by K. S. Thomas
Casey’s hands move comfortably over my body, spinning me around to hold me from behind as we continue to sway with the music, which is slowing down again. His chin is resting on my shoulder, the scruff on his jaw line tickling my skin. I smile. It feels nice. I forgot how nice. Being held. Being close to a man. The way they smell. The way their physical strength can make you feel safe when they have you cocooned against their chest. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss this. Or that I wasn’t the teensiest bit jealous of Drea, who hasn’t gone without any of those things since she was old enough to appreciate them.
I know Casey’s practically a stranger. These feelings I’m having, they’re not about him. They’re about me. And when my eyes move outside of our immediate bubble and catch on Lane, I know they will never be about Casey. Not as long as my new roommate keeps looking at me the way he’s looking at me right now.
LANE
It’s eating away at me. Watching her dance with someone else. Watching her enjoy it. The mounting frustration involuntarily causes me to grasp Jules a little tighter, sending the wrong message to her all together. A message I know she receives loud and clear when she nestles her body closer to mine, her hand roaming seductively over my chest, playing with the buttons of my shirt in a very suggestive way as she does. It should be enough to pry my attention away from Tessa, but it’s not. Goddamn it, nothing is anymore.
I’m starting to wonder if maybe I did take a blow to the head that night she burst in and came at me swinging that umbrella. There’s really no other way to explain my inability to focus on anything but her these days.
Chapter Eight
Tessa
“Where’s your date?”
I sit up straighter to see over side of the hammock. I don’t get how he always knows I’m out here, even in the dark. If I’m a loud breather, I really wish someone would tell me.
“Where’s yours?”
“I assume in her own apartment. At least that’s where I saw her last.” He straightens up from leaning in the doorway and moves out into the moonlight. He looks like he just got a shower. His hair is still wet and he’s no longer dressed in the same clothes. Actually, he’s barely dressed at all in those sweatpants he’s got hanging way too low on his hips. Not that I’m looking.
“Did you notice she has hardwood floors? Only unit in the building. Someday I’m going to figure out how she sweet-talked them into the upgrade.”
He shrugs. “Only thing I noticed was the dried vomit on her welcome mat. I didn’t go inside.”
I laugh involuntarily. Not because of the very vibrant image I now have of Scott puking all over her front door two months ago when he was so hammered he went to the wrong apartment, but because I’m giddy with the news that Jules wasn’t able to seal the deal with him. A first for her. But I don’t want him to know that, so I go with the vomit.
“Drea’s boyfriend got lost a few weeks back coming home from his brother’s bachelor party. Jules was pissed. He was still spewing beer flavored vomit when she unknowingly opened the door.” I scoot back into the hammock, relaxing into the fold, nearly hiding away again. “He was supposed to get her a new doormat ages ago.”
“Things they should put on the warning label of every bottle of booze.” He shakes his head slightly disgusted, but smirking all the same. “That explains why I’m out here alone, but you still haven’t told me what your excuse is.”
I turn my head out toward the night. He doesn’t need the advantage eye contact would garner him. He already seems to have a knack for reading me.
“I don’t have sleepovers on school nights.” I twist back halfway and wink. It’s very unlike me and I wonder if it shows.
“How very responsible of you.” He chuckles quietly. “Where’s Drea? I notice she’s not stumbling around outside tonight.”
I tilt my head toward the balcony across from ours. “She’s Scott’s problem as of an hour ago..”
“You know, you two are an odd pair.”
“Why? Because one of us has a fondness for booze and the other doesn’t?” That would make me an odd pair standing next to just about anyone I know.
He laughs. “I like how you say things, Tessa. You take simple sentences and you make them more interesting.”
I can’t tell if he’s making fun of me or not. I pretend he’s not and take his statement very seriously. “People stick with what they know, right? I’m not particularly familiar with simple. Complicated is more my speed. And if it’s going to be complicated, it sure as hell better be entertaining.”
There’s something deliberate in the way he watches me from where he’s standing, as if he’s searching my face for something very specific. “You surprise me. A lot. Most people can’t do that.” I guess that means he wasn’t making fun of me.
“I only surprise you because you insist on making assumptions about me. Maybe you’re not as quick to jump to conclusions with other people.” I don’t know why he would be different with me, other than I don’t like feeling as though I’m the one that’s so unusual here, so I’d rather it had to do with something he’s doing instead.
“No, I am. Assessing people is kinda my thing, remember?” His piercing eyes feel as though they’re forcing their way inside me, beneath the well-developed armor I hide behind so comfortably.
“What can I say?” I shrug. “I’m one of kind.” Then I laugh. Things are getting too intense for comfort out here.
Only, he doesn’t follow my lead. His serious expression seems set in stone, his stare unwavering. “I’m starting to understand that.”
“Why do I feel like I’m getting a psyche evaluation every time you look at me?” I crack, hoping the weight of his gaze will break so I can breathe again. Because who could take in oxygen when those baby blues are piercing your very carefully shielded soul?
He smirks, and turns his head to the side slightly, thank God. “Because you’re paranoid.”
“Valid reason.” I nod, chuckling quietly.
