29 #2
"Okay, okay." She laughs and closes it. "I like your place. It smells like you."
I bite my tongue so I don’t say the outrageous line right there on the tip of it. I go back to the window and crack the curtain. Outside is still pitch-black. In the distance, Rashel’s house glows with the lights on.
"If they find out…"
"She won’t find out," she says, sure of herself, coming up behind me. Her cold hands skim my waist and I break out in goosebumps. "Seriously. We’re covered. And everyone’s minding their own business, anyway."
"You sound awfully sure," I say, turning. We’re two inches apart.
"I’m very sure."
She doesn’t look away. Her eyes are shining. I let out a small, nervous laugh, happy and jittery at once.
"You can’t show up this pretty with your sneakers caked in mud."
"So what do I do?" She shrugs. "Take my shoes off?
Make an appointment? Send you an email?" She kicks off her sneakers. She’s in black socks with white lint and mud.
Her hoodie hangs at her hips and her pants hug those legs that drive me crazy.
"Are you gonna keep scolding me, or offer me some water, a beer… or you?"
I half-choke on a laugh.
"First I invite you to the bath mat—you’re leaving prints. Then water. Beer after. The other thing we can negotiate."
"Bossy," she says, biting back a smile. "I like it."
I take her hand and lead her to the bathroom. I hand her a small towel and kneel to take off her socks. I don’t say anything, but she looks at me like that and everything in me kicks up a gear.
"We shouldn’t," I murmur, focused on her ankle.
"We’re not doing anything."
"Yet," slips out of me, quiet.
I dry her feet, run the towel between her toes, and she looks at me like I’ve already said yes to everything. I stand up way too close. She smells like herself. I step back a little because I’m a responsible idiot and because my hands are shaking.
"Okay," I breathe. "Water. And you behave."
"I’m terrible at behaving," she says, following me to the living room. "But I can try if you look at me like that."
I go to the kitchen and open the fridge. I grab two small water bottles. I hand her one. Our fingers brush and a tingle runs through me.
"Let’s toast to nobody ratting us out."
"Let’s toast to you finally letting me in," she says, tapping her bottle to mine. "About time."
I sit on the arm of the couch; she plants herself between my knees.
"You’re coming in hot," I say, low.
"I go after what I want." She shrugs. "And I like you. A lot. And I don’t feel like falling asleep on Rashel’s couch thinking about your curtains pulled shut."
I look at her mouth, back to her eyes.
"Alaska…"
"Tell me you don’t want me, that you want me to stop," she whispers. "And I’ll stop. But you’re not going to, because you want me. And you don’t lie, do you?"
Did she hear me last night? Of course she heard me last night.
I brush her hair back slowly. She smiles.
I rest my forehead against hers for a second to steady myself.
I let out a breath and laugh under it without meaning to.
She looks at me like she wants me and my pulse jumps.
I grab her by the waist and pull her a little closer.
"Don’t look at me like that in my house," I whisper.
"Then kiss me already, for fuck’s sake," she shoots back, cocky.
I close my eyes for a beat, ready to give in completely. And right then, a text buzzes on her phone on the table. We freeze. We look at each other. At the same time, we burst out laughing.
"If it’s not the apocalypse, we keep going."
"You’re impossible."
"I’m yours whenever you let me," she finishes, calm, and holds out her hand like she’s asking me to dance.
I walk toward her with my heart racing, shame long gone. I stop in front of her and take her chin between two fingers.
"Last time you show up unannounced. I don’t like it," I say, soft.
"That’s a lie." She tugs gently on my robe; the knot loosens and a betraying sigh slips out of me. "You love it. Relax." Her voice low, her fingertip on my collarbone. "No one’s going to tell anyone I’m with you."
"It better," I answer, eyeing her mouth and still holding out. But fuck, I had her in my head ten minutes ago in vivid detail.
She pulls me in by the waist; I grab the back of her hoodie and haul her closer.
It’s quiet outside, the deadbolt turned, the curtain shut, and my fear turns itself down.
What’s left is want, and her ice-cold hands warming me bit by bit.
I pull back for a second, breathe, look at her mouth again, and let out a short laugh.
"Okay."
I play hard to get, a little cheap theater.
I know what’s going to happen and I want it, but I treat myself to a little detour.
I head to the kitchen that opens onto the living room, open the fridge, and pull out two ice-cold beers.
The Baby Yoda magnetic bottle opener does its job and the caps drop into a bowl. I hand her one.
"Here. And don’t set it on the table, it’ll leave a ring," I say, just to say something that isn’t "get on top of me already."
