Fever

by Carnal, MJ

“How’s life been treating you? Still no Boogie Downs?” he jokes, making me laugh. Darius has this running joke that when I have a kid I should name him Bronx. He’s a real comedian, this one. He has this whole, “And then you can call him Boogie Down as a nickname” spiel that further proves my “this guy thinks he’s a comedian” point.

  “No, not yet,” I answer with a fake chuckle. I shoot Shea a look that tells him to please say something so Darius won’t keep talking.

  “You ready, D?” Shea asks, catching my drift.

  “Sure, boss,” Darius responds, turning back to the car and holding the door open for us.

  Nick stands aside, letting me slide in first.

  “I’m not riding in the middle,” Shea says, shaking his head before opening the passenger door and climbing in the front.

  “You’re such a child,” I say with a laugh as Nick slides in beside me.

  “Whatever, I got claustrophobia,” Shea comments.

  “Sure,” I reply, still laughing and rolling my eyes.

  Nick scoots over so that our legs are touching, making me hyperaware of his presence. Tilting my head at him, I smile. He nudges me with his arm playfully in response and I smile brighter. I can’t remember the last time I felt this comfortable with somebody, if ever. Even with Shea it was just easy in the beginning. Our relationship kind of jumped from friends to lovers. Thinking back on it now, I’m not sure we were ever really even friends to begin with. We definitely became friends afterwards, but before, I’m not so sure. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that we were never sober when we were together as a couple. Not once. Our relationship revolved around drugs and alcohol, and that in itself should have been a red flag for the both of us, but we were too busy trying to numb ourselves to care.

  With Nick I just feel free, like I can be myself, but at the same time terrified of the depth of this feeling. The way butterflies swarm the pit of my stomach at the mere thought of him scares me. I’m scared of the feeling going away, I’m scared of it staying and him going away. I don’t have any experience with this and it freaks me out. I can’t even recall when Nick slipped through the barriers around me, but as I sit here looking deep into his eyes, I know I never stood a chance at keeping him out. When he looks at me I feel like nothing else matters.

  My phone vibrates inside of my purse, snapping me out of the moment. I dish it out quickly to busy myself.

  Nina: You there?

  Me: Just got here.

  Nina: You okay?

  Me: Yeah

  Nina: No breakdowns I should know about?

  I roll my eyes but respond: Just one

  The phone rings instantly and I let out a breath, knowing I have to answer.

  “Hello?” I respond quietly just as Shea gets on his phone in the front seat.

  “What do you mean just one?” Nina asks.

  “On the plane. I can’t talk right now,” I respond, hoping she lets me off the hook for now.

  “You with Shea?” she asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did that dirty bastard try anything on the plane?” she asks, her voice deadly quiet.

  I laugh. “Nope.”

  “Humph,” she says. “Did anyone else go with you?”

  “Yeah,” I say quietly, not wanting to say any more. As it is, I’m almost positive Nick can hear her loud ass voice since he’s sitting so close to me.

  “Who? Gia the whore bag?” Nina asks.

  Nick laughs, confirming that he can hear her, and I turn my face to look at him, my eyes wide in shock. He shrugs and throws his hands up in defense, still chuckling softly.

  “No. Not her. I gotta go,” I say quickly, still looking at Nick.

  “Who’s that? Shea? Let me talk to him,” she says.

  “No. Shea’s on the phone. I’ll call you later, Nina.”

  “Who is that? The Hen didn’t go with you, did he?” she asks, unwilling to let it go.

  I groan. “It’s Nick. Hendrix is in New York. I gotta go,” I repeat.

  “Nick ... the hot guy from the club?” Nina asks, gasping.

  Nick’s loud laughter fills the SUV now.

  “Bye,” I say and hang up on her without waiting for her to respond.

  Nick taps my foot with his, but I turn my face to look out the window to hide my flushed cheeks. Damn Nina and her loud voice. She never fails to do something to embarrass me.

  I feel the seat dip beside me, so I know he’s close. “You’re so cute when you blush,” Nick whispers in my ear, making me shiver. I hate that he has this effect on me and I really hate that he knows it. I push him back with my shoulders and glance at Shea, who’s turned slightly in his seat looking at us curiously.

