Tell Me Not to Go

by Victoria De La O

“You live over there,” Jeff says, pointing. “And you shouldn’t come into someone’s place without knocking.”

  “No, he shouldn’t,” a voice says, startling me. A tall woman who could take me one-handed in a fight stands in the doorway. This is clearly Diego’s mother. Her features aren’t like her son’s, but the two of them are wearing identical stubborn expressions.

  “I’m Eva, Jeff’s landlady,” she says to me.

  “Hi. I’m Sam, Jeff’s free labor.”

  Eva smiles, her cheekbones prominent enough to cut glass. I’d kill for those.

  “It would be best if you kept Diego over at your place.”

  Can’t say I’m loving this frosty version of Jeff. He’s so unlike his usual easygoing self that I do a double take.

  Eva raises both dark eyebrows at Jeff. “I intend to. He knows he’s not supposed to come over here without permission. Right, Diego?”

  “Sorry, Jeff. I wanted to see your stuff.” Diego’s face turns down in defeat.

  “Maybe some other time.”

  “They seem nice,” I say once Eva and Diego clear out. “You don’t like kids?”

  Jeff runs a hand over his forehead. “No, I do. I shouldn’t have . . . It’s not him.”

  “What is it then?”

  “Just got taken by surprise. I’ll apologize to Eva later.” He seems to shake off whatever is bothering him. “Will you still stay?”

  There’s a story here, but not one he wants to talk about, so I let it drop. For now.

  Against my better judgment, but not to my surprise, I decide to stay. I like being around Jeff. The sexual chemistry between us is still thumping, but I’ll have to ignore it.

  I take a look around his new place, admiring the natural light. It’s small—a decent-sized living room with a kitchen and bathroom running along the back. But there is a loft bedroom that seems fun, despite the almost-vertical ladder you have to climb to get to it.

  The side of the box Jeff is holding says “bedroom” on it, so he drops it at the bottom of the ladder. “Want to go up there?”

  “I’m good.”

  He smiles like the cat that ate the canary, and it looks good on him. “C’mon. You know you want to.”

  Damn him, I really do. “Fine, but I’m not carrying anything.”

  I start to climb, and I can feel Jeff hot on my heels. Which means his eyeballs are fixed right on my sizeable ass. Ah, well. Not like I can hide it.

  As expected, the loft is cozy. Jeff’s bed is sitting prominently in the middle of the space, and is covered by a plain blue comforter—not a shocker from a guy who wears polo shirts. The bed is the sole item in here so far, and it doesn’t leave much room for anything else.

  “What do you think?” Jeff’s so close to me, I can almost feel his breath in my ear. It slithers down my neck and dives straight into my pants. His bed feels too handy, suddenly.

  “What I think is that climbing that ladder is a pain. What if you need to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night?”

  “I like it. Makes me feel like I’m in a fort or a treehouse.”

  Sweet mother, I’m picturing us as Tarzan and Jane now and am oddly turned on.

  “Makes sense, Boy Scout.” I’m not proud of the fact that I’m falling back on sarcasm to cut the tension. I spin around and head back down the ladder, which is harder than getting up. Jeff scales it with ease, his strong legs on display in his shorts.

  He flops down on the brown suede sofa.

  “Don’t you want to bring in the rest of those boxes?” I ask.

  “There’re only a few left. Let’s take a break and eat. I’ve been at it all morning.”

  I sit on the opposite end of the couch and drum my fingers on the padded armrest. Makes sense it’s comfortable and cushy—not the sleek, stark furniture you see in a typical Bay Area bachelor pad. I wonder how Jeff is fitting in with the finance bros he’s mingling with, with their expensive suits and $800 dinners.

  I catch Jeff staring at me out of the corner of my eye.

  “You’re awful far away. I’m not going to bite.”

  I turn to face him. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

  Jeff fiddles with the edge of the cushion between us. “A little. Which, I gotta say, I love. Not sure anyone’s ever been intimidated by me.”

  “I’m not intimidated. Just trying to keep a safe distance between us.”

