Chapter 14
I would like to personally thank every single Fresno Nightcrawler for dragging me into the middle of the woods, onto a termite-ridden bridge, to look for them in all their little white pants glory. Because, if not for them, I might not know what kissing Hayden feels like. Not now, not like this.
I might not know how slow it starts: experimental nips as he explores me, learns me, and studies the soft sounds I make as he tilts my chin down and deepens the kiss. I run a hand up his chest and to the curve of his neck, fingers knotting in his dark waves. I wouldn’t breathe if I didn’t have to, because tearing away from him for any second feels foolish and unfathomable. As I catch my breath, I nod, telling him we can break this rule and the next.
Hayden’s hands work down my body. His grip molds around every curve until he has me memorized, and when he reaches my hips, he tugs me into his lap. I lock my legs around his waist, chest to chest, my forehead to the plastic frames of his glasses as we break away to breathe.
I think of all the days I’ve spent watching him with desire, from the way his hands move as he speaks to the intense pondering stares and hums he lets out while we work. I’ve imagined his hands doing all the most intimate things with me, but nothing compares to the way his grip feels on my body: soft, clawing grasps that make me feel like no amount of closeness will ever be good enough for him. Nothing could prepare me for the desperate sighs he lets out with each breath, or the soft “fuck” he mutters as he leans in to kiss me again.
I want him to know that there is no one else I’ve ever wanted like this. I want all of Hayden. I want every inch of height and muscle, every soft lock of hair and harsh prick of his beard. I want to learn every single tattoo on his body and study them and him like it’s all one cohesive piece of stunning artwork. I don’t know everything about him, and there are still so many secrets I’m working to uncover, but I feel confident I’ll want them too.
Hayden pulls away and he struggles to catch his breath. “I’ve been waiting for this.”
I trace the curve of his smile with my thumb. “For how long?”
“Since you woke up holding me on the Queen Mary .” He places the answer with another kiss.
“You knew?” I say.
He nods, sinking me like an anchor. “I knew, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it. Your warmth, your touch—the way you fit like no one else ever has.”
My legs are complete jelly. I listen to the sounds he makes as he kisses me, focused, concentrated, like I’m the most interesting conspiracy he’s ever heard. He digs deeper and deeper here, too. Tingles of desire sprinkle across my body—my back, goose bumps up my arms, a swelling heat between my legs.
Our hips are flush together as his arms encircle me, luring me closer and closer until there are no gaps between us, just layers of clothing I wish were gone already. As I nibble his bottom lip, he curses and his body tenses, soft fingertips digging into my back, raking up the bottom of my sweater. Heat blooms between us and—as my hips rock against his—I’m left wanting to reach between us, unzip his pants, and make him moan so desperately the local cryptids will know to leave us alone.
He clutches me like I’m the most valuable cargo he’s ever held and carefully leans me back against the jacket he’s set on the ground. I know his undoubtedly overpriced, waterproof REI jacket will keep me dry and clean, but even if it didn’t, I can’t argue about a single thing right now. I don’t feel the damp wood beneath us or the prick of twigs and wood chips. I can only feel his hands running up my shirt, finding every spot that makes me shiver. He nods in affirmation with each soft whimper and shudder my body makes.
“You feel so good,” he breathes, heat smoking each of his words. “ So good.”
I have never wanted to bang someone in the middle of the woods so badly. This is how I get a mosquito bite in a terrible place.
“Tell me what you want.” He only comes away from me for ragged breaths and ravaged words. “Anything at all.” And then, “I want you to have it all.”
I’m contemplating the condom I know is in my backpack and how amazing the rest of him will feel. My heart races thinking about asking him to take those next steps, but there’s still something that scares me about it. I don’t mean to take this too slow, just one step at a time.
“I don’t want to go any further right now.”
He pulls away, still tasting me on his lips. “I…hmm, yeah…this is a little hotter than I usually get with my first kisses.”
I drink in his lopsided, kiss-hazy smile. A smile. There’re no signs of disappointment or betrayal.
“Repressed conspiracy theorist with a porn collection.”
“Boring Nonbeliever who doesn’t know how to spice it up.” He kisses me again, teasing, letting me wrap my arms around his shoulders. His kisses aren’t a transaction. They’re something he wants to do because he wants me . He shows me with every trail of his lips down my throat, teasing and using the sounds of my giggles as a guidebook.
“We are also very much in the woods.”
“And you hate bugs,” he whispers against my lips.
“I absolutely hate bugs.”
I drag my hands down the sides of his face, toying with the buttons at the top of his Henley. Now that I’ve claimed a part of him, I want to take ownership of the simple and sexy details of him. His sharp collarbones, the tease of dark hair where his shirt buttons dip lower on his chest, ink bleeding out at certain angles.
“And yet, your one hand is on my ass.”
Indeed it is. It is a very good ass.
“Are you done Nightcrawler hunting for the night?”
Hayden frowns. No, displays abject horror and misunderstanding like a child who had to learn the hard way that there’s a seventeen-year-old getting paid minimum wage inside every Chuck E. Cheese mouse. “I’ll never be done hunting.”
