Undecided (14 page)

I nod,
not sure I can speak. My heart bounces around my chest as he carefully peels
the denim down my legs, leaving me in only a purple thong. I see his throat bob
as he swallows, then he reaches down to the floor for his jacket and pulls out
his wallet, retrieving a condom and tossing it onto my milk crate night table.
He smiles at me before pushing the spandex over his hips, past mouth-wateringly
muscular thighs and strong calves. When he catches me looking he shyly fists
his erection, the fingers of his other hand playing with the lace edge of my
thong.

“Lift
your hips.”

I can
barely breathe. Just looking at him makes me want to squirm in anticipation.
Never in my admittedly short sexual lifespan have I wanted someone so badly
that just looking at them made me wet. But I am wet, and I know Crosbie sees it
because he makes a pained little groan when I lift my hips so he can slide the
silky fabric down my legs, then gently nudges my thighs apart to look between
them.

He lowers
himself over me, elbows digging into the mattress on either side of my head, and
pushes a stray hair behind my ear, sliding his lips back and forth across mine,
in absolutely no hurry at all. I turn my head to look at the full-length mirror
propped against the desk, angled just enough that I can see Crosbie’s perfect
ass positioned over me, so tempting I have to resist the urge to flip him over
to look at it up close.

Not that
I could budge him, even if I wanted to. Though he’s being very conscientious
about not crushing me, just the weight of one of his legs between my thighs is enough
to remind me how big he is. How strong.

“Hey,” he
says softly, lifting his head to look at me.

“What?”

“Have you
done this before?”

The
question startles me, but eventually I nod. “Yes,” I manage. It reminds me of
how little we know about each other. How last year if you’d asked me how
Crosbie Lucas fucked I’d have said he did it like a porn star, all ass slapping
and hair pulling, boasting to his friends afterward. All style and no
substance. But the guy over me now isn’t the obnoxious jock I thought I knew,
just like I’m not the responsible bookworm he thinks he knows. And when he nods
and glides a hand between my legs, the relief on his face when he finds me wet
and ready is almost palpable. I moan when he pushes one finger inside, then spread
my legs wider when he stretches me with two, fucking gently as he kisses my
mouth, eyes open, gauging my response.

I had a
couple of orgasms with my partners last year, nothing mind-blowing or
exceptional, just perfunctory, okay-we’re-on-the-right-track orgasms, but they
never felt half as good as Crosbie Lucas’s fingers and the promises they’re
making right now.

“Crosbie—”
I gasp as he rubs the heel of his hand over my clit.

“You
okay?”

“It
feels—”

“Say
whatever you want,” he says when I forget the rest of the sentence. “I’ll do
whatever you want.”

“I think
I might—” I don’t know if I should be embarrassed that I’m going to come this
easily, but Crosbie’s cocky grin and intensified fingering tells me he’s not
bothered by it at all. He kisses me rough and wet, his hand rubbing in all the
right ways, and before I’m fully ready I come, deep waves of desire radiating
from my center, through my legs, curling my toes.

I moan
into his mouth and he strokes my cheek as though he’s encouraging me, egging me
on. And I don’t care anymore about anything, only how good this feels. How if
every name on that stupid bathroom wall was practice that led to this moment,
I’m absolutely okay with it.

I turn my
face away and struggle to control my breathing as Crosbie slowly eases his hand
from between my legs. He gives me a minute, busying himself with my breasts,
his tongue circling my tight nipples, mouth sucking lightly. I feel his
knuckles bump against my inner thigh and lift my head to see him slowly jacking
himself with the hand that was just inside me, using my juices as lubrication.

“Crosbie,”
I whisper, reaching for the condom.

“You need
a sec?” He searches my face as he uses his teeth to open the packet. I shake my
head and he rests back on his heels as he rolls on the condom, propping my legs
wide apart and gazing intently at my pussy.

Okay,
that’s embarrassing. I’m wet and exposed and he—

“Hey,” he
says.

I realize
I’m staring determinedly at the wall. “What?”

