Bad Idea

by Nicole French

  “Sure,” I bite out. “The room’s open. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

  “Thanks, Nico. You’re the best.”

  “Yeah,” I say with a grimace I’m glad my sister can’t see. “Later.”

  I shove my phone in my pocket and walk over to Layla, who’s given me a bit of space while I talked to my sister. Suddenly, I need to hold her.

  “Who was that?” she asks as I wrap my arms around her waist from behind and press my nose into her hair.

  “Oh, that was Maggie,” I mumble, and then force myself to look at the artwork, the title page from “The First Book of Urizen.”

  On the front is a painting of a very old, Gandalf-looking dude. I don’t want to look at this shit right now. I just want to look at Layla. I nuzzle her neck, nipping just above her collarbone on that spot that I know she loves. This girl and her magic skin. It’s anywhere, anytime with her, and I know she’d be game if I could find a decent spot. Even in the middle of the MET.

  “What—what did she want?” Layla asks, her voice all breathy and light.

  I’m having a hard time focusing. I really just want to lose myself in her again, but there are people around. Right now, I’m trying to think of any secret spots in this part of the city where we could be alone. Maybe the park again, if we could deal with the rain today...

  “Mmm…She and Jimmy broke up again. She wanted to make sure her room would be there for her and Allie. And that I could pay for them, of course.”

  The tightening in my chest grows. There goes my hard-on. I rest my chin on Layla’s shoulder and let out a long sigh.

  “You don’t sound too happy about that.”

  To my frustration, Layla steps away and turns to face me. I shove my hands in my back pockets.

  “It’s fine, I guess,” I say, and suddenly I can’t keep all of this in. “I’m used to it. But Maggie’s just such a fuckin’ freeloader, though, you know? I want to tell her no, she’s gotta grow up, get a real damn job, and stop fuckin’ around with Jimmy, who acts like he doesn’t have a kid to take care of. But I can’t say no to Allie.”

  Layla stands quietly, obviously unsure of what to say. She doesn’t have family like this, I’m sure. Brothers and sisters from three different dads. A mother who came here illegally and can’t speak English. Siblings who can’t keep their shit together, who have babies out of wedlock with men who can’t grow up. Usually I’m not embarrassed by my family because everyone I know has a family just like them. It’s only one more reason why Layla and I really do come from completely different worlds.

  “What about Gabe?” she asks. “Will he be able to move in with you still this summer?”

  I sigh. “Yeah, I’m not going to make him sleep on the couch while he’s going to school. I tried that, and it doesn’t work. I’ll probably give him my room so he can have some privacy, and I’ll take the living room.”

  It’s the last thing I want to do, but Gabe will need a place to study. One of us kids is going to finish college––Maggie and Selena didn’t even start. The heaviness in my chest grows. There goes my privacy, not to mention the one space where Layla and I can be alone. But what else can I do?

  “That’s life, right?” I say.

  And then I can’t take this anymore. I can’t take the pity that’s practically painted all over her beautiful face. I can’t take her looking at me like she’s sorry for me, like I’m a stray dog she wants to rescue. This is my life, not an afterschool special. I plaster a grin on my face, the one that always makes her smile back. Then I grab her hand. “Come on, baby, let’s go see the mummies.”

  ~

  Layla

  Although the original plan was for him to drop me off at a subway stop before heading across town to his apartment, Nico ends up accompanying me back down to my place. It’s weird, but I get the feeling he doesn’t want to say goodbye, maybe doesn’t want to go back uptown. We grab some Chinese pastries to snack on while I do laundry, but we both know the main reason he came all the way down here was to get me naked. My roommates are out. Walking around the Met without being able to do anything more than hold hands or kiss and hug was basically two straight hours of foreplay.

  So literally the moment I arrive from putting my clothes into one of the washers in the basement, the door slams shut behind me, and I’m shoved against one of the walls of the common area, my lips thoroughly crushed by Nico’s. There’s that need again––that same intense desire that drove him last night and once more this morning. The second the door closes, he’s voracious.

