“Wasn’t it you who said dancing calms her down?” My eyebrow rises. “You know what, we both will.” I pull her after me to the bedroom. She frowns, yet follows.
I put the wackiest song I can find in my play list on and turn up the volume. Nia observes me with knitted brows, a smile slowly creeping into her lips.
When I start swaying and jumping to the crazy tune, Nia bursts into laughter and joins me. The rowdier the vibe gets, the goofier our moves become. I hold her hips and fling her to straddle me. We move together, totally out of control. When Nia starts to shake her sweet ass too excitedly, I lose balance and fall to the bed with her on top of me. Our stares unite for a long beat and we both smile softly.
“Are you ready?” I ask, breaking our silent bubble. She saws her lips and nods. All color leaves her face. I push out an exhale before entering the improvised field lab in my bathroom.
“It’ll be okay,” I say, rubbing her arm, not convincing either of us. Nia hides behind my back as I turn to check experiment number one: white and purple stick. My sigh of relief followed by a breathy “fuck,” prompts her to peep from behind me. Nia looks up at me and our stares catch with glee. We both let out a brief snicker of relief and high five. Same reaction goes to the second, third, and fourth sticks.
“Oh, shit.” I exclaim at 99.9 percent accuracy, exhibit pink.
“What?” Nia swallows the word in a sharp intake.
“What was it, two lines, or one?”
“Two?” She asks wearily, and I beam. I shove a finger through the knot of my tie, releasing it in a long pull.
“Oh God, thank you. Thank you!” Nia drops her head. I can only relate to her massive relief. Finally, the twisted string in my stomach unties. “I wanted a happy date… Here’s a happy date for us.” It’s her turn to wink, and mine to chuckle.
~~~
I lie in bed, wide awake, although I couldn’t be more beaten. This week in which I was about twenty four seven in alert mode, the flight back, and the pregnancy threat situation that literally scared the leaving shit out of me, all mesh in my head. I think I’ve reached the point where I’m too exhausted to even begin to unwind. I sink my head deeper into my clutched hands on my pillow. As I process the potential colossal mess we’ve just dodged, everything Nia takes over my mind.
Random thoughts flit by, they all end with one beautiful girl with stunning, sad eyes that took up residence inside my heart. They run from our goodbye earlier when Nia said she needed alone time to process everything, to the fact that I’ve never, so far, been to her bedroom, to having her occupy my mind all the time while I was away. Together with a strong feeling of how I should take a step back, comes the thought of how little I really know about her. About her family, friends, about her life before she moved here. I’ve managed to glean from everything she said, and not, so far, that she must have had some hell of a past.
Just like I know how involved I’m becoming with her, I know that for her sake and my heart’s that maybe at this point we should just stop. Perhaps it was a wakeup call in the form of a false alarm to stop whatever is taking over me, strongly and steadily.
The short chime of my phone breaks into my mulling. It’s after one a.m. who on earth would be calling me now? In complete contradiction to my momentary emotional retreat, my heart makes half a summersault when I see Nia’s name on the display.
“Are you awake?”
“Why are whispering?” I ask with a smile that I’m not exactly controlling.
“I thought you might be sleeping.”
“And you expected me to answer and continue sleeping?” Her soft snicker reaches me and my smile grows. “How can I help you after one a.m., Miss Mitchell?”
“Ehmm, any chance I could join you?” Her voice over the line is supple and somewhat hesitant.
“You want to sleep over?”
“Yes,” she answers and my previous thoughts are locked into a provisional drawer right after I flip them off.
“I’m waiting for you…”
Not more than five minutes later she’s spooned in my arms with her back pressed to my chest. No more than a soft “good night” whisper later, and her breathing becomes steady and calm. I inhale her subtle honey scent, and with every sweet intake the idea of taking a step back crumbles down piece by piece. By the time I kiss her silky hair, that idea turns into dust that’s carried away by the light night breeze.