“What’s
wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“What are
you thinking about?” Despite the fact that he’s got a raging hard-on and a
willing vagina ten inches away, he’s not making any move to put it in.

“It’s
just a little embarrassing,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my face.

“What
is?”

I wave a
hand toward my vagina. “Having someone stare at it!”

He
wrinkles his nose and laughs. “Nora, you’re hilarious.”

“I’m not
trying to be funny.”

“You want
to look at mine?”

“I did
look.”

“You want
to look closer?” He’s stroking the insides of my calves, his fingers tickling
the soft skin behind my knees.

“Are you
asking me to blow you?”

He
smiles. “No. Not this time.” He hooks his hands under my legs and lifts them
high and wide, but before I can be mortified he comes down over me, one arm on
the pillow beside my head, the other guiding his cock between my legs. “Can I?”

“Do you
really have to ask?”

“I just
want to be sure.”

I look
into his eyes, molten brown I now know darkens to nearly black when he’s turned
on, the flush in his cheeks belying the utter control in his voice. I think
he’d stop if I asked him to. I think he’d put on that Superman costume and do a
jig if I requested it. I think Crosbie Lucas is not quite the cocky, smug ass
hat he pretends to be.

“I’m
positive,” I say.

Something
soft passes across his features and he smiles as he kisses me, sweet and sure,
then he presses inside slowly, carefully, and very welcome. His cock is as big
as his build would suggest, but after the initial pang of discomfort it only
feels good, and he groans into my neck, his damp breath making me shudder. It
takes him a minute, then he lifts his head and watches my face as he slowly
starts to fuck me, taking his time, focused and intent.

I like
it, but I don’t think I’m going to come again so soon. And I don’t really
care—I just had the best orgasm I’ve ever had with a partner, I’m not
complaining. After a while I wrap my legs around his hips, my fingers seeking
purchase in that beautiful ass, feeling it shift and bunch as he moves.

“Can you
come like this?” he whispers, trailing his fingers over my damp temples.

“I don’t
think so,” I reply, feeling strangely comfortable with this kind of honesty.
“But it doesn’t matter. I just did. You come.”

He arches
a brow. “Oh, I’m going to. No question. But not without you.” He stops
thrusting and reaches back, fingers encircling my ankle. I prepare myself for
some sort of inane sex contortion showcase, but he merely bends my left leg up
against my chest and shifts his body to the side a little more. This time he
hits my clit when he thrusts, and a few moments later, I’m forced to reconsider
my stance on a second orgasm.

“How
about this?” he murmurs. He nips my earlobe and I focus on the newly building
sensation between my legs.

“I think
I might…”

“Tell me
what’ll get you there.”

“Let’s
try this for a minute.”

“Got it.”
He grinds his forehead into the pillow beside me, his damp hair brushing my
cheek, showing me just how difficult this is for him. How hard he’s working to
make it good for me. His faint dusting of chest hair rasps over my nipples, and
when I urge him to move faster he does, and I know I’m going to come again.

“I’m
close,” I whisper.

“Nora.”
He groans and threads his fingers through mine on either side of my head,
holding me down and holding on, all at once.

“Just a
little…”

“Oh
fuck…fuck…”

“I’m—I’m—
ohhhh
….”
I come and Crosbie’s right behind me. I feel him pump into me harder, a few
rough thrusts, a litany of mumbled curse words in my ear, the almost painfully
tight squeeze of his fingers on mine. But I couldn’t possibly care less about
any of that, because my pussy is spasming so tightly, so good, just endless
waves of pleasure I never knew I could feel.

Crosbie
may be exactly the type of guy to boast about knowing how to do this, and I’m
the type of girl who would roll my eyes and blow him off. Until now. This is no
laughing matter. This is
incredible
.

Eventually
he lifts his head and I turn so we’re eye to eye, and it’s a tiny relief to see
the same stunned and satiated expression on his face that I know is on mine.
“Wow,” I mumble.

He
laughs, a tired sound, and wipes his hand over his forehead. “Jesus, Nora.
You’re so fucking beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever come like that.”

“Is it
the blue eye shadow?” I ask, belatedly remembering that not only did I wear
Thelma’s hair and clothing, I wore the makeup, too.

