Let Loose for Me

by Coffman, Georgia

  I gulp, desperately trying to wet my dry throat as I try to process today’s turn of events.

  “Tell me what you need,” he whispers, his eyes squeezing shut as his thumbs slide the towel down a little with each word. “Tell me to stop…”

  I’m aware of everything and nothing.

  Only our breathing and tension fill the silence around us, my yoga mix muffled to the background.

  Once his eyes are open again, I shake my head and let the towel fall.

  Small beads of water run between my bare breasts.

  His mouth hangs open.

  “Fuck.” He sharply inhales and fixates on my hard nipples. Running his hands up the sides of my body, his left hand cups my breast—the one I had examined a few hours ago. The reason Ty was with me today. The reason he’s here now.

  He tentatively massages it, and my eyes flutter closed at the sensation. A sensation so foreign to me it’s like new at this point. A moan escapes, an unnatural sound coming from me. At first, I don’t even realize it did, in fact, come from me.

  His breathing picks up, as does mine, a reaction for a reaction. A give and take. Push and pull. Like our whole relationship so far.

  Leaning forward, he doesn’t stop massaging my breast while he takes my nipple into his mouth. He worships it, making me feel like I really am okay. Like I’m strong and beautiful.

  His tongue rolls around my nipple before he gently grazes it with his teeth. My body jerks, welcoming the harsh contrast between his tongue and teeth. I moan again and let my head fall back as I grip both of his round shoulders.

  My breath hitches when he pulls away, but he doesn’t pull back. He merely rests his head on my chest, his hands holding each of my breasts. “You’re so fucking beautiful it hurts,” he mutters.

  I don’t know how long we stay like this. I don’t count the minutes. Instead, I cradle his head in my hands, and we hold each other, more focused on providing comfort than focusing on the moment we part and resume our normal roles.

  Ones that don’t involve moments like this one that take my breath away and have me yearning for more.

  CHAPTER 21

  Ty

  Knock, knock.

  The knock on the door echoed throughout the house, erasing the laughter from the joke my dad just told.

  “Who could it be at this hour?”

  The policemen knocked with finality. Like they were communicating their message through their firm knock.

  Once my dad warily opened the door, they removed their hats. Their expressions were grave and sincere when they delivered the news, like they’d known my sister personally. Like they knew how generous and innocent she was. We’d just celebrated her twenty-first birthday the week before. She was healthy and happy, and so excited for her new internship at school.

  So into her art.

  Her music.

  Fashion.

  She was in her prime before it was all taken away.

  I color in Emma’s green eyes, trying desperately to capture them properly, yet knowing I’ll never be able to. I hover over the colors on my palette, contemplating which ones to mix to resemble the right kind of hazel for the flecks, but I stop myself. Closing my eyes, I conjure her image in my head. Her eyes are so different than anything I’ve ever seen.

  Grinding my teeth, I tamp down the thoughts of her bare in her bathroom a few days ago. My lips on her, her nipples hard and teasing. She tasted better than I ever imagined, which didn’t surprise me.

  What did surprise me was my restraint.

  I was so fucking hard, ready to haul her to the bed and unleash this pent-up sexual energy I’ve been clinging to like a security blanket.

  But I knew that’s not what she needed.

  That moment was not about us together, but more. It was about so much more.

  I wanted her to know how beautiful she is, how strong and admirable she is. I wanted her to know that although nothing would please me more than to fuck the tension out of her whole body, I really do care about her, even if nothing ever happens with us.

  Although that would be a travesty.

  The moment she relaxed even a little as I sucked on her nipple, it was enough to show me how good we could be together, how much physical pleasure we could bring each other.

  Because that’s what it is. I have a physical fascination with Emma, especially after my glimpse a few days ago. I keep telling myself I’m not capable of anything further.

  I’m not capable of long-lasting emotional connections, and the way she scared me with her doctor’s appointment is the reason I can’t let myself be emotionally involved.

