Well. I guess that’s that.
On the ride back into town, we don’t speak. The distance between us is new, and I don’t like it. Rebecca stares out the window. Every time I shift my grip on the wheel, she tenses, and it takes a few minutes before she relaxes. I try not to think too deeply into it, but it ticks me off. It’s not like I mauled her or anything.
All right. So maybe I did. But she was a willing participant.
When I pull up to her apartment, she quickly unbuckles her seatbelt and throws open the door. I turn toward her. “Rebecca—”
The door slams shut.
Chapter 14
rebecca
It’s a miracle I make it up the stairs on my wobbly legs. As soon as my bedroom door closes, my knees give out.
What just happened?
Curled on the wooden floor, cheek cushioned by my purse, I close my eyes, remembering the feel of Mitchell’s lips crushing mine, the sweep of his tongue. Mitchell Burns just gave me the most delicious, scorching, toe-curling orgasm. At a park. Where anyone could wander down the road and see.
My core throbs with the memory, and I clench my thighs together. He didn’t even touch me with his hands. He didn’t slip those clever fingers between my folds and play with me like I sometimes dream about. There was no skin to skin contact save our mouths and hands, that delicious friction.
I can’t help it. I chase the sensation like it’s a drug. I have never, in all my twenty-two years, felt so completely consumed by a kiss. My skin felt like it was being licked by flames. My heart tripped and stumbled, full of adrenaline, night our only witness. All I knew was want. All I knew was yearning, so much yearning. As soon as our mouths merged, my stomach felt suffused with beating wings.
I felt how much he wanted me. The length and thickness of his erection pressing against me—oomph. Definitely a surprise, because, hello, pre-mature grandma over here. I never gave Mitchell any reason to see me as a sexual figure, never sent him sultry eyes or flashed a bit of skin or made lewd jokes. Everything I ever did in his presence was always the opposite. Reserved. Kind, but not overly so.
Throwing myself onto my bed, I groan and shove the pillow against my face. It doesn’t matter if I want him. I can’t have him. I’m here for the money and for the research. Though now that I think about it, there’s no way my thesis can remain objective after what happened in the park.
Some of that giddy feeling dies. The only solution I can think of is to distance myself, at least for another week or two, just until everything returns to the way things were. I ignore the little stab of disappointment. Maybe it’s silly to believe Mitchell and I were becoming something more. And maybe it’s silly to think I don’t want to lose that.
Over a week later, I’m sitting in the library, putting the finishing touches on a report for my Body Modification in Central America class, when my phone vibrates on the table.
You free?
My heart lurches sideways. I haven’t spoken to Mitchell since that night at the park. That delicious, orgasm-induced night. My skin tingles. I didn’t text him, and he didn’t text me, and all things considered, I was happy with that arrangement, as I needed space to clear my head. I was doing a pretty decent job at it too. Until now, of course.
Taking a deep breath, I lean back in my cushy chair and glance around. These days, I’m a little more paranoid about being noticed when not in disguise. And today I’m not. My dark hair is down, my contacts in, my make-up tasteful. I’m wearing a flattering flowery blouse over dark blue jeans and tan suede flats. Since Mitchell is a business student, I doubt he comes into the Health Science Library, but I can never be too careful.
Studying, I reply. Sorry.
Three little dots appear on the screen. What about later?
Later as in later tonight? Or later as in an hour from now?
I’m already overanalyzing things. It’s probably best not to blur any more lines. I don’t know how I’ll react when I next see him. There are only two options, really: run away or jump his bones. The man is too alluring.
I have plans, I say.
What plans?
Just stuff.
His response takes a few seconds, as if he’s debating what to type. You’re avoiding me.
I could say no, but then I’d be lying.
I just think it’s best to take some space. I haven’t forgotten about the ice cream social. But until then I really need to focus on my school work. You should too.
Is that what you’ve been thinking about for the last week? School work?
What I’ve been thinking about makes me squirm in my seat. His mouth on me. His hands on me. My breasts and belly. Between my legs.
