Can't Go Home (Oasis Waterfall)

by Angelisa Denise Stone

  Once he turns on the light, Dre walks over to my bed and lies me down. I slide over to the middle, watching him as I do so. Dre whips his shirt off and drops it to the floor, staring at me.

  Dre walks over, and I shake my head. “No?” he asks, looking hurt and bewildered.

  Smiling, I say, “Your pants too.”

  His face lights up, and he unbuttons his jeans. They fall to the floor. God, I love boxer briefs, almost as much as I love his body. It’s titillating how beautiful he is. His body is perfection, each muscle chiseled and defined. I can’t wait to taste every part of his body, every groove of his muscles. Dre’s messy hair looks like it’s begging to be pulled and knotted in my fists. I can’t wait to let my hands get lost in his overgrown locks.

  Dre crawls onto the bed, sidling up next to me. Kissing my shoulder, he takes down my bra strap, trailing his tongue along my shoulder. Leaning up on his arm, he stares down at me and smiles. Then says, “I love the guy who made the front-snap bra.” I giggle at his appraisal.

  Then, he unhooks my bra, easing the material away from my breasts. My nipples feel like they’re going to pop off my body if he doesn’t greet them soon. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he groans, taking one of my nipples into his mouth. I grab a handful of his hair, pressing him harder against me, urging him to increase his pressure.

  Oh my, it has been entirely too long. Holy Hell, he knows what he’s doing. As he licks and lightly bites my nipple, his hand explores and tweaks my other breast, sending a burning fire straight through me.

  “Dre … Oh …” I whisper. “I can’t believe it can feel this good. This is … God … so good.”

  Dre pauses and glances up at me. “Pebbles, I haven’t even started yet,” he says, grinning proudly.

  “Don’t stop,” I beg as he rolls his tongue around my nipple, and his hand slips into my pajama bottoms.

  “Damn woman, no underwear?” he asks, biting on my nipple. I chuckle, running my foot up his leg.

  “It was Rory’s wine. They must’ve dropped right off,” I giggle.

  Dre’s finger slips inside of me. Slowly, he begins a soft rhythmic motion, in and out, in and out, sending shivers through my body. Leaving my breasts, his mouth finds mine, and he kisses me deeply, passionately, just as his finger finds that special sensitive spot. Dre circles his finger, around, and over, and around, and around, applying more pressure each time he touches me. My hips begin to move with the rhythm of his fingers as they glide over me.

  “You’re so wet,” Dre whispers breathlessly into my ear.

  Quickly I feel my release approaching, building and growing from deep within, I open my eyes. Dre’s eyes lock with mine, just as I cry out in pleasure. His smile fades, and he kisses me again. Holding me close to him, I feel his heart pounding against mine while I try to calm my breathing. I run my finger along his chest, circling my finger around his nipples and through a tiny patch of hair.

  “Wow, all that, and I’m still wearing my pajama pants. Nice work,” I joke.

  Dre’s smiles, but his body tenses. He kisses the top of my head. “You are so sexy, ya know that, don’t you?”

  Grinning, I say, “Oh God, not again. I hear that like 500 times a day.” I kiss his chest, darting my tongue out to tease the tip of his nipple. Dre shifts his body, moving away from me. My hand runs down along his stomach.

  Dre’s hand interlocks with mine, stopping it from reaching the waistband of his underwear. He pulls my hand to his lips and kisses each knuckle softly. Taking a deep breath, coupled with a small groan, he says, “Thank you so much for dinner. No woman has ever cooked—or tried to cook for me before.”

  “Ummm … you’re welcome?” I reply, making it sound more like a question than a response.

  “You’re incredible … flawless really,” he compliments, nodding his head, staring directly into my eyes. There’s a sadness in his eyes that certainly wasn’t there a half and hour ago.

  “Thanks. Ummm … Dre—”

  “I had fun tonight … truly. I’ve … I’ve got an early day tomorrow,” he explains.

  He’s leaving. He’s leaving now? My breath catches; I can feel the tears filling the corners of my eyes. What happened? What did I do? Or not do? I sit up, grabbing a throw pillow to cover my chest as I reach for my t-shirt. Standing, with my back toward him, I throw my shirt on, covering my body. My flawed and unattractive body. Of course, the shirt’s backwards and inside out. Nothing can turn out right tonight.

