Текст книги "Roomies"
Автор книги: Claire Adams
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
“I have a car,” Mike says from the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, Mike, but do you mind?” I ask.
He scoffs and shrugs and I would very much like to put my fist through that tissue paper skull of his.
It may sound really odd, given that Leila and I have been roommates for months now, but I don’t know if we’re really in the place, relationship wise, where we should be living together.
“Let’s take every day, one day at a time,” I tell Leila. “Let’s make the most of every moment while you’re here, and when you have to go—”
“That’s it?” she asks. “And when I have to go, that’s it?”
“That’s not what I said,” I tell her. “I don’t want there to ever be a ‘that’s it’ with us.”
“What then?” she asks. “If things go well you’ll move if they don’t you won’t?”
“I don’t know!”
The words come out before I give them any thought. Leila just sits there, startled by the outburst, hurt by the words.
“Okay,” she says. “Okay.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I tell her. “I don’t want you to go.”
“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for me,” she says.
“So is this,” I respond. “It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity for both of us.”
“Let’s take it day by day then,” she says. “We’ll see how things are going when it comes time for me to move.”
Contrary to all appearances, this is not what I want.
More than anything, I want to just pick up and follow her wherever she wants to go.
Maybe it’s ridiculous that I feel this strongly about a woman with whom I’ve only been in a relationship for a few days, but since I met her, we’ve gotten to know more about each other, and I sure as hell don’t want to miss out on learning everything there is.
That’s what I want, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.
I’m used to the city.
I’m not used to being in a relationship like this—one that lasts longer than just a few good lays.
No matter how much I want to pick up, let Wilks stand on his own two feet—something he’s going to have to learn to do anyway—and stay with Leila, the truth is that I’m scared.
I’m scared and I think she knows it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Stars
Leila
The move is in three days.
I got the apartment I wanted and it’s ready for me to move in and make it my own.
Dane hasn’t said it yet, but I know he’s not going with me.
Rather than spend this last parcel of time together feeling hurt or awkward, though, I’ve decided to make the most out of what time we have left.
There is so much that we haven’t experienced together. We’ve never been on a real date.
I’ve come to realize that we simply don’t have enough to build a solid relationship. But hey, we may as well enjoy it while it lasts.
It’s just after dark. If there are any stars in the sky, the city lights have swallowed them whole. The night is cool, but not cold. Traffic crowds the streets below, but I got used to that constant rush of combustion a long time ago.
I’m sitting on the roof, staring up at the sky, trying my hardest to find any stars at all. After a few false alarms (airplanes,) I finally spot one standing there all alone, its light just barely piercing the city’s brightness.
Isn’t that the way it goes?
My phone rings and I answer it, my eyes still intent on the sky.
“Hello?”
“Come downstairs.”
It’s Dane.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Just come downstairs,” he says. “I’ve got a car waiting for you.”
“I’m not really dressed to go out,” I tell him, but he just chuckles.
“Don’t worry about that. It’s just going to be you and me.”
“All right.”
I’ve been waiting for a moment like this, but I’m not sure if what I’m feeling is excitement or anxiety. It’s probably a little bit of both.
I make my way downstairs, but not before stopping by the apartment to check my hair and makeup. For someone who’s given up on an actual love life, I look pretty darn good.
“Oh stop it,” I tell myself aloud. “Quit being a baby and just enjoy the night.”
When I come out of the building, I look for Dane, but don’t see him. There are cars parked out front, as always, but they’re all empty.
My phone rings again.
“Hello?”
“I’m just down the block,” Dane says. “Look to your right. Do you see me?”
It takes a few seconds, but I finally spot him about a hundred yards down the way, waving his hands.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I got ya.”
I hang up the phone and start walking.
When I come close enough to see the car, I’m a little disappointed. He said he had a car waiting for me. I had just assumed that meant he’d gone all out and gotten a town car or something with a driver.
It’s not the car itself that bothers me, it’s the fact that we won’t be able to focus on each other during the drive, not completely.