Why is this relevant?
There’s a short pause, which I imagine him laughing at me.
I’ve been thinking about you, he says. And you’ve been thinking about me too.
My eyes flash at his arrogance. I jam my fingers against the screen. Someone’s cocky.
Is that what you’ve been thinking about? My cock?
I suck in a startled breath, glancing around to make sure no one is peaking over my shoulder. Is it wrong of me to be thinking about his cock in a public library? I don’t want to give Mitchell the upper hand. It’s time to put him in his place.
So what if I have?
His response is immediate. Really?
I allow myself a small, secret smile. Gotcha.
What exactly have you been thinking about? he asks, and I giggle, causing a few of the library patrons to shoot me dirty looks.
Time to leave.
Once I pack up my laptop and textbooks, I exit the library and start down the sidewalk, head bowed as I type, feeling daring and bold and dangerous. My mouth on you.
Well then. We’ll just have to make that a priority now, won’t we?
I shudder at the promise in those words and shove my phone into my pocket before I give in to the urge to continue this play. I’m supposed to be taking space, remember? Not giving him a reason to come closer.
It’s not yet eight pm, but the bars are already packed. It’s crazy to think I’ve lived in Durham for three years, and in two months, I’ll have my degree in hand. Wherever I end up, I’ll miss this place. Durham allowed me the room to grow into the person I am today. Someone I’m proud of.
Back at the apartment, Katie is reheating Chinese in the microwave, headphones in as she speaks to someone over the phone. She holds up a hand as I pass, telling me to wait. When she disconnects, she says, “Let’s go out tonight. It’s been a while.”
True. But when I think of all the work I still need to do—transcribing my observations, proofreading my introduction and abstract—I don’t know if it’s the best idea.
“I know that look.” Plate piled high with lo mein, she shoves a forkful of noodles into her mouth. Katie’s brown hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she’s wearing loose running shorts and a baggy, paint-splattered T-shirt. Judging by the flour in her hair, she’d baked earlier. “Your work can wait,” she mumbles through a full mouth. “You haven’t been out in weeks.”
I grimace as flecks of spit go flying.
Her mouth snaps shut. She gives me a sheepish smile. “Whoops.” She makes a show of swallowing. “It’s true you know. Every time I ask you to go out you have some excuse.”
They aren’t excuses, per say. I’ve been busy accompanying Mitchell to parties, hanging out with his friends. I still haven’t told Katie about the contract.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“What’s up with you? Why are you acting so distant?”
From the disappointment in Katie’s gaze, I realize she’s right. I have been acting more distant. Before this stupid deal, we used to go out multiple times a week. When was the last time I laughed with her? Got drunk and devoured two large pizzas all on our own? I miss her. I miss my best friend.
“It’s my thesis. It’s stressing me out.”
“Don’t lie to me, Becca. I can tell you’re lying.�
�
My eye twitches. Sometimes I forget how perceptive Katie is. And I realize I don’t want to lie anymore. Not to her.
“You’re going to want to sit down for this,” I say.
Together, we settle onto the leather couch, legs crossed and facing one another. There’s really no way to ease into it, so I just come right out and say it. “I’m dating Mitchell Burns.”
A piece of lo mein falls out of her mouth. “Excuse me?”
Her expression is so shocked, it’s nearly cartoonish. I feel no humor though, only a volatile combination of dread and embarrassment and shame. If I’m going to explain the contract, I also have to explain the reason behind it, and that means revealing my financial woes. I don’t want Katie’s sympathy.
“Maybe I should rephrase that,” I say, picking at a piece of the leather along the arm of the couch. “I’m pretending to date Mitchell Burns.”
So then I tell her. Everything. The night we met at Ray’s. Our chance meeting on a bench after I found out about the money I owe. And then, finally, the kiss in the park.
When I finish, she stares at me with wonder, admiration, and concern. “Are you sure this is what you want?” she asks. “It sounds like you actually like this guy.”