  “Then how come you keep checking out my legs?”

  I cross my arms over my chest. This draws Jeff’s gaze to my breasts, so I uncross them. “I can’t help it, I’m a leg woman.”

  Jeff scoots closer to me. “Even though I’m moving out, we’re still going to be around each other a fair amount. Maybe we ought to figure this out. Because I don’t think this friendship thing is working.”

  I lean my head back. “Nothing left to figure out. We already decided it was for the best.”

  “Hmm. You decided that, actually.”

  “Look, you’re really nice, but . . .”

  Jeff winces. “Damn, not that word.”

  “You mean ‘nice’? Why, you’d rather be a jerk?”

  “Anything has got to be better than ‘nice.’ Such a loaded word.”

  “Not being a d-bag is a good thing. Highly underrated. Especially in this valley.”

  He leans in to grab a lock of my hair and smooths it between his fingers. “Then how come you won’t go out with me?”

  “Because your sister would lose her shit.”

  Jeff lets go of my hair and puts his hand on his forehead, his frustration obvious. “Well maybe this isn’t about her.”

  “Even if that were true, I’m leaving at the end of this year. I don’t want a guy slowing me down.” No matter how hot he looks while he’s carrying stuff.

  “Please tell me you’re not still hung up on the ex?”

  “No. I just don’t want any of the BS that comes with a relationship.”

  “Such as?” The pizza guy rings the bell, so Jeff gets up to pay.

  I rummage around in the sparse kitchen until I find two plates. “Such as having to compromise on everything.”

  Jeff places a slice of pepperoni on my plate, and we sit back down. “True. And?”

  “And using all my energy on another person.” I take a bite.

  “Yep.”

  “And having to deal with his annoying habits,” I say, through a mouth full of sauce and cheese.

  Jeff leans over and wipes my chin with a paper towel. “Um hmm. I agree completely.”

  “You? You’re like a chain smoker, but with relationships—sparking up one right after the other.”

  Jeff crosses his arms, the picture of defiance. “Nope. Trying to quit. And so far, so good.”

  I look into Jeff’s eyes, which is a mistake. They’re molten chocolate—warm and comforting. “So what’s the plan? Gonna screw your way through Silicon Valley?”

  “To start. Then I’ll work my way down California.” He smiles at me, and my stomach does that funny flip again. Stupid-ass stomach.

  “Well, good luck with that.” I set my plate down, ready to bolt. But Jeff leans in and puts a hand on my knee.

  “You could help out, you know,” he says, his voice low and teasing, his fingers long and warm. “Think of it as a science experiment.” He pushes my hair back behind my ear, his thumb lingering on my earlobe. “All of the fun, none of the commitment. Just you and me.”

  “Didn’t I say I wasn’t interested in guys right now?”

  “No. What you said was you don’t want anything serious. I’m on board with that. But it doesn’t have to be a one-night thing, either.”

  Jeff’s hand is resting on my jaw. He’s not playing anymore. My heart speeds up.

  If he only knew how much I miss sex. I’m pretty sure my virginity grew back when I wasn’t looking. But I want sex with affection. With cuddling and trust and kindness. Except not so much that I’ll go crazy. Again.

  “It’s not a good idea. I don’t hav
e any time.”

  “Even better, because you can give me as much or as little time as you have. No expectations.” He leans in closer.

  His words don’t come out smooth; they’re rusty and reluctant. Not a player, this man. And I do mean man, which startles me. All the guys I’ve dated have been boys. Jeff feels like a grown-up, who is honest about what he wants and does what he needs to do. Which means he probably is as good as he claims to be, because he knows how to have grown-up sex. The last couple of guys I slept with thought “foreplay” was a golf term.

  Jeff runs his thumb along my bottom lip. “You’re beautiful, and I want you.”

  I try to tell him that I’m not all that beautiful, that I don’t want him back, that I don’t need his hands on me, but none of those things feel true right now.

  He trails one finger up my thigh and my skin pebbles. “I think you want me, too.”

