Stripped

by Zoey Castile

  He pulls back for a second, pushes my hair away from my face, and looks at me with more questions than I can answer. What is this? How did we get here? Why does it feel right? But we don’t speak. He holds my chin and leads my lips back to his, pressing them so gently I think this is what it might be like to kiss the sky.

  The sky that then crashes around us when the bell rings and Yaz barks at the door like a hound.

  “Pizza,” I say.

  “Pizza.”

  We’re both in states of disarray. My hair is wild and the back of my dress is still open. Fallon’s hard-on is nearly ripping through his pants.

  “I’ll get the door.” I pull off my dress, no sense in being modest now.

  Fallon turns to look away, a deer in headlights.

  I smirk, throwing on a plain white T-shirt and shorts from my floor. “I could always let you get the door. But in your condition, the delivery boy might get the wrong idea.”

  With a wink, I leave him standing in my bedroom.

  FALLON

  The Bluest Balls, a novel by Zac Fallon.

  Sure, that’s not how the original book goes, but I might write my own. I’ll dedicate it to Robyn. Robyn Flores. God, even her name drives me nuts. I have half a mind to shove the delivery boy out the door and finish what we started.

  When I woke up this morning, this is not how I thought my day would end. I figured I’d see her in a couple of days and try my best to flirt my way into having her fall in love with me.

  Instead, she lured me back to her apartment and shoved her tongue down my throat.

  Fine, I know that’s not what happened. But I’m still a little dazed. I pick up her dress and hold it up to my face. I breathe in the scent of her sweat and coffee and flowers, and . . . is that glue?

  When I hear her shut the door, I feel like a dick. I’m standing in this girl’s bedroom with a (now) semi, just having had the sexiest make-out session of my life, and I let her pay for takeout. My old man would knock me upside the head. My brother would say, Her loss. My sister would say something about feminism. Still, I feel like a jerk.

  When the door closes, my erection is gone. It is a little painful to walk, but I make it to her couch. I sink into the soft leather and watch her. In the few hours that I’ve known her, she looks more relaxed. I don’t want to brag, but I feel like my kiss might’ve had something to do with it.

  “Order up,” she says, setting the pizza on the coffee table in front of us, then she flutters away to her kitchen. I follow her tight, round derrière. The bottom of her pajama shorts reveals a crescent of her skin. Then she’s out of sight.

  “Can I help?”

  “Red or white?”

  I’d drink poison if she were serving it. “Red.”

  She walks back with two blue wineglasses and hands one to me. She sits on the opposite side of the couch and the distance feels impossible. Meanwhile, Yaz is taking a nap on a footstool.

  “This is extremely weird,” she says.

  “Yeah, I don’t normally do this kind of thing.” After I say it, I realize how much of an ass I sound like.

  She takes a sip of her wine, but looks amused. “That’s supposed to be my line.”

  “I was actually talking about eating pizza,” I say, trying to laugh away the tension in my balls.

  “Sure, sure,” she says, smiling that knee-buckling smile.

  “I’m sorry I kissed you,” she tells me, her voice tinged with sadness. She’s saying it like an apology. Like it was unwelcome. Like I wouldn’t have done it if she hadn’t pounced on me first.

  “That actually hurts,” I say. “I’m not. I don’t know anything about you except that you’re kind of a liar and steal clothes from your neighbors.”

  “In my defense, I really have never stolen before today.”

  I drink. I don’t know anything about good or bad wines, but I know that this is pleasantly bitter and fills my mouth with the taste of ripe fruit. I drink some more to settle my nerves.

  “The way I see it,” I say, “is that we can do the awkward thing, eat some pizza, and then finish what we started. But . . .”

  “But what?” She smiles, revealing a dimple in her left cheek. The waterfall of her dark hair is tossed over one shoulder.

  “But I really want to know more about you. Don’t get me wrong. I’d hate to turn down someone when they fling themselves at me—”

  She’s so easy to tease. Her brows are drawn together and her voice gets loud and indignant. “I did not fling!”

