by Slade, Shari
Her head pounded in time to the bass. She leaned under the table to dig in her purse for some Tylenol.
“We’re not taking requests.” She heard Jessa yell and popped up to see if she needed to diffuse the situation. Doe eyes. Black bob. Danger.
“I know you.” Meg shouted, smiling. “Callie? Tayber’s girlfriend?”
The song dropped off into silence at the most inopportune moment, and Jessa punched her in the arm while Meg’s words socked her in the gut. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m not Tayber’s girlfriend.” She wanted to be, but she’d screwed everything up. Her already flipping belly turned somersaults, churning into acrobatic twirls up her esophagus. They could destroy her right now. Maybe not Jessa, but Meg? Meg could shred her in front of all these people. Sure, they’d clapped and bounced to her set list. But they didn’t give a shit. And who didn’t love a crucifixion? She could picture them all turning to watch as Meg pointed and laughed about how silly Callie was to think she could ever have a boyfriend. Have Tayber for a boyfriend. Get a grip.
She flexed her fingers, willing the blood flushing her face to dribble back down to her extremities. She wasn’t that girl anymore. She hadn’t been that girl for a long time, but old wounds cut deep.
“Well, he seemed to think you were when I talked to him the other night. But he wasn’t very convincing. Maybe he used you as an excuse not to hook up with me?”
Her worst fear. She didn’t care if he used Sasha. Hell, Sasha had used him. The thought of Tayber using her, the real her, made her want to vomit. When she noticed Tayber standing behind Meg, she nearly did.
“I didn’t use Callie.” He ground the word use into dust. The bitter edge, a reminder of how used she’d made him feel. But, God. He didn’t use her. He didn’t. She knew that deep down in her toes, under all the doubt and fear and worry. He’d never used her. She felt awful. He hated her, and he was still defending her.
“Oh, hey, Tayber. Fancy seeing you here. I just meant it was all very kinda sorta wishy-washy. You were there, you know. You two need to firm things up.” She squeezed Tayber’s biceps and darted back into the crowd of dancers. If she’d left her fingers on his body any longer than that second, Callie might not have been able to resist the urge to peel them off, one by one.
“You’re early. I’m not done until two.”
“I didn’t want to miss the transformation.”
Like she was an ugly caterpillar ready to bust out of its cocoon? What did he think was going to happen? She’d flip a switch and suddenly be sex-bomb Sasha? Why couldn’t he see that she already was Sasha every minute of every day?
Jessa narrowed her eyes, glaring at the both of them. “I don’t know what’s going on here, and I don’t think I want to know. I don’t think the rest of this crowd wants to know, either. Okay, maybe they do. But they don’t need to. I’m going to play the last few songs in our set and you’re going to take this dramarama elsewhere.”
Chapter Twelve
Callie and Tayber walked back to the apartment in silence. A gallows walk. She wanted this over with, but she wasn’t in any hurry to listen to him spew venom at her again. She deserved it, but she didn’t like it.
Tayber led, two steps ahead, and she studied his back most of the way. Watched the hitch of his shoulders, the stride of his legs. Determined.
She’d just lay it out for him. Explain to him that she had been afraid of what would happen if she’d acted on her feelings. Afraid of losing him as a friend. Afraid that he wouldn’t—she swallowed hard. She could do this. She could weather the storm of his anger and face her own betrayal.
As soon as she got the door locked behind them, he kissed her. Hard and breathless. All tongue and teeth and raking fingers. She thought she might die from the relief of his body against hers. The rasp of his fingers over her ribs. The pull of his mouth on her lips. She’d thought that was over for good. Relief and terror warred in her gut. Were those the punishing kisses she’d read about in romance novels? Was he just taking his rage out on her mouth, making her feel, only to withdraw? Withhold? Was he kissing her good-bye?
He pushed her up against the door, and she pushed back. Clawing at his shirt, dragging it up so she could get her hands on his skin. If it was good-bye she was going to make the most of it. They knocked over one of the milk crates, sending empty coke cans rolling across the floor, and landed on the still-open futon in a tangle of limbs.
“I want to hear you say it.” Eyes passion-dark, breath hot, he bit at the corner of her mouth.
“I’m sorry.” An exhalation. An exultation. She felt like every ounce of her body weight was pushing down on the erection pulsing between them.
He shook his head and rolled her onto her back. “You know what I want to hear.”
All the relief slipped back like a fast-receding current. A riptide of loss and anger. What did he want from her? She’d confessed, apologized, abased herself. And she couldn’t think with all of him pressed against her like this, crowding her. Every dirty word she’d typed flashed before her eyes, like credits at the end of a movie. She couldn’t even be embarrassed anymore. She liked what she liked. She wanted what she wanted. And he wanted it too. Wanted her. Of course she knew. I want to hear you say it. She’d read that email enough times she could recite it from memory. “Cock?”
“Like you mean it.”
“What do you want me to say? I want to suck your cock, Tayber? Because I don’t. Not right now. Not when you’re being like this. Not when you hate me. Not even when you kiss me like we’re dying, and it’s the only way to live.”
“I don’t hate you. I don’t even know you. When we were together—when I was inside you—you hardly said anything. And I asked. I can’t stop thinking about that and remembering all the things Sasha did say.”
“Sasha didn’t say anything. She wrote.” She. Me. Callie didn’t even know where the line existed anymore.
“Fine. She wrote them. She thought them. You thought them. Was it different in person? Did you not think them when you were actually with me? I didn’t live up to the hype? Make me understand.” He didn’t look angry anymore, he looked wounded.