After everything that’s gone right over the past few weeks, I know how ungrateful I’m being right now. That said, the foreknowledge of this relationship’s end is more than enough to spoil just about anything.
I really had high hopes for me and Dane.
“Hey there, beautiful,” he says as I approach.
“Hey yourself,” I answer and give him a peck on the lips. “So, what’s the plan for tonight?”
“Well,” he says, “I wanted to do something special for you, but I was having the hardest time figuring out exactly what.”
“And?” I ask, unable to hold back a smile any longer.
“I came up with absolutely nothing,” he says with a laugh. “So, I figured, why not rent a car? That way we can let the evening take us where it will.”
“All right,” I say skeptically. “You do know how to drive, don’t you?”
“Of course I know how to drive,” he says, opening the passenger’s door. “Just fucking get in the car, will you?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I smile.
A minute later and we’re on the road; well, kind of. I don’t know if there’s a game or something, but traffic seems to be extra heavy tonight.
Eventually, we transcend major gridlock and arrive in minor gridlock.
“What kind of music do you like?” he asks.
“I like a little bit of everything,” I tell him.
“Oh, bullshit,” he says. “Everyone says that, but it’s never true.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” I ask, poking him in the ribs.
“No,” he says, “but I am saying you’re full of shit.”
“Pick a station,” he says. “From what I understand, this vehicle is fully equipped with satellite radio, and if you can figure out how to work it, we can listen to whatever you want.”
“I have a feeling you’re going to regret that,” I tell him.
“You know,” he says, “so do I, but I’m pretty sure I’ll survive.”
I’ve never used satellite radio, but it’s not rocket science. I roll through the stations until I land on a death metal song.
I smile and turn up the volume.
“You’re kidding, right?” he asks.
“What?” I tease. “I can’t hear you. I’m too busy rocking out.”
He laughs. “If you can deal with it, I can deal with it,” he says.
He thinks I’m joking.
That misapprehension starts to fade as we go into the second and then third song.
“Do you actually like this stuff?” he asks.
“My brother liked it,” I tell him. “Growing up, he’d always have this stuff blasting from his room. It’s how he and I really became close.”
“I didn’t know you have a brother,” Dane says.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Whenever one of his favorite bands would come to the state, I was the only twelve year old girl in the crowd. I never really loved it the way he did, but it helps me feel close to him again.”
“Where does he live?” Dane asks.
“He doesn’t,” I answer.
Maybe that was a bit blunt.
“He died in a car accident when I was seventeen. Some jackass on a cellphone crossed the middle lane.”
“I’m sorry,” Dane says.
I shrug. “It is what it is. Anyway, I think I’ve had about all I can handle for now. What do you like?”
“You mean music?” he asks.
“No,” I mock, “what do you like in general? For instance, bees: natural wonder or an abomination that the bible forgot to denounce?”
He laughs.
“I usually just listen to whatever’s on top forty.”
I gag.
“What?” he asks. “Those songs are on the top forty because that’s what most of the people in the country listen to. Are you saying everyone’s wrong?”
“Absolutely,” I tell him. “Top forty is the same crap that’s been rehashed and rehashed since the seventies. The only difference is that most of the quote unquote artists on the top forty now don’t play their own instruments or enter a studio without making sure the auto tune is cranked up to eleven.”
“I like it,” he says.
“You know what’s happening here?” I ask.
“What?”
“We’re sitting here and out of nowhere, you’ve become the scared little girl. That’s what’s happening.”
He laughs. “What? Just because I don’t like music with someone grunting over the top of it I’m a scared little girl?”
“Well, yeah,” I answer. “Next, you’re going to tell me that fights during a hockey game distract from the integrity of the sport.”
He mumbles something and I turn the radio down.
“What was that?” I ask.
“I don’t like hockey,” he says.
“Oh my god,” I gasp. “We’re in a relationship and I’m the man.”