  I gulp, silently admitting I care so much because I’m already too emotionally involved, and the thought terrifies me.

  I’m so engrossed in my thoughts and the eyes watching me from my pad, I don’t see the instructor come up behind me. “She’s lovely.”

  I swallow, not meeting Mrs. Hannigan’s gaze, mesmerized instead by the face on my page like Emma’s standing right in front of me, her hand covering up her smile.

  “She must be someone special. You’ve been painting her instead of Charlie a lot lately, although you never seem to be able to finish.”

  I clear my throat, tearing my attention from the paper to Mrs. Hannigan, her wispy white hair piled on top of her head. Her glasses are perched on the tip of her nose, a small nose ring almost covered by them.

  “Well, she’s just a friend, really. I don’t finish because… I don’t know. I don’t even know her too well.” I immediately feel guilty for saying that, like Emma can hear me. Like she’s witnessing firsthand me being a dick.

  Mrs. Hannigan smiles, obviously knowing I’m full of shit. “Why is half her face covered? The crinkles in the eyes suggest she’s smiling, but why didn’t you draw the smile?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Come to think of it, she’s never smiling in your drawings or paintings. I wonder why?”

  “Because I’ve only ever seen her smile at others. It’s never for me,” I whisper, peering down at my hands as I let the crushing blow settle in my stomach. “Not a real one, anyway. It’s always sad or sadistic, even, especially when she wants to cut off my balls and shave my eyebrows.”

  With hands on her hips, Mrs. Hannigan bursts out laughing. “Sounds to me like you’ve found someone very special, then.”

  She pats my shoulder affectionately, like a grandmother would her grandchildren. Which, in this case, is slightly accurate since I’ve always been closer to Mrs. Hannigan than my own grandparents.

  “Your sister would be proud of you. You’re very talented, in a different way than she was. Your art usually expresses something you don’t understand as though you do, like it’s intentional, although this girl here seems to be throwing you for a loop.” She smiles down at me. “Charlie always fought so hard to understand her subject before she drew it. It wasn’t until later in her life when she finally stopped being in her head so much, to finally let the brush speak to her instead of the other way around.”

  I nod as she walks away to another student, her words hugging me like a long-lost friend. I didn’t know that about my sister. And small details like that are the reasons I keep coming back here and taking this class with Mrs. Hannigan.

  The students look younger and younger every semester, but still I show up, paintbrush, pencils, and sketchpads in hand.

  She never asks me to stop. But sometimes she will give me details about my sister that I crave, that catch me by surprise, that help me keep her alive, if only among these pale walls of the art studio.

  I chew on my bottom lip, my heart full as I stare out the window, hanging onto this feeling as best I can before it fades like the wind outside.

  Like the memories, the wind swoops by, blows you away, then disappears, leaving no remnants for the ones who need it most.

  I flip the tilapia in the pan, comforted by the sizzling it creates, and take a sip of my beer. “You want two or three fillets?” I yell to t
he living room.

  “Easy,” Leo says, covering one ear and grabbing another beer from the fridge behind me.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to deafen your old man ears. Didn’t see you there.”

  “That’s because you’re thinking hard about something.” He watches me with squinty eyes as he pops the cap off the bottle. “What is it? Trying to guess what girl you hooked up with last night? Or mentally sifting through the catalog for tonight’s booty call?”

  I smirk at his jab. “You’re just jealous it’s not you.” I season the tilapia and pour a substantial amount of lemon juice on top, letting the crackling fill the silence. The guilt hits me immediately for having been cold to Leo. And for what he said being true—how much of a nasty player I’ve been my entire adult life.

  “Right. You caught me. What I wouldn’t give to fuck women one minute, then forget them the next. Or while we’re in the middle of fucking.”

  “Okay, that happened once.” I shove his shoulder. “What’s your problem, man?”

  His smile, no matter how sarcastic, falls from his face. “I’m just worried about you, that’s all. Everything okay?”