  “Oh yeah, sure,” I say, not really knowing how to respond. Feeling like I need answers and feeling more than a little confused, I say, “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh no … I mean … yeah … everything’s great. Wonderful,” he says, hugging me awkwardly. Just five minutes ago, I was in his arms, experiencing the greatest pleasure I’ve ever known. And now, now, it’s awkward and uncomfortable? What just happened?

  Continuing, he says, “I just didn’t want this to go any further … especially since I know that I can’t hold you all night … and wake up with you in my arms.” It’s a beautiful sentiment, romantic as heck, but I can tell beyond a shadow of doubt that Dre Donley is lying to me. Lying through his perfectly straight white teeth.

  “You’re fucking with me! Ain’t no way you up and left a sexy piece of ass half naked in bed,” Rory groans, starting his second set of reps on the bicep curl machine. “Dude, what the fuck?”

  “I’m telling ya I don’t know. I don’t fucking know,” I admit, wiping off my face and sitting down on the bench. “I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t.”

  “Ya mean, ‘little D’ didn’t wanna get up on it?” Rory asks, and loses count.

  “No, he did—he really did. I just … I just couldn’t imagine … ya know … putting it …”

  “You couldn’t fuck her, because you’re not telling her the whole story,” Rory states. Rory sits up and looks at me, shaking his head. “Fucking tell her dude. If she’s as incredible as you say—”

  “Oh she is,” I confirm. “It’s just … it’s … it’s gonna hurt her. She’s gonna feel betrayed … and … and then she’s gonna know I’m a total fucking asshole.”

  “Dammit Dre, you’re not an asshole. You’re just being an asshole,” Rory says, before taking a long drink out of his water bottle. “If you’re into her—just tell her the truth.” Rory stretches for a bit, silently, which is a first for him.

  I just can’t believe I screwed up like this. I should’ve fucking stayed away from her. Now, I feel all guilty. And sad. Guilty and sad. And horny. Guilty, sad, and horny. Guilty, sad, horny, and fucking sad. I know I’m not going to be able to walk away, to forget that I ever met her. Why’d I have to meet her now? Now of all times? Fuck!

  “Alright, hear me out, first of all, you need to admit that you have real feelings for this chick,” Rory says, waiting for my response. Staring at him, I know he’s right. I shrug my shoulders and reluctantly nod my head.

  “Look ahead a few months, a year maybe … maybe next Christmas … think about Christmas, do you see her opening a gift you got her?”

  “What the fuck? What are you, Dr. Phil?” I ask, avoiding his question.

  “Fuck Dre, you need to learn your daytime TV. This is Oprah shit,” he admits, admonishing me. He shoots me a look of total disgust and disappointment. “Do you? Can you see yourself with her a few months down the road? Like … is she better than Waverly?”

  “First of all, your mom is better than Waverly,” I joke.

  “Don’t ya even disrespect my momma. Ya damn right she’s better than Waverly-fucking-Harrington,” Rory says. “That bitch is whack.” Rory shivers and says, “Just thinking about her gives me the goddamn heebie-jeebies.”

  Rory’s right; Waverly was a mistake. A mistake that took a long time to correct. Once I got in, it was nearly impossible to get out. Rory only met Waverly a few times, but those few times were enough for him to decide that the chick was as “crazy as a crack whore on ferris wheel.” (I never really u
nderstood what he meant by that.)

  “So Dre, what’s the answer?” Rory probes again.

  “I don’t fucking know,” I admit. “I do know that as soon as you mentioned ‘Christmas,’ I got all worried about being able to find her the right gift.”

  “Well what do we have here? Dre Donley’s thinking about the future,” Rory laughs, smiling smugly.

  Rory comes over and sit on the bench next to me. “Now seriously, get her to forgive your ass for last night,” he plans. “Turn on the old Donley charm and get her to go out with you tonight,” he says. Rory’s face lights up, and he says, “Bring her here, let me do my magic … and I’ll even give you the honeymoon suite. You can make up for those pussy-balls you had last night.”

  “Pussy-balls? That’s just fucking foul, dude, fucking foul,” I cringe, shaking my head at him. What the Hell is a “pussy-ball” anyway? Dude just makes shit up.

