Nora
Intense green eyes stare at me. He’s in jeans and a black T-shirt, is at least six-two and has biceps the size of my thighs. I look back to the sky and apricate. He is distracting.
“I had a nightmare last night,” I say, instead of all the other things whirling around my head. From the corner of my eye, I watch Liam lean back on his elbows. “It’s always the same. The constant whining of jets gathering power offends my ears and that Indian man with the dark jeans and internet explorer blue socks, who is yammering on in his native tongue, shoes under his seat. A mother in a coral shirt is frantic, trying to keep her infant from making noise and disrupting people. And my eyes close and it’s all too much. The persistent white noise of chaos. Breath goes in through my nose and out again, but it’s still too loud. And I know I will be off the plane soon but it doesn’t do anything to quell the overwhelming claustrophobia encroaching me. And then that baby shrieks, and the blonde in front of her shoots me a dirty look, and the man to my right coughs at me. It hits my shoulder and that god damned high pitched whine grows louder, until I bolt to my feet and scream ‘shut the fuck up.’ Then the entire cabin gasps and points at me, accusing and judging before silence ensues and I open my eyes,” I say.
“You need therapy. Or to stop frequenting the airport to watch people,” he deadpans.
I roll my head toward him. “People watching is therapy to me.” And I am in therapy but of course, he doesn’t need to know that.
“You have that dream often?” he asks. I have an urge to tell him that I do. I have it often but not as often as I dream of Holden. That when I wake panting in the night, I can still feel his hands on me. His lips on my skin. I shiver despite the heat, then laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Liam asks. I am almost startled someone is next to me. For a moment I was lost in my mind. “You zone out a lot, don’t you?”
“Is that weird?” I ask, knowing full well it is odd.
“A little, but I don’t mind. What were you thinking of?”
He lays down. Our shoulders touch. It is hot today and I would love to be in my backyard without a cardigan on but there is no escaping that now.
“Nothing. I just ... zone out sometimes,” I tell him. “What did you bring to eat? I’m starving.”
“A girl who likes to eat. I dig it.”
“One, this isn’t a date, so I can eat, and two, I am no girl.” Liam rewards me with a mischievous smirk. He sits up and bends forward. His T-shirt rides up as he reaches for the basket he brought. Muscles, cut and defined, line his back. His skin is golden, as if he spends many hours in the sun shirtless. I catch myself staring and avert my eyes before he twists and sets the basket between us.
“True, and probably true. I’ve yet to see proof of womanhood.”
I gasp and clutch my chest. “You’re awful.”
Liam shrugs and opens the basket. He pulls out various tubs. As he removes lids, I see all my favorites and if I am honest, it pleases me as much as it bewilders. Goat cheese, grapes, little salami rounds and a baguette.
He hands me a plastic fork. “Tell me one deep thing about you as a person.”
“That is a queer request,” I say.
“Queer?”
“Strange. Strange request. I like words.”
“Oh, I see what you did there. You tried to answer both my questions at once. Nope. Liking words is not deep enough.”
I frown and think for a moment. I’ve been open with him so far but I’m not sure how much of myself I really want to share. I pop a grape into my mouth. Liam watches in a way that is not friendly. It is lusty. My cheeks burn pink as I swallow.
“I am no ordinary girl. Society often shouts at us to fit into the mold. And I don’t. I never have. So this lingering guilt seeps in, causing me to second guess myself and wonder if I am indolent, or unable to cut it in the ‘real world’, or perhaps not meant to be here at all.” What I don’t tell him is about Holden. How he may be dead but he haunts me. Turns me cold. He will haunt me till the day I die I think.
“Okay, that might have been too deep,” he says.
I raise my brows at him. He hands me a small plate with little clumps of each item.
“Well, what about you? What’s your deep thing?” I ask. Liam grows quiet. The sound of grapes between his teeth and the breeze the only sound. I feel as if I have intruded on something private. He catches my eye and holds it. The emerald green holding me captive.
“Something happened when I was younger. I should've known better. I should have stopped it from happening.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” I say. I reach out and rest my hand on his. His hand is cool to the touch, despite the heat. Mine is hot from being overdressed. His skin feels good underneath mine. He smirks and I pull my hand away.
“I don’t. Blame myself, I mean. I blame the other party,” He says casually. Too casually.
“Can I ask what happened?” The wind picks up and swirls my hair around my face. It sticks to my lips. Liam laughs and reaches out to smooth it down. I still. The moment is intimate when it should not be. He senses it, too, and shrugs.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
I wave a hand through the air.
