by Sunniva Dee
Wrapping the heart back into its egg-shaped mothers has become a ritual that’s as soothing to me as watching it. I love how each layer provides another shelter of bulletproof, tucking it away from the world and from the possibility of shattering.
In the shower, I decide I’m not going to Tampa.
On the plane, it dawns on me that it’s common courtesy to tell your friends that you’ll be in their neck of the woods. The more I think about it, the more anxious I get.
With nerves come wayward thoughts; I’ll be down south for five whole days. That is a long time when you’re not used to traveling, when you know no one, and have no plans besides measuring a room.
The lighting, I remind myself. I have to return at different times of the day to measure the amount of light streaming in through the windows on site. The light will decide how much gold we put in our solution.
Old-Man pays me for three work days. We’re hoping for different types of weather so I can measure the light not only morning and night, but also in overcast, in rain, and in bright sunshine too. Next, Old-Man will wield his magic on the chemicals to create the perfect surfaces for Markeston’s conditions.
I order a Bloody Mary from the stewardess as soon as we take off. The seats are cramped. The plane has a strange smell that’s gluing itself to the walls of my nostrils, but I have a window seat and the YouTube videos hadn’t done the clouds justice at all. I am in awe of nature.
I order a second Bloody Mary. Soon I’m buzzed and relaxed. The trip is long, I remind myself. I’ll be okay by the time I land, which is good, because my rent-a-car will be waiting.
On impulse, I pay for Internet access from my seat and send Keyon a text. I tell him where I’ll be landing and how long I’m staying. I tell him I know he’s busy—totally fine—I just want him to know where I’ll be.
I shoot off the message once it’s positively rambling, and then I freak out because it’s needy and missy and insecure and everything I’ve felt since he left. So I decide to not reread the message. I shut my cell off and stuff it in my purse.
KEYON
The Calceth airport is the dwarf of airports. There are open parking spots so close to Arrivals I could get there on my hands and knees. Not that I’d consider it. It takes me half a minute to shoulder in the revolving door and I’m there, right where passengers meet greeters.
I canceled my Stripes outing with Zeke and the guys after a strange message from Paislee. She was chattering in it, not sounding like herself. Who fucking chatters in texts?
She’s coming to Florida for work, she said, something about measuring some dude’s house. It got me thinking, because with the way she deals with guys, he better have a wife close by. If not, Paislee will be the easiest lay he’s ever had. So here I am, just making sure.
A quick scouring of the board shows that her plane landed ten minutes ago. I stuff my hands into my pockets while I wait for her at the escalators, two tall ones starting way up there, next to a single, regular staircase on the right.
Colorful paintings of what Calceth has to offer are splattered over enormous, ceramic tiles on the walls. My guess is the artwork is courtesy of the Calceth Art Institute. I hung with a girl from there for a minute. Literally.
I straighten as people start pouring out from a corridor to the left. They pile in slowly and start descending one by one, none using the regular stairs. They stare in front of them, bored, as if they’ve had it with traveling for the day.
Only men for now. I wonder if Paislee sat next to any of them. Then I think they probably asked for her number. Does she give it out, or does she usually just give herself?
Miniature red dots appear before my eyes, and I inhale slowly, what I do when I’m in pre-fight mode. It helps sustain the right amount of fire without letting the rage build so high it overpowers me. I wheeze air out slowly between my teeth.
There she is. I have no doubt it’s her even from a distance. She’s small at the top of the stairs, but her presence claims a man’s attention in ways it didn’t when we were sixteen.
I see businessmen step to a side and gesture for her to go first. She nods, mouthing, Thank you. They’re respectful, as they should be. Interested, as they shouldn’t be.
My hands slip out of my pockets. Clench when I cross my arms over my chest. I don’t need to get up on the balls of my feet to become taller, but I find myself doing it anyway.
The curves of her body, the locks of hair snaking down over a breast—it’s what makes me do weird things. That, and the fact that she is Paislee.
PAISLEE
Is that Keyon at the bottom of the escalator?
Jesus!
Is he…? Oh my God, he looks mad.
