December 19, eight years ago

 

Finals were over.  Christmas break was in full swing, and all I could do was think of ways to spend time with Etta.  I lived for our time together hanging out on our couch.  Since August, we had grown closer despite our hectic schedules during the semester.  We seemed to always make time for each other.  Etta still worked in the training room during the break, but when she wasn’t there, she was usually with me. 

Beth and Chris went on their first trip together.  Beth’s family always spent the holidays skiing in Colorado at their cabin near Veil, and she and Chris went up there early.  So besides the times Miles stayed at our apartment, it was just Etta and me. 

We seemed to get increasingly more comfortable with each other.  She became more open and free about her past and her childhood with Emily.  We talked about everything, the way friends should.  What really got to me was how she always found ways to touch me.  I tried not to read too much into it, and her touches were always platonic – a touch on the arm here, a brush of the leg there, her feet in my lap while watching TV.  However, the fire they left behind was no less prevalent than before; it was even more intense.  The hugs were more frequent as well, usually before we left each other or before bed, that is if she didn’t fall asleep on the couch.

Since the weather turned chillier, I took full advantage the fact that she was always cold.  It meant I would have to keep her warm; therefore, she usually wound up right next to me, cuddled up close.  Many times she fell asleep on me.  Those were the nights I slept the best – on our lumpy couch with her close to me.  It’s the way we fell asleep last night.

I had given up going out with the guys just so I could stay in with Etta.  And what’s funny was I actually preferred it.  I was whipped, and I no longer felt like a pussy about it.  I could admit it to myself now – I loved her.  So many times I wanted to tell her, but I feared if I did, I would lose what we had.  I liked our relationship a lot, but I often had to bite back the urge to take things further.  Sometimes I felt myself pushing the envelope, like leaving my hand on her thigh or kissing her head, usually inhaling her Dreamsicle scent, while she was close to me on the couch, but she never said anything or protested in any way.  I didn’t push further than that, again fearing the loss of this, whatever this was. 

Tonight, we were watching Monday Night Football, and the Packers, my second favorite team in the NFL, were getting their asses handed to them by the Ravens.  Etta and I usually bet on football games, unless the Texans were playing, and the loser had to do some task determined by the winner. 

“It surprises me that so many of the players have tattoos,” Etta began.  “It seems as though a lot of people are getting them.”

“Why is it so surprising?” I asked around my mouthful of pizza.

“Well, my father always said tattoos are something trashy people get.”  She rolled her eyes.  “I think that’s the belief of his generation.  I see it getting more and more acceptable, but I think if I ever got one, I’d probably be disowned.”

“Your dad, who is cool enough to name his kids after musicians, is against tattoos?  Weird.” 

She snorted.  “Yeah, despite his taste in music, my dad isn’t completely up with the times.”

I was curious.  “But if you did get one, what would it be and where would you get it?”

She thought for a minute.  “I don’t know what I’d get; I’ve never really thought about it.  But it would have to be some place my father would never see it, maybe on my hip or something, so no one but those close to me know it’s there.  And it would be something with meaning to me.”  She took a drink.  “I’ll have to think about what it would be.  What about you?”

“I’ve thought about getting one.”  I took another bite of pizza and glanced her direction and smiled.  “I just can’t think of anything important enough to make me want to mark up this perfect body.” 

She laughed.  “You’re so cocky.” 

“What?”  I sat up and flexed my arms, which caused Etta to roll her eyes.  “I work hard to make it look this good.”  I sat back.  “Plus, tattoos are so permanent.  If I ever chose to get one, it would have to be something I wanted for a long time.  It’d be unwise to get one just because it’s the thing to do right now.” 

“But tattoos on the right guy can be sexy,” she stated.

“Yes,” I added.  “But they can also look really stupid.”  I turned to face her.  “You have to find an artist who is good, and good ones are usually expensive.”  I lowered my eyes.  “I do have to admit that a girl with a tattoo that is feminine and pretty is kinda hot.”  I paused.  “Especially if it’s hidden, like on her hip or something, and only I know it’s there.”

She sunk back on the couch and sneered.  “Speaking from experience, Lover Boy?”

I leaned in toward her, looking directly into her smoky green eyes.  “Not yet,” I said in my sexiest tone. 

Etta’s mouth dropped open and her eyes smoldered.  “Uh…”  Then she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, smirking at me.  “Are you seriously using a line on me, Nathaniel James Slaughter?”  She swatted my arm.  “Wow, I think it’s time you go out and find someone to flirt with if you are resorting to using all your lady-killer charm on me.” 

I smiled.  “I like flirting with you, Etta Fontella Sullivan.  It’s fun watching you get all flustered.”

“Just for that,” she sat back on the couch and crossed her feet.  “I know what my payment for the bet on this game will be.”

I raised my eyebrows.  “The game’s not over yet, Eddie.” 

“Right, less than two minutes left in the game, and your Packers are down by 45 points.  I can see how you think a comeback is possible.”

“Great.  What punishment have you thought up?”