  His hands slide eagerly down my waist to grab my ass and pull me into the erection that’s straining against his jeans.

  “I’ve been staring at this gorgeous ass all day,” he mumbles against my lips. He sucks on the edge of my tongue, eliciting a moan from deep in my chest.

  “Fuck,” I breathe when he releases me. He bends his legs and pulls both of mine around his waist so that he can carry me into my bedroom, but we only make it as far as the common area couch before we topple over the back, landing on the cushions in a pile of giggles.

  “Stop that,” he chides. “I’m supposed to be seducing you.”

  He’s trying to sound harsh, but I can feel his chest vibrate with suppressed laughter. He repositions us so I’m sitting up on the couch and commences to tear off my shirt and unbutton my jeans as quickly as he can move his fingers.

  “Getting greedy, are we?” I ask, although I’m happy to assist with his shirt too. I’ve been dying to get my hands on that smooth skin all day.

  “I need you naked,” he growls, and gives me another breath-shattering kiss before I can respond.

  He sits up onto his knees and pulls my jeans off, tossing them onto the floor before he yanks off his own pants. He angles himself over my body and nips along the edge of my neck, making me arch my back farther toward him. I want more, but he’s focused on tonguing the soft skin in the hollow of my collarbone, alternately licking and biting in a way that I know is going to leave some marks tomorrow morning.

  His lips reach my chest, and he slides the straps of my bra over my shoulders and pulls down the soft cotton cups so that my breasts bob over them, trussed and available for his pleasure. It’s a favorite technique of his; I think he likes the way I look all bound up.

  “Beautiful,” he breathes, cupping them with both hands as he sinks to his knees between my straddled legs. Delicately he takes one nipple in between his teeth, rolling the sensitive nub between them and tonguing it in a way that causes me to cry out as I grab his head to pull him closer.

  “Don’t,” he orders gruffly as he releases my breast from his grip to take my arms and hold them firmly to my sides. “Don’t move. You just have to take it, baby. Understand?”

  The dark, hungry look in his eyes brooks no other response than the small nod I manage to give him. He needs control––it’s like he’s been starving for it for the last twenty-four hours. I’m not arguing––he is insanely hot when he’s ordering me around.

  “Good,” he clips, and leans back to suck my other nipple deep into his mouth.

  His hands glide down my abdomen, gripping my thighs for a moment before he slips both of his thumbs under the thin layer of cotton that covers the sensitive heat between my legs. I moan again, resisting the urge to push against his thumbs for a deeper connection as they brush up and down the juncture of soft skin, hair, and nerves.

  “Does that feel good, baby?” he asks softly, his eyes clouded with obvious desire. “Do you like it when I touch your pussy?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, unable to move my eyes from the dark hold of his.

  He hooks his fingers under the elastic band of my panties and draws them down my legs so that I’m fully exposed. He draws one finger down, toying slightly with my entrance that’s becoming wetter by the second.

  “It’s starting to grow out,” he says, entranced by the path of his hand.

  If my face weren’t already red from wanting him, I would have blushed. �
��It, uh, needs to be waxed. I have an appointment next week.”

  Nico shakes his head with a hungry smile, the kind you might see on a cartoon wolf. “No, baby, let it grow a little. It’s sexy.”

  He slips his finger inside me, then another, curving the ends to massage the bundle of nerves inside my darkest place. My hips jerk and grind involuntarily. He leans over my body, taking my earlobe into his mouth so that I can feel the heat of his body hovering over me while he fucks me with his hand.

  “God, Layla,” he growls into my ear. “You are so fucking hot, you know that? So wet and willing.”

  “Ah!” I cry out, no longer able to form coherent words in response to the building tension. He’s coiling me up like a spring, and I’m about ready to burst.

  “You want to come, baby?” he asks, slipping a third finger in to join the other two’s internal massage.

  “Ummmm,” I moan, pressing my chest upward so that the sensitive ends of my nipples rub against the smooth lines of his chest. He increases his fingers’ tempo, and I feel my muscles start to tighten.