“No,” he
says, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth as he slowly pulls out. “It’s
you.”
He gets up and pads out of the room,
bare-assed, to dispose of the condom and clean up, and I slide under the
comforter and stretch out like a very satisfied cat. I don’t know what the hell
I’m going to feel like tomorrow, but right now I feel amazing, all the stress
and tension of the past couple of months forgotten.

Crosbie
comes back in with two glasses of water, then sets them on the milk crate and
flicks on the lamp before turning off the ceiling light. “So,” he says,
crawling under the covers before passing me a glass.

“So,” I
say.

We drink
in silence and stare at the ceiling. I’m aware of every inch of his body that’s
touching mine, the sound of his throat working as he swallows, the hum of his
breath when he puts the empty glasses on the floor and turns out the light. And
then I’m not aware of anything else, because somehow, impossibly, I fall asleep
next to Crosbie Lucas.

I wake up alone. It’s just before eight the next morning, the bright
November sun spilling in through curtains I forgot to close during last night’s
activities.

Speaking
of which. I arch my back and flex my fingers and gently feel between my legs—a
little sore, but in a good way. Hell, in an amazing way. So amazing I’m not
even especially worried about the fact that I had sex with Crosbie Lucas. That
I moved into this apartment on the understanding that it was a place to be
studious and responsible, and then banged my roommate’s best friend. Because it
was so worth it.

I yawn
and climb out of bed, buck naked, smiling foolishly as I fish out a pair of
panties, shorts, and a sweatshirt, then head into the bathroom to wash my face
and brush my teeth. Jeez. I’m glad Crosbie’s gone. Thelma’s blue shadow and
extra thick mascara now ring my eyes, making me look like a crazed nineties
raccoon.

I spit
toothpaste into the sink, rinse my mouth, and tell myself not to be a Crosbabe.
I’d seen plenty of girls trailing after him last year, girls who wanted to be
with him or who had already been and wanted another round. I won’t be one of
those girls, though I now understand where they’re coming from.

Tidied up
and half-awake—there’s not much I can do about my hair except tie it back—I
shuffle into the kitchen, squawking in terror when Kellan rises up from the far
side of the kitchen island.

He jumps
when I screech, a spoon flying out of his hand to crash into the cupboard
behind him. “Nora!” he exclaims. “Shit!”

I cover
my face with my hands and try not to have a heart attack. “What are you doing
here?” I mumble through my fingers.

“I live
here.”

“This
early! This quiet!”

“I was
being quiet because you were sleeping,” he says. “And then I thought you heard
me.” He tosses the spoon in the sink and gets a new one from the drawer, then
indicates the bowl of cereal on the counter. “I made breakfast while you were
in the bathroom.”

I shake
my head, guilt making me antsy. “Sorry.” I squeeze past him to grab a carton of
orange juice from the fridge. “I was just surprised.” I pour a glass and join
him at the island, my forgotten cell phone sitting on the counter. I check my
missed messages and find five from Marcela, each more self-pitying than the
last, promising to bequeath me all her belongings if she should die, and asking
me to come find her corpse the next day so she’s not already half-decomposed at
her funeral.

I smile
and put down the phone, and it’s only when I notice Kellan’s smirk that I
realize I’m still smiling, more than a few morbid texts can justify. I try my
best to act casual. “What?”

“What’d
you get up to last night?” He shoots a deliberate glance toward my half-open
bedroom door. “You disappeared fast.”

Now he
notices what I do? “I got tired.”

“If you
don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to,” he says. “I just hope you had fun.”

“I did,”
I assure him, desperate to change the subject. “Did you?”

“Actually,
no.” He’s spooning cereal into his mouth with his right hand and checking his
phone with his left. “I’m a little worried.”

I think
about Miss Maryland and Miss Louisiana—is he worried about which beauty queen’s
name to add to his list first? North-south or south-north? Alphabetical or
chronological?

“What
about?” I ask politely.

“Crosbie,”
he says, thumb flicking over the keys. “He’s been acting weird lately, and last
night I brought him two girls to choose from and he just took off. Said he’d be
right back, then disappeared.”