“I’m going to tattoo you,” she said. 

I stood.  “No way.  You’re friggin crazy if you think…”

“Relax, Captain Overreaction.  It’s not going to be real.”  She lifted the container of markers she kept under the coffee table for Miles.  “I’m going to draw it on you.  And you have to let me.  You lost fair and square.”  She started picking through the markers.  “So go take your shower.  One of my stipulations of the bet is that you have to keep it on for at least twenty four hours.”  She smiled.  “And don’t bother putting your shirt on after your shower.  It’s going on your back.”

Great.  She was going to draw on me.  While I was shirtless.  How the hell would I get through this?  It sounded like torture.  Beautiful, Etta-touching-me-shirtless torture.  Shit.  Is it weird that I was a little excited about it?  Apparently I’d grown a little masochistic since Etta came in the picture.

I took my time in the shower, not sure if I was delaying the inevitable or hoping she would fall asleep before I got out there.  Of course it could have been that I needed time to get my body under control.  I had a bad feeling about how this would end, yet I debated back and forth on whether I was going to go through with it. 

I dried off and went in my room to get dressed.  In the end, I didn’t listen to her and put on a shirt, deciding I would decline to pay up for the bet and take the consequences. 

I opened my door to her still sitting on the couch, working intently on something on her lap.  She covered it whenever she heard me approach.

“Nuh uh,” Etta said as I rounded the couch.  “You are not welching on this bet, Nathaniel.”  She motioned with her hand.  “Take it off.”

“Look, Eddie, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

She raised her eyebrows.  “Why not?”

“I’m tired,” I lied.  “Can’t I just agree to clean the bathroom for a month and go to bed?”

“A whole month, huh?”  She narrowed her eyes.

“Yes, or I can wash dishes and cook.”

 “What?  Spaghetti or hot dogs every night?  No thanks.” 

“Well, then, I can fold both our laundry for a month.  Whatever you want.”

Her mouth dropped open.  “Wow, you really don’t want this to happen, do you?”  She leaned back from whatever she was working on and stared at me for a few moments.  “Why?”

I felt my face get hot.  “I’m just… tired.”

“No, that’s not it.”  She placed the papers in her lap on the coffee table.  “What’s the real reason, Slaughter?  Afraid?”

Yes.  “No.”  I ran my hands over my face.  “What if I told you I was ticklish?  Would you let it go then?”

“I know for a fact that you aren’t the least bit ticklish.”  She tucked her feet under her, rested her head in her hand and turned toward me.  “So are you going to tell me what is going on?”

I looked at what she placed on the table – several drawings of what I assumed were ideas for the tattoo she planned to draw on my back.  I sat forward and grabbed the top one off the table.

“What’s this?” 

“I was just playing around with the markers.” 

I studied the drawing.  It was actually kind of cool.  It was an intricate design, almost tribal. 

“It’s incredible.”

“Thanks,” she blushed.  “Can you tell what it is?”

I studied it closer.  I saw some shapes that could be letters.  “I see what I think is an N.”

“It’s your initials.  N. J. S.”   She looked down, and I could tell she was trying to mask her disappointment that I turned her down.

“Do it.”  I heard the words come out of my mouth, and they surprised me.  Apparently, they surprised her, too.

“Really?” She gushed.  She looked so friggin cute, like I just gave her a puppy or something.  She bounced on the couch.  “Yay!”  She clapped her hands.  “Can I still do it on your back?”

“Yeah.”  I stood.  She followed me with her eyes as I removed my shirt slowly.  She stared at my chest, dragging her bottom lip through her teeth, and her eyes dilated.  She was affected by me. 

This was a bad idea.

“How do you want me?” I asked.

Her eyes widened slightly and became darker. 

This was a really bad idea.

“Etta!”  She looked up at my face and shook her head slightly.  “How do you want to do this?”

“Oh.”  She stood up and motioned for me to help her move the coffee table out of the way.  “Sit here on the floor.” 

I moved cautiously over to the spot of the floor in front of her side of the couch and sat.  She climbed over the couch to sit behind me, each leg on either side of me.  I felt them brush against me and shuddered slightly.  My breath hitched as her fingers felt across my shoulders, igniting their inferno as they traveled down between my shoulder blades. 

This was a colossally bad idea. 

I moved away from her touch, but I couldn’t look at her, fearing that if I did, I would see the same look on her face I was sure I had on mine.  “What are you doing?”

She paused.  “Feeling to see if there are any rough areas or dry patches.”  She took a deep breath.  “It is winter, you know.  I don’t want this to look weird.”

“Find anything?”

“No.”  She sighed.  “Your skin is perfect,” she said a little huskier than normal. 

Shit.

I grabbed the TV remote from the couch next to her and un-muted it.  “Then just start drawing.  It’s getting late.” 

I searched the channels desperately for something, anything to distract me while she tortured me.  Turns out she had to touch me when she drew to “pull the skin tight” so the marker didn’t drag.  Ugh.  Her fingers pressing into my skin was worse than the light touches she tormented me with earlier.  I had to concentrate on keeping my breathing even.