  “Bear down, baby,” he orders me. “Do it. Now.”

  So I do, almost as if I’m trying to pee, and almost immediately my entire body is wracked with the unbelievable spasms of my release as I come hard onto his hand. “AaaaaaAAAAH, NICO!”

  “That’s it, Layla,” he growls, rubbing out the rest of my release as I claw the couch cushions under my head. “Just let it go.”

  Finally, he withdraws and shucks his underwear.

  “Come here,” he orders, pulling my legs forward and flipping me over so I’m on my knees, my chest resting on the couch with him behind me.

  He loves this position, where he can see his favorite part of my body and take me with the kind of ferocity he almost never lets loose anywhere else. I can’t argue—the angle he finds, combined with his touch on my clit, makes me come again and again and again. It’s hard to argue with that.

  I’m so wet that he doesn’t even have to push when he slides into me. His hands find my ass and knead it hard. I tighten around him, relishing the sumptuous friction of our bodies, pushing and pulling together. From this angle, I feel the whole of him as he seeks my limits, over and over again.

  “Fuck, baby,” Nico groans over my shoulder. He starts to move faster, no longer concerned with the evenness of his rhythm, but obviously overcome himself. I slip my hand under my legs, reaching below to where I can cup his balls in my fingers, squeezing them just enough to push him over the edge.

  “Shit! Layla!” he cries, and emits a long, deep groan as he comes, jerking in my hand and then collapsing over my body as he pumps out the last of his release. I don’t come with him, which is unusual. It’s also unnecessary, considering the body-melting orgasm I experienced just moments before. I honestly don’t think I could have handled another one anyway.

  We lie together, him piled on top of me, for a moment as we catch our breaths. Nico presses a soft kiss between my shoulder blades, and I sigh, sated.

  “You’re incredible,” he whispers into my back.

  “So are you, Mr. Soltero,” I murmur back. I awkwardly readjust my bra so it’s back on normally. He likes the trussed-turkey look, but once my euphoria dies down, I don’t love the way the underwire digs into my skin.

  Nico gently pulls out and pads to the bathroom to dispose of the condom I didn’t even realize we used. Huh. It’s not good that I get so lost with this man, I can’t even keep track of our protection.

  He returns with a damp cloth, which I accept to clean myself off while he gathers up our clothes. He’s completely unabashed by his nakedness, moving easily around the room, checking to make sure we haven’t left any telltale items of clothing for my roommates to find and tease us about. Two weeks ago, Jamie found his underwear shoved under a couch cushion (we looked and looked, but couldn’t find it). Nico had to suffer the girls’ merciless taunting about the bright orange color for at least a week every time he called.

  He catches me watching and rewards me with a grin that erases the slight sadness on his face.

  “Like what you see, baby?” he asks as he stands up. The spring light shines through the windows, casting deep shadows over his muscles.

  I bite my lip, trying unsuccessfully to kill my blush. I nod. “I might.”

  I stand up and help him straighten up the room so that we can move to my bed. It’s not that my roommates would necessarily be put off by the fact that we just had sex on the living room couch. But it’s still better not to confront them with two naked people lying in the middle of the common area where we sit on a regular basis.

  Nico follows me into my bedroom, where we toss our clothes onto my desk chair and crawl into my tiny bed together, my makeshift curtain closing us in a blue cocoon. I snuggle up against his warm chest and he folds me close, using one hand to cradle my head and run his fingers through my loose curls. It’s a gesture he does a lot, one that makes me feel so loved and cherished. One that makes my heart open to the love I feel too.

  My eyes blink open when the thought hits me, just like it does every time. I don’t just like this man. I am completely in love with this man. I love every single thing about him—his dark, expressive eyes, his gorgeous smile, his casual, “I just want to have fun” demeanor, the obvious compassion and concern it masks. I love him. So much. Sometimes so much it hurts.

