Nova and Quinton: No Regrets

  I nod, letting go of his hand. "Yes, always good things."

  Smiling, Wilson leans over to pick a bottle of water up off the floor. "Okay, so I just have to say that I love your name."

  "Thanks," I tell him, glancing over at Quinton, wondering if he told Wilson the story behind it. "I was named after my father's car."

  "I know," Wilson says, taking a drink before setting the bottle back down on the ground beside a blue lunchbox. "Quinton told me, and I have to say that your dad had excellent taste in cars."

  He said had, which means he knows my father has passed away, which means Quinton's been telling him stuff about me. I like the idea for some reason, that he would take the time to talk about me with Wilson, someone I know he looks up to, even though he hasn't flat-out said it.

  After we chat a little bit, Wilson asks if we want to help him for a while. Quinton starts to shake his head, but I say yes, loving the idea of doing something that helps others. Although I don't really help out that much, since I have no idea how to build a house or anything, but I get tools for them when they need them. I start to notice a lot of things as I observe the two of them putting a house together, like how happy Quinton seems to be here. He keeps making jokes and every once in a while he comes over and gives me a kiss on the forehead or cheek, like he's afraid that if he doesn't he'll miss his chance. It feels like we really might be boyfriend and girlfriend or at least close. The last time I was at this place was with Landon and I never thought I'd have that again, but I think I was wrong. I think I want what I had with Landon with Quinton, only better. I want us to be able to talk about stuff no matter what, even if it's difficult.

  "What?" Quinton asks at one point, his face masked with curiosity, and I realize that I'm staring at him with a big grin on my face.

  I shake my head, unable to erase my smile. "It's nothing. I'm just feeling better. That's all."

  "Good. I'm glad." He smiles back and starts hammering a nail while I return to watching him move, because I'm finding it fascinating. After he gets the board nailed into place he glances around confusedly. "Where's Wilson go?" he asks.

  I point at the stairway. "He muttered something about going to check up on the guys below and then wandered in that direction."

  "Shit, I didn't even see him walk away."

  "That's because you're in the zone."

  He smiles at me, then turns to go back to hammering as the song on the radio switches to a slower one.

  "It's really pretty up here," I say, looking up at the sky through a small section of the home where the roof isn't up yet. "You can see so many stars."

  "You know, I remember the last time you and I looked up at the stars," Quinton says, walking up to me. "In Vegas... we played twenty questions and then we danced."

  I look up at him. "Yeah, and you promised me a redo. You know, I've really been dying to see your stellar dancing skills again. The ones your grandma taught you."

  "Yeah, I would never have told you that if I hadn't been high," he says, seeming a little embarrassed. "But anyway." He extends his hand. "You want to dance?"

  I glance around at the home with no walls, the sound of power tools filling the air. "Right here?"

  He nods as I slip my hand into his and he pulls me toward him. Then he backs to the stereo in the corner and turns up the music so loudly that I can barely hear anything but the beat and lyrics.

  "You know, I've never been a fan of country music," I admit as he walks back to me.

  "Ha, well, now I know something about music that you don't," he says, placing his hands on my hips. "Because I listen to it all the time."

  I wrap my arms around his neck. "Are you a fan?"

  He shakes his head. "No, but I know the lyrics to this song."

  "I wouldn't be too proud of that," I joke.

  "No way," he says as he starts to rock us to the rhythm of the song. "You are so music-superior, but this time I got you."

  "Yeah, you totally got me," I say with an underlying meaning that I think he picks up on. But I don't care. He has me right now, in this moment. I'm completely caught up in him and all the bad that was nipping at my heels has dissipated. And it continues to be nonexistent as we dance, laughing when he pushes me away and makes me do a silly little spin. And when he draws me back to him, I can't help but smile as I rest my head on his shoulder.

  "Quinton, thank you," I say softly as I hold on to him.

  "For what?" he wonders.

  "For making me feel better today," I say, his muscles going rigid. "I really needed it."

  He pauses and then he pulls me closer, resting his chin on top of my head. "You're welcome, Nova like the car."