Dammit, he doesn’t have to babysit me while I’m here. I told him as much—I believe?—that I didn’t want to butt into his schedule.
How do I delete iPhone messages?
I do not want to read mine again.
I converse politely with some actual business dude on our descent. He mentions inherited money and a successful career, being single, well read, and the like. I’m so concerned about Keyon it’s hard to concentrate, so I smile and nod. Do an automatic flutter of eyelashes and purse my lips in the right places.
My mind does crazy loops when I’m nervous. At the corner of my eye, Keyon tightens his arms over his chest. It causes his arms to bulge, and I wonder if he knows what that does to girls like me.
His jeans look expensive and cut to his body. God, his thighs. I remember how they felt. I—really would hate it if he were mad at me. I have to stop thinking.
One more step and we’re down. Real Business Dude turns to shake my hand, but Keyon is faster. Suddenly he’s there, grabs me by the waist, and all signs of him being mad have disappeared. He swings me into the air, defying gravity because I’m not feather-light, and his eyes are bright with happiness over seeing me.
He swirls me around, ignoring the guy I was talking to, and exclaims, “There you are, baby!”
I melt. Goodness, I have no idea what’s happening, but it’s so sweet, and I cannot believe how good it feels to hear him say Baby.
When he sets me down, he doesn’t let me go far. It’s like he’s pushing me under his arm, fitting us together like jigsaw pieces. “You,” he says, kissing my temple. I have the impulse to swing into him so those lips fall on mine.
“I hope you have a great visit,” Real Business Dude offers with a polite bob of his head.
“Thank you, sir,” I say, more formal than I was with him on the plane. “It was great to meet you. Go kill that, um, merging,” I suggest. I must be onto something, because his smile becomes more genuine.
“Thanks.” He nods curtly at Keyon. I follow his gaze and find eyes that have frosted over. Oh. Is Keyon jealous? I want to squee at the thought.
I slink my arms around Keyon’s waist and pull myself closer. “Thanks for meeting me here,” I murmur, nudging my nose in against his chest. He’s warm, the way I remember him in my film clips. So nice.
He doesn’t reply until Real Business Dude has meandered off and we’re on our own. “After the message you sent me, I couldn’t take any chances,” he replies then. “Seriously, Paislee, what were you on when you wrote that?”
“Mmm, maybe a couple of Bloody Marys?” I mumble.
The few times we’ve talked on the phone since he left, Keyon has sounded aloof, short, and to the point. In text messages he’s been even less communicative. But now his arms are around me, keeping me safe and guiding me off to luggage claim, and his change is a lot to take in.
“Cute,” he says to my Bloody Mary confession, which sounds funny coming from someone so masculine. When I look up, his eyes are soft, and God, God—
I shut my eyes, worried.
“What?” he asks. It was uncomplicated in Rigita, knowing he’d leave in a few days. We probably both felt that way. Maybe it’s even less complicated in Florida. He’s the one living here, not me, our parents, and my entire freaking tow
n. Would he want us to have what we had in Rigita for the days I’m here?
Would I?
Heck yes, I would. To have something more for once, something that lasted days, isn’t a step in the wrong direction.
“Nothing,” I say. “I’m just surprised to see you here. I won’t be staying in your city—you know that, right? Why I landed in Calceth, not Tampa,” I babble.
“I’m aware.” The hood of Keyon’s fleece leaves the hint of a shadow over his eyes. He blinks slowly, waiting for me to keep going, and I wish I had the confidence he radiates.
“I have a rent-a-car waiting for me,” I say.
“You do, huh?” He shakes his head a little without breaking eye contact. My neck is getting tired from staring up at him, but I can’t interrupt our connection. It feels like I’ve missed him even more these two weeks than when he first left Rigita.
“Do you have a hotel here?” he asks.
“Yeah, the Admiral Inn.”
“How about we do this.” He twists his wrist above my shoulder and checks his watch. “It’s eight p.m. now. I’ll lead the way, we’ll get you checked into the hotel, and you can drop off the car. Then we have a bite to eat. Sound good?”