I do like him. I like him a lot. Which is exactly the problem, because I can’t have him. If he ever finds out my real identity, everything will come crashing down.
Reaching out, Katie clasps my arm and squeezes gently. “You know what you need? A night out. Daniel Craig—no, not the actor—is having a party at his house tonight. You remember him, right? From calculus last year?” She goes on before I can answer. “Anyway, I ran into him at the store today and I guess it’s his roommate’s birthday so they’re throwing some big shindig. Do you want to go?”
My lips press together. Mitchell once mentioned he was acquaintances with Daniel, but I doubt he’d be there.
Why the hell not? I say yes.
We plan to leave in an hour, which gives me enough time to get ready. I head upstairs and jump in the shower, taking the time to shave my legs, then dry myself off and lather my skin with lotion. The scent of brown vanilla sugar suffuses the misty air, adding to the pampered feeling. Katie’s right. Going out will be good for me. It’ll be nice to dress up, put on something pretty, take my mind off Mitchell Burns and his delectable muscles. I deserve a stress-free night.
Wrapping the plush towel around my body, I go to my closet and sift through my clothes. Nowadays, I have two sides: Hot Rebecca and Not Rebecca. The Not Rebecca side consists of wool and more wool. Long-sleeved shirts, long skirts, baggy dresses and tights, loafers and clogs. Hot Rebecca consists of a colorful array of outfits a young twenty-something would wear. Thank God I won’t be wearing wool tonight. I’ve endured ankle skirts long enough.
I choose two cocktail dresses—one of glittering blue sequins, the other a simple black sheath—and hold them up side by side in my full-length mirror.
Definitely blue. It brings out my eyes.
The thin, slippery fabric sighs as I pull it over my head. It falls a few inches above my knees and flares out over my hips. I pair it with black heels, then use the remainder of the time to apply my makeup, choosing a pale blush color to swipe over my lips, making my mouth appear oh so luscious. My hair is down, falling over my shoulders in soft waves. I grin at myself in the mirror. I clean up good.
“Ready?” Katie calls from the other side of my door.
A spring to my step, I swing it open, giving a low whistle as I look my friend over. She’s wearing a skin-tight dress of vibrant red. Her curves are va va voom. “You look hot.”
Her eyes twinkle. “So do you.”
Linking arms, we descend the stairs and sashay out the front door, heads held high. The night is bright and beautiful, and we’re ready to take it on.
Chapter 15
mitchell
I think I’ve reached a new low.
The house is empty. The television is on, the volume turned up to supersonic volume. I’m splayed out on the couch in nothing but my boxers with a tub of ice cream nestled in my lap, eyes burning.
Fucking Grey’s Anatomy.
It’s nearing the end of the episode, and I’m a mess. My throat aches from screaming. My nose is clogged with snot. A horrible train wreck impaled two people with a pole, and now the doctors are saying only one of them will be able to survive its removal. Basically, someone has to give up their life so the other person can live. The screenwriters are bastards, all of them. How can someone make that type of decision? Who decides whether they should live or die?
Shoving my spoon into the ice cream, I dig out another mouthful of mint chocolate chip, the screen blurring because my eyes are watering so hard. I’ve been sitting in this spot for five hours straight, and I’m starting to understand where Casey’s coming from when he says this show is like crack. You can’t look away. Episode after episode after episode. It’s that addicting.
On the plus side, the waterworks marathon is keeping my mind off Rebecca for the first time in days. Or it was, until just now.
I can’t get her out of my head. I breathe in, and I remember the smell of her skin, subtly sweet. I remember the softness of her mouth, how eagerly it opened beneath mine. That fantasy-inducing orgasm. Fuck me.
She can lie to herself all she wants, but I know she was just as affected from that kiss as I was. She’s flighty though. I have a feeling the harder I push, the more she’ll pull away. The last thing I want to do is scare her off.
“No.” The word is a croak. Now the victims are each trying to convince the other that their sacrifice won’t be in vain. It’s such a selfless gesture I choke up a little more.
