Flesh: Part Seven (The Flesh Series Book 7) (2 page)

"No." I
shake my head, pouring us each a glass of wine. "He didn't ask
for a threesome. He invited us to go to Fleshfest. Well, he invited
me to go to Fleshfest. I invited Janice because I know she wouldn't
forgive me if I didn't."

"Fleshfest,"
he says the name with absolute disgust. "What in the hell is
that?"

"It's a fetish
festival, but it reminded me a lot more of a club." I try to
play down the event. "There was music and dancing and booths
that sold sex stuff."

"Sounds
classy." He rolls his eyes.

"Well, it
wasn't." I set his glass of wine in front of him and steal a
grape from the tray. He doesn't try to stop me or complain.

"Did you have
fun?" Derrick takes in a deep breath as if fearing the answer.

I briefly bite my
bottom lip before taking a sip of wine. My answer is really two-fold,
but if I'm being completely honest, the bad outweighed the good. "Not
really."

"Good. Then
there's no reason for you to go out with him again." He takes
the tray and his glass of wine and walks around me to the living
room.

I follow him and sit
on the sofa as he sets the tray down on the coffee table.

"What's on the
dumb tube?" Derrick leans forward to grab the remote.

"I was watching
the Futurama marathon."

"No Lifetime
Move Network?" he teases.

"No," I
huff. Asshole.

He flips to the TV
guide and scrolls through it for a moment before scowling and
pressing the Exit button. "Futurama it is."

We sit and watch
television in silence for what feels like hours, downing glasses of
wine and making idle conversation during the commercials. At some
point, Derrick slips his arm around my shoulder, and I cuddle against
him. He feels so warm and secure. I wish Lucian was more like him.
Derrick has always been transparent about everything. He's kind and
emotionally stable. And he's gay. Very, very gay, I remind myself. It
seems like all the good guys are these days, I think with a sigh.

"What's wrong,
sugar tits?" Derrick looks down at me.

"Just
everything that's gone on lately," I admit.

Oh no, the alcohol
is taking me somewhere dark. We're supposed to be happy, celebrating
the big business contract that's going to rain success and bonuses
down on us, but all I can think about is how screwed up everything
is. Maybe we shouldn't even be celebrating. As things are going, I
don't know if I can force myself to be nice enough to Lucian to
finish his interior decorating project.

Derrick strokes my
shoulder lazily with his thumb. "You're going to get through
this."

I turn to him,
setting my glass on my knee and holding it between both hands. "What
if I can't?"

"You will."
He smiles at me. "Because you're amazing."

"I hate you."
I look away from him. "You always know exactly what to say to
make me feel better, even if it's something simple."

"You deserve so
much better than Lucian Reddick, Amy. I just wish you could see it."
He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.

"I know I do.
It's just hard when he's so..."

"Pretty?"
he searches for the answer with me.

That. And dominant.
Desirable. Mysterious. He's like the forbidden fruit in the Garden of
Eden. I took a bite from him, and he poisoned me. It's sickening that
a part of me still wants him.

"Yeah, pretty."
I nod finally, not wanting to disclose my true feelings.

"You need to
remember something, Amy. Guys like him...they're pretty on the
outside, but they're usually ugly on the inside."

It makes perfect
sense. What Janice told me in her drunken state last night continues
to play through my mind. Lucian has a troubled past. I can't help but
wonder what it is.

"He is ugly on
the inside," I say absentmindedly. "I've seen it time and
time again. He doesn't care."

"Exactly. Save
your love for someone who does."

When I look up at
Derrick, his expression has changed. His dark eyes have a glimmer in
them that I've never seen before. It's probably just the alcohol.
We've already downed one whole bottle and are halfway through bottle
number two.

"It's just that
no one has liked me in a long time," I huff, picking up my glass
of wine and turning to toss myself back into Derrick's arms. I want
cuddles, all the cuddles that Lucian Reddick has denied me. The guy
has the warmth of a stone in the middle of a snowstorm. Not Derrick
though. Derrick always gives good cuddles. I love it.

He wraps his arm
around my shoulder and pulls me close, kissing the side of my head. I
close my eyes and sigh contently. This is what dating should feel
like. This, plus that warm, fuzzy feeling that comes from liking
someone a lot. It's the only thing missing from the scene. I can
pretend though. I can pretend that everything is perfect—fall
into the illusion of the perfect romance—if only for a little
while.

The wine is starting
to get to me. I'm having a hard time concentrating on the television,
and my eyes are growing heavy. I'm just so darn comfortable though
that I don't want to move.

Reality fades away,
and I slip into the space between dreaming and being awake. I
envision that Lucian is with me, that it's his arm around me. I
imagine that he's mine, that we're dating like normal people. He's
sitting on my sofa with his arm wrapped around me. The way that he
looks at me speaks volumes about what we feel for each other.

He pulls away from
me gently, his impossibly blue eyes locked onto mine. I could stare
at them forever, get completely lost in them and never want to be
found. They're amazing, just like the rest of him.

He leans in to kiss
me, and I part my lips almost reflexively. Our mouths meet, and I
expect that lush softness that I always feel from his kiss. Something
is different though. His lips don't feel the same.

