CHAPTER TEN
Layla
I’m sitting on the couch, trying to find something, anything to do with myself. I hate waiting like this more than anything else—waiting for the stupid phone to ring, waiting for the seconds to tick by, waiting for the moment—whatever is going to happen in it—to occur.
It’s been like this for days, ever since that phone call on Saturday night. Quinn’s been yelling at me all week to calm the fuck down because I’m so jumpy. But I can’t help it. I’m pretty much beside myself with anticipation over seeing him. Seeing Nico.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, and I leap for it, practically falling over my feet to get it. Behind me, there’s a snort: Quinn, studying in the kitchen. But I’m too annoyed to respond, because the number on the front is not the one I’ve been waiting for.
“Not him?” she asks dryly.
I shake my head. “No.”
It’s Giancarlo, the Argentinian student I met at Fat Black’s. He calls a lot, at least two or three times a week. Sometimes I like it, sometimes I don’t. Most of the time I send him to voicemail––the guy is a little intense, and I’m not really in the headspace for dealing with a new relationship. But the guy is nothing if not persistent.
I’d never say this to my roommates, but it kind of feels good to be pursued like this. Sometimes, usually when I just can’t deal anymore with listening to Jamie and Dev cuddling on the couch, or Quinn’s bitching gets to be too much for me, I pick up the phone.
Giancarlo and I have met up maybe three times since that first night, and it’s usually led to something similar; a lot of drinking and me waking up in his apartment uptown. But every morning I feel weird as I do the walk of shame back to the subway, avoiding the catcallers and practically sprinting past Nico’s old block, where his brother now lives.
I silence the call. Giancarlo is the least of my concerns right now. I go back to freaking out about what’s going to happen when Nico shows up.
Will he be happy to see me?
Will he act like it’s no big deal?
Will he act like the last six months haven’t happened?
Do I want him to?
Quinn looks up from her books. “Can you find something to do over there, babe? You’re making me nervous.”
I look down at the foot that is currently shaking and tuck it under my skirt. “Sorry.”
Quinn tugs off her glasses and sets them on the counter. She shuts her book, gets up, then hands me a piece of mail over the back of the couch. It’s a familiar envelope, one that makes me relieved and sad at the same time.
“Check from your mom?” she asks.
I rip open the envelope and nod. “Yep.”
It’s the same check I’ve started getting every month. Mom doesn’t pick up the phone either when I call––she’s usually busy at the country club, perfectly happy living at her parents’ house. And after September, the checks started to arrive like clockwork every few weeks just as her phone calls became less and less frequent. This time there’s not even a note––just cold, hard cash represented by Mom’s soft script, all of it a way to mitigate her own pain and guilt.
Still, it’s better than my dad, who hasn’t called in months. I never thought I’d wish for the day my dad went back to being grossly overbearing, but his silence hurts worse than his sharp words ever did. If it’s a choice between them, I’d rather be scolded and yelled at. I’d rather fight than be abandoned.
“When’s he supposed to be here?” Quinn interrupts as she puts on her coat.
I glance at the clock that’s next to the kitchen. “Any minute.”
A phone buzzes, and I practically jump three feet in the air to check if it’s mine. It’s not.
“Sorry. That’s my cue, jumpy,” Quinn says as she checks her phone. “That was Shams and Jamie. We’re going out so you crazy kids can have some privacy.”
“Quinn, you don’t have to leave.” My reply is weak, and we both know it. There is nothing I’d like more than an empty apartment, even though a part of me knows it would probably be smarter to have a chaperone.
She smirks and pats me on the head like a baby. “You’re so cute, Lay. Like a little kid waiting to get up on Christmas morning.”
“Yeah, except this package might break my heart again,” I grumble.
Quinn looks on sympathetically. “He was an ass,” she states simply. “He left you and immediately shacked up with another chick. Don’t let him forget it, and you’ll be fine.”
We’re both remembering the day the girls arrived back from summer and found me curled up in my bed. They took me to the nearest diner and plied me with hot chocolate and home fries while I cried my eyes out. It was so much worse than when he’d left.
But it’s different now. I know things aren’t ever going to be serious between us––they can’t, not when he lives so far away. But it feels good to have him in my life again, so much better than when he wasn’t. I’d rather have him as a friend than as nothing at all.
With another warning look, Quinn grabs her purse and coat and heads out.
“Don’t forget,” she calls. “Total. Ass.”
The door slams behind her, and I’m left in the worst possible position: alone with my thoughts. Trepidation. Fear. Excitement. Happiness that I will get to see the man I fell so hard for. The man I still love, if I’m being completely honest. Anger. Betrayal. Sadness. Mourning. All of it.