“Whatever,” he says with a chortle.
“So, where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise,” he says.
“You do know where we’re going, right? I mean, you’re not going to pull over and ask some old lady for directions like a girl, are you?”
All in all, he takes the teasing in stride.
That said, as we leave the city behind, I really am starting to wonder exactly where we’re headed.
“I have a confession to make,” I tell him.
“Yeah?” he asks. “What’s that?”
“I, uh,” I stammer.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know where you’re from,” I tell him. “Where did you grow up?”
“No thanks,” he said.
“No thanks?” I ask. “Were the winters cold in No Thanks, or was it soothingly temperate?”
“Where are you from?” he asks.
“Nuh uh,” I say. “Not only did you dodge my question, but you asked yours without a single ounce of shame for not knowing where your long-time roommate and new girlfriend came from. Try again.”
“Come on,” he says, “it’s embarrassing.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” I tell him. “You don’t get to choose where you grow up, why would you be emb—oh my god.”
“What?” he asks. He’s visibly nervous.
“There’s only one place I can think that you would actually make you embarrassed.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” he says.
“You’re from New Jersey, aren’t you?”
He scoffs. “New Jersey? Are you kidding me? You know how I feel about—okay, yeah, I’m from New Jersey.”
I couldn’t stop laughing if I tried.
“It’s not that big a deal,” he says. “Like you just said, you can’t choose where you’re from.”
“It’s not that,” I cackle. “I’m just trying to understand why you talk so much crap on the state you’re from? Is it supposed to be Manhattan camouflage or something?”
“Well, yeah,” he says. “When I first moved to the city, I made the mistake of telling a few people that I’m from Jersey—”
“You even call it Jersey!” I howl.
He waits very patiently for my mirth to die down before continuing.
“Yeah, that’s about the response I got. I don’t get why it matters so much, New Jersey’s not that bad,” he says. “Yeah, New York City is awesome, but so is Trenton.”
“You know I don’t care that you’re from New Jersey, right?” I ask. “I’m willingly moving there.”
“Yeah,” he says, “I know. I guess it’s just easier to talk shit on Jersey. But where are my manners?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Where are you from?”
“Oh, that’s really not important,” I tell him.
“Come on,” he prods, “you had a good laugh at the expense of my home state. It’s only fair to share in the misery.”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not from any of the states.”
I can feel the car slow as he turns to look at me.
“Where are you from?”
I sigh.
“It’s not that I’m ashamed of it. Really, it’s not. I’ve just had about the same experience telling people where I’m from that you’ve had telling people you’re from Jersey.”
I think my renewed laughter is killing any sympathy I might receive.
“Go on,” he says.
“You see, the difference here is that I don’t talk crap about where I come from, I just don’t bring it up.”
“Oh, will you just tell me.”
“Fine,” I say. “I’m from Waterloo.”
“Iowa?” he asks.
“Ontario.”
He’s unusually quiet.
“Canada?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “It’s actually a really nice place to live.”
“People listen to death metal in Canada?”
And so the hilarity begins.
“People listen to all kinds of music in Canada,” I tell him.
“Wait, wait,” he says, trying to regain his composure. “Say ‘about.’”
“About.”
He’s disappointed and it’s lovely.
“I’m sorry, were you expecting something else?”
“I thought you were going to say a boat or a boot. I thought you people had a real problem with that word.”
“What do you mean, ‘you people?’” I ask, feigning offense.
He flips on his turn signal.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“We’re in New Jersey,” he says defiantly.
“Yeah, I got that from the road signs. I mean, where are we going?”
He seems rather proud of himself. “We are going camping,” he announces.
“Camping?” I ask. “I really don’t think I’m prepared for that sort of thing.”
“Not to worry,” he says, “I have everything we’re going to need in the trunk.”
“You’ve been planning this for a while, haven’t you?” I ask.
“A few days, yeah,” he says.
I’m a little nervous, but it is quite the gesture.
