by K. S. Thomas
Her nose scrunches up as she retracts my meal and starts to work it over with her own fork. “Fine. I picked it up on the way home from the hospital. Also, I got it for me, not you.”
“Obviously.” I cross my arms, relaxing a bit now that I’m no longer being pressured to eat. Food is the last thing on my mind.
“Why are you here, Lane?” she asks, mouth half-full and reaching for her water. “For months, all I hear every time I try and talk to you is that you need space. Then, that chick shows up and now it’s like I can’t turn around without running into you.”
“The last time I saw you, you called me!”
She shrugs. “Yeah, but you were only on my mind because you insisted I get in touch with everyone I know and drag them to the Basement the day before.”
“Nice to know I’m so easily forgotten otherwise.” I know she’s not being serious. She’s getting back at me for being MIA all summer long and refusing to talk to her even when she went all out and an act of desperation forced her to play the twin card.
“You know how it goes. Out of sight, out of mind.” She moves a large mussel out of the way as she digs through the rice, likely in search of more shrimp. She always eats those first. Always has.
“Are you done yet?”
She lifts her head, eyes rolling thoughtfully toward the ceiling, then she sighs. “Yeah, I guess I could be done.” She finds the shrimp and stabs it, raising it into the air triumphantly before shoving it into her mouth. “But that means you have to actually start talking.”
“Nah, didn’t come to talk.”
“Are you kidding me with this?”
“Yes.” It’s just too easy to get her going. “Of course, I came here to talk. Well, ask a question. And I need you to be honest with me.”
“I’m always honest. It’s the least likeable thing about me,” she mutters, searching her plate for more shrimp, all of which I’m sure are in her belly already, but I don’t say anything because she’s better at advice when she’s not thinking too much about giving it.
“Do you think I was ever in love with Olivia?”
“No.” Damn. She didn’t even skip a beat on that one. Still looking for shrimp though.
“Care to elaborate?”
“Not really.” She gives a lackluster poke at an open mussel, apparently accepting defeat in her quest for more shrimp, and raises her gaze to meet mine again. “I mean, I always thought you were, but you don’t ask a question like that unless you have doubts, and you only have doubts if it’s not the real deal.”
“Maybe I don’t have doubts. Maybe I’m just trying to rationalize how we ended up where we did. Maybe I would prefer to think there’s a possibility I was never in love at all, and that’s why I missed...all the obvious shit I missed.”
She frowns and I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with having finished the last of the mussels now too. “What are we doing here, Lane? Are you asking my opinion or are you trying to use me to psychoanalyze yourself?”
I drop my elbows to my knees, leaning into my hands, covering my face and half hoping it will finally be the thing that blocks her out, makes her disappear. It’s not.
“It’s Tessa,” I groan into my palm.
“Yeah, we can go ahead and skip the obvious parts.”
I’m so caught off guard, I lift my head to look at her again.
“What?” Her fork does a swirl through the air as she does a halfhearted attempt at throwing her hands up at me without giving up on the commitment she’s made to eating her dinner. “I was there. I saw the way you were looking at her all night.” Her fork starts swirling about again, this time it comes shooting out at me. “That’s not love either, by the way.”
I snort. “It’s...something.”
“Yeah.” Her eyes bug out at me. “Sex.”
It’s more than that. It’s unlike any sex I’ve ever had before. There’s this intense physical connection anytime I’m with her, I can’t begin to understand, let alone explain, and I sure as hell can’t seem to control it. “It’s more complicated than just sex.”
She drops her fork into her fairly empty plate, pushing both out of the way. “Really, what would be complicated about sleeping with your student, one you already live with and who clearly has a crapload of issues before adding you to her load,” she scoffs, words dripping in sarcasm.
“You’re right. Being honest is the least likeable thing about you.” I start to get up. I’ve got her undivided attention now which means she’s basically useless to me. “Thanks for listening though.”
I’m nearly to the door when I hear her again.
“Are you taking pictures?”
“No.” Haven’t even unpacked my camera since I moved.
“You should. Your lens always shows you what you need to see. Pretty sure Olivia taught you that much at least.”
Which is precisely why my camera is buried at the bottom of my old duffel bag, under the extra linens I didn’t need and the winter clothes I may or may not have to unpack while I live at the condo. Some things hurt too damn much to see.
Chapter Fifteen
Tessa
Dick’s food barely lands in his bowl before his incessant complaining simmers down into a happy purr, vibrating from him as I slide my hand over his soft coat in an apology for taking so long.
I’m just putting the bag of cat food back into the pantry when I hear the front door open. Several comments about whether or not Lane can smell me from where he’s standing run through my mind, but he’s made his way to the kitchen before I can get any of them out.
“Goddamn,” he hisses under his breath, his eyes piercing mine, turning everything inside me into lost pieces screaming to be put back to where they belong. Him. An eternity of torture passes before he takes two swift strides to get to me. Breath hot and thready, his mouth hovers briefly over mine, then moves in, crushing my lips and sliding his tongue between them to meet mine.
