by Mj Fields
I toss the dress in the trash and turn around to see her eyes wide and her breath held.
“Leave the bra and panties on, like a swim suit, but get your ass in the bath and clean up.”
As I’m walking out the door, she calls behind me with all the sass she can muster when I’ve just done something a girl like her has probably dreamed of a man doing to her in a completely different context. “Why can’t I take them off?”
I look back at her, she’s still sagging against the wall. I want to tell her, because I have wanted inside you since the first night I saw you beside my bed. Or something even more real, because I want to fuck you all the way to unforgettable… like you’ve already fucked me.
But I don’t, because she deserves so much fucking more than I could ever give a human being.
Instead I tell her, “Because I’m going to come back in here and make sure you don’t drown.”
After I throw out my shirt, I stand outside the door listening to the water move, and the small sounds escaping her as she washes herself.
I tell myself stand down, soldier, whenever I feel like I can’t take another second.
I hear her get out, I hear her pull the towel off the rack and I wait like a good little boy until she says my name. I walk in and see her wrapped in a towel shaking and her teeth begin to chatter. “I’m cold.”
I hand her a tee-shirt and a pair of sweats and tell her to put it on and I leave the room.
When she comes out swimming in my clothes, she’s still shaking. I pull back the duvet and point to the bed. “Get in.”
She hurries over and gets onto the bed, and I cover her quickly.
“It’s so cold, Oliver,” she says through chattering teeth and I don’t fucking think, I react.
I pull lose my pants and slide in next to her, and she moans at the connection of our bodies, as she buries her face in my chest.
Teeth chattering, she asks, “When will I get warm?”
“Right before you get sober,” I sigh and rub my hand up and down her back to warm her.
“Why do people even drink?” Her body shakes.
“Most don’t pound shots and mix it with whatever else it was you were drinking.”
“Sparkling cider.” Her body shakes violently, and I pull her closer. “Apples and pa-pa-pears,” she shivers. “It was so go-go-good.”
“I bet it was.” I can’t help but laugh and she sinks her nails into me a bit.
Fuck, that feels damn good.
“Not funny.”
Not at fucking all, I sigh to myself.
“How did it taste coming up?”
She sinks them in farther and I force a laugh, but fuck, fuck, fuck.
“You should go,” she sighs. “I’m sorry I interrupted your date.”
“Wasn’t a date, Natasha, it was,” I pause trying to decide whether or not to tell her the truth, but then realize she probably won’t remember anyway. “Work.”
She looks up at me. “Work?”
“I used to work with her. She does private security work now.”
“You should go work with her then.”
“Natasha, this is my room.”
“Well, I’m not leaving.” She peeks up at me, eyes giving me some sort of hell.
“I know you aren’t. Get some sleep.”
“So cold,” she whispers snuggling up closer to me.
“You’ll survive, now shhh.”
“Oliver?”
“Natasha.”
“Thanks.”
Her body is flush against mine and it should be really fucking uncomfortable but it’s not, it’s so damn comfortable. The way she just fits. It should feel wrong, but it feels so fucking right.
“Oliver?”
“Yeah?” I rub up and down her back a little harder now that I’m not worried I may mistakably push her up against me any tighter, she’s done that herself.
“This feels good.”
“Yeah,” I admit, knowing she’ll probably not remember it, but also not giving a fuck right now.
“I’m sick of fighting with you, Oliver, so sick it that it–” She stops.
“Made you throw up?”
She shivers again as she silently smiles against my skin. I don’t need to see it, I can feel it. I pull her head against my neck and rest my chin on top of her wet hair.
“I’m serious,” she sighs.
“I agree, it’s quieter.”
“Silence is overrated,” she yawns.
“You’re right. Contrary to what people believe, silence has a sound, it actually has many. Buzzing. Ringing. Hissing. Roaring. Near deafening. It’s never peaceful. But quiet, like this, it’s so fucking nice.”
“I’m glad I can be part of it,” she yawns.
After a few more moments, she giggles.
“What’s so amusing?”
“This, us,” she laughs again. “You taught me to ride a bike, yesterday, my first time. I got drunk today for the first time and you were here. I had my first dance tonight, with you. It’s weird, right?”
“Not unless you make it that way,” I sigh and roll to my back. I run my hands through my hair and sit up. “I’m going to shower and you’re going to go to sleep.”
She sits up, and not without issue, but my not thinking and simply reacting put us in this position to begin with, so I restrain my need to help her.
“Now who’s making it awkward?” I turn around and walk to the bathroom. “Oliver, wait.”
I grip the doorjamb, physically stopping two conflicting urges, one to turn around and make it real fucking awkward, and the other to fight with her again, push her away, but that’s why I never left to begin with. I can’t keep living like this.
“Two of those things, my dad should have taught me. But not the drunk part, I’m so glad it was you.”
I look over my shoulder at her smiling face. “Now that would have been awkward. So please stop fighting with me. I mean, I know you feel it too, the connection, the friendship, so please, just stop.”
I nod, “Okay.”
