Tempt

by Joya Ryan

  “Did you do something, baby?” I ask, not sure if I wanna hear the answer.

  You cry. One tear, then another.

  Oh, fuck. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.

  “He tried to kiss me. I said no,” you say.

  I reach out and grasp your arms in my hands. I wanna ask you what happened. Ask if you’re okay. But I can’t speak. Please, be okay.

  “I was so mad at you,” you say. “And part of me wanted to mess around with Joe, to prove to myself that you really don’t care. But I couldn’t. I didn’t.” Your eyes meet mine. “Because I’m falling for you. I hate you, but I want you. And you left…”

  I pull you into my arms. Relief floods through my veins. You want me. You hate me. I can live with the latter more than the former. But you didn’t cheat on me.

  Cheat?

  That’d mean we’re together.

  I don’t care about labels now. I just care that you’re here, with me. No one else.

  “I drove Layla home. She was wasted. High. I didn’t touch her. But I couldn’t let her drive. She was strung out and I made sure she got into her bed and didn’t leave.”

  “You didn’t get in bed with her?”

  I cup your face. “Of course not. I feel responsible for her…in a way. Maybe not. Fuck, I don’t know. I just know what it feels like to be that gone and I couldn’t leave her to hurt herself or someone else by being high and stupid.”

  “You don’t love her?”

  “No,” I say instantly. “Baby, you’re the closest things I’ve felt to love—” I stop myself. Because this is a dangerous conversation. In the past day, week, month, I’ve felt a lot of things. All for you—because of you.

  You launch yourself into me, wrapping your arms around my back and hugging me so tightly I may just melt into you. I wrap you up. My bare chest against your thin top. I love the way you feel, the way you smell, the way you hug me. Like you’ve missed me. Like you want me. Like you’re faithful to me.

  And I’m faithful to you.

  Ironic, since we’re “nothing.”

  “We’re not nothing,” I whisper against your hair. Maybe for me, maybe for you, maybe for us both. Maybe I’m back to the maybes because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, baby. But I know I can’t let you go.

  I know it would have killed me if you were with that college boy.

  I know I feel something so far past nothing it scares the shit out of me.

  You kiss my neck. Your hands roam along my back. Your lips against me is the best thing and the only thing I want to feel right now. But I can’t. Not with you drinking. Not with you sad.

  I gently pull you inside and shut the door.

  “Take me to bed,” you say.

  I lift you up and carry you to my bed. The sheets feel warm with you in them. I lay you down and take your shoes off. I climb in behind you and wrap you up in my arms, your red hair tickling my chest.

  “Make love to me,” you say, trying to turn over to face me. I hold you tight.

  “Not tonight.”

  You squirm in protest. “But…why?”

  “Not tonight,” I say again.

  You breathe deeply. I don’t know how to take your silence. You don’t leave and I don’t let go. Tonight, I’m going to hold you. We’ll figure out the rest later.

  Some kind of line has been crossed, but I’m not sure how thick that line was. Or is. Or what side of that line we’re on. I have an ache in my chest like I’ve broken your heart. I can’t claim you, but I can’t let you go.

  I hug you tighter and close my eyes.

  #

  You’re gone. You’ve been gone since the morning I woke up after the bonfire. I lost count how many days ago that was. It’s blaring hot in the middle of the desert and all I can do is push my race car faster. Harder. I hate that I didn’t wake up when you snuck out last week. I know it was before sunrise. But not much before. Because I smelled your hair up until the moments between the light glinting through my window.

  I hate that I don’t know what it feels like to wake up with you.

  I hate that I wish I did.

  I hate that I want you, need you the way I do.

  I hate that you left me.

  I punch the pedal down. I need to practice, but I need to get out of my head. Because once again, I have no idea where we stand. Other than some notion of wanting each other got admitted that night. I won’t take you seriously, though. You were drunk. Sad.

  What would it feel like if someone like you really loved someone like me?

  Good?

  Probably really fucking good.

