by Amelia Mae
“Nice to meet you,” he says.
“Likewise.”
“What this?” Dylan asks, pointing to the pitcher.
Ian pours drinks. “Bourbon sour. Family recipe.”
The doorbell rings again. Ian goes to answer it this time. I recognize Jack arriving with a girl with rainbow hair and a sweet face who I’m told is Ian’s sister, Nikki Brooks.
I had told myself that I wasn’t going to drink, but when Ian hands me a cocktail, I take it happily. If I’m going to flip a shit every time the damn doorbell rings, I’ll need something to quell my nerves.
I talk for a moment about the Say Yes tour with Dylan. Then I spend a minute getting reacquainted with Nikki and Jack, but I get the feeling that they’re trying to have a private conversation and don’t want a third wheel.
I decide to find Cora, who is probably busying herself in the kitchen.
But first, a refill.
I start to ladle more bourbon sour into my glass.
I stand up quickly. Something’s different. The air has changed. The room feels a million degrees hotter.
Someone’s standing behind me and I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.
I can’t tell if I’m mortified or turned on.
Or mortified by how turned on I am.
Okay, pep talk time.
Aya, this is your second chance at a first impression. Just turn around and say hi like a decent human being, okay? Then he’ll say something normal and you’ll say something normal in reply and you’ll converse like normal adults. Just turn around and say something.
“Well, if it isn’t the girl with the dragon tattoo?” he says.
Fuck.
4
Aya
I know he means it as a joke. And it’s a little bit cute that he remembers. But my face is beet red. He may as well have announced that I’d farted to the entire room.
“I was just messing with you,” Shawn tells me, noticing my discomfort. “I’m… I’m sorry,”
“I don’t want to think about that night ever again,” I tell him.
It’s a lie. Sort of. There were some good parts too.
“You know, nothing that bad really happened. Just a little too much whiskey. We’ve all been there.” he tells me.
“I was messy and stupid and talking out my ass.”
“You weren’t nearly as bad as you think you were,” he adds with a half-smile. “ You were actually pretty cute.”
“Still, I’d just as soon forget about it. I mean… I know you don’t know this but, the last time I got really drunk and stupid with a guy was…” my voice trails off. I’ve said too much. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
It’s the reason I don’t do relationships anymore. And the reason I have a lot of trouble trusting people.
“What?” he asks, “Were you attacked? Did someone take advantage of you?”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Were you…” He can’t bring himself to say it.
“I wasn’t raped, if that’s what you were wondering,” I clarify, “But the last time I got that drunk, I let a guy talk me into some things I wasn't totally comfortable with.”
“What kind of things?”
“I don’t want to get into it, Shawn. It was humiliating. And it was a long time ago. And I’ve moved on.” I try to say it resolutely.
He doesn’t press it.
“You know nothing happened between us that night, right?” he asks, “I would never do something like that.”
“I know,” I reply, “I remember everything. You were so sweet. Nicer to me than I deserved.”
I turn to leave. I don’t know where I’m going, just that I’m going to make some socially appropriate party exit and mingle with the others, but he stops me with a warm hand on my shoulder.
“How about a complete do-over?” he asks, trying to lighten the mood and make me comfortable again. “No drinking, no perving on me…”
“Hey, I wasn’t the only one perving that night,” I counter.
“Really?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
Before I can say something snarky in reply, Cora calls us in from the kitchen. Time for dinner.
Their apartment doesn’t have much of a dining room, so they’ve pushed a folding card-table against their usual four-person table and covered both with festive tablecloths. Cora’s idea, I’m sure. Christmas is her favorite holiday.
I’m more of a Halloween person.
It’s a tight fit, but we’re all cozy. I’m wearing a short dress, so whoever is seated next to me is going to be rubbing up against some bare thigh. Not normally a really big deal… except that I’m seated next to Shawn.
Also Cora’s idea. I’m sure.
I try to follow at least one of the conversations going on. Cora and Dylan confirm the clear superiority of pizza in New York while Ian makes a meek argument in defense of a select few pizzerias on the west coast to no avail.
Jack and Nikki discuss a tattoo that she's planning to get on her ribs next month. She asks me for advice on dealing with the pain. There’s no trick to sitting for a tattoo. It just fucking hurts.
Shawn says nothing to me.
And here we are again, shoved together and I can’t make an interesting word come out of my mouth.
Okay, not exactly. I’ve contributed several interesting words to several conversations, but I can’t seem to direct any said words towards him.
Shawn drops something on the floor, leans over to pick it up, and in the process, accidentally grazes my leg with his fingertips, just at the hem of my skirt.
“Ungh.”
Okay, not an interesting word, but I sure as hell just made an interesting noise. Goosebumps surface on my skin and I feel my face turn a brilliant shade of pink.
I glance around the table.
No one heard you, Aya. It’s okay.
But Shawn chuckles softly. He heard me.
I dare to make eye contact with him. Yes, he definitely heard me. It’s written all over his face.
I panic.
