Lengths (12 page)

I know the pawn shop to go to, and only get marginally ripped off. I follow the road to Whit’s college and attract the attention of every lady there with my suit. And my business card, stolen from the pawnshop lobby. I’m Joseph Morgenstern, Attorney. Smiling, handsome attorney in charge of Whitley Conrad’s financial accounts and so, so sorry to have caused so many problems for these lovely women, who already have enough on their plates everyday.

Thirty minutes, no ID check, very few questions, a good chunk of change, and several flirty smiles later, I leave the offices and have paid Whit’s semester and the downpayment on her semester abroad. My phone has three messages when I take it off silent.

Whit. And the messages freak me the hell out.

I drive to her place with the gas pedal sunk to the floorboard, not giving a single fuck about red lights or cops. I run up the stairs and into her apartment, and she’s sitting on the floor, her head in her hands, sobbing.

I kneel down next to her, take her shoulders in my hands. “Whit. Whit. Stop crying, baby. Stop.” She lets me unfold her and take her clumsily in my arms.

“Deo, I’m fucked! I’m so screwed! My parents need that money, they need it! I can’t ask. And I thought some financial aid was coming through, but it’s been denied. I didn’t know they could say they’d give it, then not do it, but they can. They can! And I’ll have to leave. I’ll have to leave California and go back home, and I’ll be a loser! I’ll be a huge fucking disappointment. What am I going to do? I couldn’t get anyone at the financial aid office to pick up the goddamn phone! Oh, Deo! What the fuck am I going to do?” Her sobs are harsh, and it hurts to listen to them.

I wipe her tears away with my thumbs. “Listen to me. Listen. I fixed it.”

Her head snaps up. There are dark rings of mascara under her eyes. Her hair is stuck to her cheeks with tears and sweat. The tip of her nose is bright red, and her lips look swollen. She wrinkles her forehead when she looks at my suit and tie. “What did you do?”

“I worked some Deo magic.” I try to keep my voice light, but her night terrors mixed with this new, extreme sadness are kind of freaking me out. “All settled. By the way, when were you going to tell me about your study abroad in Italy? Did I ever tell you I love spaghetti? And the David? And passionate women with awesome accents? You were just gonna leave me to rot in this shithole? Not cool.”

“How did you fix it?” she asks carefully, and I’m still not sure she’s going to be okay with my explanation, but I just have to stop being a puss and tell her.

“Don’t be pissed, okay?” I know that’s almost like asking for her to
be
pissed at me and throw a hissy fit. But I decide on telling the truth and trusting Whit to get it. For once. Even if it’s so not our thing.

So I start with my sorry-ass childhood, looking up to my loser father like he was some kind of god, and that box under the bed that was so full of pipe-dream possibilities I never bothered to make good on, because as long as it was under my bed, there was still this potential for me to be amazing, but the minute I started to use it was the minute I had to admit that I might make huge fuck-up failure-based decisions. And how I’d never wanted to use any of it, not a single coin, ever. Half because, fuck my father, and half because I’d show everyone with my awesome whatever-the-fuck-I-was-going-to-do-with-it-one-day. But all that took a back burner when I heard Mrs. Red Tape Asshole leave her chipper-ass message, and it felt good to finally be able to make something right in my long, loserish existence.

It’s a long-ass, rambly-ass story, and Whit winds up getting me a beer and one for herself, kicking off her shoes, wiping her eyes, and settling down to just listen and sip her brew while I wah-wahed through my story.

When I come to the end and give her my fake business card, her face is unreadable, and I’m betting on the fact that I’ll be kicked out of her apartment at any second for interfering in a huge way. Forget crossing lines. I’ve hacked through so many, it’s unbelievable and irreparable. I’ve finally dragged us out of no man’s land, and I might take a bullet in the head for it.

“You did this all for me?” Her voice is cracked.

“Of course. We’re homies forever, right?” I attempt to joke.

Her eyes tear over me. “You got a disguise? You stole an identity? You flirted with those awful business ladies? You pawned your booty?”

“You’re making it sound way tawdrier than it really was.” I wink at her. “I’m good at being a liar. And a flirt. And a pawn star. Wow, that sounds wrong.”

Then Whit does something I don’t expect at all. She puts her beer down and climbs on my lap. “You’re not a liar. You’re amazing. You are so goddamn amazing, and I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have you in my life.” The tears slide down her face silently. I sop them up with the cuff of my shirt. “I will pay back every cent, Deo. Every single cent, I swear to you. Thank you.” Her lips come down on mine.

I squeeze her around the hips and try not to pass out from pure shock. Whit, sweet, soft, ready Whit is on top of me and kissing me with such hungry, nipping kisses, I can hardly focus. When I get my thoughts straight, I pull back.

“Wait. Wait a second. This is not why I did that.” I pick her up by the hips and move her to the cushion next to me, no matter how much I fucking wish I’d just shut my brain off and give in to what she started. “I did what I did because I lo—care about you. I care about you.” I watch her eyes go perfectly round when she realizes what I really meant to say. I rush to cover my tracks. “And I’m collecting every penny back, with interest. That sad little stack of coins is all I got to my name. You? You’ll be rich as Midas one day. Maybe I’ll mop the gold-tiled floors in your thousand-story office building. Don’t laugh. I’ll gladly work in your shadow.”

