Contemporary Nights Volume One

by C. J. Ellisson

  “Semantics.” He grins and kneels in front of his DVD rack. “Which movie should we watch?”

  Staying in and watching a movie as we boil shirts on a Friday night isn’t exactly my idea of a good time. However, since I can’t afford to pay attention after my shoe purchase, I’m stuck. “Surprise me.”

  “Are you in the mood for a chick flick?”

  “The fact that you even have a chick flick disturbs me,” I toss back and glance over my shoulder. I have to admit, I’ve done a hell of a job with him. He’s in a pair of long gym shorts and a loose tank, barefoot, and sporting the new haircut rather well. He keeps stealing these little looks at me and when I catch him, he darts his gaze away and grins. It’s irresistible as hell.

  I turn off the burner and move the pot over. Once I wring out the final shirt and add it to the others across the counter, I glance down at my clothes. Definitely time for a quick change. Luckily I had the foresight to grab a few things out of my dorm this morning, knowing I’d end up staying at Ryan’s again tonight. I could definitely get used to playing house with him.

  Not an option. Why am I even thinking like that? This isn’t real. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a friend who happens to be incredible in bed. We already agreed on the breakup. It’s not a matter of if, but when. I have to remember that. I fucking hate it, but it is what it is.

  Once I’m in my fuzzy-butt PJs with “Bite Me” across the ass and a spaghetti strap tank, I pad back, grab my drink as I walk by the counter, and join him on the couch.

  Ryan is staring at me as I sit. “Could you possibly get any sexier?”

  I glance at my clothes and then touch the messy bun at the top of my head. My mascara has since melted off my lashes. “Just you wait until I stop shaving my legs.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  I grin and sip at my drink. “What are we watching?”

  “You’ll see.” I like the way he scoots up next to me and casually drapes his arm across the couch behind me. I have to admit, it’s a pretty smooth move. When he hits play on the remote, I wait to see what torture he has in store for me. Guys like Ryan watch movies about dragons and short hairy men from Middle Earth. If he makes me watch anything with a sparkly vampire, I’ll pitch a fit. I’m more team werewolf and still think she chose the wrong guy. I’d much rather be a wereanything than a sparkly nothing. But maybe that’s just me.

  When the opening credits for Easy A come on, I jerk up straight. “How did you know this is my favorite movie?”

  “Because I’m your boyfriend.”

  “Fake boyfriend,” I clarify and settle down. I really do love this movie. I can’t help but feel a kinship to the protagonist. The red hair. The hazel-green eyes. The snarky attitude and even snarkier comments. Even the best friend who likes to call us bitch a lot. Oh, yeah. We were totally separated at birth.

  I sip my maraschino martini and act out the scenes, word by word. Ryan says nothing and even laughs on cue as I recite something hysterical. By the time the protagonist is at her black moment bawling her eyes out, so am I. Ryan remains silent and disappears, only to reappear with toilet paper. I cry into my makeshift tissue, cursing every douchetard on the face of the planet.

  When the closing credits roll, I’m energized. I always am after this movie. “I want my life to be like a John Hughes movie, too.”

  “No, you don’t. John Hughes made the girls in his movies weak, relying on a guy for true happiness.”

  “Damn it, Ryan. Don’t ruin this for me.” I smack him and he shrinks back. “When a woman is pouring her heart out to you, no matter how ridiculous it sounds, you listen. When she pauses, you ask her for more.”

  “What if I don’t want to hear more?”

  I smack him again.

  “Okay, okay. Start over. Which John Hughes movie would you want your life to turn into?” He leans on his elbow as he studies me.

  “I think Can’t Buy Me Love is the best.”

  “I don’t think that’s John Hughes.”

  “Of course it is. I know my John Hughes movies. Breakfast Club. Sixteen Candles. Can’t Buy Me Love.” I list them off on my fingers.

  “I’ll bet you it’s not John Hughes.”

  I thrust out my chin, positive he’s going to lose. “You’re on. What do you want to bet?”

  “If I win, you run with me. No bitching that it’s still dark out. No whining about the time.”

