Ainsley
I lean my back against the wall outside of Nate’s third floor apartment. “No, Sloane. I’m really not going.”
My best friend whines, “But I need back up!”
“Take Scott.”
“You know he hates The Circle.”
Yeah, but he would hate the idea of her going all alone more. The Circle is the name of the private lake house community almost everyone in the school spends the weekends partying at. Each weekend it changes whose house is the designated house, but every weekend there is always a party and it’s always by, or occasionally, on the lake.
“I’m sure he’ll go when you tell him I can’t.”
She grumps. “Why would you pick up a shift on a Saturday night?”
“Because you know they rarely let me,” I continue the lie that has remnants of truth in it. While I’m not actually working tonight, it is a rare occasion for the pub to let me work on the weekends. My three nights are always during the week unless there’s an emergency and they need me to fill in. The owner prefers to let the waitresses with ‘more experience’ handle the bigger crowds. I’d find it insulting if I didn’t actually enjoy getting to keep my weekends free for movie marathons. Come to think of it, if things between Nate and I keep going like I hope, it’ll work out quite nicely. Picking up pretend shifts will be the perfect cover.
“Maybe I should just come hang out there instead. I usually find someone hot that makes it worth the shitty bus ride.”
Quickly, I counter, “I’m in the back tonight.”
“Ugh,” she groans over dramatically again. “This is the worst thing that could ever happen to me.”
I roll my eyes.
“Fine,” Sloane humphs. “I’ll make Scott go to The Circle with me.”
“It won’t be that bad…But I have to go. My shift is about to start.”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
The call ends and I immediately let out a deep sigh of relief.
I hate lying to Sloane. She’s the only real friend I’ve ever had. Before we met, I spent the majority of my time alone. Girls went out of their way to avoid me, calling me everything from geek to a slut, while guys have always gone out of their way to make a pass at me thinking I’m easy. My mother’s extravagant taste in designer shoes and obsessive belief in showcasing our legs has kept my wardrobe flooded with provocative attire. I’d be lying to say as I’ve gotten a little older, I don’t enjoy it. I love the dresses and wedged shoes. I’ve got a great set of legs and I’m okay with that. But being proud of it has gotten me hateful labels. When I’m confident I’m a bitch. When my clothes are short, I’m a slut. When I’d rather stay home on a Friday night to watch a John Hughes marathon, I’m a geek. Other than Sloane, no one else has ever taken the chance to get to know me or to make it okay for me to just be me. Sometimes that’s all I really want in life. Not a million dollar career or huge fancy house like my mother insists I get into, but simply to feel like it’s okay to be who I really am. Appreciated for all the little parts that make up me. At least I’m lucky enough to have one friend who let’s that happen. It sucks having to hide this from her.
Before I can put the device away it vibrates in my hand. I quickly swipe the message.
Josh: I’d love to see you at The Circle tonight.
One more reason not to go.
Me: Can’t. Working. Have fun though.
Josh: I’ll miss your beautiful face.
I try not to gag over the text. He’s probably not the giant jerk I imagine him to be just because he’s a jock, but he’s definitely not the one I want to be spending my Saturday night with.
After slipping my cell into my wristlet purse, I give my long wavy hair a ruffle, and approach Nate’s door. Nervously, I knock, hoping he hasn’t changed his mind on taking me out to do something in public. We didn’t talk much after he officially asked me out. I thought it would be better to end the call before he had time to create doubts. He let me go with little reluctance, but made sure to check my birth control status prior to the conversation being over. He swore he was clean, that he hadn’t had sex in almost a year, and I offered him similar comfort, informing him about being on the pill since I was fifteen along with my short list of two sexual partners, both over a year ago. The discussion finished with what appeared to be a smile of relief on his face. I’m glad. Having sex without a condom is way better than with. I can’t imagine us ever going the other way.
The door swings open and Nate’s jaw immediately hits the ground. His blue eyes take their time admiring my black quarter sleeve dress that has an oversized fit and ridged bottom. The way certain pieces dangle lower while the ones on my side cut off higher creates an illusion of seeing more than you actually will. From the heated look rising on his face, I’m going to safely assume it’s working as intended. However, the weight of his silent stare begins to stir the very insecurity in me I was wrestling with before I left the house. Is this too short? Too slutty? Is he going to be embarrassed to take me around his friends? Does this totally make me look my age?