“Hey, you still up for a cup of coffee?”
I’m not sure I heard him right. “Now?” I mean, I know we had plans to do this very thing earlier in the day, but after the whole Jules thing, I’d assumed those were out.
“Yeah. You’re up. I’m up. Why not? Plus, you kind of owe me one.”
“True...but we both have to get up early for class tomorrow.”
He tips his head sideways, ridiculing me through narrowed eyes. “It’s three in the morning, Tess. I’m pretty sure we both blew any shot we had at getting a good night’s sleep.”
Tess. He called me Tess. The only other person who ever called me that was Aunt Edi. It stings, in a bittersweet way. “Alright. Which one of us is making the pot?”
He smiles and there’s something very pleased about his entire demeanor.
“You trust me to do it?”
“Good point,” I admit, beginning to climb out of the hammock in slow-motion in hopes I
can find a graceful way to do this, but mostly just drowning in gratitude over the fact I had the good sense to change out of that miniature dress and into my pajamas before stepping out onto my balcony tonight.
Then, just as I’m afraid I may wind up making a backwards somersault out of this thing, his hand comes for me, steadying me, lifting me the rest of the way out of this sling until both my feet touch down on solid ground.
“Thanks. Who knew escaping my hammock would be more terrifying than getting away from the creeper on the dance floor tonight,” I joke, smoothing my shirt back into place and making sure my stomach is completely covered again from where his grip pulled it up.
“Oh, that? I wasn’t trying to save you. I was there looking out for creeper.” He turns toward the sliding glass doors leading inside, then just before he goes inside, he turns back. “For all he knew, you might have had one of those small retractable umbrellas tucked up your dress, just waiting for any excuse to whip it out and bash someone’s head in.”
I grimace. “Very funny.
”
He grins. He clearly thinks so.
“And your efforts just now? What? Trying to protect the ground from being smashed with my face?”
“I think we both know your face isn’t capable of that. Your heart of stone, maybe, but not your face.” He shrugs as if he’s still contemplating this. “But, no. My motivation for getting you out of that hammock were purely selfish. I want coffee. You want to make the coffee. Hence, the faster I get you to the coffee maker, the better.” He smirks. Just in case I missed the part where he was full of shit. I didn’t.
I follow him inside, then hurry around him to get to said coffee maker. It doesn’t have that strong of a pull on me, I just prefer having my back to him over seeing his backside. It’s too...thought-provoking this time of night.
We both move around the kitchen in silence while I make the coffee and Lane busies himself by getting everything else ready on the counter.
“Cream and sugar, please,” I say, without having been prompted by him. Coffee’s not even done brewing yet, but I saw him pull out spoons with the mugs, so that doesn’t leave much else to prep.
“I know,” he murmurs, his deep voice rumbling its way into my ears even while he’s standing several feet away with his back to me. This will probably prove to be problematic at some point down the road because two words just turned my empty stomach into a pit of explosive butterflies again.
“You do?” I ask, surprised.
His broad shoulders bounce softly in a non-committal shrug. “That’s how I made it for you the first time and we both know you’d have told me if you didn’t like it that way.” He turns to glance back at me over his shoulder, smirking. This only serves to remind me his smirk is an even bigger problem than his deep voice. My toes are tingling and I think my knees have disappeared. I’m floating now, thighs hovering in mid-air above my ankles. At least that’s the visual I’m getting. I haven’t looked down. Part of me is truly scared of what I’ll find.
Aaaand, brain capacity is dropping. I probably should have stayed out on the balcony. Where it was safe. And I had knees. I’d run back there right now if I could. But knee-less running is not a thing. You need knees. The bending, the connecting to your feet, all vital parts of running. Running is out. Clearly, thinking is too. But, there’s coffee. And Lane. Things could be worse.
Whether he senses my inability to move or has seen my knees disappear for himself, I don’t know, but I’m relieved to see him coming toward me, both mugs in hand.
“Do you really think my heart is made of stone?” I ask, purposely keeping my eyes on the coffee as I pour.
“You’re kidding, right?” Judging by the soft chuckle that follows, he seems to think so.
“You’re the one who said it,” I counter defensively.
“Tessa,” he says quietly, “No, I don’t think your heart is made of stone. I think you’ve built a lovely stone wall all around it, but the heart itself, I think is probably nowhere near as hard, cold or unbreakable.”
“This is really good,” I mumble awkwardly, sincerely sorry I ever mentioned my heart and trying desperately to bring our conversation back to coffee.
He smiles. Bad, bad Lane. “You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re feeling all self-conscious and embarrassed.”
My nose twitches, expressing my face’s indecision regarding a response. I can’t smile at that. It was insulting. But I want to smile at that. He called me cute! Do I want to be cute? I mean, do I want HOT - and - SEXY - midnight – coffee - drinking - didn’t - sleep – with - Jules - Lane to think I’m cute?! No. I don’t think I do. Also, he totally embarrassed me and then called me out for it. Jackass. I should have been way more hung up on that part than I was.
“You could have just said, ‘No, Tessa. I don’t think you have a heart of stone.’ You didn’t have to go all out and make things sappy and vulnerable and shit.”
