“You’re more than this.” Laurel sounded sad. She traced a fingertip over our joined hands.
“That’s the thing. I’m not. I am this.” I kissed the back of her hand. “You need to decide if you can live with it.”
“Yeah, I know.” She kissed my cheek and stood. “I’ll call you.” She sounded like she meant it. I was sure she did. Right then. In the intervening hours, things would shift, change.
I wanted to ask her not to break my heart, but I had a feeling she couldn’t control that. It was already broken. She was already walking away.
*
I started a pot of coffee. The rote movement was comforting. I checked the house for Nickels. She was hiding under my bed. It was already getting hot so I closed all the windows and turned on the AC. I realized that I couldn’t hear anything from the Ward side of the house. Andy wasn’t usually quiet. That was worrisome. I couldn’t handle any more scares today. I pulled out my phone and called Andy.
“Hey, Cash. Shit. I was supposed to call you.”
“Where are you?”
“Sophie’s mom picked me up. It was like half an hour ago. Mom said it was okay as long as I called you and I forgot. I’m sorry.” She had that tone teenagers get when they regret screwing up. It’s different from the tone where they screwed up and don’t give a fuck.
“No worries. I couldn’t hear you moving around and I was a little concerned. Glad you’re not broken.”
“No, ma’am. Hey, Cash?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really sorry.”
I must have sounded more worried than I wanted to. “Don’t be. Have fun with Sophie.”
“’Kay. Later.”
I hung up the phone and set it on the counter. The coffee pot beeped. I stared at the pot as the remnants dripped from the filter. Laurel wasn’t going to call me. If I cared about her at all, that was probably a good thing. What had she called dealers? Arrogant and dangerous. That was me. Arrogant enough to think I could control the uncontrollable. Arrogant enough to assume the people I loved would be protected. That was the dangerous part.
I took a mug out of the cabinet and set it next to the coffee pot. I needed to pour it next, but my brain’s signals didn’t seem to be translating into movement.
It was good that Andy hadn’t been here. I was glad she hadn’t seen anything. Somehow that would have made the shame unbearable. It was bad enough that Laurel had seen the results of my posturing. No, it was bad that she had seen through my posturing.
Pouring the coffee was too difficult. I couldn’t figure out how so I sat on the floor instead. I wanted to cry. When I was a kid it made everything okay. But the tears didn’t come. I hadn’t cried in years. I didn’t know why I thought now would be the time. Instead, I sat on the floor tracing the edges of the black and white tiles. They were cool. The ridges were subtle and gritty. I was paralyzed. The AC reached the right temperature and turned off. The silence was pervasive. The air felt tight and close. I was breathing too hard, too fast. There was a lump in my throat.
Laurel had called me level-headed. Too level-headed to be a drug dealer. I hated compliments that claimed that I was better than a piece of my identity. It harkened back to the middle school days when my peers celebrated that I wasn’t like a normal lesbian. As if it was a plague I was escaping. It’s okay to be a dyke as long as you’re not too queer. You don’t need to be heteronormative as long as you don’t challenge normativity. It’s okay to be a dealer as long as you’re better than a dealer. Break the rules, but only the right rules to break.
There was one tile slightly askew. The corner tilted up ever so slightly.
Henry thought I was soft. Henry was a dick.
The entire day felt like a karmic bitch slap. Last night, I had told Laurel that people who judged her and treated her shitty weren’t worth her time. This morning, she told me my job made me a bad person. Or something. And then she had defended me against Henry. I couldn’t understand it. I didn’t know how to react to it.
The tiles were shockingly hard. I was tired of sitting on them. I was tired of everything. I stood and poured myself a cup of coffee.