  “You physically flung your body on top of mine.”

  “Oh, whatever. Just for that, the flinging will stop.”

  I press my hand to my chest. “You just keep on hurting me, Robyn.”

  Robyn. I love the way her name sounds on my lips. Robyn. Robyn. Robyn.

  What are you doing, Fallon? a voice in the recesses of my mind wonders. Too fast. Too everything. Slow down.

  I open the pizza box, the cheesy, meaty steam filling my nostrils.

  “What do you want to know?” she asks.

  And I say, “Everything.”

  ROBYN

  I’m going to regret this in the morning.

  The morning! I still have a lesson plan to get through. Not to mention last-minute bachelorette-party planning and the dress fitting for Lily. I want to reach for my phone and text her. I want to tell her that there’s a gorgeous man on my couch, and his baby husky is snoozing while we eat pizza and drink wine. She’d never believe me if I didn’t include a photo. I hardly believe that he’s real. I want to jump on top of him, but I already said I wouldn’t be the one to start this again.

  What was I thinking, kissing him like that? The answer is I wasn’t thinking at all. I was following my instincts, which has never been a Robyn Flores thing to do. I wanted to feel something, and when he kissed me back, I felt all of him.

  I can’t remember the last time I’ve had people over. On one hand, the stacks of unopened mail and delivery boxes and laundry are a physical embodiment of my mind. On the other hand, I have nothing to hide. It was so easy to talk to him. Easier than it is to talk to Lily or my cousins or my parents. He’s a blank slate and, in the end, I end up telling him more than I’ve ever told anyone in so long.

  I tell him that I can’t surface to save my life, my friendships, my career. That there was a moment when I stopped worrying about anything. Dates, friends, work. I stopped caring and I don’t remember why or when. I was never chaotic as a teen or college student, but chaos has shown up with a vengeance, ready to shake up my perfectly tailored life. Chaos is my name, and I have no idea how to get back the nice, stable Robyn I used to be. I tell him about how weird it is that Lily is getting married. Lily, whom I was the exclusive DD for all throughout our years at Albany State, has order. A fiancé. A plan. What do I have?

  I tell him all of that because maybe it’s the wine. Maybe some part of me expects to never see him after tonight. But he listens to every word and, somehow, the space between us on the couch disappears and we’re sitting side by side with our faces close enough to kiss.

  “So you’re having a quarter-life crisis and you’re one of those born and bred New Yorkers,” he says, summarizing my life story. “You have six thousand cousins, but no siblings. Your best friend is getting married in three weeks. You teach the fifth grade. And you’re the best kisser in New York.”

  “I never said that,” I say. We’ve demolished the pie and are now demolishing this second bottle of red. “Though I’m glad to represent my state in this category.”

  “You’re my first kiss in this state,” he confesses.

  I don’t know what to do with that information, so I shrug and smile and take another sip of wine.

  “I think I hold the record for weddings attended in a year,” I say, trying to change the subject.

  “Do you want to get married?” he asks me. Then his face goes white with fear. “Not to me. I mean . . . fuck . . . I meant in general.”

  I laugh
. “You’re so cute. And ridiculous. If you’re asking in general, then I have no idea. When I was younger, yeah. My parents have a really healthy marriage. It’s weird. All of my other friends have parents who’ve been divorced, but mine are pretty much happy freaks. It’s disturbing.”

  “So were mine, for a while at least,” he says. His grin is easy and relaxed.

  I remind myself I can’t make the first move again. Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

  My mind goes back to admiring his body. He isn’t as shiny as he was this morning. He cleaned up well.

  Hit it and quit it, the naughty receptors of my mind say.

  He edges closer, his lips inches from mine. I reach out and rest my hand on his thigh, the heat of this touch instant. His sweatpants do spectacular things to his thighs. He looks like a still life from the Hot Guys & Puppies Tumblr. I admire every line on his face. The smooth line of his jaw, the wrinkle on his forehead, the laugh lines around his mouth, the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Each and every one is like a road map to his soul.