  I take a tight turn, kicking up desert dust and trying to perfect my turn at just a few miles per hour faster.

  I spin and catch the brake.

  Wanting you feels different.

  Being wanted by you feels like hope.

  I slam the gas down, determined to get this turn faster, tighter.

  I think of your face.

  Think of your skin—

  I take the turn. Hit hard.

  Too hard.

  I slam against the side, my belt not tight enough, and pain splits through my shoulder.

  “Fuck!” I yell as I spin out, my shoulder throbbing in pain. The sound of a refrigerator door being slammed shut permeates my ears. Only it’s not an appliance, it’s my body hitting the inside of the car.

  Dust wafts higher. I finally spin to a stop.

  Pain lights up my left side.

  Serves me right for not having my mind in the right place. Only problem is, I’m not closer to you, and I’m in pain with a race to get ready for.

  I get back to my place. My shoulder is screaming. I can’t fucking touch painkillers of any kind because I’m a recovering addict. I need you. Just you. And logic is gone. I need you. I’ve tried staying away. Tried focusing on racing. Summer is winding down and so is my time with you. I’m done trying.

  I hit the gas and peel out of the desert, heading straight to your house. My body hurts, my shoulder aching. My chest heaving from withdrawal of you. I park and bound up your driveway and pound on the door. I don’t think your grandmother is here. Not that I checked or cared. You open the door. Those big blue eyes wondering what the hell I’m doing here, I say nothing. I just kiss you. Wrap you up and kiss the hell out of you. My shoulder screams in pain; I don’t care. I push you inside, keeping your body mingled with mine, and kick the front door closed.

  “Tell me to go, or stop, now. Otherwise, I’m taking you right here,” I say and bite your lip.

  “Don’t go. Don’t stop,” you say.

  You cup my face and I move you against the living room wall. You’re in a little sleep dress and short cotton robe. Day off, baby? Lounging around? It’s a good look on you and I can’t focus on anything but rucking your dress up and pinning you against the wall.

  “You want me now?” you say against my mouth as you unfasten my belt.

  “I always want you,” I say.

  “Not when I was in your bed.”

  I cup your throat gently and lean back enough to look you in the eyes. “I’m never going to take advantage of you,” I say. “You’d been drinking. It wouldn’t have been right. I want you clear and willing every time.”

  Your face softens and you kiss me hard.

  I can’t help a surge of anger lighting up my chest. You think I don’t want you? Thought I didn’t want you? Never think that. I want you so fucking bad it’s painful. And I’m going to remind you of that right now.

  You get my belt open. I reach between your legs and rip your panties until they fall in tatters around your ankles. Everything is fast. Your hands, your mouth, your breath. I need you now. I can’t even feel how badly my shoulder hurts because I need you more.

  My drug of choice.

  You push my jeans low on my waist and pull my cock free.

  “You ready for me?” I ask.

  “Yes,” you breathe.

  I lick my fingertip and wet the h
ead of my cock. I kick your legs further apart and shove into you in one stroke.

  “Oh, Coe!” you yell.

  I pin you hard against the wall, lifting your leg to wrap around my waist. My other hand in on the wall by your head. I push in and out of you. Using the wall as leverage, trying to get as deep as I can.

  The house shakes. Your screams in my ear make me wild, ferociously fucking you with all my strength.

  “Take it,” I say in your ear. “Take all of it, pretty girl.”

  I thrust harder and harder.

  Your nails scour down my back and the sting drives me on.

  “You feel how much I want you?” I say between gritted teeth.

  I plunge deep and hard.

  “Feel how I need you?”

  “Yes, yes,” you chant.

  “Good, don’t ever doubt that,” I say and surge deep. You scream my name, your sweet pussy gripping me even tighter as you come.

  Feeling your wet core spasm sends me over the edge. I thrust and shoot deep inside of you. I lean against you, running my body along yours. Hating the mangled pieces of clothes between our skin.

  You slump against me, breathing hard and exhausted.

