A Love Like the Sun

Chapter 20 How It Shouldn’t Feel with Friends

This time coming out of the bathroom to Issac while he’s laid out on the gray sheets of his bed feels different. I had to hype myself up just to open the door after showering. There was so much to talk about on the way back to the condo after Shida’s party. I danced with rapper Kid Krews at some point, and I’m not even sure how that happened. But we didn’t even talk about that. I wonder if he’s thinking about us violating the messiness part of our agreement with our dance. I count to ten, breathe, begin to walk toward him. The lights are already off, but the moon from the balcony window fills the room with dim light. Issac’s not reading or writing, he just watches each step I take. With dread? Desire?

For how big the bed is, and even though we both made sure to leave some distance between us, he’s still too close when I climb in. He shifts his gaze to the ceiling while I try to get comfortable.

Is he regretting what we did? Am I?

I hear him exhale, then he turns toward me and slides his pointer finger down my bare arm.

“Hi, Ni,” he says, cautious with his words but not so much his touch.

“Hi,” I say, fighting the urge to whimper at the feel of him. To ask him not to stop touching me.

His eyes are dark, he takes his top lip into his mouth and releases it slowly before saying, “Checking in that we’re still okay with all of this. Doing my best friend due diligence, I guess.”

I don’t know what I wanted him to say at the moment, but it wasn’t those words.

“Thanks for checking in,” I say. “Tonight was intense. In a way I’m not sure I prepared for. But maybe it’s not possible to prepare for…” I trail off, glance up at the skylight, brush down the bedsheets at my sides.

“Biology?” he offers. “Chemistry?”

“Yes,” I whisper, and meet his gaze again, relieved to hear out loud that he’d felt the pull too. That the desire wasn’t in my imagination or one-sided.

“Because good Lord, Laniah. You in that damn dress.” He groans just a little, and it’s as if he did it right between my thighs. I clench them together, warmth pooling, my body begging to bend toward him.

Chemistry. That’s all this is.

“I’m not sorry for wearing it,” I say, smiling. “But yeah.”

He glances at my mouth, my collarbone, scans my face, says, “I would never ask you to be. This was always going to be hard. We knew it would be. Maybe weird too.” His words change the mood. My stomach tightens. “It is weird, right? But do you think…it’s bad?”

He asks like it’s a question, but my brain warns that it might be another test. So I say the smart thing for the both of us: “It was weird, but it doesn’t change anything between us.”

Issac’s eyebrows piece together. His eyes flick away before he closes them. “Yeah, we’re good. Always. But we probably should do our best not to cross lines like that, okay?”

Something stirs in my chest. A throb, a pang. I wonder if I said the right thing. What was he looking for? What am I running from?

“Okay,” I tell him.

Silence creeps up on us for so long I swear he’s lying about us being good, but then he says, “Something amazing happened tonight. I talked to the people behind Year of the Lotus. I think you saw me with them. They had on those dope purple outfits.”

I nod my head, anxious for him to say more. He beams, the smile contagious.

“They love all of my ideas and want me fully on board. I’ll have to be quick at booking the botanical garden, and dedicated with the short timeline, but…they believe in me, Ni.”

“Of course they do,” I say, wrapping my arms around him. “I’m so, so happy.”

“So am I,” he says, and starts playing with the fabric at the small of my back.

My mouth opens. I place a kiss on his shoulder. Delicate and soft. Still, he inhales sharply. Heat builds between our bodies. His hand dips lower, fingers nearly grazing my ass. Squeeze it, I want to tell him.

But then he pulls away, shifting to give us distance.

“You must’ve been my good luck charm this weekend,” he says, breathy to match the way mine is catching. “Good night, Ni.”

“Good night, Issac,” I say, and turn toward the balcony to put more space between us.

But sleep evades me because he keeps unintentionally moving closer while he dreams. It always happens, but he’s shirtless again and I turn around to watch his chest, his stomach, the hard lines of his torso above his boxers as he breathes. My body wants things and doesn’t consult well enough with my heart about them. I hate it. Chemistry, loneliness, whatever it is, I can’t want these things. Issac thinks we should do better with our boundaries, but telling myself this doesn’t stop me from aching to nudge him awake and beg him to touch between my legs. I glance at him one last time before slipping out of bed and sifting through my luggage for a small black bag to take to the spare room. There’s a king-sized bed waiting for me with the same soft sheets and a large bay window to let in moonlight. And it’s empty, which is exactly what I need right now.

Except my mind won’t leave me alone. I can’t escape Issac even here. I’m already wet before I part my thighs. I trail my fingers over my breasts, pinch my nipples, walk them down my stomach. When I touch myself, I remember Issac’s hand running down the curve of my hip, him pressed against my ass while we danced, how hard he was behind me. I switch on my vibrator and let it hum along my clit, but I’m too quick to get close and don’t want the feeling to end. So I roll onto my stomach, place a pillow between my thighs, and grind against it. The ache builds slowly. I imagine Issac’s body below mine, him gripping my waist and slowly stroking till I cum.