So Screwed

by Melissa Marino

  “Nothing. I’m just really good at multitasking,” I said.

  “Is that so?”

  He smiled slowly, deepening his dimples as he moved toward me, crossing the space between us. The closer he moved, the more his eyes focused on me. His hands lifted above me, pressing into the building, and trapping me in tight to him.

  “It is so,” I said, trying to keep my cool.

  “So you can stretch and check me out at the same time. Anywhere else you can display this multitasking?”

  “Many places.”

  “Mmm,” he whispered, his mouth lowering toward my neck. His lips grazed against me, just below my ear. “Interesting. Let’s see how well you do up against the side of a high-rise.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, I’ve been wanting to kiss you senseless since the second I saw you today. In fact, I’ve thought of nothing else for the last couple of days. So, why don’t I help you stretch while I kiss you,” he said, running his hand down my side. He skimmed across my hip, bringing his touch around, grazing just underneath my ass before sliding his hand down my leg to behind my knee. He lifted it up against his hip, pressing himself into me.

  His mouth moved from my neck to my jaw where his nose brushed against it as he inhaled deeply. “You always smell so amazing,” he said before pressing his lips to mine.

  He held me closer, tighter, moving his free hand up and into the back of my hair. Our kiss deepened, our lips moving together, carefully testing each other out. His hand wrapped around my hair and gripped it roughly, causing my knees to go weak.

  But just for a moment.

  He pulled away slightly, taking his hand from my hair while running his fingertips down and across my neck. His thumb brushed across my lower lip as his eyes shifted wildly across my face.

  I followed my tongue along where his thumb was, licking my bottom lip, as I tried to compose myself. The boy could kiss. Shit. He must’ve had a lot of practice, and in that moment, I couldn’t even bring myself to care because there was only one thing on my mind: more. I wanted more of him.

  I pushed up on my free foot and gripped his jacket with my hands, pulling him to me and slamming us back against the building. A stifled groan reverberated against our lips as our tongues touched. Then…it was hands, lips, touching…all at once. I felt him everywhere. The hair of his beard tickled and was soft and rough at the same time. It was kind of like him. His mouth moved from my lips to my neck, kissing and brushing the tip of his tongue just below my ear. My sweet spot. He’d found it faster than most men.

  My hands reached up around his neck, gripping the back of his hair. Without the product he usually used on it, his hair was soft and was curling slightly at the ends from the wind blowing against it. His tongue slid against mine as one of his hands held my knee against him, and the other held my chin in just the place he wanted it.

  He shifted his legs open wider, stepping closer and slipping his leg between mine. There was no way he could continue kissing me like that, with his leg pressed tight, and not have me squirm on it. I was only moderately aware that we were still in public, so even though this side of the building was deserted and the desire to hump him there out in the open was fierce, I had to consider families with small children walking by.

  My heart raced, pounding against my chest, not only from the hotness of it all, but also that a couple of my expectations were already exceeded.

  His eyes.

  His hands.

  His touch.

  Kiss.

  It was frightening and exhilarating all at the same time, the push and pull of overwhelming want tempered by fear of letting him in too close.

  Only focus on the want, Ev.

  I pushed against his chest, separating us. “See? I told you. Multitasker.”

  He lowered my leg to the ground before wrapping his arms around my waist. “I was just seeing how much you can handle.”

  “I can handle a lot.”

  “I bet you could,” he said, giving me a quick peck. “For right now, though, let me get you inside so we can eat.”

  The expansive building Abel lived in was within walking distance of Navy Pier; it stood high above the city, the rotating top floor reserved for the most special of occasions. We crossed the lobby, giving a nod to Rob on the way to the elevator and up to the fifty-fourth floor.

  His hand intertwined with mine as we exited the elevator. “You’re awfully quiet, Evelyn.”

  “So are you.”

  He paused in front of a door, reaching into his pocket with his free hand. “I’m wondering how much more you can handle.”