~~~
The next few days post False-Alarmgate, it’s awkward zone between Nia and me. Somehow we are either too busy to meet, or just make a hell of an effort to be. We don’t see each other during the days, but we fuck each other to sleep every night. There’s a lot of raw, rough sex going on and not much talking. Not that I’ll ever complain, but it’s too odd not to make me wonder if we managed to screw up our friendship. It’s a thought I’m not even willing to bear.
Chapter 22
Nia
“Lovely, these are just lovely sounds.” Alex mocks the rumbles my stomach produces. Growls that color the silence in the locker-room where we both change into jeans after our classes. It feels like I haven’t eaten for a week, which in a way is kind of true. Only after last night’s deep sleep did my appetite return from its long hibernation.
“Coming to Jake’s?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll check with Reeves, he is picking me up for dinner.”
Alex’s gaze narrows at me, she threads her fingers through her crazy, purple hair, making it even messier.
“You guys are together now?”
I give her a head shake. “We’re just friends.” To be honest, I’m not sure what we are anymore. Finally, we’ll meet in broad daylight, something we haven’t done for some days now.
“Cool, so he is out there for grabs?” An overly plucked eyebrow is cocked at me. I dismiss the flare in my stomach as a side effect of my hunger.
“I guess.”
“Oh, I hope you guys join us even more now … He. Is. Fine!” I smile at her, and what a hard effort that smile takes.
“Aren’t you with Toni? Didn’t you get back together?”
“Nah, we’re back to just sharing an apartment, nothing more.”
After Alex leaves, I take a few moments to apply eye shadow, blush, mascara, and a thin layer of nude lipstick. My fresh flush is courtesy of a sudden realization: I’ve just applied makeup, which I do only when I go out on dates, and I did it thinking of the person waiting for me outside. Immediately, I yank a tissue paper from the Kleenex box rested on the wide, illuminated vanity, and wipe my lips clear somewhat brutally. I leave the mascara on. It’s one thing to try and look as though you’d made no effort, it’s a totally different one to look like a rabid racoon.
I’m not looking to impress him. We’re just friends, good friends, with a whole lot of fantastic benefits. Benefits in his bed, benefits on the counter, benefits on the sofa, horizontal, vertical, and my favorite, wild, rough benefits. Wild, rough benefits in uniform… Every possible damn-mind-blowing benefit. But benefits do remain in friends’ territory for us.
This is how it should be. I cannot allow myself to put my barely held together heart out there. I’m not sure if either my heart, or I, will survive as much as even a tiny seam tiring out. And anyhow, his messages, Reeves’, verbal and silent ones, on where he’d like to take this friendship of ours were received loud, rather bitter, and very much clear.
“If I were your boyfriend, I’d never let you defile your perfect skin by marking it.” Read: I’m not your boyfriend, take note of that, don’t get any hopes up. His brush off of the subject when Dylan asked if we were dating was quite illuminating. How about the last few days? It’s been the worst case of odd vibe. I must admit though, it was mostly my doing, this growing apart we’ve got going on. It was me making all possible excuses not to meet during the daytime. I wanted to meet him, very much, but somehow it felt as I needed to give him some space after the bomb I dropped on him, on us.
Hypocritically so, at nights I’
ve ended up in his bed, every night. That was my doing too. During the days I’ve been keeping myself busy, the nights are a whole different story. At night I need him. But I should really stop dwelling on a non-issue, it couldn’t be better this way. We are of the same mind: just friends.
So why does it still hurt?
~~~
“I missed your face,” Reeves says, watching me attentively above a lit candle as I lean in for a bread stick.
“You’ve seen my face every day,” I murmur, nibbling on the crispy delight.
Yes, we didn’t go to Jake’s after all. I might, or might have not, persuaded Reeves we must have Italian tonight. It might had to do with Alex’s recent zeal with Reeves, even tortured I’ll never admit that. Reeves keeps silent long enough to draw my look up.
“You meant to say, every night.” He twists his mouth, running a finger on the red and white checkered tablecloth. I lower my stare to follow his finger as it moves from side to side next to a white plate.
