Unraveling Josh

by Edie Danford

  “You’re really okay to come with me?” Anthony asked as I walked him to the car.

  “Yeah, but just to hang, okay? You’re pretty wiped and so am I—”

  “Ten minutes ought to do it.” He clung to my arm. “I can’t have those bitches on my floor thinking I’m alone on a Friday night.”

  I wanted to tell him that the bitches on his floor probably wouldn’t be paying attention, but I understood how bad feeling alone and feeling judged could suck. “Sure,” I told him. He got in the front seat and I got in the back. Anthony being Anthony struck up a convo with the driver—a straightas-an-arrow ginger named Dave. Dave seemed like a nice guy—had to be a saint to sign up to drive around drunks on a Friday night—and Anthony, apparently forgetting his worry about “do-gooders who always judged”, seemed happy to chat with him. Dave happily chatted back.

  Smiling a little, I pulled out my phone and checked for messages. A couple from Pete asking me what I was up to and complaining about my online absence. One from Kelsey asking if Anthony was okay. I let her know what was happening and that I was done partying for the night.

  I tapped my finger on the phone’s case and looked out the window, absently listening to Anthony’s mood improve three-thousand fold and wondering what the hell I could say to Pete.

  We pulled up to the dorm and Anthony hugged his new bff Dave—when Anth turned on the charm he was irresistible—and thanked him with lots of good drama and smiles.

  I followed Anthony into his dorm. There were a few Friday-night-party kinds of sounds drifting down the stairwell, but nothing too awful. The air smelled like microwave popcorn and incense. “What floor?” I asked him.

  He turned to me and stared. For a second I was scared he was going to start crying again. I was happy when he sent me a grin—the good kind that crinkled his eyelids up at the corners. “Third floor. You don’t have to come up with me.” He put his hands on my shoulders and gave me a quick kiss. “I feel better now. You should go out and have fun.”

  “I don’t mind coming up—”

  “I know you don’t mind. And I hope you forget what I said about you and Gabriel earlier. You’re a good guy, Nicky.”

  I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I’m probably not.”

  “Well then go out tonight and be good to someone else. You got a good start with me. Keep going.”

  I snorted and pulled him in for a hug. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  He squeezed my butt briefly and gave me another kiss. “I just remembered the girls across the hall are doing an Empire marathon tonight. They’ll be needing my commentary.”

  “Hell yeah they will,” I said. I watched him climb the stairs and then I turned around and left, eager to get the scent of dorm fug out of my nose.

  Dave the saintly driver was off to save the next drunken idiot and I started up the sidewalk. I was headed on the direct route back to campus, but my feet turned right at the next street, taking me on a scenic detour by the science complex. The angular, glass walls of the bio building looked like water on a midnight lake. Soothing.

  Kelse and I had dressed for dancing and my boots felt like old friends as they softly scraped against the pavers of the crosswalk.

  My phone dinged and I couldn’t make out the tone. I almost ignored it, figuring it was Pete—no doubt he was clubbing at the latest fab spot in WeHo and eager to share all the throbbing deets—but after I’d walked half a block I broke down and checked.

  Josh. He’d sent me an email. My heart thumped as I opened it. I don’t know why. I was ridiculous. But just the sight of his name sent a stupid thrill down my spine.

  Enjoyed lunch. Here are a few of the images I told you about. See you soon. Josh.

  I didn’t open the images. I wanted to, but it was dark and I was standing in the middle of a sidewalk and I wanted to be able to see them on a nice screen. But I did linger over the message for a few seconds longer than necessary before shoving the phone back in my pocket.

  Enjoyed lunch. See you soon.

  What did it mean? Was he just being polite? Had he actually enjoyed it when I’d snarfed his food, acted like an all-over-the-place freak while I partook of the tower’s awesomeness (while I pretended to completely ignore his awesomeness) and turned him down flat when he propositioned me? Did he really want to see me again after all that?

  Yeah, he was just being polite.

  Shit. Every time I’d had a conversation with Josh Pahlke—didn’t matter if I was fourteen or twenty, apparently—I freaked and made the wrong move, ending up somewhere unexpected and wishing like hell for a do-over.