“No worries,” I answer. I nibble on my food. The variety tickles my palette. More than once, I catch Liam watching me eat. I think better of pointing it out. I am enjoying myself and do not want to spoil the moment. When his plate is empty, he asks, “Are you ready for dessert?”
“You brought dessert?”
“What kind of meal would it be without something sweet?” He grins and that lone dimple appears. I consciously remind myself not to reach out and touch it.
“Well, truth be told, I’m not huge on dessert,” I say. “I’m picky.”
“Blasphemy. I am certain you will enjoy this.”
I laugh and tell him to bring it on. When he pulls out a small white box, I am intrigued. It is not candy, or chocolates or brownies. This came from a bakery I am familiar with. Is it possible this man has the exact same tastes as me? In a world full of processed foods and hydrogenated oils, the odds seem slim to find someone else who also seeks out fresh, wholesome eats. He lifts the lid back, revealing an arrangement of plump, fresh pears.
I raise a brow at him.
“They’re baked pears with cinnamon and they’ve been cored, the middle is homemade whipped cream.” I dramatically raise the back of my hand to my forehead and topple backward onto the blanket. Liam bursts out laughing.
“Good enough to faint, eh?” he jokes.
“Sounds sublime. Divine actually.”
“Good thing I bought two.”
I sit up and take the paper plate with mine from him. Knives aren’t required. The pears are baked to perfection and soft enough to cut through with a plastic fork.
“I know that box,” I admit. “I, however, have not had the pleasure of this concoction yet from them.”
He looks surprised and pleased with my answer. The expression leaves a slippery sort of satisfaction in my chest.
***
Liam
I watch while she devours her pear, the entire time imagining it is my cock in her mouth. When she licks her lips clean of cream, I almost groan. I cannot sit here like this another moment.
“Let’s take a walk. I hear there are some paths around the river,” I suggest.
“There are. I know most of them. This is kind of my place,” she says. I stand, my back to her and adjust my pants. When I turn, she is watching me curiously. I ignore the look.
“Lead the way,” I say. We leave our things on the blanket and walk across the park to the riverside without speaking. I watch her as we go. I expected to feel more, animosity, toward her. She loved my brother. I hate my brother. But I find myself more curious about her than anything. She isn’t stunning in any expected way but yet she is—stunning. She is not the type of woman I’m usually seen with. As far as I can tell, she wears no makeup. She is modestly dressed and she doesn’t seem to care about dangling from my arm like a piece of candy. There is a pull that I don’t often feel, with her. I know everything about her, yet I feel there is so much more to uncover. Her mind is a maze and I’ve only just started exploring it.
“This way,” she says and tugs on my arm. I look at where her fingers grip my T-shirt sleeve. Delicate, slender fingers. The urge to suck on them hits without warning. She notices me watching and drops her arm to her side.
“Sorry, I was zoned out I guess,” I say.
She smiles at me. “The river will do that to you.”
The air is crisp and fresh and the afternoon sun glares down on us. The water rushes next to us. Nora looks serene here.
“Aren’t you hot?” I ask.
She turns to me. “A little.”
I want to see more skin. I want to know if the freckles on her face grace the rest of her body. “Take off your sweater,” I say.
She shakes her head at me. “I’m fine. Look.” She points toward a rock that juts out over the water.
I stop short and ask, “Should we sit?”
She grins at me, takes my hand and leads me to the edge of the rock. Mindful of her dress, she lowers herself to sit. I follow her lead. She removes her flip flops and sets them in her lap before dipping her feet into the river.
“It’s cold today.” I look down at the water rushing under us. “Take your shoes off. Put your feet in. It will cool you down,” she says. I pull off my shoes and socks and set them behind me on the rock. Gingerly, I dip my feet into the water.
I suck in a rushed breath. “It’s freezing,” I say. Nora laughs. The kind of laugh that is from genuine amusement.
“But it feels good,” she says. I nod.
“Who’s Daisy?” I point to a name plaque secured to a tree to her right.
Nora shrugs. “I don’t know. But maybe this was her spot?”
“A mystery. I like it. What do you think she was like?” I ask.
Nora looks to me quizzically, like I have tapped into her brain somehow, then looks to the water.
“I guess she was someone who liked sitting here.” She looks around our small space. “Either she was joyful or troubled. Enjoying this spot could go either way.”
