The Stage (Phoenix Rising #1) (18 page)

“I’ve never been there,” he tells me, ripping a piece of bread apart and dipping it in the red sauce. “What’s with the name?”

“You know, like the garlic is a stinky rose! There’s even a devious looking garlic in the window that looks like a ghost.”

“I was going to open a bottle of wine, but—you’re not twenty-one yet. When’s your birthday?” he asks nonchalantly as I catch myself staring at his chest and abs.

“December tenth,” I answer shamelessly, taking a big bite.

“Well then, December tenth next year, I’m taking you to The Stinking Rose with the ghost garlic in the window. And I’m going to buy you your first bottle of wine and dip bread in garlic sauce with you.”

“That sounds like a perfect twenty-first birthday. Who needs clubs and getting drunk until you puke? Not me!” We both laugh and twirl noodles on our forks. While we slurp, we talk like never before. About songs we like, and bands we don’t—like he’s not a fan of Bon Jovi, and I wrote him love mail when I was a kid. So, on that, we disagree.

After I take the towel off my head, we talk about our favorite candy: mine, anything with peanut butter. His, purple Laffy Taffy. We do the dishes together and end our conversation about who’s scarier, Jason or Freddie Kruger as he offers to put on a movie.

“But Freddie gets you in your dreams,” I say, defending my choice.

“Jason has that mask, though.
And
he won’t die.”

He opens a free-standing wicker cabinet opposite the couch. There’s a big box television inside with a VCR on top. I’m amused at how the back of the TV sticks out so far that the VCR can balance on it. Below in some drawers are organized VHS tapes in plastic casings. I choose
Dirty Dancing,
and laugh when the machine has to rewind the tape. He pops popcorn in the microwave and we snuggle under a checkered blanket on the Santa Fe colored couch and watch Baby fall in love with Johnny.

He never makes a move to touch me. When I realize he’s not going to, I lean into him, feeling the warmth of his bare skin, taking in his scent. He puts his arm around me, instinctively knowing what I need. There’s comfort in that.

I tense up when Baby asks Johnny how many lovers he’s had, and then
he
tenses up when Johnny answers her –all about the women and how they smell good, how they make him feel good. But they were all using him. And I get it. That was Kolton’s past. The future he wants is more like the picture above his parents’ bed. I smile and he plays with my hair, running his long fingers through it over and over until I’m in a trance. In the end when Johnny holds her up above his head, Kolton says, “I can do that move.”

“No way,” I say, smacking his arm.

“Want me to prove it?” I yawn and stretch my arm up above my head.

“Yeah, I think I do.” So he stands up, still shirtless, and walks over to the kitchen area, giving me a long way to run into his arms. I stand here, giggling.

“I can’t,” I protest.

“Nope. Nope. You challenged me. Come on,” he says, motioning with his hands. I decide to trust him. I run, put my hands out in front of me and jump into his arms. He lifts me up, and I stiffen my arms and legs to make a bowed line, like Baby did.

My shirt came up. I can feel nothing but air between my breasts and his eyes. He falls backward, cushioning me from hitting the floor, and I’m laughing uncontrollably.

“You’re fucking beautiful, but especially when you laugh.”

“Oh my God, Kolton! Did you just see?” I ask, pulling my shirt down as I sit up. He nods, and sits up, too.

“Perfect,” he says, “But I’ve already had that one,” he says, pointing to my left breast, “in my mouth, so—” and then I feel really serious, all of the sudden. The look on his face changes and he swallows hard. He leans forward, wraps his hand around the back of my neck, and takes my chin, tilting it up with his thumb. There is forever between his mouth and mine.

He licks his bottom lip and stares at my mouth, making it water in anticipation. He bites his lip, and I realize he’s not going to kiss me.
I have the controls.

I lean forward and he kisses me then, his mouth soft and hard at the same time. He takes one lip at a time, then circles his tongue around mine until I’m dizzy and aching for him. It’s so slow; it’s a wooing kiss, full of promise. It’s an invitation—one meant to make me want more, to show me the future.

And I accept.

When he pulls away, his eyes are hooded. He stands up and reaches his hand down to me. When I’m standing, he entwines his fingers with mine and we walk down the hallway to his parent’s room. “This is where I sleep when I come here,” he says once we get to the footboard. “Mia, the perfect night for me ends with you in this bed with me, but just to sleep. I want to wake up in the morning with you in my arms.”

And so he goes to the father’s side and I go to the mother’s side. We both fold back the covers, maybe the way they used to. He undoes his belt and I close my eyes for a moment.
I can’t believe this is happening.
He slides the button out of the jeans and moves his zipper down. I cross my hands, one over the other. He watches my expression as his pants fall before he climbs into the bed. He’s wearing black boxer briefs, filling them out a little too nicely.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says and I look at him quizzically. “Actually
sleep
with a woman in a bed.” He smiles as I climb in next to him and lie down on the pillow. He moves to his side and I stiffen next to him. He runs the tips of his fingers up and down my arm, until I sink into him and he takes me in his embrace.

“You smell just right,” I hear him say, as he’s softly kissing me on my forehead. I entangle my legs with his and say, “Thank you—for taking care of me, Kole.” He exhales long and hard, sounding relieved. He places little kisses on my lips, my cheeks, my neck, as I’m drifting off to sleep.

It’s that dream, the one when I’m flying like an air swimmer, light and free. Kolton is with me this time. “You have the controls,” he says, as we fly up into the clouds.

“I have the controls,” I repeat, feeling only calmness after I say it. Because I know how he feels, that we are in this together, and I can trust him.

That is, until we fall.

