pretzels and dollar drafts.
Yesterday he’d gone to the library to send Sasha an email and then waited for freaking ever to see her response. It never came. It wasn’t a digital booty call, it was more like a Dear John letter. Thanks so much for the fun times, can’t do it anymore. They hadn’t screwed around in a while, but he couldn’t imagine trying to do that with Callie in the other room. God, Callie. He’d pushed her too far. He needed to slow it down.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched a couple practically fucking in public. He couldn’t help but remember doing the same thing, in the same spot. He tried to picture the girl, remember her name, but all he could imagine was Callie pushed up against the jukebox, his hand inching up her shirt while he shielded her from view.
He shifted in his seat. She was replacing all of his memories, filling in all his empty spaces.
“Tayber King.” A smoky, satin voice called from behind him, followed by a few quick scratches to the center of his back.
He untangled his fingers, ran them over his scalp from nape to crown, plastered on his most congenial smile, and faced the interloper. Meg, from Lit. A few weeks ago he’d have welcomed her company. Her attention.
“That’s what they call
me.” He shrugged, breaking their contact.
“You weren’t in class last week.”
“Had some shit to take care of.”
“You never miss class.”
“Apparently not never.” How the hell did she know his nevers? He’d missed so many days his junior year of high school the district had sent a registered letter threatening to fail him for the year. If he hadn’t pulled straight A’s, they probably would’ve done it.
“We started a pool. I put my money on mono.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, the kissing disease.”
“I know what mono is, and I don’t have it.”
“Just teasing, Tay. You going to the Phi Ep thing next Friday? I was planning to make my move on you.” She did a little shimmy, running a manicured hand over her own slim hip. He couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking. Her wide smile was a mixture of kiss me and kiss my ass.
Callie couldn’t even make it off the porch on Sunday. He wasn’t going to drag her to a frat party. Certainly not one where Meg was planning a shimmy move. Even if Meg wasn’t, someone probably was. Christ, people thought he was the poster boy for mono. “Doubtful.”
“What crawled up your butt?”
“Sorry. Look, Meg, I’m really not interested in hanging out tonight, or hooking up, or anything. I don’t have it in me.”
“It’s cool. I was just worried about you. Some other time.”
No. He hadn’t meant to leave the door open to future hook ups. “I’m kinda seeing someone.”
“Well damn, lost that bet too.” She slapped his shoulder. “Just kidding.”
I’m seeing someone, he repeated to himself. It felt strange, saying it. Foreign. Off. I’m seeing someone. Not right. I’m seeing Callie. Yes. That’s what he should have said.
“I’m seeing Callie Evans.”
“Whatever. I’ll see you around.” Meg smirked and sauntered off.
“I’m seeing Callie.” He repeated to the bartender refilling his snack bowl. It felt so good to say it, he needed to say it again. The wiry grad student who seemed to live at The Brick cleaned his glasses with his shirt.
“You want a cookie or something?”
He dropped a ten next to his half-full beer and pushed his stool back. “Yeah, I do, and I know where to get one.”
* * *
“CJ Evans here on WCCC, The Cube, bringing you Random Nonsense, The Pop Edition. Regular listeners, I can hear your collective snarl. JC is snarling too. Bear with me. Sometimes you need a little infectious, hook-riddled, bounce in your seat, don’t think too hard, bubble gum. Now sing it with me, Call It What You Want.”
She spun in her chair. It felt good nailing her lead with the song’s catchy intro.
“I like this, Callista.”
“I figured Foster the People was a safe bet.”
“No, you. I like you bouncy with pop songs. No emo. No wah wah angst. It feels lighter, like my head.” She grinned and ruffled the inch of hair cropped close against her scalp. Callie was so accustomed to Jessa’s ever-changing looks she’d taken the drastic hair cut in stride, only pausing to tell her she looked pixie-cute before darting into the sound booth to get started.
“That’s what I’m going for—lightness. It must be spring fever.” She cued up a few more tracks, saving a chart topper she knew Jessa would hate for last. Holding the words from Tayber’s last email to Sasha close to her heart. Things have changed. If we keep talking...I can’t do that to Callie. He wanted her, not Sasha. Her. An actual relationship. The kind where even an anonymous cyber fuck-buddy felt like cheating.
“I’m glad to hear you say that because I signed Random Nonsense up for an on-location spot at Spring Fest.”
“The Phi Ep party?” She winced. The bubble of happiness building inside her turned to stone and dropped instantly to the pit of her stomach. She could handle chattering into the void, but out in the open, on location, with a crowd of revelers on the quad?
“Spring Fest does not belong to the Greeks just because Phi Ep throws a big party at the same time. It’s a campus-wide event.”
“Okay. But why sign us up? You want to participate to prove that anyone can?”
“No. Maybe. It’ll be fun. And I don’t know about you, but I think I might like to make broadcasting my career. More experience is more experience. Besides, you can play all the mainstream top forty you want.”
