This Sky (15 page)

    I figure it’s rude to ask him about the journal he’s working
on but I can ask about music. “So what are you listening to?”

    Without speaking, h
e hands me one of the buds. I move my hair and gently put it in my ear. My eyes widen when I immediately recognize Typhoon. That’s the name of the band whose shirt I was wearing the day I drove from L.A. to San Diego. The day Landon bought my gas.

    A new song begins, and in the dark
, we listen, letting lyrics about love and suffering and hope fall over us.

    When the song ends, Landon immediately puts on something else by another band. The rhythm is hooky. Lots of
upbeat percussion.

    I say, “It’s got an electro-pop feel. I like it.”

    “They’re Australian,” he tells me as the beat skips and the song moves into the bridge.

     “They remind me of Phantogram.”

    Landon’s eyes widen. “Yeah, me too.” He glances down and scrolls through his phone. “Have you heard these guys? Smallpools? They’re out of L.A.”

    “I don’t think so.”

    “Here,” he says, shifting even closer.

     For the next few minutes, Landon plays me snips of different songs. I sit back with my eyes closed and my head against the storeroom wall, just listening.

    “I like how this one is all over the place. They incorporate funk, pop, and even some reggae,” he says, starting a new track by a band I’ve never heard of. “Their sound reminds me of this band called Glass Animals.”

    “Oh, I love Glass Animals
,” I tell him over the music that has started to play.

    “Yeah right.”

    His tone makes me open my eyes. “I do.”

    Landon frowns and pauses the track. “Not really?”

    “What do you mean
not really
?” Now I’m feeling a little annoyed. My face is going hot. I shake my head and the earbud falls out of my ear. “When I discovered them, I think I listened to the album at least a dozen times.”

    Landon touches his chest. “Me too.”

    I blow out a breath and laugh. “Did you think you were part of a secret fan club?”

    He laughs—fast and short. “No. It was stupid. They’re just really obscure.” His fingers disappear into his hair and our eyes meet in the dark.

    Landon doesn’t say anything else, but he hands me the notebook from his lap. Surprised, I look down at the page he’s turned to and I see the handwritten words there. Pulling it closer to my face so I can see in the dim light, I start to read.

    It’s a short story about a band whose lead singer gets bitten by a zombie the night before their big breakthrough performance. It’s absurd and gross and funny and surprisingly poignant. I start to laugh when the drummer tries to sew the singer’s eye back on his face.

    “This is good,” I say, meaning it.

    Landon sits in the shadowy corner and just watches me while I read on. And it’s like we’re sharing something. Something more than the music and these words.

     “It’s just for a class,” he says. But, when I look up, I can tell that it’s not just for a class. He wants to know what I think.

     When I finish, I look right into Landon’s face. He’s turned toward me and his expression is almost strained with anticipation. His hands are on his legs, his fingers digging into his jeans a little. Those eyes—those achingly dark eyes are searing me with their fierceness.

     “In the darkness, our zombie hearts want to beat,” I say, reciting the final words from his story. “This is really good.”

     Through the cha
rged stillness, I can still make out the muffled sounds of pots and pans clanking in the kitchen down the hall. I can hear the wispy static of our breathing, the hum of the air passing through our lungs, and the deep thump of Landon’s heart pumping in his broad chest. The moment feels fragile, like a piece of thin paper held over steam. 

    
Damaged goods,
I remind myself.

    Slowly, deliberately, he lifts his arm and rubs his fingertips across his mouth. Then he reaches his hand out to my face like he did on Sunday morning.

    The rush I feel when his fingers connect with my skin is so powerful that it scares me, but still, I don’t pull back. I gasp and tilt my head toward his hand, pressing my cheek into the rousing warmth of his open palm. His thumb sweeps over my lips and his pinkie drifts below my jaw to graze the overly-sensitive skin of my neck.