  He grinned at me, dimples deep, and like his kiss, it made my whole body react. Heat and butterflies. I wasn’t handling things, but a girl never shows her cards.

  “Quit giving me that smile. I’m sure it gets you whatever you want, but I’m the one that wants right now.”

  “Is that so?” he asked, raising his brows.

  “Mm-hmm,” I said, squeezing his hand. “I’m starving. Feed me or I’m out of here.”

  “You got it.”

  I could smell something amazing before he even opened the door. As he stepped inside, I followed, instantly taken over by the scent of cinnamon and eggs, along with the modern, vast space. The open floor plan allowed me to see most of the apartment from where I was standing.

  “Are you kidding me with this?” I said.

  “What?” He unzipped his jacket, tossing it on a stool before stepping into the kitchen.

  It was all stainless steel and fresh white furniture. Everything was perfectly in place, right down to the smooth steel wall sconces and chenille throw pillows.

  I moved farther into his home, taking off my own coat and placing it on the arm of the couch. “Your place is…amazing. Beautiful.”

  “I wish I could take credit for it, but I just told my mom what I wanted, and she decorated the entire thing,” he said.

  I watched as he placed pot holders on his hands and retrieved a pie dish from the oven. He set it on the tabletop, which was already set with dishes, silverware, and cloth napkins.

  I laughed. “Should your mom take credit for all of this, too?”

  His head snapped up. “Why? Why do you think that?”

  “Well, it seems that Leslie does a lot of things for you. I mean, the apartment, decorating, I wouldn’t be surprised if she washed your clothes for you. A frittata is impressive for a guy such as yourself.”

  He held up a bread basket. “I have babka, too. And cinnamon butter.”

  “Did you bake it yourself?”

  “No. My mom definitely did that. Coffee?”

  “Yes, please. Can I have some water, too? Rehydrating, you know?”

  “Of course.”

  He slid the frosted glass refrigerator open, retrieving two bottles of water.

  “What’s this?” I asked, pointing to a closed Mason jar on the far end of the granite tabletop. “It looks like dandelions.”

  He walked over, extending the bottle of water to me. “Yes. That’s exactly what it is.”

  I approached the jar and picked it up, turning it over in my hands. No stems, just the white, fluffy tops. There had to be at least thirty of them in there.

  I set it back down and unscrewed the top from my water. Taking a sip, I raised my eyebrows at him, waiting for an explanation.

  “What do you think of when you see dandelions?” he asked.

  It was just as strange of a question as it was to see a Mason jar full of them. I didn’t know if it was some spiritual thing, and he was going to spring to his views on life based on the symbolism of the dandelion. Or maybe they really weren’t dandelions at all. Maybe they were poisonous bulbs, masquerading as dandelions, an elaborate plan to get women under his spell, like the poppies from Wizard of Oz, but instead of sleepiness, we became weary of clothing.

  He reached above the stove, the fabric of his white T-shirt stretching across his back and arms. After retrieving tw
o small pods for the coffeemaker, he grabbed two glass coffee mugs.

  “I didn’t realize it was such a tough question,” he said. “How do you take your coffee?”

  I placed the water down, fumbling with the lid. “Maybe you should just tell me why you have a jar of weeds on your counter, especially since everything else in the place is so pristine. And black, please.”

  “Whiskey and black coffee,” he said, nodding. He grinned, his blue eyes moving up and down me. “You really can do no wrong, can you?”

  “Don’t make me take out my bullshit meter. Now, tell me about the dandelions.”

  He pulled the coffee cup from under the coffeemaker and placed it on the tabletop, sliding it across to me. I lifted it to my mouth, smelling hints of vanilla and cinnamon. “Look at you pulling out this gourmet shit. I would’ve been happy with some freeze-dried Taster’s Choice.”

  He banged his hand on the table so hard the Mason jar shook. “Bring it here, beautiful,” he said, raising his hand. “A Pulp Fiction reference has elevated you to an entirely new status.”