“Troubled?” I ask.
“People seek solace when they are troubled. Being here, in this spot, makes me think she needed a place to reflect. But,” she says and catches my eye, “It is also a fabulous spot to enjoy, as well. So maybe she was happy.”
“You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?” I push my unruly hair from my forehead.
She grins and nods at me. “It’s an unfair advantage,” I say. “It requires an understanding of people and an imagination,” she counters.
“Are you saying I have neither?” I bump my shoulder playfully against hers.
“Who me? Never. I am certain you are intelligent.”
“Certain, huh?” I chuckle. The way she speaks amuses me. So formal sounding but still perky.
“The evidence points to certain, yes.” She tucks her hair behind her ear.
“There’s evidence?” I laugh.
“Oh, yes. I’ve compiled quite a bit thus far,” she says. The water rushes over the rocks around us. Birds chirp and wind rustles the leaves of the surrounding trees, as we sit shoulder to shoulder.
“Do tell,” I say. She regards me a with mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Let’s see. You have a job, that is a plus. You donate to very important charities.” She smirks at me. “You have impeccable taste in food. And,” she pauses. She reaches out. Her forefinger touches my chin, and turns it until we’re eye to eye. “You’ve got secrets.”
Does she know who I am? I am thrown off guard by her observation. I frown but only momentarily. “It’s okay,” she says. “Secrets are part of a life well-lived.” She looks back to the water rushing over the tips of her red painted toes. I am compelled to speak but I can’t form the right words.
We sit side by side, feet in the water, in silence. It suits Nora. She doesn’t mind the quiet. In fact, I’d venture she prefers it.
***
The sun is low in the sky when we pack up our picnic. I’m excited that our lunch turned into an entire afternoon together.
“Where are you parked? I’ll walk you to your car,” I offer.
“I walked here.” The blanket is bundled up under her arm, clutched in her fingers is a large, heavy looking purse.
“With all that stuff?”
“I don’t mind,” She says and laughs lightly.
“Let me drive you home. It’ll be dark soon.”
She shakes her head. “I like walking.”
I sigh. “Let me walk you then. I won’t feel right letting you walk alone.”
She chuckles at me and tells me I am chivalrous and that she is perfectly capable of getting herself home. That the area is safe. All facts I am aware of. But still, I don’t let it die and finally she gives in.
I take the blanket from her.
“Thank you. Today was fun,” she says. The streetlights begin to hum and buzz as they do before clicking on. Her flip flops thwack the sidewalk.
“I did, too. We should hang out again,” I say.
She shrugs at me. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” I balk.
“Yes, maybe. I’m quite busy,” she says. I laugh loudly. At the intersection of her street, I stop to pretend I don’t know which way to go. I need to remember to let her lead the way.
“I’m this way,” she says. Yes. I know that. I’ve been to your house. I’ve been in your room. I know what color your bedspread is. What pictures you keep near your bed. What books you read. I follow her to her door.
“Can I come in?” I ask. It’s a long shot but worth the query. She tosses her hair over one shoulder and shoots me a funny look.
“No,” she says.
“Can I have your number?” She shakes her head. I frown petulantly.
“I will take yours, though.” She reaches her hand into her purse and retrieves her phone before waiting for me to ramble off my number. “There. I’ll call you sometime. As a friend.” She takes the blanket from me.
“You’re infuriating,” I muse. She gives me a megawatt smile and laughs before closing the door softly behind her. As I walk to my car, back near the park, I’m already calculating how to persuade her to see me again this week. A smile creeps across my face as I slide into the driver’s seat and crank the engine, ready to head home.
Nora
Holden’s green eyes, set like jewels inside dark, long eyelashes, watch me. I bask in their attention. “Now, Nora.” His voice sends chills down my spine. I strip bare and take position. The pain that comes next is delicious juxtaposed to the pleasure he will give me. I am wet with anticipation. Forehead to the floor, I inhale sharply with the first slice of the cool metal to my back. “Tell me,” he says. I exhale, “Only ever you.” Warm lips caress my hip before the blade slices again.
When he flips me over, it is Liam’s face I see. Panic swallows me.
