Nothing More (3 page)

I opened my door to Tessa the moment she asked and I would do it again. I didn't mind the idea of sharing my apartment with her, and I knew it would help her. I like my place as the friend, the nice guy. I've been the nice guy my entire life and I'm more comfortable in that role than any other. I don't need to be the center of attention. In fact, I recently realized that I go out of my way to avoid any situation that would put me there. I'm known for being the supporting act, the supportive friend and boyfriend—and I'm perfectly okay with that. When everything went down in Michigan, I wanted to suffer alone. I didn't want anyone to bleed with me, especially not Dakota.

Her pain was inevitable, and no matter what I did, I couldn't fix it. I had to let her bleed and I was forced to sit back and watch as her world was ripped apart by a tragedy that I tried my damnedest to prevent. She was my bandage and I was her net. I caught her when she was falling, and we will be bonded, whether it's by friendship or more, until the end of time because of the pain we've shared.

My mind doesn't often wander here, to the memories that I've forced myself to forget. That can of worms is closed. Sealed with super glue, and buried under nine feet of cement.

W
HEN I GET TO THE
apartment, I'm greeted by a medium-sized package on the doorstep. Tessa's name is scribbled in black marker, telling me immediately who it's from. I shove my key into the door and gently kick the box inside. The lights are off, so I know Tessa's not home from work yet.

I'm tired and I get to sleep in tomorrow. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, my classes begin later than the rest of the week. I'm very much looking forward to it; Tuesdays and Thursdays are my favorite days of the week because I can lie in my bed in boxers and watch television. It's a simple, somewhat sad luxury, but I enjoy every second of it. I kick my shoes off and line them up while yelling Tessa's name through the apartment, just to make sure she isn't here. When she doesn't respond, I start to undress in the living room, just because I can. Another simple luxury. I unbutton my jeans and push them down my legs. I even kick them off, letting them flop to the floor. I even leave them there. I'm feeling slightly rebellious, but mostly really exhausted.

After a second thought, I pick up my pants, shirt, socks, and boxers from the floor and carry them into my room, where I toss them on the floor to clean up later.

I need a shower.

The handle to the shower in my only bathroom sticks almost every time I turn it on. It takes at least one minute for the water to wend its way through the pipes. Our super “fixed” it twice, but it never stays. Tessa even tried to fix it herself a few times. Turns out repairwoman isn't her thing. At all. I laugh at the memory of her soaked body and how mad she was when the water burst from the pipe. The metal handle went flying across the bathroom, putting a small hole in the drywall. A few weeks later, it broke again when she turned the shower on and ended up yanking the flimsy handle off the wall. The result was her getting sprayed in the face with ice-cold water. She screamed like a banshee and ran out of the bathroom like she was on fire.

As I listen to the water moving through the lines and take a quick piss, my mind drifts through the day, how fast my classes seemed to go by, how surprised I was when Dakota and Maggy came into Grind. I still feel weird about seeing Dakota, especially with Aiden, and I wish that I would've had some time to prepare. I haven't talked to her in a few weeks and it was hard to concentrate when she was wearing such revealing clothing. I think it went pretty well, though; I didn't say anything completely embarrassing. I didn't spill coffee or stumble over my words. I wonder if Dakota felt awkward and like she was forcing conversation with me, or if she barely notices the tension anymore?

She doesn't reach out to me much—ever, really—so I have no idea how she feels or where we stand. She's never been very vocal about her emotions, but I know she's the type of girl who holds a grudge for life. She doesn't have any reason to have negative feelings toward me, but my mind immediately goes there. It's a little weird to me that we went from talking every day, to barely at all, to radio silence. After she called me to end our relationship, I tried to keep our friendship afloat, but she's given me little help.

I miss her sometimes.

Hell, I really fucking miss her.