“Holy shit,” he breathlessly states, eyes now dancing around my black, knee-high, heeled boots. His attention fights against being dragged back up to meet my eyes. “You look….You look…Wow.”
A smile spreads across my lips and I fidget with the black choker around my neck. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Nate clears his throat, yet continues to stare as if he’s lost all ability to speak.
I give him a few more seconds before questioning, “You sure?”
“I’m sure.” He almost whispers and locks eyes with me. “However, I’m now regretting suggesting we leave my apartment.”
I push my lightly glossed lips together and momentarily imagine an evening of having him buried between my legs like I spent all night dreaming about. The thought sends a heavenly shiver down my spine. Less than innocently, I suggest, “We could always stay in…”
Nate’s face falls to one of temptation, however he quickly shakes it away. “No. We need to go out.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I wanna learn to appreciate more than just your screams.”
The sweet and sexual retort weakens my knees.
“You ready?”
I immediately nod and he steps out to lock the door.
The two of us make casual conversation on our way to the elevator, exchanging simple comments about how our day has been going and how we slept. It isn’t until we’re settled into his black BMW I feel comfortable enough for me to take an actual breath.
Nate starts the engine and gives me a warm look. “Thank you for coming with me to this. Originally, I wasn’t going to go, but one of my bros pressured me into changing my mind.”
“You have brothers?”
“Not blood related,” he replies backing out of the space. “Best friends that became more.”
I smile at the notion. “Why didn’t you wanna go?”
“I didn’t wanna face possible humiliation alone.”
“Why would it be humiliating?”
He slightly hesitates before he answers, “Because I’m probably the only one from our film class who didn’t end up in the industry.”
At the same time he pulls onto the downtown street, I attempt to comfort him. “Doubtful.”
The corner of Nate’s mouth kicks up.
Why do I get the feeling he needed that?
Rather than allowing for the conversation to slip into awkward, uncomfortable silence, I state, “Tell me more about your bros.”
He changes lanes to speed through a yellow light. “What do you wanna know?”
“Anything?” I shrug. “Everything?”
We merge onto the interstate that takes us out of the city. While Clover Rose University is in Cliffsworth, the next city over, it’s not a far drive. It’s about thirty minutes from downtown, probably an hour or so from where I live, which makes it the perfect place for students who want to get the hell out of their parents’ direct eyesight, but not stray too far. If I hadn’t planned on going to Ashwin, I could’ve tried there. The art programs aren’t great, but it would be better than my back up plan of community college until I can afford better.
Nate gets more comfortable in his seat. “Me, Holden, Paxton, and Wyatt, all went to Clover Rose. We rushed the same frat and when that fell through we started our own thing. We used to throw these outrageous parties like every other weekend. We all played a role in making it possible. Wyatt, was in charge of the invites. Because he looks like something from Baywatch or that Barbie would marry, bringing the better female crowd wasn’t difficult. And since he has this way about him that makes him impossible to hate, guys wanted to hang around him too.”
I attempt to create a picture in my head. Hm. Wonder if he’s more like Ryan Gosling or Chris Hemsworth.
“Paxton was the muscle. It was his responsibility to kick assholes out for shit we didn’t condone.”
“Like?”
“Mainly drugs,” he casually answers. “We didn’t give a shit if you wanted to smoke cigarettes or a blunt, but that was it. You wanted to get fucked up on molly or coke, it wasn’t happening at our party.”
I lean over the console, completely engaged. “Anything else?”
“Mistreating of the women,” Nate adds. “Chicks always liked our parties because Pax made them feel safe. They knew at our parties they didn’t have to worry about being taken advantage of. We didn’t stand for that shit. If a chick said no, it meant fucking no. And if she was too wasted to stand, she was too wasted to fuck, and we protected them the best we could by putting them in one of the spare bedrooms until they sobered up. We used to pay a couple dudes to watch the door and make sure no assholes got in.”
“Security.”
Nate nods. “Wasn’t a bad way to make a grand in one night.”