Isn’t there some way both could live? The doctors say chances are slim, but I don’t believe it. That’s going to be the twist at the end—that no one dies, that they both live despite their brush with death.
But that’s not the case. The older man gives up his life for the young woman, a stranger. Except in surgery she begins to crash.
Fuuuuck.
I can’t see anymore. I can’t even eat the ice cream because my throat is so swollen. Fuck you, Shonda Rhimes. Seriously, fuck you.
My phone rings, startling me out of my depressed stupor. I fumble for it, shove it against my ear. “Hello?”
“Mitchell?” It’s Austin. “Everything okay?”
I don’t know where Austin or Casey is. I haven’t seen them since this morning, when Casey almost set the house on fire attempting to cook pancakes. Thank God I’m alone. They’d never let me live this down.
“Yeah.” Stupid train wreck. “Why?”
“You just sound sick is all. Or like you’ve been crying.”
That sobers me up quick. “I think the lingering smoke is affecting my breathing.”
The episode ends, and it cuts to the music, which balloons into the empty room.
I can almost hear the gears turning over in my roommate’s mind. “Is that Grey’s Anatomy?” Austin asks in disbelief.
I slam my finger on the mute button so hard I’m surprised I don’t stab a hole through the remote. The sound cuts off, the silence crackling. “Just a commercial.” I scratch an itch on my chest and find my skin sticky. Streaks of green ice cream are soaked into my chest hair. I swear I’m not five years old.
Austin sounds skeptical. “Sure, man. If you say so.”
“Why did you call?” I ask, changing the subject pronto.
“There’s a party at Daniel’s house. Casey’s whining that you’re not here. Says I’m no fun. Probably because I won’t put up with his bullshit.”
I bolt upright, catching the tub of ice cream before it flips onto the carpeted floor. After setting it on the coffee table, I demand, “You guys went to a party without me?”
“We didn’t plan to, it just happened. Lydia called and mentioned she was there and then suddenly Casey is badgering me to go, so yeah, we’re here.”
Lydia is Austin’s younger sister by a y
ear. It’s been probably half a year since I’ve seen her. It surprises me that Casey wanted to crash the party knowing she’d be there. I figure he’d want to avoid the place.
“One more thing,” my friend says.
There’s something in his voice I can’t place. “What?”
The other end goes silent. Austin must be mulling over what to say and how to say it. This is unusual for him. Usually he’s more of the say-five-words-and-I’m-done kind of guy. But when Austin speaks, I listen. Everything he says is important to me. He’s been there through some of the roughest times in my life, and I’ll always be there for him. Growing up, Austin didn’t have stability, family to depend on. Casey and I, we’re his family.
“You know that girl you met at Ray’s last month?”
Now he has my attention. “Yeah.” I perch on the edge of the couch.
“She’s here.”
My head whips around to the clock on the microwave. It’s barely eleven. Finally, after all this time thinking about her. At least, until I started thinking about Rebecca instead.
Blue Girl. This will be a much-needed distraction.
“Be there in ten,” I tell him. “Oh. And whatever you do, don’t let her leave. Got it?”
He sighs. “Yeah. I got it.”
After hanging up, I hop in the shower, then pull on a clean, blue button down, khaki slacks, and Nikes. Ten minutes later, I turn down a narrow street packed with cars lined bumper to bumper. The deep boom boom boom of the bass emanating from the house rattles the car frame as I squeeze into a spot at the end of the street.
It feels weird entering the party without Rebecca. She’s been to a few now, enough that my teammates recognize her by face and name. None of them call her Becky though. The privilege of seeing her eyes spark and her lip curl in annoyance is reserved only for me.
The thought makes me smile as I push open the front door. Music, laughter, and conversation greets me. The scent of weed sweetens the air. There are more red Solo cups than I can count.
I weave my way through the crowd, acknowledging familiar faces. I spot Daniel on the other side of the living room. He’s hard to miss, considering he stands about a head taller than everyone else.
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