stomach, back up his chest to the muscles stretching from his shoulder to his bicep. When my hand took one of his moves, barely tracing along the hem of his t-shirt, his hand on my back stilled.
Somehow, the stillness set me even more on edge.
Feeling a little brave, I went back to the hem, pushing my fingers up and under his shirt, using my fingernails to draw the barest of touches across his skin. The hand on my back moved, sliding up past my neck and into my hair. I flattened my hand, pressing my palm against his warm skin. The hand in my hair tightened, not enough to hurt, but just enough so that he could use it to tilt my head backward slightly.
He gazed at me, no trace of teasing grin, his blue eyes appearing black in the darkened room. His eyes danced around my face, flicking most frequently between my eyes and my lips. The anticipation was killing me, and I dug my fingers into his skin. His breathing wasn’t so steady anymore, but he still only looked at me. I licked my lips, and his gaze stayed there longer, so long that heat was pooling between my legs just because of the anticipation alone, and I squirmed trying to relieve the pressure.
When I lifted one of my legs, curling it around his own, finally, he took action.
The hand in my hair pulled me forward, and he met me halfway.
All of the anticipation of the last ten minutes focused into the point where our lips met. The connection was too small to bring to mind fireworks, but it was something close, like the excitement of holding a sparkler— the rush of feeling the sparks creep closer to your hand.
His mouth stayed closed, and even though I’d tasted him several times before, the mystery was killing me.
It felt like a first kiss.
He pulled back, and pressed his forehead against mine.
“Thank you,” he said.
Thank you? Was that like a thanks, but no thanks? Thanks, but I’m watching a movie, leave me alone?
“For?”
“For giving this a chance. I know you were, probably are, afraid. But you’ve made my life immensely better already.”
I don’t know if it was being an actor that made him so honest, so unafraid of being vulnerable, or if it was just who he was. I wished I could do the same, but that wasn’t who I was.
“Can I ask you a question?”
His hand in my hair trailed across my jaw.
“Of course,” he answered.
“Why did you take this job? Not that I’m not glad you are here, but you said yourself you were miserable.”
“I was…not anymore.” He leaned back in and kissed me again, humming as he pressed his lips against mine. It did not slip my notice that he hadn’t answered my question, but I didn’t care enough about the answer to stop kissing him, especially when his mouth finally opened, and I tasted sweet and mint and his breath mixed with mine.
His tongue slid against mine, and my hand beneath his shirt came back to life, curling around his side, pulling closer until my pelvis pressed into his hip. The kiss was leisurely and divine, but too slow, slow, slow.
I wanted more. I wanted our bodies flush, I wanted our lips crushed together, not softly teasing. I didn’t want to lose the contact with his skin, but I wanted to take control. My other hand was trapped beneath me, propping me up on my side. So I slipped my hand out of his shirt, and placed it on his face instead. I pulled him closer, trying to change the pace.
He allowed it for a moment, our lips moving faster, breath escaping as our heads tilted and our mouths battled. And God, it was good. I kept pulling, not satisfied, not close enough, until he angled up and rolled onto his side to face me. A sigh of success escaped me, then he took the hand I had on his face, and pulled it away, away, until it was trapped behind me, held there, pressed into my lower back by his hand.
Then again, he leaned back, changing the pace, brushing against my lips, slowly, softly. It was maddening. I tried leaning into him, but he held strong, pinning me back, taking his time. I groaned in frustration.
And he smiled.
“What is it, love?”
Any number of words could have come out of my mouth, some of them incoherent, most of them not very nice. Luckily, the ones I managed were exactly what I meant.
“Too slow,” I whined.
I was actually whining.
“I told you I could do slow,” He said.
“You jerk.” That was actually one of the nicer words going through my head. He didn’t even have the decency to be worried. He just laughed. I squirmed, trying to pull my arm free, and he appeased me with a kiss, this one a little harder, a little more satisfying than the last. And just when I was forgetting why I’d been so frustrated before, he pulled back again.