Her eyes smile and her nose crinkles up. “Okay?”
I nod again.
She smiles. “Thank you.”
I step into the bathroom. “And thank you for being my pretend boyfriend.”
I turn around and look at her. I don’t know what to expect, but she’s rolling her eyes and laughing at herself. “He had something green in his teeth, that’s a hard no for me. And I swear he would’ve kissed me if it weren’t for you.”
My body heats and I swear my blood is boiling. “If he ever tries to kiss you again, your pretend boyfriend is gonna kick his ass, for real.”
As soon as the words leave my lips, I step back in the bathroom and shut the door behind me.
I take the longest shower in history. If I were still in the desert, I would be getting my ass chewed for running us out of water. I’m taking longer than a twelve-year old boy trying to figure out how to make his first hard-on disappear. And not because I’m trying to get off, but because I needed her to fall the fuck to sleep.
Once I’m showered, I throw on a pair of sweats that I’d left in here before walking over to the Spread Eagle to meet Celine.
When I walk out, she opens her eyes and pulls the covers back for me. When I hesitate, she whispers, “I’m freezing, Oliver, get in here.”
So I do.
I wake to a heartbeat against me, the smell of lavender and the ocean surrounding me and… fuck. I’m hard. I’m so fucking hard.
“Morning,” she sighs and arches her back.
“Gotta piss,” I grumble and practically throw her off me. “Shit, I apologize.”
“S-okay,” she huffs.
After pissing, I can at least hide my dick, and when I walk out, she’s holding her head.
I grab my phone and look at the time. “Natasha, you have class at noon?”
“Uh huh,” she mutters.
“It’s almost eleven now.”
She sits up
and scampers across the bed, each movement a whimper and when she stands, she nearly falls. I grab her biceps and steady her.
“I’m gonna be so late.”
“You’d make a terrible drunk,” I can’t help but laugh.
She cocks her head to the side. “Are you picking on me, Oliver?”
“I am.” I step back and let go of her. “Go shower, I’ll grab you some food.”
“Hair of the dog?” She attempts to smile, and it’s clear that doing so pains her.
I can’t help but push it a little. “Apples and Pears?”
She walks past me toward the bathroom grumbling, “Never again.”
I order pastries and coffee to be delivered via room service, and dress in jeans and a black sweater. She’s been in the bathroom for ten minutes when I hear the blow dryer that buzzes for another five minutes.
When she finally walks out of the bathroom, in the tee-shirt she slept in, her hair is dry and lays straight, nearly to her waist.
She walks to my closet and grabs my denim shirt and walks back into the bathroom. “Help yourself,” I whisper.
When she comes out, she’s’ dressed in my shirt, the sleeves are rolled up and she has my belt wrapped around her, twice. She looks fucking stunning and without a stitch of makeup on her perfect heart shaped face. I wonder why the fuck she even bothers. But then I remember.
“Where did my boots end up?” she asks looking around as she picks up her handbag, pulls out her phone and begins sending a text without me answering. “Can’t believe it still has ten percent battery left,” she says to herself.
She looks up and cocks her head. “What?”
“You look amazing.”
She smiles. “Is that a compliment?”
I nod.
“Well, thank you.”
She walks over, and I hand her a cup of coffee and a croissant. “I’m never going to need a real boyfriend if my pretend one keeps this up.”
“How the hell are you the same mess that just rolled out of bed?”
She nearly chokes on her coffee; a couple drips slip down her lip. She licks it and laughs, “Okay, maybe not.”
“What?” I’m confused.
“You just told me I looked like crap when I wake up. You simply won’t do,” she shrugs and turns. “My boots!”
I drive her to her dorm, so she can run in and get her makeup, which she doesn’t fucking need, and her portfolio. While waiting for her in front of the building, I see that Harry douche walk out of her building.
I see him staring at the car, so I give him a little bitch wave and he acts like he doesn’t see me, I know he does. But just in case, I get out and stand next to the car and wait for Natasha to come out.
When she does, I open the door and she whispers as she gets in, “You’re spreading it pretty thick, huh?”
I close the door and see Harry cracking his neck while he looks at us and I whisper, “You bet your ass I am.”
Once inside she sighs, “I can walk, you know.”
“And I have a car.” I peel out and pass Harry. When she waves, I wish I had hit the puddle next to him and soaked his ass.
She turns up the radio. “Is this the song from last night?” She reads the dash, “The Closeness, Dermont Kennedy?”
Yeah, I’m pretty sure it is, but I don’t tell her that, I simply shrug.
When I pull up in front of campus, I see that other dick from last night, the redheaded kid.
When she starts to open the door, I stop her. “If I’m playing some game, I’m not gonna half ass it.”
I get out and walk around the car, open the door, and she steps out.
When she stands in front of me and looks up, she gives me a smirk.
“What?”
She licks her lips. “I wouldn’t want you to half ass it, Oliver, so you better give me a kiss goodbye.”
So I do.