“Vulnerable and shit.” He smirks again. Damn sexy smirk. And damn Drea pointing out how long it’s been since I sat on a penis. I want to sit on a penis. And I’m looking right at its owner. “Yep, that wall is strong and sturdy. No way are you letting anything in.” He chuckles.
“You can laugh at that all you want. The wall has served me well,” I huff.
“I can see that,” he admits thoughtfully, taking another step toward me. I don’t know which jars me more, having him agree with me or standing so unbearably close to him that I can smell his cologne. “In fact, I’m kind of counting on it.”
“You are?” My voice is some sort of wheezy whisper I can’t blame on anything except my shot nerves. My cup of coffee, my sweet, sacred coffee, is hanging abandoned in midair, my fingers hardly strong enough to hold the handle anymore.
“I am.” Another step. Inches. Inches of hot breath and intoxicating cologne are all that’s keeping us apart now. “Don’t let me in, Tess.”
“My heart?” Just breathy words now. But words nonetheless. “You’re not getting anywhere near it.”
“Good.” His face tilts slightly to the side, coming down closer to mine. “But everything else...is mine.” I barely even register his words as his lips move in to meet mine. He kisses me softly at first, caressing my skin with his perfect mouth. Steadily, the intensity mounts, until his hands are gripping me tightly to him, arms wrapped around my body, engulfing me completely. His lips move more frantically, crushing mine until he’s invading my mouth and lighting a fire in my core only one thing could possibly tame.
He was so right. There’s no way in hell either of us is getting any rest tonight.
Lane
I think it’s safe to say, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore. Maybe having your life go so completely off the rails will do that, make you lose sight of all direction, willing to take any path which leads away from the destruction, even when the path will likely end in more chaos. I don’t care. Haven’t cared in months. Everything I thought I wanted turned out to be bullshit and lies. Fog and mirrors. And tonight, for the first time in what feels like forever, the thing I want is real.
Tessa is the realest thing I think I’ve ever had in my life. She’s blunt and outspoken, and somehow still guarded, always hiding behind that shield. But I can see her. She lets me see her.
Tonight, seeing isn’t enough anymore. I need to touch. Need to feel for myself that she’s as real as she seems. Need to hold her. Breathe her in. Trace my mouth over her soft skin and savor her until I’ve memorized every inch of her.
Because the realest thing I’ve ever had in my life is fleeting. I can’t keep her. This path that I’m on, this wandering around lost in the dark, it’s mine to see through. Alone. She can’t walk it with me. Even if she does shine one hell of a light while she’s here.
Chapter Nine
Tessa
“Shit.”
Four letters strung together in a foul little word a girl does not want to hear when she can see her panties lying draped over a lamp across the room from her.
I don’t even respond. I just bolt from the bed, yanking the blanket with me. He’s so not seeing this body naked ever again.
“Tess, wait,” he calls out, but his efforts to make me feel welcome are a little late.
“No. No waiting. I have class. I don’t have time to deal with your little crisis right now. No need to worry. I won’t say anything to anyone.” I pull my underwear over my ass and turn back to glare at him. “Believe me.”
He groans, running his hands over his face. “Fuck me.”
“No, thanks. I’m good.” I shimmy into pajama bottoms and grab my t-shirt as I stomp my way toward his bedroom door the best I can in my bare feet, blanket lying in a heap on the floor in place of my clothes. I can hear him shuffling around behind me, probably searching for something to cover up with, but I don’t bother looking back. As far as I’m concerned, I’m not looking anywhere near his direction ever again. So what if we live in the same apartment. That’s what doors are for. Class will be a little bit more complicated, but
I’ll still get the gist of things just listening with my eyes closed. People think enough abstract shit about me anyway, what’s one more quirk for them to notice?!
I’m halfway to the door when I decide he ought to know about the new house rules before I leave, so that the never looking, never talking, can start immediately. I spin around, fully prepared to give him an earful when I stop, stumped into temporary silence. He’s here. Right in front of me.
He was coming after me.
“Anyone ever tell you, you’re kind of a hot head?” he asks quietly, his blue eyes darker than normal as they seek out my own and pierce them with a look so deep and so raw it actually hurts inside my chest.
I cross my arms, forming an imaginary shield over my heart, reminding myself that I swore to him he’d never lay a finger on it. “Anyone ever tell you, you’re kind of a prick?!”
He grins. Clearly, he has been told, though I wonder if he’s not been informed of the term’s meaning. Apparently, he deems it a compliment. Then, he adds insult to injury, and starts to laugh at me.
“You find this funny?”
“I do,” he admits, still smirking. Then, slowly, he raises his right hand for me to see. He’s holding up a pen. A busted pen, to be more specific. I’m about to ask what this has to do with anything when he begins to twist around. And then, I see it. Half of his lower back is stained a lovely shade of blue.
“Shit.”
“My sentiments exactly,” he says, quietly laughing again and shaking his head at the pen in his hands. “I was in here last night jotting down some stuff for work when I heard you go out onto the balcony. Apparently, I was a little distracted from that moment forward.”
“So...you didn’t wake up totally regretting last night?” I ask, feeling somewhat stupid now.