by Ward, H. M.
“I know what you mean.” Peter smiles at me and takes the plate from my hand. “Honestly, you’re the first person I’ve spoken to down here that I get along with. Everyone else seems as if they escaped from a movie set.”
“I know, right? I said that to Millie when I first moved down here. Actually, I said it to a group of people. Millie was the only one who laughed, which made her quality friend material. The rest of the people scowled at me.”
“Millie is the girl that came to get you from my table?” Peter asks, before he goes into the kitchen to grab the coffee.
I nod. When he walks back out of the kitchen, I ask, “Hey, what were you planning on doing when I figured out that you weren’t my blind date?”
Peter brings me a cup of coffee and sits down next to me again. “I didn’t know you thought you were on a blind date. I figured it out when you did, maybe a second sooner. The look on your face was so adorable. I’m glad you stopped and said something when you came outside.” Peter looks at me over the top of his mug as he sips his coffee. Those blue eyes are intoxicating. I can’t stop staring at him.
We talk about nothing for a while longer, until I put my cup down on a box next to me. The entire time we chat, I feel pulled to him. There’s something there, something about him that holds onto me and connects deeper than I’ve connected with anyone—and for some reason I’m not afraid. I don’t know what it is, exactly.
Peter has an easy way about him. That smile lights up his entire face when he flashes it at me. Yet, there’s a haunted look behind his eyes, like his life has been harder than he lets on. I sense it in him. Like calls to like and my life has been anything but easy. When I find another person who has that fragile, battered, spirit, I instantly relate. The thing is, there aren’t that many of them. I don’t know if other people lay down and die when things go wrong or they harden so much they’re no longer alive. I refuse to bend, refuse to turn to stone. The pain in my life won’t destroy me. I won’t let it. I see the same conviction in his eyes and hear it in his voice. There’s something he left behind, someone who scarred him. The pleasantries, that cocky grin and those dazzling eyes, try to hide it from me, but I know it’s there. He’s damaged like me. It pulls me to him in a way that’s too powerful to ignore.
Peter reaches past me and sets his empty cup on the same box. His arm brushes against mine as he does. I breathe him in. God, he smells good. That pull between us gets even stronger. When he straightens, we’re sitting very close. Peter’s sapphire eyes lock with mine and my stomach goes into a free fall. This is it. I can feel it. I can sleep with this guy and erase the last one. I’ve already come this far. It’s a few more steps, a few more minutes. I can do this. I can.
Besides, the guy makes me feel as though I can actually be with him. I want to touch him, which is so strange. I haven’t felt like this in a really long time. It’s as if he brought me back to life. And right now, it’s all I can do to sit here and not thrust my fingers into his hair. I want to feel him against me. I want that kiss on his lips, the one that he’s been teasing me with all night. Peter’s breath crosses my cheek when he exhales. It’s warm and perfect. My heart races faster as he moves closer to me. His eyes study my face, taking in every detail. Nerves twist my stomach in giddy anticipation.
Peter lifts his hands and strokes his fingers along one side of my face, gently caressing my cheek. My eyes close in response, and I lean into his hand. Every part of me flutters to life. My voice is caught in my throat. I can’t speak. I feel the tension building between us and I’m going to melt. I want to melt. I want to stop thinking for a while, I want to move on with my life and lose myself in his kiss. This is so weird for me, but I don’t pull away. I force myself forward.
Heat shoots through my body and I feel myself inching toward him, wanting to taste his kiss, wanting to hold him against me. Peter’s fingers brush my hair away from my face, and he dips his head and covers my lips with his. I suck in a jagged breath, unable to hide how much he affects me. Peter’s bottom lip brushes against mine. He kisses me softly, hesitantly at first. Each kiss is slow and tentative, wanting to know if I want more. Nipping my bottom lip with his teeth, Peter kisses me and I respond. I lean into him and press my mouth roughly against his. I feel his tongue brush the seam of my lips, asking for them to part. He sweeps against them lightly once, twice, and I open my mouth. Brushing his tongue along the curves of my mouth, Peter kisses me deeper. I moan, leaning into him, not wanting it to stop. Every part of my body is burning up. Every bit of me is hyper-sensitive to his touch. As his hands touch my skin, I feel lighter, like I’m floating.