It was absurd, but I actually felt like I might cry. His lips trailed along my jaw to that spot below my ear that made every taut muscle in my body go limp.
“I wasn’t trying to be smart,” he whispered. “I’m trying to give you what you want. It’s hard when I let myself go, when I kiss you how I want to. Because all I can think about then is how your skin tastes, and how much I want to taste it again.” His mouth burned against my neck. His teeth grazed against me, and on impulse, my hips surged forward, just barely making contact with him. He groaned in response, his whispers turning gruff, losing their softness. “I remember the weight of your breast in my hand, and the way you reacted to my fingers inside you.” I bit my lip against the whimper building in my throat. I wanted his hands on me. I wanted our clothes off. “I think about having your body beneath me. I think about being inside you. I think about it, and it consumes me. And going slow is the very last thing to cross my mind.”
I lost it. I couldn’t hold in the whimper, and I felt like I was going to fall apart from his words alone.
“So, I have to kiss you slowly. Unless you’ve changed your mind. Have you? Changed your mind?”
YES! Please, oh God, yes.
This was like torture.
But reason unfurled in the back of my mind, taking over, keeping me grounded. What if we tried to have sex and I chickened out again and I ruined everything?
“No, I haven’t changed my mind,” I said. Then added, “You jerk,” because that was torture, and by the smile on his face, he knew it.
“Hmmm… then slow it is.”
Chapter Nineteen
I was still a little angry with Garrick when I left that night, but when he walked me to my door, and asked what I was doing the next day, I wasn’t angry enough to blow him off. Cade wasn’t speaking to me, and I hadn’t heard from Kelsey, so I told him I was free, and we made plans for dinner at my place.
I slept in until noon, my bed too comfortable for me to pry myself out of it. Then I distracted myself with an extra long shower, followed by homework, then a book. When I checked the clock, it was still only 3 P.M.
I grabbed my computer, and searched, “Philadelphia Theatre.”
I found a theatre alliance website that gave info on a bunch of theatres in the city, as well as job postings and auditions. I clicked through, seeing what shows were currently running where, reading job descriptions, and bookmarking a few pages.
My cell rang, but it sounded far off. I tried following the sound, but the ringing ended before I was able to narrow it down further than the living room. Luckily, whoever was calling was persistent, and called again a few moments later. It was definitely somewhere near the couch. I pulled back cushions, but found nothing. I checked under papers and books, still nothing. Finally, I dropped to the ground and peered under the couch. There it was, lighting up the dusty darkness beneath my furniture. And right beside it, glaring at me, was Hamlet.
That brief interlude of sweetness I’d seen from her at the shelter had yet to make another appearance. And I had no doubt that she’d somehow dragged my phone underneath there to spite me.
“Listen, cat, I don’t know why you hate me so much, but you must have missed the memo. I rescued you.” Flat on my stomach, I squeezed myself beneath the couch, reaching for my phone. “You’re supposed to be thankful”
When my hand got closer, she let out her now familiar low growl.
“Yeah, yeah, shut up.”
I had to push half my body into the crevice between the furniture and the floor to reach my phone and getting out was even more uncomfortable than getting in.
2 missed calls from MOM.
I groaned. I should have just left it under the couch. At that moment, it rang again, for the third time. I answered, “Hi Mom.”
“Why didn’t you answer the first two times? Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom. I just couldn’t find my phone.”
“Oh, well, you should really have a spot that you put it every time you come home, that way you always know where it is.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Mom.”
“So, your disorganization is old news. What else is happening in your life?” I swear, my mother was the only person in the world who didn’t think I was a neurotic control freak because she was infinitely worse. She asked the inevitable question, “Have you met anyone?”
I rolled my eyes, which I never could have gotten away with face to face.
“I’m pretty busy with school, Mom. I actually just got cast as a lead in a play.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” she said mildly. She thought going into theatre was a waste of my intelligence.
“It’s actually kind of a big deal.”
“Of course it is honey. You just know how your father and I worry. We’d feel so much better if you had someone to take care of you financially.”