My phone buzzes again. There’s that stupid 323 number. Suddenly paralyzed, I watch it light up, then finally pick it up on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, baby! I’m outside your building.”
His deep voice erases the cacophony inside my head, leaving only one feeling. The excitement bubbles up in my chest before I can stop it. Despite my desire to stay cool, I’m already grinning.
“I’ll be right down,” I say and hang up before he can answer, suddenly unable to move fast enough. I put on the first shoes I can find—a pair of bright blue stilettos I wore over the weekend. They don’t exactly go with my outfit, a black skirt and graphic t-shirt, but I don’t care. I just need to get downstairs.
I fly down the two flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator. The sandals pinch my toes, but I can’t feel a thing. His energy is magnetic, pulling me close though I can’t see him.
I burst outside, where it’s sprinkling with a chilly November rain, a layer of clouds low over the city. Broadway is jammed even more than normal at this time of the day, full of honking cars trying to make their way around the square. It takes me two seconds of scanning the traffic before I spot him across the street, exiting from the Union Square subway station. He’s all in black: black jeans, black sneakers, his familiar black leather jacket, and a tight black beanie that covers his short black curls. Nico locates me, and his face lights up with that hundred-watt smile I dream about almost every night.
“Layla!” he calls, weaving through the traffic toward me as quickly as he can. But I’m faster.
I skip across the pavement, out to where he stands in between the cars, and tackle him. It’s pure impulse; my body couldn’t have done anything different as I squeeze him with everything I have, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, arms clasped around his neck. He holds me just as tightly, so tight I can barely breathe.
Our noses touch, and before I can even start to think about standing on my own again, he’s kissing me, fast and hard, and I’m kissing him back, with all the urgency and wanting and loneliness that I’ve been carrying around in the pit of my heart since we said goodbye. Our tongues meet, our hands grapple, and it’s not until a chorus of horns blasts that we finally break away with hoarse breaths.
Nico walks us back to the sidewalk and deposits me on the ground, though his arms don’t leave my waist. He kisses me again, and again, but can’t stop grinning that silly grin that I know is mirrored on my face. I can’t help it. I don’t care about anything else that’s happened between us. I’m just so fucking glad to see him.
“Fuck, it’s good to see you,” he says in between joyful kisses.
He grins again, and it lights up the otherwise cloudy day. He laughs, and I laugh along with him. He pulls me into another tight embrace and swings me around the sidewalk, almost causing my feet to smack passersby. I couldn’t care less, lost in my laughter and joy.
“Thanks,” he says after he sets me down.
“For what?”
Another crooked smile spears me. “For letting me kiss you.”
“Oh.” A blush rises up my neck. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t ever going to say no. “Come on,” I say as I take his hand. “No one’s home.”
With a different light in his eyes, Nico follows me into the building. While we sneak excited looks at each other, I sign him in with the security desk, then lead him up the stairs to my floor.
We practically jog the whole way up. Nico’s grasping at my waist from behind, like he can’t stand not to touch me. I know the feeling. Every few feet I turn around and grin at him, just to make sure he’s really here. I don’t know why he’s so freaking happy right now––it can’t just be because of me or because of Thanksgiving. But I don’t care. Right now, we get to be together.
Once we make it inside the apartment, I turn to give him the requisite “this is my new place” speech, but I’m not even able to get a word out before Nico snakes a hand around my waist and pulls me in for another kiss, the kind that would get us both arrested if we did it on the street. The apartment disappears as his hands are suddenly everywhere––my waist, my back, my ass with a grip that will probably leave bruises.
Nico groans into my mouth as his hands find their target. “Bed,” he mutters before diving into my mouth again. “Now.”
I can’t answer, just manage to walk us toward the bedroom I share with Quinn. A different color flashes in my mind with every step I take as we fumble at each other’s clothing, too fast to even remove anything properly. There’s no time for words; our mouths are everywhere. My knees buckle when I hit the edge of my bed, and I fall into the pillows with Nico on top of me. My wandering hands have managed to remove his beanie at least, and my fingers thread into his thick hair, which has grown long enough in the last three months that I can really grab it.
Nico grunts against my lips, reaching down to shove the hem of my skirt to my hips, rip off my underwear, and undo his pants. I’m slick, ready; I was ready hours ago. Days. In less than a second, he’s ripped open a condom and is inside me with a shock that stretches me and makes me shout as he buries himself deep and moans into my neck. My hands find the taut curves of his ass and squeeze.
“Nico!” His name erupts from my throat. This wasn’t what I was expecting, and yet, it’s like nothing else was ever going to happen.