  I scoff. “Of course. The other day, I even found a new brand of jeans I think show off my ass really well. Anything else?” I smile brightly and sarcastically at him, and the guilt festers inside me like a parasite. I know he’s only concerned about me and my usually heavy drinking habits. And I’ve been off my game in general—it’s obvious. “Sorry, that was stupid. I’m fine. I’ve even stopped sleeping around and drinking so much.” I point to the beer bottle. “This is my first, and it’s already six o’clock. Normally, I’m at least ten deep by now and about to switch to hard liquor.” I shrug, not mentioning I’ve been backing off because I’m usually driving to LA to see Emma and staying on Sebastian’s couch just so I can spend an extra day in the same zip code as her.

  “I noticed. Good for you, brother.” He slaps me on the shoulder on his way back into the living room where Jordan and Rafael fight over whose turn it is to play Fortnite. “I better go break up their impending brawl.”

  I nod, then pick up my phone once he’s out of view.

  Me: How are you feeling?

  It’s been almost a week since her doctor’s appointment, mere days since I had my mouth on her bare body.

  Her wet breasts.

  Hard nipples.

  Slim but curvy figure.

  Emma: Just fine. Even better than when you asked 15 minutes ago. Eyeroll Loki GIF

  I chuckle, knowing I’ve been blowing up her phone to make sure she’s feeling okay. She complained about soreness a couple days ago, and I turned into a complete pussy. I called, FaceTimed, and emailed about thirteen times in a half hour window to see if there was anything I could do. I even offered Sebastian’s assistance, but she insisted Kendall was taking care of her.

  She told her what’s going on, and Kendall’s been staying at their apartment more, putting me at ease.

  I wish I was the one there for her, but with all our shows and practices, it’s impossible to sneak off. It fucking kills me knowing she’s feeling even an ounce of pain, no matter how normal or unalarming it is—I spent hours googling prognoses to confirm—and there’s nothing I can do to help.

  My usual feelings of helplessness weigh heavily on my chest, like the time Jordan was busy talking to a hottie while he was supposed to be spotting my bench press—the barbell quite literally crushed me.

  Me: You like that I care.

  Setting my phone aside, I take plates of food into the living room. Every few minutes, it erupts with noises from the guys fighting over the controls. “I guess I should replace the broken control, huh?” I say, pointing to the abandoned controller. It broke last weekend when Jordan threw it out the open window in a rage.

  The next morning, he claimed to think he was on the first floor and not the third, so he didn’t think there’d be much damage.

  “Yes!” they all scream in unison.

  “Okay, chill, and let’s eat before I kick your asses for drinking all my beer.”

  They groan, having to pause the shit game they’re into now. I check my phone when I go back into the kitchen and see a message from Tarryn. She’s been texting me here and there. Some messages are flirtatious, but mostly, she just needs a friend.

  I quickly respond with a neutral text, then scroll to Emma’s message.

  Emma: Do you? Care, that is.

  Her question confuses me. How can she not know by now?

  Me: Let’s just say, I care more about you than my fine wines and peanut butter, raisin, and cheese sandwiches.

  “Who do you care about?”

  “Jesus, Leo!” I jump forward. “Warn a brother before you creep up on him.”

  He points to my phone. “Did that say Emma? Are you telling Emma how much you care about her?”

  “Keep your fucking voice down.”

  “Dude, I knew there was something other than yoga you keep going to LA for. Who the hell drives five hours for yoga? I knew you were meeting a girl!”

  “We’re not together. And I do go for yoga. Just so happens, Emma’s the instructor.”

  “It’s all making sense. Why you stopped drinking so much. Why you don’t sleep around…”

  “We’re friends.”

  “You cleaned up for a girl!”

  “Of course, I care about her. I care about all my friends, which you are not at this moment.”

  He finally stops laughing. “You’ve never been friends with a female before.” His doubtful tone says it all as he chews on a green bean. “Especially one as beautiful as Emma.”

  “Well, I’m friends with this one.” I try to shove past him with more food for the guys, but Leo stops me with a hand on my chest.