  As I sit at the hotel bar waiting for Kathryn to show, I’m still reeling with disbelief that she actually agreed to see me again tonight. After talking to Rory, I stopped by the Oasis to see Lanette. Within 10 minutes, she had a bouquet of her prize-winning flowers and a box of her most decadent chocolate cheesecake to take with me for my groveling session. Lanette was pissed that I was so quickly able to fuck this up. In 10 minutes’ time, she must’ve whacked me upside the head over a dozen times. Lanette went over all the important steps to “winning Kathryn back,” starting with something sweet, something beautiful, a look of total regret, and a whole lot of apologetic groveling.

  It took no groveling at all. Kathryn was surprised to see me, but pleased nonetheless. When she opened the door, her face lit up, and she stepped aside, inviting me in. When she saw the offerings, she kissed me lightly on the cheek, thanking me. The cheesecake and flowers were a good touch, but she saw right through it, making me promise to also thank Lanette the next time I saw her.

  Kathryn and I sat on her balcony, sharing the cheesecake and talking about Cider House Rules. (I finished it last night—since falling asleep wasn’t a probable option. It’s a fucking phenomenal book.) While feasting on the cheesecake, neither of us brought up last night; I never even apologized. Kathryn didn’t seem pissed or hurt. I must’ve misread the entire situation. The whole way there, I felt like I could shit myself from being so scared that I’d blown it with her. On the way home, I felt like—like a grinning-ass douchebag, who couldn’t believe his luck.

  Kathryn had a hair appointment and facial scheduled with one of her co-workers, so she said that she’d meet me at the hotel for dinner and drinks later. I waited while she finished getting ready and walked her to the spa. The place was one of Charleston’s upscale spas. When we arrived, she looked at the building, frowned, and said, “Thank God Sydney buys me gift cards all the time for places like this.” I laughed, knowing exactly how she felt—not that I’d ever gotten a spa gift card before. I watched her walk in and went down to the marina to help my buddy, Dale, with the incoming shrimp boats. I needed something to distract me for the remainder of the afternoon.

  “Barkeep, a dirty martini, extra dirty … with four olives,” a familiar voice says on the other side of me. I turn to see Kathryn standing next to me in a long, red, skin-tight dress; her hair piled up on her head.

  “You’re exquisite,” I say, running my hand along her bare back, stopping at the top of her ass.

  The bartender hands her the martini; she giggles, and says, “Can I please have a glass of Riesling, too?” He looks at her, then at me, shrugs his shoulders and walks away, returning with her wine.

  “Fourteen,” he says, staring down her dress, as she pulls a twenty out of her wallet. I want to gouge out his fucking eyes and put them on the swizzle stick in her martini glass.

  “I got this,” I say, trying to stop her from paying the bartender.

  Kathryn slips her hand under my arm. “Keep the change,” she coos, scooting the twenty toward him, never taking her eyes off of me. “Don’t you know, it’s dangerous letting men buy you drinks in bars,” she explains, smiling at me. I laugh, loving her sense of humor.

  Once he’s out of earshot, I ask, “What’s with the martini?”

  Laughing, she says, “I’ve just always wanted to say that. I hate martinis … and olives. God, they’re awful.”

  “Well, he was impressed … really impressed. Dude was looking straight down your dress. I wanted to throw a cape over you,” I confess, seething.

  “I know, right? Total bonus,” she said, nodding.

  “Bonus?”

  “Every girl wants her date’s jaw to drop when he sees her, but if another guy is checking out the merchandise too, then you know you’ve got it,” she explains, smile growing, eyes sparkling.

  “You want me to see if I can get his number for you,” I ask, sarcastically.

  “Heck yeah, we can double. You and ‘Allie with an i” and me and … ummm …” she says, pausing and thinking for a bit. Then a wicked little grin crosses her lips and she says, “Me and Olive-r.”

  “Olive-r! Awesome,” I laugh. As she sits up on the barstool, I swivel mine, so she’s directly between my legs. When she crosses her legs, the slit of her dress reveals a dangerous amount of thigh—sexy, toned, tanned thigh. I can’t help but stare down at her legs, and when I do, I get hard immediately. I place my hand on her thigh, gliding my fingers over the silky skin of her upper thigh. I’m internally kicking the mother-fucking shit out of myself right now. I can’t believe I left her in … bed … alone … last night.