Holy fuck…
My eyes dart all over the room.
To Cora.
To my dinner.
To my fork.
To Cora again.
To Shawn. Dammit, that sexy, cocky grin is too much.
Back to Cora. Help me Cora. She’s talking about her wedding. Damn. Can’t interrupt.
Nikki. Thank God for Nikki. She's a girl and she hangs out with these fucking sexy rockers all day long. She must be able to help. But she’s too wrapped up talking to Jack, so she's useless too.
Back to Shawn. No, shit, not at Shawn. He gets hotter if you look him directly in the eyes.
To the water glass. Great. Safe. Let’s just pretend that my water glass is fascinating.
Oooooh, fuck.
I feel those fingertips on my skin again. Right on my leg. Same place as before.
And it’s definitely not an accident this time.
I choke back the gasp that’s dying to eek out as Shawn’s fingers traipse over my knee and up my thigh slowly.
It’s taking everything I have to keep breathing normally. I feel Shawn’s eyes on me. I can tell that he’s being cautious, giving me every opportunity to tell him to stop. To tell him that this is completely inappropriate. To fuck off and stop touching me.
My eyes meet his for the slightest of seconds while I try to beg him as subtly as I can…
Keep going. Keep touching me.
Thankfully, Shawn can read my dirty mind.
I stare at his rough, calloused fingers as they ease up my inner thigh.
Higher.
Higher…
Higher until… Motherfucker.
Immediately, six heads snap. Twelve eyes are all on me.
I said that out loud.
Oh, great.
“Aya, are you okay?” Cora asks.
“I’m fine,” I reply, “I’m not feeling… I just… bathroom…”
No one makes a big deal about my little outburst earlier. Still, I don’t want to spend too much time alone with any one person and give them the opportunity to ask.
As the evening winds to a close, we finish our drinks and desserts and head off in to the night. Dylan leaves first and Nikki follows soon after. Jack and Ian linger in the living room talking about something or other until Jack finally makes his way to the door.
Having not seen Shawn for almost half an hour, I figure I’m safe to leave without having to figure out goodbyes with him.
I give Cora a hug. I pass Ian as he enters to help Cora with the clean-up and we say goodbye with a friendly half-hug. It’s a weird hug. And I get why. I mean, the first time I saw Ian, I told Cora that he was so hot, I’d bite him like an apple. Even I didn’t know what I meant by that.
Ian’s good-looking and all, but my interests are elsewhere.
Like with the man who just emerged from the guest room and is currently thanking Ian for letting him borrow some old vinyl record.
Oh, crap. I thought he’d already left.
His eyes meet mine yet again.
“I was just heading out,” I tell him. I give Cora another hug.
“I’ll walk you out,” he offers, his voice totally calm.
We say good night to Cora and Ian and close the door behind us.
Shawn calls for the elevator.
It dings. We get in.
We’re almost silent throughout the entire elevator ride, which is better than the alternative where I blurt out, “Hey, so I almost let you finger me at the dinner table…”
That would be totally awkward.
But, still, I don’t want this elevator ride to end. It’s not an uncomfortable silence like it was in his car the night we met. It’s like… he calms me down. Mellows out my frenetic energy.
I like that.
And I especially like the soft smile on his face when he catches me staring at him.
God, for the first time in forever, I’m alone with a guy and thinking please touch me, instead of what I normally think, which is some variation of this is uncomfortable, keep your hands to yourself.
After being in a relationship with a guy who hurt me so fundamentally, betrayed my trust, and made it so my own mother was ashamed to look at me for awhile… I mean, I’m never going to want a relationship again.
I know that much.
But it’s nice to know that I’m probably capable of at least wanting someone again.
Ding. The elevator door opens and spits us out into the lobby.
Well, this is it… I guess… I think to myself.
We make our way through the lobby to the front door.
Shawn holds the door open for me and leads me outside.
He leans down, closes his eyes, and catches my lips with his for a split-second and it knocks the wind right out of me.
Did Shawn kiss me or did I just dream that?
I stare at him. “What was that for?”
He looks up at the awning, directly over the entrance to the building where a sprig of mistletoe hangs.
“Tradition.”
Then winks at me and heads for his car.
“I’ll be seeing you, Aya,” he says, as my knees turn to jelly.
“Looking forward to it,” I say with a prissy, high-school-girl wave before my brain is even aware of what it’s letting me say.
Oh fuck, I may as well have told him that I look forward to him fingering me the next time we sit together anywhere. And this time, I hope he fucking finishes the job.
I’m still standing in the doorway like a moron when I hear the elevator open again and see Cora standing there with my purse, scarf, and cell phone in her hand.
“Where the hell did you think you were going without… oh,” Cora says, her voice trailing off when she realizes that I’ve just been ogling Shawn as he walks to his car.
“I want him,” I admit, practically whining to her.
Cora just snickers.
“Can I have him? Please?” I ask, like she has any say in the matter. “I’ll be good.” I bat my eyelashes at her for emphasis.