“More wine?” I ask, reaching for the open bottle between us, his nimble hand gets to it before me. He holds it firmly, gazing at me in edgy silence. He then tilts the bottle toward my glass and starts pouring the rich red liquid.
“Why are you acting so weird?” He finally asks, setting the bottle back and raising his eyes to mine. His jaw is tense as he observes me, waiting for my reply.
He has a long sleeved, bottle-green shirt on. The fabric accentuates his wide, sturdy pecs, while the color does wonders in emphasizing his striking eyes.
Reeves insisted we go out tonight and now I know why he wouldn’t succumb to any of my lame excuses to just a sleep over. He apparently has his mind set on not allowing me to ruin whatever we have going on. Thank God.
“I thought you needed some space,” I say, and my stare drops to my nervous hands on my thighs.
“I needed some space?” He repeats. “Only in the day time?”
My breath catches as I lift my eyes into scrutinizing greens.
“I thought you might want a break after the little bomb I dropped on you.”
His brows sink in. “But you still came over every night…”
“I sleep better when you’re around,” I say in a low voice, watching his edginess soften.
“Why’s that?”
I shrug and reach for another bread stick.
“One of these days you’ll have to tell me what’s really goes on inside your mind,” he says in a way that tells me he is letting go of whatever we’ve just discussed. It’s more than evident we both know there’s so much more lying under our brief exchange. I couldn’t be more grateful for him to change the subject to a lighter one. He tells me about the persistent attempts of Dan to get Eileen to finally agree to go out with him. Poor guy apparently has it bad.
“Oooh, I love this song.” I interrupt our easy conversation, as the first tunes of Lemon Tree fill the small restaurant. Reeves eyes lit up.
“I like you smiling,” he says, and I beam.
Between delicious bites of artichoke, pine nuts and parmesan fresh pasta, we tell each other about the week we had. The wine slowly but consistently keeps flowing as the time pleasantly flies by.
“That’s it, I can’t breathe!” I drop my fork and slump back onto the wooden chair.
Reeves smiles.
“You didn’t even eat half of your dish.”
I frown and he shakes his head with a hint of amusement.
He takes a long sip of his tall glass and says, “Okay, let’s pay and run by Jake’s.” Catching the waitress’ stare, he signs for the check.
“Nah… Let’s just go home.”
He cocks his head in question.
“I’m not much into socializing tonight.”
“You’re socializing with me.”
“It’s different with you.”
“How is it different with me?” he asks.
“It’s the best kind of escapism.” His smile causes butterflies to flutter in my stomach. Strike that, these are not butterflies and they are not fluttering, it’s more akin to gigantic eagles, winging in ferocity.
~~~
As I unlock the door to my apartment, before actually stepping in, I look over my shoulder at Reeves. “Can we not, f…ahem…k… tonight?”
“Come again?” He snorts a laugh.
I fling the door open, having him follow me. Mid-way inside the living room I turn to him, “We can do something else, can’t we?”
His recent snort turns into a wide smile as he watches me squirm, both humored and undecided. Reeves sends a hand to my forehead.
“Feeling good, love?”
“We can do other things, can’t we? We don’t have to… Oh, I know, let’s play…”
Reeves folds his arms over his chest, watching me with a touch of mock.
“What? I was just saying that we can do other things.”
“Honestly, Nia, I have no idea what’s gotten into you.”
“Yes, let’s play. Ooh, I know, let’s play Scrabble. We can play Scrabble and not each other, right?”
“Scrabble and not each other?” Reeves bursts into guttural laughter. “You’re all kinds of crazy today, but it’s damn cute. Okay, playing it is… not each other.”
I smirk and head to get the board game.
We sit on the rug next to my living room table with the game board between us. Reeves crossed legged with a ghost of a smile, me on bent legs to his left, arranging my vowels on one side of the rack.
I check my letters one more time, wrinkling my nose, catching Reeves’ lips crooking higher. I go first, my “B” totally kicked his “E’s” ass. I place an “R” on the star at the center of the playing board, and add the rest of the letters.
