Not Looking For Love: Episode 5

by Bourne, Lena

  "Yours argues all the time?" he asks harshly and my heart flips in my chest.

  'Sometimes," I mumble. My mom is dead. I will never argue with her again.

  "Sorry," he says. "They just piss me off sometimes."

  I wrap my arm tighter around his and lean into him. "It's fine."

  The streetlight come on just as we turn into his street, and I wish, with all my heart, that things would just get easier already. Less painful, more free, soft like the snow falling all around us, encasing the world in an eerie silence where nothing bad ever happens.

  My car's buried under a foot of snow. We're stopped in front of it, Scott gazing up at his dark windows, my heart racing in my chest, hot anger rising with each beat, because I'm certain this is it, that he'll just send me away again now, and never call me again, never pick up the phone when I do.

  "It's gonna be freezing up there tonight," he finally says, turning so a wad of snow crashes down my sleeve from the umbrella. "Wanna just go to your house?"

  The grin spreading across my face makes my cheeks ache. "That's a great idea."

  I help him pack, while the cat's purring fills the entire apartment. After he's done I try to pick her up and carry her up to the attic. But she hisses, beating at me with her paws.

  "Just leave her," Scott says. "She can stay here tonight."

  "She's really close to giving birth, I think," I say, checking my hands for scratches, but she didn't get me. "But she can't stay here. There's no litter box."

  "I'll take her over to my dad's house tomorrow," Scott says and opens a can of cat food. The cat wobbles off the bed, and walks toward it, letting him scratch her behind the ears before she starts eating. "Besides, there's plenty of boxes in here."

  I empty out one of the smaller ones to fill with newspaper for her to use. An envelope falls out along with his sketchbook and pencil case, hundred dollar bills spilling onto the floor.

  "You left all this cash here in an unlocked apartment last night?" It's the first thought that rolls from my mouth, but not the only one I'm thinking, or even the loudest.

  He shrugs and picks the money up off the floor, stuffing it back into the envelope. "Honestly, there's a lot more of it. And I wasn't exactly thinking straight last night."

  "Scott, you have to stop. I think that's what your brother would have wanted, why he went to prison instead of you."

  His face is a hard mask again, his eyes blacker than any night on this earth. "I've had enough arguing for one day."

  "It's not arguing. It's a fact," I say, channeling granddaddy Henderson again, because that might be the only way to save us. "You've been given a second chance and not everyone gets that. So take it already."

  I watch softness return to his face, blackness and shadow receding from his eyes, like a hard, gusting wind is blowing them away. His hand is hot against my icy cheek, soft like clouds. "Let's just not talk about this tonight, Gail. Please."

  I relent and let him pull me against him, his fingers tangled up in my hair. I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him, because we haven't done that yet today, and I want to, more than I want any other thing. And then it's like we're standing on the sidewalk on the first day of snow, yellow streetlamps flickering all around us, time still and soft, no wind strong enough to move us, and no care anywhere in sight.

  I pick up his sketchbook later, as we're heading back out. "Can I have that drawing you did of me?"

  "That's not even finished," he says, holding the door open for me.

  "You can finish it, then," I say, stuffing the sketchbook and pencils into my bag. "Or draw another one."

  He shrugs and leans into the wall so I can walk past him out into the hallway. "I haven't really been in the mood for drawing lately."

  And it sounds like another thing I'm forcing him to do that he doesn't want to.

  "When you are then," I say. "I can wait."

  My car is gone under a pile of snow, and a snowball hits my back as I'm struggling to free up the back window.

  "What don't you help me instead of messing around?" I ask with my back still turned, balling up a fistful of snow.

  "I can't, my cast'll get wet," he yells back. But there's little chance of that, since his jacket is zipped up over it.

  I whip around and toss the snowball at him, it crashes against his thigh even though I was aiming higher.

  "Oh, so that's how it is," he says, crouching to pick up more snow. "You just don't care about my cast getting wet."