     Landon is watching his own hand stroke my face with a surprised intensity like he can’t believe he’s actually touching me. I stare at the swell of his mouth and wonder what it would be like to kiss him in the cool darkness, to feel his lips and taste the inside of his mouth.
In the darkness, our zombie hearts want to beat.

     He leans in until I can feel his breath feather-soft on my skin. My pulse grows frantic and I feel my eyes fall shut and my head loll back and then I’m opening
to him like a flower following the sun. Landon makes a low sound that is half-curse, half-plea, and his free hand falls to my leg, curling over my kneecap, burning me through the fabric of my pants, pulling me closer. 

    “Gemma,” he starts, his tone wary like he’s not sure he should even be saying my name at all. I open my eyes and see that his
rich chocolate irises are punctuated with question marks.

    “Did you find—” The door creaks loudly and a burst of bright light floods the storeroom, spilling over us
like a bucket of icy water. Landon and I jerk back, but it’s too late. We’ve already been spotted. “Oh—shit!” 

    “Sorry!” I leap to my feet, rubbing frantically at my clothes as if to erase the memory of his nearness. Mad
, unfettered thoughts are spiraling through my head.

    “I-uh
, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Claudia is standing in the doorway. Her features are a fracas of guilt and excitement. “I thought Gemma might have had a problem finding the things I sent her back here for and I just wanted to check.”

    “We’re fine,” Landon says, sounding far more put together than I’m feeling. He raises his arm and touches the inside of my wrist. “Gemma?”

    Afraid to meet his eyes, I yank my hand away and rush over to the bottles I abandoned a few minutes ago. My skin is so hot I worry that it will melt right off my body and then there will be nothing left to hold my bones together.

    “Gemma?” Landon says my name again but I don’t look at him.

    “Sorry.” My voice comes out shriller than I intend. I swing sideways and push past Claudia as fast as my legs can carry me. “I just got distracted.”

Landon

My fingers ache from transcribing the short story I wrote earlier to my laptop. I save the document then I crack my knuckles and push away from my desk. The rolling chair slows down to a full stop by my bed. Wyatt is sitting back on his haunches staring at me with sad eyes. He’s been giving me this exact same look since I got home from Aunt Zola’s. That was hours ago.

    I consider him for another second. “A walk?”

    I haven’t even finished the question before he’s bouncing around on his feet, turning himself in circles.

    “Okay, okay.
” I grab his leash and my keys and I’m out the door.

     The sounds of voices and faint music are coming from Julie’s apartment. My heart picks up, but I don’t stop. I don’t blink. I keep my eyes ahead, my legs moving fast until I’m down the stairs, around the block, and heading up Parker Street. From there I take a right and move toward Broward. Thoughts are pooling in the back of my head, dribbling from the corners of my eyes like invisible tears.

    Thoughts about before. Thoughts about who I was then and who I want to be now. Thoughts about how I let things fall apart and how, just maybe, I’m falling apart all over again. Thoughts about Gemma.

     I loop Wyatt’s leash around a bike rack and grab a coffee at this little corner shop I know. Actually, it’s the place I took Gemma when we went surfing that first morning.

    I take my coffee black. Gemma, I noticed when we were here, likes the sweeter stuff.

    Damn it.

    There I go again—my brain screaming shit at me that I don’t need to hear right now. But I can’t help it. She’s been inside my head all day—her voice and her soft, swollen lips, and the possibility of it all.
This. This. This.

     As I stumble down a silent, deserted side street, stepping upon a murky web of smoke and ghostly light and towing a happy-footed Wyatt behind me, I remember the filmy shadows around Gemma’s face and the way it felt to lean in, nearly tumbling into her
glittering eyes. I remember how warm it was next to her, and how my hands had moved, sucked in by her powerful gravity. I remember her faltering pulse and trembling black lashes and the whisper of her sweet breath on the skin of my neck. 

    I
ball my hands into tight fists at my side.