  No do-overs in life, Nick.

  Laughing at myself, I picked up my step and headed toward the pond. The pretty glass on the pretty buildings was making me want to see some moon and stars reflected on real water.

  When I got to my favorite spot at the pond and stood at the benches overlooking the water, there was much frolicking and mayhem going on below. No reflections available tonight—too many bods creating ripples. Well, I could reflect on the naked style points of idiot freshmen, but that would be boring.

  I thought about my options. I could keep walking in this neighborhood-y part of campus—complete my tour of my favorite Ellery landmarks. Or I could turn up toward the Green and head back to Vegan House. I took a deep breath. I could almost hear the roar of the wild animals on frat row.

  I pulled out my phone. Usually when I got in a funk like this I texted Lucy or Amelia. Or Kelsey or Pete or Mike. None of those seemed like good options.

  I looked down at Josh’s message. Before I could think it through, I texted him.

  Thanks for the pics. I’m looking forward to seeing them when I get back to my room. I sent it. And then I sent another. Thanks for lunch too. Your sandwiches are cheesy but you and your space aren’t.

  I stood there for a couple minutes. It’s not like I was expecting an immediate response. Hell, he was probably at Fenton House bouncing on the goddamn trampoline with his bros.

  When the phone chimed I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  Haha, was his response.

  I was smiling like an idiot when he sent another: How little you know me. I’ve been a cheeseball my whole life.

  My smile faded a little. I could pretty safely say I did know Josh, at least a little bit. Cheesy was not how I’d describe him.

  The round kind with nuts all over it? I typed, sticking to humor.

  Yep. Well-aged too.

  I bit my lip. How best to continue the conversation? All my ideas involved comments about cheesy and creamy and savory and salty and…yeah. Balls.

  Before I could think of anything, he sent another text. What are you up to tonight?

  I exhaled slowly. Replying with something flirty seemed rude after the way I’d left things between us earlier. Basic truth was better. I was at a party. At the moment I’m in between

  I sent it before I’d finished the sentence, which was just as well.

  Between?

  Somewhere between the moon and Ellery Pond, I replied.

  Nice.

  I sighed. It is nice. But busier than I hoped for.

  That’ll happen on the first weekend of the quarter.

  Yep.

  You want to come here? View is awesome.

  I stared at the invite I’d both hoped and feared was coming. I did want to go there. Josh and his beautiful tower would both provide amazing views. What could be better? And, really, what could be worse? I’d proven myself to be crappy at my signature casual style—a casual fuck or a casual conversation—with Joshua Pahlke.

  Another message came through. I promise not to lock you away up here.

  My thumb hovered over the keypad. I needed to say no. I needed to avoid Josh until I figured out a way to handle my feelings for him.

  I’d like your company. Lonely guy in his lonely tower needs a knight to rescue him. Or something.

  My chest tightened. God. The guy just killed me with his willingness to b
e honest. How was I supposed to fight that?

  Another message came quickly. JK! Ignore me. (I promise I’m more fun than that last text.)

  I smiled. And I gave in. Because I was weak when it came to hot guys. But mostly because I was feeling lonely too. See you in ten, I typed.

  Yay! :-)

  I snorted and pocketed my phone.

  The street that led to the Torvek estate’s back entrance was just a few blocks away. When I got to the Everest-steep drive, I slowed my pace because it wouldn’t be smooth to pass out on the steps.

  I gave myself a breather with five or six steps to go. Extreme breathlessness wouldn’t be smooth either. I was at the point where I was high enough to see the glow of the tower’s windows. They looked beautiful—topaz or amber or some other golden gem glowing in the dark, vertical mass.

  As I was taking a couple more steps up, letting myself breathe and take it all in, the door opened. Josh was silhouetted by the light, his shoulders, hips and head creating shifting shadow within the arch of the doorway. His arm braced against the doorframe and his silhouette melded with the tower—he was a living part of the fantasy setting in front of me.