“Why can’t you see how amazing you are?” she asks, and takes my hand. She tugs me closer and kisses me, her eyes closed. I know because mine are wide open. “I. Want. You. Now.” She takes a deep breath. “Please.”

I know it’s one of those ideas that sounds good in the moment, but winds up being bad fucking business.

But she’s loosening my tie, unbuttoning the buttons that go down my shirtfront, and pushing my jacket off my shoulders. Her small, soft hand slides in the gap in the shirt and runs over my chest. Her lips brush over my neck, along my jaw. She sucks in on my earlobe and lets her tongue trace around my ear, breaking my arms out in chills. I yank her back onto my lap and rub my hands between her shoulder blades, knocking the ribbon straps of her sundress down off her shoulders.

I lower my mouth and kiss the skin where her straps were, the skin under her collarbones, the skin that pokes out of the top of her tiny, lacy bra, pink as a Valentine. I push the dress down to her hips and run my hands over the lace of her bra, down the smooth skin on either side of her spine, let my fingers tangle in the waistband of her thong.

She pops a button off my cuff yanking the shirt off, and her fingers fumble at the button of my pants and try to pull the zipper down, but I’m rock hard and pressed awkwardly against it.

“Deo,” she gasps, and I lift her up, off the too-tiny loveseat. She wraps her long legs around my waist and I stagger with her in my arms into her dim bedroom. I set her down on the bed, and she yanks at my wrists, making me topple half on top of her. Her fingers comb up and down my ribs and her fingernails dig lightly into my back before her hands dart south and manage to get the zipper down. My pants hang half off my ass, and her brown eyes are wide, dark, and inviting me.

The happiness I feel over that look is second-guessed by a nagging voice in the back of my head. A voice that reminds me that what happens in this room tends to stay in this room. And, hard as it was to keep my nights spent holding her in my arms locked in this tiny space, I know for sure I’m not going to be able to keep earth-shaking sex in here, too.

She shimmies her dress down her legs and grabs at the elastic waistband of her thong. I put my hands over hers and shake my head, begging her to let me do these sexy-as-fuck things I’ve thought about a million times in my endless morning showers.

I pull the little scrap of fabric over her smooth thighs, watch her mouth part as it bumps over her knees, down along her calves, and I untangle it from her ankles. I kneel in front of the bed where she sits, her chest rising and falling in time to her frantic breathing. I reach behind her back and unsnap the pink bra, letting it fall aside. And then I lean over her and kiss along those perfect, exactly-a-handful tits, pulling her nipple in my mouth and listening to the gasp that comes like clockwork from the twist of my tongue on her. I rub my face along the sweet, soft skin on the underside, and let my mouth suck and lick until she’s whimpering. I pull back to look at her and totally love what I see.

Strange how completely different she looks naked than she did in a bikini.

Maybe because the bikini was for everyone. Just Whit, just all her soft, tanned skin is for me and me alone. I kneel back and kiss her knees, watching the goosebumps prickle up her thighs. I follow their bumpy trail, leaving wet kisses imprinted on her soft skin, until I make it right to the top.

“Open your legs.” We never talk when we’re together in this room, but I want to. I don’t want this to be silent. I want to hear her voice during this.

She drops her head back and does what I tell her to. I lay my palms flat on her thighs and run my hands up to her hips, let my fingers grip her hard and kiss along along the sweet, wet center of her. I assumed that Whit was experienced based on her booty calls before we starting shacking up, but she presses her thighs closed and slides back on the bed, away from my mouth.

“No,” she says, shaking her head and trying to pull me up to her mouth.

“Yes,” I counter, hooking her under the knees and pulling her back with one tug.

“No.” This time it’s fainter, because I’m kissing and licking whatever I can, and she likes it. And wiggles away from it at the same time.

“Why not?” I ask, kissing the tops of her thighs and dragging my mouth down to her knees.

She looks down the length of her perfect, sweet body at me and bites that sexy-as-hell pouty lip. “It’s…too exposed.”

I trace my thumbs along the wettest, slickest lines of her and watch her head roll back. “I’d like to.” I keep my voice soft. “Every single part of you is beyond fucking sexy to me. It will make you feel good. I promise you that.” She squeezes her knees together, then loosens them. “I really want to. I’ve thought about doing it a thousand times.” She moans a little and opens wider. “You can trust me, Whit. I promise.”

Her knees fall wide to the sides, and I put my mouth on her, licking and sucking until her breath changes from steady and labored to panting and frantic. Her hands ball the sheets and pull up, her heels push against the bedframe, and her entire body shakes as her hips lift off the mattress.

“Deo!” Her head is thrown back and, suddenly, I want her so badly, I can’t imagine a single damn thing that could stop me from being with her.

“Are you sure you want this. Whit, you want me?” I’m going crazy, but there’s no way this is happening unless she wants it. Absolutely, no questions, wants it.