   
I don’t realize I’ve walked all the way to the beach access until I’m standing fifteen feet from the water. Giving in, I sit down and cross my legs. I pull Wyatt toward me and unhook the leash from his collar. Dogs aren’t strictly allowed at this beach but right now there’s no one around to complain. As he scampers off to inspect a small dune, I put my hands flat on the sand and watch the waves awhile.

     I stare out at the Pacific and worry about wanting more than I can have. I worry about Gemma and all the ways I’m
getting tangled up over her.

    I close my eyes and hit the sand with my fists. My heart beats steadily against my chest.

    Once.

    Twice.

    Three times.

Landon

I see her before she sees me.

    At first she’s just a shape—a slim form calling the deeper shadows of the purple-black sky. But as I make my way up the steps, the shape becomes a girl. At the top of the stairs it becomes
the
girl.

    I stop and stare at her for a moment, shifting Wyatt’s leash and the bag of Chinese takeout I’m carrying to my other hand. She’s standing in front of my door and it’s obvious that she’s deciding whether or not to knock.
Knock,
I think.
Knock.

    “Gemma?”

    She freezes up at the sound of my voice, her neck going tight, her spine straightening and her arms snapping into her body. She takes a shaky breath and turns to face me. “Hey.” She stops and glances around, obviously embarrassed that I’ve crept up on her. “You caught me. I was just—”

    I take another step. We’re so close now that I could reach out and easily touch her. So close that I can hear the sound her heart makes and the air churning inside her lungs. “You were just what?”

     She blinks at the pale stars suspended in the night sky. At Wyatt. At me.

    It’s dark but I can still see the spots of pink brightening her cheeks and the delicate blades of light catching on the surface of her
blue-grey eyes. She’s wearing a thin sleeveless shirt that clings to her body and exposes the soft skin on her arms. Her hair is tied in a loose braid that twists down the middle of her back. Soft strands spiral around her forehead and ears.

     “I was thinking about earlier,” she splutters. Then her mouth twists with chagrin, like she can’t quite believe what she’s said.

    Nodding encouragingly, I take another step toward her.

    “And I was thinking—” She stops short, her voice tumbling away from her in a rush and her
thin eyelids falling closed. “I don’t really know you. And maybe this is a crazy question, but—”

    My body is on high alert. I reach out, my fingers cutting through the cold space between us, and I brush the inside of her
wrist where her blood ticks blue and fast. I can’t help it, can I? Touching her feels like relieving a dull ache inside of me. “But what, Gemma?”

    “Earlier—” She blinks and stares down at my fingers on her skin. When she picks her head up, her
guileless eyes reach far into mine. I can feel her warmth displacing the air around me and it’s all I can do not to wrap my arms around her and pull her into my embrace. “Did you want to kiss me?”

    “Yes,” I whisper. There’s no use lying about it. “I wanted to
kiss you.”

    She nods, taking that in. “Me too.”

    For a moment, we’re both quiet, neither of us daring to speak or breathe. I focus on the sound of her heart and the shape of her mouth and the way my fingers tingle where they touch her skin.

    “The past couple of weeks have been weird,” she tells me, lifting her chin so that our faces are aligned.

   
Right
. Her breakup. I’d been conveniently trying to forget about that.

    “I don’t really know what I’m doing,” she goes on, her eyes closing in on my lips and her head tilting to the side. “But I feel like…”

    “You feel like what?” I press, bending toward her.

    “Like when I’m with you, maybe that doesn’t matter so much,” she gasps, her breath reaching for mine. “And I know that sounds insane.”

    “It doesn’t,” I assure her, sliding my hand up her arm. I find her braid and wind my fingers through the ends of her hair. My thumb rubs gently against her jawline.

    “Really?”

    I press my lips together and shake my head.

    “I don’t want you to think I expect anything from you,” she tells me, holding my stare.