  We dance for one more song, and then Wilson walks up and catches us. He starts cracking jokes about always knowing Quinton was a softy, something Quinton pretends to be annoyed about, but I don't think it really bothers him.

  About an hour later, we leave to go back to Quinton's house. I feel strangely content on the inside, walking under the stars with him. I'm really glad I decided to be impulsive and come out here. It's late, though, and I know that in a few hours I'll have to go to sleep and then when I wake up the magic of this day will be over as I head back home. But I try not to think about it and focus on spending time with him.

  When we get back to Quinton's house, his dad is still at work, so he fixes us dinner--grilled cheese and soup. After we're finished, I help him clean up the dishes.

  "So what do you want to do?" Quinton asks as he places the last dish into the dishwasher. He's got the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and a bit of dirt on his forehead, which I reach up and wipe away.

  I glance down at the dirt on my arms and then sniff myself. "I feel really gross," I say, scrunching my nose. "Can I take a shower?"

  "Sure." He shuts the dishwasher door. "Let me show you where it is."

  He takes me to the upstairs bathroom, then briefly lingers in the doorway, seeming like he wants to say something, before clearing his throat and leaving me to take a shower. After I pull my shirt off and slip out of my jeans, I turn on the water, then sit down on the edge of the tub, waiting for it to warm up, ready to dive in and wash up. It's been a long day--that's for sure. But it's made me feel better and made me feel like, no matter what happens with Tristan, Delilah, and my band, I can handle it. I hope I'm right. I hope I don't fall apart. I hope I'm strong enough to make it through whatever lies ahead.

  I'm about to take my bra off when I hear a knock at the door. "Um, yeah," I say timidly.

  "It's me," Quinton utters from the other side of the door. "I brought you some towels."

  "Oh." I glance down at my clothes on the floor, wondering if I should put them back on. Then, deciding I don't want to be shy Nova with him anymore, I walk over to the door and crack it open. I stick my head out, ignoring the rush of heat that travels over me just from the sight of him. "Thanks." I take the towels from him and our knuckles graze, causing blinding heat to throb through my veins, and I resist the impulse to shiver.

  "No problem." His voice is off pitch and I catch his gaze drifting downward to my exposed leg.

  I think about stepping out of his line of sight, but then I realize that I don't want to. What I want to do is open the door wider and step out into something new, something I've never experienced before, not even with Landon. I don't want to be afraid. I don't want to hide anymore. Life's too short to hide. I just want Quinton. Now. No more waiting, like I've done in the past.

  His eyes slowly scroll back up to mine and he blinks like he's forcing thoughts out of his head. "I should go," he whispers, his voice strained.

  "Quinton, I..."

  I'm not even sure who actually does it. Whether he pushes the door the rest of the way open or I pull it open, but suddenly it's swinging and it bangs against the wall as I step back. I'm standing there in front of him in my bra and panties, feeling as though I should be embarrassed, but I'm not.

  "Jesus, you're beautiful." He extends his arm and places his hand
on my hip, giving me a gentle tug so our bodies join together.

  I manage to moan as his fingertips delve into my skin and the contact is so stimulating I almost collapse to the floor. He seems like he is in pain, torn about what to do next, but then he gives another gentle tug and seconds later our lips collide. I swear to God a year's worth of emotions pour out of us as we grab each other, our tongues entangling, hands grasping each other. All the passion. Heat. Fear. Worry. Longing. Want. Desire. Need. Resistance. It all blazes through my body at once and nearly sends me buckling to the floor. But he holds on to me, his hand slamming against the wall to keep us both on our feet. His body heat is intoxicating, making me feel like I'm melting everywhere he touches me. And all I can think of is how much I want him. How much I've been waiting for this moment.

  But then he's pulling away from me, shattering the connection. "Nova, maybe we shouldn't do this." His breathing is ragged, eyes dazed, like he's disoriented. "Not now, when you're so upset."

  "I'm not upset anymore." My chest heaves, my hands on his shoulder blades, fingertips digging downward. "And I'm doing this because I want to do this... I want you, Quinton." My cheeks heat as I say it, but I don't want to retract it. I've never said that to a guy before.

