Love, Lust, and Other Mistakes (6 page)

I’m breathing heavy.  The only sound I can hear is the rapid throb of my heart in my ears.  But despite my temporary deafness, I hear her voice: “Good?”  She almost sounds worried.

I lift my head slightly and give her a lazy smile.  “Oh yeah…” I let my head fall back onto the leather seat with a content sigh.

“Damn it!” she curses.

I sit back up abruptly, nearly hitting my head on the tip-over bar. “What?” I exclaim. “What’s wrong?”  I squint my eyes, trying to make out the darkened figures beyond the tinted windows to see if we’ve been caught.

She grins between my naked thighs. “I forgot about the ice cream in the backseat,” she laughs pleasantly. “It’s probably soup by now. Guess I’ll have to go buy more later.”

My head falls back against the window as she carefully licks along my folds again, with promises of Round Two.

+++++

MISTAKES ARE MEANT TO BE BROKEN

A pair of hazel eyes, freckled with green flecks stare back at me.  I run my dark eyeliner from the middle of my bottom lid to the corner and smudge the line with the tip of my index finger.  My face is a few inches from the bathroom mirror.  I cover my eyelids with a light dusting of beige – almost the color of my skin – the top of my lid in a dusty brown, and a shock of white eye shadow along my brow bone.

I lean back and inspect my work to make sure my eyes are even.  Satisfied with the look, I rest my weight against the bathroom countertop again and apply a thin coat of mascara to my upper and lower lashes.  I blink a few times, making sure the lashes don’t stick together or leave behind any tiny black marks on my cheekbones.  

I know it’s ridiculous to get dressed up when she’s just coming over to give me back my things, but part of me wants to remind her of what she’s giving up.  It’s perfectly normal to want to look your best when you see an ex, right? 

Right?

There’s a sharp knock at the front door, and I immediately know it’s her.  It’s not that I can
feel
her through the closed door – she’s just always had an uncanny way of sneaking inside my apartment building without me buzzing her in.  I blame it on those damn dimples.  Or her chocolate brown eyes.  Or the way her breasts look in a v-neck.

I shake myself from thoughts of her many admirable, uh,
qualities
when there’s a second knock, this time louder.

I check my reflection once more in the hallway mirror.  My hair’s freshly washed, dried, and flat-ironed.  She always likes it when I wear it down.  I flatten my palms down the front of my thin top that clings to my slight curves.  Skinny jeans round out the outfit, which brings a smirk to my lips. 

When I first bought these pants, she’d told me they made me look like a skeleton.  Instead of being insulted, I’d promptly pushed her onto a chair and straddled her in my “skeleton” jeans.  She never made any wardrobe comments after that.

With my mind swimming with memories of her, I open the door. She’s standing in the hallway, holding onto a box.

“Hey,” I say, a little breathlessly. I nervously swipe a few stray hairs away from my forehead.

“Hey.”  Her voice is emotionless and flat.  Kind of like our relationship the past month.

I clear my throat when she continues to just
stand there
. “Do you want to come in?” I ask.

“Not really.”

Not gonna lie.  Her response is unexpected and the words sting more than I’d like to admit.

“I just came to drop these things off,” she explains, nodding toward the topless box in her arms.  I can see a few of my tank tops and a flat iron poking out. “I wasn’t planning on staying.”

I sigh and lean against the doorframe.  “Just come in,” I say trying not to grit my teeth. “I’ve got some of your things to give back, too.”

She hesitates in the hallway.

“Come in,” I say, trying to make my voice sound more resolved, more in control. 

Her face clouds over at my command.  “Fine.”

I take a step back, away from the door, and she walks in. “Where do you want this stuff?” she gruffly asks.  Her mood is seriously souring me.  I wouldn’t have bothered to shave my legs if I knew she was going to be such a grouch.

“On the kitchen table is fine,” I sigh, closing the front door.

She sets the box down, almost gingerly, but the contents still manage to rattle around. 

“So you said you had stuff for me?”

I watch her carefully.  She’s clearly uncomfortable being here.  Not that I blame her. “Not really,” I slowly admit.  “I just wanted an excuse to get you alone in my apartment.”

“God damn it,” she curses.

I hold up my hands. “I’m sorry.  It was a joke.  A bad joke, apparently,” I grumble.  “I’ve got your stuff in my bedroom.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I seriously do!” I squeak.  “It’s not a ploy to get you in there…”

She shoves her hands into the front pockets of her jeans.  “Uh huh.” 

Nothing in her tone says she believes a word I say.  I wouldn’t believe me either if I were her though.  I haven’t exactly had the best “I’m-telling-the-truth” credibility as of late.

“Fine,” I snap, turning briskly on my heels.  “I’ll get your stuff for you since you’re too chicken to come into my bedroom yourself.”

Before she can open her mouth and snap back some kind of smartass retort, I storm away, very dramatically I might add, into the back of my apartment.  I make a big show of rattling things around in my bedroom like I’m seriously frustrated with her. I’m frustrated, yes.  But it has little to do with her. 
I’m
the problem, not her.  If only I could….

No. 

I shake my head hard even though I’m the only one who can see.  I’m not going to start dwelling on that again.  What’s done is done.  If we were meant to be together, we would have been able to work past my shortcomings.

I look down at my hands and am surprised to see that they’re shaking.  I’ve managed to get physically agitated without even really trying.  I take a few calming breaths and push the hair out of my face.   “Get it together,” I mutter to myself.  “She’s just a girl.”

I stand straighter and grab the box of things I’d found around my apartment that belong to her.  I wasn’t lying – this time – I actually
did
have a box of her things in my room.

I walk out from the back of the apartment, her belongings in tow.  I catch a glimmer of surprise on her face when she sees me with the box in my arms.  I drop it heavily to the kitchen table, next to the box of my own things.