After scanning my shelves, I settled on Plath. She seemed like the best match to my mood. Borderline compulsive examination of loathing. A disappointment in the self as a reflection of society. Yes, Ariel was the girl for me. I stretched out on the couch and propped the book on my chest. Nickels jumped up and settled between my feet. Smart cat. I wasn’t ready for affection. I wanted to hold to this growing vitriol. I wanted my anger to feel justified. The alternative was admitting that all of them weren’t wrong.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
When Andy got home that evening, I felt comfortable turning off my phone. I hadn’t looked at the incoming messages or calls except to confirm that it wasn’t Robin or Andy. Laurel hadn’t contacted me. Not that I was watching for that. The peace of having it off felt like a gift. Of course, then I just sat there wondering if Laurel was trying to call me. After a half hour of rereading the same poem, I turned my phone back on and looked at my messages. Only one stood out. It was from Nate.
Jerome has stopped at 3 of ur customers’ houses.
That was not what I wanted to hear. I turned the phone off again.
I realized that I was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. They felt grimy. Not just because I’d been wearing them for almost forty hours, but because they seemed to be weighted by the actions of the day. I stripped and got in the shower. The lukewarm water was comforting. When I got out, I put on a threadbare T-shirt and my favorite boxers. Still, I couldn’t relax. I climbed in bed with my poetry and reread the same page I’d been trying to finish for hours.
Eventually, I fell asleep. That wasn’t surprising considering how draining the day had been. But I kept waking up at the smallest sounds. The roar of the AC was driving me insane. I finally got up and turned it off. Nickels followed me around the house as I opened the windows. I went back to my bed and buried my face in the cool sheets. Nickels jumped up, turned around a couple of times, then dropped off to sleep. The nighttime city sounds were comforting. The breeze coming in the window still carried the heat of the day, but the fresh air was a fair trade.
Outside, people walked by. Their voices were slurred from the bar. Car doors slammed and engines started up. A rogue siren echoed in the distance. Vague strains of jazz reached out from the nightclub two blocks over. A familiar engine rumbled down the street and stopped. The creak and pop of the door opening made me open my eyes. I was imagining it. There wasn’t any more sound. I looked at the clock. One in the morning. It was wishful thinking. At one thirty, I heard footsteps coming up the walkway, hesitating and pacing on the stairs. Then, there was a knock.
I waited, barely breathing, convinced I was hearing things. And then she knocked again. I got up to answer the door.
Laurel was sitting on the steps, facing the street. She was wearing another baggy tank that trembled in the warm breeze.
“Hey.” I leaned against the doorjamb and studied her. At my voice, she stiffened.
Slowly, she turned. “Hi.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know.” She stood and came to the door.
“Want to come in?” I stepped aside to give her room. She came in, then stopped in the entrance, waited for me to close the door. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to ask her.
“I can’t decide if I’m mad at you or if you should be mad at me.” She put her hands in her pockets. Doing so stretched her chinos tight across her ass. We were not going to be able to have a rational discussion if she was going to stand there looking all hot and shit.
“Both, probably.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t quite work like that, does it?” She shook her head in answer to her own question and walked forward. I followed her. She finally spun to look at me. “I know it’s irrational to ask you to quit. I do know that.”
“But you’re still mad.”
“Would you mean it?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then don’t.” I shrugged. Insincerity wasn’t worth the promise. I wanted to be honestly angry, not unsure of my happiness.
“Where does that leave us?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. At an impasse.”
“I want you to quit. You say you can’t. But I can’t seem to force myself to care about that. I know I should. I have to.” She pushed her hair up, and my resolve weakened. Not that it was strong to begin with.
“What do you care about, then?”
“The only thing I can think is that I shouldn’t have stopped you. Last night. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone as bad as I wanted you.”
“Past tense?”
“No.”
I knew it was stupid to go to her. But I did it anyway.
Laurel leaned away from me, her shoulders set, as though she was being pulled into me, but trying to break away. Her eyes flicked between mine and my mouth. I rode the edge of her anticipation, unable to stop, unable to move forward. I wanted. Christ, did I want. I pushed up the bottom of her tank top, rested my hands against her back, held her closer to me. Still, she studied my face. Every time that gaze rested on my lips, she tipped her chin up like she was going to kiss me. Almost as if it were involuntary. Yet, something continued to hold her back.