My cheeks hurt. That’s funny, because I thought I’d really just started smiling. I guess it’s more of a grin though, which my face isn’t accustomed to. Keyon’s gaze travels over my features, and his own mouth slips into a slow smile. “That a yes?”
“Yes, uh-huh,” I manage. Keyon pulls the unimaginable out of me; I’m never awkward with guys. I pucker my lips quickly, knowing I have fresh lipstick on, and draw the corners of my mouth down into my more reserved, seductive smile.
Keyon laughs softly. I can’t tell if he understands that I’m acting for him. He looks happy at least when he loosens his hold to grasp my hand and guide me toward the conveyor belt. My new, red suitcase hobbles toward us, precariously balanced between a giant, black one and a beat-up, green duffel bag. I just point. Watch Keyon’s eyes dart from my finger to the correct suitcase. Then he tips it over his shoulder with his free hand and walks me toward the exit.
“So the Admiral first and then pizza?”
I titter, tired, excited, happy. “Done deal.”
KEYON
I’ve been on a one-track rail to landing Paislee in my bed since she got off the plane. Not that it’s been planned, but I convinced her that Pizza Pazza in Tampa is better than Mamma Lucia’s in Calceth. I told her about Simon during dinner, one thing led to another, and here I am unlocking the door to my duplex and letting her enter first.
She hasn’t commented on how we took my car from her hotel, how she’s basically dependent on me and my whims. But hey, I’m fucked too; it wasn’t my choice to have someone fill my head, and I didn’t ask that person to come to Florida.
We haven’t talked about tomorrow’s schedule, but I’m going to the rich dude’s house with her. He could be a total freak for all I know, so she’s not facing him alone.
“Oooh,” she whispers through a reverent puff of air like she’s never seen a cat before. Simon’s playing it up too, slinking around the corner with all the grace in the universe, stroking the doorjamb with a hip before he meanders over to us. “He’s soooo beautiful.”
“He’s just a regular old black street cat,” I say, but by the wink she shoots me, she doesn’t buy it. She read me back when too. “’Kay, fine: Simon’s awesome. Straight up the best pelt ever.”
“Pelt? You ass,” she giggles as she pets him from the top of his head and down the length of his body to his tail. Simon lifts it, happy. Any minute now, he’ll crank the volume on his purr-machine.
“Wow, he purrs loud.”
And there. For a cat, he’s being unexpectedly predictable.
“He loves the ladies,” I say, which makes her giggle more. I love to make her giggle. When she stands up again, I pull her in with one arm, fingers splayed across her spine. Firm breasts press against me, and I groan a little.
She puffs another laugh, all Simon’s fault. He’s gotten to the part of the agenda where he’s going to cramp my style. His purrs reach us from the floor, and he’s scissoring in and out between both of our legs.
“Never mind him. Look at me,” I whisper. Let my thumb and forefinger slide over her chin. The amusement recedes from her eyes when she sees that I mean business. I’m hardening. She yelps. Then she laughs out loud.
“Simon, quit it!” I say, exasperated, and bend to unhook his claws from the fabric over her knees. “I’m sorry. You see how it is now, right? Simon’s the ass in this house. I should sell him to the highest bidder. Fifty cents flat will do. Come to think of it—I’ve got fifty cents in my pocket,” I say, kissing her down the corridor. “I could pay someone to take him. ‘Perfectly good cat with a year’s worth of free cat food.’”
Obviously, I’m digging my own grave here. There’s no hot lovemaking when your girl’s laughing so hard she’s about to pee herself.
“Oh my God! Poor kitty. Simon, you should come live with me. Your daddy’s a lunatic.”
Simon hasn’t taken the hint. He’s now on the bed I’m trying to steer her toward, tail high and with bright eyes staring at us.
“Simon. Out!”
“Oh poor baby, don’t say that? He can be here too,” she says. I groan and glare at my roommate, who mewls prettily in response.