“Should we move this to the bedroom?” I ask, barely catching my breath while his mouth carries on down my neck, sliding over my collar bone, tongue and teeth taking their turn with my skin.
“No time,” he moans, hand slipping into the back of my pajama bottoms, taking them down as he goes. Then his lips are back on mine, fueling the urgency of his hands as they roam over me, removing my clothes and bringing me closer to him, pulling me tighter, until there’s nothing left between us. Until we’re both on the kitchen floor, matching each other move for move, breath for breath, need for need.
I find myself climbing recklessly, ever higher, ever freer, all of my inhibitions falling away under him, until there’s nowhere left to go, but to shatter beautifully in his arms.
Slowly, reality works its way back in. The cold tile floor against my bare skin. The feel of his hand still resting on my thigh. The sound of his breath, fast and shallow, right beside me.
“What. The hell. Was. That?” I’m not complaining. On the contrary. I’d like to know how to recreate the event in the future.
He chuckles softly, his fingers pressing gently into my leg. “Proof you should never walk into my classroom before class ever again.” He rolls onto his side, arm grazing my skin as he moves his hand from my thigh up to my stomach, reaching around my waist, fingertips tracing circles up and down the side of my ribcage. I watch as eyes follow their motion. “You’re incredible, you know that? Every inch of you, just another spectacular detail coming together in a masterpiece I want to be a part of every time I lay my eyes on it,” he says in his husky growl, a tone I’ve come to call his post-sex voice, which usually leads to also being his pre-sex voice. It’s a vicious cycle neither of us seems to have a hold on yet.
“I think you’re a little weird,” I whisper.
He lifts his head to face me, frowning. “Why?”
“Because,” I laugh uncomfortably, “you make me sound like I’m this irresistible sex goddess or something. And we both know that’s not true.” When he walked in, I was wearing pajama pan
ts and a t-shirt for crying out loud. And even now, my hair is still wet from the shower, sticking to my face in some places and hanging limp in others. Not exactly sex goddess material here.
Lane doesn’t say anything for what seems like forever. Just stares at me, studying me the way he has from day one, making me feel crazy, and insecure and also, oddly flattered. I’m on the verge of carrying on my previous ramble just to break the awkward silence, when his hand glides up my side, over my shoulder and along my neck until it comes to rest along my jaw, gently holding my chin between his thumb and index finger. “No other woman has ever made me lose control the way you do, Tess. Whatever you think you see when you look in the mirror, I guarantee you, it doesn’t come close to the woman who’s really standing there. Fucking. Irresistible. Sex. Goddess. And then some.”
I respond by attempting to stand up, only his arm is in my way and he’s quick to apply pressure to hold me down and thwart me in my efforts to escape all of this complimentary chitchat.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he murmurs, moving in closer.
“I’m not...I can’t,” I fumble with the words. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. What can’t I? Accept that someone like him could really see me the way he claims to? Or am I the one who really can’t see myself?
“I’ll stop,” he rumbles, his mouth taking the place of his finger along my jaw, “I won’t tell you anymore. But you can’t stop me from showing you. Can’t stop me from making you feel it. And I’m not going to quit until you believe it for yourself.”
I want to ask him why he cares. Why it matters what I believe. And why it suddenly feels as if his every touch is different from before, more intimate. More intentional. More emotional.
But it’s too late. I’m wrapped up in him, my body folded into his, no end or beginning in sight and it all feels too damn good to question any of it.
Somewhere along the way, we make it to his bedroom and by the time we come up for air, we need more than just oxygen to sustain us.
“Pasta,” I mumble, rolling off the mattress to my feet. “I’ll make some.”
“Carbs would be good,” he muses, watching me from the bed while I search through the current collection of clothes he has draped over his desk chair. I decide on a t-shirt and head for the door, still pulling it over my head as I go. “You’re killin’ me, Tess,” he groans from behind me and a giddy swirl of delight unfurls in the pit of my stomach.
Maybe I don’t need to think about it all so much. Maybe it’s okay to just be in the moment and enjoy how it feels for however long it feels this way.
Then the front door opens, Drea gasps, and thinking is back in full force.
“Time to bring back the sock,” Scott announces following close behind her and clearly entertained by the scene before him, which I realize a little too late includes a naked Lane who made it halfway to the kitchen before they walked in and caught us. Me in his shirt and him in, well, nothing.
“I’m not hanging a stupid sock on the door handle,” I grumble, tugging the hem of my shirt down as far as it will possibly go, while Lane scrambles to get back into the bedroom.
“I second that,” Drea agrees with me, “we’re not living in some dorm. There are other, more grown up ways to keep from walking in on one another.”
“Yeah, like knocking!” Lane calls out from behind the closed door.
Her hands fly to her waist, forming fists as they land there. “I am not knocking! It goes against our open-door policy and requires waiting for an invitation, which let’s be real, some days, I won’t get!”
“Or,” I calmly intervene, “maybe you could just announce yourself before you come in.”
“And maybe count to ten after you do,” Lane adds, joining us in the living room, this time wearing some pants.
“Like, out loud?” Drea’s not following.
“He’s saying we may require a buffer once we know you’re coming,” I explain.