The moment my eyes open, I wish I was asleep again. I hate mornings. I hate that I’ve woken up at all. I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I dreamed of baby sized hands and feet. Of rough fingers and beards. I will never kiss those cheeks again or feel his hand in mine. I’m tired and grumpy and likely will be until I’ve showered and had coffee. Eve and Lotte are aware that it is unwise to speak to me in the first hour I’m awake. I’m like a she-devil. Everything is heinous in the morning. I attempt to center myself and squash the rising anxiety in my chest. Life is hard and that’s okay. Life is ... oh, fuck it, I think. I rub the heels of my hands against my eye sockets and sigh. Life can be so underwhelming.
My footsteps are muffled by the plush carpet as I go back and forth. When the house is quiet and the air hangs thick and still around me, I daydream of a different life. I imagine I’m a fascinating person. One who people gravitate toward. A person so full of life and joy, that others can’t help but be drawn to me. That I am beautiful, stunning. Not just outwardly but inside, too. And in the most innocuous moment, my hero swoops in, dashing and photoshopped in his appearance, and sweeps me off my feet in the most impeccable way. My breath catches in my throat and I am so overcome with passion, that my heart kicks into overdrive and tears of joy well in my eyes. Then we live a wildly free, desire filled life together. The kind where, when we fight, we have debilitating, fantastic make up sex afterward. You know the kind, where you feel more connected to each other afterward. We eat cheesecake in bed because we have nowhere to be, but in each other’s arms with sweet treats.
I grab my phone and do something I can’t fathom. I text Liam. A simple good morning is all I write but it means he now has my phone number. A way to contact me. It is a step toward letting go. Letting go of my control over a situation and giving it the ability to progress naturally. I set my phone down and blow out a breath.
Sometimes, when I open my eyes and look around at reality, a crushing devastation wraps around me. This house I’m in, this mess surrounding me, these clothes I’m wearing, my flat hair, the circles under my eyes—surely they don’t represent my life. There has to be more, right? This can’t be it. And I suck in a deep, shaking breath and remind myself that this is it. This is all there is. Passion and wild abandon exist in novels where readers go to escape. Escape. But each time a book ends, you’re faced with real life again. You have to join back in, live it, and plaster on that attitude that screams, of course, I’m fulfilled! I have everything I require in life. A tear slips from the corner of my eye, reminding me just how human I am.
My phone dings and I snatch it off my nightstand.
Liam.
Morning beautiful, FRIEND
I laugh and toss my phone on the bed. He is unabating but endearing. A part of me is curious. So curious. The other is weary. His eyes are too familiar, too memorable. It is a farcical notion. Many people have green eyes. It means nothing. I am making something out of nothing.
I should not text him back so quickly but I do.
Morning, handsome FRIEND.
I stretch and head downstairs. I’m hungry and need coffee. Before I reach the kitchen, I hear silverware clinking and water running. When I round the corner, Eve’s slender figure appears.
“Oh, thank God,” she says. I give her a quizzical look. “You were in bed when I got home last night. I am dying to hear about your picnic date.” I slide into a chair at the table.
“It wasn’t a date,” I say. Eve hands me a mug of coffee and a sly smile.
“Oh, my bad. What was it then?”
I shrug. “We were just hanging out.”
“Hmm,” she muses, while emptying the dishwasher.
“He did ask for my number.”
“And?” she asks.
“I said, no.” Eve snorts and turns to me. Her mouth opens but I speak first. “I took his.”
“You always take ‘his’,” she says and arches a brow at me.
I stare into the black liquid in my hands. “I texted him this morning.”
Eve’s mouth is agape as she pulls out the chair across from me and sits.
“Seriously?”
I nod. “Seriously.” Her grin is infectious as she grabs my hand.
***
Liam
She texted me. I was convinced she wouldn’t. In fact I know from her emails with Aubry, that she never gives her number out. I know that she never reaches out to the guys who give her their numbers. But she texted me in under twenty-four hours. She gave me her number. That means something to her.
I wipe the sweat from my brow with my forearm and punch the ‘cool down’ button on the treadmill. Slowing to a walk, I think about all the things I want to do to Nora. I want to play with her. Make her come. Taste her body. Get her so hooked on me, that her thoughts of Holden will become nothing but distant memories. I pull the ripcord and hop off the treadmill. Stripping as I go, a luxury when you have a home gym, I head to the bathroom.
I crank the shower on, wait a moment and step in. Nora Robertson texted me. Grinning like a fool, I lather my body with soap. I fist my cock and pump it slowly at first. I imagine Nora’s rosebud lips. The way they might look as they wrap about my shaft. Those clear eyes staring up at me as I pump into her mouth. I can almost feel her nails claw my ass, pulling me into her mouth deeper. I come in moments. Mildly satisfied, I kill the water and grab my towel.