We exit the freeway and drive for a little while, death metal still droning quietly in the background. Either Dane’s forgotten about it, or he’s just that into me.
Eventually, we pull into a campground in what’s called South Mountain Reservation. There are a few occupied spots, but all in all, it’s pretty quiet here.
After we get everything unpacked, one thing becomes painfully clear: he forgot to pack a tent.
He offers to run into the nearest town and pick one up, but it’s already getting late and I’m tired.
The air is warm enough, and we have plenty of bug spray, so we just unroll our sleeping bags and spend the night under the stars.
As tired as I am, I can’t keep my eyes closed. The sky is filled with more stars than I remember existing.
For all its simplicity, getting to know Dane a little better and lying under such a bright canopy, this is quite probably the best night of my life.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Eyes of the Morning
Leila
My peaceful sleep is shattered by the piercing cacophony of an alarm clock.
With my eyes still closed, I reach over to hit the snooze button before I realize I’m not in my bed.
Dane is already up, and he’s quick to silence the alarm.
“Sorry about that,” he says. “I forgot to turn that off.”
I rub my eyes and look around.
The sky is growing brighter, but the sun’s not up yet. It looks like it won’t be up for a while.
“You know,” I tell him. “I love the camping idea, but I’m not so much for the early morning.”
“It’ll be worth it,” he says, “trust me. Are you hungry? I packed some food. We still have a bit of time before we need to get going.”
“Get going?” I ask. “Tell me they don’t actually kick people out of here this early in the morning.”
“No,” he says, “nothing like that.”
“Then why the hell am I getting up so early?”
He smiles.
“It’s a surprise.”
I don’t so much stand as I roll and stumble to my feet. Dane pulls a peanut butter sandwich out of the cooler and hands it to me.
We eat and Dane sprays us both with some more bug spray.
“We should probably get going,” he says. “It’s going to be a bit of a hike to where we’re headed.”
“And where are we going?” I ask again.
I realize I’m pestering him, but he’s the one who set the alarm for the pre-break of dawn wakeup.
“Just trust me,” he says. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”
For now, I trust him, but this better be going somewhere. In case it’s not apparent, I’m really not a morning person.
He puts on a backpack and we walk down the dirt path a while until we come to a trail. As I squint to see what’s written on the sign, Dane covers my eyes with his hands.
“No peeking,” he says.
“You know that I’m probably not going to be able to hike very well if I can’t see, right?”
“It’s just until we get past the sign,” he says. “It’ll give away the surprise.”
I walk slowly and can only hope that there aren’t too many signs along our way. This is pretty ridiculous.
After what feels like ten minutes of walking—probably closer to two—Dane removes his hands.
We hike on the main trail for a while before the sound of water gives Dane away.
It’s not quite sunrise, and he’s taking me to a waterfall.
I want to kiss him and praise him for his thoughtfulness, but he’s so adamant that it be a surprise, I don’t say anything about it.
“How are you feeling?” he asks and my heart skips in my chest.
“I’m feeling great,” I tell him.
“You sure?” he asks. “You seemed pretty tired back at camp.”
I shrug.
“I woke up,” I tell him.
As the sun comes ever closer to peeking over the horizon, my pace naturally quickens. Not knowing exactly where we’re going, I grab Dane’s hand to give me direction.
Ahead, there’s a sign for Hemlock Falls, and I feel myself growing warm at the thought.
“Oh shit,” he says. “Don’t look.”
“Okay,” I say, covering my eyes.
“You saw it, didn’t you?” he asks.
I remove my hands. “Yeah,” I tell him. “Trust me, though, it’s still a wonderful surprise.”
“Here’s another one,” he says. “That’s not where we’re going.”
“It’s not?” I ask. “Then why didn’t you want me to look?”
“Well, the cat’s out of the bag on the waterfall part of it, but we’re going somewhere a little further off the main path,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I found it one summer when my family camped up here. I’ve never heard anybody talk about it, but I know I’m not the only person who’s found it.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
“Well, for one, I’m not that profound a wilderness explorer,” he laughs. “For two, there’s a little handmade sign near the plunge pool. It’s called Winterberry Falls.”