  I caught my breath. The evening air was velvety warm and scented of honeysuckle. It was also messing with my head, because I felt as though I could step forward, take his hand and become a part of something different from the reality I’ve always known. If I touched his skin and listened to the words he might speak, it would be a new language, but one I instantly understood.

  “You out there, dude?”

  I laughed. “Yep.”

  He laughed too. “What? You need me to come down and give you a piggyback?”

  “Nah. I’ve got it. I’m taking it slow.”

  “Good thinking.”

  I made it up the last couple steps and across the little terrace. As I approached, I got the crazy urge to live out my fantasy moment and reach out to take his hand. He stepped back, opening the big oak door wide so I could come in. I shoved my hand in my pocket.

  “Hi,” he said. The freaky-cool sconces weren’t providing much light, but his smile was big and seemed illuminated from inside. Inside his big, warm, awesome-smelling and—oh God—semi-clad body.

  “Hi,” I replied, swallowing against the sudden dryness in my mouth.

  For several seconds we stood there and looked at each other. I was guessing he was liking what he was seeing as much as I was, because his lips parted and his eyes went warm and caramely at the same time my cheeks caught fire and I felt a wave of dizziness. And then we shared a laugh that sounded identical in its breathy nervousness.

  “You’re looking good,” he said. He brushed hair away from my temple and pressed a kiss to my cheekbone. His fingertips and lips didn’t linger or anything—his touch felt friendly, affectionate. I remembered what he’d said about being a “toucher” and made myself believe this was how he’d greet anybody.

  “Thanks. You too.”

  “Um, no,” he said. He looked down at himself. The only thing he had on were a pair of cut-off sweats, baggy and gray and hanging just low enough to show off the jut of his hipbones and the first inch or two of that amazing line delineating his pelvis and thighs.

  I wanted to lean in, hook my thumbs in his waistband and tug the thick cotton down. I’d drop to my knees, palm his balls, lick the veins that twined along the underside of his cock, toy with the ridge of his glans—

  But all that would probably send the wrong message. Yeah.

  “Can I have your T-shirt?” he asked, wrenching me from another fantasy. I shot him a glance. He was smiling. “Kidding. It kicks butt, but I don’t think it would fit me.”

  “Probably not.” It was tight on me and my chest and shoulders were a lot narrower than his. “It’s one-of-a-kind or I’d tell you where to get another one.” It was black and had a silkscreen of the Chicago skyline done up in rainbow glitter. Under the skyline were the words, Where the Boys Are. “My friend Jonathan works at a boutique in Boystown and this was a reject.” I pointed to the misshapen building toward the middle of the skyline. “The Hancock building was supposed to be in the shape of a cock, but it came out looking more like a weird blob. The first customer to get a gander at it thought it was Godzilla. So they took them all off the rack.”

  He squinted at my chest. “That is hilarious.”

  “I know. I scored a major fashion coup with this one.”

  “And how.”

  We smiled at each other. Then he tipped his head toward the steps and said, “C’mon up. I’m making popcorn balls.”

  “For real?”

  “For real. To go with the whole nutball theme of the evening.”

  I laughed and followed him up the steps. The way his powerful hips and ass moved under his sweats made my already chubbed-out dick get chubbier. Damn.

  The scent of popcorn hit my nose as we reached the second floor. Popcorn and…

  “Hey, is that maple syrup?”

  “Yep. It’s the only way to make ’em.”

  “Awesome.” I walked over to where a pale gold concoction bubbled on the little stovetop. My mouth was no longer suffering from dryness—totally the opposite now—and my stomach rumbled with happy anticipation.

  “Wanna help?” He picked up a cookie sheet full of popcorn—the kernels big and white and crispy looking. He offered it to me and I took a handful and shoved as much as I could into my mouth.

  He chuckled and I grinned at him around my obnoxious mouthful.

  “What do I gotta do to get the maple on there?” I asked.

  “It’s very, very tricky.” He winked and set down the tray on the small countertop. “But so worth it. You gotta wash your hands first.”