“I didn’t trust you.” A shrill cry, welling up from every broken and sore place inside her.
“Do you trust me now?” Cupping her face, he wiped her tears with his thumbs. The sweetness unbearable, she turned into his palm.
“It’s why I had to tell you the truth.”
* * *
Tayber knew why she didn’t trust him. The same reason Meg thought it was funny to call him Mr. Mono. He did hook up. A lot. And he’d never given Callie any reason to think he was interested in more than hooking up with anyone. He’d given her every reason to think that was all he was interested in, ever. God, when he thought about their fight that day in the dining hall he wanted to travel back in time and punch himself in the face.
He had wanted more, long before Sasha sent him that first message. Hey, you’re cute. Jesus, he was easy. He just didn’t think he deserved more. Just like he didn’t really think he deserved to be at Copeland. It was the same reason he was trying to race through his degree before anyone realized they’d made a mistake and kicked his useless ass to the curb.
“What did you want, Callie?”
“I wanted us. And I wanted more. I didn’t think I could have both. I thought you’d laugh at me if I made a move.”
“I wouldn’t have. I would’ve—”
“Suggested friends with benefits? I didn’t want that either. I wanted to be with you.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re funny and smart and sensitive and an asshole and you sing songs I like and you cared about me. I couldn’t figure out why you wanted to spend time with me, why you wanted to be my friend.”
She didn’t even trust his friendship? It wasn’t only about her doubting him, she had her own issues too.
“We’re both idiots.”
“You do know me. I never li
ed about anything but my name. And that picture. Oh God, you can’t ever meet my cousin.” She covered her face with her hands.
He pulled them away and brushed his lips against hers. “The picture didn’t do it for me. Not that I’m opposed to a few authentic bikini shots. Maybe a tasteful nude.”
She grinned in response, and it felt right. The two of them, together, laughing in bed. Exposed and still wanting each other.
“It was the words. All those dirty, filthy words. Tell me you’ll say them.”
He could see her throat work as she swallowed. Every inch of her was blotchy pink with blush. She squeezed her eyes shut, opened her mouth, and devastated him.
“Fuck me, Tayber. Fuck me hard. I want your cock inside me.”
Holy. Shit.
“All you ever have to do is ask.”
But he didn’t fuck her, not hard, not at all. He cupped the curve of her cheek, holding her gaze while he followed the line of her body with his other hand, bringing his lips almost to hers. So close, but not touching, just sharing breath. Smoothing over the rise of her breast, the dip of waist, down the front of her jeans, under her panties, until he found that hot, wet center.
“Gah.” She bowed beneath him, pushing against his fingers.
“I love you, Callie. I love you when we’re fighting, when we’re talking about music, when we’re talking dirty. I don’t deserve you, but I love you.”
She fisted his hair in her hands and pulled him to her mouth. Eyes glazed with lust, she bit his lip, pulled it as she rocked her hips. He felt the tug zing straight to his cock.
“You deserve everything. You are not your past. You’re my future.” She held him tighter as she spoke, their eyes locked. And then she came, violent and moaning and unrestrained. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He didn’t feel worthy, but he’d try.
* * *
She was breathless. They’d spent the whole movie not touching. Sitting side by side, passing popcorn back and forth, darting glances and avoiding all physical contact.
A game.
A game he was winning.
Their game.
He grinned, wolfish, but kept his eyes trained on the dash and both hands on the steering wheel of the stationary car.
She wasn’t going to last another minute, let alone last through dinner and then the ride back to her apartment. Her apartment. Not their apartment. Tayber was staying with his brother for the summer. Aaron had found a cheap two-bedroom on the other side of town, but he couldn’t swing the rent on his own yet. She missed Tayber, but, God, they were so intense together the space was a relief. Except for when the space was a physical pain. A dull ache between her legs, a throbbing pulse under her skin.
Every inch of her body silently screamed touch me. The jerk. She twisted in her seat and blew out a ragged breath. She wanted to win this time.
He popped in her CD and she cursed. “Don’t you dare sing, that’s cheating.”
He hummed instead. It didn’t matter, the damage was done. Music and Tayber and prolonged bouts of not touching were her personal kryptonite.
“Kiss me, you bastard.”
He leaned across the console, still grinning, and traced her bottom lip with his tongue. Drawing out her sigh. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer, forcing him to end the torment and kiss her properly.
“I win.” He gloated, both of them smiling as they kissed and teased.
Their game. It had always been their game, she’d just been too wrapped up in her own old hurts to see it. They’d had something from the very beginning. Now they had everything. She ran her hand under his shirt, up the side of his waist and tweaked his nipple. “I let you.”
“Did not.” He ran his mouth down the column of her throat, nipping the sweet spot where shoulder became neck.
She panted. “All I had to do was whisper a few dirty words into your ear during the movie and you’d have been all over me.”
If it wasn’t so warm out the windows would’ve fogged. He bit again. “It’s that easy?”
“Loving you is the hardest easy thing I’ve ever done.”
Afterword
I hope you enjoyed The Opposite of Nothing. Please consider leaving a review.
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Acknowledgements
This little book would not exist without the love and support of some amazing people that I am blessed to call friends. Especially Amber, Dayna, Del, Emily, Mary Ann, and Shelley. My heart could burst. Always say yes.
About the Author
Shari Slade is a snarky optimist. A would-be academic with big dreams and very little means. When she isn’t toiling away in the non-profit sector, she’s writing gritty stories about identity and people who make terrible choices in the name of love (or lust). Somehow, it all works out in the end. If she had a patronus it would be a platypus.
Read more at Shari Slade’s site.