Callie had no idea what she wanted to do. Get a degree. Start her real life. What was real? She thought she’d have figured it out by now. Everyone else had. Tayber was racing through his degree program at warp speed so he could start teaching as soon as possible. Now Jessa wanted to make radio a career. She couldn’t ride on Jessa’s coattails forever. She felt lightheaded. The way she’d felt when she’d looked over the edge of the Grand Canyon. Such a long way down.
“If it’s important to you, I’ll find a way to muddle through.” Because that’s what friends do, they muddle through the important things. They pick you up at the airport even when the parking lot there scares them to death. They learn your favorite songs even when they hate the band. They compromise. They tell the truth. A flicker of fear tickled at the edges of her joy.
Jessa scrolled through her song queue and did a little toe-tapping jig in place. “Oh, I could kiss you. I know it’s not exactly pop, but I’m playing Hallelujah because Halle-fricken-lujah.”
“I think it’s been performed on enough reality TV talent shows to qualify as part of the pop lexicon.”
It felt good to jam like this, to bounce back and forth with songs, like call and response. And then the lyrics hit. Hard and fast, right in the solar plexus.
She could forget for a few moments at a time that she was a lying liar who lied, but not when she was listening to Buckley’s voice shred all her emotional armor. Every note raw and honest. She pressed her thumbs against her eyelids. What would it do to Tayber when she finally told him? What would it do to her?
“Hey, hey, hey. I didn’t play that to undo all the happy. It’s almost over.” Jessa cross-faded Buckley into some ska. The abrupt shift reminded her of how startling Jessa’s haircut really was. How easily her friend seemed to handle change. How would Jessa react if she shared this terrible secret?
“Why did you cut your hair?”
“You hate it?” She covered most of it with her hands, little tufts peeking out between her fingers, and wrinkled her nose.
“No, not at all. It’s just so drastic.”
“The dreads were really heavy, plus my aunt hated them. I did it for her, mostly. To support her.”
Callie’s heart raced as she considered why people shaved their heads to support other people. Cancer. “Oh, God.”
“She’s a fighter, I come by it honest. We’re all focused on being super positive. Only good thoughts. Thoughts have power.” She jutted her chin and smiled. It was a fierce smile, the kind of smile that would see a warrior through battle.
Callie’s thoughts were a dark, twisted mess. There was a reason she’d called her secrets a cancer, but now she felt ashamed. They were not a cancer, they hadn’t split inside her body against her will.
She’d created them, and she had the power to eradicate them. She needed to unburden her soul now, if not for Tayber, then for herself.
She reached across the soundboard and grabbed Jessa’s hand, squeezing it in her own. Passing strength on as much as taking it. “Only good thoughts.”
Chapter Ten
Callie paced, breathless and dizzy, outside her apartment, their apartment, tucking the damp curls at the nape of her neck back into her ponytail. Her palms tingled. She clenched and unclenched her hands a few times, trying to banish the prickles, and blew out a shaky breath. Her whole body felt clammy as the thin sheen of sweat covering her skin dried. She shouldn’t have run across campus, but walking would have given her too much time to think. No good came from that kind of thinking. Thoughts have power.
If they were going to have
any chance at a relationship, she had to tell him the truth. She no longer had any excuses. His break up email to Sasha played over and over in her head. I can’t do that to Callie. Now or never. The sharp rap of her knuckles against the door echoed in the empty corridor. At least she didn’t have an audience. Don’t be home. Don’t be home. Don’t be—
“Come in.”
The door might have been lead. It took every ounce of her resolve to push the damn thing open. Head down, she stepped over the threshold and into her new life.
“Hey, I was looking for you. And some cookies. Why were you knocking?” He looked so at ease, slouched on the futon, so relaxed and happy with his feet up and his dimples flashing.
She opened her mouth to speak. Nothing.
“What’s wrong?” Voice edged with concern, he launched himself off the futon. The game controller resting on his lap clattered to the floor and spun between them.
“I, I—” Skipping like scratched vinyl, she couldn’t force the words out. He tugged at her sleeve, gently guiding her into the camp chair set up beside the milk crate coffee table. If he offered her tea and a blanket she’d scream. He didn’t get to be nice to her. Not now. She needed him to be an asshole.
Sitting on the futon, he reached over to grip the arms of the nylon chair and pulled, dragging her closer. Their knees touched. The contact, and the weight of his regard, did nothing to ease the fear churning in her gut. He skated his thumb over the back of her hand. She flinched.
“You’re scaring me. Are you hurt? Just nod yes or no.”
“I’ve done something terrible. I mean, I stopped doing. But I did it. Did do it.” She was actually blithering.
“What did you do?”
“I’m Sasha, Tayber.” There. She’d said it, and the universe hadn’t imploded on the spot. Her galloping, stuttering heart, though? That was still a distinct possibility. She couldn’t even cry. The mix of fear and relief was a paralytic swirling in her veins.