  “And if I win,” I counter. “You never ask me to go for a run with you again.”

  “Deal.” We shake on it. He then pulls out his phone and IMDB’s it. I’m crushing my boobs against him as I’m squinting to read the screen. When I see the name of the director, I drop my jaw, shocked. “Who the hell is Steve Rash?”

  “The director of your John Hughes movie.” He stands and grabs my empty glass. “We have enough for one more each. Should we?”

  “Why not live dangerously?” I hate to run so why not run with a hangover? That should make the waking hell known as jogging at the butt crack of dawn even more awesome.

  *****

  My calves hurt. My hips hurt. My head hurts. I can’t breathe. So far, this whole jogging thing really sucks ass. “Can we take a break?”

  “We haven’t even gone half a mile. No.”

  “Ryan,” I whine, not ashamed I sound like a five-year-old. I’m panting and sweating profusely as I attempt to keep up with him. He’s not even breathing hard, the asshole. “Sweet Jesus on a scooter, would you please take pity on me? I’m not used to this.”

  He turns and jogs backwards, that crooked grin on his face. I hate him, despite how goddamn good he looks right now. “How are the shoes holding up?”

  “The shoes are fine,” I say and gasp for air. “It’s the rest of me that’s falling apart.”

  “Which is why we’re jogging.” He grins wide.

  How dare he sound like he’s standing still. “You could stop making it look so easy.”

  “One week.”

  My brain is in a fog and clearly shutting down. “What?”

  “We jog every morning for one week. I guarantee you’ll change your tune.” He turns and runs forward. “Try to keep up.”

  I so hate him right now. Even though I’m positive I’ll collapse before the end of the run, I force myself to match his pace. Sort of. I’m more running behind him as he slows for me to catch up. By the time I reach him, he’s grinning, so I push him into the bushes. I giggle—that is until he jumps out and comes after me. I scream and sprint away, laughing.

  We spend the next hour bumping shoulders. By the time we make it back to the mod, I’m practically crawling. My legs are rubber. I collapse on his couch and barely have the strength to accept the water bottle he hands me. I twist off the cap and drain half of it before leaning my head on the back of the cushions.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks me as he bounces around the mod like the fucking Energizer Bunny.

  “I’m never moving again.”

  “How about an Epsom salt bath?”

  A bath sounds amazing right now, but I just don’t have the energy to peel my ass off the couch. “Go ahead.”

  “It’s for you.” He disappears into the bathroom and the sound of running water fills the silence. After several minutes, he returns and stops behind me. I look up. “Yes?”

  “Bath time.”

  “I said go ahead.” When he pulls me off the couch, every muscle in my body protests. “Ow. Ow. Ow.” Every step I take hurts.

  “It wasn’t even five miles,” he says, like that justifies my pain. It’s still jogging and I still hate it. He leads me into the bathroom and undresses me. It’s interesting. I’ve never had a guy remove my clothes without wanting sex in return. But Ryan doesn’t even caress a curve. Instead, he strips me naked and helps me into the bathtub. I ease into the steaming water and release a sigh when I lean back.

  Oh, my God. Within seconds the effect of the salt seeps into my sore muscles, relaxing them. “Yes,” I hiss.


  He kneels next to the tub and keeps his attention on my face. I’m impressed, what with my boobs floating in the water. “Tomorrow we won’t take it easy.”

  “We took it easy today?” I’m whimpering at the thought of what he has in mind.

  “No lessons today.”

  “Isn’t that my call? You may own the physical training, but I definitely own the grooming.”

  “Fine,” he says casually and runs his fingers around in the water. “Do you want to do any grooming on me today?”

  I shake my head and barely have the energy for that. This salt bath rocks. “You win. No lessons today.”

  “Good.”

  He’s way too eager to throw in the towel. “Ryan? What’s going on?”

  “I sort of have this…thing.” He drops his gaze.

  “This…thing,” I repeat, not liking the sound. “What sort of thing?”

  “Every Saturday night I get together with some of my friends.”

