Backslide

Chapter 24 Nellie Today

We are out in the open. Outside. Anyone could stumble past. I can feel the breeze blowing by my exposed skin. It gives me goose bumps. But I don’t care.

Not anymore.

In this instant, I’m glad we kept things a secret.

Because that secret let me keep what’s brewing between us for myself just a little longer.

Hoard it away. That secret led us here, to this barn wall, rough against my back, my hands in his hair, so insane for him that I have to bite my cheek to stay quiet.

As everything pulls tight in me, I lose track of where the outer world ends and my insides begin, the stars populating the sky melding with the fireworks popping off behind my lids.

I’m kinetic, inside and out, as I tug on his shirt at the shoulder and pull him to standing.

“Had enough?” he asks, his lids heavy.

I shake my head, huffing. “I need more.”

He props a strong hand on the wall behind my head and leans in to kiss me again and, as much as I want it, I stop him, put a finger to his lips.

“Oh, see, but, wait. Because, well, look at you. And look at me.”

His eyes drop down to his own fully clothed body and then scan up my almost fully naked one.

“Looks right to me.”

He’s not wrong. I like the rub of his clothes against my bare skin.

But I shake my head at him. Slowly, one by one, I undo each button on his shirt, torturing us both.

I slip my hands inside, let them road trip across his warm chest, taking their time, then venture down to his taut stomach, slowly unzipping his pants and sliding my palm inside.

“Shit,” he groans, low and gravelly, burying his face in my neck. The sound travels through me like a drive on a bumpy road.

“Was it always like this?” I say, almost a whisper. “With us?”

Because I remember. But I don’t.

“I thought so,” he says. “But that was before I knew this existed.”

This thing, this revelation.

In my mind, I remember fevered make-out sessions, stolen kisses, urgent pawing when we could find the space. I remember pining for him, missing him even before he lumbered out of sight, a lingering want that sat equally in my heart and between my thighs and could never be satiated. Never enough.

But this is something different—something I didn’t think was in the cards. This is all of that plus time. Plus lost years. Plus experience and knowledge and even skill. Confidence. Swagger. This is a deep résumé, a strong, banging CV.

Noah is my ideal candidate. And I think maybe, finally, I am looking to fill the position. All the positions.

Including the one we’re in right now, his pants around his ankles, my skirt pushed up high, him pressed against me, rock solid.

“Okay,” I say, breathless. “Now, we’re even.”

He lets his gaze travel down me, raises an eyebrow, his chest rising and falling quickly against my own. “Okay,” he says. “Now what?”

“Now,” I say, “you fuck me.”

He is happy to oblige.

My hands come to his muscular back, and he kisses me hard and then harder as I wheeze his name.

I lose all sense of time and place. I’m outside on a vineyard estate in wine country, yes, but I am everywhere else too. Against a stone wall in Riverside Park. Against a bathroom door, precariously pushed shut. On my childhood twin bed when no one is home.

And, afterward, we are breathless, collapsing into each other and laughing lightly.

And we are still chest to chest, when he murmurs, “I want to change the rules.”

“I thought there were no rules.”

“The new is rule is that there are rules.”

I tip my head back against the wall, so I can better see his adorable face shadowed in the darkness. “Who is making these rules?”

“Me,” he says. “And only me.”

“That seems fair,” I laugh.

“Fair is overrated.”

He is kidding, but he is not kidding. I can see it in the intensity of his eyes, glowing like their own moons, inches from my own.

Even a day ago, I would have been afraid of what he was about to say. Afraid that he was about to set boundaries that would hurt my pride, that he was backing slowly away, having scratched some kind of childhood itch.

But I know better now. I know Noah now. Adult Noah. Who is kind and funny and thoughtful and a little bit irritable when other men hit on me.

I know Noah—who knows me.

“Alright,” I say. “I’ll bite.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That I know.”

I roll my eyes but also smile. Rotate my hand, to suggest he should say the thing.

“The first new rule is that this isn’t over.”

“I see.”

“The second rule is that you don’t get to freak out about it and run for the hills.”

“Hmm. Which hills exactly?”

“The third rule is that you are open to the idea of coming back to LA. Of trying to transition to art directing for movies or TV because you have a skill set that could transfer even though it’s not totally the same.

To see if maybe it’s for you. Because your job in New York is ending.

And you love LA and you wanted to try something different anyway.

And Sabrina lives there. And Rita does. And also, as it happens, so do I. ”

I purse my lips, amused. “ ’Cause it’s that easy. And?”