  We high-fived each other, but before I could let go, he laced his fingers through mine and pulled me forward. Leaning over the breakfast bar, he was tall enough to bend down to kiss me.

  “They’re for wishes,” he said, our faces close.

  “Kisses for wishes?”

  “No.” He bent over for one more kiss before pushing back. “The dandelions. They’re for wishes.”

  “Ah. I see. So, you just save them up, and when you need one, you…blow?”

  “Exactly.”

  It was sweet, a side of him separate from the bold, smooth-talking man I’d known. He wasn’t afraid to leave a jar of dandelions out and to tell anyone who asked they were for wishes. In fact, he really didn’t give a shit what people thought of him.

  I took a sip of my coffee while I was aware he was staring at me, wondering what I was going to say.

  “What?” he said. “No ‘Aw! That’s so cute!’ or ‘That is so sweet!’”

  “Is that what you’re used to?”

  He shrugged. “It seems to be the general reaction of most women.”

  It occurred to me his jar of wishes was a way to get women, but instead of my initial thought of poisoning them, it was all about appearing endearing. I had almost bought it.

  I saw the sincerity in his face, the ribbon of truth in his words, and I was compelled to believe him. I wanted to believe him, that whatever was happening between us was for me alone.

  I just wasn’t there yet.

  “I’m not like most women,” I said, drinking from my coffee mug.

  His gaze fixated on me, his movements still except for the rising and falling of his chest. Silence was all around, even the coffeemaker had quieted. I worried I’d offended him but was reassured when he smiled, dimples displayed, while he ran his hand across his beard. “I’m beginning to figure that out. Ready to eat?”

  “Absolutely.”

  * * *

  I didn’t care, not one bit, who made the brunch or whom I was eating it with, I ate all of the deliciousness with barely a breath. Abel put the babka in the toaster and smeared it with cinnamon butter. The heated, fluffy bread soaked the butter into the cinnamon swirls, making it impossible for me to eat just one. So I ate another and would’ve eaten a third if I didn’t think I’d come across as a total piggy.

  “Mind if I go change real quick?” he asked when we had finished. He stretched his arms above his head and brought them down, running his fingers through his hair.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I’m sure that I don’t smell the greatest after the run, and while I’m sure I need a shower, a new T-shirt will be better.”

  “Oh, sure. Just leave me in my funk.”

  “Girls don’t have funk,” he said.

  “Yes, we do.”

  It wasn’t a debate that I wanted to have. Body odors weren’t conducive to coming across as waking up perfect and smelling like roses at all times.

  “Well, you don’t. In fact,” he said, approaching. His arms wrapped around my waist, and he forced me to him in one commanding pull. “I have to know the perfume you wear. It smells incredible on you.”

  He dipped his head down, dragging his nose against the skin of my neck, running it down to my collarbone. His touch, every single time, made my body respond, heat and shivers, like a shot of whiskey. When the initial jolt had settled, I had the need for more. He moved from my neck to look at me, waiting for an answer. Everything was so playfully intense with this guy. He demanded attention without being cocky, expecting responses with mischievous direction. There was no doubt he knew how attractive he was and how to use it.

  He began moving my hips, casually back and forth, with his hands, almost like we were dancing. “Why do you want to know?” I said. “I mean, it’s pretty unique, and I wouldn’t want you to share it with anyone.”

  “What if I promised not to share?”

  I held out my pinkie to ensure a promise. He wrapped his own around mine, grinning as he did.

  “That smile,” I said, shaking my head. “Gets you everything you want, doesn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes. But there are times I really want something and I need to work harder for it.”

  “Such as?”

  “You ask a lot of questions, Evelyn,” he said. He closed the space between us again, knowingly taunting me by bringing his lips to mine, barely touching.

  It was push and pull between us. He was trying to dominate, but I wasn’t going to crumble. It wasn’t my style, nor was it where I wanted to be with him. I could feel myself falling under his spell. It was a dangerous place to be. It wasn’t about being in charge. It was about showing him that even if we both wanted the same, I was going to be the one to decide.