Decisions, Decisions

W
hen I open my eyes it takes me a minute to realize where I am. I’m looking at the door to Kolton’s parents’ bathroom. And I’m alone. As I sit up, I see Kolton on the floor. He’s doing the cobra pose. I rub my eyes as he comes up and moves into sun salutations. Yoga, his body is the perfect machine for it.

I just watch him. Now I know why his muscles are so, for lack of a better word, well-formed and long. As I admire just that, watching the muscles in his arms and back as they constrict and lengthen, reality hits me cold and hard. My heart speeds up, and my breathing falters. We have to go back to real life today; back to the show, the story. Back to the pictures. And we’ll have to pretend. I don’t want to pretend.

“Do you do yoga?” he asks as he slowly moves into a squat, extending his leg out behind him and lifting his arms, stretching upward and slightly back.

“A little.”

“I watched you sleep, but this time I got to hold you,” he says, moving his other leg back into cobra. It’s a swift serpentine motion.

“This time?” I ask, but he doesn’t clarify. I know he’s watched me sleep before, at least once. “Have you checked online for—?”

“Yes. They didn’t get a good picture of you. My hand was covering your face,” he informs me, standing tall, and then pulling his leg up to rest his foot on his thigh, in tree pose.

“Thank God,” I breathe. Even his feet are nice-looking, I notice. As his hands come up, pressed together, he sways, but remains upright.

“Mia,” he says, putting his foot down and flexing his chest muscles. “I just want to spend a nice quiet morning with you before we have to go back to all that.”

“I have to throw the round,” I blurt. It was on the tip of my mind. “Joyce McKim said.”

“No,” he says, sitting down on the bed beside me.

“I’m sorry, Kolton.” I wouldn’t look at him. I watch as his hand turns into a fist around a handful of bedding. My eyes dart to his and he looks hurt, disheartened.

“All of this—the show, the photographers—all of it is just in the way,” he says before stomping out of the bedroom. He’s so spoiled. He’s always gotten his way, until me.

I clean up in the bathroom and brush my teeth with Kolton’s toothbrush. I feel naughty doing it. I brush my hair with a hairbrush I find in a drawer and put on some leggings I find in the closet, along with a really cute eighties-style top with ripped panels on the side. Without a bra, it’s too revealing. I take the top off, pulling on a tight tank top before putting it back on and giggle a little when I look in the mirror and the top falls down on one shoulder. I look like Flashdance.

I follow the scent of coffee and find fresh fruit with oatmeal waiting for me in the kitchen. I don’t see Kolton anywhere. As I pour coffee, I enjoy feeling the warmth of the sun coming through the window and hitting my bottom half as I pour in the creamer. If I pay attention, I can hear a grunting sound.

As I turn around I see Kolton doing pull-ups out on the porch. He’s gripping a black metal bar that goes across two beams while pulling his chin up to it over and over. All the while, he’s watching me through the glass.

I’m a little caught off guard by his expression; he looks pissed off. I can’t even sip the coffee in my hand. I feel my breath falter and my heartbeat speed up as I watch the muscles in his arms, his chest. And below, too. Everything is tense. I’ve never seen a man as beautiful as him, not in real life, and he’s staring at me like he wants to devour me right here and now.

I count and chip off my dark nail polish. On forty-two he keeps his chin there for a few seconds, swings his lower half once, and hops down. The door opens and he walks in, covered in sweat. “You’re not wearing anything under those black things, are you?” he asks, moving right up to me—so close I can smell the salty sweat on his skin.

I shake my head ‘no.’ “Are you okay?” I ask.

“No!” he says forcefully as he takes my coffee cup and sets it on the counter before pinning me in place with his arms on either side of me. I can feel the heat coming off his skin, but he doesn’t touch me. “I dream about you,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Every night.”

“I—”

“And here you are, wearing see-through shit right in front of me. Showing me what I can’t have.”

“I didn’t know they were—”

“You can’t dress like that. Not in front of anyone but me.”

“Stop it!” I say. I’m completely shaken. He’s scary intense right now. “I just grabbed this out of the closet. My clothes are gross and sweaty.”

“Tell me.” His eyes close like he’s in pain.

“What, Kolton? Tell you what?”

“That when we leave here and we can’t be together anymore, you’ll trust me. You won’t forget I’ve been telling the truth.”

“I won’t forget that, Kole. Not ever.” I move my hand up to the empty spot over his heart. There, I can still see some of the scars from the accident so many years ago. He’s shared so much with me, done so much for me, given up so much for me. So I open my mouth and say, “I belong here,” as I touch his skin, lean forward and kiss him there, just over his heart. His knees bend a little and moans deep in his throat.

“No matter what happens next, promise you won’t leave me,” he whispers into my ear, but still, he doesn’t touch me.

“What’s going to happen?” I ask, knowing that I might have to leave his team. But I won’t leave him, not now anyway.

“In public we will have to be completely separate. We’ll need to draw attention away from you.”

“It’s going to be the other way around. You’re going to forget about me,” I say.

“You’re not ready yet, Mia. If you think that, I haven’t earned your trust.” He takes a step back and then another, and splays his palms on his thighs, just like he’d done in the car. He’s fully aroused inside his sweat pants, which both surprises me and makes me ache for him deep inside. “I’m going to take a cold shower.”

When he walks away, I finally take a breath. I wonder if he takes cold showers often, since he doesn’t sleep with those beautiful women anymore. I feel guilty, but I didn’t ask him to do any of this for me. He’s used to women—lots of them. How could I ever compete with all that? My coffee on the counter is warm—not hot, but I drink it anyway. I’ve had enough hot this morning to last months.

*     *     *