***
I step out the front door onto the granite landing. It is another gorgeous day. I unlock the car and slide in. Texting Mara to prepare the final contract for the docks, it takes me under an hour to pull up to the glass building. When I arrive, I have a moment of confusion. I don’t remember the drive. I was lost in a daydream. I want to slip through Nora’s window, peel the blankets from her as she sleeps. Pull her panties down and fuck her until she wakes up. She would wake up, fight me. I’d make her give in. Give up. I kill the engine when I’m in my reserved spot. The building is impressive. My father had some famous architect design it for him. All the floors are rented to various businesses, except the top floor, which is reserved for Lockwood Enterprises. The view is stunning but sometimes even that isn’t enough to make me smile. I have an urge to get out from under my father’s thumb. The problem is, I like the money and I don’t know what I would do instead.
“Morning, Mr. Lockwood,” Mara says.
“Good morning, Mara.” She hands me a coffee and runs down the agenda for the day as I walk to my office.
“The revised contract is on your desk.” Mara veers off from me to her desk, as I continue into mine. I look over the terms of the deal with the Russians. The docks aren’t worth the millions they are offering but then again, the offer includes the local authority looking the other way so they can use the area the way they like.
I sign the spots required on my end and have Mara schedule a courier to drop the contract to Yuri and Gregor. My best friend, Mike, pings me on chat at eleven.
Lunch?
What were you thinking?
The Black?
I cringe. I’ve seen Candy more than I’ve wanted to already. I thought she could help keep me satisfied or at least keep my desires in check until I make headway with Nora but the last visit left me wanting more. It barely scratched my itch, my need.
I’m Blacked out.
You? Yeah, right.
Seriously. How ‘bout actual lunch?
I guess, man. Pick a place. I’ll see you at noon.
I give the name of the cafe that Nora and I sat and talked at last week. It is not her yoga day, but you never know, perhaps she will be in the area visiting the park.
Mike walks in, slaps my shoulder and plops into the chair opposite me at ten past twelve, wearing a shit-eating grin. Which can only mean one thing; there’s a new woman in his life.
“What’s up, man?” I ask.
“Same shit, different day, except for the new chick I’m banging.”
“I knew it. I know that dumb-ass smirk,” I say.
Mike laughs and slaps the table. “Dude, she is something else. Slamming body, mildly intelligent and up for anything. And I do mean anything,” he says, while raising a brow. I laugh earnestly.
“You gonna keep her around long enough to attend the event with you?” I ask.
Mike shrugs. “It’s a possibility. I mean, she’s adventurous, if you know what I mean, so I might not get bored for a while. Who are you bringing?”
“Nora Robertson,” I tell him.
“Who is Nora Robertson?” he asks. He bunches up his face in an unattractive manner.
“My next conquest,” I state.
We order sandwiches and coffee and I halfheartedly keep an eye on the sidewalk to watch for Nora. I’m mid-bite when Mike looks at me and says, “That name is familiar. Nora Robertson. She’s the chick who was in the news a while back. The one who was tortured for months or something, right?” I set my sandwich down and nod at him.
“Dude, why? Why would you want something so damaged? She’s probably a basket case. Crazy is not what you need in your life.”
I run a hand through my hair, letting my fingers graze the raised scars on my scalp. There is something dark inside of me. A jagged hole that twists and rips through my soul. I’ve always chalked it up to genetics. It’s in my DNA. My mother was disturbed. My father was abusive in a different way. My own brother carved his mark in me. It is something Nora and I share. We both bear the scars of Holden. We both survived him. But I don’t have that need in me. Scaring others does not get me off. I require a different brand of abuse. Pleasure and pain together, safely. I crave being brought, or bringing someone else to the brink and then pulling back. I desire the pain of whips and floggers, accompanied by the pleasure of soft lips or warm cunts and crushing orgasms. I grin at Mike.
“I have my reasons.”
Mike shakes his head and laughs it off. He knows not to push. He knows the most about me, out of anyone. In school, when we had to come home for vacations, he knew my house was not pleasant. He never pushed. He never asked questions. He never judged. He understood what was going on, and gave me a safe escape when I needed one.
“You laugh now, but you won’t when you see her,” I say.
“Good luck, man. Seriously, I feel like you’ll need it for this one,” he says.