  Friends? He’s never mentioned friends before. I’m going to have to approve of them. If he’s going to be a total player, he has to hang out with other players. “Who are these friends?”

  “Just some guys.”

  “Are they all coming over here?”

  “Not exactly.”

  He’s definitely hiding something. He won’t even look me in the eye. “Ryan, tell me what’s going on. It can’t be that bad.”

  “All right. Every Saturday night I go online and meet up with some friends for TDM.”

  “And that is?”

  “Team Death Match.”

  It takes a second for it to sink in. I blame the Epsom salt. The muscle relaxer is working so well it’s relaxed my brain, too. “Wait a second. You’re telling me you spend every Saturday night at home playing video games?”

  “You make is sound like I’m breaking the law.”

  “When you’re a good-looking twenty-two-year-old trying to play the field, it is.”

  He grins and I hate that it relieves some of the tension still tightening my muscles. “You think I’m good-looking?”

  “Don’t go getting a big head on me.” I sink lower in the tub. “New rule. Every Saturday night, you’re going out on the prowl.”

  “I don’t want to go out on the prowl alone.”

  “Well, I can’t go with you. Call some of your friends.”

  “None of them go to BU.”

  I watch him. He’s not looking me in the eyes again. This is worse than I thought. Numbers from my statistics class pops into my head and I’m shocked I remember something from it to use in an actual conversation. “All your friends are twelve to fourteen and socially awkward, aren’t they?”

  “No,” he answers and straightens. He sets his jaw and turns from me. “I’ll leave you to your bath.”

  “What’d I say?” I know what I said, but it’s the only thing I can think of to say in my defense. He doesn’t answer and closes the door behind him. I sigh and rest my head back, but now I can’t relax. It’s bugging me that he left with that look on his face, like I’d insulted him. Again.

  I pull myself out of the water. It’s getting cold anyway. It still hurts to move, but nothing like it did. Even if I had the money to go out tonight, I wouldn’t be able to so much as hop up on a bar stool without crying out in pain.

  Ryan wins. We stay in. And yes, even play video games. It’s better than watching a movie that will turn me into another blubbering moron like last night. I dress slowly as every muscle protests. Sweet damn vibrations, and he wants me to go through this all over again tomorrow? I won’t be able to move ever again. At least I don’t have to dress to impress with Ryan. I grab a pair of my sweats and a baggy sweatshirt out of the bag of clothes I brought over, and then pile my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head. I don’t bother with makeup. This is as good as it’s going to get.

  I pad out of the bedroom and carefully sink onto the couch, the whole while cursing Ryan for putting me in this much pain. I sigh when I’m finally settled and decide I’m not moving from this spot until I have to pee.

  Ryan appears with water in one hand and some pills in the other. “Ibuprofen. It’ll help.”

  I take them and set the water down on the table next to me. “Why does everything hurt?”

  “Because you’ve probably never used some of those muscles before.”

  If I didn’t have to move to do it, I’d reach over and slap him, but the act isn’t worth the pain. “How do you expect me to do this again tomorrow? I can barely move.”

  “It’ll get better.” He places a headset on his head and grabs an Xbox controller. “I’ll just leave a message to my team that I won’t be online tonight.”

  “No,” I say and barely lift my arm to stop him. “Don’t. Let’s stay in tonight. I don’t think I can pour myself into a club-worthy outfit anyway.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Trust me on this one. I’d rather never move from this spot again.” I shrug and regret it as a sharp pain jolts my entire system. “I’ll just melt into a permanent fixture right here on your couch.”

  He smiles at me. “I wouldn’t mind. You’re a pretty great looking fixture.” He sets the controller down and removes the headset before facing me. There’s a wicked glimmer in his smoky eyes I’m not sure I trust. “You can’t move, you say?”

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” And why is it heating up my libido, tightening my nipples, and tingling in my clit? He scoots closer to me. “Ryan,” I say in warning.

  He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my sweats and slides them off my hips, pushing them down around my ankles. He then frowns at my gigantic, possibly the least sexy underwear ever, granny panties. “What are those?”