    There are things I should tell Gemma before this goes any further. I’ve been holding back the truth about my past, afraid that if she knew everything, she wouldn’t want to be around me. But tonight everything is changing. I don’t want to do this halfway. 

    “Gemma, I think you need to hear something.” But she’s not listening to me. She’s already moving. Already pressing her body against me. She’s already reaching up with one arm to pull my mouth down to hers.

    I must make a surprised sound because she pulls away and quickly meets my eyes. Her lashes dance nervously against her pink cheeks. “Is this not…?”

    But the question turns into a gasp because my fingertips are running down the side of her neck and our mouths are connecting. Her tongue slips over mine, tasting, sucking, setting off barbed explosions all over my body. She lifts her other arm, guiding us closer… closer… closer… Until our hips are flush and her legs are locked between my own and I’m not sure where she ends and I begin.

    “Gemma,” I breathe, cradling her face in my hand, falling and feeling all at once. Her pulse skitters beneath my fingertips, letting me know that she wants this as much as I do.

    The Chinese food is forgotten. The bag drops to the ground in a rush of rustling paper and flattening cardboard. Fuck the sesame chicken and pork fried rice. Fuck the eggrolls. Fuck the twelve dollars and eighty-four cents I spent on it. Food can wait. This can’t.

    With both hands free now, I tug her by the waist and twist my fingers in the fabric of the shirt that she’s wearing. She makes a hollow sound partway between a sigh and a moan and I deepen the kiss, letting my tongue take over to explore the shape of her mouth. 

     She leans back, pressing herself into the railing of the balcony, dragging me with her as she goes. I widen my legs to balance us so we don’t go over the edge. Then I slide my hands up the sides of her body, over her shoulders and the delicate skin of her neck until my fingers are pushing into her hair and my palms are cupping her face. And I think,
maybe we already went over the edge.

Gemma

You see something you want? Then fucking take it.

   
I took it and now I’m pretty sure my bones are melting.

    He pins me against the wall and his hands slip lower, fingers reaching for the bottom of my shirt. His thumb slides against the hot skin below my navel and rests on the button of my shorts.
A little lower,
I silently plead.

    “Your bed,” I rasp as we fumble through the dark, a storm of limbs and clothes and scorching need. I’m strung so tight that I worry I won’t make it past this hallway. Somewhere behind us, Wyatt is dragging his leash on the floor and a bag of Chinese food is getting cold.

    “I’m not sure we’re going to make it,” he says into my mouth and we both laugh a little, but we do slow down. With the shadows spilling around us, our wild breaths deepen and the greedy kiss we’re sharing begins to soften into something gentle and warm and achingly real.

    I steady myself, gripping onto his biceps with my fingers. I want to remember this—the feeling of him against me, his hand running over my jaw, his tongue, hot and wet like a beating heart, claiming my mouth and my neck, his legs squeezing mine. I want to capture the moment with a net and keep it somewhere safe so forty years from now, I can take it out and turn it over in my hands and relive the insane, glittering heat that is saturating my entire body.

    Gemma,” he says my name like a wish, his lips hovering over mine, his hands coming up to cup my face. He brushes my hair back behind my ears and takes a tight breath.

    “Landon, I—” I choke on the words, so full of desire that I can hardly speak. My brain isn’t even working right.

    He smiles a little then he’s back, teasing the crease of my mouth with his tongue. He takes his time, parting me in small increments until my jaw is wide and there’s nothing left for me to give him. In a tentative voice, he says, “Tell me when you want to stop.”

    “I-I don’t,” I stumble over the words, my fingers slipping under the edge of his shirt to explore his abs. I am ravenous. I want to know this body. I want to understand the pattern of the muscles and the way the skin moves over bone. I want to discover every single inch and memorize it from the inside out.

    “Gemma?”

    Taking a deep breath, I lay my palm against the hard ledge of muscle below his ribs and lean into his ear. This time, my voice is more determined. “I don’t want to stop.”