“Everything should be there,” I say with just a hint of malice in my tone.  “If I come across something else, I’ll let you know.”

She sheepishly picks up her box of things, careful not to bump into me.  “Uh, thanks,” she mumbles, casting her eyes to the floor. 

I don’t know why she can’t just look at me.  We dated for nearly half a year, and she can’t even look me in the eye when she’s saying goodbye?  I feel like spitting out some seriously caustic words, but instead I bite the inside of my cheek to remain civil.  We work together, after all.

Instead of tearing into her, I give her a curt nod.

She walks to the front foyer, and I brush past to open the door for her.  I swear I hear an almost imperceptible gasp when my shoulder just barely brushes against hers.  But maybe I’m just wishful thinking. 

She steps into the hallway again, just a few minutes after she originally arrived.  She rests the box on one hip, freeing up a hand.

She pushes out a sharp breath and rakes her fingers through her hair.  My eyes travel to her hand and follow its path through the dark, chaotic waves.  I loved tangling my fingers in that wild mane.  Just a little tug and her knees would buckle. 

“What?” Her uncomfortable face now appears suspicious.

I blink once. “What?”

“You were smiling.”  Her tone is accusatory as though she’s caught me doing something wrong.

“I was?”

“Yeah, you were.  You suddenly got this dreamy little half-smile on your face.”

“I’m sorry.”  The mischievous grin is instantly banished from my face.  “I didn’t intend to smile in your presence.” 

She scowls.  “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how
did
you mean it?” I aggressively press.

“Fuck, I don’t know how to act.  I’ve never broken up with anyone before,” she says almost apologetically.  “You know I’d never been in a real relationship before you.”

“Lucky me,” I deadpan.  “At least I was your first for something.”

She sets her lips in a hard line. “This was a mistake.”

“Yeah,” I scoff bitterly.  “Looks that way.”

So much for this ending on a good note.

We stare at each other for an icy moment until I break the uncomfortable tension. “So, I’ll see you at work tomorrow?”

“Maybe.  I dunno.”  She turns on her heels, ready to make an abrupt exit when I reach out and grab her by the elbow.  I don’t know why I do it.  Reflex I suppose.

“Wait,” I breathe.

She stiffens, but turns to me finally when it’s clear I’m not going to let go.  I’m surprised she hasn’t shrugged me off and left, but more surprised when I see her face.  It’s not every day you see her cry.

The stubborn tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes make my resolve crumble.  What can I say?  I’m a sucker for tears.  And I guess I’ve always been a sucker for her.

“Baby…” I soothe. 

She drops the box in the hallway and envelopes me in an unexpected hug.  As her arms go around me, I can feel her body shudder slightly with silent tears. I know she’s too proud to actually cry, but it’s still breaking my heart.

“Baby,” I repeat, stroking the hair at the nape of her neck.  Tiny tendrils wrap around my fingers.  Her face is buried against my collarbone.  “What’s wrong?”

“Why do you have to smell so good?” she mumbles into my neck.  “It’s so distracting.” 

“W-were you trying to focus for some reason?” I stutter out.

“I’m trying so hard to hate you right now.” Her lips move across the sensitive skin where neck meets shoulder and I shudder.

My breath comes out in a shuddered sigh as her lips make their way up my neck and along the line of my chin.  She pushes me against the wall, her face pressed against me, still not looking at my face.

She rakes her canines down the length of my neck and nips at the skin, making me jump.  Her hand snakes around me and falls naturally into the small of my back.  She presses there, arching my back so my front presses more solidly into her.  I’m distracted by her mouth on my jugular and don’t realize she’s subtly pushing me back inside my apartment.

Somehow she’s maneuvered both of us back inside.  She deftly closes the front door behind her with the aid of just one foot. Her mouth is still latched to my neck, sucking gently at my skin.  I feel the backs of my knees hit my living room couch and I’m falling backwards.  She lands on top, her body weight not crushing me.

Her hand makes its way down the front of my jeans and dips just beneath the waistband of my underwear.  When her fingers wiggle further south, she sucks in a sharp breath.  Yep.  I’m wet.  Unabashedly so.  I can feel it on the insides of my thighs and practically dripping down the crack of my ass. 

If I were with anyone else, I’d probably be embarrassed and refuse to let them feel just how turned on I am.  But she knows this about me.  She knows what she does to my body.

The top fasten of my jeans is promptly unbuttoned and the zipper follows, and I’m frantically raising my ass off the couch cushions so she can pull my pants down my hips.  She surprises me though by stopping and only pulling my jeans down to my knees.

I furrow my brow at her in frustration and confusion.  The way my legs are trapped has limited my mobility.  A maddening smirk flutters onto her face.

Her hands go to my inner thighs, and she pushes so my legs fall apart.  It’s like I’m pinned sitting Indian Style.  The circulation is certainly going to get cut off from the lower half of my legs, but the way she’s licking her full lips and eyeballing me like she hasn’t eaten in days brings a fresh flood of red, hot blood through my body.

I realize I’m holding my breath.  I have to remind myself to do a lot of things.  Breath.  Blink.  Swallow.  Repeat.

Her hands are still on my inner thighs.  She squeezes my flesh and bends down.  I suck in another sharp breath when her face becomes dangerously close to my panty-covered sex.

I’m suddenly very thankful I decided to shave this morning.

My hips involuntarily jerk when her nose bumps against my sex. She rolls her nose around my panty-covered clit and I’m unabashedly groaning at the contact.  She tongues at my clit through the material of my cotton underwear, lazily flicking it back and forth.  The fabric rubs and scratches at me in a delicious way, but nowhere near as good as when there’s no barrier between us.