“Oh?”

Kellan
looks at me seriously. “I think he might be having problems at the frat house.
He’s been spending a lot time here. That doesn’t bother you, does it?”

I stare
into my glass and shake my head. “No. He’s okay.”

Kellan
sighs and hits send. “I hope so.”

A muffled
beep has us both twisting in our seats to locate the sound. A quick glance at
our phones shows the screens are dark.

“Did you
hear that?” Kellan asks, frowning and peering around the apartment.

I try not
to let my mouth fall open as my gaze lands on the closet next to the dining
table. Oh fuck.

“It’s
another text from Marcela,” I say, snatching up my phone and pretending to
read. “She’s very sick.”

“It
beeped right after I sent Crosbie a text.” Kellan looks unconvinced as he
punches in another message. This one’s short:
Where r u?

I hold my
breath, but there’s no telltale notification. Crosbie must have turned off his
phone.

Kellan
exhales heavily. “Maybe I’m losing it,” he admits. “I had my pick of two very
beautiful state representatives last night, and all I could think about was
Crosbie.”

I don’t
know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“I spent
the night in his room, waiting for him to show up.”

“Maybe he
met somebody,” I offer. Then clarify: “A stranger.”

Kellan
gives me a dry look. “I know everybody,” he says. “And everybody knows Crosbie.
I asked if anyone had seen Superman and they hadn’t. The guy’s not easy to
miss.”

“Hmm.”

“Do you
think he’s depressed?”

“Depressed?
I—no. I don’t think so, Kellan.”

“We talk
about everything,” he frets, squeezing his hands together. “And I know I
haven’t been very encouraging about his magic tricks, but if that’s getting him
down—”

I’m going
to die. “That’s probably it,” I say, barely succeeding at keeping a straight
face. “Just support his magic a bit more.”

Kellan
nods sagely. “You’re right. I will. I’ve been an ass.”

The two
most sensitive boys on the planet, right here in this apartment.

“I’m sure
he’ll text you in a few minutes,” I say a little too loudly, making Kellan flinch.
“He’s probably back on the Frat Farm, ready to tell you about the hot girl he
hooked up with.”

“God.”
Kellan runs his hands through his hair. “I hope so.”

We stare
at his empty cereal bowl for an increasingly awkward moment. “You know,” I say,
“why don’t you take a shower and try to get some sleep? It’ll make you feel
better.”

Kellan
sniffs his armpit. “Do I smell?”

“I— ” He
doesn’t, but if it gets him out of the room so Crosbie can come out of the
closet, I’m willing to fib. “A little.”

“Dammit. That
suit was wool. I always sweat when I wear wool.”

I nod
sympathetically as he rinses his bowl and puts it in the dishwasher, then
glances hopefully at his dark phone display.

“It’ll be
okay,” I say. “Just give him some time to wake up. It’s only eight o’clock.”

“You’re
right.” Kellan pats my hand. “I’m not going to worry anymore until lunch.”

The
awkwardness is killing me.

“Actually,”
he says, pausing en route to the bathroom. “That’s a lie. I’m not going to
worry about Crosbie until lunch. You’re another story.”

“Me?”

“There’s
a condom wrapper on your floor, Nora Kincaid. And we had a deal about not
bringing people back here.”

“We—I—”
Oh my God.

“And I
know Crosbie comes over a lot, but he doesn’t count.”

I shake
my head fervently. “I’m so sor—”

Kellan
grins and laughs uproariously. “Are you kidding? Don’t apologize, Nora! You
finally got some and I’m happy for you. And a little jealous of the lucky
bastard. Did you have a good time?”

I don’t
need to see Crosbie to know he’s got his ear pressed to the closet door. “Yes,”
I mutter.

“Did he
make you scream?”

“Kellan,
go take a shower.”

He laughs
some more and extends his hand for a fist bump I reluctantly return. He’s
chuckling as he disappears into the bathroom, and I sit very still on the stool,
listening to the water turn on, then the muffled sound of his singing.

