And then there’s the internship submission pinned to my bulletin board between a collage of New York—its skyscrapers, the lights, the promise of a life where good happens. It’s been three months without an answer.
I have words upon words waiting for me—waiting to be read, to be analyzed, to be heard. And all I can manage to focus on is reading articles about bad breakups and neck cramps from giving blow jobs.
I throw on an oversized sweatshirt and go downstairs to make a cup of tea, noticing the crowd in the living room. It’s not unusual when you have four roommates, it’s just something I always think is going to change. Someday I expect to come down and find everyone gone.
Beau is knocking on Matisse’s door while Noah, his friend Hunter, and my other roommate Ethan yell at him from the couch. I skirt by the craziness to hide away in the kitchen. It’s not until I’m walking out¸ stuffing a cookie in my mouth with a steaming cup of tea in my hand that I realize what’s happening.
Everything slows down and my heart shatters, stabbing at my lungs until everyone’s attention shifts to me. Well everyone except Beau and Matisse who are making out against her door, dressed as if they’re going out on a date.
I knew it was going to happen. I knew eventually that he would move on to something more serious and I’d have to deal with that. I just didn’t think it’d be when I was in sweats, impersonating the Cookie Monster. I thought it’d be more mature, maybe a conversation over coffee. But it’s messy and in my face, and that sends me running upstairs for my bedroom. I slam my door, cradling my head in my hands as I drag in a deep breath.
I need to let go. I need to stop being in love with an idea that will never happen. I need to stop pretending that what we shared was special when deep down I know the truth about that, too.
What Beau and I had was extraordinary because he was the first person I ever truly let into my life. When he asked me out three times, I thought he was nuts. I didn’t understand what he saw in me. I don’t think I ever did find out. We worked, but not well. It was impossible when I thought he was always going to leave. I gave him plenty of reason to, and then he did, and now he has.
Loving Beau Grady was never a mistake, but it sure stings to know the person you recklessly gave your heart to no longer considers yours an option. First love is like mono—it spreads through your body, ferments in your bones, and then never truly leaves even when you think you’re well. It prefers to play a cruel trick of reminding you that you harbor this sickness within by stabbing you with a deep, empty ache from time to time.
A fist pounds at my door, rattling its frame. “Open up, Four Eyes.”
Noah
Books, that’s all I notice of her room. That, and Reagan’s reddened eyes glaring back at me.
“You going to let me in?” I ask, my arms stretched straight against her doorjamb.
She frowns, her hand clasped tightly over her bedroom door. “No.”
I don’t know if anything has ever sounded so finite. It feels like shit to be the guy she doesn’t want. “You’ve known about them, Rea. It shouldn’t be a surprise.” I look behind me down the stairs, not sure if Ethan or Hunter are still in the living room. “Let me in.” I lean in, my voice a forced whisper. “I’m not talking about this out here.”
“I’m not talking about this at all. Nothing happened.” She glances behind her at the rabbit bouncing around in its cage as if she wished it were a guard dog.
She can shut down another day, but not tonight. I wedge myself in the door and step inside.
Reagan clutches her tea, her shoulders squared against me. “Get out.”
I shut the door and fall back against the wall. “I will. Tell me again after you set down your tea and admit you’ll let him go.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“Then don’t.” I close the distance between us, caught up on the sight of her mouth and the bangs that are too long and hide her eyes. I swear she wears them that way on purpose.
“Where’s your paper?” she asks.
“We’re going to work on that now?”
“Why not? I have the rest of my life available now.”
I arch my brow. That’s awfully dramatic, even for her. “It’s a date.”
“How long have you known about Beau and Matisse?”
“When I moved him in. It’s pretty fucking obvious.” When she stares back, her eyes wide, I feel like such an asshole. “Give it up. You’re never going to date him again. You need me to keep saying it?”
Reagan runs up and shoves my chest, her forgotten tea spilling all over me. “I don’t know what the fuck your problem is, but shut up.” She shoves me again, my head knocking back against her door. “Leave me alone. I want you to fucking stay away from me.”
