Before I Fall

by Jessica Scott

  I step outside and walk to the end of the building to call a cab. No point in advertising the fact that I don't have a car. Well, I do, but it's not the kind of car you drive to an event like this. Our fifteen-year-old Buick doesn't exactly fit in with the shiny BMWs and Mercedes’.

  I feel him before I see him. He melts from the shadows. Relief is a palpable thing across my skin.

  "Hey." He's tired, but there's something else.

  "Hi," I say.

  "Are you rushing home?"

  I shake my head. "My dad has a date."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah."

  "Last emergency room visit ended up being a good one, huh?"

  "That was the night I called you. It wasn't a good one." I shrug. "But yeah, I guess the shot they gave him that visit made a big difference."

  "You don't seem happy about it."

  I follow him to his car, grateful that he's here. That he waited for me. That things feel closer to normal than they had. "I guess I'm waiting for the other shoe. We've had spells like this before, and they never last."

  He opens the door for me. He's close, right there. I can reach out and touch him if I want. And I want, to. Badly. I slide my hands beneath his jacket. His shirt is warm and I want to strip away the barriers between us.

  "That's pretty cynical for someone so young."

  His mouth is there, just there. I brush my lips against his, needing his touch, his taste. "Not cynical. Realistic."

  My hands are wandering over his chest. I can't get enough of him. I'm edgy and needy, and I suddenly very much want to be alone with him.

  "Well, Realistic, would you like a ride home?"

  I step closer until my body brushes against his. "I'd like something."

  "Did I tell you how amazing you look this evening?"

  "Abby is my fairy godmother."

  "Do you turn into a pumpkin at midnight?"

  I'm slowly untucking his shirt, grateful that he's parked in a dark side of the lot away from the lights and the parking lot security cameras and the rest of the world.

  "I think the coach turned into a pumpkin at midnight." His stomach is hot and smooth. I run my thumb over the edge of his hip bone and feel his belly jump beneath my fingers.

  He captures my face in his hands, his eyes intense. He opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but he kisses me instead. I sigh into him, relief and need twisted and achy inside me. His tongue slides against mine, teasing, stroking. Burning me up with sipping, sensual licks. He nibbles on my bottom lip before sucking gently on the spot.

  "Stay with me?" A plea.

  My breath gets caught somewhere beneath my heart. "I--"

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. You need to be home." He's kissing my jaw, then. Teasing, nibbling kisses along the pulse in my throat.

  "I want to." Because I do. But I'm afraid. He sucks gently on the spot right below my ear. I'm melting for him.

  "Come home with me?" He pauses then, cupping my cheeks. "If you change your mind and want to go home, I'll take you. I don't care if it’s three a.m. or what." A hesitant kiss against my swollen lips. "I want to wake up with you. I want to make you breakfast and feed you."

  There's an edge to his words. Something needy and a little terrifying and completely compelling. The idea of waking up with him is...it's something I haven't dared let myself want.

  I don't know how tonight went. It didn't feel like a disaster, but the one thing I'm terrible at is reading people at this place.

  But nothing that happened tonight feels as right, as good, as thinking about waking up with Noah.

  "I don't have a toothbrush."

  "There's a twenty-four hour drug store on the way to my house."

  I smile at his deadpan response. "You've thought about this."

  "More than you'll ever know."

  Noah

  She says yes.

  I mean, it's a simple thing, right? Spending the night with someone. Happens all the time. But it's not a simple thing.

  When she's been at my place, it's been dark. And I've been plenty distracted by the feel of her beautiful body beneath mine.

  But asking her to spend the night means she'll see everything in the broad light of day. She'll see the medication in the kitchen. She'll see the scars again and maybe she’ll decide that I’m not worth it.

  I don't know if this is a mistake or a test. I'm known for fucking up the good things in my life. LT was always really good at stopping me from stepping on my dick despite myself. I wonder if he'd tell me to take her home to her place or mine.