  I shoved his arms off me, startling his confidence as evidenced by his frown.

  “Frowns don’t suit you as well as your smile does,” I said, taking his hand and leading us to the couch.

  He followed, and with a gentle push, he sat down. I straddled his lap, wiggling myself into a comfortable position in which I was the one looking down on him for once. A gradual smile returned to his face.

  “There we go,” I said, gliding the tips of my fingers down his beard, ending where his dimples emerged.

  Our lips met, and all of my intent disintegrated. The kisses were all tongue and want, the sugary-sweetness taste we shared making us hunger for more. The once quiet apartment was now filled with our soft moans and shifting bodies moving against each other.

  Without a break from lips, he lifted me by my hips just enough so he could change positions and lay down, bringing me down on top of him. My hands slid under his shirt, wanting to feel his smooth skin beneath my touch. The hard muscles of his chest were only matched by the heat radiating off it.

  I rolled my hips over him and that one movement showed me how hard he was against my thigh. While I knew he was worried about his post-run scent, there was nothing offensive about him. He smelled of aftershave and man, strong and inviting at the same time. Our movements together became more and more rapid as his hold on me became tighter until all at once, he stopped.

  I flipped up, mounting his waist. “Everything okay? Am I hurting you?” I asked, panting.

  “No,” he said, blowing his hair off his damp forehead. “You’re amazing, a little too amazing.”

  “Then why did you stop?”

  “Because we were about to cross over into the point of no return.”

  This boy was the best thing my body had known in a long time, and if making out was this good, the sex had to be even better.

  “You,” he said. “You I want to wait for.”

  My response was to snort and call an off-the-chart register on the bullshit meter. Instead, I stifled a chuckle and attempted to move off his lap.

  “Hey. I’m serious,” he said, grabbing my waist to keep me put. “I don’t want you to think I’m in this for one thing.�
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  “I’m sure you’re serious.”

  But I wasn’t. I didn’t know how any female was.

  He let out a deep sigh. “I really like you and I must say,” he said, brushing his hand through my hair. “You look really good up there on me.”

  There was no hint of embarrassment, no pause. There was only a wide smile and eyes unafraid, looking straight into mine. His grip on my waist remained, as his fingers dug into my hip farther. He was giving a little of himself, and in return, I knew I should’ve done the same, but didn’t know if I could. As his eyes scanned mine, looking for something for me to give back, I realized I had a choice: Either appease him or not, knowing that I might blow the whole thing.

  I decided to meet him halfway.

  “I go to a place in Lincoln Park where you can make your own perfume. It’s made with vanilla and peony essential oils, plus lighter notes of a few others. You won’t find any other girl with it. I’m the one and only.”

  He leaned up and gave me a peck on the cheek before wrapping me up in a hug. “One and only is right,” he whispered.

  My bullshit meter went off.

  I quickly told it to shut the fuck up.

  * * *

  I didn’t do dreamy. I wasn’t one of those girls who laid awake in bed and went over every single detail of a date. I didn’t recall his lips on my skin or hands moving across my body. There was never a time I lost sleep reminiscing over the unmistakable desire in his eyes and the way my own body and mind couldn’t get enough. No. I didn’t do that. But I did. It felt wrong but in all the right ways. I was on a dangerous, slippery slope. It was taking everything in me to keep from falling.

  “Ah, Evelyn. Hello?” Bridget shouted.

  I jumped in my seat, shaking my thoughts out of my head. “Oh, hi. I got your green garbage drink. It’s on your desk.”

  “What’s wrong? You were staring at your computer screen and didn’t even hear me come in. What if I was here to murder you?”

  “Nothing is wrong and the door was locked to keep serial killers out.”

  She plopped her Birkin on my desk and unbuttoned her coat. After taking off her coat, she sat down in the chair opposite me while sporting a Bridget-sized stare.