“Oh, God. Is this really happening all the time now?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember ever inquiring about the frequency of your sex life,” I point out, in lieu of being able to tell Drea she’s being ridiculous. And she’s stone cold sober today.
“That’s different,” she huffs.
I move in to meet her in the middle of the room, leaving both guys out of our circle completely. “Why?”
“Because you like Scott.”
“Not enough to want to see his naked ass!” I counter.
“That was one time!” she screeches.
“One too many!” I holler back. It’s surreal really. This whole argument. The screaming. Are we really fighting over who’s more entitled to have uninterrupted sex in their own apartment?
“Can I just say, that it’s hurting my feelings you find my ass so offensive,” Scott chimes in, mocking us both.
“Yeah, I’m a little insulted myself. I’ve made you breakfast. Crunchy bagel and all. How do you not like me?” Lane adds, crossing his arms over his spectacular chest, momentarily causing me to forget what we’re all doing here.
“I don’t like that you made Tessa cry. That trumps a damn bagel every day of the week. Crunchy or not,” she huffs.
Meanwhile, Lane’s amused expression falters and he looks genuinely concerned. “When did I make her cry?” He turns toward me. “When did I make you cry?”
I could punch her for this. “You didn’t. I made myself cry. It was after the whole Jules mess, before I knew what really happened.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Drea insists. “Tears are tears and there were a crapload. I had to give a pep speech and everything. Do you know how bad I am at those?!”
“I’m getting a pretty good idea,” he says, brow furrowed, torn between engaging with her and addressing the issue between us, which was no issue at all until Drea made it one.
“Oh, my God, Drea! Stop. I was coming off of several shit days, I thought I’d slept with a guy who had slept with my friend and was dreading the shitstorm that was bound to follow. You can’t pin my meltdown on Lane. It had nothing to do with him.”
But Drea isn’t interested in reason, she never is. “Swear,” she demands, stepping between us with all the ferociousness of a proper mama bear and facing Lane full on. “Swear that you’ll never make her cry like that again. That you’re not playing any games here. Swear that your intentions are good. That my Tessa is safe with you.”
“Babe, they’ve been dating for like two seconds,” Scott intervenes quietly, “you don’t think this is getting kinda heavy for a two second relationship?”
She barely even acknowledges him. Just stares straight ahead at Lane, who remains silent because there’s nothing he can say to her that will satisfy her without lying.
“We’re not dating.”
Drea spins back around to look at me. “What?”
“I said, we’re not dating. There are no games being played. No intentions to do anything but what we’re doing. No expectations. No need to worry about anyone getting hurt,” I finish slowly. “Got it?”
“You’re just...screwing?” she asks, still struggling to grasp the concept.
“Yep.”
She turns toward Lane again, almost as though she’s hoping he’ll contradict what I’ve just said. When he doesn’t, she shakes her head. “This is all wrong.”
“Why?” I love her, but she’s giving me freaking mental whiplash. One minute she wants me to relax more, to go out and get laid and then when I do, it’s all wrong.
She ignores me this time. Her attention is exclusively reserved for Lane.
“Swear,” she insists. I can’t see her face, but judging by the tone, she’s shooting daggers at him with her eyes.
Lane’s face softens, tentatively shaking his head up and down. “I swear.”
I stare at Scott, wondering if he’s as confused as I am, but he’s not. Now I really feel like I missed something.
Drea sighs. “I’ll take it.”
S
cott shakes his head, hurrying to drape his arm around her waist to lead her out of here. “Holy shit, you two are so fucking weird sometimes,” he mutters, ushering her across the landing back to their place.
“You don’t seem to have a problem with it,” she points out, willingly letting him guide her away.
“I’m like grandfathered into this shit. We all know, I’m never getting out. But this dude,” his voice gets softer as they move through their own front door, “he has no logical reason for staying. Unless he’s serious about her.”
“Yeah, serious about getting in her pants,” Drea mumbles as she glances back one more time to give Lane a final glare of warning.
“You don’t know guys, baby. No dude is going to put up with you, just to get a piece of ass. I promise.”
Then the door closes. All the crazy disappears. Well, at least all the Drea crazy. All of mine is still sitting here. Or standing rather.
I’d look at Lane if I had even a single syllable to utter to him. I’ve got nothing.
“Wondering if he’s right?” he whispers.
“No,” I answer too fast to be believable. “Just thinking how our simple arrangement is a lot less complicated when it’s just us.”
He reaches for my elbow and tugs me to him. “Well, I think we can forget all about simple now that Drea knows.”
“You have no idea.” I roll my head back, whining loudly. “Things are about to be exhausting.”
Lane
I underestimated Drea. After our little showdown in the living room the other night, I thought we’d reached an understanding, a common ground we were both satisfied with. Clearly, I was wrong.
“Tell me again why you’re going out with half the firehouse instead of staying here and getting naked with me?”
She slides her foot into one of the sexiest stiletto heels I’ve ever seen and glances up at me. “I’m not going out with half the firehouse. I’m attending their annual firefighter’s ball, for charity by the way, not fun. And, because I was invited.”