  “Shut it,” I mumble. “My cousin is crazy.”

  Nick scoots away from me with a laugh. “The cat lady sounds like a smart girl,” he comments.

  “Clearly, you don’t know Nina,” I respond.

  “Clearly,” Shea agrees, shaking his head and facing forward again.

  When we get to the hotel, we find Shea’s fans swarming the entrance, which isn’t surprising but can make it difficult.

  “Oh fuck,” Shea mutters.

  “Do we have more security?” I ask, suddenly worried for Shea. The last time I was with him and people found out where he was staying, his shirt was ripped off and he had scratch marks all over him. I was unharmed because I never walk in with him, but I felt terrible for him. Not to say that Shea doesn’t love the attention, because he lives for it, but I’m sure he doesn’t want to be all scratched up.

  “Yeah, I’m driving to the back entrance, that’s where Carlos is meeting us. Don’t worry, BK, I gotchu,” Darius says.

  “I’m not worried about myself,” I retort, my eyes bouncing to Shea, who’s turned sideways in his seat.

  “I’ll be fine, Bee,” he says, giving me a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t calm my nerves in the least.

  Nick’s hand reaches out for mine. “Hey, it’ll be okay, we’ll create a fort around pretty boy so he doesn’t get mauled by his adoring fans,” he jokes, making me smile.

  “But then they’ll go for you,” I say, smiling even though the idea bothers me even more than the one of them attacking Shea. I don’t know what I would do if one of these groupies ripped a shirt off of Nick’s back. I haven’t even ripped a shirt off his back, dammit!

  Nick raises an eyebrow at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Would that bother you?” he asks, his lips twitching. I try to mask the emotion on my face by pursing my lips and rolling my eyes, but I know it would bother me. I’m sure he knows it would, and from the look on Shea’s pissed off face, I’m assuming he knows it as well. I don’t worry about Shea when it comes to me dating other guys. He’s been there for me while I was in “relationships”. He’s even gone as far as inviting them to go to shows with me. The look Shea is giving me now, though, confuses me. He turns around huffing as Darius parks in the back of the hotel, and I know this will be a topic of conversation later.

  Nick pulls my hand toward him when Darius walks around the car to open the door for us. “Come on and whatever you do, don’t let go of my hand,” he says, helping me hop out of the truck. I nod in understanding and do as I’m told. There are fans on this side of the hotel as well, but they’re limited because of the barriers the hotel put up, creating a walkway from our car to the door. Shea pulls a Dodgers cap over his head and covers his eyes with his Aviator sunglasses, looking at me to make sure I’m fine and walking ahead of me when I nod.

  Ducking my head, I press the side of my face into Nick’s hard back as we barrel through the flashing cameras and hoots and hollers from both fans and paparazzi. The three of us are standing in line to checkin when Shea turns to me and asks me if I want my own room or a room in his two-bedroom suite.

  “Isn’t Gia coming tomorrow?” I ask, my brows crinkling.

  Shea nods. “Yeah but she’ll have her own room.”

  My lips twist as I mull over my options: stay with
him and listen to them having sex, which they will have. Or get my own room and relax. It’s pretty much a no brainer for me, so I shake my head vigorously. “I’ll get my own. Thanks.”

  Shea shrugs. “‘Kay, I’m sure Hendrix booked you a suite anyway. I just wanted to share one for old times’ sake,” he says, his voice nonchalant and his face showing no signs that there may be a double meaning behind that, but I know better. I see the way the front of his teeth grind against each other slightly. It’s his tell, what he does when he wants to say something cheeky but knows he might get slapped. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything else as he turns to face the counter.

  While he sorts out his room situation, I text message Hendrix to see if by chance he got Stacey to book me a room. My brother is thoughtful enough to do that. More like controlling enough and because he knows I’m already in an uncomfortable place and he can’t be here to save the day, he may have done it.

  Exhaling while I wait for his response, I turn to Nick. “Are you sure you want to stay here?” I ask quietly. The more I think about it, the dumber the idea seems to me.