“Crosbie!”
I hiss, leaping to my feet.

The
closet doors bang open and he topples out, hair tousled, wearing a pair of
Kellan’s running shorts and a T-shirt that’s two sizes too small and clings to
every one of his thousand muscles. He’s got his jacket in one hand and his
costume and phone in the other.

“He sent
me forty-one texts last night!”

“He
thinks you’re depressed!”

He covers
his face when he laughs. “You really want me to tell him about the hot chick I
hooked up with?”

“Make
something up,” I say, herding him toward the stairs.

“Maybe
I’ll say I got with Miss Washington,” he says, pulling on his coat. “Not quite
a lie.”

“As long
as Miss Washington remains nameless, I really don’t care.”

“Hey.”
Crosbie catches my arm before I can yank open the front door.

“What?”

“You
really think he’s going to be more supportive of my magic?” He manages to keep
a straight face for three whole seconds.

“Text him
to say you’re alive,” I order, twisting the deadbolt.

“I will.”
He catches my hand and backs me into the wall, holding my gaze as he lowers his
head to kiss me, a couple soft swipes and the briefest touch of his tongue. And
just like that, all my responsible composure threatens to crumble, ready to beg
him to fuck me again, right here.

The
shower shutting off puts an abrupt end to those thoughts, for both of us.

“I had a
good time, Nora,” Crosbie says, opening the door.

“Me too.”

“And I
want to do it again.”

If his
reputation is true, Crosbie Lucas
never
wants to do anyone again.

“You do?”

“Yeah.
Soon. After I have a fucking heart-to-heart with Mr. Sensitive up there.”

“Just
text him.”

“I
already did.”

I can
hear Kellan moving around in the bathroom. “Crosbie, you have to go.”

“Give me
your number.”

I rattle it off quickly, knowing he won’t
remember.

“Got it,”
he says. “Now c’mere. One more.” He taps his lips.

“Crosbie—”

But I
don’t resist when he grips the front of my shirt and pulls me in for another kiss,
even as the frigid air chills my legs and steals my breath.

“That’s
just the warm up,” he says, finally releasing me. “I didn’t make you scream
last night.” Oh God. Of course he’d focus on that.

I shove
him out the door. “That’s because I’m not a porn star.”

He grins.
“I bet I can get you to scream.”

“I’m very
close to it right now.”

He laughs
and jogs down the steps. “See you soon, Nora.”

* * *

Classes are
sparsely populated on Monday, post-Halloween weekend hangovers being what they
are. Last year, after downing half my body weight in shots and hooking up with
the army man, I’d spent three solid days scrubbing off green paint and
regretting my life choices.

This
year, however, I feel fine. Better than fine, actually. Maybe even a
little…optimistic.

Which is
stupid, I know. Crosbie’s got a reputation for one night stands, and it’s far
easier to say “See you later” than “Goodbye forever,” even if that’s what you
mean.
 
Still, this is the first time
since Nate started bringing Celestia to the shop that I haven’t watched them
with a little bit of longing. Now that some of my more basic needs have been
met, I’ve gained some perspective.

That
perspective shifts quickly when Marcela strolls in. She’s dressed modestly for
Marcela, in tight dark jeans and an equally tight sparkly white sweater, red
lipstick and black velvet heels. The shop is half-f when she enters, and
everyone watches as she strides through, including Nate and Celestia.

“Hey,” I
say, when she squeezes behind the counter and reaches for an apron. “Feeling
better?”

“That’s
what drugs are for,” she replies, filling a mug with hot water and dumping in
an enormous amount of honey. “I figure I’ve got three good hours before I
collapse. I just had to get out of that apartment.”

“I offered
to visit you yesterday.”

“I know,”
she says, patting my arm. “And that was sweet of you. But that place is a germ
market and I wanted to spare you.”

“You’re
very kind.”

“I am,
aren’t I?”

Truth be
told, I was glad she turned me down, and not just because I didn’t want to
catch her cold. Marcela has a sixth sense about sex, and I needed to put some
distance between my…thing…with Crosbie and Marcela’s innate ability to
recognize when anyone has done the deed.