Inspire

by Cora Carmack

  “Hey.” I don’t look, but I can tell from the sound that she’s down to the parking lot now, heading my way. “Sorry about that. I told Jack that we could talk about a project he’s working on, and I didn’t want to leave before we got to chat.”

  “You get that I’m kind of in a hurry, right?” There’s an uneasiness in my gut from snapping at her, but I’m too riled up to pull myself back. “No one asked you to drive me home. If you want to stay and talk to Jack, go ahead. I said I can get a cab.”

  She frowns, and wraps her arms around her middle to fend off the cold. Or to fend off me, maybe.

  “I don’t want to stay and talk to Jack.”

  And here we go ahead. The Kalli merry-go-round.

  “Fan-fucking-tastic. Let’s go then.”

  Her eyebrows draw into a troubled line, and damn it, why can’t I stop noticing this shit? I don’t want to analyze every expression she makes or the silences between her words or what it means that she starts toward me, but then stops. I want to be as indifferent as she is.

  She points a key to my right and says, “My car is this way.”

  I shove my fists into my pockets, and follow her. She stops at a small, dark sedan. It’s nice, but not too nice either. A recent model, but nothing too expensive. It’s carefully inconspicuous, and wouldn’t stand out on campus or downtown or even in this rougher part of town. That reminds me of my earlier worries, and before I can remember that I’m angry, I ask, “How often do you come here to Lennox’s?”

  She shrugs. “I told you that I haven’t known her long. So just a few times. Mostly, I meet her at the store when she’s not busy or at the studio they have on campus for people in her department.”

  “Good. You shouldn’t be in this neighborhood alone.”

  “You know, I’m not as vulnerable as you think I am.”

  “Well, if your alcohol tolerance is any indication, maybe you’re right. How often do you drink to get to that point?”

  “Now you’re mad at me for drinking?”

  No. Yes. Damn it.

  She continues, “I’m not some naïve sorority girl. I’ve been through a lot on my own, and I’ve come out just fine.”

  “Yeah, I can tell how much you like being on your own.”

  I’m being a dick, and I hate myself for it, but I just can’t shut my mouth off.

  She tugs her car door open a little forcefully and climbs in without another word. I hesitate, wondering if this is a bad idea after all. But Mom is waiting, so I pull open my door and slide in, too.

  I tell her where to go, but other than that the cab is quiet and stiff as she heads back to the highway. I tell her to head north and what exit to watch for, and then we settle into silence.

  She’s tapping her finger on the steering wheel, and again, it’s almost the right beat. I don’t know whether I want to yell at her to stop or show her how to beat out the actual rhythm. I lean my head back against the seat, and try to just shut everything out.

  And almost like she knows it, she wedges open the door that I’m trying to close. “I’m sorry I stopped to talk to Jack. It didn’t mean anything. I can’t explain it, but it was important that I … talk to him. But I’m here now. Here with you.”

  With my eyes still closed, I mutter, “For now anyway.”

  PART THREE

  “Love is composed of single soul inhabiting two bodies.”

  Aristotle

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kalli

  His anger shouldn’t sting so much. In fact, I should embrace it. Angry Wilder is much better than charming Wilder or sexy Wilder or sweet Wilder. Because all of those versions of him are incredibly hard to resist.

  And I’m supposed to resist him, right? I have to.

  Except that I’d gone to talk to Jack about his new project so that I could push a little inspiration into him to take the edge off in case something happened with Wilder. In case my impulsive decision to give him a ride home turned into something else impulsive. Though I doubt I can still call it that when I’ve planned ahead.

  That now appears to be a non-issue. He’s furious. And I don’t blame him. I know I’m not being fair. Fair would have been me sticking to my original plan and never seeing him again after that night at his place. Or better yet, never going home with him in the first place. But then he’d shown up at the store, and then again tonight, and a little voice whispered in the back of my mind, “Why not?”