I press myself closer to Peter, and trail my fingers up his back, feeling the curves of his toned body. Peter’s hands respond by drifting lower to my waist and slipping under the hem of my shirt. When he touches me, it feels good. My pulse races. I can’t slow it. I can’t hide my rapid breaths or what he’s doing to me. Peter’s touch sets me on fire. I pull him down on top of me, and we lay back on his couch. His lips don’t stop and neither do mine.
I’ve never responded this way before. I’ve had hot kisses before, but this isn’t the same. This is a connection that runs deeper. His kiss shoots through me like an arrow, catching on the anchor that weighs down my soul. There are few times that I’m certain of anything, and now is one of them. Peter Granz is different. Everything from his touch to his voice draws me to him.
My fingers work at the buttons on his shirt. When I push back the fabric, it falls to the floor to reveal a chiseled chest and rock hard abs. I gasp, and run my fingers over the contours of his body. Peter watches me as I slide my hand across his chest and trail my fingers down to his stomach. When I hit his waistband, I slow my hand and glance at his eyes.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathes. Lowering his head, Peter dips and presses a slow kiss to my neck. I close my eyes and enjoy the sensations shooting through my body. His hands move over the bodice of my dress, slowly testing how far he can go. When his palm brushes over my breast, I moan into his ear. My hips push into his and I can feel how hard he is, how much he wants me.
Peter’s kisses trail down my neck, leaving a hot wake behind. His mouth is so hot. Every time he presses a kiss to my skin, my back lifts off the couch. I can’t stay still. Everything he does makes me respond. My hands find his back and sweep over his muscles. They’re so tense, so hard. Peter shifts his weight, moving one leg to the side. Watching me, he touches the neckline of my dress, slowly pushing the shoulder strap down. Breathing slow and deep, I watch him. His eyes darken as he looks at me. His fingers gently pull the other strap until it comes loose. I feel his eyes on me. I know that I want this. Peter slips down the top of my dress.
I’m wearing a sheer black bra. He can see everything. Peter’s eyes drink me in as though he could never get enough, before lowering his head to my breast. His lips move over the fabric at first, teasing me, making my nipples so hard that they ache. Rational thought has left my body. I’m moaning beneath him, pressing myself against him. This feels right and I want this. I want to feel his lips on me. I want to feel his tongue flick against me. I moan and tangle my hands in his dark hair. My back arches and thrusts me harder against his mouth. Peter’s hands move to my straps. He slips off one strap and exposes the soft skin beneath.
Peter kisses my bare shoulder. His mouth drifts lower, burning a path of hot kisses to my breast. I feel his hand, hot and heavy, pass over the curves. He holds me for a moment, feeling me against his hand. Peter’s thumb brushes my nipple making my hips move on their own. Breathing hard, I say his name, begging him to kiss me, to touch me there. His lips brush against my skin and I melt. My entire body responds to him. Every inch of me is on fire, hot, wanting—no needing—him. Peter kisses and nips me until I’m lost in a thick haze of lust. My hips rock against his, wanting more.
That’s when he lowers a hand to my leg and traces his finger slowly up my inner thigh. My legs fall open. I suck in a breath, wanting his hand to slip under
my dress, to that hot spot between my legs. Peter moves slowly, watching me. His hand brushes over the outside of my panties, touching me lightly. The movement makes me crazy. I can’t stand the way Peter teases me, how he watches me like he knows what he’s doing to me. My nails find his forearms and scratch. It’s as if that action breaks what’s left of Peter’s self-control, and in seconds he’s on top of me, pressing me harder into the couch. His hand is between my legs and his lips are on my breast. I writhe against his hand, with a thousand different sensations shooting through my body.
Everything is perfect until a startlingly loud sound breaks the spell. The phone in the kitchen rings, echoing in the empty apartment. Peter stops moving. The jarring noise won’t end. It keeps ringing and ringing. Peter sighs into my shoulder. We’re both still for a moment, until he pushes up.
Peter sits on the end of the couch, ignoring the phone, and rubs his face in his hands. Breathing hard, he says, “I’m sorry, Sidney, but I can’t do this.”