This was ridiculous. I leaned in to kiss her. Her breath hitched. She pressed her palms to my chest.
“Wait.”
I did. I couldn’t control the way my chest rose and fell on every labored breath though. I couldn’t seem to control the way my hands pressed her closer to me or the inability to look away from her full bottom lip. But I could wait.
Laurel slid a hand farther up my chest and cupped my neck. Our kiss felt inevitable, but there was a sliver of fear that it wouldn’t happen. She was short of breath just like me, but she seemed nearly in pain.
“Please, Laurel.” I asked as much for myself as her.
“I need to tell you something.”
“You don’t.” I shook my head once. “We don’t need to talk about it.”
“But—”
“Do you want me?” I asked.
She nodded, but even that looked like a struggle. I leaned down and tried to kiss her. At the last second, she tilted her head down, away. Her eyes were almost black. They held an accusation as they bored into mine. It made me stop. I extracted my hands from her shirt, took a step back.
“I’m sorry.” I felt despicable. How many times did the woman need to tell me to stop before I listened?
She leaned up and kissed me. And that moment, the one we had been poised on for an eternity, suddenly felt daunting, breakneck. It only took a second for me to forget that it was insane, though. Because her fingertips were tracing my cheek, jaw, neck. They pressed and teased. Like she was playing, molding me.
Her lips felt delicate. She kissed, shifted, kissed again. Each time the breath of air between us, the negative space was a cumbersome promise.
And then the air rushed back into the room. Laurel walked me back, her hands gripped and twisted in my T-shirt. My legs hit the couch and she pushed me to sit down. She followed so she was straddling me. I grabbed her ass and pulled her crotch tight against my stomach. She leaned forward into our kiss. I panted against her open mouth. Her tongue dipped between my lips.
I wanted to turn her beneath me. To strip her down and lick her skin. To feel the clench of her muscles surrounding me. But she had told me to stop, to wait too many times. I had to follow her lead.
So I let her explore my mouth, bite my lips, take my air. She traced my neck, shoulders, dipped under the collar of my shirt and dug her nails into my skin. When she yanked the tank top over her head, I waited to touch her. Her breasts were small. Her nipples were dark, almost pink. She tugged at my shirt and I let her pull it over my head. The weight of her tits pressing into my chest felt oppressive. I wanted to fuck her. I had forgotten how to do anything else.
Laurel dropped her hands back to my shoulders, rubbed down my biceps, gripped my forearms. She lifted my hands to the waistband on her chinos and held them there.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
She nodded. Her eyes had gone wild, desperate. “I won’t regret this.” It was a command. I didn’t know which of us she was commanding. I knew I damn sure wouldn’t regret it.
I slid open the hook closure and lowered her zipper. Her breathing sped up. I didn’t know how she managed to keep breathing. I couldn’t get a full breath. Hadn’t had one in thirty hours.
Her boxer briefs were tight and short. The edges rode up against the muscle in her thighs. I pushed her pants lower, but they only moved a few inches. Laurel got impatient and pressed my hand flat against her stomach. I edged my fingertips under the elastic of her underwear.
“I want you. Now. I can’t wait.” She kissed me again and pushed my hand lower.
Who was I to argue?
She was warm, wet against my fingertips. Cooling moisture clung to my knuckles. Her hips twitched, jerked at the suggestion of my touch. I slid a finger through her wetness, skirted her clit. She moaned into my mouth. It suggested pain and wanting. I swallowed the sound.
I broke our kiss and took a nipple into my mouth. She cupped my head and arched into me. I sucked hard enough to leave a bruise. Her skin tasted like salt and smelled like soap.