    Landon releases a short grunt and presses me back into the wall. His hand is dipping below the waistband of my jeans. First one finger. Then two. Then three.

    I can feel him hard against me, the heat trapped inside his body, his sweltering breath sticking to my neck, and I know that I need more of it. I feel like I’ll die without it.

    I dig my hands into his hair and increase the tempo of our kiss.
I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to stop.   

   
Without giving me a warning, Landon drops to his knees. Astonished, I slide down the wall a little. He grabs my thighs, taking some of my weight, and holds me exactly where he wants me. I feel his mouth on the bare skin of my stomach and then the light scratch of his teeth on my navel. He drops one hand to my ankle and runs it back up my leg, sliding all the way up the opening of my shorts to the edge of my underwear. Eventually, the delicious pressure building low in my belly gets to be too much and I lift my hips and cry out.

   
He looks up with an almost pained expression and expels a breath. Then he rests his forehead against me and places a long, slow kiss just above my hipbone. I can feel the wetness of his tongue and it drives me even wilder. I pull at his hair and make another urgent sound.

    “This way,” he grates out, pulling himself to his feet and shaking his hair from his face. He’s smiling now and I find myself smiling back.

    He presses a finger to my lips and I nip at him playfully. He chuckles and skates his hands down my upper arms, elbows and wrists until he’s holding both of my hands in his. Then he’s guiding me through the apartment, past a small kitchen and a sparse living room.

    Lips: barely touching.

    Fingers: tracing soft skin.

    Eyes: flickering with hot desire.

    Landon turns me until the backs of my knees hit something solid. I hear the rustle of cotton sheets, feathery soft, and I feel the outline of the mattress behind me. Bracing my hands on his biceps, I stand up on my tiptoes and kiss his mouth again, reveling in the feel of the rough stubble on his upper lip. He groans and rotates his pelvis against me.

    “Yes,” I gasp, and then we’re tumbling down to the bed, and I’m hooking my legs over his hips, winding his body within my thighs. My hair is falling out of its braid and spilling over my face.

    “Jesus, you’re so amazing,” he pants, his hands moving up my body. He seems almost desperate now, like he physically can’t pull away.

    When his hand reaches my breast and he gently squeezes my nipples through two layers on fabric, I release a high-pitched whine of frustration. He chuckles and does it again. “So amazing,” he continues. “The first night I saw you at the bar—”

     “Tell me,” I whisper, clenching the fabric of his shirt between my fists and flicking my tongue over his Adam’s Apple, tasting the sweat there.

    “God, Gemma. I wanted you. I couldn’t—” he cuts himself off to kiss me, his hot tongue sliding easily between my lips, his breath taking over my lungs like it’s always been there. “I couldn’t even think straight.”

   
Good,
I think,
because I can’t think straight now
.

    “And that morning at the beach,” he continues, his attention moving to the sensitive skin below my earlobe. “I wanted to bring you back here and lock you in my bedroom for a week so I could show you what you do to me.”

    “Then why are you still wearing this?” I tug on the bottom of his shirt and he chuckles.

    He reaches back and jerks the shirt over his head in one solid motion. “Better?” A small smile is pulling up one corner of his mouth.

    I don’t answer. I run my finger over the waist of his jeans to let him know what I want.

    Landon closes his eyes and draws in a ragged breath. Very slowly, he stands up and takes a step away from the bed and his hands drop to the metal button. My pulse is thundering.

    “This?” he asks, almost teasingly.

     I rise to my knees, keeping my hands at my sides for balance and nod.

    His eyebrows go up. “Just my jeans?”

    I’m not normally bold, but right now, w
ith Landon at my feet, his eyes swimming with desire and his chest rising and falling like he can’t get enough air into his lungs, for the very first time in my life, I feel crazy with a womanly kind of power.
I’m doing this,
I think.
I’m seducing him. 

    I make a circular motion with one finger and in a brazen tone, I say, “All of it.”