He huffs my name back, thrusting furiously into me, hurtling both of us toward that edge. It doesn’t take long for both of us to come—the friction between our bodies, even fully clothed but for where our bodies join, is too much.
“Fuck, Layla!” Nico moans as he moves even more erratically. He pushes up slightly on his forearms, angles me to take him deeper as he finds the last few, frenzied strokes that make me fall apart completely.
“Nico! GOD!” I shout.
Nico’s body shakes right along with me, and he tips his head back to howl at the ceiling. My name, over and over again, like a wolf to the moon. Then our bodies puddle together, his hands on my ass, mine around his waist as we struggle to regain our breaths. Our chests move in tandem. Nico inhales deeply into my hair and sighs with utter content.
“God, I’ve missed this,” he breathes. “I fucking miss you.”
My breath hitches again. I forgot just how good that deep bass feels, vibrating against my skin. I sigh, my voice suddenly small.
“I missed you too,” I whisper and breathe deeply. And in. And out. I seem to have lost all ability to function correctly, so lost am I in him. Talk about zero to sixty in no time flat.
“Damn,” he breathes. “God, I...that wasn’t really what I was planning to do when I saw you, you know.”
Slowly, my heart rate calms, and my senses return. As I consider what’s just happened, my bare legs, still wrapped around his waist, shiver in the cold.
“Off,” I mumble, shoving ineffectually at his leather-covered shoulders. Jesus, we couldn’t even manage to take off his jacket.
Nico frowns, but obligingly pushes up and discreetly refastens his pants before turning back around. I’ve scrambled fully onto the bed. My underwear has disappeared, but I’ve managed to yank the thick knit of my skirt back over my legs, now wanting nothing more than to dive under my covers in shame. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be with us. I’m not supposed to be some cheap, easy piece that he can use whenever he comes to town.
I look at everything but him.
“Hey.” The word is gentle, floats like a breeze while I bury my nose into my arms. My feet are cold; I shove them under my pillow at the edge of the bed.
“Hey,” Nico says again.
The bed shifts under his weight. It’s a crappy mattress, and I roll into him. The contact is the last straw, and I suck in a sob just as it’s starting to escape.
Nico slips a few fingers under my chin and forces me to look at him. His eyes are wide, still sparkling with the leftovers of lust, and his dark brows are slightly furrowed with concern. He looks different in ways I hadn’t realized, hadn’t had time to notice because of how overcome I’d been with desire. His skin is even darker than the last time I saw him, more coffee than cream now, whereas before it had been the color of a rich café au lait. The fine hairs around his forehead have been bleached by the California sun, and if I’m not wrong, he has a few tiny wrinkles around his eyes. He looks like he’s been outside a lot, playing at the beach. Having a great time. Without me. With someone else.
Jessie, tall and blonde, rises in the back of my mind. I hiccup another sob as tears spill down my cheeks.
“Aw, baby, please don’t cry.”
Nico cups my face and kisses me, oh-so-softly, over and over with his full lips. The kisses aren’t about sex, but about love and compassion, and they just make me cry harder.
“Please,” he whispers as he pulls me against him, tucking my face into the coarse leather. “Fuck, baby, I can’t take it when you...what can I do? Tell me what to do.”
I grasp at his coat, ignoring the bite of the cold zipper under my palm. The only thing I can feel is my heart splitting in two all over again. Who am I kidding? It was never really back together in the first place.
So he rocks me, then lays us back on the throw pillows shoved against my wall and strokes my back while I cry on his chest. Even through his jacket, I can feel the warmth of his body, the solid blocks of his muscle, the thump of his heart against my hand. I had no idea what was going to happen when we came together again, but I certainly never expected this. I never expected sky-high ecstasy follow by gut-twisting pain.
Nico croons softly until my sobs slowly subside. Eventually I wipe the last tears away, confident no more will come. I sit up, but still avoid looking at him, choosing instead to dash to the bathroom to wash away the mascara I’m sure is all over my face. I don’t even look in the mirror until I’m done scrubbing. The cold water is a welcome distraction. Everything is different under the harsh fluorescent lights. We’re not reuniting lovers anymore. I’m that sad girl who gets left by everyone. He’s the boy that still doesn’t want me in the end.
When I come out, Nico is sitting against the pillows, his feet crossed on the floor in front of him, beanie on his lap like a guilty schoolboy. He looks up, dark eyes wide, like he’s expecting some kind of punishment.
“I’m...I’m sorry about that,” I say.
“Sorry about what? Crying?” He smiles ruefully. “You don’t have to worry, beautiful. You can cry on my shoulder any time.”