  “Thanks for having dinner with me,” he says, and I’m thankful he’s changing the subject away from weddings. He’s so good at this, so good at talking and making me comfortable. He’s probably a bartender. “I was afraid I wasn’t going to make any friends in the neighborhood. You know what they say about New Yorkers.”

  “That we’ve got the best sense of fashion and are amazing at everything?”

  He playfully rolls his eyes. “Please. That you’re all recluses who wear black clothes and ignore each other on the T.”

  “Excuse you. It’s the subway,” I correct him.

  “Noted, again. So, this wedding. Is that what had you all hurricane-like in the morning?”

  “Can we not talk about that?” I ask, closing the gap between us. Our thighs are pressing together, and he stretches his arm on the back of the couch to play with a strand of my hair.

  “Okay. What do you want to talk about?” He leans back and looks at me. His stare feels as if I’m under a hot white spotlight. I feel like he’s pulling apart my layers with those brilliant blue eyes.

  “I—” Something clicks in my mind. “I want to talk about your choice of clothing. You’ve barely answered my questions.”

  “N-n-n-n-no,” he says, wagging his finger in front of my face. “If we can’t talk about what’s going on with you, then I’m not going to tell you about that.”

  I take a deep breath. “Fine. Are you ready?”

  “I’ve been ready since seven o’clock this morning.”

  This close to him, I have nowhere else to look but into his eyes. He twirls a strand of my hair with one finger and grazes my thigh with the other hand.

  “I don’t think it’s the wedding. I’m happy for Lily. I just—I feel stuck, you know? I graduated at the top of every class I was in. I have two degrees. I come from a happy family. On paper, my life is immaculate. I feel ungrateful complaining about it. Lately, I’m just not sure. It’s weird telling you that because I’ve known you for less than a day. But I’ve known Lily my whole life and I can’t tell her the same, no matter how much I try.”

  “Am I allowed to interject?” he asks.

  I think about it while he drinks more wine. “Yes.”

  “Then, let me ask you this . . . If you could give everything up. I’m talking just pick up and go somewhere right now, no consequences, where would you go?”

  I take my time. I refill his wineglass and let my belly flutter with uncertainty. It’s a luxury to dream like that. It’s a dream to even dream.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “I know where I’d go.”

  “Vegas?” I guess. “South Beach?”

  “I don’t know if I should be offended or not,” he says, but something flicks across his face and I think I’ve actually hurt him. I want to take it back, but he shrugs it off. He keeps talking. “But now I don’t want to tell you because you already know me so well.”

  “I was kidding,” I say.

  “Machu Picchu.”

  “No way.” I go to shove him, but we’re so entwined on this couch that there’s nowhere for him to move. I just rest my hand on his chest. “I love the Andes. My parents still have some family in Ecuador and Peru, actually. But I’ve never been to either.”

  “Yes way. Why is that so hard to believe? Every year I take a big trip. I take a month off and just go. Last year I went hiking in Chile. The year before that I spent a month backpacking across Australia. Did you know everything there has evolved to kill us?”

  “Not evolved enough, because you’re still here.”

  “At least I’m not afraid of those giant cockroaches crawling all over this city.”

  “You best respect this city while you’re around me.”

  He bites his bottom lip and smiles at me. “Before that I went all around Thailand. I almost didn’t come back because the beaches were actually heaven. I’m talking the most perfect blue you’ve ever seen.”

  I think I’ve already seen the perfect blue, and it’s in the outer ring of his eyes. “You mean to tell me that you just take off for months at a time and your work just lets you? What do you do? Can I get in on that?”

  He looks startled for a second. I can practically feel the wheels in his mind spinning. “You’re a schoolteacher. You have the most vacation days of anyone who isn’t a billionaire. Come with me next time.”

  “Okay, but without the billionaire salary,” I correct. For the first time in a long time, I am at ease. How can I feel that way with a man I don’t truly know? How can I let myself dream more in these moments with him than I have in years?

