All He Wants

by Anna Cruise

  I shook my head. “No way. Not like this.”

  “I had no idea your vanity was bigger than your ego,” West commented.

  I turned to Abby. “Does he ever shut up?”

  “Not ever.” She smiled. “So how does Mr. Humanitarian feel about the sudden change in plans?”

  “He's fine with it,” I lied, my stomach twisting a little as I thought about my last conversation with Stuart. “He understands.”

  My sister's eyes bored into me and I grabbed the glass of soda so I could hide behind it. She wasn't that good at reading me but we were twins. She could pick up on things if she tried. I'd created enough distance and animosity in our relationship that she usually took great pains to avoid me but I could tell by the way she was looking at me that she didn't believe a word I'd just said.

  “West,” Abby said, glancing at her husband. “I think I left Amanda's blanket in the car. Would you check and see if it's out there?”

  He sprang to attention like a dog. “Sure thing,” he told her. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and sauntered out of the kitchen.

  As soon as the sound of his footsteps faded, Abby turned her attention back to me.

  “Spill,” she commanded.

  “My soda?” I raised my eyebrows. “That's a shitty thing to ask me to do. Mom just finished mopping.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Tell me about Brazil. And this guy.”

  “There's nothing to tell.”

  “I don't believe you.”

  “What's new?” I muttered.

  “You haven't given me much reason to believe you in the past,” Abby pointed out. She took in a deep breath and slowly expelled it. “Why are you so difficult?”

  “Why is the sky blue?” I drummed my fingers on the table, my nails lightly tapping the surface. “It's who I am, Abs. You know that.”

  She nodded impatiently. “Fine. Answer me this, then.”

  I waited.

  “Did you want to go? To Brazil?”

  “Of course.” And then, quickly, “Have you seen the beaches there? It's like paradise.”

  “So is San Diego,” she pointed out. “But that's not what I meant. Did you want to go to Brazil with Stuart?”

  I flinched when she said his name. Not because I didn't want her using it or because I didn't want to hear it. But having his name on her lips meant something. It validated his existence, made him somehow seem more real, hearing my sister talk about him.

  “Sure,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “What could be better than paradise with a hot guy?”

  She studied me, her eyes critical, her mouth twitching between a smile and a frown. “You don't have to pretend with me, you know.”

  “Pretend what?”

  “That you don't care about him.” The smile she was wrestling with won. “I remember your visit a few weeks ago.”

  I felt my cheeks flush. I remembered it, too. I'd run to her apartment at the crack of dawn and demanded she tell me about falling in love. Because it had never happened to me before. It still hadn't happened, I told myself firmly.

  “It's okay to like him,” she said, her voice soft. I looked at my sister. Her eyes were luminous, her smile filled with an emotion I hadn't seen before. At least not directed at me. “It's okay to love him a little, too. And it's okay to go spend time with him, to see if he's worth it. And it's okay to be bummed that you're not there with him, Annika. You're human. You're allowed to feel all of those things.”

  I drained the rest of the soda so I wouldn't have to respond. West reappeared in the kitchen, empty-handed, just as I let out a huge belch.

  I smiled at their surprised expressions and stood up.

  “I don't feel anything,” I told my sister, my hands on my hips. “You of all people should know that by now.”

  EIGHT

  West and Abby didn't stick around and, before I knew it, it was just me, Mom and Amanda hanging out in the living room. I was on the couch, trying not to count the number of spots on my legs. My niece was parked on my mom's lap, fingering the crystal pendant looped around her neck. It was one more of her natural healing things that I didn't understand and didn't really want to learn about. I glanced around the room, at the dream catcher she'd hung in the middle of the living room window, directly below where she used to sit when she'd gone through chemo. There were Peruvian worry dolls, a whole bunch of them, stacked up in an earthenware bowl. She'd clutch those while she rested. And there were rocks and crystals scattered everywhere—on the entertainment center, on the shelves mounted on the wall, even on the coffee table.

