Catch Me (20 page)

When he doesn’t take a hint, I push Shea off, not taking my eyes off of Nick’s. “Stop clowning around. I was just wondering,” I joke, watching Nick’s eyes and the way they watch my mouth move when I speak, even though I’m talking to Shea.

“Sure,” Shea says. “You know I’d drop Gia if you said you wanted to be with me again, right?”

My eyes widen at his words. The way Nick’s face darkens doesn’t go unnoticed, and I realize that he can hear our conversation despite the earphones covering his ears.

“Shea, you wanna listen to this?” Nick asks, shooting daggers at Shea, who’s scooting even closer to me.

Shea snaps his head in Nick’s direction and moves away from me but leaves his arm over my shoulder. “Sure. I’ll listen to it in a little while,” he responds to Nick. He looks back at me. I can feel his eyes on me, but I’m scared to turn my face to his because how close we are. “Bee,” Shea says.

Casting my eyes down so that I don’t see Nick’s probing eyes on me anymore, I exhale. “What?”

“You never answered me.”

“About what?” I whisper, not wanting to have such a personal conversation in front of somebody. Shea may think Nick’s not paying attention, but I know better. And the kicker is that I actually care.

“About Gia,” he says, his words short as if he’s annoyed that he has to clarify.

“Can we not talking about that?” I ask, shrugging his arm off of me.

Shea exhales deeply. “Sure.”

When we’re in the air, Shea moves away from me and sits beside Nick. They go back and forth over music and songs that he can record for his album. After listening to them go over the same things a couple of times, I plug my own earphones in and tune them out. I have at least ninety demos I hope to get through during the flight, but by the tenth, I find myself falling asleep. I’m not sure when it finally happens, but at some point I do end up completely asleep because the next time I open my eyes, I’m laying down in the bed with Shea sleeping beside me.

Rubbing my hands over my eyes, I sit up in a stretch, admiring the sleeves of tattoos that adorn his arms and remembering the first one he got. It seems like ions ago, and in a sense it was, even though sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday.

I cover him with as much of the covers as I can and get out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb his slumber. Grabbing my bag, I close the door behind me and tiptoe into the bathroom beside the bedroom. Gazing in the mirror, I run my hands over my flushed face and take out my toothbrush. My eyes are still glazed over from my nap and my hair is a mess. After looking for my hairbrush for a while, I decide to finger comb it as best I can as I open the door, jumping back when I find Nick standing right outside of the bathroom. At the sight of him, my heart instantly picks up speed, warning the lightning bugs in my core to wake up in the process.

“Did you have a good nap?” he murmurs, stepping into my personal space, making me feel like there’s not enough oxygen in the entire airplane for the two of us as his eyes wash over me.

“Yeah,” I whisper. I’m wearing flats, which means I’m at eye level with his chest. I take in a breath, inhaling him as I look at his face and decide that his smell is my favorite of all the amazing smells I’ve ever smelled.

His gaze softens as he looks at me and exhales. He straightens out and looks away for a moment, running both hands through his short faux hawk as if mulling something over, and I notice his last name scripted in his inner bicep as he does it. I’ve never understood why people get their own names scripted on themselves, as if they’re going to forget it or something, but Nick’s tattoo totally does it for me, just like everything else about him that I’ve seen so far.

He lowers his arms, looking at me again and walks forward a step, forcing me to walk back one. I can see the question in his eyes and I don’t even think twice about the response, there’s nothing for me to think about. I step back into the small bathroom allowing him to come in as well. The way he keeps dropping his gaze to my lips, I know he wants to kiss me. I also know I wouldn’t stop him if he did. When he cups my face in both his hands and draws circles over my cheeks with his thumbs, still staring into my eyes, I automatically part my lips, welcoming him, pleading him to place his mouth over mine.

Nick dips his head slowly, his eyes never wavering from mine, still asking. I wrap my hands over the backs of his muscled biceps and stand on the balls of my feet, begging him to get closer. He dips his head slightly so that our breaths are mingling together, but not close enough that our faces touch.

“I really, really want to kiss you, Brooklyn,” he murmurs, his voice raspy and soft and filled with need. “I really, really want to.”

“So do it,” I whisper against his lips.

He shakes his head, rubbing the tip of his nose against mine. “I don’t want to share you.”

“I’m not yours to share,” I breathe.

“That’s why I’m not going to kiss you,” he whispers against me, so close I can practically taste his tongue on mine.

My breaths are coming in short spurts; that’s the kind of need I feel for him. I
need
him to kiss me. I need it so much more than the damn oxygen I’m lacking in my lungs right now. I need it more than I need this plane to land. That’s how his warm touch on my face makes me feel. I feel like I’ll die if he doesn’t kiss me, but at the same time my heart might explode if he does.

He leans in closer, nudging my legs apart slightly with his own and presses his hard body against mine. When he dips his head, I open my mouth automatically for his, but he doesn’t kiss me. He sucks on my bottom lip, slowly, savoring it, moaning as he does it, making me feel like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted in his life. Once he’s finished with it, he moves to my top lip, and then to the side of my mouth before slowly sucking his way along my mouth from one corner to the other. I can’t breathe as he does this, the only thing I can do to keep me from sagging to the floor is hold on to his arms. My head is spinning at the feel of his mouth on mine and the calculated way he devours me without letting me kiss him back. He pulls away slowly and places his forehead against mine, closing his eyes as if to level his thoughts. I’m still breathing heavily when his eyes flutter open and he looks at me again, the heat in his eyes never wavering. As I look into his blue eyes, my heart and stomach still pounding away, I realize that never in my twenty-five years of life have I experienced anything more erotic than this. The longer we stand here, the thicker the air grows between us. I feel like if my heart beats any faster, it’ll end up inside his chest, which seems like a likely place for it at the moment. I move just a little closer to him, my pelvis hitting the hardness in his and he elicits a low groan that resonates through me, making me tighten my grip on him when my knees buck beneath me.