  The feeling is short-lived. Out of nowhere, the reminders of everything I’m supposed to do flood my thoughts. I need to finish my lesson plan. I need to prove to Lily that she can still depend on me. I need to prove to myself that I’m still the same girl I used to be.

  “It’s getting late,” I say, and it is physically painful to ask him to leave. “I have to finish work for tomorrow.”

  He nods an understanding. But his hand still rests on my thigh and our legs are tangled, feet resting on the coffee table. Neither of us makes the first move to get up. “Well, I already know you’re busy this whole weekend. What about next weekend?”

  “My calendar is free after the wedding. That’s what my work thing is this weekend. It’s the bachelorette party.”

  He laughs a little too hard. It even wakes up Yaz. “What’s the plan for the party? Did you get her a lit-up crown and penis-shaped straws?”

  It’s my turn to laugh. “No. And definitely nothing gross and trashy like a bunch of male strippers or whatever you think bachelorette parties are like. I’ve been to five of them this year and I’m positive this one is going to be the tamest. Tea party and all.”

  I feel a shift in Fallon’s body almost instantly. The most noticeable change is his smile. It’s strained, almost like it hurts to keep it up. He looks at the door, like he’s calculating how quickly he can get out. What did I say to upset him? I replay my words and can’t think of it.

  Fallon grabs me around the waist and lifts me off him. He picks up Yaz in his arms and stands.

  “Thanks again for dinner,” Fallon says, edging toward the door. Moments ago he couldn’t seem to stay away from me, and now he’s taking several steps back. He grabs the bag of coffee-soaked clothes, and reaches for the door.

  “No problem?” I walk him out.

  “I’m actually late for the gym.” He touches my shoulder. It’s different from all his other touches today. It’s like he’s trying to push me away. “I have to meet a friend.”

  I’m so confused. My eyes narrow, asking so many questions all at once. What happened and when did it happen?

  “Bye, Robyn.” He frowns, but leans down to press a kiss on my cheek, something sad in his eyes. Then he’s gone, racing down the steps, putting as much distance between us as quickly as his legs will allow.

  5

  I Kn
ew You Were Trouble

  When You Walked In

  FALLON

  “Gross and trashy.” I bench-press 300 pounds.

  My spotter, Aiden Rios, doesn’t look impressed. Aiden joined Mayhem City when we were in South Beach. Aiden, Colombian-born and New York–raised, can twerk up a hurricane of dollar bills onstage. Though I’ve known Aiden the least amount of time, we’re closer than the other guys in the crew. Aiden’s twenty-four but an old soul, and easier to talk to because he isn’t belligerent all the time.

  I hold the barbell over my head for the full rep, my veins stretching against my skin like some Hulk shit. I’m on my third rep with no signs of slowing down. Robyn’s words rattle inside my mind. They touch every part of me that feels not enough. I wasn’t enough for my father. I wasn’t enough for every teacher who told me I was a waste of time. I wasn’t enough for Valeria, and maybe I’m not enough for Robyn, either.

  “Oh, come on,” Aiden says, holding his hands at the ready. “Don’t be so dramatic, brother. She doesn’t know what you do. She probably didn’t mean it that way.”

  “How”—I grunt each word to the rhythm of the barbell—“Many. Ways. Can. You. Mean. That?”

  On the last word my arms strain, and Aiden catches the barbell and hoists it back into place. I’m drenched in sweat and breathing hard. My little display has every man and woman in the weight room looking at us. A girl mid-squat straightens back up to flutter a wink at me. Two juiceheads switch their 50s for 100s and continue doing curls. It’s a chorus of grunts and sweaty curses.

  I let the pain in my arms wash over me. I’m stupid for pushing myself too hard. I’m going to be sore as hell the next couple of days. Still, this was the safest way I know to blow off steam. I sit up too quickly and regret the head rush that forces me to close my eyes. I feel the hard smack of Aiden’s hand on my sweaty back.