  After everything with Van, I couldn’t bring myself to just find another guy. I tried with Jack, but every time he showed the slightest romantic interest in me, I panicked. What if he ended up like Van? What if I broke him too?

  So when he’d introduced me to Lennox, and she’d immediately begun to integrate me into their group of friends, I’d decided to try something different. By spreading out my ability between Jack and Lennox and Mick and all the rest, I could stay longer. I could move slower. Usually, depending on the artist, I can go anywhere from three to nine months with someone one-on-one. But like this … the possibilities are greater than I’ll ever let myself say out loud.

  That doesn’t stop me from getting my hopes up though.

  Which is why I currently have a death grip on my steering wheel while I attempt to ignore the near painful pull toward the man sitting in the car beside me. Because the moment I realized what my friendship with this group meant, I thought of Wilder. I thought of what this kind of longevity could mean where he was concerned. Not only could I stay here in Austin longer, but with so many friends, I’d be unlikely to ever cut it as close as I did with Van. And since there wouldn’t be any more break-ups like the past, there’s even a possibility for expansion. There were two girls tonight from Lennox’s program that I’ve not met before. Jack has a few painter friends. There’s a welder that does metal work with Mick sometimes. If my circle became big enough …

  There are tears in my eyes, and I’m struggling to breathe through the excitement and fear and anticipation when Wilder says, “You need to get over or you’re going to miss the exit.”

  And just like that … I’m shot back down to Earth.

  I turn my blinker on, and let him direct me through the next few turns until we end up in a residential neighborhood. The truth is … I don’t know the first thing about being in a real relationship. Every guy I’ve ever dated (if you can even call it that) came with an expiration date. They were a job. That’s how I had to think of them to keep from getting attached or feeling guilty or letting it all go to my head. Fact is … there are teenagers out there with more experience living and loving than me.

  And that might be the most depressing thought I’ve had in ages (literally … ages).

  I clear my throat. “So … what did you think of everyone?”

  Wilder’s eyes flick to me briefly, but he still doesn’t turn to face me. “I like Lennox.”

  “Because she’s on your side?”

  He does look at me then, but it’s a look so dark and filled with frustration that it cracks something in me. I’m not sure I’ve ever been given a look quite like that before. Even the artists who grew to hate me after I ended things had looked at me with a obsessive passion that didn’t know whether it was hate or love and tended to hover somewhere in between.

  Wilder doesn’t look at me with hate, per say. But he very clearly wants to be done with me. There is anger and annoyance and possibly a little hurt in that look. But he isn’t addicted to my energy the way men have been in my past. And perhaps without my ability, I’m not quite as desirable as I’ve always believed.

  “Slow down. It’s up here on the right.”

  I do as he says, even though I feel like I’m shedding layers of my long dormant heart every time I hear the flatness of his voice that used to be so warm and low.

  The apartment complex he has me pull into is reminiscent of row houses, but these are boxier, plainer—the knock-off version designed only with cost in mind. He directs me to the third cluster of buildings, and I pull straigh
t into an open parking space right in front of the curb. His seatbelt is undone before I even get the car in park. Then his door is open, and he’s unfolding his long legs, and he’s disappearing.

  I’ve never allowed regret a foothold in my life. There’s no point, not when you live as long as I do. If you miss out on something in one century, you’ll catch it the next time history decides on a replay. Forever means unlimited opportunities to get things right.

  But now I can taste the regret, clogging up my lungs and lining my throat. I’m very nearly choking on it because this, Wilder, is not something that history will ever repeat. It’s now or it’s never.

  “Thanks for the ride, Kalli.”

  The whole car shudders with the thud of his door closing, and his strides up the sidewalk toward the house on the far right are quick, one step down from a jog.

  Before I can think about it long enough to weigh the pros and cons, I turn off the car and bolt after him. I run. I’ve never in my existence ran after anything. There was never that kind of urgency. Generally, if I’m running, I’m running away. Maybe it’s the invisible cord around me buzzing with approval, but it feels right that Wilder should be the one that changes that.