The sky is getting brighter by the minute, and both Dane and I are jogging now.
He leads me down a tiny dirt path that all but disappears after the first hundred feet or so, but we keep going.
I can hear the water in the distance, and my heart is pounding in my chest.
“We’re almost there,” he says, but I don’t see anything.
It’s light enough that I should be able to pinpoint where the waterfall is, but for the life of me, I don’t know where we’re going. I can hear the roar of the water, but it seems to be coming from a great distance.
“Just a little further,” he says.
We’re lost. This is just great. After the way I teased him yesterday, he’s probably going to drag us both deeper into the woods until we can’t find our way back before he admits he doesn’t know where…
Just ahead, the ground drops sharply. Dane’s pace slows and we veer to the left, avoiding the steepest part of the slope.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, stopping in his tracks.
“I trust you,” I tell him.
“How much?”
“Enough,” I answer.
“Close your eyes,” he says, taking my hand.
I close them.
He leads me slowly down the embankment, taking care to tell me what kind of terrain is in front of my every step.
My eyes aren’t closed very long before the ground levels beneath my feet and Dane steps behind me.
“All right,” he says.
I open my eyes, and there, directly in front of me is the waterfall. The pool at the bottom is rather calm as the flow of water is somewhat light. There’s a deep alcove behind the waterfall which seems to be the reason the waterfall sounds so loud from where we’re standing.
On this side of the current is a little handmade sign with the words “Winterberry Falls” scrawled across it.
“Get in,” he says. “I’m right behind you.”
The waterfall isn’t very tall, but it’ll more than enough for me to comfortably stand underneath it.
I step to the edge of the water and unbutton my pants. I take off my clothes, piece by piece and shiver a little in the cool morning air.
Naked now, I take my first step into the pool.
The water’s cool, but not freezing.
The rocks beneath my feet are smooth from decades of erosion, and I slowly make my way into the falling water itself.
Although it’s not a deluge, the water presses me down in a firm massage. It’s when I turn around and come out of the current enough to see that I want to cry.
Ahead of me is the stream issuing from the waterfall, and the trees are sparse around it. Directly ahead is the brightest spot on the horizon, the patch of sky where the sun is going to make its appearance, and the clouds above are already turning shades of purple and pink with the closing proximity of the sunrise.
It quickly becomes obvious that sex in the waterfall is going to be a bit much to handle with the force of the water itself, but only a few feet into the alcove is a mostly smooth, mostly flat rock.
I walk over to it and turn back toward the opening. There’s a good deal of mist, but the colors of the coming sunrise are bright enough from back here to fill me with a dual sense of peace and excitement.
“What do you think?” Dane calls from the other side of the falling water.
“I think this would be a lot better with some company,” I tell him.
A few seconds later and he’s naked beside me, placing an already soaked towel onto the rock just behind me.
“It might be a little cold,” he says.
“That’s okay,” I tell him and, as the mist surrounds us and the sunrise grows more intense, I wrap my arms around him, saying, “I love you, Dane. Thank you.”
He smiles and I kiss him tenderly.
This moment is peace and romance and sex at once, and I lie down on the towel, wincing slightly until the towel absorbs my heat and Dane’s on top of me now, his hair dripping wet.
I reach down between his legs and feel him.
He’s already hard.
I’m dripping wet.
He slides into me easily and I’m immediately plunged into a new realm of existence where there is nothing but sensual pleasure inside and all around me.
He leans forward, kissing me softly and as he pulls away, I can’t hear the words, but his lips say, “I love you.”
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him into me deeper as the first glimmer the sun catches the water, forming prisms of light, casting colors in the spray of the waterfall.
The water is cold on my skin, but Dane is so warm inside me.
My arms are around him, his skin so fluid against mine.