Cora raises an eyebrow. “No you won’t.”
Hmm… she’s right. I won’t be good.
My mind is already swimming with delicious, filthy ideas about what to do with Shawn if I can ever get him alone again.
I could straddle him in the front seat of that low-riding sports car and get him to pull my hair while I kiss him and grind on his hard dick.
I could strip him naked, push him down on my bed, climb on top and ride him.
I could pull him behind some dark curtain after a show when he’s all sweaty and breathing hard, drop to my knees and suck him off right there.
Oh, I’m definitely capable of wanting someone again. And I want Shawn Kinney. Some part of me that had been asleep for a long time is finally wide awake.
The question is… should I do something about it?
5
Shawn
I trudge home, throw my jacket on the couch and head straight for the bathroom. I start the shower and crank up the hot water as high at it’ll go. I tear off my clothes and stand under the spray.
You could have a beautiful girl here with you tonight, I think to myself, But you had to try and be cool… and aloof…
The long and short of it is that I’ve been trying to act more like my step-brother, Jack. Jack is effortless. Cocky. Kind of ridiculous.
And completely anti-relationship.
Like I should be.
It works for him, but I just don’t get it.
Then again, Jack’s always been able to get anybody and everybody he wanted. Me… not so much.
I used to be pretty chubby, but a growth spurt, an interest in surfing and martial arts, and the desire to look good half-naked on an album cover one day kind of sparked my interest in fitness and I worked off my extra layer. The “baby fat,” as my mom used to call it.
But, despite my appearance, I wasn’t as bullied as one might think. No, I was the asexual chubby friend.
I made fun of my weight myself and beat everyone else to the punch. It made people around me comfortable enough to include me. Guys would rub my belly and call me “Big Guy” at parties. Girls would cry on my shoulder after their boyfriends dumped them and invite me shopping at the mall like I was their gay BFF.
I can see my reflection in the mirror across the bathroom give myself a once-over in the mirror.
Times have changed. Well… some things. My body definitely.
But my ability to separate sex and relationships… not as much. After Torie, I spent awhile trying one-night-stands and casual sex until I found it so empty that I just gave up altogether and took a chastity vow to prevent myself from doing something stupid.
And it was working. Until a few hours ago.
I can’t start developing feelings for Aya.
But I also can’t deny that I’m painfully hard, throbbing, and thinking about her. Wishing like crazy that I wasn’t alone in this shower.
Maybe you don’t have a crush on her, Shawn. Maybe you just want to fuck her.
That’s it. I tell myself it’s just lust. For her subtle curves and her pretty face. I close my eyes and let my mind wander.
If it’s just lust, it’s okay to fantasize.
That’s all the permission I need.
I close my eyes and stroke myself, imagining she’s here with me, naked, dripping wet and soapy, her blue hair stuck to her neck and shoulders as I pin her to the tile wall. I picture how it would feel to have her tiny hands on my big cock.
I bet I could get her to gasp and whimper like I did at dinner. God, I want to hear what she sounds like when she’s not trying to keep it together in front of our friends. I want to hear her really let loose.
I bet it’s loud.
And she’d get even louder as I get her legs wrapped around my waist and sink deep inside of her—
Oh holy fuck, I think as I come all over the
tile wall.
That was intense.
And really fucking fast.
“That’s the wrong goddamn chord, man,” Jack snarls at me.
We’re rehearsing together in the third bedroom of our apartment, which we’ve converted into a practice room, trying to work out the particularly difficult riff in Make It Hurt, in which we have to complement each other.
“Huh?”
“This is the second time. We get to the chorus and you keep hitting that same fucking wrong chord. What’s with you today?”
I sigh. I don’t know.
“You’re really tense,” he tells me.
“I know.”
“What’s going on? You need a break?”
I shake my head no.
“How long has it been since you got laid?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
Leave it to Jack to cut right to the chase. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
He’s not wrong. I’ve been a little edgy lately. I do miss sex. But, for me, sex is coupled with intimacy. As much as I miss orgasms, I miss having someone to call and talk to at night. Having someone who remembers the little, dumb-but-significant moments of your day together. Having someone who knows all your quirks. And you know all hers.
I want sex with someone whose name I actually remember in the morning and who doesn’t rush out the door the second the condom’s off.
Oh, and being able to fuck without condoms.
There’s nothing like sinking into a woman bare, nothing between your bodies. Really feeling her. But barebacking is a privilege reserved for exclusive relationships. I decided that years ago after Jack got the clap from a groupie.
Jack’s stare cuts right through me. “Come on. How long?”
I rub the back of my neck. “Couple months.”
Jack’s jaw hits the floor, “How are you still walking, man? I’d have died of blue balls by now.”
I scoff. He probably would have.
“Shower and change,” he demands.
“Why?”
“We’re going out. I’m gonna get you laid. Don’t give me any of this vow of celibacy bullshit. You’re gonna take all this pent-up energy out on some some girl and then we can finally finish the fucking song.”