  I’m so goddamn embarrassed I could die right now. I usually save my nasty giant granny panties for my period days, but I seriously didn’t think we’d be doing anything. Now that he sees me in my old lady panties, I want to reverse time and slip into one of my butt flosses from Victoria’s Secret.

  “My granny panties,” I answer in a quiet voice.

  “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any sexier,” he teases and kisses my inner thigh before slipping the panties down my body to join my sweats.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” He settles between my thighs, his mouth hovering inches from my now drenched flesh.

  “Ryan, I’m don’t have the energy. I can barely move.” Even as I say it, I rock my hips, pushing myself closer to him. Goddamn him for making me horny when I had no intention of doing anything more than, well, nothing.

  “So just lay back and enjoy.” He lowers his lips and sucks my juices. I hiss in a breath and arch my back. When his tongue flicks against my clit, I cry out. Holy shit, he’s good at that. “Relax, baby.”

  “How can I relax when you—ah!” Goddamn him. He’s attacking me with such force I see stars. “Ryan, I can’t—you can’t—not fair!”

  “Come on, Emma. Come for me. I’m dying to taste you.” He goes in for the kill. I fist the couch to hold on as my orgasm builds so fast my head is spinning.

  “Ryan,” I whimper as my climax hangs just out of reach, teasing me. But then he sucks my clit between his lips and rapid fires, and I shatter. My orgasm explodes and I throw my head back, screaming out at how powerful it is. Holy mother on water skis. I’ve never come in under a minute. Like, ever. My blood is syrup, my body completely relaxed, as he laps up every last drop of my release.

  When he’s finally through torturing me, he gives each of my inner thighs a kiss and emerges from between my legs, grinning ear-to-ear. “Better?”

  “Now I’m really not moving from this spot.” I’m spent and I didn’t do anything other than enjoy the awesomeness of his mouth. Damn, he’s good at that. The question that’s been plaguing me pops up yet again. Is he playing me? No one gets this good this fast. Considering his reaction the last time I asked, I decide to keep my doubt to myself.

&nb
sp; He lifts my panties and sweat pants back up my legs. “I bet you’re muscles don’t hurt.”

  I sit up and hate to admit he’s right. I’m totally relaxed. “So, that’s the trick? A run and then an orgasm? No wonder you like to go for a jog when you wake up.”

  He grins and stands. “It’s a great way to start the morning. Do you want some breakfast?”

  “I’m good with whatever.” I’m still in recovery mode and can barely keep my eyes open. From the run to the bath, and then the orgasm, I’m exhausted. I collapse, close my eyes, and don’t open them again until I feel Ryan nudge me. I blink awake. “Did I fall asleep?”

  “Yep. Your midterm is done, by the way.”

  I jerk upright. “You finished my hello fucking world project?” I rub my eyes and stretch.

  He laughs. “I’ve got my laptop primed and ready for you to make something up for my midterm.”

  I take my time standing. My muscles are stiff, my legs rubbery, but I’ll live. I sit at the counter and wiggle my fingers over the keys. “Give me three things you’d write about.”

  “How about you just make something up,” he says with a shrug of his yummy shoulders. He’s freshly showered and wearing a pair of his new jeans, and one of his custom shirts I shrunk. I have just one word.

  Damn.

  He is oh my God hot. Like if I saw him in the bar looking the way he does right now, I’d take him home and never let him leave. I can’t believe my nipples are tightening as a distinctive tingling sparks to life, wetting my granny panties. I want him between my legs, first his mouth, then his cock. He has me horny as fuck by doing nothing other than standing there.

  I’m in serious trouble.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ryan

  “No, you can’t just shoot. You have to aim. Save your ammo.”

  Emma laughs that throaty laugh and it distracts me from my task. I have zombies to kill, but I can’t do that when she’s sitting next to me in nothing but one of my t-shirts and sexy-as-shit boy briefs. I couldn’t stop myself when she was in sweats and a sweatshirt. I’m a complete goner in what she has on now.

  “But the dude was clearly a zombie.”