Laurel shifted closer. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her underwear and shoved them down a few more inches. It was enough for me to cup her properly. I traced her entrance, but didn’t press inside. Not yet. I wanted this moment to last. Laurel whimpered and tilted her hips. I dipped a finger inside. She grabbed my wrist and held me still so that she could sink onto me. A groan rumbled in her chest.
“Yes,” she said. It was a whisper, but I felt her acquiescence spread through me.
I pressed my face to her chest, kissed her as she began to slowly rock. Her muscles gripped my fingers, rippled with each small movement. She was too close to coming. I wrapped my free arm around her waist and stilled her movement.
“Wait,” I said. “Just stay here for a minute.”
Laurel looked down at me. Her gaze raked over my mouth again, flicked back up to my eyes. She leaned down and kissed me. I moved my hand, just enough to make her breath catch. Out a fraction, then back in. She tipped her weight forward, tried to angle her hips more sharply. I tightened my grip at her waist and held her still.
“Please.”
“Soon.”
The grasp on my wrist eased, then she let go. I thrust again, harder this time. She bit my lip and sucked on it. When her hands found my tits, I almost gave up. She pinched and twisted, working me higher. I found a steady rhythm. Her hips moved with me. Each thrust took me deeper. Her tongue was in my mouth, the vibrations of her moans resonated through me. I stopped trying to hold her steady and just let her ride it out.
Right before she came, she gripped my shoulders and arched back. I balanced her with a hand on her ass, kneading as she worked herself higher, higher, until she came. Her cunt clenched around my fingers. She cried out, then slumped forward. Her hips twitched as the orgasm finished working its way out. Her breath was a sharp, wet rasp against my neck.
I started to pull out, but she grabbed my wrist again.
“Slow. You feel so good.”
So I pulled away in fractions. She sighed when I was free. Her hands climbed my neck again, searching for purchase against my skin. She leaned back and watched me. She reached up and drew a line over my brow, down my cheek, rested with her hands on the pulse pounding in my throat. And then she was cupping my breasts, her palms scraping my nipples. I lifted my hips without meaning to. She grinned and stood. I started to get up to follow her, but she pushed me back.
Laurel dropped to her knees and gripped the waistband of my boxers. I
lifted enough for her to pull them down. She leaned forward and kissed my neck, the bruises she had left on my collarbone. Her hair fell forward and tickled my chest. I struggled to stay still.
She wrapped her lips around one of my nipples, tongued it into a hard point. I curled my hands into fists and tried not to call out. Her hands were at my waist, stomach, thighs. She followed that line with her mouth. Her lips, tongue were damp on my skin. She spread my legs and dipped her head.
I groaned and dug my fingers into her hair. I arched up to meet her and her hands guided me forward. Her mouth was hot. She pressed the flat of her tongue against my clit and held for a moment. I tried to move against her, but she clamped down on my thighs and held me still. Then her tongue started to move. I closed my eyes and let myself feel her. The wet kiss of her lips, the hard edge of her teeth, the smooth stroke of her tongue. I tightened my fingers in her hair and held her fast against me. She laughed and sucked my clit into her mouth.
I wasn’t going to last long. I arched my hips and Laurel slid her hands under my ass. She pulled me in and shoved me away. I kept a hand against the back of her head as I fucked her mouth. I was so goddamn close. I wanted to stay there in that moment. I would die if I stayed there. I opened my eyes and watched her. It was the sight of her face buried in my cunt that did me in. She sucked at me slowly, eased me back down.
“I think I might be dead,” I said.
“You don’t feel dead.”
“Well, that’s good.” I tugged her back up on the couch. She crawled on top of me again. “You’re still wearing shorts. You shouldn’t be wearing shorts.” Words were hard.
“I agree.” Laurel stood and dropped the shorts. She pushed down her boxer briefs too. I groaned.
“Bed. Now.” I forced myself to stand. Which was difficult because my legs weren’t ready.
We stumbled into my bedroom and fell onto the bed. Laurel kissed me again. The woman was a damn expert at kissing. I pulled her against me.
Cash Braddock Page 18