  I wish I could see into the future and figure out if this was either the best idea I've ever had or the worst. I carry her into my house because I can't bear to be separated from her. I want this fascinating, beautiful, loyal woman in ways I can't explain.

  I don't make it very far.

  I'm careful taking her dress off. Lowering the zipper, I'm enthralled by the sight of her in her panties and bra and those magnificent heels that accent her gorgeous legs. "You've got the most amazing curves."

  She smiles and shakes her head. "You should talk dirty to me more often."

  I step to her until she backs into my small kitchen table. Lay her back until she's spread open before me. A feast that I plan on savoring for as long as she'll let me.

  "Beautiful. So fucking beautiful."

  She makes that sound in her throat. It reminds me of a purr. "I want to take your panties off."

  "Oh hell, you're really going to talk dirty?"

  I kiss her to stop her from talking. "Shh."

  She lies back, draping her arms over her head. Her breasts rise and fall with each breath. I reach behind her, unhooking that incredibly sexy black cotton. I could stand there watching her for hours. She's perfection. I frame her belly with my hands, sliding them over her soft skin to cup her breasts. Her nipples pebble beneath my touch. Her eyes darken as I stroke her skin gently. Watching her body respond is a powerful drug, a hit of the purest ecstasy.

  I lean down, teasing one nipple with the tip of my tongue. The barest caress. She gasps at the slightest touch. I lick her belly, then lower. Lower. Until her sex is just there, ripe for me. I kiss her gently and feel her wetness through the cotton. She's swollen.

  "I want to see you," I whisper. "I want to taste you."

  A quiet moan is my reward. It's exquisite torture pulling her panties off. Seeing her drives all the blood straight to my cock. Goddamn it, she's fucking gorgeous. Swollen and glistening perfection. I stroke my thumb across the seam of her body. She whimpers, her hips jerking beneath my touch. She's slick and oh so wet.

  I love her taste. I circle her with my tongue, listening to her gasps and cries to find exactly what makes her crazy. I suckle her and she digs her fingers into my hair.

  Again, I suckle her. She nearly bucks me off when I slide my thumb inside her. Stroking her with my fingers, using my mouth. She's gone, over the edge. I feel her start to come on my finger. Squeezing, pulsing, she's tight, so fucking tight. I'm relentless, driving her over the edge of her orgasm.

  And then I'm sliding inside her, riding the receding edge of her climax. She's tight and pulsing around me, urging me with her body, her nails, her feet digging into my ass. Demanding everything I am, everything I have.

  I lift her and carry her to my bed. I'm still inside her as we tumble into my sheets. She straddles me, riding me, driving me closer, closer. I love seeing her rising over me, her hair falling down from the prim and proper bun, tumbling over her shoulders in a mess of dark blond.

  And then there's no more thought as my orgasm rips through me, tearing at the remains of my soul. I pull her closer, trying to keep her there, exactly there. I want to be inside her forever.

  I wait until she's falling asleep to slip from her embrace to sneak into my kitchen. I'm not foolish enough to try and sleep without the Ambien. Tonight, though, I cut the pill in half. I'm going to do this. It starts tonight. Half of what I'm used to taking.
<
br />   It's worth a shot, right?

  I slip back into bed. She makes a sleepy sound and curls closer. She's softness in my arms. Her hair is cool silk against my scars.

  She's a peace I'll never know, but maybe, just maybe, I can reclaim a tiny piece of what I lost.

  "I'm falling for you." There's no response in the darkness. I didn't expect any. The mere fact that she's here, sleeping with me, trusting me...It breaks me a little more knowing that I’ve lied to her.

  I'm lost in her, and I don't know how to find my way out of this mess I’ve created.

  I'm not sure I want to.

  Chapter 23

  Beth

  He's making me breakfast. And I'm not allowed to help. He kisses me and tells me to take a shower and he'll take me home. It's early, but I'm not tired. I slept, really slept. The worry about home is still there, it's always there, but it's not overpowering.