  Nick chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “No, but I want to be here for you. You don’t want to go home with me so …” He shrugs, letting the words simmer in my head.

  I consider offering him to stay with me, but I think that could be awkward. My phone vibrates in my hand and it’s Hendrix saying that he booked me a suite. He says he tried to get me the penthouse but Shea’s assistant had already booked it, so he couldn’t.

  I laugh out loud at my brother’s attempt to out-do Shea’s rock star lifestyle for me, then exhale and turn my body to face Nick. “Stay in my room,” I say finally. “I’ll have an extra bed anyway.”

  Nick raises an eyebrow, approval swimming in his blue eyes. “You sure?”

  I smile, nodding my head once. “A favor for a favor,” I respond.

  Nick’s mouth slowly forms into a smile and just as he opens his mouth, Shea turns around, cutting him off. “What’s the difference between sharing a room with him and me?” he asks, completely baffled.

  I shrug. “You have Gia coming in tomorrow morning, I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

  Shea begins to shake his head slowly, confusion clouding his face before he blinks it away and narrows his eyes at Nick. “Isn’t Steph going to think it’s weird that you’re not going home?”

  I physically feel my heart plummet into my stomach, but I try hard to keep my face as passive as possible, looking away and walking up to the checkin counter before I hear anything else. I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my emotions under control if either one of them gives me any more information right now. I checkin quickly and walk away, moving toward the elevators. I can hear footsteps following closely behind me, but I ignore them, I know it’s Nick. I don’t need to turn around to confirm it. I can feel the energy radiating off of him as if it were my own. I don’t know if I have the right to feel mad or jealous or deceived, but all three of those things stream through me as I wait for the elevator.

  As soon as the elevator doors slide open, I step inside, muttering my apologies to the woman stepping out with a suitcase. I take a deep breath and exhale it slowly, clearing out my flustered emotions, and when I turn around to press the number to my floor, I look down at Nick’s white sneakers. Refusing to look into his eyes, I let my hair curtain my face as I reach my hand out and press number thirty-five.

  “She’s having a moment,” Nick says softly to the girls trying to step in. I don’t look up at their faces, but I can see the matching pink Toms on their feet and assume they’re teenagers.

  “Okay …” one of them says, stepping back.

  If it weren’t for the fact that I don’t know what to say—at all—I would have told him off for that, but I can’t even open my mouth to speak. When the doors close in front of us, Nick steps forward, crowding me into the nook in front of the panel of buttons.

  “Talk to me, Brooklyn,” he whispers into my hair.

  His chest is on my back and I have to fight myself not to lean against him. I have to fight the draw that pulls me, that makes me want to fall into him. I have to fight the urge to turn around and look into his ocean eyes because I know that if I do all I’ll feel is disappointment. What bothers me the most is that all I do is hound Nina about always being the other woman, about always selling herself short when it comes to men and letting them have her as the girl on the side. Yet here I am, second to everyone. Always. And this time, I didn’t even see that as a possibility, that’s how blind I am.

  “Nothing to talk about,” I say, smiling, even though he can’t see me. I close my eyes and coach myself into being neutral: he was never yours, he never said he was single, you never said you weren’t taken, you guys are friends, you didn’t even kiss him. When I feel I can do it, I push back with my body, forcing him to take a step back, and turn around to face him.

  Smiling, I look into his eyes, and for a fleeting moment I think I may cry at the loss of them even though I never had them. This is unchartered water to me, no big deal. “I didn’t realize you and Stephanie were serious. When I saw you at the airport that time I didn’t get that impression. And since you never talk about her when we’re together …” I shrug. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have offered you to stay with me.”

  I don’t even know what the fuck I’m apologizing for if he’s the one that leads me on every time we talk. Yes, we’re friends, but he flirts with me and acts like he wants more and … what a motherfucker. Thankfully, before I can get mad, the elevator opens behind me and I turn around to walk out, thinking that he’s going to stop me, but he doesn’t. At this point, I don’t know if I want him to take the elevator right back down or follow me to the room. I don’t know if I want to punch him in the throat for omitting his relationship or make out with him and tell him to get the hell away from me forever. It’s so sad that I’ve never been this confused. It’s sadder that the first time I feel this way, I’m a quarter into my life. It’s saddest that he doesn’t feel the same way about me that I do about him.