I got used to not seeing her when I moved from Michigan to Washington, but we still talked daily, and I'd fly out and visit her every chance I had, even once I got busy with college. When she moved to New York, she started becoming distant. I could tell something was off, but I kept hoping it would get better. Still, with every phone conversation we had, I felt her slipping away from me more and more. Sometimes I would just sit and stare at my phone, hoping that she would call back and want to hear about my day. Just ask one question or give me more than a quick, two-minute rundown of her day. I hoped that maybe she was just adjusting to her new life. Maybe she was going through a phase, I thought.

I wanted her to get the full experience of her new life and make new friends. I didn't mean to take anything from her. I just wanted to be a part of her life like I always had been. I wanted her to throw herself into her dance academy; I knew how important this was for her. I didn't want to be a distraction. I tried to be as supportive as I possibly could, even as she began to carve me out of her life. I played the role of supportive boyfriend as her schedule became fuller and fuller.

I had always played that role well, ever since we were kids. I'm comfortable in this role, just like the nice guy. I stayed patient and ever so understanding. The night that she called to give me reason after reason why our relationship wasn't working, I still nodded along on the other end of the line and told her it was okay, that I understood. I didn't understand, and her “reasons” felt flimsy, but I knew there was no changing her mind, and as much as I wanted to fight for her, I didn't want to become a burden to her. I didn't want our relationship to become another thing she had to fight. Dakota spent her life fighting and I had managed to be one of the few positive forces in her life, and I want to keep it that way.

I was frustrated, and in a way, I still am. I don't really understand why she couldn't spare a little time for me when all of her Facebook updates were pictures of her at different restaurants and nightclubs with her friends.

I missed hearing about her day. I wanted to listen to her brag about how well she did in class. I missed her raving about how she couldn't wait for an upcoming audition. She was always the first person I went to with anything. That began to change after I met Tessa and started getting closer to my stepbrother, Hardin, but still, I missed her. I don't know a lot about dating, but I did know that this wasn't it.

Suddenly I realize the bathroom is filling with steam from the shower while I'm just standing here staring at myself in the mirror and reliving the failure of my only relationship. I finally step into the shower—and the water is scalding, like it's lashing out against my skin. I jump back out and adjust the water. I connect my phone to the iDock and turn on my sports podcast before I get back into the shower. The announcers' voices are deep and loud as they bicker over the unnecessary politics surrounding hockey. I try to pay attention to who they are complaining about, but the sound keeps cutting in and out, so I reach out and shut it off. My phone falls from the dock and lands in the sink. I reach over and get it out before my usual luck kicks in and an invisible house elf turns on the water. Having a house elf, preferably Dobby or his clone, would be ideal. Harry Potter was one lucky kid.

This bathroom is way too small for another body, elf or not. It's tiny—microscopic, really—with one low sink with a wonky faucet planted next to a small toilet that I can barely fit on. Whoever designed this apartment didn't do it with a six-foot-tall guy in mind. Unless said six-foot-tall guy liked to bend his knees to get his head under the shower stream. The warm water works at my back as I continue to torture myself and think about Dakota. She takes up prime real estate in my head, and I can't seem to get her to move out. She looked so good today, so damn sexy in those shorts and sports bra.

Did she notice that my body has changed since she's seen it last? Did she see that my arms have grown thicker and my stomach finally has the lines of muscle that I've been working toward?

Growing up, I was the chubby kid. My hefty build was often the topic of conversation in the crowded hallways of my high school. “Lardy Landon,” they called me. “Don't let Landon
land on
you,” they would joke. Maybe it sounds so damn stupid and childish now, but it bothered the crap out of me when the meatheads would walk behind me chanting it. That was only one of the many flames of the hell that was high school. It was nothing compared to what happened with Carter, but I'm not going there tonight.

The more I try to remember about our encounter at Grind, the more my brain screws with the memories and jumbles them. I couldn't tell what Dakota was thinking. I never could. Even when we were young, she always had secrets. It was appealing then, mysterious and exciting. Now that we're older and she broke up with me with little real explanation, it's not so fun.