  I duck behind the car, his snowball whizzing past my head, and sling a handful of loose snow at him as he comes around the car looking for me. It hits him in the chest, and he yelps as some of it topples down behind his collar. I haven't been in a snowball fight for years, and the snow's really too soft to ball up properly, but I'm laughing, stumbling sideways trying to get away from him. He finally catches me at the driver's side, and dumps a fistful of snow down my back. I screech as it trickles down my skin. He's got me pinned against the car, his lips hot against mine, his tongue demanding entrance. It's like everything I imagined before, only so much better, because it's real.

  "Do you yield now?" he asks.

  I crush a fistful of snow down the back of his jacket. "Never."

  And then we're kissing again, and even if it were zero degrees out I would never be cold.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "You know what we should do?" I ask as I'm hanging up my wet jacket in the hall closet and reaching out to help him get out of his own.

  He shrugs, trying to keep his broken arm still as he slips his windbreaker off.

  "We should take a hot shower." The skin of my face is pulling together painfully as my cheeks thaw.

  "And by hot you probably mean scalding," he says, and bends down to pick up his bag. "I think I'll pass."

  I kiss his cheek lightly, the cold searing against my hot lips. "No, you won't."

  I take his arm and lead him upstairs to my room, straight to the bathroom. He stops just outside the door.

  "I like the idea, Gail, I really do, but I really can't get my cast wet."

  I smack my forehead with my free hand, making him laugh out loud.

  "I got carried away a bit," I mutter and release his hand. "I'll just be a second."

  Scott's lying down on the bed by the time I return with a couple of garbage bags and a roll of duct tape.

  His face has a greenish tint to it, once he's finally out of his clothes, the garbage bags covering his cast completely.

  "I could totally go for that painkiller right now," he mutters, but refuses when I offer to bring it to him. In the bathroom, I let him adjust the temperature of the water. His eyes don't leave my body, as I take off my clothes, and I'd do it slower, just to have him watch me, but I'm already shivering from wearing my wet sweater, and there's the whole shower to look forward to.

  "You'll still have to do it for me, you know that, right?" he asks, a wide grin stretched across his lips, his cock almost completely hard.

  And a huge part of me just wants to get down on my knees and take it between my lips. But that will have to wait.

  I adjust the showerhead, so it's pouring down the right side of his chest, and press against him as I reach for the shower gel and sponge. He reaches behind me and pulls me closer, his fingers resting in the crevice of my butt. I'm almost ready to forget all about the soap.

  But somehow I manage to pull away and lather up the sponge, running it across his chest, down his perfect, hard six pack, stopping right where his cock begins, and repeat. The soap bubbles covering his chest now look sweet enough to lick off, but I'm still only touching him with the sponge, the heat between my legs rising in pitch. He sighs, as I run the sponge across his right nipple, and up to his shoulder, down his thick bicep and all around.

  "I'm so glad you decided against carrying out your threat of getting rid of these," I murmur, unable to resist running my fingers across his hard muscles, squeezing them.

  "Well, there's additional things to consider
now," he says, his voice husky. "Like your wishes, for example."

  I bite down on my lower lip, my pussy aching to be touched, and finish washing his arm, then turn him around so his back is facing me. The only thing I could really not part with is his back. The way the rippling muscles coil around his shoulder blades, forming the perfect V as they descend down to his waist. I run the sponge over his back, my left palm tracing the contours as I lather it up. I could do this for hours, literally I could.

  Even his legs are perfect, not too wide and not too skinny, without a single inch of skin out of place. I still haven't touched his cock, and I know he wants me to, it's written clearly in his dark blue eyes. So I do, and he groans as the rough sponge passes over the crown, his entire shaft pulsing in my hand.

  He takes the sponge from me. "Your turn."

