Authors: Julianna Keyes
And
there, in the deepest recesses of the closet, is the corset. The bright red
beacon of guilt that neither Crosbie nor Kellan can ever be allowed to find. I
contemplate leaving it right where it is, since there’s no earthly way anyone
will ever root through my closet. Then I consider grabbing a pair of scissors
and hacking it into such tiny pieces that even should someone find it, they
wouldn’t be able to guess what it was. But in the end I settle for the far more
ridiculous option and stuff the corset in a grocery bag, toss on boots and a
jacket, and run two blocks up and two blocks over to a completely random street
until I come across a garbage can. I wrench out a bag and stuff the corset
underneath, securing it with the first bag of trash and replacing the lid.
I’m
breathing hard as I stare at the can, wondering if this is how people feel when
they hide a body. A bit relieved, a bit gross, and a whole lot guilty.
Thanksgiving is remarkably uneventful. I pick up a turkey burger from
The Hedgehog and eat it while watching reality TV, reveling in the knowledge
that I’ll have the whole apartment to myself for the next few days. Me and that
stupid easel. From time to time I glance over at it, wondering if there’s
something I can do to…help. Maybe change “red corset” to “red hair,” or cut the
bottom of the pages so there is no forty-one and therefore no one to identify.
Or maybe burn the whole thing to ashes and say we were vandalized.
We’re
down to five names in the current group. Kellan has identified everyone from
forty to fifty except the mysterious and entirely forgettable “Red Corset,” and
is working on figuring out how to get in touch with the remaining lucky ladies.
Two are Canadian backpackers he met during the summer. He thinks he got one of
their email addresses while giving them a “tour” of southern California, and
now that he’s home for Thanksgiving, he’s going to dig through his things and
see if he can’t find a few more clues.
As nice
as the quiet is, I’m lonely. I don’t miss the smell of cheese or the non-stop
explosions emanating from the television, but I miss having a roommate and I
miss having a boyfriend. My
first
boyfriend. Kellan and I are Facebook
friends and I smile as I see photos from the track team trip, mostly the guys
goofing off on the bus, running bare-assed into the freezing ocean, or doing
inappropriate things with whipped cream. Crosbie doesn’t have an account of his
own but he’s pictured there too, looking as handsome as ever.
By the
time I get home from work on Friday night, I’m more than ready for the boys to
be back. I smile when I bike up the street and see lights on in the living
room, dragging my bike up the stairs and thudding inside to find Crosbie
sitting on the couch, alone.
“Hey,” I
say, looking around. Kellan’s room is dark. “Where’s Kellan?”
Crosbie
stands and stalks toward me. “Does it matter?”
“Is
he—Oomph!” I forget my question as Crosbie backs me into the wall and kisses me
like I’m not the only one who missed somebody this week.
“You were
saying?” he asks when we break apart to breathe.
I’m
fumbling with the zipper on my coat, trying to get it off. Trying to get
all
my clothes off. “Are we going…to be…interrupted?”
Crosbie
crouches and digs his shoulder into my stomach, hoisting me up and carting me
into my bedroom as I squeal. I’m no match for him in any position, and this one
certainly doesn’t make it easy. Fortunately I’m not upside down for long,
because he tosses me on the bed and quickly covers me with his body.
“That’s
all you want to say?” he asks, shoving my leggings down and helping me kick my
feet free. “I’ve been gone all week and you want to ask about Kellan and interruptions?”
“Um…” I
work on undoing the buttons of his shirt as I rack my brain, trying to come up
with the right answer. Finally I settle on, “Did you win?”
He drops
his head into the crook of my neck and laughs. I feel his torso shaking above
me. “You’re supposed to say, ‘Crosbie, I miss you. Life hasn’t been the same
without you. I feel such…need, Crosbie.’”
Now I’m
laughing. “I feel such
need
?”
He pulls
off his shirt. “Okay, Kincaid, you don’t deserve it, but I’ve been thinking
about this all week, and now I’m going to show you a trick.”
All the
hormones racing through me come to a screeching halt. I support Crosbie’s
interest in magic and even enjoy his illusions, but I really don’t want to see
one right this minute. “Er…now?”