  Amanda used to play with them all the time. She'd grab the rocks and bang them together or on the floor and Mom would just smile. Nothing phased her anymore, I realized.

  “You're a mess,” I told my mom. Amanda had a half-eaten cheese stick in one hand and I cringed as bits of cheese fell down my mom's shirt and into her lap.

  “I don't mind.”

  She'd knocked at death's door and survived and she was bound and determined to relax and enjoy every single minute of the time she'd been given. Even if it meant having a dirty grandchild grope at her chest and face.

  “Shouldn't she be eating that at the table?” I asked, wrinkling my nose.

  Mom laughed. “It's cheese, Annika. What's the worst that could happen?”

  The worst was already happening. More bits fell down my mom's blouse and Amanda shoved the cheese stick toward her mouth, offering her a bite. Mom took a bite and made “mmmm” sounds and Amanda giggled and slobbered all over the cheese before offering it to her again.

  “You know what?” I said, standing up. “I need to go.”

  “Already?” Mom frowned. “I thought we might have lunch together. The three of us.”

  “She's already eating.”

  “This is just a snack,” she said. “We're going to have macaroni and cheese. And some organic hot dogs I picked up the other day.”

  “No thanks. I'd like to eat my food, not wear it.”

  “She's a baby.”

  “No, she's not. If you hadn't noticed, her mother is having another baby. Which means she's like, a toddler, or something.” I picked up my purse and grabbed my keys. “Besides, I need to get home and take my medicine.”

  Mom started to say something, then seemed to change her mind. She nodded and said, “Okay. Will you let me know how it goes?”

  “How what goes?”

  She motioned at me with her free hand and craned her neck away from her granddaughter to avoid the cheese stick missile coming toward her. “The hives. How you respond to the medicine. All that.”

  “Oh. Sure.” I felt a little flustered by her request. I didn't share that kind of stuff with my mom. With anyone, really.

  She nodded again and this time accepted the cheese, tearing off a tiny bite with her teeth. “Alright. Take care of yourself, sweetie. And let me know if you need anything. I have some herbal remedies that might help. If you're interested, of course.”

  I wasn't interested in any of her woo woo stuff but I said I would and waved goodbye and left. I got into my car and turned the AC on and sat there for a minute, the engine idling as I considered my next move. It was almost noon and I knew Sheridan would be there with Kelly. The last thing I wanted to do was crash their sex fest but I also knew I wasn't going to be caught dead anywhere else looking the way I did.

  They'd just have to pretend I wasn't there.

  Twenty minutes later, I was at the light two blocks from the house. I texted Sheridan.

  Put your clothes on. I'm coming home.

  The stoplight was still red when my phone dinged.

  You're in luck. We already left.

  Thank God.

  I parked the car and hurried up the sidewalk to the house. Summer in the sorority house was so different than the rest of the year. A dozen of us lived there when classes were in session but it was like a ghost town during the summer. Girls went home or went on vacation. Sheridan
and I were the exception. I didn't want to move back home and Sheridan couldn't; her parents had upped and moved to Alaska for her dad's job and she had made it clear she had no intention of spending the summer months in the Arctic. Our sisters would drop in occasionally but, for the most part, we were the only ones around for the better part of June and July. It didn't bother me one bit.

  I stopped in the kitchen and grabbed a granola bar and then headed up to my room. It wasn't time for meds—I'd lied about that to my mom—but I did want to slather some cream on all the welts covering my body.

  The bedroom was exactly how I'd left it; even Sheridan's bed was perfectly made and I frowned. If she and Kelly had been here, she'd have left her bed unmade, their clothes strewn across the floor, used sex toys strategically placed on my bed. Payback, she'd tell me, for all the times I'd snuck a guy into our room and left evidence all over.

  I grabbed the cream off my night stand and sat down on the edge of my bed. I squirted some on my fingers and dabbed it on my thighs. I worked it in gently before moving to my calves and then my arms. My face was last and I stood up so I could glance in the mirror mounted above Sheridan's dresser.