  I'm so taut, a single touch will send me over the edge, I'm sure of it. I moan, pressing into him as he runs the sponge over my erect nipples, and down my stomach, around my hips and up my back. He makes sure every centimeter of my skin is covered by suds, and my whole body is crackling under them, popping in tune with the bubbles. My knees actually buckle as he finally runs the sponge over my clit, and I do very nearly cum right there. My palm is wrapped around his cock now, his heartbeat thumping against my own.

  He drops the sponge, and his fingers graze my clit, his touch electric against the soft flaps of skin covering it. His mouth finds mine, and his tongue slides into my mouth, just as his finger enters my opening, his thumb rubbing my clit. I moan and press into his hand, running my own up and down his cock faster now, harder.

  "I want you inside me, Scott," I murmur, rolling my hips on his finger. His hand freezes.

  "Seriously. I'm on the pill, there's nothing to worry about," I continue. "And if I get pregnant again, I'll keep it."

  He withdraws, his fingers digging into my hip now. "That's just stupid talk, Gail. We can't have a child."

  I grab his wrist, and try to get him to touch me again, my other hand still wrapped around his cock, which somehow isn't as hard anymore. The throbbing wetness inside me is still burning for release, but the temperature in the bathroom seems to have dropped by at least ten degrees.

  I fix my eyes on his, willing to see past the black nothing, all the way into a calm and serene future. But all I see is the hard past. And it's time it was buried and forgotten.

  I slide down to my knees and wrap my lips around the head of his cock, sucking gently. He groans and his fingers grab the back of my head, but he doesn't pull me toward him. I open my mouth wider and slide down on his cock, until the head is hitting the back of my throat and tears erupt from my eyes. I pull back off and do it again and again, stroking my clit. I let my tongue slide across the thick vein, willing my mind to transfer the sensation to my pussy, pulsing now in the heat I really don't want to release on my own.

  He bucks forward on my next downward slide, and I swallow instinctually, his hard cock throbbing against the inside of my throat. It's so deep I lose it, groaning as the heat finally explodes inside me, just as his cum sears my throat.

  I pull off his cock and cough slightly to chase away the sudden emptiness. He pulls me up, his lips inches from mine, his eyes soft like cream. "Sorry, I meant to warn you."

  "It's alright," I mutter, and press my lips against his.

  "And you?" he asks later, coming up for air.

  "I'm just fine," I murmur and turn off the water, which is growing colder by the second, because I don't want it to destroy the heat still coursing through my veins.

  "How about that painkiller now?" Scott asks, after we're already dry and snuggled close under the covers. I bite my lip before I can berate him for his terrible timing, and get up to get it for him without saying anything.

  "Thanks," he mutters, and then just stares at it, not taking the glass of water I'm holding out to him.

  "Just take it, Scott, if your arm hurts," I say, a little too impatiently maybe, but my toes are icy cold now, and I just want to get back under the covers.

  He obeys for once, and then I'm resting my head against his chest again, his right arm wrapped around me so tight it almost hurts.

  "Are you gonna stick around?" he asks, his voice catching in his throat which makes him sound like a twelve year old talking to a girl he likes in the playground.

  I lift my head up and gaze into his eyes, even though all I see are the whites in the darkness. "Things have to change, Scott."

  "And if they don't?" I can't figure out if he sounds like a petulant teenager, or he's giving me an ultimatum.

  I sigh and rest my head down on his chest again, placing my fingers under his shirt so they're resting against hard flesh. His heart is beating so fast it's almost like one continuous thump. But I'm as soft and serene as the snow still falling outside and nothing is changing that.

  "We'll talk about it later," I mutter and yawn. I can't remember the last time I wanted to sleep this badly.

  "You know what I sometimes wish?" he asks.

  I make a non-committal questioning noise.

  "That we could just go back to that day we ran into each other at the mall," he continues, his heart still making a ruckus in my ear. "I think if we played that one differently things would be a lot easier now."