The rest of my day is so busy, that I have no time to check in on Nora. I have no time to watch or stalk her. I check my phone periodically, to see if she has texted, but she hasn’t. It’s best this way. I don’t want to scare her off.
Nora
It is three days before I text Liam again. When I do, it is not much of a text. A simple hello. He does not respond immediately and for some reason that pleases me to no end. He gets me. I know his end game is not to be friends, but he is willing to play my game. I relish the feeling of being in control.
“How much longer do we have to wait?” I ask.
Eve shrugs. “It said it started at six.”
“I’ve had naps more exciting than this,” I say.
We are packed in a crowded auditorium, waiting for the chorus concert to start. I love watching Lotte perform. I love hearing her voice. I do not love being sandwiched between other parents in a stifling room lacking air conditioning. It makes me feel claustrophobic. The kids start filing in, filling up the risers according to height. I breathe a sigh of relief that they will be getting started soon. The woman to my right elbows me as she shoves her hand into her pant pocket and pulls out her cell. I glare at Eve. I’d rather stand in the back the entire time than be crammed between her and a stranger for an hour in tiny seats. She silently chuckles at me. Lotte’s voice, to me, is clear as day when they begin singing. I could pick her out of a crowd blindfolded. I close my eyes and let the music assuage me.
My phone vibrates against my hip. I delicately remove it from my pocket, without bumping the woman next to me.
Meet me at the aquarium at 11 Saturday.
Liam. I smile at the screen. Eve leans over and reads before I can turn the it off.
“Go,” she whispers. I shush her and look to the stage with a grin.
I wait hours before replying, even though I know my answer. I wait until Lotte’s concert is over. I wait until we’ve gone out to celebrate afterward at the gelato shop. I wait until Lotte and Eve and I have all retired for the night. Right before turning out my light, I text back.
See you there.
***
It is my nature to get quiet and observe, to examine. I press my hands flat against the cool glass. Jellyfish gracefully undulate around me. They are so serene. The glass surrounds me. It is a glass tunnel. Water to the left, the right, overhead. One floats to the spot where my hand touches the glass. I spread my fingers wide as if I might, for a moment, be able to touch it. What does it feel like?
“You’re like a child,” Liam says behind me. I turn to him, grinning. He snaps a picture of me on his cell and I frown.
“I don’t like that,” I tell him.
“What?” he asks.
“Unplanned pictures,” I say. He approaches. I step backward until my back is against the cool glass. He plants his hands on either side of my head, trapping me.
“I couldn’t help myself,” he says. His face inches closer to mine and I find myself paralyzed with anticipation. Is he going to try and kiss me? His eyes stay fixed on mine. The pupils dilate, our breaths mingle. He takes a step back.
“Look,” he says. He holds out his cell. I glance at the screen. It is a picture of me, hands planted against the glass, staring up into the surrounding water. Mostly a silhouette. I do look guileless in it. He flips to the next. In it, my smile is wide. My hair vibrant against the blue water backdrop. I look ... blithe.
“Okay,” I say. “You are forgiven. This time.” Liam chuckles and wraps one arm around my shoulder. He pulls me to his side.
“Come on, camera nazi, let’s go check out the sharks.” A nickname. Me tucked in the crook of his arm. I am not sure how to feel about this but I let myself indulge in the moment anyway.
Liam and I spend hours exploring the aquarium. He reads all the placards to me. We make up stories about the various animals. I find myself at ease the longer we spend time together. I don’t mind the occasional brushes of his hand on mine. He picks up a sea cucumber and holds it out for me to touch. We laugh at the way the starfish tickle our palms. I catch him watching me when he thinks I don’t detect it. It makes me blush. He is smitten, I think. He is playful and jokes with me but there is something lurking beneath the surface. Maybe I am paranoid and the simple explanation is that he is interested in me.
The sun is setting and we are standing on the sand at the beach outside the aquarium, taking in the waves as they crash against the shoreline. My shoulder touches his body as we stand side by side and I find my mind wandering. Could he be rough enough? If I open up; if I take him to bed; could he satisfy me? He looks like a man who could take charge but I’ve been fooled by appearances before.
“I really like you,” he says. I give him a quizzical look.
“Maybe you should stop,” I say. He wraps an arm around my shoulders. For a moment, I swear I can feel my future on his skin. The air comes off the ocean. Its briny odor invigorates me.
“I could make you happy, Nora.” I look up to him in surprise. He is being serious. We stare at each other for a drawn out moment before I inch out of his hold. It gives me time to think of what to say.