Her hands clench at my shirt, her breathing heavy. I open my mouth but she silences me, pushing me back again. I take it. I take her anger and the broken look haunting her eyes. I breathe it in because I might not deserve Reagan, but I deserve her hate.
“Noah,” she says, her voice shaking.
“Noah,” she says, her voice shaking. Her arms stiffen, pinning me to the door as my hand slowly slides to hold her waist. “Stay away.”
I grab her cup and head downstairs to an empty house. I spot the twelve-pack in the kitchen and haul it back upstairs. She comes out of her bathroom, wiping her face roughly with the heel of her hands. “I get why you’re flunking now,” she says, walking around me to sink down onto her mattress. “All this time I thought you were smart and not applying yourself. You’re just an idiot. Get. Out.”
“Can’t. Hard of hearing.” I crack open a beer and sit on her bed, beside her. “You’ll be okay, you know?”
“I swear to God, Noah, if you don’t get off my bed…”
I turn to her, curious.
Her hands grab my face, not gentle. There’s nothing gentle about her. She’s a human cactus. Then her mouth crashes against mine, rough and searching.
And I make the biggest fucking mistake of my life and kiss her back like I’ve wanted.
Reagan
I forget whom I’m kissing. I get lost instead to the warmness of lips and tongue, to the taste of stale beer and weed. I think I’d find it unsexy if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve been craving this with Noah. I push deeper, harder, until our bodies are wrapped around one another. He nips at my lips until they’re swollen and full of feeling, before I break away.
“That was mistake,” I say as soon as we separate.
Noah studies me, his features hard, his eyes pinned to mine. “I feel so special. Please, continue. Tell me how much of a piece of shit I am.”
I grab the beer from his hand and toss it back. He has this remarkable ability to call me on my shit. “That never happened.” I hand him the empty beer. I slant away, drawing more space between us.
That didn’t happen, couldn’t have happened. His lips on mine, his hands holding me. I’m not supposed to be kissing Noah Burke. He’s better off as a shame-filled daydream. We don’t get along. We hate each other.
We do, right?
Noah doesn’t listen. He struts into my bathroom and runs the faucet for a moment, then walks out with his tea-stained T-shirt thrown over his shoulder.
I’ve never been one of those girls to drool over a guy but Noah is tatted like a badass and it works for me. He’s rough in his gorgeousness. Maybe it’s because he’s not perfect. Beau was always the pretty type—the big-brained hockey player with model looks. He was charming and said the right thing at the right time. He was great at being smooth and for whatever reason, it swept me off my feet. But Noah? I’m surprised that the sight of the giant eagle tattoo stretching across his abs makes my breath catch and my fingers burn with wanting to touch it.
He scratches his beanie, his gaze darting away from mine. I don’t know what to say. I’m not entirely sure how this is even happening. He grabs himself a beer from the box at the foot of my bed, then hands me another. “I’ll leave
when you mean it.”
I grumble, ignoring the stab of guilt at my chest because the truth is I actually don’t want him to go. I don’t want to be alone tonight. And I don’t want Noah to leave me.
*
How I got involved in a strip version of Seven Up with him is beyond me. The twelve-pack, I can explain. The stripping followed an hour later. Fuck if I know what time it is now. The digital display on the clock beside my bed is a big blur. My glasses keep slipping down the bridge of my nose.
“Am I a man?” Adhesive threatens to drip into my eyes as the paper slides closer to my brows. I scratch at the Post-it before he swats my hand away. I hate his stupid, self-satisfied grin.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he asks.
“That’s the point of the game, dipshit.”
His unfocused eyes shine bright. Shit. I’m wrong again. I suck at this game.
“You’re a lady, Rea. Drink up or strip.”
I arch my brow, weaving a bit to the left, rising to his challenge. I take hold of the hem of my tank and rip it off over my head. I chuck it at his face, completely topless as we sit across from each other on my bed.