There was a knock at the door, and I went to answer it as I spoke. “First of all, financial security is not a good enough reason to get married, Mother, even if it makes you feel better. Secondly, I don’t need a guy to take care of me. I can take care of myself.” Garrick was on the other side of the door, almost an hour early, and he got to hear the tail end of my speech. He raised an eyebrow, smiling, and if I could have reached through my phone to throttle my mother, I would have. “Anyway, I need to go, Mom. I have company.”
“Is it male company?”
I groaned and said, “Goodbye.”
Hanging up felt so good. I was tempted to call her back and do it a second time.
Garrick smiled, “Your mum sounds a lot like mine.”
I glared at him. “You’re early.” I’d just pulled my hair into a wet ponytail this morning. I’d been planning on straightening it before he came, but now I just looked frumpy. And after crawling under the couch, I was dusty, too.
“Is that okay?”
It would probably be pretty rude to tell him to go home and come back in an hour.
“No, it’s fine. You can watch TV or something. I just need a second.” I waved him into the living room, and slipped into my bedroom, wondering how much improvement I could do in five minutes.
I pulled the band out of my hair, and looked at the wavy, damp mess I had to work with. There was no time to dry it and straighten it. And if I dried it without straightening it, I’d have a fluff ball for hair. I used my hands to mess it up a little more, scrunching it up in my hands, hoping the curly look would do. I worked a little bit of mousse into it, but that was all I had time for. I put on a quick coat of mascara and some chapstick, hoping he was okay with the au natural look.
When I came out of my room, he was stretched out on my couch, watching TV, and Hamlet was curled into a tight ball on his chest. I stood there in shock, certain I was dreaming.
He turned, and saw me watching. “Hey, your hair is curly.” I nodded. I almost always wore it straight. He said, “I like it.”
I was still stuck on the fact that my cat was perched happily on his chest… purring. He had magic powers. That was the only answer.
“Come here,” he said, sitting up, and shifting Hamlet into his lap. I sat down gingerly, a few feet away.
I pointed at Hamlet, and said, “How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Get her to let you hold her.”
“It’s a her?” he asked.
“Yes, and she hates everyone. Especially me.”
“Your own cat hates you?”
“We’re working out our issues.”
He laughed. “Maybe she’s miffed that you gave her a boy’s name.”
I reached out a hand to pet her, and as always, received a growl for my troubles. Garrick thought Hamlet’s hatred of me was hilarious. And he kept holding her, which meant I was relegated to the opposite cushion because my cat had stolen my… whatever he was.
Ugh. That was something I didn’t want to think about. I mean, obviously, it was a secret relationship, so it wasn’t like we necessarily needed labels, but I was curious. What would happen when the year was up? Would we even last that long?
I got up to start dinner to distract myself.
I made spaghetti because it was the only thing I trusted myself not to screw up when I was nervous. And well… I was always nervous around Garrick. He apparently had the opposite effect on Hamlet, who was fast asleep in his lap.
I saw my window of opportunity for what I’d been craving since he arrived.
I left the food cooking on the stove, and made my way to the couch. I didn’t sit for fear of waking up the moody one, but I placed a hand on his shoulder, and leaned down for a kiss. Since his hands were trapped beneath Hamlet, I got to control the kiss. My hands found his hair, which was as addicting and soft as always, and the kiss deepened. I kissed him hard, because I could, and he made no effort to stop me. It was the kiss I’d wanted the night before that he’d refused to give me.
I didn’t want to pull back, but I did have dinner on. His eyes were dark when we separated. “I think you might be a little evil,” he said.
I laughed. “Yes, I planned this all. Hamlet was in on it, as well.”
“Kiss me again.”
He didn’t have to ask me twice.
Every time we kissed, my confidence grew stronger. The longer I knew him, the bolder I became. I liked it… almost as much as I liked him.
Someone knocked on the door, three loud raps, followed by three more only seconds later. Our breath was still short from the kiss, and I wasn’t sure if the too-quick-thump of my heart was due to Garrick or the shock.
“Are you expecting someone?” he whispered.