  “Wait. Wilder, wait!”

  He’s ascending the small flight of stairs to the front porch by the time I catch up to him. He turns, and I slow as I climb those last few steps. Time gets away from me then, making a mockery of all my thoughts of it being my constant. The seconds skip like a scratched record, and my heart jerks just as unpredictably in my chest. I take the one final step to put me beside him on the porch. There’s a lantern suspended to the left of the door, and the glow reflects off his face, catching on his blond curls and turning them a reddish gold.

  His expression is wary, but it’s not as dark as it had been in the car. His hand is outstretched, paused in the act of reaching for the door handle, and I’m so terrified that he’ll finish the movement and escape inside before I can put my thoughts into words that I step in front of him, blocking the way.

  I take a breath, try to ignore the thunderstorm of emotions in my chest and say, “I’m sorry.” When in doubt, apologize, right? “I know that you’re angry.”

  His brows knit together, and that darkness is creeping back into his expression and his stance. I rush on to add, “I don’t know how to say this. I don’t know how to do any of this. But I—” Oh gods. There’s no turning back after I say this. I’m at the ledge, and I either back away or leap over. There’s no in between. My feet say jump. My knees and my hips and my belly and my breasts—they’re all dying to move forward, to close the distance and reclaim that spot in his arms. But my head holds out.

  Because this … experiment isn’t just about me. He should have a say in this. But I can’t explain, and even if I could, he wouldn’t understand. If I’m wrong, if I’m unable to keep the two halves of my life separate … he’ll be the one to pay the price.

  “I—” The words won’t come. They just won’t. I look at him, lost and sorry and wanting, and then he takes the choice from me.

  One large hand presses into my stomach, pushing me back against the outer glass door. The glass is cold even through the layers of clothes, but his hand is warm as it slips from my abdomen to my side. His body crowds mine, and I love the way he towers over me. The thread between us is nearly electric now, and it winds tighter and tighter as he moves closer. He plants a hand next to me on the door, and dips down enough that his forehead rests against mine. This close, our noses touch and our gazes collide, and I can feel his exhale on my lips.

  I feel the urge to beg. For what… I don’t even know. For something. For him.

  “Yes or no, Kalli. You don’t get it one moment at a time. Not anymore. I can’t fucking take that. You’re in or you’re out.”

  I think YES so forcefully that it hurts. But my mouth remains stubborn. “First, you have to know that I’m not like other girls you’ve been with.”

  “Don’t I fucking know it.” His fingers fist at the back of my sweater, pulling it tight against my belly and lifting it just enough that the cool winter air nips at my waist.

  “I mean it. There are things you don’t know. I wasn’t lying when I said that I’m not good for you. I’m really not. But I think I might be selfish enough not to care.”

  The hand at my back slides down until it rests just shy of the curve of my behind, and his other hand takes hold of my jaw. Tipping my head up, he drags a heavy thumb over my bottom lip. It stretches and pulls under his attention, and he touches my teeth, followed by the soft, wet inside of my lip.

  “And I’m selfish enough to want you all to myself. This mouth … I want to be really fucking selfish with your mouth, Kalli. I want to kiss and lick and bite it. I want to feel it on my skin. I want to use it and worship it, and I want to do it a lot. Every day. Who knows if anyone is good for anyone else? There might be someone out there better for you than me, but I’m selfish enough to hope you never meet him. All we ever know is who we want, and I think you want me just as badly as I want you.”

  I tilt my chin up, my whole body straining forward to meet his. My underwear grows damp and my nipples tight—my body begging for more since my mouth took too long. Against his lips, I whisper, “Yes.”

  “Don’t say that unless it’s your answer for the whole thing. We’re talking all or nothing, baby.”

  My eyes catch on the Atlas tattoo on his arm. And maybe it’s a sign that I’m doing something worthy of punishment. But I choose to think of it as a suggestion. If he can hold up the heavens, keep the worlds separate and safe, then I can keep the same distance between Kalliope the muse and Kalliope the woman.