“Of course I can’t,” I say a little too sharply. “That’s just the point. You don’t live here. And I just fucked another woman’s boyfriend.”
My voice cracks a little at the end, and the tears rise again. I walk past him to my desk and flop down in the chair. It’s too much—his warmth, his scent, his gorgeous face. I can’t sit next to him like this and not kiss him or cry, and I don’t want to do either.
Nico scoots over on the bed so only the small frame separates us. He leans over and takes my hand gently in his, brushing over my knuckles like he always does. Or did.
“Don’t...” he starts, then trails off. He bites his lip, clearly trying to figure out the right thing to say. “Please don’t feel bad, baby. Layla, this wasn’t wrong.”
“It was wrong,” I snap bitterly. I jerk my hand away and scoot out of his reach. “I helped you cheat on your girlfriend.” I practically spit the word out, hating how my voice quavers around it. Girlfriend. I was that for all of a minute.
“Jessie is not my girlfriend.” When I don’t answer, Nico swears. “Layla, I’m serious. I don’t want you thinking that about yourself. Besides, don’t you have a boyfriend? That dude from the picture?”
I scowl. “I told you there was nothing serious.”
Nico looks at me like he doesn’t quite believe me, even if he’s the one living with a girl he’s sleeping with. If that’s not a girlfriend, I don’t know what is.
After a moment, he gets off the bed and kneels in front of me, cupping my face between his hands so I have to look at him. He tries for a kiss, but I lean back. So he stops, though his hands stay where they are.
“Listen to me,” he says, low and soothing. “This wasn’t wrong.”
“How can you possibly say that?” I whimper, unable to keep the quavering at bay.
A tear falls down my cheek, and Nico sighs as he gently brushes it away with his thumb. He kisses the spot where it fell, and this time I don’t pull away, even though a few more tears fall behind the first.
“Because you’re Layla,” he replies. “Because it’s us. It’s always been that way with us. Layla, I couldn’t be around you and not need to fucking touch you, baby. And because...shit, because you can’t help it any more than me, can you?”
I sniff back a few more tears. “Would Jessie be okay with those reasons?” It’s a shitty question to ask, but I can’t help myself. He’s not wrong about us, but that doesn’t make this okay.
Nico drops his hands and looks down at the floor guiltily.
“Probably not,” he admits. “But that’s my fault, not yours. And maybe it makes me an asshole, but I’m not sorry. Jessie knows the score. I never made her any promises I couldn’t keep. And I...fuck. Layla, I could never be sorry about anything we do together. That’s the truth.”
“But you’ll still leave me for another woman.”
My words are tart. I can’t help it. I know I’m the one who convinced him to go, but it still hurts that he has someone else waiting in the wings.
“That’s not fair.” Nico stands up and shoves his hands into his coat pockets. “I don’t know what you want me to say here. I just wanted to see you. To tell you I’m sorry about how things worked out. I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls and everything—I just...shit, Layla, I just didn’t see the point, you know? I missed you, you missed me, but we can’t be together. The timing is just shitty. And you know what I’m trying to do out there.”
“Is it working?” I ask, although my tone still isn’t exactly generous. “Are you happy with everything? With her?”
“Are you happy with him?”
I bite my lip. I have no idea how to answer that question. So I ask another one. “Are you thinking of coming back?”
He can’t quite meet my eyes. Of course he’s not coming back. He’s only been there for six months. It wouldn’t be much of a go of it if he turned around and came right back.
“I see,” I say. “So you just came here to fuck me and leave me all over again. I get it.”
Nico’s expression darkens. “That is not why I’m here, and you know it.” He looks like he wants to say something cutting, just like me, but just as quickly, his expression softens. He sits next to me on the couch and takes my hand. “Five days. I have five days in New York, and I wanted to spend as much of them as I can with you, Layla. For the next five days, I’m yours. Unless you don’t want me.”
I bury my face in my arms. I can’t say that. I could never say that. So instead, I collapse on his shoulder and let him rock me again until the guilt goes away.
“You think we should go to confession?” Nico jokes.
I snort. In a weird way, it would be fitting. I haven’t been to confession since my dad left, and since then, I’ve been sinning left and right. But I don’t think I could ever repent for anything I do with this man. Everything about him feels right. Even when it hurts.
So I sit up and wipe the tears away. Again.
“I want you,” I admit. “I’ll probably always want you.”
One side of Nico’s full mouth quirks with a half-smile. “Yeah.”
I sigh. “Yeah. But I want to do something different than mope about the fact that you’re leaving again. If we only have five days, then I want to do them right.”
~