  “I’ve got you,” I say and wrap you up in my arms. I pull out of you, pick you up, and carry you to your room.

  You want to rest, lay down? I don’t know, I just know we need a minute. I don’t care about my shoulder. The pain is nothing when I’m with you. I’ve got my hit of drugs—you. I feel better. The pain will be there, but it’s more bearable.

  I lay you on your bed and you sigh. I fasten my belt. Looking in your mirror on your little vanity, I see my dark eyes, my tired expression. Christ, how do you like me? I look so weathered compared to you. I run a hand through my hair and notice your knickknacks on the vanity. Amongst your stuff, there’s a birth control packet…only you’re a day late.

  “You didn’t take yesterday’s or today’s yet,” I say.

  You frown. “What?”

  I hold up your birth control.

  “Oh, shoot! I’ll double up now.”

  You get up and pop the two pills and take them.

  “You missed a day,” I say.

  “On accident. I usually never miss but it’s been crazy.”

  A flurry of questions, doubts, guilt, go through my mind.

  I could have gotten you pregnant. Haven’t people gotten pregnant on a lot less? Jesus, what the hell am I doing? I just came into your house and fell on you like a wild animal. Fucking you, and now fucking with your future. You can’t have a kid. My kid. No way in hell. You’re going to college. Leaving this place.

  What the hell have I been thinking?

  “I’ve got to go,” I say.

  “Coe,” you say softly. “Are you mad at me?”

  You? No, I’m mad at myself. I know better. I shouldn’t ever put you in a position like this. You don’t seem fazed, though. Don’t seem to get the gravity of what could happen because I’m careless.

  I look at you. “No.”

  I turn to leave.

  “Coe?”

  I can’t look you in the eye. Why? Because of what could be? What isn’t? I can’t think. Finally, I glance your way. Your eyes are wide. Searching my face.

  “Coe…I love you,” you whisper.

  The name, my name, hits my chest. I don’t want that, or the other words on your mouth. Because I don’t deserve to be there. I’ve been a fucking fool.

  I shake my head.

  No words come.

  I turn and walk out.

  Chapter 9

  “So, this is where you’ve been hiding,” Mic says, coming into Trade’s shop. Only Trade isn’t around and I’m there tinkering with my car that’s in pristine shape. I’m not hiding…

  Maybe I’m hiding a little.

  “What’s up?” I ask, keeping my head near the engine and moving the wrench, tightening a bolt that was tight forty-five minutes ago.

  “You going to come clean with me, or make me say it?”

  “Depends, you going to come clean with me?” I say back.

  I look up at my sister, we both know something, but we’re both stubborn. And, honestly, I don’t know if I wanna talk about you. I don’t even know how to feel, much less what to say.

  “I’m not trying to give you a hard time. You’re my brother, and I love you. But I know you’re seeing, Shay.”

  I look at my sister. Your name being said out loud hits my ears and then my blood with a dose of pain. I miss you. So damn bad that I want to hear your name again because at least it makes me feel close to you somehow.

  But I haven’t been close to you in days. After you said you loved me. After I walked out and ignored your calls and texts.

  “I know what you’re going to say,” I say to Mic.

  “Do you?” she raises her brow and crosses her arms.

  “She’s young, I know.”

  Mic shakes her head. “It’s not that she’s young, it’s that she’s bright. She’s also moping around my bar now, but still. She’s very bright.”

  I stand up, my back muscles screaming from being hunched over this car. My shoulder hurts like a mother-fucker still. I’m a wreck without you.

  “I know she’s bright.”

  “I’m not here to judge you. I get it. She’s gorgeous and mature beyond her age. You can have a lot with a girl like that.”

  I frown. “I’m not trying to have anything with her.”

  Mic doesn’t say anything to that. Just looks at me like I’m full of bullshit. “Will you just take some advice from your sister? You can mess with a woman in a lot of ways. Fuck her, fuck with her heart, fuck with her mind…she can take a lot. But don’t ever fuck with an ambitious woman’s dreams.”