  I washed them in the kitchen sink, noting with amusement the coordinating dish soap and hand soap and sponge. “My mom takes good care of me,” he said, noticing how I’d noticed.

  “That’s cool,” I said.

  “It totally is. Now all I gotta do is unpack the rest of my shit.” He waved toward a pile of boxes on the other side of the couch.

  He handed me a huge towel—“This is the only size I’ve managed to find so far.”—and I dried off.

  “Okay,” he said, picking up a bottle of vegetable oil from the edge of the stovetop. “Hold out your hands. Cup ’em together.”

  I tipped my head, eyeing him skeptically.

  “Do it,” he commanded.

  I dropped the towel on the counter and held out my hands. He poured oil in a slow, steady stream into my palms. I looked up at his face and when I raised my eyebrows he laughed. “Now rub it all over your fingers while I get ready.”

  Rubbing my hands together, I watched him take the pot off the burner and pour the bubbling liquid all over the popcorn. He snagged his lower lip with his teeth and his eyebrows smashed together as he concentrated on hitting all the areas of the tray. God, I wanted to touch him. I wanted to rub oil all over his bare shoulders, coat his gorgeous biceps, gloss up the golden-brown hair on his forearms.

  “Think we almost got it,” he murmured. He set the pan down, quickly picked up a wooden spoon and began stirring.

  “Smells fucking great.”

  “It is great. Could eat it by the bushel. One of the housekeepers at Fen House showed me how to make this a bunch of years ago. Being back here always inspires cravings.”

  “I’ve never had them with maple,” I admitted.

  “You’re in for a treat.” He tossed the spoon into the sink and picked up the oil. “Okay, dude. Make balls.” He tipped his head toward the pan of coated popcorn.

  I looked at my hands. “Just…make them?”

  “Yep. You’ve got good hands. Hands that know their way around balls.” He said it all sexy and challenging. He looked that way too, as he coated his own hands with oil. “Cup it and shape it and roll it around. Fast and dirty.”

  I pressed my lips together and nodded. Yep. A challenge.

  For the next five or ten minutes we laughed and smoos
hed and gathered and gobbled. We ended up with about eight things that looked more like elongated blobs than balls.

  “Is that the way they’re supposed to look?” I asked.

  “Um. Yeah. They don’t have to be perfect. And they get better as they get hard.” He poked at one with his sticky index finger. His expression was all serious and chef-like. He hadn’t even realized what he’d said. Also, he had a piece of popcorn stuck to his gorgeous jaw.

  A case of the giggles had been building over the last several minutes and his adorably analytical expression pushed me over the edge.

  “What?” Josh asked, smiling.

  “They get better…” I gasped. “When they’re hard.”

  He cracked up, shaking his head at me.

  The various tensions I’d experienced during the day—hell, during the past couple of weeks—exploded and came out in big breathy gasps. I laughed till I had to hang on to the edge of the counter. My hip bumped the controls for the stove and one of the burners started up, shooting out blue flame. Which I thought was hilarious too.

  “Whoa!” Josh grabbed my hips and pulled me away from the stove. He reached around me to turn off the burner.

  I gripped his sides to keep my balance. My hands were sticky and oily and kind of itchy too. His skin was warm and satiny and clean. I molded my palms against the flare of his lower ribcage and moved them slowly to his back. Our laughter had gone silent and now all I could hear were the jagged sounds of our mingled breaths. I watched the pulse at the base of his throat. My head felt light and floaty—like a popcorn ball pumped with helium instead of air and sugar—as if the basic, fun activity of making something tasty in a kitchen, combined with the release of laughing my ass off, had unhitched a weight in my brain.

  Josh’s skin was half a hue lighter than the syrup. I dipped my head and licked the ridge of his collarbone. He tasted lighter than the syrup too. But there were probably places where he’d taste heavier, like sap that had been concentrated into something ultra-delicious—

  “Nick.” He inhaled sharply, but his hands didn’t tense or drop from my hips. He pressed his lips to my hair. “We don’t have to do this,” he said, the warm flutter of his words and breath sending shivers down my spine. “I didn’t invite you over for…”