  Then his lips touch mine, and all my thoughts float away like moths into the night. He smells spicy and clean—like fall—so I inhale him through my nose, my mouth. He groans and somewhere a dish clatters. He snakes one strong hand through my hair, the slight tug on my scalp so achingly familiar.

  I could have everything I want with Jeff. And he’d get the passion he’s looking for. Except I’m still worried about the falling head-over-ass part. “It would get complicated,” I whisper against his mouth.

  “We won’t let it. We’re both good at keeping emotional distance when we want to. How long until you graduate?”

  “Ninety-six days. Not that I’m counting down.”

  “So until graduation, and then we call it quits. And you go to med school, no regrets.”

  I kiss him again, taking the lead this time, and he makes a sound in the back of his throat that sets everything to quivering.

  “We already know it would be good between us.” To prove his point he runs one hand all the way up my thigh, under the seam of my shorts. He gently rubs his fingers back and forth, back and forth, along the edge of my panties.

  My head falls back on my shoulders and I swear I see nirvana. “What about Lizzie?”

  “She’ll understand. Besides, this is between us.”

  “She told me she wants me to go out with someone.”

  “Then why not let it be me?”

  I muster my dignity and call on the strength of my inner smartass. “Maybe you’re all talk, and you’re only a one out of ten.”

  “The mouth on you,” he says, smiling. And then he takes one of my hands and moves it up his thigh—slowly—until my hand is resting on his rock-hard goodness. “Only one way to find out.”

  “That’s pervy,” I say, but my hand is already running along the length of him, and I’ve already decided this is my new favorite toy in all the world.

  Jeff’s breath is speeding up. “Say yes, Sam.” His eyes are glazed over.

  I force myself to pull away. “I need to think about it.”

  Jeff takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Well I’m sure as hell not going to pressure you.”

  I laugh. “Says the guy who just put my hand on his dick.”

  “I was trying to make a point.”

  “I thought you were uptight?”

  “I’ve never been this inspired before.” He’s still touching my arm, like he can’t break the contact.

  I can’t either, so I kiss him again.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he says when I pull away.

  That about sums it up. The way Jeff makes me feel is overwhelming. I’m not one to hold back or be indecisive, but I need to be smart about this. Use my brain instead of my hormones. So I leave, trying to shake away the sexual fog. When I get to the door, I’m compelled to turn around and look at him. That’s a mistake, because he’s staring at me like a naughty boy who stole a cookie.

  Damn Boy Scouts: They’ll get you every time.

  Chapter 8: Jeff

  Andrea steps up to my desk with a coffee and a chocolate donut. “I know you got here early, so I thought you could use these.”

  “Thanks. That was thoughtful.”

  She hesitates, but there’s weight behind it, like she wants to strike up a conversation. I need to say something to shut her down. I don’t want to encourage her flirtation—I have no doubt that’s what it is at this point—because all my focus is on Sam. Except I haven’t heard from her since the day I had my hand up her shorts, so I don’t say anything to Andrea.

  Four long days of silence after putting it all on the line with Sam. Maybe a little too on the line; encouraging her to grope me wasn’t the classiest move. But what I love most about being around Sam is that I become spontaneous. I forget about trying to be the perfect person, the perfect guy.

  “You coming to happy hour?” Andrea asks.

  “I wasn’t planning on it. I have a lot of research to do tonight.”

  “Most of the staff will be there. The partners like us mingling.” She gives me a coy smile, like we’re playing a secret game.

  “Good to know. I’ll make time to stop by.” I rub my eyes, which are burning from computer fatigue.

  “You’ve been working too long,” Andrea says. “You should take a break.” I notice her lips are pink and dewy, like she recently applied lipstick.

  “I will.”

  “You want me to bring you some water?”

  “No, I really should get back to work. Especially if I’m going to happy hour.”

  She frowns. “Okay. Well, I’ll see you there.”

  “Thanks again for the donut.”

  “Anytime.” She turns and leaves, her sable hair swinging behind her.