  Mic’s words sink through my skull and into the core of my brain like slow syrup. There’s rawness in her voice. She knows what this feels like. Clearly, she knows you enough to say this. Knows me very well to say this.

  “I’m not crazy about her family,” Mic goes on. “Because I’m always on your side. You’re a good man, Coe. Just be careful. Because she’s got you rattled and, clearly, you have an effect on her too.”

  Mic turns to walk out.

  “Mic,” I call after her. She stops and faces me. “What the hell do I do?”

  She shrugs and gives me a look of pity. “I can only tell you what not to do.” She points her finger in my direction. “Don’t fuck with a girl’s dreams. Her heart is one thing, but her ambition is another.”

  My sister leaves me with a weight I wasn’t carrying before heavy on my shoulders. I think about your eyes. Trusting and wet. Especially when you looked at me the last night we were together. I think about all the nights I’ve gotten with you this summer. How you are ambitious. And so damn bright. Mic is right. You’re like the sun itself. You have places to go and someone to be. I could have gotten you pregnant. Could have ruined your life. Could have accidentally trapped you here. And for what?

  For me?

  I don’t deserve you.

  You deserve much better than me and Mojave.

  You’re meant for bigger and better things. Things beyond anything I could give you.

  I throw my wrench. Nothing makes sense. But I need to somehow find a way to see you. To talk to you. To tell you I do love you. So much that I’m scared to death I could ruin you. I want to tell you to stay. Tell you to leave. I just need to say something. Because you need to experience life outside of here and me.

  I wipe my hands off on a rag and pull my keys out of my pocket. I am at your front door in less than two minutes. I knock loudly on the door. Nothing else matters but talking to you. Straightening this out so you can move on, enjoy the rest of your summer before college starts. Know that I love you, but that doesn’t change anything.

  I knock again, louder.

  “Shay?” I call.

  The door opens.

  “What on earth?” your grandma says.

  Cold chills race up my back.<
br />
  “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Ms. O’Brien,” I say. “I need to talk to Shay, please.”

  Your grandma frowns hard and leans heavily on her walker.

  “My granddaughter isn’t a concern of yours.”

  “Shay?” I yell louder and walk around the side of the house and in the back door. Your grandma is screaming at me to get out. I will, I just need to see if you’re really home. You’re not.

  I leave the same way I came in and come back to the front door where your grandma is clearly flustered and hating me.

  “My grandson being gone because of you isn’t enough? Now, you’re after my sweet Shay?” she says.

  It hits me then; your grandma blames me for everything. She doesn’t and will never believe what her grandson did. That he was dealing. Using. Dragged me down. No, I will be the villain in her world that took your brother down.

  Her wrinkled face looks tired. Her eyes dim with exhaustion and stubborn confusion.

  “Shay is smart. She’s leaving for college soon,” your grandma says, both with pride and telling me off.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I confirm.

  “She’s filling out scholarship applications with that nice young man, so you leave her be.”

  I nod. She’s right. I should leave you be.

  I should have done that in the beginning.

  Because “nice young man” will never be me and you are smart, Shay. I hope you get everything you want in life.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say again. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

  I walked down your porch for the last time, vowing to never interrupt your life again.

  Chapter 10

  Race. I have a damn race in six hours.

  I’m at Mic’s because I know you’re not working today and I need to be unseen for a while. You’ve been blowing up my phone since my visit to your grandma’s yesterday. Nowhere feels right. Nothing feels good.

  I’m going to race, get the money, get the spot in Vegas, get on with my life. You can get on with yours.

  Maybe…

  This is the first time I have doubts about my capability in racing. Usually, I can visualize the win. See myself crossing the finish line. Not this time. Half my body feels lost somewhere in the desert. Or maybe lost somewhere inside you. And you’re walking around like I’ve never known your skin. Somewhere out there, we have a history now. And I’ll never be right again.