  I had an inkling of it before, but once I knew that things were free to progress naturally, I’ve been content to leave that possibility aside as our relationship grew naturally. But now it doesn’t feel like something I can ignore anymore. Right here in his arms, this is where I definitely belong.

  “Music?” he mumbles through the silence that’s descended.

  I push myself off his chest. “What do you feel like listening to?”

  He shrugs. “What do you have?”

  I twist around and pull my case of CDs from underneath my bed, and then toss it at him with a thumb. He sits up and starts paging through my collection, which isn’t bad for a nineteen-year-old. Most of my extra money in high school went to record stores.

  “You have very eclectic tastes,” Nico remarks as he thumbs through. “Who’s Aimee Mann?”

  “Portland singer,” I say. “Sort of like Joni Mitchell.”

  Nico makes a face. “Pass.” He keeps looking. “You’re such a Seattleite. Look at all this grunge.”

  “Hey, it’s my hometown,” I joke. “If I didn’t own any Nirvana and Pearl Jam records, they wouldn’t let me on the plane home.”

  He pauses. “Who’s Timbalada?”

  I glance. “Oh, that’s a samba band. Loud. Carnaval-kind of stuff.”

  Nico looks over the album cover curiously. “I’ll have to check them out. But not right now.” He flips again and pulls out another CD. “Maná? I wouldn’t have expected you to know them.”

  I nudge him in the shoulder. “Come on. They’re internationally known.”

  “It’s a Mexican rock band, NYU. And you’re––”

  “A sheltered white girl?” Nico doesn’t answer, but I know he’s thinking it. And, well, he’s not wrong, at least partly. I shrug. “I had a Spanish au pair when I was a kid. She really liked Maná.”

  “Put it on.”

  I turn around and slip the disc into the small stereo on the edge of my desk. Almost immediately, the room fills with the sounds of a live audience clapping, followed by the soft guitar tones of the unplugged album. I don’t understand Spanish, and I don’t really care for most of this band’s other stuff I've heard, but this album is one of my favorites. Fher Olvera, the singer, has a soft, melodic voice that’s soothing, especially when he’s backed up with only acoustic guitars and light percussion.

  We lie back in the pillows for a bit, letting the gentle sounds wash over us. Beside me, Nico murmurs the lyrics––it’s clear he’s familiar with the music.

  I turn over to lie on his chest, and his arm wraps around my waist.

  “Tell me what it means
?” I ask.

  He gives me a sad smile, then looks past me with a sort of far-away expression. “Okay.”

  Another song starts up. It’s my favorite on the album––melancholy and sweet. Nico starts to translate over Olvera’s rueful voice.

  “So, he’s saying how nice it would be to be able to live without water. How nice it would be to live without air. How nice it would be to love you a little less. How nice it would be to live without you.”

  The percussion picks up a little, and the sad strums of the guitar fill the space for a moment.

  “That’s so sad,” I murmur against Nico’s warm chest.

  “It is,” he agrees. “But it’s beautiful. It’s like...he’s really just saying the truth. That when you love someone, really love them and need them, to live without them is to live without water or air. Because to need someone that much...hurts a little, you know? The fear that you’ll lose them is always there. And so maybe there’s a part of you that wishes you didn’t need them so badly.”

  He drifts off, and I don’t miss the way his arms tighten around me. The way my fingers press just a little harder into his chest. A finger reaches under my chin and tips my head up to look at him. His eyes, so dark they’re almost black, are fathomless. I could fall into them, and I want to. But though they glisten a little with such clear adoration that tugs at my heart––that bittersweet pain the song talks about––there’s still that edge, that worry, that pain that never quite leaves them. That look that shows just how much of the world Nico has to carry on his broad shoulders.

  He turns to kiss me, and he tastes like chocolate––the bitter kind that’s not quite sweet. Our tongues tangle, but it’s not a kiss built in a frenzy of desire. It’s adrift in something much more potent. Something sweet. Something painful. Love.

  Nico’s phone buzzes on the desk on the other side of the curtain, and he groans as he stretches up to grab it.