My eyes flutter
open, and I realize that someone is touching me. The dream that I was
having fades away into a strange reality. All I see is skin. All I
feel is warmth against my mouth. My head jerks back as my mind fights
to put the pieces together. Derrick pulls away from me, and his eyes
are wide with shock.

He was kissing me.

It wasn't a dream.
He was really kissing me.

I'm not sure how to
react. I'm not even awake or sober enough to fully process what just
happened. All I can do is stare, my hand moving to touch my lips as
if I'm still not sure whether the kiss was real or not. I lick my
lips and taste cherry ChapStick. I'm not wearing ChapStick. He
definitely kissed me.

I wait for him to
say something—wait to think of something to say. For several
seconds, we just sit there staring at each other. Then he moves in
again.

Briefly, I move
away, unsure if I want him to kiss me again or not. This is all so
strange. But, to be honest, the alcohol has made me a bit horny,
coupled with that odd mini-dream I had.

Derrick's lips meet
mine, soft and uncertain. He closes his eyes and cradles my head, his
mouth moving tenderly on top of mine. I don't reciprocate the
kiss—don't part my lips to allow him entry. I'm too busy trying
to figure out if I like him kissing me.

When he pulls away
this time, he keeps his face near to mine. He's almost on top of me.
So close, almost suffocatingly so.

"I thought you
were gay," is the only thing I can stutter.

He seems to take it
like a slap, because he recoils, pressing his back against the sofa
and staring forward. The air fills with an awkward tension. Neither
one of us can look at the other.

"I've wanted to
do that for a while," he tells me, and I can hear the
nervousness in his voice.

"Did you feel
anything from it?"

He hesitates,
thinking. "I felt everything. Everything I had both hoped and
feared I would feel."

It's an incredibly
sweet thing to say, yet insulting at the same time. I'm honestly not
sure how to take it. I'm not sure how I feel about what's going on.

"Can I kiss you
again?" he asks.

"Yes."

This time, I turn to
him as well. We look at each other like teenagers necking for the
first time. I should have let him advance on me, because we move in
the same direction at the same time, causing an embarrassing series
of actions that make it seem like fate is trying to keep us from each
other.

This is wrong. I
know it, and I'm pretty sure he knows it. We've been friends for a
long time. Stuff like this ruins friendships. At least, we can blame
it on the alcohol. Alcohol tends to make everyone bi-sexual. And I am
feeling needy right now. Maybe it will be okay.

"Here, let me."
Derrick holds my face in his hands, keeping me steady while he cranes
his neck to kiss me.

I shut my eyes and
squeeze them together as I open my mouth for him. His tongue slips
inside, lightly covering mine. The kiss is so gentle, careful, void
of the desperate want that I need to believe that this is real—that
he means what he's doing. He's kissing me like I'm breakable,
exploring slowly, taking his time. It feels worlds away from what I'm
used to, at this point.

As we kiss, all I
can think about is Lucian, how he knows when to be aggressive and
when to pull back, when to kiss me like he means it and when to be
gentle. He's very experienced with kissing women, knowing what they
need. Derrick isn't. Derrick is...

I pull away from him
and move back on the sofa, putting distance between us.

His expression is
full of concern. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No." I
shake my head. "No. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then why did
you pull away?"

My shoulders slump
as I try to find a way to word things so that he doesn't get
offended. "We're drunk, Derrick. You don't mean this."

He furrows his
brows. "I do mean it, Amy."

"Why now, then?
Why not when we were sober? Why didn't we talk about this first?"

Derrick shrugs. "I
guess I just wasn't brave enough before now. I needed liquid
courage." He nods towards our glasses of wine.

"But we've
known each other for years. It doesn't make sense that you'd come out
with this now. Besides, you're gay. And I know you're not just
pretending to be gay. I've met some of your boyfriends."

He looks shy
suddenly. "I guess there are exceptions to every rule."

I'm speechless. What
happens now? Where do we go from here? I'm not even sure how I feel
about him? I've never had romantic feelings for Derrick before. He's
been off-limits since the moment I first found out his preferences
leans towards dating other men. Never in a million years would I have
thought that he'd get feelings for me.

I lick my lips,
tasting the lingering hint of cherry. My mouth feels waxy now,
unnatural. I reach over to grab my glass of wine from the coffee
table and quickly down it.

"Say something
to me, Amy."

I hadn't realized
he'd been staring at me this entire time, waiting for me to speak.
I'm not sure what he wants me to say.

"This is all so
sudden," is all I can come up with.

"Do you,"
he hesitates. "Do you...like me?"

I set my glass back
down and hug myself. Things have never been more awkward between us
than they are right now. I feel backed into a corner like he expects
me to have an answer right this second.

"I've never
really thought about it before," I admit. "I mean, I've
always just assumed that you were gay and that..."

"I can see how
you would think that." He seems to relax a little, leaning back
against the sofa, a coy smile playing across his face. "You
know, I've never really been interested in women. My mom always says
that it's because I've never met the right one. I think she's been
holding out on hope for a long time.

"I honestly
never thought I'd meet a girl I like. I mean, yeah, I'm obviously
attracted to men. I've been with a lot of them. Not that I'm a slut
or anything." He looks over at me quickly as if he fears I might
lump him in the same category as Lucian from that statement. "There's
just something about you though."