My mouth drops open. “A grand?!”
“Between, me, Pax, and Wyatt, we had the cash to spare.”
Curiosity causes me to derail the conversation. “Are you…rich?”
His face tries not to scrunch. “Um…I guess you could say that?”
When he doesn’t immediately explain, I wave a hand to insist he does.
“I’ve got a hefty trust fund.”
“But you live in a tiny apartment. And you’re a substitute teacher!”
A look of sadness sinks into his expression. “Choices, Ainsley. Those are choices. Being reckless then is exactly why I’m not now.”
The pain in his tone tells me it would be best to let the subject die. At least for now. At least until he feels there’s more trust between us. “What about Holden and you? What were your roles at these Gatsby parties?”
Nate lets out a hearty laugh and my insides turn to mush. God, he should always make that sound. “Gatsby? Is that what you’re learning about in English?”
“No. I just happened to like The Great Gatsby.”
He cuts me a sarcastic stare.
“The movies. Not the books. Definitely more of a visual person.”
He nods his understanding. “Me too.”
“So….What were you?”
“Holden was our outside security. He had leverage on….just about everyone we would need it on to make it run smooth. Found a couple of cops he could blackmail into looking the other way when noise complaints were filed or would come out when told, but pretended everything was fine. If someone was caught raising hell and wasn’t welcomed back, he made sure to have something on them to keep them from trying to ruin our reputations. He was definitely more of our ‘mental muscle’.”
“And you?”
“Location and booze.”
I giggle.
“Most freshman have to live on campus, but when your family has an entire building named after them, you get perks, like…not living in a dorm. My parents bought me a house about fifteen minutes from campus. The guys basically moved in their freshman year and Wyatt and Pax, didn’t move out until we graduated.”
“But not Holden?”
Nate shakes his head, another sad look creeping into his eyes. “He got his girlfriend pregnant second semester of freshman year. They got married. Moved into an apartment….That’s where they lived until we all moved back to Highland.”
Wanting to push the subject, but knowing better than to force someone to talk about their past, I offer him a smile of understanding. “Tell me more about these parties…”
For the remainder of our drive, Nate recalls fondly on the parties they threw. He tells me stories about his keg drinking days, ruling at beer bonging, and his undefeated championship of beer pong. His recollections are filled with laughter from both of us. The conversation flows so smoothly, it hardly even registers to me when he pulls into a parking space outside the theater.
Deciding there’s no need for my purse inside, I tuck it underneath the seat before we exit the vehicle. Together, we stroll towards the front of the building in a comfortable silence. Without what appears to be any thought, he links his fingers with mine, and pulls me in a little closer. My breath catches at the unexpected connection. I do my best not to make a big deal out of the action, but it’s harder than I imagined. Feeling his body against mine, in any fashion, gets my heart racing. Makes my body tingle in anticipation.
After showing the ticket taker the invitation on his phone, we’re ushered into the old movie theater. I glance around at the classic movie posters displayed on the walls. Mindlessly grinning, I make mental notes about the two I don’t recognize and add them onto my ever growing to be watched list. The building is a bit dated, but in an odd way it presents the nostalgic feeling most people adore.
At the sight of the concession stand straight ahead, I ask, “Can we grab popcorn?”
Nate connects his eyes with mine and cocks an eyebrow. “Are you one of those people who can’t watch a movie without it?”
I smirk. “Not if I can help it.”
He lightly chuckles. “So I should stock up on popcorn?”
“You plan on having me over for movies?” I flirt back trying not to sound desperate or anxious. Of course, I know we’re a good fit from the feeling in the pit of my stomach any time we’re in the same room, but that doesn’t mean he knows it or is willing to acknowledge it.
My countered question seems to startle him. Terrified, I’ve ruined everything yet again, I begin to speak when he quietly states, “I am.”
Hearing the confirmation sends the corner of my bottom lip between my teeth.
“Is that…” His entire body comes to a stop at the same time he struggles to finish, “Okay?”
I try to take the uncertainty as flattery of my feelings and not second thoughts. I move my body so it’s pressed lightly against the front of his. In a lower voice, I say, “Only if you promise to fuck me before or after each one. For marathons, somewhere in between works too.”