“…Right. Can we get out of the woods? Go someplace without bugs?”
“ Fine ,” he agrees, climbing off me and helping me brush myself clean.
We find the car, and he drives. He reaches a hand over the console, and his fingers weave with mine. I love the look of disbelief in his eyes, like he can’t believe I want him back, like he can’t believe he gets to have me. Clearly, I’ve never known being wanted like this. I enjoy the quiet peace of knowing my presence makes someone happy. It’s so small and huge at the same time.
We ride in silence to the hotel, with the faint sounds of a playlist called “Mothman Is Real and He’s My Boyfriend” in the background, Hayden’s thumb occasionally brushing the back of my palm in beat with the soft indie vibes. We check in and claim our room. This time, I don’t think either of us will mind if there’s only one bed. We take turns showering and get ready for bed since we’re set to be up early tomorrow for filming. I feel like, considering he had his hands on my boobs an hour ago, I am safe to start sleeping without a bra now. Hayden settles into bed as he flips through channels on the TV. Finally, he finds something to consume—a rerun of Cosmic Conspiracies .
The topic: Was Abraham Lincoln in cahoots with aliens during the Civil War?
As I attack my face with a makeup wipe, I eye the TV warily before looking back at him. Hayden smiles, and I know he isn’t planning on changing the channel. Not long ago, he was the thing I found by accident, and now it feels like the opposite of an accident. It feels like fate. A cosmic conspiracy, even.
In bed, I curl my head into the crook of his shoulder. Fresh out of the shower, he again smells like lemon verbena and basic hotel soap, masking the usual musky scent of his cologne. The sound of him breathing lulls me near sleep as he occasionally offers a fact-check or an additional tidbit he thinks I’d want to know. A month ago, I would have clapped back with rebuttals about how unrealistic his theories are. Now I’ll listen to any outlandish theory he has because it’s him telling it.
“I’ve met this guy before,” he mumbles. “He’s a piece of work. We got into an argument about the Stargate Project once. He didn’t believe it was real. It’s confirmed real. It’s a thing.”
“I love how you think I have any idea what the Stargate Project is.”
He laughs, brushing his fingers through my hair. “Okay, so…back in the seventies, the CIA was legitimately trying to study psychic abilities like remote viewing and ESP…”
I listen like it’s the best bedtime story in the world. We spar and argue over the more ridiculous arcs in the episode, laughing and offering our own conspiracies. I’m too busy being bewildered by other things—his arms tucking me close to him; the way his head rests on top of mine, like he wants every possible part of us to connect. When we’re out of bad theories to argue over, he turns the TV off and flips onto his side. His arm drapes over my body, and his forehead presses to mine. There’s no sound but the whirr of the hotel room air conditioner and the distant whispers of guests near the elevators. I know what’s coming next, but it’s going to feel different tonight.
He slips off his glasses and brushes a lock of hair behind my ear, utilizing the shock of bright blue jumping out against the dark. He starts there and trails his fingertips down the side of my face, until he finds my lips and leans in. Much like our first kiss, it’s slow and deliberate, like he’s still questioning if this is a fluke or not. I reassure him by winding my fingers into his still-drying hair and kissing him, and it feels so good to do. I want every part of him to be all mine.
“Good night,” he whispers with one final kiss. “Don’t let the ghosties bite.”
The Out There
Episode #5: “HGTV but Make It Haunted”
On this week’s episode of The Out There , Hayden and Hallie travel to San Jose, California, to investigate the Winchester Mystery House. Can they survive their time there without falling through a trapdoor or walking into a wall? More at eleven.
HAYDEN
I mean, this is a lot of rooms. Like…a lot.
HALLIE
And you grew up rich.
HAYDEN
Sure did.
HALLIE
I think that I would run out of room ideas at some point.
HAYDEN
I bet I could come up with a bunch.
HALLIE
One hundred and sixty?
HAYDEN
Yeah. Okay, bedrooms—like, at least twenty, because why not? Then at least twenty-five bathrooms, because every bedroom would have one bathroom attached, then a bunch of extra ones. Not all of them would have showers or baths.
HALLIE
Okay, so you are at forty-five.
HAYDEN
Do closets count? Because—
HALLIE
Definitely not.
HAYDEN
Goddammit.
[BEAT]
HAYDEN
Ten living rooms, eleven parlors—
HALLIE
Why eleven? That’s random.
HAYDEN
If I just did ten of everything, that’s uncreative.
HALLIE
And more math for me.
HAYDEN
Fourteen dining rooms. Five kitchens. Eight laundry rooms. What am I at?
HALLIE
Ninety-three.
HAYDEN
Fuck. Bowling alley. Movie theater. Two home gyms. Indoor swimming pool. Tennis court. Six libraries.
HALLIE
One hundred and five.
HAYDEN
Five bowling alleys. Four movie theaters—one for G, one for PG, one for PG-13, one for R—
HALLIE
What about NC-17?
HAYDEN
It’s like the same thing as R, but you can show more dicks. Oh , and you can’t even have a parent get you in. Now what am I at?
HALLIE
One hundred and twelve.
HAYDEN
You know what, fuck this.