“But he blocks cocks. And doesn’t let girls sleep.” My own voice sounds hopeful on the last sentence. Maybe she’ll allow me to lock him out now? “We could give him some extra nice wet food out there in the kitchen, and…”
Paislee nudges me in the stomach, and I let her tip me to the bed. “You’re exaggerating. I’m sure we’ll manage. How bad can it get?”
“Bad,” I murmur as she crawls up over me and settles in on top of my crotch. I thrust my pelvis up, showing her how ready I am. She gasps, and—
Simon trots slowly over my chest, tail brushing her nose in one long caress during the whole crossing.
Paislee plops down over me, body trembling with laughter. “Wow, he really is something else.”
“Hey,” I say, cupping her head and tucking my nose in against her neck. “I’m going to lock him out now, okay? Then we can open for him later so he can make sure girls don’t sleep. All right?”
“I have no idea what that means, but I’m beginning to think I should trust you.”
“Never been a better moment.”
Once the door is closed, she looks different. She’s not as playful anymore and the color of her eyes seem lighter to me. She’s not laughing. Not inviting or seductive. No, Paislee’s fidgeting with the comforter as if she’s not a hundred percent sure about this.
There’s a small growl breeding in my throat at her expression; feminine indecision is the single hottest thing in the world, and I see it so rarely. My balls draw up in anticipation. I drop my pants to the floor and watch her eyes grow wider with trepidation. It’s not fear though. I think? Anticipation, for sure. She’s huffing out small pants, which make her chest rise and fall quickly.
I hunch down in front of her. Reach a finger out and draw her V-neck low. She squirms a little, shouldering me away, but I grab around her middle and invade her mouth with my tongue.
“You okay, baby?” I sigh out.
“Keyon…”
I suck another kiss to her mouth, hard, causing her body to give against me. She falls back on her elbows, head high and lips accepting mine with each rough kiss. God, her mouth is so delicious, I sound like I’m eating her. I sort of am. Shit, and I want to eat more of her.
“What is it?” I ask about her hesitation. “Do you have your period? I don’t mind a little ketchup on my sausage,” I pant out, grinding my hips into her and making her breathing stutter.
Hottest thing ever.
“No, I just… Take it easy on me?”
I’m busy pulling her top over her head, eyes glued to round breasts through a transparent bra. Oh fuck me, it’s got some sort o
f pattern on it—her nipples—
“You were saying?” I press my hands flat against her stomach, pressing her into the mattress for the sheer joy of feeling her flesh tighten in my hands. It’s scorching from having been hidden under that sweater. I bend down to nibble on her belly. I kiss more, mumble about how hot she is, how much I want her.
“Keyon! I said, ‘take it easy on me.’ You’re… you’re…”
I sit up and stare at her. I have no idea what she’s talking about. Her body’s trapped between my legs. I’ve got her where I want her, exactly how I want her, only her pants need to go too.
Her breath is still so fast. I do enjoy a little bit of concern from a girl, but is that panic in her eyes?
I let go of my hold on her wrists. Run a finger from her ear and down the middle of her body to her belly button. It takes a moment for me to say the next words. They’re there, but I don’t like how they make me feel. I finally say them anyway. “Are you afraid of me, Paislee?”
“No. No, not afraid.” Her lungs pump out air so fast it can’t be healthy.
“Stop. You’re hyperventilating. Why? Have I ever hurt you?”
And then just like that, she bursts into tears.
I groan, slump on my back next to her, and cover my eyes with an arm. “What’s going on? I don’t get it.”
“It’s not you. Well, it is, but— Keyon, has no one told you you’re a bit much when you make love to a girl? At least with me, you are. You—”
I’m quiet, waiting, because what am I supposed to say? Love is violent. It’s a fight. It’s submission. I’m the victor, the man left standing when the woman crumbles in orgasm after orgasm beneath me while I drive into her with my last big effort and hit the mother lode of reliefs myself. I thought she knew how it works with guys.
“How many men have you slept with, Paislee?” I ask.
She stiffens next to me. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Just tell me.”
“How many women have you slept with, dick!”
I shrug against the pillow and let my arm slide off my face to glance at her. “Can’t say I’ve counted.”