“You could at least pretend you’re paying attention.” He knocks his knuckles against my knee.
I glare back. I swear the beer is making the idea of kissing him again enjoyable. I try to make sense of the tattoos on his hands, wrists, and forearms. They’re a collection of unedited stories, like the deep scars across his knuckles. “Ask a question, Burke. And stop staring at my boobs,” I snap.
“I’m just surprised they’re normal-looking. I was half-expecting scales.”
“Fuck you.”
Whiskey eyes. When they’re narrowed in on me, I have a hard time remembering why I didn’t get naked sooner, why he’s only a sock and boxer shorts away from being completely naked himself.
“Yes, please.” Noah’s voice is husky.
I swallow, peeking over his shoulder at my wall of books.
Bad decisions happen every day. My life has been defined by them. “What’s your question, Noah?”
“Sleep with me.”
I underestimate his ability to move quickly. He flips me, levering over me before the shock of his words registers.
“That wasn’t a question,” I say, breathless. Slipping into trouble has never felt so good. Especially when he ducks his head down and licks a line from my neck down to my left breast, then toys with my nipple between his warm lips.
My sigh draws out between us. I swear he turns me to honey. I just melt all over my bed.
“I can rephrase.” He slides up my body, laughing at the sticky note stuck between my eyes. “You might as well give up. You’ll never guess who you are.”
If only he knew how true that was.
I rake my hands down his back, slipping my fingertips just below the waistband of his boxers. “I don’t want to play anymore. Shut up and kiss me.” I rip the Post-it off his forehead and toss it to the floor. “Now would be good.”
Noah
Things are growing hazy, right and wrong getting blurred. She’s my best friend’s ex—strictly off-limits. There are rules for this sort of thing. And I know that while I like the idea of going further, there’s a chance it means nothing to Reagan besides me being her rebound. And here’s where I’m a fucktard, because I couldn’t care less right now when normally I would.
Her body arches off the bed, moving against mine, easing a groan from my throat. She’s rough in bed and it fits her. I kiss her neck, sucking her skin and swiping away the pain with my tongue. I slant my mouth over hers and we’re frantic, a collision of teeth and bone, of soft and hard. It shouldn’t make sense, but it does. It shouldn’t be this good, but fuck….
My hands trace her body, her wide hips moving against me. We’re barreling forward, running way ahead, and maybe it’s the beer or maybe it’s my suppressed want for her, but it feels so damn right. I sit up and meet her gaze. “I’m going to fuck you unless you tell me no. Do you want that?”
Reagan opens the drawer to her bedside table, then fills my hand with a string of condoms without breaking my stare. “Please.” She grabs my boxers and tugs them down, her eyebrow raised when she spots the silver piercing. “Can I touch you?”
I nod, but pause her hand. “I want to hear you say you’re okay with this again.”
“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. I said yes, and if you’re willing, then fuck me.”
Ladies and gentlemen, Reagan Landry, the world’s romantic.
My eyes shutter close as she wraps her soft palm around me, stroking slowly, tentatively. I’m so fucking hard. I want to bury myself inside her until she screams. “Fuck, Reagan.”
“I’ve never seen this before. I bet it’ll feel good.” Her thumb plays with the silver rod pierced through the tip of my cock.
My answer gets caught in my throat. I open my eyes and reach for her glasses. I place them on her bookshelf and slide down her body, removing the rest of her clothes until she’s naked below me. I take her in with quick glimpses, ones that are a bit blurry and unfocused. I don’t want to regret this.
She circles her fingers over herself, watching me while I’m fixated on her. On the way her breath catches when she raises her hips to meet the rhythm of her fingers. In these quick moments, I watch her features soften, watch her sharp edges fade. She’s tempting, inviting, open to me.
I hesitate, not sure if I’m reading her right. I stroke myself, nearly groaning again when her eyes narrow in pleasure, at me. Because of me. I reach down and place my hand over hers, then slowly slide my fingers against her. She swallows, thrusting against my touch, demanding.