Something inside me shatters when he says it. I don’t understand what’s happening. Instead of explaining, Peter stands and turns away from me. I can’t see his face. His bare back faces me with every muscle tense. Peter puts his hands on top of his head and sighs loudly, looking up at the ceiling before turning back to me. My heart stops when he looks at me. If I thought he was hot before, he is so much hotter now. Every curve of his chest is chiseled like a piece of art. But those eyes, those haunted blue eyes, make me transfixed. I stare at him, not knowing what he’s thinking or why.
The phone stops ringing. The silence is thick. It floods the apartment in a wave. I can’t breathe. Peter picks up his shirt and slips it back on. As he does that, I fix my bra strap and my dress, concealing myself.
I feel so hot, and so nervous. I want to know why he pushed me away. I’ve never had a guy do this before. I feel foolish to have done so much with him and then have him react like this. I wonder if I did something wrong. I glance at his back. He’s standing across from me, out of arm’s reach. “I’m sorry, Peter. I didn’t think things would go that way. I really came up here to talk to you.”
I mean every word I say. I had no intention of sleeping with him, but once his lips were on me, I wanted to feel something for a while, something besides the normal unending pain and remorse that flows through my veins. It would have been a moment to lose myself and forget everything, a chance to move on.
I’m greedy. I took too much. I should have said no. I should have responded like a normal girl and been shy about it. The thing is, I’m not normal. Too many things have happened. Knots twist me up inside. I can’t look at him.
Peter’s eyes search my face. I feel his gaze on me but I don’t look up. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Peter’s gaze falls to the floor. “I know. Coffee...” It seems as though he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t. Peter glances up at me from under his brow for a second.
My stomach sinks into my shoes. Panic, guilt, and fury are mixing together, making me feel sick. Peter doesn’t look up. He doesn’t say anything else.
The silence between us is clanging furiously. I have to leave. Every part of me wants to run. Humiliation doesn’t look good on me. I try to smile, but it feels wrong. My jaw is stiff.
I can’t think of anything else to tell him—anything to make it better—so I grab my purse and say, “Thanks for the sandwich.” The last word comes out dripping with innuendo that I didn’t mean. My voice caught in my throat at the wrong time. Horrified, I look up at him.
A bashful look slips across Peter’s face. Oh my god. I didn’t see it before, but he’s shy. There’s a trace of a wary boy left in this man. I think I may die. He’s perfect. He’s perfect and he’s pushing me away.
Peter regains his confident composure and locks the shy part away. He leans in and kisses my cheek. “Thanks for everything.”
We say a few other things, but the feeling to hold onto him doesn’t subside. It’s hard to leave. I feel as though I hurt him somehow, but I can’t stay. Not after this. It’s not the kind of thing I can recover from. And if I see him again, we won’t be friends. There won’t be a second chance after this. He’s seen too much of me, and his tossing my ass out isn’t something I want to repeat. I follow Peter to the door. He doesn’t say anything else. I turn toward him, look up at his face with my lips parted. My question is all over my face even though I don’t ask.
Peter’s gaze cuts to the side. Fine. He won’t even look at me. Whatever. I resist the urge to chew him out and stomp down the stairs like a mad elephant. Peter walks out and stands on the landing until I’m safe inside my car. I drive away without looking back.
CHAPTER 4
When I get back to the dorm room, I’m in a foul mood. I met the perfect man and screwed it up. I don’t even know what I did! Was it raking my nails on his arm? Did I remind him of his dead cat or something? I walk down the hallway. The doors are all open. I live in an all-girls dorm. Some are in their PJs while others are still wearing their clothes from the day.
I pass a few doors and wave to the girls inside. Someone whistles at me as I walk by. “Hot mama!” a blonde girl shouts. I don’t know her very well. We wave coming and going to class every day and that’s about it. I look at her and she waggles her eyebrows at me, assuming that I got some.
Yeah, I got nothing.
I round the corner and see my door open at the end of the hall. Dread fills my throat with worry. I don’t want to discuss Peter with Millie. Plus, she’s going to be pissed that I ditched her at dinner. That was a crappy thing to do, but Dusty—oh my God. Could she possibly pick someone more inappropriate? The only thing worse would have been a grizzly old biker with a toe fetish. Damn.