  He still seems conflicted, but when I slant forward to kiss him he doesn't protest, his tongue willingly entering my mouth. Minutes later the shower is turned off and we've abandoned the bathroom and found our way to his bedroom, having managed not to break the lip lock.

  The first thing I notice is the scent of him everywhere, cologne and cigarettes. It reminds me of a different place and time, one where I was lost. The memories are extremely intoxicating, but in a good way because I'm not in that place anymore, and the memories remind me of how far we've come--how far I've come.

  Then I notice how bare his walls are and I pull away. "You took most of your drawings and photos down?" I ask, noting that there are only three remaining on his wall. One sketch of a girl I think must be Lexi, along with a photo of her, and one of a woman I think is his mom because her eyes resemble Quinton's.

  He nods with nervousness in his eyes as he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. "Yeah, I was actually doing it this morning right before you called... I woke up and just kind of decided that it was time." He shrugs, like it's no big deal, but it is. It's huge. I know because I've been through something similar with Landon's photos.

  Stunned, I return my attention to him. "You should have told me. You just took a huge step."

  He grazes my bottom lip with his thumb, a trace of a smile at his lips as he shakes his head. "Stop worrying about me, Nova. I'll be okay... if they were still up then you'd have to worry." His voice wobbles. "It was good that I took that step even though it was hard."

  "I know, but it still had to be hard for you... but I'm proud of you." I slip my arms around his waist. "You're doing so good."

  His breathing increases. "I hope I can stay that way."

  "You can," I say. "I know you can."

  He swallows hard and then he deliberately leans in and presses his lips to mine, stealing my breath away. And just like that all my reservations disappear. Even when he unhooks my bra and slips off my panties, I barely feel my nerves. I only feel him as I help him slip his shirt off his head, then run my fingers across the ridges of his lean muscles, basking in everything about him. His warmth. The way his heart beats in his chest when I press my palm on top of it. The smoothness of his skin. The only thing that pains me is the feel of the scar and the sight of the tattoos and he winces every time I touch them.

  "Are you okay?" I ask, withdrawing my hand from his scar.

  His eyelids flutter up, terror filling them. "I'm fine... I'm just nervous."

  "Good. I'm glad I'm not the only one." I don't mean to say it aloud, it just sort of slips out.

  He gives me a crooked smile as my cheeks start to heat, but then he starts kissing me again, slow and sensual, as if he's savoring each second, each brush of his finger, each entanglement of our tongues. When he backs me up toward the bed, I move with him, letting him lay me down and cover my body with his. His fingers roam all over my body, not missing a single part of me, caressing my inner thighs before he slips them inside me and starts moving them. I grasp the blanket, trying to hold on to something as I get lost in a place I didn't think existed. A place where nothing exists, except the two of us. It's the most amazing feeling, one I haven't felt in a very long time. All the stress and worry diminish. All the bad is temporarily gone. And as I cry out, something bursting deep inside me, I want nothing more than to hold on to this feeling forever. But seconds later, it slowly slips away and I have to return to reality.

  Quinton

  Feeling her like this... touching her like this... it's more potent and intoxicating than drugs. If I could, I would stay this way forever, tasting her and touching her until my heart stopped beating and I took my last breath. The sight of her, with her head tipped back and her eyes glossed over with pure contentment, has me wishing I could pause the moment so I could stop and draw it.

  "Quinton," she moans, letting go of the blanket and holding on to me as if her life depends on it.

  It's one of the most terrifying feelings I've ever experienced. Having her want and need me this much and wanting and needing her this much. It's unexpected. Undeserved. But unavoidable. I know this now. Whether I deserve this, if it's wrong, if I'm being selfish because of this, letting Lexi go for a moment to be wholeheartedly with someone else, I can't stop it. Nova owns my heart and I can't get it back from her.