  I studied myself critically. I'd put on a little make-up before going over to my parents, just some mascara and eye shadow and a little lipstick, but it hadn't approved my appearance much. I'd never battled acne but I was pretty sure the hives I had were ten times worse than any pimples I could have experienced. Red dots of all shapes and sizes covered my face. Some had faded but I still looked like a leper. I sighed and dotted cream on the worst offenders. I'd made the right decision, not going to Brazil. Because there was no way I wanted Stuart to see me looking like this.

  A noise in the hallway startled me. Footsteps. Sheridan and Kelly were already back.

  “You're gonna have to get down somewhere else,” I said out loud, not bothering to turn around. “Because I'm not leaving.”

  “Good,” a familiar voice said. “So we can get down right here.”

  Before I could answer, before I could turn around, two arms enveloped me, squeezing me tight. I wriggled against them, turning in those arms so I was facing my captor.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Stuart Woodcock scowled at me. “Is that any way to treat the guy you just stood up?”

  I squirmed and twisted and broke away from him. “I'm serious. Why are you here?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Because you wouldn't come to me.”

  I tried not to stare at him. He looked haggard, his hair unbrushed, long stubble covering his chin and cheeks. His gray t-shirt was rumpled and there was a small stain on his khaki shorts. He looked like he'd traveled through hell to get to me. And I didn't deserve it.

  “I'm supposed to be on a plane to you!” I said.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “No shit.”

  “Well, what if I was on that plane? And I got to Brazil and you're not there?? What the hell would I have done?”

  His other eyebrow lifted and he stared at me in disbelief. “Isn't that sort of a moot point? Since we're standing here? In your bedroom...in San Diego.”

  I knew I wasn't making sense but I was pissed. “But what if I'd come?” I insisted. “What if I'd changed my mind and decided to come? You wouldn't have been there!”

  “I can't believe we're having this conversation,” Stuart said, shaking his head.

  “I'm serious,” I repeated.

  He sighed deeply. “You said there wasn't a chance in hell you were coming. Remember that?”

  I didn't respond.

  “And you didn't pick up when I called you back. Over and over.”

  More silence.

  “Sooo, I was pretty sure I wasn't gonna leave you stranded at the Rio airport if I hopped on a flight here.”

  “Still. You didn't know for sure.”

  “Yeah, I did.” He frowned, his eyes narrowed. “Just like I knew for sure that your...condition wasn't nearly as bad as you were making it out to be.”

  I suddenly remembered the thousands of spots on my face and I whirled away from him. He chuckled and spun me back around.

  “Stop,” I said. I turned my face so he couldn't see me. “I look hideous.”

  “Bullshit.” His hand cupped my jaw and he turned my head so I was facing him. “You might be a hideous person but you don't look hideous.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

  “You stood me up,” he said, his voice low. “I invited you to Brazil, Annika. Bra-fucking-zil. Bought you a ticket and arranged for you to come. And you stood me up.”

  “I have hives,” I said evenly. “Pretty sure immigration wouldn't have even let me into the country! They probably would have put me in quarantine. Tested me for ebola or something...”

  “Shut up,” he ordered. His eyes locked on mine and my lips froze and I shivered at the intensity of his gaze. “Shut up and kiss me.”

  And just like that, I didn't think about the spots on my face or the sticky lotion slathered all over my body. All I could think about was the way he was looking at me, the raw desire igniting between us. The way his hands had suddenly locked around my waist, his thumbs hitched on my shorts, his fingers digging into my skin. The way his leg shifted between mine and pressed into me, sparking every single nerve inside of me.

  “Kiss me,” he growled.

  For once, I did as I was told. Pressed my lips to his and threaded my hands in his hair and pushed into him. He groaned and opened his mouth and I thrust my tongue inside, devouring him. The stubble on his chin scraped my skin and my hives burned in protest but I didn't care.

  I wanted him. I needed him.