She rolls over on the bed, her sweet heart-shaped ass facing me, pulls open the drawer next to her bedside table, and grabs a condom. She rolls back over and sits up, pulling down on the waist of my boxer briefs with a rough yank and rolling the condom on my dick. I kick my pants and boxers the rest of the way off, and lock my mouth over hers, sweet, open, and busy gasping and pleading my name. Her tongue twines quick and sure in my mouth, and her hands go low with mine. I slide one finger, then two into her and her teeth catch my bottom lip. One of her hands pushes mine away, and she leads me to the slick, hot center of her.

I want to wait, drag it all out, prolong what I’ve already waited so long for, but I slide into her and she’s hot and tight and her hips are pressing in a frenzied rhythm against me. I press my forehead into the space between her neck and her collarbone and focus on making it good for her, on holding back and not thinking about how sweet and warm and slick she is, so ready for me, I know she’s probably imagined it as many times as I have.

I hold out until I feel the very beginning of her shudders, proud as hell of myself for not letting go before. Her fingers brush through my hair, then fist in it and pull as her shudders deepen. My name flies out of her mouth fast and urgent, and there’s not a thing I can do to stop myself from coming, hard and satisfied against her, into Whit, in this bed we’ve slept in dozens of times but never done
this
in.

Her breath comes out hard and harsh, and I pull out slowly, remove the condom, and throw it away. She’s curled on her side, not looking at me or anyone or anything. Her eyes are closed. I pull the covers down under her body, already heavy with sleep. I crawl next to her and pull the blankets up, our naked bodies pressed against each other’s, and snuggle her in an entirely new way tonight. This time, she sleeps with loose limbs and easy, gentle breathing while I’m tense and worried.

“Whit,” I whisper in her ear like a pussy, knowing she can’t hear a fucking thing. “I love you. I hope to fuck this didn’t change anything.” I run a rough hand over her shiny hair, dreading the dawn.

-Twelve-
Whit

              “Did you know that if you have a cat, they’ll eat you several days before  a dog will? Like, cats will only wait a day or two before they start chomping on your brain matter, but your dog will wait like a week. Isn’t that crazy?” I peer into my lukewarm cup of coffee and notice the congealed skin of cream on top. Should I drink it? How much do I need this caffeine exactly? I can’t believe I’d actually consider drinking this.
              Deo narrows his eyes at me. “And pretty fucking morbid, Whit. What the hell are you studying in that weird-ass class? Last week it was the people who breastfed til their kids turn eight, and now face-eating pets. Also, why are you even worried? We don’t have any animals.”
              I can’t help it. I flinch when he says ‘we.’
              “Wait, are you even studying? Like, are there face-mauling cats in that chapter, or are you thinking about zombies again? Because, I told you, I have us covered if the apocalypse breaks out.” He picks up a rubber band he finds on the floor across the room and shoots it at me.
              I deflect it with my book, then slam it shut. “Just my morbid imagination hard at work. I guess that means I’m ready for a break. You want to go get something to eat?” I’ve been sitting cross-legged on my bed for hours staring at this damn book. I try to stretch, but everything just aches.
              “No need.” He tosses a dish towel over his shoulder, looking so very delicious. And domestic. “I made us some dinner.”
              “No shit?” I toss the book aside and follow Deo to the kitchen, breathing the enticing aroma of home-cooked food deep into my malnourished lungs. It smells incredible; I must have really been into that anthropology book to miss the scents and sounds of Deo preparing this meal. “This looks amazing.”
              “Sit.” He motions to the bar and I pull up one of the stools. Deo has cleaned off all of the clutter- the mail, keys, clothes and whatever else we toss up here on our way in and out of my apartment.  In place of the junk are two mismatched place-mats and an even more mismatched pair of place settings. But somehow, it’s perfect. “So, pan-roasted chicken with roasted tomatoes and white beans.”
              Deo scoops a heaping portion onto each of our plates and then takes the stool next to mine.
              “Are you sure you made this?” I tease.
              “Hey, Marigold is the one that can’t cook. I learned from my Gramps. He used to be a Navy cook, you know. Every time he makes a damn pizza, there’s enough to feed the whole freaking town.” He gives me an eager smile and waits for me to try it.
              I stab a forkful of chicken and pause before taking a bite and moaning over the flavor explosion in my mouth.
              “Mmm. Mmm, seriously. Amazing.” I point to my mouth and moan again. “But what’s the occasion?” Deo has basically been living at my place for the last couple of weeks, going home just to check in on his grandfather, or grab some extra clothes. Neither one of us has cooked in all that time, and, instead, have been surviving on a diet of Honey Nut Cheerios and rice cakes. I’m starved for a decent meal.
              “Your last final is tomorrow. Would I be a total dweeb if I confessed that I can’t wait for you to finish up the semester, so we can surf and you can seduce me anytime of the day?” He lets his fingers tip-toe up my arm. I reach over and mimic the movement, but this time, I move up his thigh.
              I hop off of the stool and press my lips to his throat. His skin is salty like the ocean air and once I start, it’s always hard to pull away.
              “Hey, hey, why are you being so nice? You know that freaks me out,” Deo jokes, pulling back from me.