  So I keep pushing her to the edge, letting her get lost, until she completely breaks apart in my arms. After she comes down, I dip my lips to hers and kiss her deliberately, my movements calculated as I explore her, memorizing every single inch of her. Her hands start to wander over my body and toward the button of my jeans. With a flick of her finger, she undoes it, then slides her hand down and rubs me hard. Part of me wants to stop her--slow things down--but I'm too far gone to pull back. Before I even realize what I'm doing, I push up from her to get out of my jeans. Then, after grabbing a condom out of my nightstand drawer, I return my body over hers, murmuring something about being sure she wants this. She nods enthusiastically and a few heartbeats later, I'm slipping inside her, with no hesitation. She winces, the pain in her body making her muscles tighten and her legs press firmly against the sides of my hips.

  I pause, panting as I gaze down at her. "Are you okay?"

  She nods, her hands sliding up my back, her gaze fastened on mine, her brown hair a halo around her head as she lies on my bed, peering up at me. "Yeah, just go slow."

  Nodding, I slowly rock inside her again and she grips my back and guides me to her. With each thrust she starts to loosen up and before I know it, she's moving rhythmically with me. Heat builds inside me, my skin dampening with sweat as my heart races madly inside my chest, my attention focused on her and the lost look in her eyes as I push her closer and closer until both of us can barely hold on.

  I never thought I'd experience this ever again. Never thought it would be possible to be with someone else like this and not feel pain and anguish, but for the briefest moment they're gone and I am free.

  *

  "Quinton." Nova's eyes are wide as she gasps, clinging to me, lifting her hips to meet mine one last time before I lose touch with reality, drifting off into a place of contentment--a place that I've only been able to reach with drugs over the last two years. It breaks me and then puts me back together and for the briefest moment, it feels like everything is going to be okay.

  After we both catch our breaths, I slowly slip out of her and then we lie side by side, our fingers laced together as we silently take in what just happened. I feel different. Changed. Confused. Content. Lost. Guilty. Happy. I'm not even sure what to do with the last emotion. I've sort of gotten used to the more complex, darker emotions that I've struggled with in the past. As I lie there struggling to sift through my emotions and trying to fig
ure out how to deal with them, Nova rolls onto her side and faces me. "Tell me what you're thinking?" she asks, propping herself up on her elbow, the blanket resting over her bottom half. She self-consciously pulls it over her chest. "I need to know, otherwise I'm going to sit here worrying that you... that you regret what just happened."

  "What?" I gape at her. "Why would you think I regret it?"

  "Because you're being so quiet." She bites her bottom lip with apprehension. "And I can't read you right now."

  I roll to my side and then sit up, forcing her to drop the blanket from her chest, the sight of her bare chest and big eyes making my heart miss a beat. "I was thinking how amazing that was," I say, tracing a line across her collarbone with my fingers. "And how..." It takes me a second to get enough strength to say it. "And how much I want to draw you right now so I can remember the moment."

  "Okay." She's breathless but doesn't hesitate, surprising me, because I was honestly just talking and not really planning on doing it.

  "Okay." I repeat her word, nervously nodding as I realize that this is actually happening--that she and I are really happening. As I reach for my sketchbook, my fingers tremble with my nerves and I wonder, if they keep it up, just how well the sketch is going to turn out.

  "Where do you want me?" Nova asks as I sit on the bed with the sketchbook on my lap and a pencil in my hand.

  "Right where you are," I tell her, my gaze skimming over her body, half covered by the blanket, her freckled cheeks flushed, her eyes filled with contentment. It's perfect. She's perfect.

  "Okay," she says timidly, her muscles stiff.

  "Try to relax," I say to her as I press the tip of my pencil to the paper, then waver for what seems like forever, because the last time I drew someone like this it was Lexi. It seems like it should feel more wrong than it does, but this feels different, because what's happening between Nova and me feels different from what Lexi and I shared. More intense. More unknown. More unfamiliar.

  Releasing the breath I have trapped in my chest, I start moving the pencil across the blank sheet of paper. Stroke by stroke. Line by line. Shading. Recreating her perfection the best I can. The curve of her neck. The fullness of her lips. The freckles on her nose, the ones I've wanted to draw for a while. Her amazing eyes that draw me in every time I look at her, because they carry the pain I can relate to, the life-changing loss, the heartbreak, the guilt, the weight of losing someone you love. We're connected and I try to capture that connection with every stroke of my pencil.