  Andrea goes out of her way to be nice to me, and I’m starting to feel like an ass for rebuffing her. I’m not committed to anyone, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with her. Couldn’t hurt to have a cup of coffee with her sometime.

  I stand up and shake out my arms. Hell no. This is always how it starts. I worry about a woman’s feelings, convince myself I could make it work, and before I know it, I’m two years into a relationship I never really wanted. And in the end, I end up hurting them badly.

  But not anymore. Sam or no Sam, I’m starting over.

  Lizzie is staring at her pad thai with glee. We’re surrounded by statues of Thai dancers in pink, orange, and red dresses. The walls of the restaurant are covered in ornate artwork, probably filled with symbolism and meanings I don’t understand.

  “Glad we finally got to have dinner,” I say.

  “Me too.”

  “I appreciate you tearing yourself away from lover boy.” I reach over and take a forkful of her noodles.

  “Sounds like you’re envious.”

  Maybe I am—not because she’s in a relationship, but because it’s the real deal.

  “Tell me how you like it here so far,” Lizzie says.

  “It’s a lot to take in. Kind of overwhelming. I wish I wasn’t working so much so I could explore it more.”

  My parents raised me, Lizzie, and our three brothers a half hour from Salt Lake City. But it might as well have been light-years away, because we almost never ventured out. It was a fantastic childhood in some ways—hunting with my dad, playing in the mountains with my siblings. But it left us fairly sheltered, and when I got to college, I was out of step. Living in Salt Lake City after college was important for me, and getting out of Utah altogether is an even bigger stretch. It feels good.

  “Yep. You’ll get used to it. And you have to admit, this is a long way from mom’s tuna casserole.” Lizzie slurps another noodle.

  “True. And it’s damn good,” I say, savoring a spoonful of coconut soup. It smells like lemongrass, but has a sweet and sour tang. “I haven’t tried out many restaurants yet.” But I would if Sam wanted to.

  “You making any friends at work?”

  “I have a couple buddies already. There’s one guy who wants me to play golf with him. What’s with all the golfing here, by the way?”

  Lizzie chews as she thinks. “Don’t know. Seems
boring. Why don’t you join a football league or something?”

  “Sure, if I get time.”

  “Any nice girls at work?”

  I set my fork down. “Quit.”

  “What?” Lizzie’s eyes go absurdly wide.

  “You know what.”

  “Fine. Be that way,” she says, pouting. “I’m only making conversation.”

  “No, you’re acting like Mom.” My phone buzzes on the table, so I glance at it. It’s a text from Sam.

  What would the terms of our agreement be exactly?

  My heart pumps into overdrive as I shove my phone in my pocket.

  “You need to take that?” Lizzie asks.

  “No, I’ll handle it after.”

  I try to focus on Lizzie’s stories about school and work for the rest of dinner, but most of my brain is whirling with possibilities, and I’m not processing much of what she’s saying.

  I kiss Lizzie on the cheek as we part, and then I make the ten-minute drive home in six.

  I climb up into the loft and spread out on my bed, feet dangling over the end. I don’t bother with texting. Where I’m from, you get on the phone for a conversation like this.

  Sam answers on the second ring. “Hi there.”

  “Wanna come over so we can discuss terms?”

  I hear rustling, and then Sam finally responds. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You might maul me again.”

  “Okay, that’s my first requirement, right there. You don’t get to keep pretending this is all me.”

  Sam pauses. “Agreed.”

  “Wait, are we really making a contract? You sure you’re not pre-law?”

  “I’ll feel better if we make a list.”

  I kick off my shoes. “Alright. But first, tell me where you are so I can picture you.”

  “In my room. Door shut.”

  “On your bed?” I try to imagine her on her bedspread, long hair fanned out underneath her.

  “Yes. But stay focused.” She pauses. “Where are you?”

  “In the loft, in my bed.”

  “Oh.”

  Only one word, but it’s breathy and totally hot. I better get back to business before I lose all focus.

  “Sam, tell me what it is you want, and I’ll tell you what I want.”