What happened to Dash?
He’s got a telescope in the kitchen, by the two-seater table. The magnets on his fridge are Star Wars themed.
What happened to the boy who used to sit out on the roof with me?
It’s so strange that I know how he tastes and how he feels in my hands, but I know next to nothing about his head and heart.
He’s really good at hugs.
His hands are big but gentle.
Is that enough for me?
Is this enough—even for right now?
Sometimes I feel like I’ll go crazy and I tell myself I have to stop. Then, like any addict, I go back. Just one more kiss.
Is this what love is like for everyone: the feeling that it’s dangerous but irresistible? Fear mingled with lust.
Or is it just us?
Is the price of Dash this clawing, wanting feeling—this feeling that I’ll never get enough?
And is it worth it?
My lips curve in a would-be laugh as I fade into sleep. None of this matters…because I just can’t stop.
Seventeen
Dash
It’s Thursday after work, and I’m sitting on my balcony smoking a cigar and looking at the city as dusk descends like fuzzy pixels over everything. I was supposed to go out tonight, but I wasn’t feeling it.
Tomorrow’s Friday, our meeting with Imagine’s marketing team, where we’ll get the formal green-light on production of Dove. And then she’s gone. For a whole week, we take off. It’s a summer thing: Imagine does it every year. Nobody works. (They have to kick people out of the building, because a lot of us freaks hate time off).
I know Amelia’s going to Southampton. It’s a long tradition for her and her friends from high school.
I’ll be here—fucking my hand.
I tell myself there’s shit that I can do. I’ve got some private projects I could work on, a woman from our hometown who wants a painting—anything I want to paint—and is willing to pay $10,000 for it.
I’ve got friends here. Could do something with the crew from Dove. But I know I won’t. I’ll probably sit out on this balcony the whole damn time and watch the traffic crawl between high-rises.
I’m well aware that Ammy’s doing something she feels bad about. Mostly because there’s no way she could possibly feel good. Not with what happened. Not considering she won’t hear my apology. Not considering I don’t have one to give her.
What really happened—she can never know.
It’s mine. Other than the few people who know already, no one else is finding out. This shit going to my grave with me. That’s what I deserve. When everything is said and done, that’s why this will never last with Am. I can’t tell her what she needs to hear. I can’t make it right, what I did. Lexie says it was so long ago, maybe Ammy’s over it, but I can see she’s not. I can see her looking at me when she thinks I’m absorbed in something else. The way her eyes dig into softer pieces of me, searching for her answers.
Anybody would be fucked up by what happened, but especially a woman. Sex is so damn different for them. It’s never only physical. Maybe with some women…but not fifteen-year-old girls.
Christ, she could have had me hauled to jail for statutory rape. I would have deserved it. Instead she’s fucking me again. (Well, she fucked me once…and then she bolted; which is how I know she’s acting against what she views to be good sense). She’s fucking around with me again, and it’s got to be backsliding—in her mind.
She’ll go off to Southampton and spill the beans to someone. One of her posse will tell her she’s lost her fucking mind, and she’ll see sense. And that will be the end of it.
That’ll be the right thing.
That’ll leave me…where I was before.
I stub out the cigar and lean against the railing. I remember Ammy with the big, round glasses. I can still remember her the day she fell into our pool. Is it possible she’s had my heart since that day? Is that how it works? You don’t get a fucking choice? It’s one and done—and then you’re ruined for life?
I know a lot of dudes would laugh at that idea. And I don’t give a fuck. For me, it’s true. I don’t go around shouting it from rooftops, but for me, there has only ever been Amelia. God knows I tried to fix things so it wasn’t that way. Fucked my way through half of New England. And…no dice.
I’m lighting another cigar when I hear my doorbell.
I put it out...walk through the apartment, check the peephole…
Ammy.
Well, shit.
I get hard just looking at her through the fucking door, and have to squeeze my dick to get it to stand down.
I pull the door open and find Am with her hair pulled up all messy on her head, wearing blue and white sky-patterned pajama pants and one of those cotton girl shirts that’s got the really skinny shoulder straps. The shirt is gray and stretches snugly over her chest. I pull my gaze away from there and notice that she’s holding a brown bag. And not wearing any shoes.
She smiles. “Sooo, I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is, I have Chinese. Bad news, I’m locked out of my apartment and maintenance says it’s going to be an hour.”
“Oh, I see how it is.” I give her a shaming look. “You just want to use me.”
I can see the slightest rise of color on her cheeks, and that just makes me laugh. “Amelia. What’s going on in that dirty mind of yours?”
She shoves my chest. “Maybe I’ll just take this food and go.”
I snatch the brown bag from her easily and hold it out of her reach, trying to smell the food while keeping it out of her grasping hands.
“This smells good. Moo goo gai pan?”
“Same ole same ole,” she says, wrapping her hand around my elbow. She squeezes, and I chuckle. I step inside, dragging her with me, so when I stop abruptly in the foyer, she loses her footing and stumbles into me.
“Sorry.” I smirk.
“You ass.” She swats me, and we head toward the kitchen.
Ammy tries to get her food back, but I pull out a chair for her and make her watch and wait while I serve both of us. Which makes her call me an ass again. Which prompts me to throw a fortune cookie at her.
“So how’d you get locked out?” I ask her as she eats her cookie.
“I have no idea!” She does this thing when she’s worked up where everything is an exclamation. “I went down to the lobby to get the food. I thought I had a key and then I didn’t! I guess I must have left it on this table I have by my door.”
“Wearing your evening best?” I tease her, as I set her bowl in front of her.