Every time I would get distracted by what was on TV, she would move, reminding me how close she was to my bare skin.  At times, she would lean in from above me on the couch, and I could sense her breath on my back and feel her hair caress me, which made me think about how those same scenarios would play out if I pulled her on top of me.  When she leaned closer and smoothed her hand across my back, I felt her thighs tighten against my sides, and that caused me to imagine them tightening around me as I entered her.  

“You always smell so good,” she purred in her sexy, almost whisper. 

She was killing me.

She pulled back from me.  I felt the absence of her warmth immediately.  “And your back…”  She ran her fingers across my shoulder blades again.  “It’s so… gorgeous.”

I lowered my head.  “Please, Etta…” I whispered, afraid to move, fearing I would give in to my  need to throw her down on the couch.

She ran her hands down my sides to my waist and rested her chin on my shoulder. 

“Please what?” she husked in my ear.

I pulled my knees up and rested my elbows on them, running my hands down my face.  “Please… stop.”

“Stop what, Nathaniel?”

In one swift move, I turned and stood, pushed her back against the cushion and hovered over her on the couch, my arms on either side of her head, my face less than an inch from hers. 

“You need to stop touching me and smelling me and almost whispering to me and complimenting me.  You.  Need.  To.  Stop.”

Her eyes widened as she looked innocently up at me.  “But why?”

I grabbed the back of her right knee and threw it around my waist.  I eased my hips down, settling between her thighs, crushing my hardness into her core.  Holy shit, it felt so good.  “Because, this is what happens to me when you do.”  She drew in a sharp inhale, placed her hands firmly on my chest, closed her eyes and threw her head back.  It was incredibly sexy.  I pushed against her again, and her hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me toward her.  I bent down and trailed my lips against her neck and inhaled, still holding my arms rigid to keep her breasts from rubbing against me.  I was so tempted to grind against her a third time, but instead, I stood up and began pacing.  “Hell, it’s what happens to me whenever I’m close to you, Etta.  Every day.  All the time.  But tonight with the touching and the whispers and your thighs rubbing against me,” I shook my head.  “I can’t take it.”  She sat up on her elbows and watched me pace, completely unreadable expression on her face.  I ran both my hands over my head to the back of my neck.  “I’m sorry.  I know you don’t want me, but you’re killing me.”  I turned and walked away. 

“But I’m not…”

“Yes.  You are.”  I stormed into my room.  “Goodnight, Etta.”  I slammed my door.

I sat on my bed with my head in my hands for I don’t know how long trying to figure out if I just ruined everything.  How would I face her in the morning?  What would I say?  Would I lose her?  Do I ignore it and act like nothing happened?  This was worse than our time before because I couldn’t blame anything else.  No other substances were involved.  No drunkenness.  No unintentional ingestion of drugs.  Just her.  Her and her intoxicating scent and voice and perfection.  I was going to scare her away.  She knew how I felt now, and there was no explaining it away. 

I was screwed.

I stood and traveled to the bathroom.  Once in there, I looked in the mirror at my back.  It was obviously unfinished, but the artwork was amazing.  I immediately wanted it gone.  I honestly wanted no beautiful reminders of my screw up, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn on the shower and wash away anything she had done.  The masochist in me needed it there. 

I realized I left my favorite shirt out there on the couch.  Fearing the marker would smudge the clean sheets I just washed yesterday, I didn’t want to go shirtless and take that risk.  I didn’t even consider that I had other shirts in my drawer; I wanted that one.  Yes, I knew that was twisted.  I knew it was my need to check the situation.  I knew I would never be able to sleep unless I had some idea what I would face tomorrow.

I opened the door and peeked.  The lights were off, but the TV was on and muted.  I saw no sign of Etta.  In fact, her door was closed, so I assumed she had gone to bed.  Quietly, I moved to the couch where I found her asleep on my side of it, covered with the couch blanket, and my shirt was wrapped around her hands next to her face.  She looked like a little girl, sleeping peacefully with her security blanket.  I watched her, evenly breathing and content. 

Carefully, I leaned down and smoothed her hair from her face.  When she didn’t move, I kneeled and kissed her temple, like I had done so many times before, inhaling her Dreamsicle scent and falling deeper for this girl I would probably never have. 

“Don’t leave me, Nathaniel,” she murmured, her eyes still closed. 

I waited, holding my breath, heart squeezing in my chest, to see if she was really awake.  She never moved, still breathing deep and even. 

“I can’t leave you, Etta,” I whispered as I caressed her face.  I leaned in closer and kissed her cheek.  “You own me,” I breathed in her ear, barely making any sound.  I stood and walked slowly to the coffee table, stealing the paper on which she drew the design.  I looked at the other papers, which looked a little more girly.  I was glad she chose this one.  I walked back to my room, studying the drawing for a few moments before securing the paper in one of my drawers. 

I found another shirt, fell into my bed, and didn’t sleep at all.