“The best things in life are always worth waiting for.”
Liam laughs a naughty laugh. “I wouldn’t know. When I want something, I never wait for it.” He inches his face toward mine. His lips hover inches from mine. I can see each long eyelash framing his eyes. If I move, just a smidge, my lips would touch his. Are they warm? Soft? My pulse speeds. His head moves slightly.
“Stop,” I breathe.
“I’m not the good guy, Nora. I’m no hero.” His breath smells like coffee.
I grin at him and step backward. “I’m no heroine,” I say.
Liam grabs my hand and speed walks us to his car. It is jarring and sudden and I let out a small squeak in protest. His grip on my hand hurts, but I don’t dare complain. My stomach clenches. What is he doing? Heat creeps between my legs and I feel myself growing turned on.
***
Liam
Her flip-flops slap the pavement. It echoes in the still air surrounding us. I know just how bad she is. I know just how she likes it. I am growing weary of the game she is playing. I want to push her on the hood of the car, lift the skirt of her dress up over her hips and show her just how good I can be for her. Instead, when we reach the car, I release her hand and open the passenger side door for her. She looks frustrated but I remain quiet.
It is ten minutes into our drive home when she finally breaks the silence.
“I ... I didn’t mean to upset you,” she says.
“You didn’t,” I say through gritted teeth.
“I did,” she says.
“No, Nora, you’ve been nothing but upfront with me. You said friends. You said you don’t date. It is me who overstepped boundaries.” I grind my teeth as I stare out the windshield. These are not the words that I want to say but they are the right words for her.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I ... you know I was ...” her voice fades as she stares out the passenger window and she releases a monumental sigh.
“What?” I ask.
“I had a difficult relationship with someone. It—changed me.” She’s opening up about my fuck-wad of a brother, Holden, but I don’t want her to know that I’m aware of her story.
“We’ve all been in difficult relationships,” I say.
“No. This was different. This was ... you know who I am, right?” she asks.
“You’re Nora Robertson, co-founder of N.E.L.,” I say.
She stares at her lap. “That’s not what I meant.”
I sigh. Playing this pretend game is tiring at the moment. “What did you mean then?”
She shakes her head. “I was in love once. I was ...” she makes a pained expression. “it wasn’t a safe relationship. It was, abusive. I wasn’t allowed to be away from him.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
“That isn’t love. It sounds like ownership.” The glare she gives should slay, but here I sit—heart beating.
“Who made you an expert on love?” she asks curtly.
“No one. I was simply giving an outside opinion on what little information you’ve shared.”
“Yeah well, we all know the saying about opinions,” she says. She is angry with me for judging. It is written in the furrow of her brow. In the set of her lips and her rigid posture.
“You’re exasperating,” I say. I drag a hand through my hair before shifting into fourth gear.
“Vexatious.”
“What?” I ask harshly.
“Never mind,” she mutters. I almost laugh. She is complicated and difficult but she is also soft and intoxicating. I want to drink her up, inhale her. I cannot wait to see what her face looks like when she comes. I have plans for her.
So many plans.
I pull up to the curb at the park where she insisted on meeting me, even though I’ve walked her home. I know where she lives. She’s a conundrum. She undoes her seatbelt and turns to me.
“Bye.” I arch a brow at her. She pushes her door open and gets out. When she shuts the door, she gives me a half wave. Her rosebud lips are turned down. She is looking at me, continuing to stare—her eyes boring into my face—until I can’t bear her gaze any longer. I’m so irritated with her, that I put the car in drive without a wave.
I feel like I’m taking up space, wearing a half-hearted smile. Time ticks by too quickly and it is fraught with uncertainty. Soon enough, I will be a part of her past. I want to linger just a while longer, make the present last. My heart pounds against my ribcage. Maybe it will burst. I crave a bourbon. Bourbon is easy to understand. Tastes like summer on a hot breezy day. I drive like an asshole until my breathing becomes slow and even.
It is dusk when I arrive home. My house large and empty. My sneakers squeak on the spotless tile floor in the entryway. I change into sweatpants and hop on the treadmill. After a cathartic run, a warmed plate of dinner from the fridge and a shower, I take a glass of bourbon to the patio, sit poolside and enjoy the taste. Before refilling the glass, I text Nora.
Did you know starfish eat inside out?
She doesn’t respond. I fall asleep thinking of all the things I can do to her. All the ways to make her beg.