Part V
Natasha & Oliver (From London to New York)
26
Natasha
I avoided Shana all afternoon during our shared class, Intro to Fashion Design and Development, knowing she’d ask a million questions; all could easily be answered with truths about my night. Yes, we slept together, yes, he’s sweet, yes, he brought me to class, yes, we’re together, and yes, he kissed me in front of Charles. All truths surrounded by lies.
The reality is he and I slept in the same bed because he’s an oven and I thought I’d die of hypothermia. He was so sweet he brought me breakfast… next to the bed. We’re together, due to business and the fact that he’s my mom’s much younger boyfriend’s best friend, so it’s unavoidable. And the kiss was a theatrical performance that started with his hands cupping my face, his forehead against mine and his soft lips… on the tip of my nose, held there for good measure.
I can’t help but laugh to myself. It was actually perfect. I suppose it’s a better first kiss than it would have been with Harry, who had something in his teeth. Harry who acts like he likes me, yet has kissed Shana. Harry who is no Aaron Esposito.
Aaron is also not what most would consider hotter than Oliver. Oliver is hot on most women’s hotness chart, in each and every degree, just not mine.
He’s far too intense, too bossy, and seems to know me too well. No fairytale or romance that I have read or watched was based on the understanding of life’s battle scars.
Lovers? I laugh inwardly at the thought of Oliver and I being together in that way, as would he. But friends? Forever, I hope… maybe even pray. He could certainly be a forever friend.
Aaron, though, there is something about him…
Looking out the window during the lecture in my creative product development class, I think about all the other amazing things that happened over the weekend… real things, and then I think about Stella, my first real friend.
I hope she can find happiness in her heart for me and I pray when this line releases it does well, and I can convince Mom and Bass when Stella is ready, she would be a great asset to de la Porte. And de la Porte to her.
Mondays tend to drag. When I began the semester, I changed my schedule when Shana suggested I skip a lunch break and start my classes later in the day due to the fact we’d be having “all the fun London has to offer” every weekend. And it was so much fun when we began. The train ride to Paris, the weekend Harry Potter marathon, followed by the Harry Potter walking tour, my trip with Mom all over seeing the sights… so much fun.
Then I met Bass and he seemed to have tipped my world on its axis, while tipping Mom’s upside down.
I have so much to be grateful for, and I am so glad I can share it with Stella this weekend.
Walking out of the lecture hall, I decide to look at my IG account, not my old one, but my new one, Natasha 2.0, I think laughing at the silliness in it.
Pictures of my sketches, different places I’ve visited, and the one Oliver took of me on the bridge with my back turned while looking at the ducks.
I also see I have a message and when I open it, I see it’s from IF2010, requesting to set up a meeting to discuss my future in fashion.
It warms my heart to know that it isn’t just my mother and Bass who think I have talent. And although I’d never consider it, I have to look.
When I click on her profile, I can’t help but smile. It’s a Paris fashion house and whoever messaged me has to be pretty big in the world.
Scrolling through the years and years of newsfeed pictures, I see runway shows, articles in fashion magazines like Vogue and Cosmo. Then I stop on one I recognize.
Bass had the same picture on his account, and I told him to clean it up if he cared about my mom.
He did.
I send a reply.
Not interested.
Curious, I look back at her feed. I see the way Bass looks at her, and the way she looks at him. I feel sick to my stomach.
Mom.
My chest aches as I toss my phone in my bag and walk toward Better Lives class and feel the irony pulse through
my veins. Our simple lives have changed, but is it really for the better?
All through class I’m tempted to check my Instagram, to send a message to the old hag that she better back off, but I don’t. I sit and stew. When the lecture is over, I grab my bag and practically run to the door so I can send that old bat a message, one that is loud and clear.
When I hear Shana behind me laughing, “What gives?” I turn around and her eyes widen. “Love, did he–”
“Natasha,” I hear Oliver’s voice and turn around.
“Wha–” I begin, and he cuts me off.
“Dinner,” he says, reaching out and taking my elbow.
I shake my head as I look him up and down and hear Shana whisper, “Damn.”
Damn is right, if you like a tall, dark, handsome, buff man with ink peeking out from under his dark gray thermal and rolled up worn leather jacket sleeves. His low-cut distressed jeans with holes in the knees, tucked into those leather biker boats, he’s… hot. Yep. H.O.T, hot.
“I thought you’d gone back to New York.”
He looks mildly annoyed and I have no idea why, but it makes me kind of giddy.
He pulls his aviators down and shakes his head as he runs his hand through his hair. In a very monotone voice he says, “I couldn’t leave without seeing you again.”
Shana whispers a sigh, “Fuck me dead.”
I turn back trying not to laugh. “Shana, I’ll see you–”
“Go, Jesus, Natasha, go.” She practically shoves me at him.
He places his hand on my lower back and walks us briskly to the waiting car. I stand and wait for him to open the door.
“Handles work the same here as they do in the US,” he whispers as he opens it.
I can’t help but laugh.
When he gets in, he takes off his shades and raises his eyebrows. I assume he’s waiting for me to stop taking such enjoyment out of his prickly attitude.