  In short: I’m experiencing a case of sadness overload.

  I walk as nonchalantly as possible to my door, which fortunately isn’t that far away from the elevator, and slide my card in. Letting out a breath, I push the door open and swallow the stupid knot that refuses to clear my throat. I step in, my eyes quickly scanning the large living room area, and toss my purse aside. When the door clicks shut, I finally turn around and see Nick standing beside it, pulling on the tip of his faux hawk.

  I exhale, placing my hands on my hips and tilting my head to look at the high ceilings. “You can go,” I say.

  Nick lets out a laugh. “Do you want me to leave or explain myself?”

  I narrow my eyes at him, crossing my arms over my chest and shrug. “I already told you we have nothing to talk about.”

  He nods, narrowing his eyes back at me. “I beg to differ.”

  “I’m sure you do,” I mutter then exhale. “Nick, it really, really doesn’t matter. You have nothing to explain to me. I’m your friend, at least I thought I was, so I’m just shocked that you have a live-in girlfriend and you acted like she was nothing,” I shrug.

  He frowns. “That’s not-” he starts, but I put my hands up to stop him.

  “It’s fine,” I interrupt. “I just don’t understand why you would lead me on for no reason.” He tries to speak again, but I keep going. “And then you invite me to your house like it’s all good. What were you going to do? ‘Hey, Stephanie, remember Brooklyn? She’s staying here for the next couple of days,” I say, mimicking his deep voice.

  “Dammit, woman,” he growls, striding over to me so quickly that I don’t have time to move away. Dipping his head so that we’re at eye level, he grabs the nape of my neck and pulls me to him, pinning me with his blue eyes, daring me to protest, and slams his lips over mine.

  I wish I could intricately describe every single emotion his mouth makes me feel, but there are so many,
I think I might burst. Tiny fireworks soar between us when his tongue parts my lips and begins to dance wildly with mine. His hands travel down my body in a frenzy, pulling me to him as if I can’t be close enough, and that’s exactly the way I feel as I pull on his hair and scrape the back of his neck. I would let him pull me inside of him if he could. I’ve been kissed a million times, yet none at all. That’s how this kiss makes me feel. Like I’m freefalling, like I’m dying, like I’m breathing for the first time. Like I’m high on ecstasy and a million expert hands are massaging me. This kiss is my life. And when we break apart, completely breathless, both of our chests heaving, I slap him. Hard.

  “Get out,” I whisper, I can barely make out the words. As amazing as that kiss was, as incredible as Nick makes me feel, I can’t be just another notch on somebody’s bedpost, especially not his.

  “You’re kidding, right?” he asks, his eyes seething into mine as he grinds his teeth together and places his hand over the spot on his cheek where I slapped him.

  I look at him for a moment longer before turning my back to him. Thankfully the suite’s doorbell rings and Nick attends to the bellman at the door. I run into the bathroom and lock myself in, switching on the water so that it’ll drown out my sobs when they finally pour out of me. I cry because I can’t believe I slapped him. I cry for that kiss that’ll forever be engraved in my heart. I cry because I fucking hate him for lying to me. I cry because somehow, without my knowledge or permission, he snuck himself into my heart and I don’t know how to push him back out. I know that I’m letting my bottled up emotions get the best of me, but I can’t help it. At the feel of water crashing between my fingers, I get up and turn off the running faucet. Standing in front of it, I dip my hand in the pool of water, dejectedly looking at the way it seeps through my fingers.

  ***

  After taking a long, hot shower, I explore the empty suite. It’s not lavish like others I’ve stayed in, but it’s spacious and has a wonderful view of the bay. Rounding the kitchen counter, I notice the hotel left a chilled bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a cup of strawberries with a note that says they hope I enjoy my stay. I decide that I will enjoy my stay courtesy of their bottle of champagne, which I quickly open. I’m on my third glass when I sit down on a barstool and notice that there’s a note written on the little pad of paper on the corner of the counter.