  “By the way,” I say, barely audible. “Olive-r can look and dream all he wants, but he isn’t getting anywhere near you.” Her cheeks redden, and her eyes drop. Kathryn is one of those rare gorgeous women who have no idea how truly stunning she is.

  Clearing her throat and taking a deep breath, she asks, “Did you help your friend down at the docks?”

  “Yeah, I’m sore as shit now too,” I say. Realizing how crass I must sound to her, I say, “I mean, my body aches now.”

  “Dre, you don’t have to watch your language around me. That’s just silly,” she says, shaking her head. “You don’t have to change for me.”

  “Pebbles, I’m not trying to change for you,” I admit. “I just wanna show you that I respect you … you deserve my respect.”

  “Well that was nice. Thank you,” she says. “But truthfully, sometimes, at the right time, it’s fucking hot.”

  Kathryn fans herself, cracking up. I laugh, grabbing her hand. I drag her close to me, kissing her softly. She wraps her arms around my neck, tickling my skin lightly. It’s amazing how something so new can feel so familiar. She backs away, breathlessly, running her tongue along her top lip. “See, hot.”

  “Yeah, really fucking hot,” I agree, taking a long drink of my beer.

  Staring at her, I smile and recite, “There was a young lady named Brent/With a cunt of enormous extent/And so deep and so wide,/The acoustics inside/Were so good you could hear when you spent.”

  “Oh my God, seriously Dre, John Irving’s going to think you’re stalking him,” Kathryn jokes, shaking her head at me, but smiling widely. “But … it is kind of hot, I gotta admit.”

  “The girl’s cunt?” I ask, laughing. “Or me reciting great British literature to you.”

  “First of all,” she says, counting on her fingers, “Ewww, don’t use that C-word around me again. Bleh,” she cringes and shivers.

  “Secondly, it’s American literature, Einstein … and third … yes, you reciting any literature … or poetry to me … is in fact very hot.”

  Running my hand down her arm, I lace my fingers through hers, bringing her hand to my lips. I kiss the back of her hand, staring in her gorgeous, dark bedroom eyes. “I’ll never use that word again,” I say. Opening her fingers, I slip her pinkie into my mouth, swirling it around my tongue. Kathryn’s breath catches; her lashes flutter. Kathryn bites on the corner of her lower lip as her chest rises and falls.

  “Alright … alright … yo
u two. Get a room,” comes an all-too-familiar voice from behind Kathryn. Her eyes widen and jaw drops as she sits up straighter, retracting her hands, and folding them primly in her lap.

  Laughing, I start to explain, and Rory says, “Good thing it’s a hotel … and oh wait … you two are already booked here for the night.”

  Rory walks around to put his arm around me and says, “Reginald Carlson, general manager of this here joint.” Kathryn extends her hand to shake his, but Rory takes it and kisses it. Then, he pulls her into his arms and says, “Damn Dre, you’re right. She’s gorgeous.”

  “That’s enough buddy, back up,” I say, yanking him off of her. “Rory, Kathryn; Kathryn, Rory. He’s currently in grave danger of losing his ‘best friend’ title though,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Rory, this hotel is magnificent. I heard the food here is sensational,” Kathryn compliments.

  “You’re still going with the dinner plan then, eh?” Rory asks. “I thought that once you saw how well my man, Dre, cleans up that you’d be high-tailing it to the honeymoon suite with a ‘Privacy Please’ hanger on the door until sunrise.”

  Laughing, Kathryn says, “Well Rory, Dre here, never told me we were spending the night. I didn’t even pack my pajamas.” She winks at him.

  Rory turns to me and says, “Fuck man, why do you always find them first?”

  “Sorry buddy,” I say, pounding him on the back. “This one’s taken. Eyes, hands … and … and your dirty gutter mind … off.”

  “Dude, ain’t no way you can control what’s on my mind,” Rory says, shaking his head, smiling at Kathryn.

  Kathryn smiles, grabs Rory’s hand, and says, “Here’s the deal, Rory, if Dre leaves me high and dry … well, not dry … not dry at all … again tonight, you better believe I’m coming to find you.” Rory whines, banging his head on my shoulder.