  I also wish we were back on that day. My mom would still be alive, and I could still prevent myself from getting pregnant, from acting like a total sex-crazed slut in front of Scott. But all that is in the past now, buried under three feet of snow and counting.

  "Though mostly, I wish I'd just stayed in jail and took my chances on that," he mutters.

  I dig my nails in his flesh, making him wince. "Are you saying you wish you never met me?"

  "No," he answers and leaves it at that.

  I lift myself up again, pushing against his stomach. "Because we'd never have met if you were still in prison."

  "I'd be out in three to five years. Three probably," he says and brushes my hair away from my face, his hand settling on my neck. "If it's destiny, we'd meet. And if it isn't, I don't know what we're doing now."

  I press my lips against his, mostly to keep myself from saying anything and ruining the moment. He tastes like toothpaste and clean water, sweeter than any icicle I ever licked as a kid. It's a long and slow kiss, with barely any movement, just warmth and air, sweetness and softness.

  "There's no use wishing for the past to be different," I whisper later. "Besides, there's very little of all this I'd change now."

  "Really?"

  "Things are what they are, Scott," I say and rest my head back against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow to a comforting, strong thud.

  As much as I hated those words in the past, they're truer right now than any other I've ever spoken.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It's not snowing anymore when I wake up the next morning. Scott's standing by the window, already dressed, gazing at the garden.

  I wrap the comforter around myself and join him by the window, startling him.

  "Going somewhere?" I ask leaning against his broad back, and looking out the window too. My garden is completely covered in soft, pristine white snow.

  "I should go visit Derek today," he mutters, and I wrap my arms tighter around his waist, letting the comforter slip off my shoulders.

  "In all this snow?"

  "I should." And I know most of him doesn't want to.

  "I'll go with you."

  He pries my arms apart and turns to face me, his eyes as grey as the wintery dawn outside. "Don't you have to go back to school today?"

  "I can go later, or I can stay here, with you," I mutter, willing his eyes to unfreeze.

  "Haven't you had enough of my family yet?" He smiles, but it brings no light to his eyes.

  I shake my head, because if I say anything it might betray the lie.

  He wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. "It's gonna be a really hard day, Gail. Maybe you should stay here."

  "I'll come if
you want me to," I mutter into his chest, my voice distorted because my face is pressed against it so hard.

  "I do want you there—"

  "Then I will be," I interrupt, because really it's all that matters.

  It takes us almost three hours to get there, and when we do, the hospital corridor is deserted, a single guard flipping through a magazine at the very end of it. He straightens up as we approach, eying Scott up and down.

  "Family only," he says, but I'm clutching Scott's arm so tight he must assume I am too, because he lets us both enter.

  I'm fighting hard against the tears threatening to erupt from the prickly ball in my throat. It's not even just the memory of my mom's deathbed causing it; it's the pain rolling off Scott in waves that can never abate.

  Derek looks a lot like Scott, only his hair is longer and a darker blond, and his eyes are a dull brown, at least in this light. But they have the same lips and nose, the same softness just beneath their hard, chiseled features.

  "I'm not dead, Scott," Derek says. "So stop looking at me like that."

  I let go of Scott and let him walk to his brother's bed.

  "I'm sorry this happened," Scott says. "I never should've gone along with your crazy plan."

  "I don't regret it," Derek says. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

  I shudder as his eyes fix on me, but my legs are steady as I walk over to his bed. Maybe I'm finally learning how to control my impulses.

  "I'm Gail," I say, because it's all I can manage.

  He nods and tries to say something, but Scott speaks right over him. "I wish I'd just stayed in prison."

  "And then what? You'd be lying here instead of me?" Derek says, coughing slightly, his heart monitor beeping shrilly. "Come on, Scott."

  "It was my problem to solve," Scott says. "And now you're hurt because of me."

  I'm hovering by the window again, keeping as still as I can even though I'm shivering like I'm standing in neck high snow.