“The fourth and final rule is that instead of going back to the party, you come back to our suite with me and let me do stuff to you and you don’t leave again until I have to go to the airport in the morning.”

Sounds like heaven—except for the part where he leaves. I push that out of my head.

“Well, I’m going to have to draw the line there,” I say, toying with the collar of his open shirt. “I have a best friend who just got not-married who is going to be not happy if I don’t go back and dance and belt out power ballads with her.”

Noah stares at me hard, like maybe he was joking just then, but he is not joking. And he says, “What about the rest of it?”

I look back at him—his bright eyes, his stubbly jaw, the scar on his cheek.

And I realize, I won’t say no to him. Whatever happened in our past, whatever complications exist now, I need to at least be open to finding a path for us to be together.

Because all of my resolve has melted. As unlikely as it seemed just days ago, I found the man for me when I was just a teen. And I’m not going to let him go again.

I’m scared. I’m unsure. There are definitely flutters in my chest.

But I have to trust him.

He is not the boy from before—Sabrina told me, Rita told me, Noah himself told me.

And I can see it for myself.

“I will take that all under advisement,” I say with a half-smile.

“I’m going to need some clarification on that.”

“I like you,” I say, even though inside it makes me squirm, even though the words aren’t big enough for what I actually feel. “I like you and I’m willing to try. Is that enough clarity for your stubborn ass?”

He smiles, big now. Smooths a hand over my hair, then tucks it behind my ear. “I’ll take it.”

“Okay. Now let me get dressed before I have a humiliating run-in with a cater waiter.”

“Right,” he says, as if just remembering where we are.

And as we put ourselves back together, as I watch him button his shirt as I pull up my dress, I feel warm inside. There is a light blooming in my chest.

“I’m glad you aren’t in a coma,” I say.

And he shakes his head like I’ve lost it and smiles.

“Should we tell people we’re together?” I ask Noah, as we start back toward the party. “Like, screw it, maybe?”

I sort of want to shout from the rooftops.

He thinks, then shakes his head. “I kind of like having this just be our own thing for now.”

I’m mildly disappointed by his answer even though I’m the one who originally suggested the secrecy, but I accept it and let it go.

The truth is, I know he’s right. Telling people will change things.

We scatter our re-entry to the party—with a promise from him to carry the carton of orange wine.

Not because we’re hiding anything anymore, but because there’s no reason to complicate the night.

We’re feeling good. Why welcome other opinions?

With a single glance back at Noah in the dark, so damn handsome, leaning on his shoulder against the overflow shed, I walk back to the party—hopefully not in too much disarray.

I’m about to start up the stairs back to the treehouse space, when a voice startles me in the dark.

“If it isn’t Eleanor Hurwitz,” says Damien, standing there like maybe he’s been waiting.

“You scared me,” I say, a hand to my chest.

He tips his blond head, laughs. “Nellie, are you afraid of the dark?”

I roll my eyes. But he is not done talking. He is never done talking.

“I remember you still slept with a stuffed animal in high school,” he says. “And I remember its name: Hairball.”

I have to admit, I’m surprised he remembers that very specific detail about my matted stuffy. “Wow,” I say. “Good memory.”

He’s right. I slept with Hairball coiled against my chest until I was way too old.

“Yeah, I have a good memory,” he says. “But I also always paid special attention to you. Like we talked about. The other day in town.”

I’m afraid of where this conversation is going and so, despite the discomfort I feel, I decide to get ahead of it. “Damien, I’ve always liked you,” I lie. “But you know I didn’t mean it that way, right? Like, we were always friends.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, though I see a twinge of something else pass over his face too. “I know. It never happened for us. But who knows what the future holds?”

“Well, I do,” I say. “Because the thing is, even if there was something like that between us, I couldn’t do that because…”

He sighs. Shakes his head. “Because of Noah.”

“Because of Noah,” I say. “There’s just too much history.”

He stares at me, hard. Even in the dark, his blue eyes are piercing. Unsettled, I set a hand on the railing, like it’s my escape route. Like I can’t get away fast enough.

He sees it. Sees me wanting to leave. “Or maybe it’s not just history,” he says.

“Oh, well, I mean… no. It’s just…”

“I’m not an idiot, Nellie,” he spits.

“No,” I say. “You’re not.”

We stand there considering each other for a beat. A breeze blows past carrying a new chill. And suddenly I wonder how long he’s been standing here. What, if anything, he saw.

“Cara is probably looking for me,” I say, as lightly as I can manage, and turn toward the stairs, taking them two at a time.