  “All,” I answer. “I want it all.”

  Then his tongue is in my mouth, and he tastes like alcohol and heat and everything I never let myself want. His lean, hard arms wind around my middle, pulling me so far into him that I have to bow my back to keep our mouths connected. His legs are braced wide, and my own press tight between them so that I can feel him hard and heavy beneath the confines of his jeans. The contact sends a shudder through me, leaving me honest to gods weak in the knees.

  I slide my hand over the nape of his neck, and up into his hair, and he groans into my mouth. I soak up the sound, overwhelmed with a frantic energy that can only be joy. Supreme, complete, life-altering joy. Every part of me is humming with it—my body as it remembers the shape of his, my mind as he eclipses every other thought, and the indefinable connection as it jumps and pulses between us like it carries a heartbeat of its own.

  Fate. Destiny. Whatever it’s called … I’ve never been so grateful for mine. And as I allow myself to admit that Wilder is part of that destiny, I feel a tear coast over my cheek.

  “God,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Kissing you is even better than I remember.”

  I laugh, positively giddy at his words. “Could be the alcohol.”

  “No, it’s you. There’s something about you. About us together …” he groans. “I don’t have the words, and I hate that. I hate that I can’t tell you exactly how beautiful you are or how good you feel because everything feels pale in comparison to the reality. If there are words that do it justice, I don’t know them. But I swear I’ll learn them, invent them if I have to.”

  I breathe in, and he pulls me closer. “Maybe we don’t need the words. Maybe it’s enough that we both know.”

  “Do we? You feel it, too?” His voice is ragged and raw, and the intensity in his eyes makes me shiver.

  “I feel it.”

  With a growl, he claims my mouth again, pulling me in so tight that he lifts me up onto my toes. I bury my other hand in his hair, too, holding tight to him and this moment and a future that I’m suddenly terrified to lose. Wanting to be closer, needing to feel more of him, I wrap my legs around his waist. He slides one arm down from my waist to my bottom to brace me, and just as he leans me back into the front door, a brighter light washes over us from behind. A creaking noise tells me th
at the regular door behind the outer glass one has just opened. We’re both reluctant to break the kiss, to end this moment, but when we do, I glance over my shoulder to see a middle-aged woman in scrubs. She’s pretty and has Wilder’s light hair and expressive eyes. With one hand on her hip, her eyes skim me briefly before settling on Wilder with a frown.

  My head is still wrapped up in the chaotic excitement of giving in to our attraction, so it takes me a few seconds to remember than my legs are wrapped around his waist, and I immediately let them fall. He keeps his arm bracketed around my waist until my feet are back on the ground, and then he pulls away. His hand goes to the nape of his neck, and he gives a tentative smile.

  “Hey Mom. I was just about to come inside.” She makes a noise that sounds distinctly disbelieving and raises her eyebrows in response.

  This can’t be happening. I cannot meet his mother like this.

  “This is Kalli. I’d had a few drinks so she gave me a ride home.”

  My eyes get stuck on a smudged handprint Wilder left on the glass, and I see her eyes track there too. Oh gods. It just keeps getting worse.

  “Well.” I clear my throat. “I should probably get going. It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  She smiles, and though it looks a little stiff, it seems genuine. “Nice to meet you, too.”

  Wilder grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. “Don’t leave yet. Stay.”

  My eyes widen, and my cheeks flush. He can’t possibly think it’s a good idea to bring me inside after that. Before I can devise an answer that will please him and prevent his mother from hating me, a high-pitched squeal distracts us all.

  Gwen appears at her mother’s side, two small hands pressing onto the glass door a few feet below the mark that Wilder and I left.

  “Kalli! You’re here. I asked Santa for you to come to Christmas, and you’re here!”

  “Well,” Wilder’s mother says, her expression unreadable. “It seems I’m the last to meet you, Kalli. Come on inside before I have a mutiny on my hands.”