I shook my head.
Three more knocks, and then Kelsey yelled through the door, “I know you’re here, Bliss! Open up!”
“Shit.”
I made no effort to be gentle as I picked Hamlet up from Garrick’s lap, and plopped her on the couch. I almost didn’t even notice the growl; it had become so commonplace.
I grabbed Garrick, and pulled him to his feet. I had no idea where to put him, but decided the bathroom was probably better than the bedroom, seeing as it actually had a door.
I pushed him inside with a quick, “I’m sorry. I’ll get rid of her, I promise.”
If only we had gone to his place.
I rubbed at my lips, hoping they weren’t as swollen as they felt. I ran a hand over my hair, and when I was certain there was nothing glaringly out of place, I opened the door.
Kelsey breezed past me, “It’s about damn time. What were you doing?”
I faked a yawn.
“Oh, you know, just lazing around.”
She rolled her eyes, and looked at me like I was the frustrating one.
“It’s a good thing I came over then. I’m not about to let you stay home on a Saturday night moping about the thing with Cade.”
She snatched my wrist, and pulled me into my bedroom. So, the bathroom had been the right choice.
“I’m not moping!” I said. “And how do you know about the thing with Cade?”
“Because everyone knows, honey. Which, btw, I’m pissed that you didn’t tell me all that drama was happening.”
Great.
“There’s really not that much drama. We’ll patch things up soon, I’m sure,” I said.
“Oh honey, you didn’t hear? Cade almost turned down the role in Phaedra. He didn’t, thank God. Rusty talked him out of it. But I wouldn’t call that ‘not much drama.’”
I sank on to my bed, my insides twisting like a wrung out rag. Cade was that upset? He would give up that great of a part just so that he didn’t have to be around me?
Kelsey’s voice came to me from my closet, and I had déjà-vu of the night that this whole thing started. She started pulling out tops and skirts, and I asked, “What are you doing?”
“We’re going out. You need to remember that a world exists outside your apartment.”
“No, Kelsey, I’d really rather not.” I thought about Garrick in my bathroom, and wondered if he could hear us.
“Tough shit. I’m not giving you a choice. I haven’t been dancing forever, and I need a wing-woman.”
I groaned and flopped back on my bed. She dropped a skirt on my face.
“Get dressed.”
Then I remembered the perfect excuse, “I can’t. I’ve got dinner cooking.”
“Great. I’m starving. What are we having?”
Sometimes I thought my life would be easier if I were friendless.
I returned to the kitchen, and she followed. I’d left the sauce on a little too long and it had burnt around the edges. So much for not screwing up spaghetti.
“Geez woman, were you planning to eat away your troubles? You made enough for three people!” I just shrugged. I had nothing to explain why I was cooking for two people (one with a very large appetite).
I put a little bit of spaghetti on our plates, trying to leave some for Garrick, even though I had no idea when he’d get to eat it.
I ate quickly, letting Kelsey dominate the conversation, which was about how long it had been since she’d had really good sex. I nodded along, laughing in the right places, shoveling food into my mouth the entire time. I cleared my plate before she’d even made a dent on hers. I placed my plate in the sink, and then headed for the hallway.
“Where are you going?” Kelsey asked.
I called “Bathroom!” over my shoulder, and kept walking.
When I reached the door, I glanced over my shoulder, glad to find Kelsey preoccupied with her spaghetti, and I slipped inside the room.
“Is she gone?” Garrick asked.
“Ssshhh!” He was leaning against the sink, and I reached around him to turn on the faucet to cover our whispers. “No. I’m sorry. She’s actually eating our spaghetti.”
His lips puckered, and I leaned forward, smothering my laugh against his chest.
“Is she leaving soon?”
I peered up at him, but stayed close against him.
“No. She thinks I’m depressed about Cade, and she’s determined to force me to go out.”
He pulled me to him, and pressed his face into the space where my neck curved into my shoulder. He let out a growl that was oddly reminiscent of Hamlet.
I wrapped my arms around him, just as disappointed. “I know. This sucks.”