  I step into his shower, holding my face under the steady, strong stream. His shower is tile, real tile. It's older, but that's not the point. Our shower is ancient plastic that's impossible to get really clean. And the water pressure in his shower is just this side of amazing. It beats into my skin, massaging my body with hot, wet heat.

  I slip into one of his button-down shirts. It falls mid-thigh and the sleeves are too long. I roll them up and realize that I have nothing to wear home. I can't possibly put the dress back on. I'm terrified of ruining it.

  I inhale the warm smell of toast.

  I walk in, and his gaze sweeps down my body and back up again.

  "I approve of this wardrobe selection," he says, turning his attention back to the pan.

  "I'm not sure what I'm going to get home in, but I'm sure I'll come up with something."

  "Grab a pair of my sweats and flip flops. I know where you live. I'll get them back, I'm sure."

  Guilt sneaks up and wraps around my heart. I should have told him a long time ago about the address.

  He flips the eggs flawlessly.

  "Of course you can cook eggs. I always end up mangling the yolks."

  "They're probably still good if you cooked them."

  "That is seriously cheesy," I say. I sit at the table and butter a piece of toast. "Where did you get this bread?"

  "Grocery store on Ninth Street. I splurged this week."

  A luxury we have never afforded. I don't resent it. I savor the taste and texture. I used to make bread in our bread machine, but then it broke and I never got around to digging through the local thrift stores to find a new one. I should do that. Dad likes my bread.

  "So what are your plans for the day?" he asks. "It's Saturday and all that."

  "I've got to work today at three. Finish an assignment and prep for stats lab this week."

  He slides a plate in front of me. The eggs are perfectly cooked. I pierce the yolk with my bread. "This is fantastic."

  "I'm glad you like eggs. I probably should have asked first, but since you've never said anything about food issues, I guessed."

  I smile up at him, and wish I could see past the blinding bright spot that Noah is in my life. Wish I could see how this ends. If it's a happily ever after or a Greek tragedy.

  I slide my arms around his waist. For a moment, I simply rest my head on his shoulder and breath him in, surrounded by his warmth, his scent. Everything about him fills me with something I haven't had space or room for in my life.

  And I need this now. I need him. He's a craving that only gets stronger each time I satisfy the urge. His arms come around me and he kisses my neck. It’s a simple embrace. Something powerful all on its own. "I want to stay here forever," I whisper. My voice is thick. Heavy with fear that I'm afraid to give words to, afraid to put out into the universe.

  His arms are tight around me, like I'm a lifeline for him as much as he is for me.

  He leans back and cups my face. I love this habit of his. It's something warm and tender and incredibly erotic all at once.

  "This is pretty intense for me," he says. "I never expected to fall for my hot stats tutor."

  I smile because it's the corniest thing he could have said. "You weren't expecting me?"

  "No one can expect someone like you, Beth." His voice is serious now. "You're a unicorn. People like you don't exist."

  "I don't know what that means." I'm terrified that it means he's put me on some kind of pedestal. Elevated me to some exalted sainthood that I don't deserve.

  "It means you're pretty damn special to me." He brushes his lips against mine. "And I'm terrified of fucking this up."

  I nuzzle his neck because I hate the space between us. "You won't."

  "Don't underestimate my powers," he says.

  I laugh quietly. "I will never underestimate your power to cook delicious eggs."

  "Well, I've got that going for me. Speaking of which, you should eat before they get cold."

  He urges me back into my chair. My skin protests the loss of his warmth, but I eat because he cooked for me. I don't normally have a big breakfast. Some peanut butter and an apple usually does the trick for me.

  This is a feast in so many ways.

  He joins me a few minutes later and we sit in the morning sunshine that fills his small kitchen. I notice the torn remains of a tattoo at the edge of a scar on his upper arm.

  Before I can stop myself, I trace my fingers over the jagged, raised edge of the burn.