I stare at the seaweed-green shower tiles and think about all of the things that I should have said and done during those five minutes. It's a vicious cycle, going over what I could have said and then reminding myself that it's not a big deal, then back to freaking out. I stare at the wall, remembering her standing in front of me earlier today. I wish I could have read the pages behind her almond eyes, or found some words hidden beneath her full lips.

Those lips . . .

Dakota's lips are something else. They are plump, and the perfect shade of soft petal pink. Their rosy color has always driven me crazy, and she's mastered the art of using them perfectly. We were only sixteen when we messed around for the first time. It was our two-month anniversary, and she had just adopted a puppy for me. I knew my mom wouldn't let me keep it, and she had to know it, too, but we tried to hide it in my closet. Dakota often did things that she knew she shouldn't, but her intentions were always good. We would feed the little gray fur ball the best food from the little pet shop down the street. He didn't bark much, and when he did, I would cough to try to hide the sound. It worked for a while, until he grew too big for my small bedroom.

After two months of captivity, I had to tell my mom about the dog. She wasn't nearly as upset as I thought she would be. However, she did explain the cost of upkeep of a puppy, and when I compared that to my measly check from the car wash I worked at sporadically, it didn't add up. Even with the tips added in, I couldn't cover a vet bill. After some tears and protestations, Dakota finally agreed. To ease the pain, we geeked out and watched all of the Lord of the Rings movies. We binge-drank Starbucks Frappuccinos and complained about paying five dollars a cup. We ate Twizzlers and peanut butter cups until our stomachs hurt, and I drew circles on her cheeks with my fingertips, the way she always liked, until she fell asleep on my lap.

I woke up to her warm mouth and her lips tight around my cock.

I was surprised, half-awake, and aroused as hell watching her take me between her lips, down her warm throat. She said she had wanted to try it for a while but was nervous. She worked her mouth around me perfectly, making me come with an embarrassing quickness.

She learned that she really liked to please me this way, and she started doing it almost every time we hung out. I liked it, of course.

Hell, who am I kidding? I loved it. I couldn't remember how I ever thought jerking off was an enjoyable way to orgasm. It was nothing compared to her mouth, then, later, her soft, wet pussy. We went from oral sex to fucking pretty quickly; neither of us could ever get enough. I didn't have to please myself until I moved to Washington. I missed everything about her, including the intimacy we shared. It's not so bad, jerking off, I suppose. I look down at my cock hanging, the hot water running over it. I wrap one hand around the base, teasing my own tip with my thumb the way Dakota used to with her tongue.

With my eyes closed and the warm water pouring over me, I can nearly convince myself that it's not my own hand stroking myself. In my head, Dakota is on her knees in front of my old bed in Washington. Her curly hair was lighter before and her body was just starting to really tighten up from all of her dancing. She looked so good, she always has, but as we grew up, she just kept getting hotter and hotter. Her mouth is moving faster now . . . between that and the sounds of her moaning in my head, I'm nearly there.

My body begins to tingle, from my toes to my spine. I lean my back against the cool tile of the shower wall and one of my feet slips and I step sideways, losing my footing. A string of words that I don't use often spits from my lips and I grab on to the checker-print shower curtain and pull.

Click, click, click.
The damn thing gives way, tearing at each plastic ring. It falls, taking me with it. I yell again and my knee hits the edge of the tiny tub as I fall backward, slamming hard against the porcelain and getting hot water shooting into my face.

“Shit!” I exclaim.

My knee feels like it's already beginning to swell up and my arms feel like Jell-O as I grip the edge of the tub and try to lift myself out. The door bursts open, startling me, so I let go and smack my head against the bottom of the tub. Before I can cover myself, I see Tessa, whose hands are flying around like a hippogriff.

“Are you all right?” she shrieks. Her eyes dart over my naked body and she covers her eyes. “Oh God! I'm sorry!”

“What the hell?” Sophia screeches as she enters.