“There’s nothing I want more right now,” he says in a strained whisper, answering an unvoiced question as the tips of his fingers dance along my face.

The mesmerizing way he looks at me makes me want to tell him to take it all right now, and I open my mouth to do just that when the bed creaks in the room beside us. Nick’s eyes dart in that direction as he backs away from me, letting go of my face and holding my arms to steady me. He looks into my eyes one last time, his eyes swimming with desire as he runs the pad of his thumb over my cheek, and exhales before he turns to walk out. As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, I lurch forward to lock it right before sitting down on the floor beside the toilet. I sit here feeling dazed, stunned, running my hands over my lips until I’ve willed my heart and my breath to even and decide to go back out. Unwilling to look at Nick in the eyes, I walk back to the bedroom and close the door behind me, glad that Shea is no longer in here.

I throw myself on the bed, burying my head into the pillow as I play the kiss but non-kiss over and over in my head. I don’t know whether to laugh at how it made me feel or cry because I want it to happen again so bad. Why didn’t I just tell him I would be his, dammit? I hate those moments that you wish you could press rewind and have a do-over. The worst part is the thought that he may not try to kiss me again. The second worst part is that I have to see him for the next week and I don’t know how to act normal around him without thinking about him sucking my lips. This is going to be the longest week ever. I already know it.

I’m not sure how long I’m in here before Shea knocks on the door and asks me to go back to the sitting area so I can listen to one of his songs. I get up hesitantly and brush past him. He closes the door behind us and grabs my arm to stop me when we step into the sitting area where Nick is sitting typing on his computer. He looks up, our eyes locking for a moment before his gaze drifts to where Shea is holding my arm.

“You feeling okay?” Shea asks, turning me to face him, his voice is full of concern. I nod, even though my stomach is tying up in knots of discomfort.

“Yeah,” I assure him. “Perfect.”

He frowns, searching my face and pulls me into a hug. I wrap my arms around his waist and turn my face, placing it over his chest. My eyes find Nick’s as I lay my head there, listening to Shea’s beating heart under my ear. Rather than tearing my eyes away from his intense stare, I drop my hands from Shea’s middle and begin to walk to my seat.

I sit down across from Nick, beside Shea, and cross my legs Indian style on the seat to get comfortable. Shea scoots close to me and places an arm over one of my legs, the way we always sit when we’re together. I notice that my heart doesn’t sputter in my chest the way it used to once upon a time when he touched me or was near me. I realize that I’m just comforted by him, the way I have been for the past seven years. Nick isn’t looking at us anymore; he’s consumed by whatever he’s doing on his computer, so I tilt my head and look at Shea. His messy hair is getting longer and he needs a shave badly. He’s beginning to look like a slob, despite his expensive clothes and jewelry.

“You need a haircut,” I tell him, ruffling his hair softly.

He closes his eyes. “I know,” he says with a slight moan. “Can I lay my head on your lap so you can do that to me?”

I smile, knowing how much he likes it when I play with his soft curls. “Sure.”

He scoots his body away, laying his head on my lap. “That feels so good. I’m so tired, Bee. So tired,” he whispers.

Looking down at his face, I can tell that he is. He looks terrible and I hate it. “Go to sleep for a while.” I grab his arm and look at the time on his watch. “We still have an hour.”

He nods, closing his eyes. “I wasn’t kidding about Gia,” he murmurs, his words drifting off.

I let out a laugh. “I know you weren’t. You weren’t kidding about Tonya either,” I say playfully, reminding him of one of the many, many reasons we couldn’t work the first time.

His eyes snap open. “I’m a fuck-up,” he says regretfully.

I shake my head slowly, still smiling. “You’re not a fuck-up, sweetie,” I say quietly, knowing he needs to hear this from somebody, very much like I do sometimes. Shea and I were both neglected growing up and continuously reminded about what fuck-ups we were. “You just love the ladies,” I joke.

Shea chuckles quietly, his eyes looking on the greener side. “Nope, I love you … I just like to mess around with the ladies.”

I smack his arm. “Well, thank you for the reminder.”

He laughs for a second before his face turns serious as he looks up at me. “But one day I’ll be ready, you know?”

I avert my eyes from the sadness in his, but find myself looking at Nick, who’s looking directly at me. “Then one day you’ll make one girl a very lucky lady,” I say, still looking at Nick, who’s now staring at my mouth, reading my lips.

Nick purses his lips to stifle a smile, but I can tell it’s there. I can see it in his eyes. Shea lets out a breath and shifts on my legs.

“Keep playing with my hair,” he says sleepily. So I do.

A dreadful feeling begins to slowly consume me at the sight of the Golden Gate bridge outside of my window. Suddenly, I’m second-guessing my decision to come here. It’s been eight years. Eight freaking years. Isn’t time supposed to heal all wounds? Who the fuck said that anyway? Clearly a genius. Long buried sorrow begins to creep up inside me, rattling my heart, making my breath come in more rapidly. I don’t know if I can hide the amount of emotions that are slowly flooding me. Shea has been asleep on my lap for the past hour, so he’s oblivious to the fact that we’re here. If he doesn’t wake up on his own soon, I’m sure the nervous bouncing of my leg will do the trick.