Nate’s grin grows vicious. Predatory. His free hand lands on my hip as his lips press against my ear. “Fucking you until you can’t walk, goes without saying….” I whimper and threaten to melt, when his grip tightens. “Oh, just so we’re clear. I don’t mind you covering up the evidence from yesterday, but leaving you marked as mine isn’t negotiable.”
He leans back just enough to catch my hitched breath with a swift kiss. His tongue captures mine and delivers a brief warning of the fierce night to come.
When Nate pulls back he playfully says, “Hope you like butter on your popcorn or this’ll never work.”
I give him a wide grin, nod, and allow him to finish leading us to the concession stand.
As he orders, the hand not in his drifts its way up to my necklace. I was trying to cleverly mask the lines left from our closet adventure. After my mother called me trashy for not hiding my ‘indiscretions’ better, and I countered with a low about finding her stash in these boots, I decided it might be a better idea to cover it with something other than just my hair. I’m not ashamed, but what if Nate is? What if these old college friends, or whatever they are, judged him over it? The last thing I want is to give him any excuse to rethink what’s going on between us. I already know how hesitant he is about us continuing more than the one night we had, but I want it bad enough to make little adjustments if it’ll make him more comfortable with the situation.
Once we’ve collected a small tub of popcorn, napkins and a bottle of water to share, we follow the signs that lead us to our theater. Nate decides on seats in the empty back row, in the corner, despite my insistence on sitting closer.
The moment we’re settled, the guy in front of us turns around. He gives Nate a big smile and extends his hand. “Nate Greene! I thought I recognized your voice!”
“Sequoyah.” They shake. “Thought that was your ginger mop top.”
The two exchange a friendly chuckle, allow for a brief introduction of me, and strike up a small catch up conversation. I politely listen on as the red head gloats about his script work on the popular show, Peter’s Precinct and some rom com Netflix series about an MMA fighter who falls in love with his best female friend. While I’m not much of a T.V. show person, I have at least heard of Peter’s Precinct. Sloane’s obsessed and the two main guys are undeniably really fucking hot.
By the end of the conversation or more accurately the one sided brag fest, Nate is struggling to keep his composure.
Sequoyah leans an arm on the back of his seat. “You teach film? That’s….unexpected. Your editing skills were flawless. Out of all of us, we just knew you were going to be the first one to have his name on an Oscar nominated film.”
Before Nate has time to respond, a woman with a black bobbed haircut interrupts. “Nate! I didn’t think you were coming.”
“Hey Fern,” he says, extending his hand her direction.
She gives it a quick shake and leans against Sequoyah’s seat. “I’m so glad you’re here. When you didn’t click the RVSP, I just assumed you were declining. The same way you have all the others.”
I interject, “This isn’t your first film screening?”
Her black eyebrows lower. “Of course not. It’s my fourth.”
Nate adjusts himself in his seat and explains, “Fern was the assistant director to the French film Fleeting, the summer after we graduated.”
“I know that film,” I casually state.
“Of course you do,” Fern snips. “It won an Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film.”
Should’ve lost. And not just because she’s a bitch, but because Le Dernier Verre had a better plot and cinematography.
“After that she worked on two more foreign films as an assistant director before finally being given her chance at directing her own,” Nate finishes with a hint of resentment in his tone. “Which is what we’re here to see.”
“So you only do foreign films?”
My question is met with a scoff. “Why would I do anything else?”
From her attitude I would guess, she’s not welcomed to do anything else.
“And who are you anyway?” She folds her arms firmly across her chest. “Besides a guest.”
“Ainsley’s my date,” Nate instantly defends. “She is an avid film lover and I wanted her to experience this with me.” His voice hardens. “Is that a problem?”
“As long as she doesn’t whine about having to read outside of school,” Fern’s churlish comment about my age doesn’t hurt the way she intended. “Have you even graduated yet?”
“No, but I don’t have to have a degree to appreciate the difference in panning and craning that occur in a scene any more than I have to have one to appreciate the boldness that occurs in films like Pulp Fiction and Fight Club. Would you like a list of directors and actors who didn’t attend college or dropped out and still became monuments in this industry,” I pause and lift my eyebrows in a challenge, “or would you prefer to make the introduction for your film? The one we’re all here to see.”