“Ready…?” Reeves utters the word I’ve just placed with the most suggesting smile. I roll my eyes. “Nine points…” He notes the number down on a piece of paper and turns to use my “Y,” for his word: “yours.”
“If you are ready… I’m yours.” He grins and I roll my eyes again, amused. “Always,” he murmurs. We both beam at each other.
I bite my lip, holding a smile while placing my next word. Oh, he’ll love this one. When I’m done I blink at Reeves twice.
His grin doubles. “I like where you are going with this,” he says somewhat huskily at my “swallow.”
He winks at me after setting his word: “lick.”
“We’re at, 22:18,” he says, utterly amused.
“I’m getting soda, get you anything?” I ask, inching to stand. He shakes his head slowly, but by the way he looks at me, I know exactly what he’d like to drink: me. A heat wave swirls inside my tummy and continues south. I close my parted lips, unglue my eyes from him, as hard as it is to do, and turn to the kitchen.
I place the can on the table, settling in the space I’ve just vacated. I take a long sip, studying the board again. Once my word “come” is arranged on the board, I take another swig. Reeves watches me keenly, green heated eyes tearing off each piece of clothing I have on. I smile into the can, beyond enjoying his attention. He shakes his head, clearing his mind and turns to observe his rack. His eyes crinkle as he places his word.
“Pound,” he says, popping the P. He grins and I twist my mouth, trying to ease my own smiling. “Your ‘O’ helped my pound,” he says and I can’t help my giggle.
“Umm…” I move my lips from side to side, checking the board and my letters again. “Rock,” I say while placing the tiles slowly, one after the other.
“Hard,” Reeves says the word before setting his letters on the board. Involuntarily, my eyes fling to his crotch. He smirks. I bite my lip and feel my cheeks heat up. He bobs his head and mouths, “hard.” The looks we trade next are a combination of humor and fire. Fire that I’ve grown to know so well, a fire that could only be extinguished with him, hard, between my legs.
I make a whole show of thinking, as I pretend to choose my next word. Oh, I’ve chosen it, carefully… I feel like throwing my pompoms to the air i
n victory. With the tip of my finger between my lips, I bend to the table, making sure my cleavage is on display. As soon as I place the “L” that concludes “anal,” I watch the tiles fly into my white shaggy rug. The innocent board follows suit as it is swiped away in one swift movement, and it’s me that’s next on the table.
I’m on my knees, breasts pressed to the wooden surface, and a hard body melds into mine from behind. I can feel him pressing against my rear and his breath next to my ear.
“You were saying…” My earlobe is in Reeves’ mouth, and a very distinctive excitement thrusts slowly against me. The only thing I’m capable of getting out of my mouth is a moan.
“Umm, don’t get too excited, we are not touching that word,” I say as his tongue starts to slowly trail from behind my ear down my neck. I tilt my head back, giving him better access. I slightly move into him, take his hand in mine, and slide it under my shirt, guiding him to my breasts. “But you can touch anything else you want.” He pushes down the lace of my bra to get my nipple between his fingers.
“I am.” His low voice wraps me with want. His other hand slides down over my shirt, halting next to my fly. Easily, he unbuttons my jeans and his fingers slide between the rough fabric and my satin panties. Rubbing his palm over me, ever so slowly, his hand on my breast moves to give the other the same delectable treatment.
“Tease,” he says as he rhythmically and blissfully instigates every one of my nerve endings. I send my hand to reach between us, sliding it inside his jeans. He pulls back just enough for it to get inside his boxers. I palm him, grazing over the warm and smooth skin. He lets out a low groan and pushes into my hold. We stroke each other, my hand around him, his ardently exploring me, till we’re both panting with desire.
“Reeves.” His name comes out of my mouth on a moan, and he sinks his finger deeper.
“Say it,” his voice is rough and hoarse. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you,” another finger joins and I pant mid-sentence, “inside of me.”
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