  “Ty, be real. What’s going on? How did you two become ‘friends’ to begin with?”

  “The air quotes are unnecessary.” I roll my eyes when Leo doesn’t let up. “We hang out with Sebastian and Kendall all the time, so it was only natural we become friends.”

  There. That’s enough to satisfy his sniffing nose for now.

  He doesn’t need to know I’ve seen her naked and made her moan in hushed tones while I massaged her breasts. He doesn’t need to know those sounds keep me up at night.

  “Who are you friends with?” Jordan asks, rounding the corner unexpectedly.

  Then Raf follows. “Where’s the food?” He pats his stomach before reaching into the fridge for a beer. “I’m starved.”

  Of course, Raf speaks up when there’s food involved. Otherwise, his mouth would be zipped shut like a priest in the confessional. How someone who gets half-naked on a nightly basis in front of an audience can be as shy as he is, I’ll never understand.

  I glare at Leo, communicating telepathically for him to keep his mouth shut while I take care of this, but when he grins widely, I know I won’t get out of this alive. “Our buddy Ty here has a new lady friend.”

  Jordan snorts. “So? Doesn’t Ty always have a lady friend?” He takes the last plate from me, the food getting cold while we stand here gossiping like a bunch of pussies. Only thing missing is Sex in the City in the background and some nail polish for pedicures.

  Leo continues, an amused grin so wide the apartment is cramped. “No, no. I mean, they’re really just friends, according to him.”

  Jordan stops in his tracks with his back to us, and Raf stops mid-chew.

  I smack Leo’s shoulder. “Cut the shit. Can we eat now? Food’s getting cold, and I slaved away all afternoon, what with thawing the fish and stuffing the green beans in the microwave. Come on.”

  “Dude, what happened? She not into chocolate mocha? She not have a sweet tooth?” Jordan jabs Raf in the ribs with his elbow. Raf resumes eating as the other two tease me about Emma not being into me.

  “And here I looked up to you, man. I wanted to be you when I grew up,” Jordan says, his mouth full of tilapia.

  They’re relentless in their teasing all through
out dinner. All throughout a night of poker.

  Until they finally leave me in peace.

  Leo turns to me in the doorway. “You know we’re just kidding, right?” He grips my shoulder like I imagine my dad would do, if I ever saw him anymore.

  “No sweat. I don’t even care. I’m above all your immature hounding.” I give him my best cocky grin, spreading my arms wide with fingertips touching both walls of the hallway. “Look how I’ve grown.”

  “I believe befriending a woman lays a good foundation for a solid relationship. That’s why I only date women and avoid one-night stands.” A sadness suddenly washes over him, his gaze darting downward, and I wonder if it’s because he knows my past or if it’s his own mysterious past he’s referring to. Before I can ask, he shakes himself out of it. “Thanks for dinner, brother.”

  “Thanks for cleaning out the fridge. I don’t like beer, anyway.” My statement drips with sarcasm, and I can hear Leo’s faint laughter as he walks to his car.

  In silence, I sit back on my couch, the TV’s volume a low hum. A random show plays, one Rafael and Jordan are into these days. I don’t see it, anyway.

  Nothing registers, not even their relentless teasing.

  It didn’t bother me because I know they were messing with me the way good brothers do. I don’t have a brother by blood or any other siblings since my sister’s death, but I imagine if I did have a brother, our relationship would be like the one I have with the guys from Naked Heat.

  No, the guys’ jabs didn’t bother me.

  What bothers me, what has me gripping my phone so tightly and my heart racing, is that Emma hasn’t texted me back. She asked if I cared, and I answered yes.

  But no answer.

  And it pains me to admit, but her lack of response crushes me.

  CHAPTER 22

  Emma

  It’s midnight, and I’m still sitting on the couch sipping on a glass of Merlot with the TV on, but all I can think about is Tarryn.

  I ran into her earlier. I wasn’t even supposed to be at the studio this afternoon, but Wren is sick and needed me to cover.