  He stiffens but doesn't pull away. His nostrils flare as he watches my fingertip slide over his skin. "What was the tattoo?"

  "Tribal armband. Completely unoriginal." He lifts his arm and reveals the unrestricted remnant on the underside of his bicep. It's a mixture of flames and waves in an intricate pattern. It looks like it's solid colors, but closer inspection reveals tiny designs in each color block.

  "Do you ever think about getting it redone?"

  Noah

  "Tattooing over scars is tricky. I'd have to find the right artist." I haven't allowed myself to go there until now. I keep the jagged remains of the tattoo as a reminder of what was destroyed on that terrible day.

  I lost everything that mattered to me.

  I'm not ready to cover it with new ink and pretend that I've come out on the other side all better.

  "My dad has a couple of army tattoos. The Ranger tab on one shoulder. And his old unit patch."

  I smile because it's something that new soldiers do all the time. And it's easier to shift the conversation to her dad than my war.

  She slides my t-shirt sleeve higher, though, back to inspecting the scars and the shredded remains of the tattoo. I brace for more questions that I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about.

  Maybe I need to. Maybe I need to tell her about the war, about LT and the guys. About why things feel like they fit when I'm around Josh and Caleb and Nathan. What I have with her is something different. Something that fits, too. But it's something fragile. Something I can still break.

  She surprises me now, placing a soft kiss on the center of my shoulder. I can barely feel it through the damaged nerves, but the surrounding sensations remind me of what it's like to feel. Her hair brushes against my good skin. Her fingers are a gentle pressure on my forearm. She overwhelms me with that single gesture, and I'm undone by the simple tenderness of it.

  I force myself to remain still. To not panic. I close my eyes, letting the sensations wash over me.

  Her touch battles with the fear that threatens to unman me. The fear that has been with me since that terrible day. My breathing is ragged.

  If she can sense my distress, she doesn't say. She simply slides out of her chair and into my lap and pulls me into her arms. I'm lost in an ocean of conflict. I want to be here with her, but the war won't let me go. It intrudes into every moment of peace I try to hold onto.

  There's nothing I wouldn't give up to stay in this moment with her. To leave the war outside and pretend that I'm a nice, normal, well-adjusted guy.

  But normal, well-adjusted guys don't have a platoon of pills lined up in t
heir pantries. We don't lie to ourselves about being able to sleep without sleeping pills or need double doses of anxiety medication to go to the damn doctor.

  I'm a fucking disaster, and I'm ruining everything with my silence. I need to tell her everything. I need to give her a chance to get out while she still can. Before she falls as hard for me as I've fallen for her.

  The thought of never seeing her again - it hurts. My heart aches with the imagined loss.

  I rest my head on her chest and slide my arms around her waist, holding her close. I never want to let her go.

  I have to. I have to get her home. She has things to do that don't involve me.

  I've got to figure out how to fill my time while I wait for her to get off her shift. I'll pick her up tonight because that's become my routine. My excuse to see her.

  Because having her in my life has become as routine as breathing. I need her like I've never needed anyone, and it terrifies me that she has this power over me that I've never given freely to anyone.

  I close my eyes. My hands are flat on her back, holding her, stroking her soft skin beneath my shirt.

  "This is a great way to spend a morning," she whispers.

  "There are no alternatives I can think of that would be better."

  She makes that sound in her throat, and I can feel it beneath my cheek.

  "What will you do today?"

  "Homework," I say. Because it's the truth. "I'm practicing being a responsible student. I've got some stiff competition in class."

  She runs her fingers through my hair. Her touch is like little electric pulses along my skin. "I've got to check on my dad," she whispers.

  "I know. I'm just pretending for a moment that I don't have to take you home."

  She sighs heavily. "So I need to tell you something," she says.

  There's an ominous tone to her voice that sets me on edge. I wait, saying nothing.

  "I don't live where you've been dropping me off." She's wary now. There's a deep concern in her voice.