“Yes,
now.”
I sigh.
“Does it involve your penis?”
“Like how
I’m going to make it disappear inside you?”
I smile
even as I roll my eyes. “Yeah.”
“No,
Nora,” he says sternly. “That’s biology, not magic. This might explain why you
almost flunked out last year.”
I laugh. “Shut
up.”
He kneels
between my legs and strips off his boxers, leaving us both completely naked.
We’ve done this more times than I can count now, but seeing his broad
shoulders, the delineated muscles of his chest and stomach, and yes, his
cock…it gets better every time.
His eyes
trace over every exposed inch of my body, leaving behind a laser line of goose
bumps in their wake. “Come here,” I say, tugging on his hand. “I want you.”
“I was
serious about that trick,” he murmurs. He lets me draw him down for a kiss, but
only lingers at my mouth for a moment before he twines his fingers through mine
and lifts my hands over my head. “Keep them there,” he orders, slowly kissing
his way down my neck, over my collarbone, and lower. I swear he can feel the
hard kick of my heart as I realize what he means to do, and I squirm with
nerves and excitement. I’d had two lackluster experiences with this last year,
both over in what felt like ten very unsatisfying seconds.
“You
know,” Crosbie says conversationally, dipping his tongue into my belly button
before sliding down farther, “the first time we did this, you said it was
weird.”
“We’ve
never done this,” I answer breathlessly, my legs parting at the urging of his
big hands.
“Sex-this,”
he clarifies. “The first time I looked at you right…here.” He trails a finger
straight through my folds, then presses inside.
I
remember now. It’s still a little embarrassing, but it’s different when it’s
someone you know. Someone you care about and who cares about you.
“Still weird?”
he asks. I feel his breath brush over my sensitive skin, hot and damp and
clenching around his gently thrusting finger.
“Hurry
up.”
He
laughs. “Tell me.”
“I just
did. Hurry up.”
“What do
you like?”
I groan.
“Crosbie.”
“What?”
“I don’t
know. Just do something.”
There’s a
second as he clues in. “Have you done
this
before?”
I swallow
and stare at the ceiling, wondering how best to phrase it. I hardly want to
talk about other guys when Crosbie’s got his head between my legs. “Not
successfully,” I finally say.
“Ah.
Well, Nora, let’s see if I can’t succeed where all others have failed, all
right?”
I laugh
so hard I bump his chin with my pelvis. “You’re such a dork.”
He
answers by pulling out his finger, separating my folds, dragging his tongue
right up the middle and swirling over my clit. I immediately stop laughing.
“What was
it you said?” he asks casually. “Hurry?” He licks me hard and fast and I squirm
until I can’t take it and push away his head.
“Slower,”
I gasp. “Slower…for now.”
“Hmm…” He
licks me again, agonizingly slow. And he licks everywhere. Inside, outside and
all around.
I lift my
head to see him crouched down there, my legs splayed around his shoulders, his
auburn hair dark against the pale skin of my stomach.
“Crosbie,”
I whisper.
His head
comes up, mouth damp, eyes blazing when they meet mine. “Any more requests?”
My head
thunks back into the pillow. “Please don’t ever stop.”
He
chuckles and kisses me, drawing my most delicate flesh against his teeth. “I
want you to say something,” he says.
I give an
exaggerated sigh and reach down to pat his shoulder. “Thank you for showing me
your ‘trick,’” I say obediently.
He laughs
again and pushes two fingers inside me, feeling around until he finds what he’s
looking for. My hips buck up but he’s ready for it, his free hand pressing into
my stomach and holding me down.
I squeak.
“What do you want me to say?” I plead, writhing against his devious fingers.
“Say,
‘Crosbie, eat my pussy.’”
My head
jerks up. “I can’t say that!”
“Why
not?” He holds my stare as he slowly licks my clit.
I beg
with my eyes. “It’s… I’m not…”
“That’s
not what you want?” He stops, blinking in faux concern.
“You know
that’s what I want!”