Her dark brown eyes widen in shock.
Snapping at her like that was probably childish. I’m sure the ‘adult’ thing would’ve been to bite my tongue, ignore her, and smile. Ugh. Why didn’t I do that? Why do I keep trying to give Nate a reason to see my age rather than who I am?
Nate’s hand migrates to intertwine with mine. He gives it a squeeze of reassurance and questions, “Isn’t it time to start the film, Fern?”
She tries to shake herself free from the stunned feeling she stumbled into. “Yeah.” Fern stands completely up, runs her hands down the sides of her navy pencil skirt, and gives us both a forced smile. “I hope you both enjoy my work. Excuse me.”
At that point, we watch her walk away in silence and Sequoyah turns himself back around. When she’s reached the front of the theater, Nate leans over to whisper in my ear. “That was amazing and made me hard as fuck.” Before I have a chance to verbally respond, he guides my hand to examine the proof cleverly being hidden by the bucket of popcorn. Unable to resist, I curl my fingers around his shaft, and he stifles his groan. He gives me a wink before diverting his attention to his ex-classmate.
I guess defending myself had the opposite effect I thought it would.
My hand continues to linger in his lap, gently gripping his cock just enough to keep him hard.
Fern gives a brief introduction of herself, her accomplishments, and then allows the film to finally begin. Once the lights have disappeared leaving only the glow of the movie screen, I slowly move my hand up to work the button on his jeans. To my surprise, Nate slumps down a bit and grants me complete access. He hovers the bucket right above his crotch with both hands. Just as the opening music begins, I free his dick, and wrap my fingers around it. He spreads his legs wider and a loud sigh escapes from his parted lips. The thrill from another naughty public adventure pangs my pussy at the same time it encourages me to pump my hand. His cock thickens in my grasp and I give my bottom lip a hard bite to prevent moaning at the delicious feeling. Completely captivated by him as opposed to the French film currently describing a ‘coeur’ or heart that’s been broken, I quicken my movements and lose myself in his response. Nate digs his fingers into the side of the bucket. Let’s his eyes partially shut and his head loll. The light sound of his breathing struggling to stay steady settles between my thighs and tempts me to crawl into his lap to slip him inside.
This is what he does to me. He lights something on fire inside of me that makes me want to be adventurous. That makes me take what I want, when I want. That makes me stand proudly for wanting it. Every time we touch like this, Nate makes me feel like my sexuality is mine to give. Mine to hold. Mine to control or relinquish to someone worthy. Him.
I increase the speed of my jerking while watching his face oscillate between extreme pleasure and excruciating frustration. With every passing pump he releases an intoxicating breath that pours into every cell in my system. Before I know it, I’ve reached the pinnacle of my building orgasm. One touch is all it’ll take to send me tumbling. I slip my hand under my dress to my bare pussy, thankful yet again that I decided against underwear. Nate’s attention gravitates to my action just as I give my clit the stroke it needs. His left hand falls to my arm and latches on so tightly I know there will be a matching bruise to the one he left on my butt. All of a sudden, he grits his teeth and detonates, sending blistering bursts past my fingers onto the back of Sequoyah’s seat. The feeling of his satisfaction spreads throughout me setting off my own climax. I gasp louder than intended, preparing to cry out in the theater when the very hand that was bruising me, clasps over my mouth to catch the sound. In a silent tandem, we shutter and mouth our contentment.
It takes a few moments for the two of us to come back from the euphoria we drifted away with, but once we have, we slyly settle everything back in place, and snuggle together as if nothing happened.
Nate peers down at me with a sexy, sweet smirk.
I return it and reach for a piece of popcorn from the bucket in his lap.
We lightly laugh together and drag our attention to the film for the first time since it began.
There’s no question we should be more careful, especially in public where anyone could catch us. But the hint of danger from getting caught whether it’s here at his rival’s showing or stumbling out of the concession stand closet on campus, adds to the magnitude of our orgasms. It’s an addictive feeling. The kind that creates obsessions. The kind people lose their entire lives over. I hope that’s not how we end up…I hope it doesn’t destroy us.