“You’re so wet.” I bend down, not wanting to have this distance between us. “Tell me what you want.” I trap her lips with mine, my tongue moving against hers as I slide my fingers in and out of her body, my cock hard against her waist.
Reagan rips open a condom package then rolls it over me, her eyes fixed on her hands moving over my cock. She pushes hard against my shoulders, then grabs my waist with a soft sigh. “Just fuck me, Noah. This doesn’t have to be complicated.”
I grin down at her and the challenge that lies there in her words. I push into Reagan without silently, ignoring the voice in my head that’s yelling at me to stop now.
She comes a few minutes later, shaking around me, pulling me deeper. Her lips claim mine, her hands digging into the flesh of my back, raking her fingers into my shoulder blades until pain and pleasure swirl and I come too, my words muffled into her hair.
It’s rough and quick, painful and awkward. We were good but not good enough. We were strangers hooking up after too much beer and some hurt feelings. We both got off, but judging by the shame that fills the silence between the two of us, we didn’t enjoy it like we should have.
She rolls over, facing the wall as soon as I pull out. I clean myself up, then get dressed. I feel sick at the hint of bruises on my back, at the guilt that clouds up my head, at the huge fucking knot at my chest.
I slip out of her room without a word more, letting our regrets finish our story.
Reagan
I wake up in the morning with a string of condoms stuck to the side of my face. My head is throbbing and my mouth is so dry, I might have swallowed cotton balls in my sleep.
My sheets are stained and messed up, one corner popped off the mattress. They don’t smell like my shampoo or dryer sheets. I clamp my hand over my eyes as soon as I connect that they smell like Noah. They smell of too much beer, the same that’s about to rise up my throat.
Why did I let that happen? Why did I want that to happen? We clearly consented…several times. But for something so good, it left behind too many regrets and bruised feelings.
I take a really hot shower, hoping to wash him away from me. I try scrubbing until my skin blooms bright red, but that only brings out the reminders of him learning my body. I have bruises from his lips and teeth trailing down my body, impressions from th
e way his fingers dug into my skin because I begged him to do it.
I wash until my skin is raw. I try to erase him, but it only sends more pleasure coursing through my body as images of him over me last night flash through my mind, of his body moving in mine as he whispered my name over and again. Five minutes later I lie on my tangled sheets, my body still wet, my room still smelling of stale beer, his stupid soap, and sex. I use my vibrator until I come hard at the memory of him moving over me, the memory of his warm lips charting the mountains and valleys of my skin. I’m not going to dwell on how he made me feel. I won’t. But it’s harder to chase away this new feeling of wanting more that’s nagging at me now after last night.
I’m not surprised when he doesn’t show up at Zola the next week for his tutoring appointment, or how he doesn’t answer the one text I sent asking if he forgot. I’m not surprised when he doesn’t show up at the bungalow for two weeks either. It doesn’t have to be complicated between us, I didn’t want anything more than a hookup, but his silence spins everything out of control. I accept it. I deserve being alone this time.
My rabbit Cecily rests in my lap as the rain bounces against my bedroom window, the lace pattern of my curtains casting intricate shadows over the dormer above me. I’ve read over my cover letter at least twenty times. I’ve proofed my resumé and I’ve put together a great portfolio of clips. If nothing else can go right, I’m at least going to try for the one thing I want in this life—a life in New York.
I hold my breath and hover the mouse above the submit button. Cecily’s ears flop against my wrist, drawing my attention to the small nicks against my skin, the scars of when I wasn’t so strong and started to cut myself when I was stuck in a shitty group home and was picked on. Florida showers, the sands of Arizona, the moody eyes I’ve fallen for here in Portland. And still my heart waits for me in New York.
I let it all go and hit Send.
Chapter Four
Reagan
I decide to leave campus early and head over to the shelter downtown. I volunteer there when I have extra time, and since I’m minus one student, I’m happy to take the chance to keep myself distracted and visit with Trina.
Anything More Than Now (Sutton College #2) Page 4