He
glances down at my pussy, his fingers still twisting inside. “Yeah, I do. And I
want to hear you say it. Come on, Nora. It makes me hot.”
I lift a
foot to weakly kick at his arm. “You’re already hot.”
“Nice
try.”
“Crosbie.
Please…”
“Three
more words,” he says, punctuating each of his words with another torturous
kiss. “You’re very close.” I’m so close that if he said six words, I’d probably
be able to come.
I cover
my eyes with my hands, feeling my burning skin against my palms. “Eat my
pussy,” I say hastily.
“Nora,”
he groans, putting his talented mouth back to work. “I’d love to.”
* * *
“So, is it serious?” Marcela asks as we make donuts on Wednesday. “Are
you two in love?”
“What?” I
concentrate on dropping dough into the fryer without splashing myself. “No,
we’re not in love. It’s been a month.”
“You seem
happy.”
“I am.”
“So does
he.”
“Of
course he is. He’s with me.”
I set the
timer and turn to Marcela, who’s perched against the sanitizer, slurping on an
iced coffee. “How about you?” I ask.
“What
about me?”
“How’s
Kellan?”
She
shrugs. “Fine.”
“How’s
Nate?”
She
scowls and bites her straw. “He and Celestia are off to cut down a Christmas
tree for her apartment. That’s why he’s not working.”
“They
picked the right day. I don’t know the last time we saw sunshine.”
Her
expression darkens even further. “You know what Kellan and I did last night?”
“Please
don’t tell me.”
“Facebook
stalked strangers for two hours, trying to find the backpackers he hooked up
with over the summer.”
“That’s…romantic?”
“I don’t
want romance.”
“Then
you’re with the right guy.”
“You
didn’t want it either, last year. You just wanted to have fun and not worry
about things.”
“Yeah.
That all came to a crashing halt when I got arrested.”
She tries
not to laugh but comes up short. “I knew,” she says after a second.
I start
fishing out donuts, resting them on a metal rack. “That I would get arrested?”
“That it
was Nate.”
“What are
we talking about?”
“Last
year. The secret admirer. I knew right away it was him.”
I stop
what I’m doing and look at her in surprise. “You did?”
“Yeah. I
just didn’t…want it. I mean, it was sweet, but nobody thinks about coming to
college and settling down, you know? And Nate’s that guy. He’s the guy who cuts
his own Christmas tree.”
“You said
you
didn’t
want it,” I say after a moment. “Past tense. What about now?”
She sighs
and slurps up the last of her drink, sticking the glass in the rack to be
cleaned. “Now it’s too late.”
“What’s
too late?”
We both
whirl to see Nate standing at the back entrance, dressed for tree chopping in a
fitted plaid lumberjack coat, heavy boots, and skinny jeans. Well, sort of
dressed for tree chopping. He strides to the sink and starts washing his hands,
completely oblivious.
Marcela
and I exchange looks and I slowly shake my head. He didn’t overhear.
“The
donuts,” Marcela says eventually. “We forgot two and now they’re burnt.”
“Aw.”
Nate dries his hands on a paper towel and walks over to check in the fryer,
where I have indeed left two donuts to die. “Come on, Nora,” he chides me.
“Food costs.”
“Sorry, boss.
What are you doing here?”
“We got
the tree. I’m just coming in to grab Celestia a drink.”
Both
Marcela and I roll our eyes.
“It’s not
that bad,” he protests as we trail him out front. The shop is empty so we sit
on the counter as he starts foaming low-fat milk.
“Why
didn’t she come in?” I ask. “Afraid someone will steal your tree?”
His mouth
quirks. “Hardly.”
“Then
what’s the problem?”
He glances pointedly at Marcela. “You
really have to ask?”
Marcela
clutches her chest, offended. “Me? I’m nice to her!”
“No one
anywhere, ever, would describe you as being ‘nice’ to Celestia,” he replies. “
Barely
contained seething resentment
would be more accurate.”
“She
wears fur year-round! It’s suspicious.”
“Or
maybe…” He watches his hands as he pours the drink into a to-go cup. “Maybe she
wants to wear fur, so she just wears fur.”