His warmth fills me, and as the first half of the sun comes above the horizon through the translucent distance, I start to quiver.
With his body firmly, but gently pressed on and into mine, I gasp as my body becomes so incredibly sensate that every drop of water coming over the falls, every particle and wave of light passing through grows into me.
My breasts push tight against him with every deep breath, and my eyes are watering as the surge permeates my body, making me feel, for a moment, immortal.
I hardly notice when my eyes close, I’m so aware of every tattered piece of touch.
My own voice echoes in the alcove and is washed away by the rushing torrent so close I can taste it.
When my eyes open again, Dane is smiling above me.
I move my mouth, but can barely form the words.
He leans in closer.
“Pick me up,” I tell him.
My limbs encompass him so tight, so completely and he lifts me with ease. Being a true gentleman, he turns so I’m looking at the sky over his shoulder, and I kiss his neck as this beautiful man brings my fantasies to life.
Part of me wants him to walk beneath the water, but the rest of me is so much more content right here in his arms with only my thighs and gravity to careen through this other plane.
Through the open air to the side of the waterfall, I can see the trees swaying gently in a sightless breeze.
“I want you to come inside me,” I tell him, my voice barely a whimper.
I kiss his neck and then his lips, leaning back a little, but still secure in his arms.
He gazes at my breasts as they heave with every ragged breath, and as I look out the side of the waterfall once more, I lock eyes with a woman standing on the bank.
Adrenaline soars through my body, but the woman just stands and watches us, her hands at her sides.
I don’t take my eyes off of her as I press myself again into Dane’s body, the warmth in my skin rekindled.
Dane’s erection heats my core, and I imagine the mist as steam coming off our bodies, through which I can still perceive that woman as she sits on the dry ground and leans back, taking in what we’re giving off.
It’s not an attraction that I feel for the woman, at least not a sexual one, but I lick my lips as I lean back once more, exposing more of my body to the open air.
With both arms clasping each other behind Dane’s neck, I roll my hips, wondering just how much that dark-haired woman can see of us.
It’s not attraction: it’s understanding, recognition between artist and subject, though I can’t claim to know who is who.
Dane holds me with only one arm now as with the other, he guides my breasts, one by one, into his smoldering mouth.
I tilt my head back, allowing him greater access to me and my hair hangs down, heavy with water, behind me.
The woman on the shore is still there, her eyes ever intent on mine, and I start to climb toward that threshold once more.
Dane feels the quickening of my breath and he lifts me, his whole length entering and then retreating again and again, the sounds of our love crackling against the walls of the nook.
“You’re slipping,” Dane tells me, and I immediately pull myself against him once more.
The shock of his words, any words, delays my gratification and I tell him to lie down on the towel behind me.
He turns around slowly, every step deliberate, until he can sit on the edge of the rock. I lean forward as he leans back and he rotates his body just enough for the whole of him to lie back.
Every moment, he’s inside me.
I let my hair fall to cover my face, focusing my gaze onto the man who brought me here to this place of trance and frenzy. As I rise and fall on his firm erection, I tense the muscles in my center, gripping him tight.
My hips flip and rock against him, and I can see in his eyes that he’s going to come.
I lean forward, putting my mouth to his ear and telling him once more, “I want you to come inside me,” and I ride him hungrily, the sun now well into the sky.
Dane’s chest expands and contracts quicker now, and I can only hope to meet him there.
His mouth comes open, and he gasps as I feel new warmth inside me as I skyrocket toward the stars we’ve discovered again together.
His body is still jerking in and against mine as I fall into him, hardly able to breathe, barely able to move, and our muscles contract and release in a strange rhythm as I lay my body against his, exhausted and satiated.
We lie here together for what seems like a jilted eternity, until he slips out of me.
“Gotta tell ya,” I breathe, “I don’t know if I can move right now.”
“Right with ya,” he says.
I lift my head to look for that woman again, the shore is bare.
I’m still not sure if she was there or if I just imagined her.