I stare at the door and feel the decision wash through me. What happened with Peter is best forgotten. I don’t want to talk about it. Getting rejected is bad enough, but the fact that I just met him and let him do so much, and then got rejected—well, that’s worse. It’s like rejection a la mode. As if regular blow offs weren’t cool enough. I shake out my worries and try to put on my game face. Nothing’s wrong.
Our room is the social hub of the floor tonight. I walk inside and step over six girls doing crunches on the floor. I look at Millie and give her a what-the-fuck face.
She’s sitting on her chair by our shared desk. It’s built into the wall. From the lack of sweat and general lack of agony, I assume that she’s waiting her turn. There’s no more room on the floor. “We found an old Abs of Steel tape. Megan said she could do the entire workout. We all took bets on who’s going to die first.”
I nod and sit down on my bed, tossing my purse on the nightstand. Millie watches me for a second. I can tell she wants to talk, but she won’t say anything, yet. Good. I kick off my heels and grab my stuff and head to the showers.
Today sucked. I want to wash it all away. The entire day.
As I stand in the shower, I let the hot water blast me, but no matter how long I stand there, I can’t get the memory of Peter’s hands on my body to go away. It’s as if he tattooed his touch on my mind. I don’t know what I did wrong. I don’t know if I would have had sex with Peter tonight—going that far, that fast would have been unusual for me—but I didn’t think things would have ended so abruptly, either.
I try to shake off the hot and bothered feeling that has me coiled so tight, and head back to my room. It’s been about twenty minutes since I left. Six girls are lying on the floor, clutching their stomachs.
“Oh my god! I’m gonna die.” Evie says, from her side. She’s curled into a ball. Her dark hair spills around her head on the floor like a bottle of ink.
“I told ya’ll that it was hard! I told you, but no one ever listens to me!” Millie’s talking with her hands on her hips, giving everyone an I told you so.
“So,” I interrupt, “who won?”
Mille looks at the sorry lot and shakes her head. “Tia lasted the longest. Nine minutes.”
Tia raises her arm in the air and stick
s up her thumb.
I laugh, “Awesome, Tia, and congrats to all of you. That workout is insane. You’re all going to be hunched over like 90-year-olds tomorrow.”
Someone starts to laugh, but it’s quickly followed by a moan of remorse.
Millie looks up at me from her bed. She’s sitting with her legs folded, hands in her lap. “So, where’d you disappear to all night? I thought you would’ve wanted in on this?” Millie has a head of soft blonde curls. She pulled them up into a high ponytail when she got home and is wearing a tank and boxers.
I shrug as if it doesn’t matter, but the pressure inside my chest tells me that it does. “Nowhere, really. I’m sorry I bailed on you.”
Millie seems annoyed, but then her shoulders slump and I can tell she’s forgiven me. “I shouldn’t have made you come.”
Tia blurts out, “You took her on another blind date? You must want your ass kicked, Millie.” It’s true. Everyone else knows better than to ask me by this point in the year.
“Jersey Girl won’t kick my butt,” Millie says, and makes a face at Tia. “I’ve got immunity.”
I laugh, “Not after tonight. No more blind dates. Please restrain yourself and don’t set me up with anymore assholes, okay? I can find them all by myself and when I do, I need you to feed me ice cream until I puke.”
“Ice cream?” Tia says from the floor. I glance down at her in time to see her sit up. Her face contorts in pain. “What are you, twelve? Big girls get hammered after a shitty date.”
I don’t get hammered. Not anymore, but none of them know that. I laugh with them and agree to go to the bar tomorrow night. I have to work the following morning, so I can skip out early—unhammered—and no one will think anything of it.
_____
The next morning I arrive at work early. I’m a teacher’s assistant, a TA. I work in the English department, since that’s my major. The offices are upstairs, away from all the classrooms. Me and a few other student workers are milling about, wondering where the professors are since the offices are glaringly empty. At this time of day, the place is usually bustling with activity, phones ringing and copy machines humming. The profs are usually in a rush to make it to their 8:00am classes, but today isn’t like that.