  He guided me toward the bed, his hands never leaving my hips. I fell backward and he landed on top of me, his mouth still attached to mine. I kicked off my sandals and wrapped my legs around him and lifted my hips into him.

  Stuart tore his mouth from mine and stared down at me, his brown eyes almost black with desire. “I missed you,” he whispered. “I missed being with you. And I missed fucking you.”

  I slipped my hand between us and stroked him through his shorts. He was already hard and my movements became frantic as I pulled on his zipper.

  “Don't keep me waiting,” I said, yanking his shorts and boxers down. I reached for him and he groaned as I wrapped my hand around his shaft.

  “Jesus, that feels good,” he breathed. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed. I slid my hand up and down, reveling in the feel of him, and he let out a soft moan.

  “Yeah?” I asked. I increased the tempo of my hand. “Want me to just finish you like this?”

  His eyes flew open and a slow smile appeared. “Not a chance.”

  His hand slid between my legs and I immediately lifted my hips up, begging him to touch me. He unbuttoned my shorts and slid them off me. His fingers played with the tiny strap of my panties at my hip, then tugged them downward. He pulled my hand off of him, stared down at me for a moment, then moved in between my legs.

  I lifted up into him again and wrapped my legs around him, gasping as he filled me. He pushed back into me and his weight pressed me down to the bed. Neither of us held back, both of us moving furiously against the other, groping at one another, his mouth attached to my neck, his fingers fisting my hair. Three weeks of anticipation and want and lust sparked and ignited all at once. I clutched at him, the heat rising inside of me faster than it ever had. His entire body tense as the headboard crashed into the wall over and over and I held on to him as he groaned and shuddered against me, a scream strangling in my throat as my own release exploded.

  Stuart collapsed on top of me, his breathing slowly evening out. My heart was still hammering, my body weak and tingly. I couldn't believe the things he could to do me, the way he could make me feel.

  He lifted his head and looked at me. He smiled. “That was nice.”

  “Nice,” I repeated. “Yeah.”

  “You know what I mean.” He propped hi
mself up on his elbow and, with his free hand, traced an invisible pattern on my shoulder. I shivered at the intimacy of his touch. “Does it hurt?”

  “What?”

  He nodded at my arm. “The hives. Do they hurt?”

  I glanced at the offending red spots. “Hurt? No. They just itch like hell.”

  He rubbed at them with his thumb, applying gentle pressure. “I'm sorry you have them.”

  “You didn't give them to me,” I said.

  “No,” he admitted. His hand moved to my bicep and his fingers danced over the bumps. “But the only reason you have them is because of me.”

  “Again. You didn't give them to me.”

  “You wouldn't have gotten vaccines if you hadn't been coming to see me.”

  “I wanted to come see you.”

  “Did you?” He smiled. “You weren't just in it for a free trip to Brazil?”

  I grinned. “Well, that was a nice perk...” His fingers wrapped around my arm and he tightened his grip and I laughed. “I've never been to Brazil.”

  “You still won't be going,” he pointed out.

  “I don't get a raincheck?”

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  I frowned. “Why not?”

  “Because you were childish and immature.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me,” he said. His voice was matter-of-fact. “You let something superficial get in the way of coming. We had plans and you bailed. Because you didn't like how you looked.”

  “That wasn't the only reason.” I glared at him. “The doctor told me I shouldn't travel.”

  “Since when do you do what you're told?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  He had me there.

  “I figured this might be a good time to start,” I said instead. “You know, since I was traveling to a Third World country. With a medical condition.”

  He started to say something, then stopped. “Never mind,” he said, shaking his head. His hair flopped on to his forehead and it was boyish and sexy and all I wanted to do was brush it off. Run my fingers through it. Tug it.

  “Never mind what?”

  “Never mind what happened.” He straightened his arm and stretched out half next to me, half on top of me. His skin was warm and rough and I could feel his arousal against my thigh. I pushed into him, turned on by the idea that he was already ready to go again. “I'm here. With you. And, right now, that's all that matters.”