Alaska turns slowly in place, curious.
"Your place is a dream. Unreal, Nat. It’s gorgeous. I didn’t picture it like this."
"Oh, no? How did you picture it?" I ask, beer at my lips, wearing a wickedly curious look.
"A dungeon—everything black, candles on the floor, chains on the walls, and a spiked ball spinning on the ceiling," she says, easy as you please. She runs a finger along my gun; I let her. It’s not loaded.
"The spiked ball gets here Tuesday, babe." I wink. "And the chains are in the hall closet. But today I’m showing you the living room and giving you a drink before you start asking for rope."
A laugh slips out of me. I follow her gaze and clock my shelves crammed with Star Wars Funkos: Leia, Vader, Grogu, Ahsoka, a bobblehead stormtrooper. Movie posters— Kill Bill , Hereditary , an old Amélie someone gave me.
She looks where I’m looking and laughs too. She comes back, sits beside me, presses her thigh to mine on the couch. We drink in silence. You can hear my wall clock, the fizz of the beers, our breathing a little high. We don’t need anything else.
"I don’t actually know anything about you," she says softly. "This afternoon you hugged me in front of everyone. You over that nonsense yet?"
I just look at her, bottle halfway up. The knot of my robe feels heavy. The one in my throat, heavier. It doesn’t show.
"I’m gonna get dressed," I murmur. "I feel ridiculous like this."
I try to get up and she doesn’t let me. She grabs my wrist, eases me back, and straddles me. We end up inches apart. She looks at my mouth; I look at hers. She slides her hands up to my shoulders and presses me a little into the back of the couch.
"Don’t go," she whispers. "I like seeing you like this."
"If you stay on top of me, I’ll take your hoodie off with my teeth," I tell her, straight up, like the old me.
She grins, shameless.
"There’s my girl."
"Not your girl," I correct softly. "Your downfall for a while."
She trails her nose along my cheek and speaks in my ear. She brushes my earlobe. The skin on my neck prickles.
"Give me another."
"Either you move or I move you. Your call," I answer, and I grab her hip so she knows I’m serious.
A tiny sigh slips out of her. She rests her forehead to mine and holds my face in both hands, steady.
"That ‘nonsense’ hasn’t gone anywhere for me. I’m gonna kiss you now."
She kisses me slow, unrushed, with that calm that turns me on more than anything. I put my hands on her ass and pull her closer. My robe is hanging on by inertia, and I laugh, because there’s no going back now.
"We toast and keep going," I tell her, cocky.
We clink our bottles an inch from our mouths. We take another sip, set the beers on the coffee table, and I stop pretending to resist. I want her close and she’s on top of me. All right—let whatever has to happen happen.
I kiss her for real. Slow, sure, unhurried. She tastes like cold beer and her sweet mouth. She threads a hand through my hair, squeezes my waist with the other, and a sigh escapes me that loosens everything. It isn’t just hunger. It’s peace. It’s a crystal-clear yes that goes right through me.
My eyes go wet, and I don’t feel ashamed. I pull back a little, brush her nose, and say it without a filter.
"I needed you. I missed you."
"Me too," she says, pressed to me.
She kisses me deeper now. She straddles me, holding me with her thighs, hugs me tight, strokes my face, slow. We bump teeth and get the giggles mid-kiss, and I love it, because that’s us, too. I nip her lip and she looks at me with a tenderness that undoes me.
I slide my hand under her hoodie and touch her stomach. It’s cold, but it warms instantly right under my palm. She doesn’t stay still; she slips her hand down my side, under the robe. Short nails, the brush of cotton and skin.
"Hey, this isn’t crazy, okay?" I murmur in her ear, because it just pours out of me. "I love you for real. Not just to hook up and call it a night."
It’s the first time I blurt it to a girl and I don’t feel ashamed or weighed down. She looks at me, super serious, without that fake swagger. Something softens inside me, a weird shift, but I try to keep it off my hardass face.
She strokes my chin carefully, kisses my eyelids, my cheek, my mouth again. My chest unclenches; real air comes in. I want to stay like this for hours, just this, with no one asking for anything.
"You make me feel so good," I blurt, because it’s the truth.
"You’re so good." She pulls me against her. "Here. With me."
I nod and go back to her mouth. This kiss, besides turning me on, sets me right. Puts my head back on straight, my soul, everything. I missed her like crazy.
I keep my legs just open enough and my hands tense on the edge of the couch. Alaska doesn’t climb off me. She holds my gaze and gives me that crooked smile that lights me up and dares me.